Aussiehalley - Halley Down Under

so Sunday, when I was on the phone with Margaret Atwood...

So sue me. I was sick. and lazy. so I haven't updated in a while.

However, I bring you exciting news: Christine and I have embarked on a fascinating new career in the world of competitive charades. okay, not really. but I swear, we'd be awesome at it. We'd be raking in the big dough. It's a little known fact that in the heart of every large city lies a multi-tiered, round-robin charade tournament- a charadapalooza, if you will- where one can win tens of dollars. Please, don't be jealous, it's just a gift we were born with.
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Last week (and into the weekend) I fell into the Melbourne Writers Festival. It was wonderful. It was held mostly at the Malthouse, a multi-theatre complex. There are so many old buildings, factories, breweries here that were internally refurbished and given new purposes that you get to see the history of the city in layers, just by going out into the street. So inside the Malthouse, the large main theatre looks mostly like what you'd expect a regular theatre to look like. But in the side rooms/venues, you look up into the rafters and see old cranks and shafts and handles - next to speakers and curtains and lights with blue gels.

At this complex, there were about four different programs going on at any given point. In between sessions, the writers from the previous period would go to the bookshop set up on the mezzanine landing, called Reader's Feast. They sat in a row up against the railing of the balcony, gated off from the adoring hoards by little dog show fences. Like patient puppies we'd line up with our new purchases, waiting for our turns to head into the authors' corral row. At some points it was so crowded that a dozen or so writers would be at the little cafe tables in their corral, with fans in front of each, and a line still waiting. We'd end up tripping over the Blah-di-blah Prize Winner for This and the Amazing New Ooh-la-la Writer of That to get to "our" writer, with whom we'd chat for a few moments, and whom we wanted to sign the inside flap of our new favorite book with, "Halley, I know we only spoke for a few moments just now, but your comments on my work have given me new vision. Thank you. Sincerely, Brilliant Writer #24".

There was a bit of pretension, of course, but for the most part that was taken care of by the Aussie writers who were usually quick enough to point it out and make gentle spectacle of it. I went to some great sessions, including one on the prevelence of bullshit in all public dealings called "Your Call is Important to Us", with a funny Canadian woman, ones on satire and politics, on imagination, on stretching reality in fiction. I found new writers to read, which is always exciting. I found interesting vegetarian festival food at one of the cafes set up for the event. I found myself between a wall of books and the arms and bodies reaching for them, snuggled in a literary cocoon, of sorts. I found myself paying four bucks for a small apple juice. It was good apple juice.

One afternoon, I had a couple hours between sessions, so I started to walk back toward home, but right near the Malthouse is the National Gallery. Go-go Gadget free museum. So I spent the time looking at a fashion exhibit on how embroidered flowers have been used since about 1650. At (mostly) Japanese prints and cartoons from the 17th and 18th century, including the ones we're familiar with of the sea scene of large waves crashing, and quiet snow on town buildings. At impressionist painting. At Greek sculpture. At the decorative arts. At Chinese ceramics. I got a cheese and tomato toasted sandwich, fed bites to a magpie and a crow, then went back to the festival.

The tram ride home after the last discussion session took me through part of that arts district and then moves into a busy area of the city. Sunshine covered everything, and I was enjoying the city.

In association with the Writers Festival, the Privacy Commission of Victoria (yes, when their gov't institutes potentially scary invasion-of-privacy codes, they also develop a protective body to act on behalf of the people's welfare), sponsors a series of films on the topic of privacy.
It was held at the Austrlian Centre for the Moving Image (ACMI), located in Federation Square, where just a crap ton of stuff happens. (at left) This series showed Rear Window and Gattaca earlier in the weekend. We went for the final film, The Handmaid's Tale, based on the Margaret Atwood novel of a near-future dystopia. film info If you haven't read the book or at least seen the film do it. Now.

The best part of this is that after the film, they had a phone call set up with Margaret Atwood in Edinburgh (where it was 8:15 am). She was interviewed by a jounalist here, who had a soothing speaking voice and was wearing an interesting necklace. Atwood talked about how nothing in the story hadn't actually *been done* before by some government, somewhere. Her recent novel, Oryx and Crake, is another type of dystopia, based on bioengineering, and the same reality applied - none of the technology or policies were entirely made up. Scary stuff. Atwood was funny and just frickin' brilliant, making interesting political and social points.

So yeah, we're like totally buddies now. While I didn't actually get to speak with her myself, per se, I think she knew I was there... "Halley, I know the phone interview only lasted fifteen minutes just now, but your presence here has given me new vision for my work. Thank you. Sincerely, Brilliant Writer Margaret Atwood."

posted by Halley @ 12:48 AM