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Government was more interesting. It really concerned "ethnic conflict." South Africa, the US, Israel, and India were among the areas to be looked at. And "ethnic" didn't just mean color: the religious differences in Indo-Pakistan were part of the fabric. By the third meeting we were talking about major papers. One of my fellows wanted to write about Bangladesh, another at Sudan's breakup.
"Can I write about Australia as post-colonial England, with Shakespeare's Tempest as the influence?" I asked.
"Do you see that as racial?"
"Yes, sir. What else might
When thou camest first,
Thou strokedst me and madest much of me, wouldst give me
Water with berries in't, and teach me how
To name the bigger light, and how the less,
That burn by day and night: and then I loved thee
And show'd thee all the qualities o' the isle,
The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place and fertile--
mean?
"The whites came here and made play of the Aborigines, who showed them the land. And we – the English – enslaved them."
"But post-colonial?"
"Surely. Tea as the beverage of choice. English literature, English art, music, ballet as the acme. It's very much like what Kipling writes of India or Rider Haggard of East Africa."
"He's got a good point," one of the women said. "Miranda tells Caliban that he's deserving of his status as a slave. And that's exactly what European imperialists said about the people they colonized in the Americas, in Africa, in India, and here."
"Good. Very good. Yes, Hollister, you can write about that. And Ms Stephens, what would you like to look at?"
"Trollope."
"Trollope?"
"The Victorian novelist. I want to look at how he treats Ireland as a colony and the Irish as a colonized race."
"Fine. How about the rest of you?" I realized that I'd been used to get the class into the appropriate mood. I'd never thought about teaching method. This was a style as good as telling stories, drawing from the group rather than talking to the group. Really interesting.
Several of my classmates had jumped onto the notion of using literature. One wanted to write about 20th century black poets in the US. He named Langston Hughes and quoted "Dreams"
Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.
Another wanted to look at Central America in the Napoleonic period as reflected in the first Hornblower novel.
"Hey! Are you all literati?"
"No, just literate," quipped a bloke.
My history class was much more formal. And it didn't seem as though any "warning" had been issued. But I was sitting there and being obedient because I wanted to get really high grades again. I "knew" that I was keeping up a facade here, but I had a purpose: getting into the Law School. And it only meant four months: August, September, October, November. Oh, a few days of December, but not many. And we're into August already.
Rachel was really busy: she'd enrolled in Intro to Archaeology, which met Tuesdays and Thursdays, and spent Mondays, Wednesdays and one afternoon at the Gallery. Winnie had her sorting and cataloging paper – mostly drawings, engravings, etchings. She was enjoying herself. The Gallery had folders and portfolios and cartons that had accumulated over the decades. Someone died and the family donated things; sometimes an artist willed stuff. One day Rachel was excited because she'd found a bundle of letters from someone I'd never heard of, Minna Schuler, tied with string. They were to Penleigh Boyd and written in 1923. Winnie had told her that transcribing and commenting on them would make a fine doctoral dissertation. [Penleigh Boyd was a fine painter who conducted an open affair with Minna Schuler while his wife and children were in England. Three of his paintings are in the Art Gallery of NSW. He died in an automobile accident in November 1923.]
That would be great: Dr. Rachel Hollister. I'd be proud. Remember, in Jane Eyre Mr. Rochester told Jane of a string that connected a point under his ribs to a corresponding point under hers. We have that, too. As time passes, I think I can almost see our connection.
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