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3.74 AVERAGE
3.74 AVERAGE
Sometimes I'm very surprised at how flawed a book is when it has all these rave reviews and people talk about it like it was one of the best books they ever read. What in the world? This book is a mess. I mean, just read this adulatory bullshit. I feel like I read a different book.
Basically Chatwin met a guy, Arkady, who took him to meet various Aboriginal men in Australia, and Chatwin sometimes had conversations with them. They rode about the bush in Toyota Land Cruisers packed with esky coolers full of meat to grill when they made camp for the night. Maybe people liked Bruce Chatwin because they had never read Redmond O'Hanlon or the better books by Paul Theroux. I don't know.
The Songlines does have its moments. One is a leisurely chat between Chatwin and one of the "old men," who tells him the story of this hill, that ridge, that other feature of land, and so on, as they lounge at a location with a fine view of many notable features of that territory. There are several conversations that are brief echoes of this one, but here we glimpse the real power of having all that rooted knowledge of your place on Earth. It's quite beautiful.
Another memorable but very unpleasant scene is a supposed hunting trip that consists mostly of ramming one large kangaroo repeatedly with a truck, intending to kill it. I was disgusted, Chatwin was disgusted, and at least one of the Aboriginal men in the truck was disgusted — but not the driver, another Aboriginal man who thought this was just fine.
Another part that struck a strong chord with me was when an art dealer from Sydney is interviewing a man who paints Dreaming paintings and sells them to her. She's obviously just milking his culture for profit, and it turns out he knows it. This was also unpleasant, but not as bad as the hunting story.
Chatwin had been diligently researching "nomads" before he went to Australia and wrote this book. He had lots of notes, snippets, random quotes from other writers, a bunch of anecdotes from his own travels in several parts of Africa, and bits from interviews with academics. The Songlines starts out with his "adventures" with Arkady, but then, about halfway through, Arkady goes off somewhere and Chatwin gets out his notebooks and treats us to a dog's breakfast of snippets from them. A few are quite good, but most are not. I was especially impatient with the rambling, disconnected factoids about early hominids, Australopithecus and the like. I've been very interested in this topic and have read some excellent summaries of the findings — what is known and what is not — and Chatwin's thrown-together pieces of the story are just a mess. The longer this snippet section went on, the more annoyed I felt.
The central core of this book — the deep relationship of the Australian Aboriginal people with the land, the stories that are an integral part of that relationship, the singing of parts of the stories that have been entrusted to you (as both a member of a group and an individual with a particular connection to a spiritual entity), and the way the song makes the land and the land makes the song — this is marvelous. Sadly, Chatwin never got close enough to the people to do full justice to this core, and he padded out his text with a bunch of notes and jottings that for the most part had no business being here.
Basically Chatwin met a guy, Arkady, who took him to meet various Aboriginal men in Australia, and Chatwin sometimes had conversations with them. They rode about the bush in Toyota Land Cruisers packed with esky coolers full of meat to grill when they made camp for the night. Maybe people liked Bruce Chatwin because they had never read Redmond O'Hanlon or the better books by Paul Theroux. I don't know.
The Songlines does have its moments. One is a leisurely chat between Chatwin and one of the "old men," who tells him the story of this hill, that ridge, that other feature of land, and so on, as they lounge at a location with a fine view of many notable features of that territory. There are several conversations that are brief echoes of this one, but here we glimpse the real power of having all that rooted knowledge of your place on Earth. It's quite beautiful.
Another memorable but very unpleasant scene is a supposed hunting trip that consists mostly of ramming one large kangaroo repeatedly with a truck, intending to kill it. I was disgusted, Chatwin was disgusted, and at least one of the Aboriginal men in the truck was disgusted — but not the driver, another Aboriginal man who thought this was just fine.
Another part that struck a strong chord with me was when an art dealer from Sydney is interviewing a man who paints Dreaming paintings and sells them to her. She's obviously just milking his culture for profit, and it turns out he knows it. This was also unpleasant, but not as bad as the hunting story.
Chatwin had been diligently researching "nomads" before he went to Australia and wrote this book. He had lots of notes, snippets, random quotes from other writers, a bunch of anecdotes from his own travels in several parts of Africa, and bits from interviews with academics. The Songlines starts out with his "adventures" with Arkady, but then, about halfway through, Arkady goes off somewhere and Chatwin gets out his notebooks and treats us to a dog's breakfast of snippets from them. A few are quite good, but most are not. I was especially impatient with the rambling, disconnected factoids about early hominids, Australopithecus and the like. I've been very interested in this topic and have read some excellent summaries of the findings — what is known and what is not — and Chatwin's thrown-together pieces of the story are just a mess. The longer this snippet section went on, the more annoyed I felt.
The central core of this book — the deep relationship of the Australian Aboriginal people with the land, the stories that are an integral part of that relationship, the singing of parts of the stories that have been entrusted to you (as both a member of a group and an individual with a particular connection to a spiritual entity), and the way the song makes the land and the land makes the song — this is marvelous. Sadly, Chatwin never got close enough to the people to do full justice to this core, and he padded out his text with a bunch of notes and jottings that for the most part had no business being here.
Dedicated to his long-suffering wife, Elizabeth, who was usually left behind when Chatwin went on his many travels, this book starts out as a traveller's tale of a visit to the Australian outback. It soon becomes clear that Chatwin is intent on delving below the surface of the harsh environment and the survival strategies of the aborigines. His fascination with their songlines eventually becomes linked to his quest to understand the nomad's way of life and his search for proof that a wandering nature is the essential essence of man. On the way, the reader gets a vivid picture of the degredation of aboriginal life together with a perception of their basic dignity and, sometimes, astuteness. Critical issues, such as the planning of a proposed railroad across much of the desert territory involving difficult negotiations with the aborigine communities, are dealt with lightly but in a way that rounds out the picture of the uneasy coexistence between the modern state and the original inhabitants of the land. A book to ponder.
adventurous
emotional
funny
informative
inspiring
reflective
relaxing
informative
slow-paced
Content Warnings
Graphic: Animal death
I had about a question every 5 minutes for my girlfriend and her family who lived in Alice. They had smiles every time.
This is certainly a great book. And Chatwin is an interesting figure and brilliant writer. And the ideas are all really interesting, too. But I think Chatwin kind of bends what he finds into his own vision of nomadism and human history. He uses a lot of creative license. And also does very little talking to Aboriginal Australians. More often than not others are speaking on behalf of them. He and they are well-meaning, but it makes me suspicious of his conclusions. It's all too easy and seductive to believe that human language and history are forms of one long song or poem, especially for Chatwin - being a writer. Because it makes a good story - so I guess that's why this is a novel rather than non-fiction?
I did like the fragmentary / collage aspect of the latter half, although because I listened to it as an audiobook it made it harder to focus on the read.
But also this has encouraged me to read more books about Aboriginal Australia by Aboriginal Australians - so I've had some recommendations from Lighthouse Books in Edinburgh.
I did like the fragmentary / collage aspect of the latter half, although because I listened to it as an audiobook it made it harder to focus on the read.
But also this has encouraged me to read more books about Aboriginal Australia by Aboriginal Australians - so I've had some recommendations from Lighthouse Books in Edinburgh.
adventurous
inspiring
reflective
medium-paced
Un po' romanzo, un po' saggio, un po' autobiografia, un po' libro di appunti e riflessioni.
Attraverso il contatto, privo di pregiudizi e completamente disinvolto, con gli aborigeni australiani Chatwin ripensa allo sviluppo dell'uomo moderno, ne definisce le tappe, ne riconosce l'aggressività e gli archetipi.
Zeppo di spunti per riflettere sulla nostra vita, impossibili da cogliere tutti alla prima lettura, e quindi da riprendere in mano spesso e volentieri, e sarebbe bellissimo che ne esistesse una versione con pagine bianche di tanto in tanto, per aggiungere le proprie scoperte a quelle dell'autore.
Attraverso il contatto, privo di pregiudizi e completamente disinvolto, con gli aborigeni australiani Chatwin ripensa allo sviluppo dell'uomo moderno, ne definisce le tappe, ne riconosce l'aggressività e gli archetipi.
Zeppo di spunti per riflettere sulla nostra vita, impossibili da cogliere tutti alla prima lettura, e quindi da riprendere in mano spesso e volentieri, e sarebbe bellissimo che ne esistesse una versione con pagine bianche di tanto in tanto, per aggiungere le proprie scoperte a quelle dell'autore.
While the subject in itself is quite intresting, the author just couldn't escape all the travel genre cliches.
Bassicly it's a whiteman's journey through australian sacred sites. Each time he wants to discover something new about the songlines he has to prove himself to a random whiteman-hating shaman, it takes usually like 5-10 minutes and the shaman finds out that this guy is actually a great guy (don't forget that the author writes about himself).
Also, Women in this book have a similar role as the Australian deserts and forests, they are just decorations found on man's laps. All of their descriptions begin with mentioning their breasts, and their clothes.
All in all this book is quite pulpish in it's design, but it might be fun if you just want to laugh a little bit about author's primitive writing style.
Bassicly it's a whiteman's journey through australian sacred sites. Each time he wants to discover something new about the songlines he has to prove himself to a random whiteman-hating shaman, it takes usually like 5-10 minutes and the shaman finds out that this guy is actually a great guy (don't forget that the author writes about himself).
Also, Women in this book have a similar role as the Australian deserts and forests, they are just decorations found on man's laps. All of their descriptions begin with mentioning their breasts, and their clothes.
All in all this book is quite pulpish in it's design, but it might be fun if you just want to laugh a little bit about author's primitive writing style.