Review: (and so forth) by Robert Dessaix
Ann Skea
Author: Robert Dessaix
Publisher: Macmillan (October 1998)
ISBN: 0 7329 0943 0
Price: A$29.95 (hardback) 432 pages
Reviewed by Ann Skea
Do you remember the little girl who had a little curl right in the middle of
her forehead? Robert Dessaix reminds me of her: when he is good he's very,
very good, and when he's bad he's..., well, you know.... But that's not quite
fair, because often Dessaix's horrid stuff is just something I disagree with
him about and want to argue over. And one of the best things about his
writing is that it invites argument and debate. He has strong views; he
doesn't mince his words; and he's not afraid to tackle sacred cows (or bulls,
as the case may be).
There are things in the book, though, which I do not like at all and which I
think do Dessaix a disservice. It is a pity, for example, that the book
begins with a selection of his short stories. If you want to read Dessaix in
his best fictional mode, forget these and read _Night Letters_ instead, it is
infinitely better. Otherwise, if you have spent long years, as I have,
reading books from front to back (post-modernists may not have this problem)
you may well abandon this book before you get to the best bits.
I found, 'His Neighbour's Ox', for example, so larded with male sexual
imagery that I ended up thinking the whole story distasteful when my aversion
should have been only to the central character. On the other hand, Dessaix's
'disquisitions' (I hope I pronounced this with my lip sardonically curled to
his satisfaction) are entertaining, thought-provoking and full of
delightfully barbed wit. I particularly enjoyed 'Anna Karenina', probably
because Dessaix, who has had a long love affair with Russian language,
literature and life, knows what he is writing about better than most, and is
not afraid to wear his heart on his sleeve.
In 'Tea With Matisse', too, Dessaix's very personal account of an experience
in the Australian outback is curious and puzzling. I'm still not sure that I
understand it, but that, I think, is the point he is trying to make: you
really have to go there yourself to even begin to understand how alien the
Australian interior is to a Western consciousness, and how different is the
Aboriginal peoples' perception of it. Dessaix discusses two Aboriginal
paintings and the complex process of their production. Both paintings are
reproduced in the book by permission of the artist and the Warburton
Community.
Dessaix's views on Western art are no less interesting, and he makes no
pretence to impersonal analysis. What he sees in an Emanuel de Witte Dutch
interior, or in a modern painting of a suburban family in a car, or seated
outside a suburban Australian home, grows from his own childhood experiences.
We may share some, or none, of his perceptions but he gives us an intriguing
example of the sort of reactions and emotions a painting can stir in a
viewer.
Dessaix's first published writing was a book review, and he tells us that
this is still a genre which he enjoys and takes seriously. His approach is
still not impersonal. In fact, in one disquisition in this book he advises
would-be reviewers to be as personal and as non-authoritarian as possible.
However, only a man who is himself HIV positive might feel able to take
Harold Brodkey** to task for lack of humour in writing about his own death,
as Dessaix does. {**Brodkey, _the Wild Darkness: the story of my Death_,
Fourth Estate]
And, as Professor Sod's law decrees, no sooner has Dessaix authoritatively
advised us that "authoritarian writing" is "language which totally
disempowers us" and that we should "avoid clichés, set expressions and
specialist jargon", than he launches into a discussion on sex and gender
which is replete with terms like 'gender neurosis', 'scientific discourse',
'canonical text' and 'post-modernism', and with telling reference to such
authorities as Derrida, Said, Foucault and Baudrillard. No matter that he is
making some interesting and controversial points, as soon as modernism,
post-modernism and discourse enter the discussion, I, who grew up in a
Leavisite age, in spite of reading all the right 'texts', feel immediately
insecure and ignorant. Which proves Dessaix's point about authoritarian
writing remarkably well.
As you can tell, Robert Dessaix's writing is not for people who want a quiet
uncontroversial read. His home territory may be Australia, and some of his
references and jokes will be puzzling to people who do not know, for example,
that Sydneysiders and Melbournians have traditionally sparred with each other
over which is the best city in which to live (Sydney is, of course!), but you
don't need to live in Australia to have opinions on gender, sex, colonialism,
orientalism, pornography and art. Dessaix touches on all these topics, and
more. And I suspect that he won't be a bit disturbed if, having read this
book, you think he's horrid at times, too.
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Copyright © Ann Skea 1998
http://www.zeta.org.au/~annskea/
Standard disclaimers apply.
For permission to reproduce this text in any form contact Dr Ann Skea.