An Australian graduate student is torn between a life of the mind and the difficult realities of living as an immigrant and a woman in 1980s Melbourne.
The narrator of de Kretser’s seventh novel arrives as a master’s degree student in Melbourne to write a thesis on the late novels of Virginia Woolf. It’s 1986 and Big Theory is king at universities across the globe. The narrator’s advisor, a feminist scholar, gives her a reading list rampant with Derrida and Foucault and sets her to work. Ideas aren’t the only things weaving their tentacles through the narrator’s life. She embarks on a fraught love affair with Kit, an engineering student who is decidedly not single, though she sometimes wonders if her silent rivalry with Kit’s girlfriend, Olivia, is at the root of her obsession. (In bed with Kit, she thinks, “Olivia and I were exchanging messages about possession and power. Kit was only the paper on which we were writing to each other.”) The narrator also exists in an uneasy limbo with her mother, her only living parent, who remains back home in Sydney, having emigrated from Sri Lanka with the narrator and her late father in the early 1970s. And then there’s the “Woolfmother” herself, hanging in poster form on the narrator’s walls, and with whom the narrator’s relationship is permanently altered upon reading a racist passage in Woolf’s diaries during her research. The narrator’s strained relationships with these women cause her shame, complicating her sense of what feminism should be. This restless, searching novel asks: Can any theory ever encompass the messy complexity of human emotion? De Kretser continues to shapeshift formally with each novel, but offers her characteristic blend of moral clarity, bite, and sumptuous style.
A ferociously intelligent novel from a writer at the height of her powers.