Big Sky: when the emu left the earth

I heard astrophysicist Professor Ray Norris (born in the UK, now living in Australia) and beloved and controversial First Nations elder Bruce Pascoe talking on Radio National about their collaboration, Big Sky: when the emu left the earth, and immediately reserved it from the library. As anyone who's read The January Stars will know, I'm a sucker for astronomy and space (Duane Hamacher, who was the consultant on January Stars, is quoted often in this book).

I was a little disappointed by the astronomy volume of the otherwise excellent First Knowledges series, and Big Sky fills in some of the gaps. It really is remarkable to think that some sky stories, like the Seven Sisters myth, which carries extraordinary similarities all over the globe, may have travelled with the first humans out of Africa. There are other stories from parts of Australia that might recall celestial events like supernovae, comets and meteor strikes, that occurred tens of thousands of years ago. Star maps can act as mnemonics, along with stories, to guide land journeys. The Emu of the title of course refers to the Dark Emu figure visible in the dark patches of the Milky Way.

I was particularly struck by the different explanations of solar and lunar eclipses, often described as Sun-woman and Moon-man having sex, but showing an understanding of who is on top of whom! Some of Norris and Pascoe's examples show that Aboriginal cultures had a more sophisticated understanding of the skies than Renaissance scientists.

I'm not sure that books are the best way to pass on First Nations knowledges; the ideal way is to have an elder explain to you what you're ready to understand. But in the absence of that firsthand experience, books like Big Sky are the next best alternative. 

Taboo

West Australian Noongar author Kim Scott has been on my radar for a while, but somehow I've shied away from his novels, fearing they might be too harrowing for me. But I was persuaded to pick up his 2017 book, Taboo, by my book group friend Cathy, and I'm so glad I did.

Tilly is a schoolgirl who's recently discovered the truth about her Aboriginal parentage; she finds herself caught up in a kind of cultural camp for Noongar people, returning to their Country after a long exile and horrific history which has rendered that place forbidden until now. The narrative about the adults exploring their heritage, tentatively recovering language, making traditional tools and painting, singing old songs, enveloping young Tilly in a family she's never known, is extremely moving. But there is deep darkness in the story too, not just in the form of past massacres, murder and rape, but in the present, between vulnerable Tilly and sinister Doug, who is also connected to the community.

Taboo contains both horror and humour, and a touch of magic realism that weaves First Nations spirituality through a gothic, haunted story. The book ends with the hint that eventually Tilly will make peace with both sides of her inheritance, despite all the pain that has come before.
 

Fire Country

Fire Country by Victor Steffensen was a birthday present from one of my daughters. I was aware of Steffensen's name and I might have even heard him speak on the radio about Indigenous fire management, and I suspect this 2020 book was the thing that brought him onto the national radar. 

Fire Country was the third book I've read in a row that argues for paying close attention to the land, this time our own country of Australia. Steffensen tells a wonderful story of how he was educated by two elders, who passed on their knowledge to him, and how he himself now shares that traditional knowledge in fire workshops, lectures and demonstrations. He makes a powerful argument for nuanced and careful management of Country; different kinds of vegetation demand different times for burning, and need to be judged individually, according to when the land and the plants hold the right amount of moisture to allow cool, limited burning. It makes a nonsense of holding 'controlled' fuel reduction burns on a set date of the year, or trying to burn off a huge area. 

It's clear that regular, cool, closely supervised burning was the traditional way that First Peoples kept Country healthy, and that we have allowed that careful management to lapse. It just makes so much sense to reintroduce traditional wisdom to what Steffensen describes, heart-breakingly, as 'sick' country -- scarred by the inferno of bushfire, overrun by weeds, choked by dead vegetation. And it's also heart-breaking to read about the pushback from white bureaucracy that Steffensen has had to battle along the way.

Fire Country, like Wild Hares & Hummingbirds and English Pastoral, asks us to reconnect with the land on which we live, to watch it closely and treat it with respect -- not leave it to its own devices, but help it achieve and maintain health, diversity and all kinds of flourishing life.
 

Ghost Bird

Look at that impressive array of award stickers! Lisa Fuller's Ghost Bird is her debut YA novel, and it's jam packed with creepy atmosphere, Aboriginal lore and fully rounded family drama. It's kind of a horror story: Stacey's twin sister Laney goes missing after a night out with some local tearaways. Is she being held hostage by the neighbourhood racists? Has she simply run away? Or is there a supernatural explanation, linked to the mountain where the elders have forbidden them to go?

Fuller switches effortlessly between Aboriginal English for the dialogue and standard English for the narrative. Stacey is realistically scarred by her experiences by the end of the book; things aren't wrapped up easily. There's a lot of back and forth between Stacey and her peers while they search for Laney, or try to gather information, and it sometimes felt like the wheels were spinning slightly. But Ghost Bird is a gripping and accomplished YA supernatural thriller, and it thoroughly deserves all the award stickers it's amassed. I really enjoyed it.