My sense is that this novel richly deserves the pride of place that it holds within the literary canon of Australia, and that My Brilliant Career (1901) remains the definitive novel of Australia’s late-colonial and early national period. Writing this novel when she was only a teenager, Stella Maria Sarah Miles Franklin provides a moving portrayal of a young woman’s struggle for independence and personhood in a tradition-bound society whose people, with the very best of intentions, throw all sorts of obstacles in her way.
Franklin, a descendant of a passenger on one of the First Fleet ships of 1788, grew up on a station in the Brindabella Mountains of rural New South Wales. Her parents were part of what Australians half-jokingly called the “squattocracy” – Europeans who had settled on land without formal title, but who gained a de facto right to the land simply by “squatting” there for a long time.
Members of the “squattocracy” could be affluent, even eminent citizens; but the time in which Franklin grew up was a difficult time in Australia. The Baring Crisis in London in 1890 caused many British investors to withdraw their Australian investments, and what followed was a long series of bank failures across Australia. Labour strikes in a number of crucial industries added to the atmosphere of economic instability, and by 1893 Australia was suffering its share of the pain of a global economic depression (here in the U.S.A., it was called the “Panic of 1893”). Many Australians lost their jobs and/or businesses, and had to go “on the tramp,” wandering up and down the continent in a desperate search for work. For those who were lucky enough not to lose their land, what followed was often a hardscrabble struggle to maintain the barest level of subsistence.
That sense of economic insecurity informs My Brilliant Career from the novel’s beginnings. The main character, Sybylla Mervyn, describes how she saw her home life deteriorate after her father stepped away from modest prosperity, reached for greater things, fell short, and turned to drink. Sybylla says of her father that “He was my hero, confidant, encyclopedia, mate, and even my religion till I was ten. Since then, I have been religionless” (p. 10). As for Sybylla’s mother – a woman who left the comfortable circumstances of her mother’s prosperous home, married for love, and has ever since then experienced the ongoing disappointment of her husband’s business failures and moral decline – Sybylla writes that “A woman is but the helpless tool of man – a creature of circumstances” (p. 20).
Possum Gully, where the family has settled after the business failures of Sybylla’s father, is a place as unprepossessing as its name. Sybylla meditates upon the drudgery of work like lifting half-starved cows so they won’t collapse and die on their drought-stricken ranch: “This was life – my life – my career, my brilliant career! I was fifteen – fifteen!” (p. 26) Here, one sees that the title that Franklin gave to her novel has a certain irony, if not bitterness, to it.
Sybylla’s lot is worsened by her sense that she is a person of talent, drawn to music and poetry, but stuck amidst a struggle for the barest and most minimal kind of existence. Her parents find her literary ambitions laughable, and she reflects that it is “Better [to] be born a slave than a poet….For a poet must be companionless – alone! fearfully alone in the midst of his fellows whom he loves. Alone because his soul is as far above common mortals as common mortals are among monkeys” (p. 7). It is even harder, Sybylla feels, if the person who harbours a poetic sensibility amidst the rough life of Possum Gully is a woman: “The less a person thinks and inquires regarding the why and the wherefore and the justice of things, when dragging along through life, the happier it is for him, and doubly, trebly so, for her” (p. 21).
Sybylla reflects at length on what the family’s poverty at Possum Gully has meant in her upbringing:
Some there are who argue that poverty does not mean unhappiness. Let those try what it is to be destitute of even one companionable friend, what it means to be forced to exist in an alien sphere of society, what it is like to be unable to afford a stamp to write to a friend; let them long as passionately as I have longed for reading and music, and be unable to procure it because of poverty; let poverty force them into doing work against which every fibre of their being revolts, as it has forced me, and then see if their lives will be happy. (p. 23).
Sybylla comments further about how the people in one’s community reveal themselves in the way they respond to a neighbour’s hard times: “In poverty you can get at the real heart of people as you can never do if rich. People are your friends from pure friendship and love, not from sponging self-interestedness. It is worth being poor once or twice in a lifetime just to experience the blessing and heart-restfulness of a little genuine reality in the way of love and friendship” (pp. 28-29).
Sybylla receives a measure of relief from the difficult rounds of life at Possum Gully when she is invited to stay with her grandmother and her Aunt Helen at Caddagat, the estate where Sybylla’s mother grew up. At Caddagat, where life is much more comfortable, Sybylla stays in her mother’s old room. She looks at pictures of her mother as a young lady – her expression “angelic – sweet, winning, gentle, and happy”. She then sees a picture of her father as a young man when he was courting Sybylla’s mother – a hopeful young man “with a fine countenance, possessed of well-cut features and refined expression” (p. 50).
And what have business failures and years of heavy drinking done to this “prince”? What have poverty and unremitting work done to the young woman this “prince” won? “I thought of a man and his wife at Possum Gully. The man was blear-eyed, disreputable in appearance, and failed to fulfill his duties as a father and a citizen. The woman was work-roughened and temper-soured by endless care and an unavailing struggle against poverty. Could that pair possibly be identical with this?” (p. 50). Many an Australian reader of Franklin’s time might have known people whose hopes were blighted like those of Sybylla’s parents.
At Caddagat, one of Sybylla’s duties is to provide some food and refreshment for the many “tramps” who have that name because they tramp up and down the Australian countryside in desperate search of some sort of work. Sybylla meditates on the economic hardships of late 19th-century Australian life:
In a wide young country of boundless resources, why is this thing? This question worried me. Our legislators are unable or unwilling to cope with it. They trouble not to be patriots and statesmen. Australia can bring forth writers, orators, financiers, singers, musicians, actors, and athletes which are second to none of any nation under the sun. Why can she not bear sons, men of soul, mind, truth, godliness, and patriotism sufficient to rise and cast off the grim shackles which widen round us day by day? (p. 89)
Close to Caddagat is Five-Bob Downs, the estate of Harold Beecham, a strong and successful rancher who seems to embody the ideal of an Australian who is tough but kind, easygoing and unpretentious, ready for any sort of hard work, equal to any change in circumstance. Realising in retrospect that her time at Caddagat and Five-Bob Downs exempted her from the suffering that so many Australians of those days experienced, Sybylla nonetheless indulges in a bit of nostalgia regarding those times:
It was great fun. The dogs yelped and jumped about. The men were dirty with much dust, and smelt powerfully of sheep, and had worked hard all day in the blazing sun, but they were never too tired for fun, or at night to dance, after they had bathed and dressed. We all had splendid horses. They reared and pranced; we galloped and jumped every log which came in our path. Jokes, repartee, and nonsense rattled off our tongues. We did not worry about thousands of our fellows – starving and reeking with disease in city slums. We were selfish. We were heedless. We were happy. We were young. (p. 100)
Reversals of fortune are at the heart of My Brilliant Career. The wealthy and successful Harold Beecham suddenly faces the loss of Five-Bob Downs and all his fortune, and faces ruin with courage and equanimity. Sybylla, who has previously rejected Harold’s romantic overtures, suddenly feels for him: “I had been poor myself, and knew what awaited him in the world. He would find that they who fawned on him most would be first to turn their backs on him now” (p. 150). It is against the backdrop of Harold’s misfortune that Sybylla accepts the marriage proposal that she had earlier rejected, telling Harold that “If you really want me, I will marry you when I am twenty-one if you are as poor as a crow” (p. 151).
Not lonf after, Sybylla faces her own reversal of fortune, when she receives a letter from her mother – a letter that casts her out of the comfort of Caddagat:
No doubt what I have to write will not be very palatable to you; but it is time you gave up pleasuring and began to meet the responsibilities of life. Your father is lazier if anything, and drinks more than ever. He has got himself into great debt and difficulties, and would have been sold off again but for Peter M’Swat. You will remember Peter M’Swat? Well, he has been good enough to lend your father 500 pounds at 4 per cent….Out of friendship to your father, Mr. M’Swat is good enough to accept your services as governess to his children, in lieu of interest on the money. (p. 159)
One senses the mother’s pleasure in putting the poetry-minded Sybylla “in her place.” Embittered and disillusioned herself, the mother seems to think that she is doing Sybylla a service by disillusioning her daughter sooner rather than later. It is one of the most painful aspects of this novel.
Sybylla’s time at the M’Swat farm is difficult, but in her time there she shows a grit and resourcefulness that even she may not have fully known she possessed. Eventually, she is able to return to Possum Gully, where her younger sister Gertie pours out her heart to Sybylla regarding their father’s embarrassing behaviour. Sybylla subsequently reflects that “I fell asleep thinking that parents have a duty to children greater than children to parents, and they who do not fulfill their responsibility in this respect are as bad in their morals as a debauchee, corrupt the community as much as a thief, and are among the ablest underminers of their nation” (p. 198).
In a surprising re-reversal of fortune, Harold Beecham’s wealth is restored, and he renews his courtship of Sybylla, and she refuses him once again. She feels a sense of loss after refusing his proposal: “Our greatest heart-treasure is a knowledge that there is in creation an individual to whom our existence is necessary – some one who is part of our life as we are part of theirs, some one in whose life we feel assured our death would leave a gap for a day or two” (p. 203). But she refuses to marry someone that she does not feel she could make happy. And in the novel’s conclusion, Sybylla, facing a tough life of manual labour, links her life with that of her country, in a passage that I am certain has spoken to countless thousands of proud Australians, from Franklin’s time to our own:
I am proud that I am an Australian, a daughter of the Southern Cross, a child of the mighty bush. I am thankful I am a peasant, a part of the bone and muscle of my nation, and earn my bread by the sweat of my brow, as man was meant to do….Ah, my sunburnt brothers! – sons of toil and of Australia! I love and respect you well, for you are brave and good and true….Would that I were more worthy to be one of you – more a typical Australian peasant – cheerful, honest, brave! (p. 225)
My Brilliant Career is brilliant indeed – a great story of a strong and independent woman finding her own way amidst difficult circumstances. The Gillian Armstrong film adaptation from 1979, with a young Judy Davis as Sybylla and a comparably young Sam Neill as Harry Beecham, is a great early example of cinema’s Australian New Wave; but whether you have seen the film or not, you owe it to yourself to read this great and resonant novel.