Richard Flanagan

Goodbye Old Cobber

His father’s experience as a war prisoner was a long shadow over the life of Richard Flanagan, and has affected him both as a novelist, and as a son. Flanagan is an Australian Hemingway with an impressive body of work and an iconic style that makes his novels life.

“I was born in Longford where my great-great grandfather settled in 1849. My family was rooted in that Northern Tasmanian peasantry, with its own rich folk culture” Flanagan said. The fifth of the sixth’s children, he spent his childhood in the mining town of Rosebery. He then left school at the age of 16 for a desire to be a carpenter, but it was the years between leaving school and wining Rhode’s Scholarship that profoundly shaped his thoughts.  Back from Oxford, he worked in various menial jobs, as a labourer, or as a river guide, by day and wrote at night. Flanagan first novel, --The Death of a River Guide, -- relives not just his own life but that of his family and forebears. The book was described by times literary supplement “one of the most auspicious debuts in Australian writings.”

His second novel, --The Sound of One Hand Clapping, -- was an exposition of the post-war migrant experience in his home State. Grown up among migrants, “I even married one,” he said in his interview with Murray Waldren. The novel was adapted for a film that was nominated for Golden Bear in Berlin film festival. 17 years after in 2014, Flanagan still lives with Majda, his Slovenian-born wife after 30 years of marriage.

In an interview with ABC radio Flanagan explained how close he was with his father, -- Archibald Henry (Arch), -- a Lance Corporal in the Australian army and a POW who worked as a slave labourer on the Thai-Burma Railway.  The day Richard finished his sixth Novel, --The Narrow Road to the Deep North, -- Arch died at the age of 98.  The Novel won in 2014 the Man Booker Prize; ‘a master piece’ as praised by Guardian, and a book Richard was born to write to honour his father. And yes, he did honour him and set him free. The story is a romance of war, hope and love, from the self-doubt and uncertainty of youth to the self-doubt and regrets of old age.

As a Journalist his pen was to defend the environment of his homestead. “Flanagan is thoughtful, far-visioned and compassionate intellect,” former Green leader Bob Brown said.

Flanagan had collaborated with Baz Luhrmann on the script of the movie 'Australia', to share his passion for the land and the people of his country.

Flanagan said “novels are life, or they are nothing.” And we have seen how close his novels are to his life, even if he said “Writing is journey to humility,” but on the same journey we can hear the sound of many hands clapping. Clapping for him.
Michael V

Finally Free

Finally free and I left work late, starving. The blog I had read in that day was still in my head, so I headed to Martin Place. Cold and wintry, I saw a different Sydney where people were queuing in front of a van distributing free food. Will you dare? John, -my boss, - said when I told him I will get there in business dress.

I joined, noticing no one noticed me, even that red tie -too stiff around my neck- didn’t do much, so I didn’t bother to take it off.  Seventeen people were in front of me and soon after few in the back.

An old man was served, hardly visible, and his dog, a Labrador – older than him- lying down next to him. Dog’s tongue out, watering as watching the old man’s plate- steaming,- with a hope he would look at him, and share, but he didn’t. He was blind.

In front of me, a tall man standing, like the status of freedom, no music, or headset, not even a book to read, just looking straight and leaning a bit forward, waiting. His left foot was at least thirty centimetres in front of his right one. His hair was grey, mostly bald, cut unevenly and short. His entire attention was on the people being served. His head was turning to his left; slow but steady and when it couldn’t go any further, he would reset it to the centre, very fast, like in a circus, before continuing his game again.

As we progressed in the queue, his right foot overtook his left one, but soon after, the left did accelerate and stayed firm in front position, exactly where it was before, ready for the next challenge! His robotic moves were similar to Rob Williams play in Bicentennial Man, with a bit of action, stress and laughter.

What time is it? I asked him. He panicked, but after a while that felt an eternity, he kind of shouted time? And I nodded. He smiled and started to search in his pockets for something, till finally a very small mobile phone showed up in his big hand. Bet the phone is off, I thought and bet I was right. Nine, then after a pause, five three, said he. Another smile before I asked him how’s the food here? He said good, and after a pause with a hysteric tone that was loud, but not shout, Hilton food. No one cared for what he said, even the man in the van with an H logo didn’t.

The silence around was colder than the night, like we were all haunted in a camp of Gestapo. A young woman was served next with brown boots, reddish pants and a big old black leather bag. The tall man said she, my friend and I nodded again, like Noddy in Toy Town. He then said she, church too, and I got confused, then I felt thirsty, without any sign of drink. I couldn’t bother to look more and asked the tall man what about drink? He laughed, as he is the expert, his lips -very close to each other, - were a bit shaking or perhaps, he was trembling. His look mesmerised one day they give $7, is lunch, is breakfast, is, is ... is all. Diner here free. I, refugee, church money, no drink.  And he was saying the last words, fast and funny as end of a marathon, with a pitch as high as the end of Vivaldi's four seasons.

Queue moved forward. Now it was his turn to be served. My eyes stared at the heraldic building of Chanel 7.

Michael V

Highways to nowhere: An interview with taxi driver Carlo...

It was still dark when the phone rang, and I knew he was here to pick me up.
In his cab, with lights blinking, we spoke over the noise of the radio, Carlo busy, but calm as usual. His confidence and courtesy always gives the impression of being with an airline captain, as you start your flight.
But his journey is to the highways, I love early mornings, I feel I’m doing something, being with people to kick-start their day is an incredible feeling, and everyone seems to have a story to tell; either they are businessmen, Journalists or travellers.
On the roads, Carlo has been driving taxis for quarter of a century, I’ve started in 1989, a year after I came from Iran. To answer the question if Carlo is a typical Iranian name, he paused, and then turned his radio off, no, but I’m a fan of Carlo Ponti. In my twenties, people would tell me, I look like him. Ponti made great movies like Dr Zhivago. He married my favourite actress Sofia Loren, what a perfect match.
Carlo still have interesting viewpoints and suggestion on how to improve- Cinema Australia, but to answer if he did move here for his love of Australiana movies, not for the movies! We have had worries for our children to live in a place that is in trouble forever. In only 10 years we have had revolution, war, and millions of dead.
It did take Carlo and his family a while to have a migration plan. It wasn’t easy. We had to sell our home, leave our jobs, and say good bye to our families. I still miss the life we had and my wife feels the same, but..., Carlo said, then for a while, said nothing.
Later Carlo said he was a landscape architect back to Iran, but couldn’t find a job here in Australia, as he had to study further with no guarantee this can help.
But as life has continued, the reality starts, our savings were down. Having family, children and bills to pay was not that easy. One day my neighbour in Campbelltown introduced me to a taxi company. It has been a flexible job and suits me most as I need to share some responsibilities with my wife, said he.
For Carlo some days are legit but some days are stressful, traffic is killing me, he laughed, but I can handle it. Some people are boring and if the trip is long, I feel sad and lonely.
How do you cope with this feeling?  I said.
I’ll call my wife and she would always say ‘finish your work and come home grand pa!’
In his 58, he now lives with his wife in a small unit not far from their grown up children. They know we did the best we could for them and they are happy. My daughter is married and has two children she loves, and my son is a university lecturer and happily married too, they have two beautiful little girls.
Carlo’s social life is limited and dedicated to his family and limited friends. He still enjoys gathering with them at home, in a park or at a Persian restaurant, I only drink VB, this is the best beer in the world.
When I asked Carlo about his regrets, Ah may be, but when I go home and watch another Sir Ponti’s
 movie with my wife, I am a different man from the one who is lost in the highways 
Michael V