Coonardoo

by Katharine Susannah Prichard

Coonardoo is the moving story of a young Aboriginal woman trained form childhood to be the housekeeper at Wytaliba station and, as such, destined to look after its owner, Hugh Watt. The love between Coonardoo and Hugh, which so shocked its readers when the book was first published in 1929, is never acknowledged and so, degraded and twisted in on itself, destroys not only Coonardoo, but also a community that was once peaceful.

Daring for its time, this tough, uncompromising novel still raises difficult questions about the history of contact between blacks and whites, and its representation in Australian writing.

Genres: Australia, Fiction, Historical Fiction, Classics, 20th Century, Novels, Literature

250 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1929

About the author

Katharine Susannah Prichard was born in Levuka, Fiji in 1883, and spent her childhood in Launceston, Tasmania, before moving to Melbourne, where she won a scholarship to South Melbourne College. Her father, Tom Prichard, was editor of the Melbourne Sun newspaper. She worked as a governess and journalist in Victoria then travelled to England in 1908. Her first novel, The Pioneers (1915), won the Hodder & Stoughton All Empire Literature Prize. After her return to Australia, the romance Windlestraws and her first novel of a mining community, Black Opal were published.

Prichard moved with her husband, war hero Hugo "Jim" Throssell, VC, to Greenmount, Western Australia, in 1920 and lived at 11 Old York Road for much of the rest of her life. She wrote most of her novels and stories in a self-contained weatherboard workroom near the house. In her personal life she always referred to herself as Mrs Hugo Throssell. She had one son, Ric Throssell, later a diplomat and writer.

Reviews

[Jessica · Rating 2 out of 5]

This is an intensely unpleasant book to read, but there's lots to talk about regarding it, so bare with me.

So, I came across this book because I realised I knew almost nothing about Australian literature, and my mum agreed that it was pretty obscure before crying, "Oh! But you know, at the start of the twentieth century there was a whole bunch of socialist women writers, Marxists, feminists, I think you'd really like them." She gave me an old textbook of hers that outlined some of these writers, and Katharine Susannah Prichard was one. The critic writing the textbook really didn't like her work, describing it as ruined by her "crude Marxism" (in later years she actually supported the Soviet Union's repression of artists and writers, so I could see how her crude Stalinism might sully her work), but he conceded that Coonardoo was a classic.

It was first published as a serial in The Bulletin in 1928, and was extremely controversial because (by the standards of the day) it humanised Aboriginal people, rather than conforming to the prevailing idea that they were pests to be more or less exterminated. As a result, Prichard (who was white, I should make clear) had trouble getting the book published with publishers recognising that while such a controversial book would make them a tidy profit, it'd offend so many comfortably racist white people that they were uneasy about it. Evidently the book was published, though.

This is more or less what I gleaned before reading the novel, and since I was coming it at with that background, it was really disappointing.

Perhaps it was anti-racist for 1928, but by modern standards it really isn't. In Prichard's own introduction to the book, she echoes Engels in probably the most problematic things he ever said, describing Aboriginal people as primitive, unevolved versions of Europeans. She's clearly sympathetic to them, but that doesn't excuse the way she writes them, as "noble savages". At some points, she even outright refers to them as animals, for instance describing Coonardoo's eyes as "the bright beautiful eyes of a wild animal in their thick yellowy whites". It's not exactly that she's ignorant, either – the book demonstrates that she was familiar with the language Aboriginal people in the area spoke, as well as with their traditions, spiritual beliefs and so on (I can't vouch for how complete her understanding is though, only that she knew a lot and made use of it). It's that she's more of an ethnographer, trying to show off this "exotic" type of human – objectifying them, not treating them as subjects. This made me uncomfortable throughout the book.

Despite being the titular character, Coonardoo isn't really the main character of the book; that would be Hugh Watt, the white man who owns this cattle station, Wytaliba. And despite the blurb describing their relationship as one of "love", it isn't. For Hugh, he (and his mother before him) are disgusted by the sexual exploitation of black women by white men, and he's determined not to be like that, but he becomes so fucking possessive over Coonardoo anyway that he does something far worse. Even if he didn't, possessiveness is not love. As for Coonardoo, her characterisation is so awkward it's hard to know what to say. She seems to objectify herself; she's been raised from childhood to be a faithful, unpaid servant, and she is. She looks after Hugh, dotes on him, allows him to have sex with her when his mother's death leaves him deeply depressed. Later in the novel, he "claims her as his woman" (i.e. asks her to sleep in the house) so that Sam Geary (owner of a neighbouring cattle station, who represents the sexually exploitative white man the Watts despise) won't get her, and she's bewildered – and, it's later revealed, hurt – that he won't have sex with her the way that men do with "their" women. This is awkwardly written, though; she spends more time "confused" than she does visibly upset about it. From the little we get her thoughts, her concerns are always how best to serve Hugh, and I don't see this as "being in love"; this is submitting to her servitude.

To the extent that they have a relationship, it is totally that of dominator and dominated. I don't think a relationship between a white cattle station owner and his Aboriginal domestic servant could be anything else. They're so unequal (and don't even speak to each other all that much) that you could never call this a love story; a story of a dark and twisted one-time sexual relationship, perhaps.

The ending of the novel is the worst part of it. Sam Geary, who's been lusting after Coonardoo all novel long, turns up at Wytaliba unannounced and rapes her. Once Hugh finds out, he beats Coonardoo to a pulp and throws her into the campfire, because apparently she betrayed him by getting raped. He then expels her from "his property", and she stays away – not because she thinks it's a good idea to avoid Hugh if this is how he'll treat her, but because she wants to follow his wishes, as she's always done. This part of the book talks about how she doesn't understand how she displeased him, and that kind of thing – she blames herself, just as he blames her. It's distressing.

I do think that Prichard did a good job with the characterisation of the white people, particularly the white women. Some of them were extremely unlikeable, but their characters made sense (with the possible exception of Hugh). They were also, for the most part, very different from one another (which, for instance, the Aboriginal characters were not, although they did at least have proper names). The novel depicts a whole range of different types of racism that white Australians in the early twentieth century could be instilled with. It also depicts a lot of different kinds of women, from working-class women who betray their roots and become obnoxious wealthy socialites, to women who want to escape being stifled by bourgeois expectations and be free. The parts of the book that focus on these themes are much less uncomfortable.

So, to wrap up this lengthy review… this book is very much a product of the time and place it was written in. Prichard may have been progressive for that context, but for ours, this book is a painful read. I couldn't say I recommend it, but if you have particular interests that this aligns with, then go for it.

[Julian Leatherdale · Rating 5 out of 5]

Having read Barnard-Eldershaw's Tomorrow and Tomorrow earlier this year, it was just a matter of time before I got round to reading Katharine Susannah Prichard's 'Coonardoo'. Serialised in the Bulletin in 1928, this controversial novel shared the inaugural Bulletin Prize with T&T in 1929. According to the introductory essay by Drusilla Modjeska, KSP was sojourning in the Kimberley in 1926 to finish her novel Haxby's Circus when she came into contact with Aboriginal Australia in the North-West and what would become an important source for her writing.

It is a remarkably brave and honest novel not just for its time but still proves confronting and heartbreaking reading even today. Modjeska's essay reminds us that there had been a reprisal massacre at Onmalmeri in the Kimberley in 1926 and another at Coniston in 1928. The highly detailed and utterly convincing naturalism of the writing about life and work on a cattle station makes a persuasive context for KSP's revelations about relations between the white settlers and the indigenous population in the Kimberley largely unknown to most Australians. The beauty of the writing (particularly KSP's descriptions of landscape, weather, light and skies) is also irresistibly seductive and vivid.

What is striking about this novel is the clear-eyed and yet nuanced view of those relations. In the novel, the owners of Wytaliba, Mrs Bessie Watt and later her son Hugh, use the unique skills of Coonardoo's people in exchange for provisions (and to some extent protection) while they live and work on their country and practice their traditional ceremonies. Coonardoo is Hugh's childhood playmate, educated to read and write like him, but promised as a wife to Warialda, the best horse-breaker in the North-West, a vital asset to the cattle station.

Coonardo virtually runs many aspects of station life after Mrs Watt dies, being more suited to the rigours of the country than the fragile and selfish women Hugh brings to Wytaliba as wives. In contrast, their neighbour Sam Geary exploits Aboriginal women for sexual pleasure without giving them any respect or status; the story becomes in effect a contest between Hugh and Sam's view of black-white relations as Geary plans to buy up Wytaliba (and erase the limited tolerance it represents).

While Geary's callous exploitation of 'gins' is widespread and cruel (with 'black pearls' servicing pearl lugger crews along the coast), the most shocking - and controversial - aspect of this story is Coonardo's love for Hugh and his for her. This love can never be publicly acknowledged and it is the shame of their secret that becomes the wellspring of the tragic story that follows. Sure, KSP's conceptions of aboriginality are cringe-worthy today (with shades of 'noble savage' romanticism crossed with what we would now describe as a deeply racial notion of primitivism) but Coonardo still stands as an important step in white writers' exposure of injustices against indigenous people. The end of this story has a sense of crushing brutality and tragic inevitability that reminded me of Tess of the D'Urbervilles.

Despite these shortcomings, there is no doubt that KSP is one of our greatest writers and I look forward to becoming acquainted with her body of work.

[Jane · Rating 4 out of 5]

I'm a little obsessed with novels about white/Aboriginal interactions, so this didn't disappoint. Some of the writing is shockingly graphic for 1929, and the descriptions are crisp and tactile. The plot is a little meandering and changes pace dramatically for no apparent reason, but the characters are solid.

[Sammy Mylan · Rating 3 out of 5]

it’s very very sad and very very racist. even though the content of Coonardoo was revolutionary/forward-thinking in 1929, it’s a product of it’s time and hard to stomach in 2022

[Jasmin Jane · Rating 5 out of 5]

Of course, if published in present day Australia, this book would cause public outrage for its animalistic representation of Indigenous Australians. However, considering its time of publication, this book speaks leaps and bounds ahead of its time. The nature of the story is obviously not light-hearted, and it definitely maintains some consistent undertones throughout the novel of a kind of "downward spiral" which Hugh eventually endeavours upon.

On the note of language and description, Prichard is an artist! Her description of Australian landscapes, people, and culture resonates even in present time, and it's truly just beautiful to read.

Overall, a 5/5.

[Sammy · Rating 3 out of 5]

The other reviews on here speak to the complexity of this work. Written by an avowed socialist, and one of the first Australian novels to treat our Indigenous people as human individuals, not to mention a stunningly sexual and honest work for its time, and a work that continues a strong trend of complex female characters in Aussie literature, Coonardoo is - to my mind - still an important part of Australia's literary history. To think only 30 years earlier the idea of "serious literature" in the country was a laugh, and the only true poignancy came from the (admittedly fantastic) stories of Steele Rudd and Henry Lawson.

At the same time, this book is incredibly challenging 90 years after its publication. In retrospect the approach to Aboriginal life is, as others have said, "animalistic". Pritchard was looking through colonial eyes, perhaps inevitably. The gender politics are also uncomfortable now, and the power dynamics unsettling. Anyway, that's all been said elsewhere in some lovely reviews by Goodreads folk. Coonardoo was a trailblazer for its time, and that's probably what remains important about it.

[Elizabeth Khutashvili · Rating 3 out of 5]

ვფიქრობ, ავტორის ჩანაფიქრი გამართლდა - მოეთხრო მარტივი ამბავი კარგად დალაგებული, თანმიმდევრული ისტორიის ხაზით. მიუხედავად იმისა რომ წიგნი თხელტანიანია, პრიჩარდი ახერხებს თითოეული პერსონაჟის სახასიათო სახე შექმნას და ამავდროულად დინამიური თხრობის სტილიც შეინარჩუნოს. მოკლედ, მშვენივრად გამოგზაურებთ ეს წიგნი ავსტრალიაში და ძალიან შაბლონური, მაგრამ კარგად შეკოწიწებული ისტორიის დახმარებით შეძლებთ კიდევ ერთხელ ჩაიხედოთ თეთრკანიანთა და აბორიგენთა ცხოვრებაში.

[Juliette · Rating 2 out of 5]

what was this 😃. some parts of this book made me extremely uncomfortable. it was vaguely interesting so props to the English department, it doesn't happen often. this didn't feel like a love story so don't be fooled. if it was it reminded me of "normal people" and that's not a good thing.

Coonardoo being thrown into the fire...EXCUSE ME???? THAT WAS SO MESSED UP. I felt extremely disturbed and distressed reading that. would not recommend

[Andrew · Rating 4 out of 5]

In 1983 I was set 'Coonardoo' as a 2 Unit HSC English text, and from what I can recall from my first reading of it, I was not that receptive to its qualities, its place in the pantheon of Australian literature, or perhaps most importantly the Aboriginal 'voice' that it tries to emphasize. Yes, it is a book written by a white Australian woman, and white Australian characters, perceptions, attitudes dominate. Yet it was the first book I have read that tried to give some kind of emphasis to the huge problems white Australia has when it comes to dealing with those who were dispossessed, and now, on my second reading I'm now far more capable of understanding its place and purpose in our national cultural dialogue between the colonisers and the colonised.

There are so many layers to 'Coonardoo', and they are both obvious and otherwise. There is the obvious sexual conflicts between the leading characters, at times fraught with repression and racism, at times exploitative and degrading. It may be argued that this is a feminist novel, in that it is the female characters are the ones with real agency. Hugh is not passive, however he finds himself reliant on and dominated by the strong personalities of the women he cares for. Without them he loses his sense of self, his identity, and by association loses Wytaliba and drifts off into the horizon broken and hopeless.

There is Pritchard's focus on the land, and how it subsumes and consumes all. Whether it be the people who try to work the country on their properties, the local Indigenous tribes who have deep connections with it emotionally, spiritually, culturally, or just the ever present isolated nature of the nor'west...at all times the reader is aware that Hugh, Coonardoo and everyone else are both part of and subject to the country they live in. There is no doubt that Australian literature is replete with motifs relating to the environment most of us are alien to, however in my reading experience I have not seen many better depictions of it as an all-encompassing, omnipresent force in the narrative, tone and symbolism of a novel.

However the most strident, most important aspect of 'Coonardoo' is its attempt to make some kind of literary sense of how whites and Aboriginals relate to each other whilst inhabiting this space; a space that is mostly hostile to the invader, whilst at least familiar (if not sacred) to the invaded. At the very heart of this novel the learning has to be that white Australians have damaged those who first owned this land, and we cannot easily undo our collective guilt. Whether the white man is a drunken, sexually abusive racist like Sam Geary, or a supposedly kind patriarch who cares for those he lives with, like Hugh, the inability to understand and reconcile with Aboriginals brings about tragedy, pain and sorrow. 'Coonardoo' is a very decent attempt to try and depict the schism at the centre of Australia, and it is Coonardoo herself who has to bear the most devastating impact of this schizoid national identity.

I will leave it up to others of a more academic bent to delve deeper into the thematic constructs of 'Coonardoo'. Before I close this review I'd like to pass some comments on Pritchard's prose. She writes with an authenticity and simplicity that bears out here experiences in living in the real world of the nor'west cattle stations that are the book's setting. There is a poetic quality to her description of the physical features of the environment and the people that populate it, Aboriginal or white. Whilst the ideas present in the novel are complex and worthy of contemplation, the narrative moves swiftly and easily, thus giving pleasure with its pace and clear structure. Pritchard also does as good a job as one might hope for in trying to replicate Aboriginal language, though I would assume she may have taken a surface reading of this and other aspects of Aboriginal culture.

In conclusion, 'Coonardoo' is a great book and a key one for anyone trying to come to terms with how white Australians have tried to reconcile the alien aspects of this land as well as the damage our colonisation has done to Aboriginal peoples, with our joined habitation of Australia. I would heartily recommend it to anyone wanting to engage with a novel that explores the ultimate dilemma for all Australians.

[Jacqui · Rating 3 out of 5]

I agree with the majority reviewers in that Coonardoo is ultimately racist in its depiction of Aboriginal people. Prichard's writing of the actual character Coonardoo I believe is voyeuristic - in all honesty, this book should be called Hugh, since the story is actually about him, and Coonardo is simply the archetypal female, a plot point to "Hugh's tragic life as a white man." 🙄 Their apparent "love" is not love but Hughs repressed lust for Coonardoo, which points to Prichard's theme of sexuality (you can also tell throughout the book that Prichard takes great interest in psychoanalysis, and she even name drops Carl Jung at one point). The books racialisation is also seen in the theme of inevitability - this idea that Aboriginal people will die out - a theme which is played out at the book's ending (which i also hated - i 'threw my book across the room' and everything)

Regarding everything I've written above, you're probably wondering why I gave the book three stars. And my reasoning is, despite the book's very relevant misgivings, I must take into consideration the impact of this book and the time it was written. I imagine that, while definitely not today, it was progressive during the 1930s; it presented Aboriginals as individuals and not a collective, and spoke much about some of the complexities of Indigenous culture. It challenged white settler perspectives about miscegenation and, despite being a classic, was not convoluted, and quite an easy read. I might even endeavour to say it was well written.

Overall, read Coonardoo with a grain of salt; while it definitely has substantial flaws, I think it's an important piece of Australian literature that depicts the white psyche and attitude towards Aboriginal people during that time. Reading it today, while uncomfortable, shows us how far we have come, but also how far we still have to go concerning Indigenous treatment and rights.

[Dajuroka Reads · Rating 2 out of 5]

Historical fiction is interesting but when it is also written in history (1929) it is challenging to engage with. Certainly the richness of DH Lawrence is not evident and the excitement of modern authors such as Connelly is absent. The social and racial overtones are overt and moralise the story. This is to be expected considering when it was written but it does indicate the beginnings of some thoughts of atonement over the invasion by the English in the minds of some fair thinking whites. This is not a book that will leave you feeling contented and satisfied but depending on your racial stance you may feel challenged. As an aside it is thought provoking to consider this world of vast distances and the absence of any communications beyond sporadic letters and husbands away a drovin for months. As a set text I suspect more insights will follow.

[Tien · Rating 2 out of 5]

**sigh** Really, it just could not end any other way...

A love across race was not looked kindly at the time. A white man in love with a gin (Aboriginal)? God Forbid! No wonder that this book was not published until a later date. What a controversy it would have been. Prichard was definitely ahead of her time.

It was sad to read the different struggles and devotion on both sides. However, am always happy with the Aussie outback nature descriptions. There are none better!! And since it's nearly Australia Day 2012:

Aussie! Aussie! Aussie!
Oy! Oy! Oy!

[Ash · Rating 3 out of 5]

I really enjoyed reading Coonardoo. It has some beautiful imagery of the Australian landscape. The book definitely has some issues, specifically, the derogatory terms used towards Indigenous Australians. Although it includes a lot of aspects of Indigenous culture, I wouldn't say it is a very reliable account. It may have been controversial at the time, but it is still very obviously written from a white woman's perspective, with Indigenous culture having a submissive role.

Nevertheless, it was still an intriguing read.

[Amanda · Rating 1 out of 5]

200 pages covering 50 years in which nothing happens. had to read this for class and even the teacher did not finish it.

[Tj · Rating 5 out of 5]

I was forced to read this for my Australian Lit subject at uni. It was surprisingly addictive. Beautiful. Tragic.

[Harmon · Rating 1 out of 5]

Couldn't finish this terrible book, don't know why they put it on a curriculum. Makes the students want to shoot themselves!!

[Giorgi Baskhajauri · Rating 3 out of 5]

საინტერესო რომანია, კარგად არის დახატული განსხვავებულ ცივილიზაციათა დაპირისპირება(აბორიგენები და თეთრკანიანები) სიყვარულის თემაც ძალიან კარგია, თხრობა პოეტური და კარგია.

[Nathan Fowler · Rating 1 out of 5]

I would rather be keelhauled than have to read this book again

[Claire · Rating 2 out of 5]

Racist.

[Deb Chapman]

I can’t rate this book, I found it very disturbing, an artefact of its time. I’m glad I’ve read it finally, almost 100 yrs after it was first published (1925), as I have seen it referred to in a number of books I’ve read by Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander women this year. And so I went to the original source. To say it’s racist is an understatement to my 2022 eyes, but it reveals much more than black/white racism, it goes deep into positionality, misogyny and sexuality and the myth making of white Australia. Ironic really as KSP writes well and invokes the unique landscape of NW Western Australia but the content is obnoxious. It is at best Romanticised but also very derogatory about Indigenous women even while using local language and evidence of a range of perspectives, especially white women in that environment, which is unusual too. It is astounding for how it represents mainstream attitudes that are violently racist and sexist, while also being from not a majority perspective. This book is confounding and disturbing and ultimately blames the, Aboriginal, victim. We need to do much much better in this country. And thank goodness we have so much more and so much stronger Aboriginal women’s voices these days. More power to them. But this book shows us what we are up against. It does articulate a history white Australia needs to own and learn from and do it better and differently.

[Lisa · Rating 4 out of 5]

I've departed from my usual practice in reviewing Katharine Susannah Prichard's Coonardoo from 1929: I've read other opinions about it, both before and after reading it.  I also re-read Mairi Neil's post about the play Brumby Innes and its place in the history of Australian drama because Prichard first used the theme of the novel in the play.

I did this additional reading because this work has a contentious place in the history of Australian literature.  Coonardoo is the first detailed representation of Indigeneity in Australian fiction, but the author was not Indigenous herself.  So I've included both Indigenous and non-Indigenous perspectives in my pre- and post-reading of the work.

While the representation of Indigeneity has changed with the passage of time, and the issue of appropriation is ongoing, this book, written almost a century ago, is the subject of attention and scholarship because it's written by one of our finest writers. Katharine Susannah Prichard makes an appearance in almost all the reference books I have: Australian Classics, by Jane Gleeson-White; the Macquarie PEN Anthology of Australian Literature (Ed. Nicholas José);  the Oxford Companion to Australian Literature (Ed. Wilde, Hooten & Andrews), and also in Jean-Francois Vernay’s  A Brief Take on the Australian Novel.  Harry Heseltine writes about KSP extensively in The Literature of Australia (Ed. Geoffrey Dutton).

All of these non-Indigenous authorities refer to Coonardoo, but only some of them address issues of racism.  The Oxford Companion says only that the more polished Coonardoo was joint winner of the 1928 Bulletin novel prize and was praised as the first realistic and detailed portrayal of an Aboriginal.  

The Macquarie Anthology, for example, refers to hostile criticism for its portrait of a loving sexual relationship between a young Aboriginal woman and a white man. Heseltine, however, while stating that the creative treatment is neither sociological, nor patronising, but (at least by intention) tragic, goes on to acknowledge, albeit indirectly, prior occupation of the land on which the story takes place.  Refuting the doctrine of terra nullius, he writes:

It is a matter of some interest that what is probably Prichard's most complex attempt at characterisation and her most intensely sustained emotional encounter with her material should be inspired by a member of a race whose dreaming, whose search for identity, was accomplished long before white men came to the Australian continent. ( 'Australian Fiction Since 1920' by Harry Heseltine, in The Literature of Australia (Ed. Geoffrey Dutton, 1964, ISBN 0140700080, my copy is the 1976 revised edition).

However Larissa Behrendt of the Eualeyai/Kamilaroi/Gamilaraay people analyses Coonardoo more harshly in Finding Eliza, Power and Colonial Storytelling.  At the conclusion of a lengthy chapter, she writes:

Though some may read Coonardoo as a reminder of the loves lost because of racism, the novel is also a reminder of the unacknowledged legacy of colonisation on Aboriginal women: their inability to freely consent to sexual relations with the white men who had the power of life and death over them was fundamentally constrained.  It is also a reminder that, regardless of any good intention, constructed stereotypes of Aboriginal men and women continue to appear and be perpetuated in even so-called 'sympathetic' twenty-first century literature. (Finding Eliza, Power and Colonial Storytelling, UQP, 2016, ISBN 9780702253904, p.99)

Finally, thanks to Nathan Hobby, whose biography of KSP is published in 2022, I also read Wiradjuri woman Jeanine Leane's 2016 deeply personal response to the novel at Overland. 

So, what do I think about Coonardoo?

The first thing to say is that KSP is a great writer who was nominated for the Nobel Prize because she wrote about important things. Although some of her work is weighed down by her desire to bring issues to the reader's attention, in the fiction which I've read so far, she tackled the big picture issues of her time: poverty, disadvantage, inadequate health care, disability, and working conditions.  (The Oxford Companion tells me that she also wrote about her desire for world peace and nuclear disarmament, and almost all of the commentators mention her commitment to communism.)  The big issue that she tackled in Coonardoo is IMO best expressed by Jane Gleeson-White in Australian Classics:

Katharine Susannah Prichard's novel Coonardoo is the story of an Aboriginal woman, the eponymous Coonardoo, and the struggle of white and Aboriginal Australians to live together and work the vast land of the Kimberley, where their worlds come into intimate contact. (Australian Classics, Allen & Unwin, 2007, ISBN 9781741753417, p106.)

That intimate contact is a story of love thwarted by denial, prejudice and racism.  Coonardoo is an unpaid station hand in the Kimberley, alongside Hugh Watt, the son of the station owner.  Narrated from Coonardoo's perspective, Hugh's and that of his mother, the formidable widow Bessie Watt — the story shows how their love emerged, was frustrated and denied, was consummated, and then denied again.

To read the rest of my review please visit https://anzlitlovers.com/2021/01/17/c...

[Ella · Rating 4 out of 5]

dit boek is geschreven in 1925 en beschrijft het leven op een "cattle station" in Noord-West Australië zo rond de eeuwwisseling . Als goede uitzondering worden de Aboriginals op deze boerderij fatsoenlijk behandeld ook al moeten ze hun plaats weten. Ze wonen in een eigen dorpje op de boerderij en werken op het land om het vee te verplaatsen en een paar van de vrouwen werken op het huis en worden opgeleid door de vrouw des huizes. Coonardoo is de dochter van een van deze vrouwen. Als kind groeit ze op met de zoon Hugh van de eigenaars. Ze hebben een geweldige jeugd tot Hugh naar school moet en enkele jaren wegblijft. Ze wonen echt in de outback en zien maar zelden andere blanken. Hughs moeder laat Coonardoo beloven altijd voor haar zoon te zullen zorgen als hij terugkomt.
Het boek is in het Engels met heel veel "slang"en vaak Aboriginal woorden vermengd.
Je leest veel over de interactie tussen de twee zo verschillende culturen. De trouw van de Aboriginals aan een gegeven woord. Mijn conclusie is dat dit inheemse volk heel wat geciviliseerder was dan de blanken in die tijd.

[Chris Cantor · Rating 5 out of 5]

One of the saddest books I've ever read, but strangely beautiful. As others have noted the treatment of aboriginal people in it (by the white characters) is racist, but it should not be missed that the treatment of white Australians (by the author) is also 'racist' as most of the white characters are consistently despicable, except for the protagonist (for the first three quarters) and earlier his mother. What was truly clever was that the reader is lead to respect the protagonist as just about the only white character who respected the aborigines (for most of the book). Towards the end he stuffs up big time (I'm trying to avoid plot-spoilers), due to racist conventions of the time. We cannot simply blame the protagonist (eg 'He was a racist, but I'm not') as for most of our reading he has been well intentioned towards the aborigines. As as result the reader is left with the feeling/conclusion that racism, a phenomenon that lurks within all of us to varying degrees, is stupid and a scourge to be constantly guarded against, which IMO is what the book was all about.

[Annette Heslin · Rating 5 out of 5]

What a powerful story? I can't believe it was first published in 1929!! I can only imagine what outrage this story would have created in that time period.
Focused on the Aboriginal way of life, and their heritage was a big role in the book. A simple love story, with so many cultural differences, that it was just so close, yet so far away. It was never meant to be.
A story of love, loss, tragedy and betrayal.

[Charlotte Hockin · Rating 1 out of 5]

the plot made absolutely no sense, i dont know if it was myself not being able to properly pay attention to the book, but i feel as if there were many major plot holes which needed to be addressed. also, i found it so boring and felt that there were so many unnecessary parts to the story. unfortunately i was forced to read this for school so i had no choice but to finish it :(

[Dawn Epton · Rating 4 out of 5]

A beautifully written novel. Kate Pritchard invokes the harsh, remote and exploitative life of the early invaders of Australia.
Coonardoo is sketched with sensitivity but not sentimentality.
A good read!

[Brittany Cooper · Rating 2 out of 5]

I felt unsatisfied once I finished with no resolution with the ending. I also found it hypocritical that a white woman was commenting on how a black woman would have been feeling

[Lorraine · Rating 5 out of 5]

One of the best.

[Kit · Rating 5 out of 5]

Story of a white man who couldn't get his shit together.

[Zed · Rating 5 out of 5]

A desperately sad story. Evocative writing. Thought provoking.