Willowman

 

Another novel with a long queue of eager readers waiting for it at the library. And what a beautiful novel! It probably helps if you like cricket, particularly test cricket, but I do, so I don't know how well Willowman would work for someone who isn't interested in the game (though one reviewer on the ABC did say she wasn't into cricket at all, and she still loved it).

When my (then-future) husband and I worked at the record company, we distinguished ourselves by playing Ashes commentary on the radio rather than blasting the latest hits. I developed a romantic attachment to cricket as a teenager; my school didn't offer it as a sport as such, but a few of us used to take bat and ball up to the top field and muck around. Needless to say I had no skill at all, but I've always loved the way the long drama of the game unfolds; the individual duels between batter and bowler within the team battle; the leisurely pace that enables you to read a book while you're watching; the aesthetic appeal of white on green. I suspect Inga Simpson comes from a similar place of sentimental loyalty to the idea of the game; it's telling that she sets her story in the early 2000s, just before the current domination of the shortest form of the game, 20-20 (which I personally loathe).

Willowman tells a cricket story from both sides of the fence, from the point of view of an up and coming young batsman (sorry, batter) and from a devoted fan of the game, a lapsed musician and bat-maker. Their narratives intertwine, amplifying and reflecting each other. Women, so often obscured or omitted in a sport-centred story, also play an important part in the novel -- Olivia Harrow, Todd's sister, is just as accomplished a player as her brother, but faces a harder road as a woman player; Todd's partner rides the rollercoaster of selection and injury with him, as well as pursuing her own career goals; the bat-maker's daughter escapes a violent marriage and helps her father revive the family business by specialising in making bats for women. The novel features some real past players in cameo roles, but 'current' players are all fictional, allowing Simpson to include an openly gay member of the Australian team, something we have yet to see in reality.

Willowman is a beautifully written love letter to the most poetic of sports. Simpson acknowledges that the game is always evolving, but there is still a nostalgic feel to this book -- I hope Willowman doesn't prove to be an elegy.

Re-reading: The Cricket Term

Still re-reading my Antonia Forest collection, and The Cricket Term is one of my favourites of the lot, and one I re-read most often when I was in high school myself. Someone elsewhere has described it as a summery, joyous book, and that is certainly true. In some ways, it seems rambling and episodic, the term punctuated by the usual small dramas (Lawrie's difficulty in finding a way to play Ariel in The Tempest, Nicola's determination to win the Cricket Cup), along with some more serious matters (Nicola finds out that due to lack of family funds, she might have to leave Kingscote; there is a wholly unexpected death). Yet the overall atmosphere of the book is happy and triumphant, with several storylines that have played out over previous books being satisfactorily brought to conclusion. The Cricket Term almost reads like the last of the series -- except that there are two more books to come, the jarringly 'with-it' The Attic Term, in which Ginty features largely (not my favourite Marlow sister!), and the disappointing Run Away Home.

Even though I've read The Cricket Term so many times before, I was forcibly struck this time by the degree to which this novel is about luck. There are many references to superstitions, rituals, and bargains with the gods. Stuff Happens, for no apparent reason, and with no apparent bearing on the overall plot: Nicola hurts her hand, but it doesn't stop her playing in the all-important final match; the person who dies has been off-screen for the whole book, and we readers have forgotten about them such as much as the characters have. Ginty relies on her lucky clover for success in the Diving Cup, but it doesn't work. Nicola's team seem to have lucky breaks in the cricket matches -- flukey catches, unlikely run-outs -- but in fact, luck is with them because Nicola has trained them relentlessly to fly for every chance. And the final awarding of the scholarship is similarly flukey and surprising, the winners and losers unexpected yet somehow right.

And there is a striking contrast drawn between Nicola's hard-won stoicism, which enables her to handle her troubles and disappointments with grace and dignity, and the reactions of her arch-enemy, Games Captain Lois Sanger, whose self-deceiving, fundamentally dishonest approach to life leaves her ill-equipped to face the future that awaits her after school, as she steps out of the pages of this book and the series. It's a subtle lesson, but a valuable one.

I'm considering making this pleasurable re-read an annual event -- a treat for August, perhaps, which is always such a hectic, stressful month. Something to look forward to!

Cricket By Night

I love the Ashes (even when Australia is playing so badly). I especially love the Ashes when they're in England, because then I can lie in bed with the radio murmuring in my ear all night and listen to the sonorous (never excitable) BBC coverage, drifting in and out of sleep and rolling over occasionally to catch the score. Michael and I first bonded over cricket, so even though it doesn't sound like it, it's actually quite romantic for us to lie there listening to Test Match Special together in the darkness.

Like everyone else in Australia, I fell in love with Ashton Agar during his marvellous innings in the First Test. He's young and dashing and good-looking, and he played with such grace and joy. You could see it on his face that he was just loving every minute at the crease, so grateful and happy to be there that it didn't matter that he was making run after run, living out every child cricketer's dream and saving the match. He came in at no. 11! He nearly made a hundred!

And then came the Second Test, and we were hopeless again.

I'm not saying it's entirely because of Agar that I picked up Netherland, which has been patiently sitting beside my bed for quite a while. And I'm not even halfway through. But so far, I'm relishing this brooding story of a cricketing Dutchman (yes, they do play cricket in the Netherlands), living in New York in the months after 9/11, who discovers the shadowy but thriving community of cricket players in the land of baseball. Invisible to most of the population, these cricketers are West Indian and Indian and Pakistani, and on tiny, unsuitable grounds all around the city, they passionately pursue their sport, inhabiting an underground, parallel world. Apparently this novel is 'in conversation' with The Great Gatsby; another exploration of American myth through an unexpected lens.

I remember being surprised when Jo and Laurie played cricket in Little Women. It's weird and wonderful to think that the spirit of cricket is still alive in America. Even if, at the moment, it's struggling in Australia.