Dal Stivens - A Horse of Air

Dal Stivens novel, A Horse of Air, is one of those works of literature that has become unfairly maligned by time. It has slipped into obscurity and disinterest, the first blush of excitement surrounding its publication in 1970 falling away to such an extent that today, in 2010, Stivens' masterpiece, and most everything else he has written (save a few pieces salvaged in anthologies and other useless collections), is out of print and exceedingly difficult to find. But if you can find this novel – and you should, if you are interested in Australian literature, or indeed literature of a certain world permanence – then what awaits is not quite a great, forgotten masterpiece, but it is close.

“My room in the mental hospital is pleasant enough as such rooms go.” says our erstwhile narrator, one Harry Craddock, a millionaire made not by himself but by his father, an amateur at “everything” and a master of nothing, a fool, an excited scientist, a rich open purse, a – a murder? Perhaps, or perhaps not, but either way he is currently residing in a mental institute after shooting a nameless young man. Craddock is a man who

spout[s] words. I envelope people in words, I spit words at them, I want to swallow them with words.”

He is a mass of energy, a typhoon of activity, swamping his wives, his friends, and his associates with the excitement of his activity – except when he doesn't, which is often. At times, Craddock descends into a useless stupor, incapable of achieving. He alternates between manic action and deadening inactivity, a creature truly at the whim of his desires. Craddock's obsession, for the moment, is the 'night parrot', a bird that may or may not exist deep in the deserts of central Australia. His fame – his absolution – lies in the discovery of the bird but, at the same time, if he can't find it, so be it. Craddock is a man obsessively obsessed until, suddenly, he isn't, and Stivens is showing us when he is, at least, for the night parrot.

Dal Stivens is a phenomenally talented Australian writer. A Horse of Air was his last published novel; during its composition and after completing it he turned increasingly to painting, though he was to later win the Patrick White Award in 1981 for his contribution to Australian literature. A Horse of Air can, then, be seen as a capstone to his career, a summation of the subjects he chose to explore, and the interests he wished to share. Harry Craddock is by no means Dal Stivens, but he is a certain clearly defined Australian type – the embarrassed intellect, the bashful exuberant, the erotic prude, the excitable wet blanket.

The structure of A Horse of Air begins with Craddock's forced jottings, an exercise given to him by his doctor in an effort to explore his psyche and uncover his motives for murder. Early on we are informed that the doctor, and Craddock's wife, do not in fact believe he killed the man – but Craddock does, and that could, perhaps, be sufficient evidence of his mental instability. Nonetheless Craddock, who initially dislikes his project (and who inserts deliberately offensive and contradictory material into his 'confession'), begins to warm to his task, seeing it as a chance to exonerate himself and, perhaps, explain his strange ambition. Craddock is quick to admit that

I'm a buffoon and a clown and I've never grown up. I'm fifty and an amateur naturalist and amateur everything. I am always searching. For what? What do you think of what? asked Mr Apple or Appel. Watt? asked Mrs Appel. Appel it is. What do you think of what? repeated Mr Appel, elevated. Which Watt? asked Mrs Appel, scratching her nose, her el. Elevated Mr Appel said...

The 'Editor' of Craddock's writings occasionally interjects, footnoting the often obscure references to natural history Craddock makes, but also highlighting errors and omissions, or even, rarely, those times where Craddock downplays his achievements. Craddock's editor is, probably, his doctor (though this is never made clear, and there are hints to suggest otherwise), but at any rate the editor needs must be Stivens, and it becomes interesting, then, to see how obscure Craddock's references become, and how helpful the references are. A reader in the 1970s could be forgiven for having missed Professor C. D. Broad's 1925 publication, The Mind and its Place in Nature, and it can certainly be assumed that, almost one hundred years after Broad's work, casual and academic readers are completely unaware of his contribution to philosophy. A cursory internet search reveals a great deal of information about him, but – really, this is Stivens showing off his erudition for its own sake, not necessarily Craddock's. That said, it is nice when Craddock goes off on a riff about a particular concept or theory, and less nice when a reference is simply a footnoted indication that the author has read more than the reader.

But never mind. The novel runs along quite nicely without these quibbles. Craddock is an exuberant narrator along the lines of a Saul Bellow protagonist, and what is even more impressive is, he is able to keep up, almost, with the vitality of a Herzog or Humboldt. Craddock's story, however, most neatly mirrors Bellow's Henderson the Rain King, a novel published eleven years ago, in that both Henderson and Craddock, independently wealthy, abandon their areas of privilege to explore a less-advantaged area of the world. For Henderson, a voice inside crying ”I want, I want, I want” compels him forward, while for Craddock it is a strange and never fully explained empathy toward the night parrot. Both wish to break free of the shackles that bind ordinary modern living, and both find solace in the simplicity, danger, and 'realness' of natural living. Both, of course, come away disappointed. It is remarkable, in fact, how closely Craddock can be aligned to Henderson, and though issues of plagiarism are not at all to be considered, one must wonder if Craddock could have been created without the initial discovery of Henderson.

At times the weight of Craddock's story fails under the necessities of a madman's writings, but thankfully Joanna, not his first wife, is able to step in with a few journal entries of her own. Joanne is calm and considered, a scientist against Craddock's exuberant. She places both the novel and Craddock, and it is unfortunate that at times she seems to be Stivens' way of providing a voice for his beautiful and detailed descriptions of Australia's landscapes. Joanna's journals have a tendency to describe and describe and describe, laying down firm tangible touchable scenery, where Craddock rambles gloriously onward. Here is Joanne, when they are wandering central Australia:

At intervals between the sandhills were great stony or gibber plains. Aeons of wind and water have smashed the once solid siliceous or flinty horizontal strata and winds have carried away the loose soil cover until only a gleaming stony rubble remains. Windblown sand has abraded the stones and small boulders into smooth shiny pebbles with sloping sides. Pick one up and you'll discover it is shaped like a low tent or a pyramid. They're polished, too, with a coating of “desert varnish” - a deposit of colloidal silica or oxide of iron.

Oh, this is very nice. It is wholly different to Craddock, but it fits, and it fits so well. Much of Joanne's diaries concern this type of writing, expository writing, yes, but writing that serves to assist in defining the confusing heart of Australia's core.

As a counterpoint, here is Craddock again, casually musing:

“I wish to clear up a point here. Joanna said I was coming to hate Australia. Like other cosmopolitan Australians I have a love-hate relationship with my own land. When I'm living in Italy a time comes when I start wanting to return to Australia – and when I'm in Australia it works the other way.”

And again

“...I am only too aware that we all, or nearly all, want the approval of our fellows – in my case the approval of you, the reader. As I write this I try to imagine who you are. Are you, for instance, a man or a woman? Young or old? Do you share my concern for the wild creatures with whom we share this earth? Or are you indifferent? Do you like or dislike me?”

Comparing these two snippets with Joanne's, we have two totally different voices adding their observations to a text that can only benefit from the richness. It is true, after half a novel worth of Craddock's joyous exclamations, that it is difficult to shift down to Joanne's slower tempo, but the value lies in the beauty of the text. Craddock's excitement with Joanne's description makes for an evocative portrayal of central Australia, that barren and inhospitable land. And if the other characters wash together as Teds and Tims and whatevers – so be it. It's the price to pay, and the admission isn't so high.

Toward the end of the novel, Stivens experiments further, breaking the narrative into different threads, which he portrays as three equal columns running down the page. Here is a snippet:

This review hasn't been much about plot, I suppose, because the novel really is about Craddock and the way the people close to him handle his proclivities and strange ways. The ending, when it comes, is shocking in a wholly unexpected way – or at least it was for me – but it is satisfying, too. The night parrot quest remains a little too much Craddock's and not enough ours, which makes the second half more difficult than the first, but the sheer magnitude of Craddock carries the novel along.

To conclude, this is truly a great Australian novel, and though its antecedents are clear, it is no way derivative or lesser than the great novels of that time period. Dal Stivens deserves a place in Australian letters, and though he had it for a moment, he doesn't have it now. His work is unjustly forgotten, and it is inexcusable that he remains out of print today. A Horse of Air is, if you can find it, a truly great Australian novel, and a truly great novel without any caveats. It holds its own against the other great works from the 1970s, and it never feels dated. Harry Craddock is a great character, and Stivens' post-modern touches add to the text instead of swamping it.

Absolutely recommended.

Author	Dal Stivens
Title	A Horse of Air
Nationality	Australian
Publisher	(Currently out of print) Previously printed by Penguin
Pages	222
Availability: ---Amazon (US)

See Also

List of Australian authors under review
A Horse of Air won the Miles Franklin award for 1970. Note that it is very difficult (shamefully so) to find any winners past the 1990s.