Sorry in advance – The Shepherd’s Hut by Tim Winton is one of those books that I can’t say much about, for fear of spoilers.
It’s the story of teenager, Jaxie Clackton. Jaxie’s mum died and his relationship with his dad is violent.
…when everyone went home after the funeral and I finished putting all them casseroles in the freezer I stood in the lounge in my good duds and the Captain sat out on the back patio drinking homebrew and rum. Arm over arm. Neither one of us said nothing. We both knew there was never gunna be anything good again.
Jaxie decides to leave, taking off across the vast saltlands of Western Australia. There he meets Fintan MacGillis, an old Irishman, on his own for very different reasons than Jaxie. What happens next changes both their lives.
Winton’s use of vernacular for the voice of Jaxie is one of the most impressive and memorable I’ve read (the last outstanding example would be Gillian Mears’s Foal’s Bread). Jaxie’s voice is relentless, hard, and crude. And the fact that Jaxie’s internal dialogue is just as harsh as what he says aloud, enables Winton to create the tiniest chink of empathy for what is a fairly unlikable character – we know that this is a boy who has not heard many kind or loving words.
When I think of Mum now I try to remember her before she got sick. I see her out at the clothesline. Just before a summer storm… The sky was black and the paddocks the colour of bread. And the wind was up before the rain come in and Mum still had her real hair that was flying behind her. I come out on the back step …. and I run over there in me bare feet to help. But I forgot about all the prickles and bindies and doublegees so pretty soon I was hopping around like a dancing poof and we’re both of us laughing.
And I’m happy. When she reaches out for me to keep me from falling over I feel like it’s my birthday and not even the bruises up her arms can ruin it.
As always with Winton, the landscape gets top billing – this time he writes about heat, dust, salt lakes, rubble and rotting animal carcasses. And as always, I’m amazed at how he manages to put words around things that are so familiar, in a way that reads as new and inspired.
On a big moon it looked like that lake was full of water instead of dry salt. It looked like a different country that thing, a whole nother continent. Went as far as you could see, this empty white space.
There’s so much I want to say about the ending – it ties in with all of the themes about listening and being heard, that I enjoyed at Melbourne Writers Festival this year – but I’ll have to save it for discussions with people who have read the book. Instead, I’ll marvel at Winton’s ability to write about complex emotions in what seems a simple way. And, that in the final scene, Winton managed to pull the subtext together, resulting in a stunning climax that exposed big themes and even bigger emotions – loyalty, vindication, trust, and unconditional care. A thrilling end that reverberated with me for days.
4/5 The last 30 pages moved it from a 3/5 to a 4/5. Gripping.
He bit on his damper and et it like an old geezer will, like his teeth and gums were sore, like he was trying to chew sand and ball bearings. And there was something went out of his eyes. I couldn’t tell if he was relieved to hear nobody sent me or if it was the worst news of his life.