Home > 2010, 21st Century, Australian Literature, Highly Recommended, Novel, Orr Stephen > The Hands: an Australian Pastoral by Stephen Orr

The Hands: an Australian Pastoral by Stephen Orr

The Hands: an Australian Pastoral by Stephen Orr. (2015) Not available in French (yet)

My billet about Stephen Orr’s excellent novel, The Hands is long overdue. I should start with a summary of the plot but Stephen Orr sums it up better than me:

Bundeena was marginal country. It could carry cattle, sparsely. To Trevor, this was where Australia became desert, where man—following the east-west railway, before it seriously set its sights on the Nullarbor—had given up on agriculture. Most men, at least. Except for them: sixth-generation Beef Shorthorn producers who’d wrestled with the land for 130 years. This was country that hadn’t asked for farmers but had got them anyway. On the southern edge, the railway line, and to the north, nothing. They had neighbours to the east and west, but they might as well have been living in New Zealand.

Orr_HandsA perfect quote. We’re in Bundeena, Australia, with the Wilkies, an extended family who lives on a farm. Murray and his sister Fay. The next generation, Trevor and his wife Carelyn and Chris, Fay’s disabled son. And the next, Aiden and Harry, Trevor and Carelyn’s children. As you can guess from the quote, they raise cattle in a very isolated farm.

It’s becoming harder and harder to make a living off the farm. The region has been experiencing several years of severe drought. No water means no grass, which means no water and no food for the cattle, which means no fat cattle to sell and less money. Add to it the decrease of the price on the meat commodity market and you see that the Wilkies’ situation is grim.

But it’s a family business, the place where the family settled after emigrating from another country. They’d rather bleed on this land than go somewhere else. Trevor is not a fool. He’s well-aware of their predicament and torn about what to do:

Trevor Wilkie was at a dead-end. He could feel every gram, every tonne of the farm collapsing on top of him. Every steer, every cow, every calf. Every person: Murray, wheezing, distantly; Fay, clutching her perch; Aiden, who was still a long way from finding his path. And Harry, unsure what to think about anything. It was always going to come to this, he thought.

The Hands is also a remarkable novel about the difficulties to be a farmer. The Wilkies’ problems are set in Australia but in France too, it’s complicated to live from the land. It’s hard work and the market prices are so low that the farmers barely scrape by. In our Western world, we give more money to the people who take care of our money than to the ones who produce our food. What does it say about us and our values?

The Hands also gives an idea of life on a farm in the Australian outback. Orr describes perfectly the landscape:

Trevor studied the long, grey strip in front of them. He followed it half-way to the horizon before it was consumed by haze. By then it was blood red, pulsing and shifting across the desert. He could tell it was alive, held in place by nothing more than a million distance markers. There was saltbush and bluebush and dead shrubs that looked the same as the living ones; a rest-stop with a single bin, but nothing else, as if this too was some forgotten skeleton.

The farm is so isolated that it’s 600 kilometres away from the closest city. For a French, 600 kilometres is quite a distance. I live in Lyon. Within 600 kilometres, I’m still in France if I go West but North or East, I can be in Switzerland, in Italy, in Belgium or in Germany. It’s very difficult to imagine 600 kilometres of nothingness or to think that you can own a farm where you can be three hours from home and still be on your property. The Hands gives a vivid picture of all this and of the life in autarky it implies. I knew about the School of the Air.  And yes, it’s a famous Australian icon. Harry can’t believe his school is as famous as the Sydney Opera but it is. I wasn’t surprised about it but the novel shows how hard it is on the children. They have a corner in the house that is the “school corner”. They’re supposed to be in school when they’re in this corner but it is still a challenge to concentrate and it’s harder to make a link between what they learn and their daily life. And then, there’s health. In the following quote, Fay is ill and Trevor is on the phone with a nurse or a doctor:

Trevor found a pad and pen and asked, ‘What number’s that?’ ‘Sixty-two.’ ‘Sixty-two, three times a day, for seven days?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Okay, thanks.’ He hung up. Carelyn already had the medical kit out. She was sorting the ointments, dressings and plastic vials full of dozens of types of pills; checking the bold numerals designed to make sure no one gave the wrong medication. She found the pills: 62. ‘Right.’

They have a kit of medicine and the first step is self-medication with the help of an online physician. And then, in case of emergency, they have The Flying Doctors: ‘A heart attack,’ someone said. ‘The Flying Doctor’s gonna land on the road.’

And there’s the deadly climate. The heat is unbearable and murderous. People can get lost in the desert and die without crossing anyone’s path and get help.

But The Hands is more than a statement about life on a remote farm in a harsh climate. It is also a wonderful literary novel about a complicated and flawed family. Murray acts like a patriarch but he doesn’t have the personality that should go along with such a role. He carries the traditions and the painful past of the family around his neck like a dead albatross. He’s pigheaded and in his mind, there was no other career choice possible for Trevor than taking over the farm. And in Murray’s head, his grand-sons will continue the story. The problem is that Murray is toxic and dictatorial. He plays on guilt, he’s selfish and just plain mean. Aiden, who’s seventeen at that point, can see his flaws:

Aiden studied his grandfather’s arms, his neck, his grey sideburns, and thought, Yes, it’s all someone else’s fault, isn’t it? The word was with Murray and Murray was the word. Not for the first time, he could feel himself starting to hate his grandfather. There wasn’t much love or compassion in him. He was a sort of farmer shell, a hollow man full of regrets and knowledge and skills he couldn’t use any more, except as a sort of walking opinion that no one wanted to hear.

Sometimes, I wanted to strangle Murray for the path of destruction left by his actions and his biting words. He crushes Trevor’s self-confidence. He’s not helpful on the farm. He’s mean with his disabled nephew. He’s set in his ways and would rather crush his family than change his mind. The life in autarky exacerbates the relationships between the family members. Nobody has a place to breathe out and interact with other people. They are on each other’s backs all the time. The children grow up with no friends. The adults can’t go out and socialise. The elders don’t have contacts with people from their generation. It’s stifling. They can only find sometime alone in the nature surrounding the farm.

I’ve always wondered how it felt to grow up and feel obliged to take over the family business, to work with your parents, be it on a farm or in business. Do you manage to come out of your skin and have a work relationship and leave the parent-child one behind for a couple of hours? How do you not feel trapped by family expectations? In her excellent review, Lisa explores the relationships between men in rural areas. It is a fascinating and decerning way of analysing The Hands.

For French readers, sorry but The Hands is not available in French. Yet. But now it is listed for the Miles Franklin Literary Award. I hope Stephen Orr will win this prize because then there’s a better chance that this book gets translated.

And last but not least, I send a big thank you to Lisa for recommending The Hands to me when I asked about books set in Perth. Whispering Gums also reviewed it here, with a bonus post here.

31/10/2016: Here’s another review by Kim at Reading Matters

PS: Somewhere in the book it’s written: ‘In France they’re drinking at twelve,’ she said. ‘In France, children do what their parents tell them.’ Just to be sure that it’s clear for everyone, I want to set things straight: it’s a character speaking and it’s not true. Twelve-year-olds don’t drink in France.

  1. April 9, 2016 at 1:04 am

    I read this author’s One Boy Missing–a crime novel and liked it. I always hesitate when it comes to reading a ‘farm’ novel as the animals often don’t fare well.

    Like

    • April 9, 2016 at 1:27 pm

      There isn’t anything cruel done to the animals. The cruelty is more aimed at humans, in a mental form.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. April 9, 2016 at 1:07 am

    Hello Emma, thanks for the link back to mine.
    I’m so pleased you liked this novel, and yes, I am thrilled it has been nominated for the award, it’s such a great book. I think I have Stephen’s contact details somewhere, and I’m sure he’ll be delighted to see your reaction to his novel.

    Like

    • April 9, 2016 at 1:29 pm

      Hello Lisa,

      Thanks again for the recommendation and the link to your post.
      It’s a compelling story. It stayed with me. I didn’t much about the events of the book because I wanted to avoid spoilers. Even if he’s not perfect, I felt a lot of compassion for Trevor.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. April 9, 2016 at 1:29 am

    PS One of Stephen’s novels is available in French: It’s Time’s Long Ruin translated as Le temps n’efface rien (Presses de la Cite) see http://stephenorr.weebly.com/fiction.html

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  4. April 9, 2016 at 7:18 am

    Ha, liked your comment about in France children do not drink at age 12 – nor do they always do what their parents tell them, right?
    As a grandchild and niece of farmers, I’ve always been fascinated about this love/hate relationship with the land and the hard life of farmers, so this sounds like an interesting book to me from that perspective.

    Like

    • April 9, 2016 at 1:32 pm

      Of course, not. It wouldn’t be fun at all if they obeyed all the time.

      I have farmers in my in-law family and farmers in France have the same trouble as these ones in Australia. Something’s wrong in the commodity market.
      You’ll probably like this book.

      Like

  5. April 9, 2016 at 9:23 am

    What a lovely review Emma. I loved your looking at the sense of space and landscape here versus yours in France, but that you also saw the bigger more universally applicable story. I know exactly what you mean about wanting to strangle Murray.

    And your comment at the end about French children! Well said. Like Marina, I assume they don’t always do what they’re told either!?

    Like

    • April 9, 2016 at 1:35 pm

      Thanks.

      I tried to imagine the place by comparing it in my head with what I’ve seen in Utah or Colorado. But still, spaces like this aren’t European. That’s the beauty of literature. It makes you touch a bit of others’ reality.

      French children are children: they’d rather do what they please than what they’re told. 🙂

      Like

      • April 9, 2016 at 3:44 pm

        Oh, and I’ve been to Utah and Colorado and they are not bad comparisons for you. I think where the farm is would be flatter and not quite as beautiful and those places (or as other parts of central Australia) but imagining those would give you a good place to start.

        Like

        • April 11, 2016 at 12:54 pm

          Thanks. I imagined it with the same colours but flat like in Oklahoma.

          Like

  6. April 9, 2016 at 9:23 am

    Oh, and thanks for the links!

    Like

    • April 9, 2016 at 3:00 pm

      You’re welcome. Nice picture in the second one.

      Like

      • April 9, 2016 at 3:18 pm

        Thanks Emma, I took that last year. I love travelling in the outback.

        Like

        • April 13, 2016 at 8:58 pm

          It must be beautiful.
          And hot and full of bugs and insects -shudder- 🙂

          Like

          • April 14, 2016 at 12:05 am

            Haha Emma, I like the heat … And out there where it’s hot and dry, not so many bugs and insects. I’m going outback again in a few weeks, so will try to take specific notes though to be sure!

            Like

            • April 17, 2016 at 9:39 pm

              I hope you’ll post some pictures.

              Like

              • April 17, 2016 at 11:16 pm

                I will try to do a travel post or two Emma.

                Like

  7. April 11, 2016 at 9:09 am

    Great review, Emma. It gives a really good sense of the book. Your comments reminded me a little of a book read a few years ago: Plainsong by Kent Haruf – the first book in a trilogy set in Colorado, but it can be read as a standalone work. I don’t know if you’ve read it, but it touches on the relationship between men and the land. It’s an excellent novel.

    Like

    • April 11, 2016 at 12:55 pm

      I’ve never heard of Plainsong. I’ll look for it.

      Like

      • April 11, 2016 at 1:25 pm

        I read it pre-blog, but there are reviews around and about. I’ve a feeling that Lisa may have reviewed it at some point (although I may have misremembered that).

        Like

        • April 13, 2016 at 8:59 pm

          thanks, I’ll look for reviews.

          Like

  8. April 12, 2016 at 1:54 pm

    I think there’s reviews of Plainsong and several other Kent Haruf’s at mookseandthegripes and possibly kevinfromcanada.

    This sounds very good, albeit rather bleak. I remember hearing how historically a car breakdown could be a death sentence in rural Australia. Nobody around for hundreds of kilometres. You could die of exposure long before anybody noticed you were missing.

    It raises the question of why anyone would live in such a place, but of course the answer is the same as it is for most places people wouldn’t choose to live. You don’t choose, you get born there.

    Was it Lisa’s post/recommendation that got you reading this then?

    Like

    • April 13, 2016 at 9:09 pm

      It is a bit bleak but still full of hope.
      I suppose you could still die there if your phone battery were dead on top of the car’s breakdown.

      The internet must have changed a lot of things for these isolate place. It’s a link to the outside world. Think of the classes you can take, films you can see, music you have access to. It must have been a revolution.

      Your question is valid.
      Yes, you don’t get to choose where you were born.
      But the first settlers copied their way of life from their home country in a totally different climat. Is it reasonable to raise that type of cattle in this area? I’m not sure.

      Dan O’Brien explains it very well in Buffalo for the Broken Heart. He explains how he turned his ranch from raising cows to raising buffalos. Buffalo are equipped to live through winter in South Dakota. They can “drink” snow. For cows, a man needs to go, break the ice and make sure they have liquid water everyday. The cows have a hard time surviving in this cold climate.

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    • April 14, 2016 at 1:22 am

      Yes, Max, you can die and people still do. It’s rare, but if you break down, have little water AND, worst, leave your car – which people, more often foreigners, sometimes do – you can be in big trouble. A phone won’t work in really remote areas. You need to stay with your car because chances are, eventually, another car will pass or someone will know you are missing and come looking for you. So, if you ever come to Australia, STAY WITH YOUR CAR!

      Like

      • April 17, 2016 at 9:39 pm

        Terrible perspective and good to know you’re safer by your car.

        Liked by 1 person

  1. April 9, 2016 at 1:29 am
  2. April 10, 2016 at 2:23 am
  3. November 1, 2016 at 12:18 am
  4. November 5, 2016 at 10:26 am
  5. November 29, 2016 at 1:13 am
  6. January 7, 2017 at 7:13 pm
  7. August 13, 2017 at 8:23 am

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