Even living here, the thing that’s easy to forget about Australia is how vast and empty it really is. Once you leave the noise and crowds of the cities and towns on the coast Australia just opens up, this massive, terrifying, beautiful wilderness. In Gilgamesh, Joan London captures this feeling perfectly, portraying Australia and it’s people with the weird mingling of ambivalence, awe, fear, love and disgust that is very familiar to me.
Gilgamesh is the story of Edith Clarke, a farmgirl growing up during the Depression in Western Australia, and her incredible journey into the world, a quest that is obviously similar to that of the title character in the ancient epic poem, but with several key differences.
"There's no women in this myth," Edith states, at one point. "It's not their story. No woman goes off on quests like that. Women get stuck. They are left behind with the children. That's the fate Edith constantly seeks to avoid. To get stuck. To have the freedom of choice taken from her. In the epic poem, it's the gods that seek to force the eponymous Hero into conformity and the responsibilities of adulthood. For Edith, the gods are any force larger than the individual that tries to impose rules, from the seemingly benign-but-judgmental society of rural Australia to the massive, fearsome NKVD of Soviet Russia. The old saying "Take what you want, and pay for it, says God," springs to mind, for that is exactly what Edith sets out to do. She's a lone, unmarried woman setting out to do exactly what she wants to do, heedless of the advice, cautions and threats of others, willing to pay the price for her freedom. Her quiet passivity hides an incredible determination and stamina, massive inner resources of endurance. London is a subtle writer, trusting her reader's intelligence. So much goes unsaid, revealed in in small glimpses and inferences.
It's also a story about loneliness, and the search for a home, a place to fit in and feel safe, but also about the contradiction in what 'home' might represent. This too was home. Edith thinks, of the small, barely functioning farm where she grew up. The feeling of closeness, with nowhere else to go. Home can be both a fortress and a prison at the same time.
It's a very sad and melancholy story, but it's not hopeless or cynical. Throughout the book, there is always a faint sort of optimism, a belief that no matter how dark and tragic the road is, there's always a way out, as long as you have the courage to take it. London nicely balances the big cruelties of the world with the small kindnesses of the individual during her Hero's quest.