The songlines

This is an infuriating book. Partly a description of the aboriginal 'songlines' of the title - the tracks that exist partly in the physical world and partly in the orally transmitted culture of the aboriginal peoples themselves (though there is no one people called 'aborigines' - there are many tribes each with their own language, many languages extinct including Mbabaram which is mainly known only because their word for 'dog' is 'dog'). It is also, and primarily, a book about nomadism, about the way that as humans we are unable to stay put.

The Australian bit felt a bit like a comic excursion for two characters, one called Bruce who may or may not be Bruce Chatwin (and who meets another Bruce along the way. Cue Monty Python: Mind if we call you Bruce to avoid confusion?) and his mucker who is working for the railway company which wants to put a railway line through the desert and therefore through Aboriginal sacred sites. He doesn't get much out of the natives, who are understandably described as taciturn, not least I suspect because their culture is so all-encompassing that they can't really talk to white people other than at the most basic level because whites wouldn't understand most of it. This goes for the sacred songs, which are watered-down for westerners' consumption - which implies that BC didn't get the full story anyway? Besides, most of the book is about BC himself, who if not quite as annoying as some (while being quite capable of handling himself he does not go around swinging fists at people unlike certain male authors) does treat us to a pretty condescending look at Aussies both white and native - I got the impression that while he finds the Songlines and all that fascinating he doesn't actually like the Aborigines (although still very much opposed to their mistreatment). Also some of his references are suspect: he refers to Dasyurids as 'native cats' and suggests they're extinct. They're better known as Quolls and while some species are on the Endangered list they are not extinct.

this is significant. The second half or so of the book deviates from the story of the Songlines into a mishmash of his notes about nomadism and the origins of violence. His thesis is that violence among humans originates because we are no longer nomadic and therefore can't get away from one another - this makes sense, in most societies being a victim of violence mostly correlates with poverty, which leads to overcrowding and the inability to be alone or get away. His theory is that we learned to defend ourselves first, because not being armed with claws or sharp teeth we had to; that our violence is properly self-defence. He introduces a new variable to this equation, that of a big cat called Dinofelis ("Terrible cat") which supposedly specialised in preying on early humans, as hominid remains have been found exhibiting Dinofelis teeth marks. In all it's rather a hopeful theory as it suggests that our warlike ways are rooted in defending ourselves and one another rather than anything more sinister and if this has been warped it is by cynical (city-dwelling) demagogues. (although there is a slight contradiction given the violent reputation of nomads such as the Bedouin).

Away from that I am also fascinated by the restlessness in my own life - and the way that an area you know very well can be cut loose from time and achieve symbolic value because one's knowledge of it is spread across time. As though you could look at the buildings on the north side of Hammersmith Road and see the now-lost Cadby Hall; or the King's Theatre superimposed on whatever they're building there now. I think we have dangerously lost a sense of the past in our culture - to be 'old' is to be irrelevant rather than of value and we use phrases like 'you're history' to indicate something or someone is no longer of use. (this isn't true in other languages where for example in Italian the word for 'history' is 'la storia' which is also 'story'. Your history is your story. Tradition can be stifling but it can also give you a sense of who you are and make you less susceptible to those cynical demagogues - which is why they hate it.

This is an infuriating book. Partly a description of the aboriginal 'songlines' of the title - the tracks that exist partly in the physical world and partly in the orally transmitted culture of the aboriginal peoples themselves (though there is no one people called 'aborigines' - there are many tribes each with their own language, many languages extinct including Mbabaram which is mainly known only because their word for 'dog' is 'dog'). 

It is also, and primarily, a book about nomadism, about the way that as humans we are unable to stay put.  The Australian bit felt a bit like a comic excursion for two characters, one called Bruce who may or may not be Bruce Chatwin (and who meets another Bruce along the way. Cue Monty Python: Mind if we call you Bruce to avoid confusion?) and his mucker who is working for the railway company which wants to put a railway line through the desert and therefore through Aboriginal sacred sites. He doesn't get much out of the natives, who are understandably described as taciturn, not least I suspect because their culture is so all-encompassing that they can't really talk to white people other than at the most basic level because whites wouldn't understand most of it. This goes for the sacred songs, which are watered-down for westerners' consumption - which implies that BC didn't get the full story anyway?

Besides, most of the book is about BC himself, who if not quite as annoying as some (while being quite capable of handling himself he does not go around swinging fists at people unlike certain male authors) does treat us to a pretty condescending look at Aussies both white and native - I got the impression that while he finds the Songlines and all that fascinating he doesn't actually like the Aborigines (although still very much opposed to their mistreatment). Also some of his references are suspect: he refers to Dasyurids as 'native cats' and suggests they're extinct. They're better known as Quolls and while some species are on the Endangered list they are not extinct.  this is significant. The second half or so of the book deviates from the story of the Songlines into a mishmash of his notes about nomadism and the origins of violence. His thesis is that violence among humans originates because we are no longer nomadic and therefore can't get away from one another - this makes sense, in most societies being a victim of violence mostly correlates with poverty, which leads to overcrowding and the inability to be alone or get away. His theory is that we learned to defend ourselves first, because not being armed with claws or sharp teeth we had to; that our violence is properly self-defence. 

He introduces a new variable to this equation, that of a big cat called Dinofelis ("Terrible cat") which supposedly specialised in preying on early humans, as hominid remains have been found exhibiting Dinofelis teeth marks. In all it's rather a hopeful theory as it suggests that our warlike ways are rooted in defending ourselves and one another rather than anything more sinister and if this has been warped it is by cynical (city-dwelling) demagogues. (although there is a slight contradiction given the violent reputation of nomads such as the Bedouin).  

Away from that I am also fascinated by the restlessness in my own life - and the way that an area you know very well can be cut loose from time and achieve symbolic value because one's knowledge of it is spread across time. As though you could look at the buildings on the north side of Hammersmith Road and see the now-lost Cadby Hall; or the King's Theatre superimposed on whatever they're building there now. I think we have dangerously lost a sense of the past in our culture - to be 'old' is to be irrelevant rather than of value and we use phrases like 'you're history' to indicate something or someone is no longer of use. (this isn't true in other languages where for example in Italian the word for 'history' is 'la storia' which is also 'story'. Your history is your story. Tradition can be stifling but it can also give you a sense of who you are and make you less susceptible to those cynical demagogues - which is why they hate it.