'Sara Dane' by Catherine Gaskin

I wanted a good convict yarn for my 2025 Aussie Reading Challenge. The vague memory of a TV miniseries popped up from the dim recesses of my memory. Those series were all the rage back in the eighties. A google search revealed that sure enough, it aired in 1982, when I was still at Primary School. Next I came across this retro novel which it was based on. It's an original edition from 1954 which was reasonably priced, so I took a chance and bought it. The dust jacket fell apart in my hand while I read the story, probably a sign of many readers before me. I found out the author, Catherine Gaskin, was just 25 years old she wrote it, which impresses me for her depth of research and authenticity in a time long before the internet.

Remembering almost nothing from the TV series (my parents probably sent me off to bed) I hoped this historical epic might tick my boxes. 

MY THOUGHTS: 

Sara Dane, a young woman from Kent, is convicted of theft based on flimsy circumstantial evidence. Sentenced to seven years of hard labor, she's on her way to Botany Bay aboard the Georgette. A sudden opportunity to work for the migrating Ryder family brings her out from the squalid hold full of feral female prisoners. Sara quickly captures the heart of a young sailor named Andrew Maclay, a restless dreamer with the instincts of an entrepreneur. Andrew sees vast potential in the harsh new land and vows to quit the nautical life and make Sara his wife. 

The pair of them are soul mates with a prosperous touch, but at a high social cost. Sara fits in nowhere. Snobbish free citizens suspect her of angling for Andrew, while in reality she urged him to consider carefully before marrying a convict. And although they're building their fortune, it's still a penal colony. Servants are invariably former-convicts, who regard Sara with envy and resentment. The possible threat of sudden revolts from discontented staff members simmers away everywhere, not just on Andrew and Sara's property.

Then surprising news arrives. You might expect the opposite side of the world would be far enough away for somebody's past not to catch up with her, especially in the early 1800s. This is not the case for Sara. Her childhood crush, Richard Barwell, arrives in Sydney Town, along with his wife. Richard was always a bit of an unwise brat, and if he still possesses this quality things could turn pear-shaped for Sara in any number of ways. 

An elegant dilletante named Louis deBourget, who survived the French Revolution, also shows up. And overlooking it all is political convict Jeremy Hogan, Andrew Maclay's faithful right-hand man. He burns with love for Sara but is far too loyal not to keep a lid on it. And without Jeremy's input, things might often turn bottom up very fast. 

This is our very own Regency Era colonial novel. It's Jane Austen's own time period, but set in Sydney. Sara is comparable with strong and determined classics heroines such as Becky Sharp and Scarlett O'Hara, who understand that they'll have to look out for themselves rather than wait for anyone else to do it. But she's a far kinder and more loving mother than either of those two. Indeed, concern for her childrens' welfare guides her to make questionable decisions. Since she's willing to think of long term consequences and sacrifice her personal happiness for her sons' sakes, I prefer Sara hands down over those others, even though her reasoning sometimes makes me groan. 

The Australian setting is well-utilized. Occasional paragraphs like this are delightful.

'As she rode along, she noticed the curved, prominent heads of a dozen or more kookaburras perched on a high bough of a ragged gum on her left. They remained motionless until she drew level; then their heads went back, beaks opened, and the bush for a mile around was abruptly regaled with their mad, wild laughter. Not in all the years that she'd been familiar with this sound had Sara been able to accept it as natural, nor had she schooled herself not to laugh with them. Her mouth curved delightedly; she threw her head back as they did and laughed inelegantly and without restraint. The noise they made followed her down the road, infectious, mocking; as strange and different as the country that had bred it.' 

Overall, a good Aussie novel by a talented storyteller. When you think about it, Sara is in love with four men, sometimes simultaneously, yet somehow we're willing to nod along with it. She is definitely the sort of heroine who is adored by men and tolerated by women. If there'd been a sequel featuring the following generation, I'd grown invested enough in David, Duncan, Elizabeth, and Henriette to read it. However, given Gaskin's way of suddenly killing off good characters, perhaps it's a good thing there wasn't. My poor nerves couldn't take anymore. 

🌟🌟🌟½

Delving Deeper into Wuthering Heights (The Second Generation)

Here we are again. Check out my first post here. At the end of Part One, Heathcliff is devastated that his idol and focus of his deepest desire has died (although she'd arguably still be alive if he hadn't returned from his mysterious self-exile). Now he'll have to pour his passion into his secondary reason for living, which is demolishing the two houses of his lifelong antagonists and making himself master of their properties. 

The plot surely thickens for the second generation. 

1) Nelly's bias strikes again - with the younger Catherine.

She's the same prejudiced caregiver she was with the older Catherine, but in the opposite way this time. Nelly calls Cathy, 'the most winsome thing that ever brought sunshine into a desolate house,' yet describes the actions of a spoilt brat.

As a young teenager, Cathy Linton is horribly headstrong and entitled. She throws her father's name around with the obnoxiousness of a female Draco Malfoy (and has the same blond hair), expects people to kowtow to her, and treats Nelly's instructions as challenges to disobey. I think part of the blame for her imperious attitude must lie at Edgar's door, since he's brought her up in solitude. 

Never mind, the twists and turns of the plot tend to wean this trait out of her, and Cathy's saving grace is that she is an empathetic person. I think by the end she's humbled herself and is a far worthier recipient of the HEA that's in store for her. I'm glad Hareton takes a while to trust her change of heart toward him. She deserves to work hard for his affection, after the inexcusable way she always treated him. 

2) Heathcliff's relationship with the two boys is creepily calculating.

He is far more partial to his enemy's son than he is to his own. 'Twenty times a day I covet Hareton, for all his degradation,' he tells Nelly. It's an unexpected complication for Heathcliff. He now faces a choice between sticking to his great ambition to destroy the progeny of his mortal foe, or indulging his natural inclination to treat Hareton like the son he wishes he truly was.

The second option might actually prove to be the path of least resistance, but Heathcliff sets his teeth and chooses to follow through with Plan A. But he does so in such a devious way that Hareton grows up unaware that he's been duped and degraded by his surrogate father. Heathcliff loathed Hindley so intensely, yet he chooses to become Hindley in his plans for Hareton. 

('Now my bonny lad, you are mine, and we'll see if one tree will grow as crooked as another with the same wind to twist it.')

But Hareton never becomes as twisted as Heathcliff. He's clearly no fool. He surely must latch on to rumors of the truth and put two and two together. His name has been carved above the front door for a few centuries, after all. Indeed, Cathy, the girl he loves, is anxious to enlighten him, but he stops her mid-sentence, because it makes no difference to him.

 Hareton's blinkered attitude used to strike me as stubborn passivity. I used to wish he'd stand up to Heathcliff more on behalf of others, if not himself. Yet now I see Emily Bronte wouldn't write it that way, because that's really not what Hareton is all about. In a way, his stance makes him the greater, nobler man. Having lived all his life as the victim of Hindley's and Heathcliff's power struggles, Hareton simply decides that the revenge motif stops with him. Kudos to him for that. 

How about Linton, that querulous teenage invalid who his father detests, but chooses to put up with just for the triumph of seeing his own flesh and blood lord and master over the estates of his enemies. Yet when he finishes using the poor kid as a decoy to acquire both properties, Heathcliff is callously through with him. Won't even call Kenneth for a spot of palliative care when he knows Linton is dying. 

The thing I find hardest to believe is that Linton Heathcliff inherits none of his father's swarthy features whatsoever, but remains the palest of pale Lintons, even more flaxen-haired than his uncle and cousin. Surely Heathcliff's genetics would be stronger than that. Still I can see why Emily Bronte planned it this way, for the sake of her art, and since it is plausible, I'm willing to consider him a throwback.  

Fascinating family dynamics, hey? That gloating speech that Heathcliff spouts about the pair of young men is superb. 'One is gold put to the use of paving stones and the other is tin used to ape a service of silver.' 

And Cathy Linton gets romantically involved with both boys, at different times! Cousins falling in love was all the rage in the Victorian era. 

3) Joseph plays such a cool 'character' role.

Almost every reviewer I've read complains about his thick dialect to the point that their objections get a bit old, but I consider this elderly servant as a code to crack. When we study each line of his dialogue closely enough, it's possible to figure out his meaning ninety percent of the time. I admit on a couple of occasions I remained completely baffled, but I enjoy having to work a bit for our reading entertainment. 

I'm clearly in the minority here, and people who claim that Joseph's rambling dialect slows down the story make a fair point. But if we truly want to immerse ourselves in the country Yorkshire moors of the earliest nineteenth century, then Joseph is what we get. I'm willing to pause every so often, and sacrifice flow for authenticity. 

I'd urge anyone not to skim over Joseph's speeches, because they're well worth the effort it takes to figure them out. He's such a dour and parsimonious old crank. Nelly Dean calls him, 'the wearisomest, self-righteous Pharisee that ever ransacked a Bible to rake the promises to himself and fling the curses on his neighbors.' As such, his vitriol deserves to be fully understood for a bit of morbid comic relief. 

4) Could Heathcliff and Nelly be considered friends?

I think they have a bond that probably stemmed from when they were young and she nursed him through measles. Nelly is Heathcliff's sounding board for some of the introspective turmoil that he just can't keep bottled up inside. And it's a good thing she is, or we'd have no story. Heathcliff, knowing how much she already knows, seems to consider Nelly a trustworthy confidante who'll keep his rambling to herself. (Not quite true, to say the least.)

She tells Lockwood (among many other things), 'He might have had a monomania on the subject of his departed idol: but on every other point his wits were as sound as mine.' 

Hmm, if you say so, Nelly. How about Heathcliff's pathological hobby of shaping the younger generation into replicas of his past history, with Hareton unwittingly playing his own role, Cathy standing in for her mother, and Linton representing his delicate uncle Edgar. It's a posthumous kick in the guts for Hindley, and also a brilliantly diabolical way of wreaking vengeance on Edgar, for marrying Catherine. Nelly would have to realize it's freaking bizarre, if she thinks about it.

But yes, they are sort of friends. Heathcliff's destructive shenanigans horrify her, yet Nelly can still bring herself to tell him, 'You'd better eat something.'    

Which brings us to the next question. 

5) What is the physical cause of Heathcliff's death? 

It can't have been starvation. A sturdy guy in his late thirties can easily fast from food for longer than four days or so without kicking up his heels. Perhaps thirst had something to do with it, because humans can only survive for three to five days without water, and Heathcliff refused to drink during that cryptic last week of his life. Incredible to think that even someone as manic and focused as Heathcliff wouldn't take a sip of water when they're dying of thirst. 

6) So who inherits the two properties? 

The young couple do, of course, although their inheritance is undoubtedly more convoluted than it seems on the surface. Heathcliff grumbles that while he still has the mental capacity to think of such things, he needs to fetch his attorney, Mr Green. Then he puts it off for another day, which turns out to be crucial. I'm guessing Heathcliff's intention would've surely been to keep Hareton and Cathy out of his will. 

The fact that Heathcliff's plan wasn't carried through doesn't mean that Hareton and Cathy automatically inherit the properties they were cheated out of. Surely in the absence of any stated heirs, Heathcliff's two properties would revert to the crown! I found a few excellent articles and book chapters on this very thing by far more legal savvy people than I am, which describe how affairs must be sorted for Nelly's 'two children.' That goes beyond the scope of this blog post but it's a fascinating topic, so here is a link I found. 

I'll just leave you with the striking, Gothic image of Joseph, kneeling beside Heathcliff's corpse, offering up a prayer of thanksgiving that the 'auld family' now have their rights restored to them. Joseph is jumping the gun a bit, but his confidence turns out to be rewarded.  

Whew, what a ride! I was delighted to find that rather than simply living up to my wonderful first impression, this re-read of Wuthering Heights has brought to my attention even more nuances. The story reinforces my original opinion. It's safe to say that Wuthering Heights is still one of my very favorite books. Now, if only Emily Bronte had survived for long enough to finish that second novel she was working on. 

As always, Wuthering Heights lingers strong in my imagination. If you'd like to read a short story I wrote to follow the end of Wuthering Heights under my fanfic pseudonym, click here.

Delving Deeper into Wuthering Heights (The First Generation)

It's 'Victober' the time of year many of us find ourselves in the mood for something nineteenth century and Gothic. I counted this among my favorite novels when I was a teenager. In the intervening years, other friends, relatives and acquaintances have claimed to detest this classic story as much as I loved it.

It's been a couple of decades, so I decided now is the perfect time to refresh myself in the guise of an impartial reader. My biggest question was whether or not it would stand up to my positive first impression. 

I'll split my fresh observations into two posts, covering each of the two generations of Wuthering Heights goings-on.

Look out for spoilers. This is a discussion rather than a review. 

Okay, here goes for Part One.

1) Lockwood is self-delusional and cannot read any signs whatsoever

Our first narrator likes to kid himself that he's an interesting, solitary sort of chap, which is why he makes an impulsive decision to rent a property such as Thrushcross Grange, in the middle of an inhospitable bog. (Sounds pretty appealing to me too.) Yet all his attitudes and actions proclaim that he is the exact opposite type of person. Any genuine solitary guy wouldn't go calling on his landlord two days running, especially when the second day is brewing up a doozy of a blizzard. 

I used to think the Wuthering Heights family were all uniformly unfriendly, yet now I perceive that Lockwood is super annoying for placing them in a position to have to either guide him home or shelter him for the night. They owe nothing to this pesky stranger with his banal small talk who lobs there uninvited. Even after just one visit from Lockwood, Heathcliff puts out vibes that he's not interested in having him come again, yet Lockwood ignores this and returns the very next day. What sort of clueless duffer does this sort of gatecrashing? 

Way down the track, when Lockwood is about to return to the city, Heathcliff offers lunch and tells him, 'A guest that is safe from repeating his visit can generally be made welcome.' 

2) Was Mr Earnshaw's long walk to Liverpool remotely suspicious?

Liverpool is sixty miles away, and it's not a market town, so why would a Yorkshire farmer have any sort of business there at all during August, which is harvest time at home? And why walk, since he keeps a stable full of horses? Is it really as straightforward as it seems, that Mr Earnshaw simply chances upon an abandoned orphan boy while he roams the city streets? 

I know some readers suggest that Heathcliff was actually Earnshaw's illegitimate child, given birth to by some anonymous gipsy mother. Was Earnshaw surreptitiously going to fetch him? That might be reading far too much into it, but this scandalous interpretation adds an extra lurid layer of incest to Catherine and Heathcliff's intense relationship. It's one of these questions we'll never know the answer to, but the speculation is fun. One thing is clear, Emily Bronte certainly provides no satisfactory reason for this middle-aged family patriarch to take off on foot to a faraway seaport. Does she want us to poke around in Heathcliff's possible origins? 

Personally, I find the face value idea that Heathcliff is a destructive cuckoo from nowhere is far more compelling. 'You must e'en take it as a gift from God, though it's as dark almost as if it came from the devil,' says the boy's new protector. 

3) The 'new and improved' Heathcliff has sold his soul to the devil.

Whatever he did during those mysterious three years when he went away, brooding over his wrongs at the hands of others was evidently a driving force. I love Heathcliff during his boyhood and adolescence, when he bears Hindley's injustice with such stoicism, and asks Nelly to make him look decent, if she possibly can. But his secret makeover into an impactful person comes at the cost of his soul. 

This dangerous young man, who is no older than nineteen or twenty when he returns, means dark business. He's decided that his life's calling, however long it might take, is revenge. Nelly says concerning Hindley and Heathcliff, 'I felt that God had forsaken the stray sheep there (at Wuthering Heights) to take its own wicked wanderings and an evil beast prowled between it and the fold.' 

Spare a thought for poor Isabella. She learns the hard way that just because a guy is sexy and hot, doesn't mean you can reform him and soften his heart. Heathcliff is no rough diamond (like Hareton). While the second Cathy eventually hits the jackpot, her aunt draws the short straw. 

4) Catherine uses tantrums and illness as weapons.

'Say to Edgar, if you see him tonight, that I'm in danger of being seriously ill.' She adds, 'I'll try to break their hearts by breaking my own.' Even though her freak-outs genuinely lead to physical sickness, they are nonetheless strategically planned, and used as means of gaining control of situations when she feels herself floundering. Bashing her head against the chair, tearing pillow fabric with her teeth, racing out in the pouring rain, it's all part of Catherine's arsenal to call the shots. 

Or maybe she just wants out. Being all things to all people has taken its toll. Social and mercenary thoughts of her future convince her that being the Lintons' household angel will be most to her advantage. Yet denying her real yearning, to run around wild and unfettered on the moors with Heathcliff takes emotional energy, especially when he too accuses her of selling out on her real desires. 

Perhaps throwing calculated hissy fits and falling sick is her unconscious desire for everyone to leave her alone. Incidentally, I think she really does value Edgar for his own sake. If Heathcliff hadn't shown up again, I think Catherine could've been content enough with her husband. He catered to her every whim, so why not? 

5) Nelly treats Catherine with passive aggression.

My word, this went under my radar as a teenage reader. Our main narrator admits that she never liked her young mistress after her infancy was past, and she's refined her own subtle way of letting it show. Nelly's weapon is staying calm and unruffled whenever Catherine tries her paddies on her. She coolly calls Catherine out for pinching her, tells tales on her, ignores Catherine's direct orders, and only obeys her when she feels like it. 

My youngest son used Nelly-like tactics on his sister. He'd say, 'Take a chill pill,' in an aggravating manner guaranteed to set her off even more. I can't help thinking Nelly's intention is similarly to press Catherine's buttons, whether she admits it to herself or not. (For example, when Nelly reports that Edgar is calmly reading his books, her aim seems to be to rub Catherine's face in it.) How frustrating for a volatile diva like poor Catherine, when the person who's supposed to be her loyal employee treats her with very thinly veiled scorn. 

When Edgar says, 'You knew your mistress's nature and you encouraged me to harass her,' he's not completely wrong. Nelly presents herself as a peacemaker, but I think at heart she's a stirrer. 

6) Does Heathcliff murder Hindley?  

I believe Emily Bronte intends to set our suspicion antennae twitching. Even though Heathcliff insinuates that Hindley basically committed suicide by drinking himself to death in one sitting, Joseph's aside to Nelly is telling. He mutters, 'Ah'd rayther he'd gone hisseln fur t' doctor! Ah sud uh taen tent u' t' maister better nur him - un he warn't deead when Aw left, nowt uh t' soart.' (Translation: I'd rather he'd gone himself for the doctor. I should've taken care of the master better than him - and he weren't dead when I left, none of the sort.)

 It's easy to imagine that Heathcliff snatched the opportunity to suffocate his foster brother with a pillow, or something equally sneaky and underhanded.

(John Sutherland, in his essay entitled, 'Is Heathcliff a Murderer' suggests that a 27-year-old man with Hindley's robust Earnshaw constitution would be hard pressed to drink himself to death within a few hours.) Surely Heathcliff's accusation of suicide is off the mark anyway. I highly doubt that Hindley would choose that stage of his life to shuffle off his mortal coil, when he's so anxious to win back his property for Hareton's sake. Can you imagine him opting out of the mess, knowing full well that his son will be a beggar in the hands of his enemy? 

But that's not to say he didn't top himself accidentally, by being his normal pathetic, pickled self. Once again, it's impossible to tell for sure. For a person with Hindley's habits, death by accumulated alcohol poisoning doesn't sound unreasonable. Perhaps he's not all that different from his sister. 

Indeed, a thread all through Part One could be how the Earnshaw kids drive themselves to the grave because they can't control their own explosive emotions. Brother and sister alike.

Oh, and Hindley was evidently a terrible card player. A sorry loser in every way, for a young man who starts off with such advantages in life. I wonder whether it would've been any different for him had Frances survived.

Which brings us to the next question. 

7) Is Kenneth the most tactless and insensitive physician in VicLit?

John Sutherland suggests that he may be the most useless, because when we think about it, what percentage of Kenneth's patients actually recover? Regardless of this, the question I pose is more pertinent.

Think about it. When Frances Earnshaw delivers her baby and is soon to die of consumption, Kenneth reproaches Hindley for choosing 'such a rush of a lass.' He takes on a similar tone during the older Catherine's illness, insinuating that it serves her right. Then later, he makes Hindley's untimely death into a guessing game for Nelly, adding, 'I knew I'd draw water.' At least he has the grace to add, 'Poor lad, I'm sorry too.'  

You can expect no bedside manner, from a straight-talking Yorkshire doctor like Kenneth.

I invite you to visit my entire Bronte-Saurus page. 

Next, please check out my impressions here of Part Two, which is when Heathcliff stirs the pot for the younger generation, intent on using them as pawns to wreak his revenge on their parents. Feel free to hum along to Kate Bush in the meantime. 

'Heathcliff, it's me, Cathy, I've come home... So co-o-o-old, let me into your wind-o-o-o-w!'  

'My Place' by Sally Morgan

I bought this book in the early nineties soon after it was published, as it was in the media a lot back then. I decided to pull it off my shelf, where it's been ever since, for the memories. Would it live up to the positive impression I'd formed? The answer is.... not really! 

But I'm including it for the Memoir/Autobiography category in my 2025 Aussie Book Challenge.

MY THOUGHTS:

Sally Morgan's autobiography merges into family history, because getting to the bottom of whatever happened to her mother and grandmother became a driving force in her own life.

It begins in the mid-1950s. Sally is the eldest of five children. Her dad (Bill) is a war veteran and plumber whose PTSD keeps him frequently hospitalized and out of work. Mum (Gladys) is the main breadwinner with frequent cleaning jobs, who later starts her own successful floristry business. Nan (Daisy) keeps house and cooks for the family. She's a chain smoker whose front hair is bleached yellow with nicotine. Nan also holds the distinction of wielding the longest cigarette ash in the neighbourhood, but she has an odd way of scurrying off whenever the kids bring friends around to play. 

During their school years, Sally and her siblings suspect some family deception happening. Whenever their friends inquire where they come from, owing to their slightly darker skin tone, Mum and Nan mutter, 'Say you're Indian.' What's more, other adults, including school teachers, seem to disapprove of their family for some reason they can't comprehend. 

Rumours reach Sally's ears that their origin is Aboriginal. In effect, Mum and Nan have been denying the children their right to know their heritage for the most well-intentioned reason, fear of social backlash. 

When Sally makes it her business to find out whatever happened, her Nan in particular, is extremely sensitive to having the light of day shone on her past. Sally's gentle persistence takes years, but eventually she plumbs the personal histories of Nan, Mum, and Nan's brother, Arthur. Without getting too spoilerish, they've been victims of the Stolen Generation, in which young children were forcibly removed from their parents, supposedly for their own good. It was a disgraceful stage of our country's history which has left horrific scars on many Australian citizens.  

This is a good book with some irritating bits. I feel the supernatural content is presented in a way to confuse rather than intrigue or enlighten spiritual seekers. Those parts are written in a fairly obfuscating manner. But for the main part, Sally Morgan has a good balance of comic nostalgia and poignant heartache.

 I like her historical detail. For example, she recalls Australia's change to decimal currency on Valentine's Day, 1966, when many of us weren't even born. And even though I'm from a younger generation, Morgan's reference to show bags crammed with Smarties, Cherry Ripes, Samboy chips, and Violet Crumble bars stirs fond memories.   

My main issue with this book though, is its rough presentation. Punctuation is all wrong and the typesetting is dodgy. Quotation marks are higgledy-piggledy and there are often single-line widows and orphans dangling at the tops and bottoms of pages. The font is crammed and the margins skinny. 

My copy is an early one, so hopefully these issues have been fixed in more recent editions, considering this is quite a famous Aussie book that's been elevated to classic status. Once I might have brushed all this aside as having nothing to do with the story, yet this sort of thing is a big deal when it comes to readers' subliminal impressions of Australians as a whole. It is exactly the sort of sloppiness that might give our national literature a reputation for being slapdash and rough around the edges. I blame the publishers for this. To consistently get details wrong which could've so easily been corrected is a vital oversight.

But on the whole, it was an interesting book to revisit.  

🌟🌟🌟