The Thrifty Fictionista: in Praise of Her Own Kind

Folks, the Thrifty Fictionista is getting a bit uppity and feeling the need to make a return in amongst Blue Jai’s Vignettes…it’s all very well to provide pops of fictional colour, but every now and then I need to use this patch of cyberspace to process the non-fictional STUFF (I believe that’s correct the technical term) swirling around in my head.

The Easter holidays are upon us here in the Antipodes, and for us that means increasingly autumnal days and cooler nights. There is a crispness in the morning air now we have switched back from Daylight Saving Time, and although the temperatures here in Sydneytown are still pushing towards 30 several days this week, night is falling sooner. Deeper. Darker.

And for the Thrifty Fictionista on holidays, that means my Reading Time starts earlier and gets longer. I’m not getting washing off the line at 6:30pm, and chances are I’ve already switched to stewing or baking something for dinner – which basically means I bung something in the oven, prep some greens to steam later, and dive headfirst into the nearest book.

I’ve read a bunch of stuff lately, but one thing has really stood out to me: the high quality of writing by female authors. I realised I have often been quick to praise certain books – especially those by people like Tim Winton and Trent Dalton – as vying for the coveted title (ahem…dreadful pun alert) of my Favourite Book, but that the works I come back to time and again are often by women.

So, I thought it was high time the Thrifty Fictionista put together a list of my Top Five Women Writers for you all to fight over – agree, disagree, comment, don’t comment, whatever. But these, in no particular order, are my picks:

  • CHARMIAN CLIFT

So, I’m guessing my first female writer is someone you may never have heard of, but once you start reading her stuff you may not want to stop. Charmian Clift was an Australian novelist and columnist who died (by her own hand, unfortunately), in July 1969. Her writing draws upon on her life experiences living in Australian and overseas – most notably in Greece and the UK – and what it was like returning to Australia after she moved back to Sydney in 1964 with her husband and children.

Her essays, the best of which have been collected by Nadia Wheatley (also a brilliant Australian woman writer) into two volumes: Sneaky Little Revolutions and The End of the Morning. These are the sort of books I read with a soft 2B pencil in hand, underlining the most magical and lyrical lines of Clift’s prose. She was an incisive observer of life, both interior and exterior, was unafraid to point out the inequalities and vagaries plaguing Australian suburban life before second wave feminism really reached these shores, and she was also very funny.

An example of one of the many lines I highlighted while reading, just to give you a taste?

Memory is as tricky as a flawed window glass that distorts the view beyond according to the way one turns one’s head.

Please, PLEASE read Charmian Clift. She may have left us too soon, but I believe she should never be forgotten. Oh – and if you need anything else to pique your interest, the child she gave up for adoption when she was 19 ended up becoming Suzanne Chick, mother to Gina Chick, who won the first season of Alone: Australia.

How’s that for three generations of incredible women? And yes, they all have books you can read.

  • HELEN GARNER

No list of women writers could be complete without the inimitable Helen Garner. I have just finished reading her book The Season and have been struck – no, humbled – yet again by the high quality of her writing, but the unflinching keenness of her eye, the depth of her emotional awareness and honesty, the precision of her turn of phrase. It doesn’t matter if she’s writing fiction or non-fiction: Helen Garner is, quite genuinely, brilliant.

  • HILARY MANTEL

I felt – quite selfishly – bereft when Hilary Mantel died in 2022. Her passing meant, of course, that I would never again have the pleasure of reading a new novel by her. Or short story, or book review, or dazzlingly insightful essay. Like Helen Garner and Charmian Clift, Mantel did not stick to one form but made any writing she turned to appear effortless. I particularly love her historical fiction (and, as a Thrifty Fictionista can guarantee you get plenty of book for your buck in this department), and hold her Thomas Cromwell trilogy in particularly high esteem. I’m glad she wrote so much, so I have plenty of her work yet to read, but I remain mournful she is gone.

  • MAGGIE O’FARRELL

I’m not band waggoning and including Maggie O’Farrell on this list because of the recent success of the film adaptation of her novel Hamnet at the Oscars. She’s here because ever last thing of hers that I read is excellent and different: not just Hamnet, but The Marriage Portrait and This Must Be The Place and anything else she turns her hand to. I love the way O’Farrell tells stories, especially in her historical fiction, from perspectives that have often been ignored. Women’s perspectives, most obviously and particularly.

  • CURTIS SITTENFELD

I was delighted to pick up Curtis Sittenfeld’s short story collection Show, Don’t Tell at a second hand book sale recently and finally read it the other week. What a masterclass! And what a joy to return at the end of that work to a story about Lee Fiora, from her first novel, Prep. Sittenfeld’s worlds are instantly accessible and fully realised, whether they be contained in the sparse pages of a short story or the sprawl of a novel. She can take a single idea (eg. what if Hilary didn’t marry Bill? in Rodham) and imagine the unfurling of that notion so fully and deftly and with such complexity that her alternate reality seems like…reality.

Anyhoo, that’s it from the Thrifty Fictionista for now. I’m off to read and write some more…

The Thrifty Fictionista Feels Nostalgic…

“Out on the islands that poke their rocky shores above the waters of Penobscot Bay, you can watch the time of the world go by, from minute to minute, hour to hour, from day to day . . .”

These are the opening lines of the Thrifty Fictionista’s favourite picture book, one I have loved since I was a child: Robert McCloskey’s Time of Wonder. Telling the story of a girl and her younger sister spending their summer holidays on an island in Penobscot Bay, Maine, it follows them as they explore the natural world around them. They swim, they sail, they laze in the sun — they even survive a hurricane that blows in one night.

I still love everything about that book: the beauty of the painted illustrations, the cadence of the sentences, every last carefully chosen word. I often wished, when I was little, that I could go on holidays just like the girls in the book, even though I lived on the other side of the world from Maine.

Like the girls in the book, I spent a lot of time on boats when I was a kid. My grandfather, who had served in the navy, was never one to be without some kind of seafaring craft, so my brother and I enjoyed time on a succession of yachts, one of which had sailed the Sydney to Hobart race multiple times, and later on an old Halvorsen cruiser. The sights, sounds and smells of moorings and marinas still make me happy.

What reminded me of Time of Wonder most recently, however, was something equally nostalgic, but completely unexpected. I was watching M*A*S*H with my kids (having got them hooked on that golden oldie after they had watched so many episodes of Brooklyn 99 I thought I was going to scream), and we came to the part of Series 5 when Margaret “Hot Lips” Houlihan gets engaged to Lt Colonel Donald Penobscott — and at the first mention of his name, there I was: right back in the middle of Penobscot Bay, exploring the Time of Wonder island and all its natural wonders.

At the moment, all I would like to do is dive between the pages of my old, battered copy of Time of Wonder and relive it all once again. Or even the shiny new copy I got for my own kids when they were old enough to read it.

But, since we’re in the process of building our house, that dear old book is somewhere in storage, along with many other treasured possessions of the paged variety. It has been hard not having my book “friends” around for the past nine or ten months, but now that build is drawing to close up stage I am itching to get my fingers on volumes I have wished for while living here in our tiny rental.

The Thrifty Fictionista could not do with out ALL her books, however — so old favourites and new have found their way up the 49 steps to our front door. Anna Karenina is here, rubbing shoulders with Lolita and Dorian Gray, and even The Once and Future King. There are books by authors whose writing I can’t live without: Helen Garner, Trent Dalton, Ed Ayres, Ursula Le Guin, Virginia Woolf, Hilary Mantel, Anne Lamott. And there are cookbooks, of course, too, thanks to Yotam Ottolenghi, Nigella Lawson, Poh Ling Yeow and Annabel Crabb.

Before too long, however, it will be time for us to pack these few books that did wend their way up all those stairs into boxes and take them to our new house. In Time of Wonder the girl is a little bit sad about the place she’s leaving, a little bit glad about the place she’s going to. The Thrifty Fictionista, on the other hand, is a little bit impatient to get out of the place I’m leaving, and tremendously excited about the place I’m going to — not least because it will have a library.

There will be space for books, space to watch endless re-runs of M*A*S*H, space to cook and space to dream, and even space to wonder where hummingbirds go in a hurricane.

And I can’t wait.