This morning at 10am, I found myself at the end of a thoroughly pleasant book of short pieces written by Gerald Murnane called Invisible Yet Enduring Lilacs. I’ve written about him before, but that was before this latest, and most revealing work to date – some transcripts of talks, and articles from the late 80’s till now. Despite what he says, I have always considered his work to be autobiographical, and this book was even more so. It seems he is preparing to depart the world of writing for good in his mid 60’s and this book is his way of clearing out the little pieces that he hadn’t got round to publishing before, so in parts it reads like a valedictory speech. He makes dramatic statements about the way he goes about writing (manual typewriter, 1 finger only,many many redrafts), and the way he has limited his physical life so that he could continue to write about his internal life (never owned a TV, never flown on a plane, can’t swim, no visits to museums/galleries). I found myself wondering whether these are deliberate sacrifices he has willingly made for his art, or the confines of a person scared to try something new, or so comfortable with the familiar that even curiosity has been banished for fear it will spoil the party.
I forgot to mention – the man is obsessed with the Hungarian language nowdays also. I admire Gerald Murnane a great deal, and I identify with his stories because there are parallels with my own, having both been brought up as strict Catholics and living very near each other in the northern suburbs. Sometimes the repetitive overlapping nature of his sentences start to drive me batty, but most of the time his themes, honesty and candour are highly intoxicating to me. I give this 4.5 stars for all the new things I learnt about his life and his teaching methods. If this is supposedly his second last book – what could the last possibly reveal?