Alan Close Thesis (PDF 512Kb)
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A Bachelor's Family A memoir of relationship and childlessness Alan Close A memoir and exegesis submitted for the requirements of the Masters of Arts (Research). Faculty of Creative Industries Queensland University of Technology January 2005 This page is intentionally left blank. ii Keywords Men, Memoir, Relationships, Masculinity Politics, Masculinity Therapy iii This page is intentionally left blank. iv Abstract A Bachelor's Family is a memoir of relationship, exploring —from a male point of view—my trajectory to a 'circumstantially childless' middle age. The thesis argues for this memoir and my concurrently written magazine column In The Male, to be read in the context of 'masculinity politics', specifically as a site of what Bob Connell terms 'masculinity therapy'. As a writer heretofore of fiction, the fact that I should find myself working in these forms of creative non-fiction—both attempts to discuss aspects of contemporary masculinity in the public sphere—reflects not only recent industry and reader interest in the form but, with its emphasis on the 'healing possibilities' of truthfulness and personal disclosure, embraces the essence of 'masculinity therapy'. v This page is intentionally left blank. vi Table of Contents Keywords ii Abstract iii Statement of Original Authorship v Acknowledgements vi Memoir: A Bachelor's Family 1 Amsterdam 3 Glebe 6 Bondi 17 Drake 27 Bangalow 39 Grafton 45 Oregon 52 Flatbush 62 Irvine 74 Tijuana 79 Lamrock 86 Coogee 94 Clarence 105 Sydney 118 Byron 122 Exegesis 128 Introduction 129 Literature Review 131 Creative Non-Fiction and the Flight to Reality 138 Case Studies: column and memoir 139 Column: In The Male 141 Memoir: A Bachelor's Family 147 Conclusion 150 Appendix A: Essay and columns from Good Weekend magazine 152 Bibliography 171 vii This page is intentionally left blank. viii Statement of Original Authorship The work contained in this thesis has not been previously submitted for a degree or diploma at any other higher education institution. To the best of my knowledge and belief, the thesis contains no material previously published or written by another person except where due reference is made. Signature:________________________________ Date:____________________________________ ix This page is intentionally left blank. x Acknowledgements Thanks are due to the academic and general staff of the Creative Industries Faculty at the Queensland University of Technology. Without the opportunity to work within the structure of the MA (Research) I doubt this project would have seen fruition. In particular, I would like to thank my supervisor Stuart Glover for his ongoing guidance, feedback and friendship. At all stages he was the editor every writer wants—a reader who understood what I wanted to say often before I did, and then helped me achieve it. I would also like to thank the Faculty for the opportunity to engage in a tutoring role with undergraduate students of writing and those students for the tutoring they, in turn, have given me. xi This page is intentionally left blank. xii A Bachelor's Family 1 All these hearts reaching out towards each other. Oh my God, oh my God, what pain they cause. —Goethe They were the most moving sight there, two young people in love dancing together, blind to each other’s defects, deaf to the warnings of fate, deluding themselves that the whole course of their lives would be as smooth as the ballroom floor, unknowing actors set to play the parts of Juliet and Romeo by a director who had concealed the fact that tomb and poison were already in the script. Neither was good, each self- interested, turgid with secret aims; yet there was something sweet and touching about them both; those murky but ingenuous ambitions of theirs were obliterated by the words of jesting tenderness he was murmuring in her ear, by the scent of her hair, by the mutal clasp of those bodies destined to die. —Giuseppe di Lampedusa, The Leopard Have I learnt from my mistakes? Absolutely. I’m sure I could repeat them all exactly. —Peter Cook 2 1. Amsterdam Looking back there was a moment, a day, a week, when I left my youth behind and set course into the middle age I occupy today. My girlfriend, whom I'll call Fiona, was in Amsterdam and I was still in New York. We'd parted a week or so earlier. Fiona had a Round-the-World ticket back to Australia, and I’d gone to the States LA return. The plan was that she would continue the long way home, and I’d travel back to Los Angeles cross-country, get a flight and be in Sydney when she returned. We hadn’t left Australia together. Fiona had spent several months travelling in Central America while I’d stayed in Australia holed up in the hills behind Byron Bay completing the manuscript of my first book. Before Fiona left in October we acknowledged we had to be realistic. I wasn’t due to meet her in LA until March. Foreign travel and five months apart presented a lot of possibilities for things to happen with other people, and we agreed that we might have to work through this when we were reunited. But as it happened the possibilities had grabbed the ball and run away, almost out of reach. Although Fiona had had a few little things with a couple of Europeans on the road in Central America, and then a pretty big thing with a bloke she got serious about in Mexico, they were nothing compared to my contribution. Back in Australia I’d fallen in love with a married woman, Julia. Because she was married and because I was still with Fiona I decided to end things with Julia and meet Fiona in America as planned. Then the complications really started. Somewhere in Oregon Fiona started to feel off-colour. By the time she left New York there was no doubt she was pregnant. And we'd decided, as best we could, to have the baby. Because of the timing there was no question I was the father, but that was about the only thing that was certain. We were both 33 years old and ready to have a child but our relationship was in turmoil. We weren't even sure we wanted to stay together. We calculated we’d both be back in Sydney before Fiona was twelve weeks in case we changed our minds. We worked out the baby must have been conceived in the Jack London Hotel, Portland, Oregon—and convinced it was a boy, we called him Jack. When Fiona reached Amsterdam the plan came unstuck. She went to a clinic and there she was told she was eleven weeks—a month more than we’d thought. Suddenly whatever had gone before was just a game. Now we were playing for real 3 and a decision—a final, lasting decision, not a maybe, baby—had to be made, fast. We had to decide, by trans-Atlantic telephone, whether to keep the baby, whether to hang onto Jack, or—what’s the pretty way to put it?—let him go. Over the week as time and distance came between us the certainty we’d felt earlier evaporated. We spent hours on the phone. Long calls of tears and silence. Doubts surfaced and beached themselves in our minds. One day we were resolved, the next our confidence faltered. We both liked the idea of Jack, it was the reality we couldn’t decide about. We had no doubt he would be loved—no doubt—it was our situation which was in question. Could this baby bring us back together? And if it— he—didn’t, where would we stand then? In the end the questions mounted to outweigh the answers. We had the option of saying no and it overwhelmed us. Fiona made the decision only she could make. She called me one last time. “I’m going to keep the appointment.” And an hour later both our lives were on a different tack forever. It was June 1989. The events of Tiannamen Square were unfolding concurrently. For me, all the tanks in China are silenced by the memory of her thin, scared voice on the phone that day. This was the moment. I look back now and see that every other twist and turn and mistake I’ve made seem all but inevitable, as if I was blindly following a script my past had left in my hands. But I wasn’t the only person in charge of my fate that morning, and Fiona’s decision, I’m sure, could so easily have gone the other way. If I had got on a plane, stayed on the phone, done anything to convince her she didn’t need to go to the clinic that day I think I’d be a father now. One word said softly at the right time and my son would be asleep in the next room. Maybe. Or in Fiona’s house, wherever that might be compared to mine. I have no idea what would have happened to our non-marriage. But what I do know is that Jack would have been loved. I would have parented that child with every gram of childless uncertainty weighing so heavily in this heart as it enters middle age. My life would be so different it's almost too much to contemplate. Who would I be? Where would I be? What man would fatherhood have made me? Jack would be in high school. There’d be yesterday’s lunch rotting in his school bag, cricket, basketball, showdowns, compromises, love and war.