Locust Summer tells a deceptively simple story of a man who returns to the family farm in Western Australia to help bring in the last wheat harvest as his Dad is dying and his Mum plans to sell it. I say it’s deceptively simple because Rowan sets out to do that, and then does - but it’s the details and the process that really make the story.
When we meet Rowan, he lives in Perth as a journalist who is on the crime beat. His decision to leave his family farm, especially after the death of his older brother is something he hasn’t properly dealt with yet and going back is something he doesn’t want to do. When he returns, he meets up with an ex-girlfriend and others he thought he’d left behind, he sees the tragic decline of his once vibrant father and the almost-voluntary suffering of his mother caring for him. The people in the town, especially Sterlo, the experienced farm manager, see his leaving as a betrayal and look down on him for squandering his birthright and the culture of ‘real’ hands-on work.
To prove them wrong, he has to muck in and help with the harvest. It would seem that the process of harvesting wheat would be a rather dry topic but the writing elevates it. The harvest is a huge task and requires determination and co-ordination and the scenes of harvesting remind me of the whale-hunting scenes of Moby Dick, thrilling set pieces of men working together to tame a natural world that is so much bigger than they are.
Perhaps it’s because I’ve spent most this year reading women writers, but this is a very masculine book. Not only is masculinity one of the themes, with the townspeople seeing Rowan as less-masculine for working as a reporter, but it often celebrates the co-operation on men and deals with the very male culture of the harvesters. While there are women characters, and Rowan’s relationship with his Mum is the key to putting his past to rest, most of the novel is about how men see each other and how they see each other through other men’s eyes.
It’s also a very Australian book. Thank goodness I’ve met some because even the ambulances are ambos and everyone is ‘mate’. I found the novel affecting even as a non-Australian whose parents move around more than I do and with no real sense of a home place I come from - I imagine someone who did would find even more.
Finally, I little note on the writing. The book manages to be poetic without betraying the feeling of time or place. A person driving ‘harvests’ bugs on the windscreen, a group of men are ‘sensitive as stubbed toes’, threshers come in ‘danger red’ or ‘caution yellow’. The narrator is trained as a journalist, to report facts and leave impressions to the poets but the novel manages to have the straightforwardness of reportage without losing any of the colour of good descriptive prose.