Music matters in fiction: Creative and critical reflections Geraldine Cox B.Ed. Edith Cowan University B. A. (English) Hons. Murdoch University This thesis is presented for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy, English and the Creative Arts School of Arts Murdoch University 2015 1 I declare that this thesis is my own account of my research and contains as its main content work which has not previously been submitted for a degree at any other tertiary education institution. Geraldine Cox 2 Abstract This thesis comprises two components: a creative piece, titled Impromptu I—X and a critical dissertation. Both pieces endeavour to investigate the use of music in fiction, and attempt to answer the following questions: What is the relationship between music and literature? What is the role of music in narrative fiction? How can reading a work from the perspective of music enhance our understanding and interpretation of a text? Within a musico-literary framework these questions seek to highlight key aspects of human experience, relationships and stories and thus enrich the interpretative potential of the verbal narrative. Impromptu I—X, from which sections I-V are included in this thesis, is a creative piece that harmonises on two story lines. One line unfolds in contemporary Park, a fictitious inner city suburb of Perth, and the other unravels the past of Mena, an industrial town of Western Australia, purpose-built in the early 1950s to house European migrant workers and their families. Impromptu I—X encompasses a variety of moods, manipulates patterns of time and rhythm, and evokes a narrative of familial and social relationships built from distinct voices and unique characters. The musical form, impromptu, is the organising principle of Impromptu I—X, while at the narrative level, music is represented as integral to the characters’ lives through dance, song, music works and their cultural histories. The dissertation draws on the work of cultural musicologists Lawrence Kramer and Susan McClary, literary theorists Stephen Benson and Eric Prieto, and cultural historian Gerry Smyth, to explore new ways of reading and interpreting the relationship between music and literature in three contemporary texts: Toni Morrison’s Beloved (1987), the first novella of David Mitchell’s Cloud Atlas (2004), “The Pacific Journal of 3 Adam Ewing”, and Tim Winton’s Dirt Music (2001). The musico-literary analysis opens these texts to larger socio-political, historical and cultural contexts and questions, and in doing so enhances the power and significance of human expression and experience represented in fiction. This thesis thus demonstrates how fiction can be transformed by the interplay between music and literature, and it encourages readers to listen and respond imaginatively to the music in fiction. 4 Table of Contents Acknowledgements 6 Impromptu I—X 8 Credits 160 Synopsis of Impromptu I—X 162 Dissertation 164 Introduction 165 Chapter 1: Beloved: A Sound Remix 180 Chapter 2: Cloud Atlas Sextet 222 Chapter 3: Dirt Music Sonata 259 Conclusion 295 References 300 5 Acknowledgements I would like to thank my supervisors Dr Anne Surma who first encouraged me to pursue an English and Creative Writing PhD and Dr Christine Owen who suggested I seek an interdisciplinary project in music and literature. Without their professional guidance, invaluable time, generous insight, close reading and constructive feedback of my work, this thesis would never have come about. Research for this thesis was financially supported by a Murdoch University Research Scholarship and a subsequent extension scholarship for which I am most grateful. I also benefitted from financial assistance to subsidise my travel to international music and literature conferences. Thank you to Dr Roberta Cowan for her annual award of which I was the 2014 recipient. The people at the Graduate Centre kindly assisted me during times of grief that necessitated changes to my candidature. Helen Gibson, subject librarian for English and Creative Writing, shared her knowledge of technology, literary texts, contemporary essays, and purchased music and literary theory books for the library that were pertinent to my research. Her continued support throughout my project was immeasurable. I would like to thank Michael Stone and Ferdinand Gomes, Murdoch University library officers at Enquiries and Lending Services, for their polite and ready solutions to interlibrary and library borrowing, and Peter Lee for his advice and assistance in formatting this thesis. My thanks to Wendy Glassby, my postgraduate companion at Murdoch University, for her constant encouragement and sensibility, and to the postgraduate creative writing group, The Loop, for their friendship and support. In particular, I would like to thank my long-time friends, Barbara Meadows, Richard Mayes, Margaret Nadebaum, Sue McCarthy, Lucy Dougan, Mark Proud, Angela Kennard, Diane Giblin, Angela Jones, 6 Julie Raymond and Vonita Walley for their continued interest in my project. Thank you to my elderly neighbour, Muriel, for the joy of her friendship and the music we share at the morning symphonies. I would like to mention percussionist, Louise Devenish, whose music adeptness in performance is written large in my work. Deep gratitude to my siblings, Cheryl, John, Robyn and Mary, who shared my first stories. I owe my gentle and serene late mother and my imaginative and enthusiastic father, who died during my PhD journey, a huge debt of love and grace. Warm thanks to my children, Micah, Shaphan and Blaire, Hannah and Jonathan who supported, encouraged and patiently bore the pressures of my time to complete this work. My grandchildren, Isaiah and Emerson, were born during this project, and provided me with joyous distraction. Finally, a special word of thanks to my husband, Lindsay, whose quiet, thoughtful disposition and unfailing support put my PhD into perspective, in what was sometimes an obsessive, compulsive, frenetic period of our lives. 7 Impromptu I—X 8 I You looked half-pissed walking across the busy street singing Amy Winehouse’s hit “Rehab” loud enough for me to hear you’ve a jazzy voice. Your pitch black beehive buoyed high was trimmed with a red flower to match your red lips. Your off-the- shoulder blue cocktail dress with jewel accent and all-over ruching was right out-of- place for the time of day. You were trying to get a beat on the street and you’d have no trouble. You reminded me of Minke Van Der haak, a Dutch girl I knew in Mena. Minke had a baby boy early on but he was soon adopted out. I never heard she had a daughter. I stood and watched you tottering past The Bent Spoon right opposite my house. It was closed but would open later for dinner. You looked like you needed a sleep but wanted another shot in a glass. It was late afternoon, too early for your get- up. I’d just arrived home from school, tired, after a busy day teaching music. As you staggered toward my fenceless front yard, I looked down to check my letterbox for mail. You were on a collision course with the high school students waddling home from school. They noticed you, and giggled at each other, before they saw me. Splitting into groups of twos and threes, they steered clear of you. You were bold though and asked them for directions; none of them answered. You laughed a nervous laugh. Out of ear- shot; they fell about laughing. I answered for them and pointed you in the direction of Lichfield Street, a bit further up. —You’ll need to go up another street to get onto The Boulevard strip. 9 Plenty of competition for you on that stretch of road, I thought. Street walkers and kerb crawlers were turning Park into a hell on earth; community protest meetings were planned. What are you doing, girl? What are you thinking? On and off for a whole year I’ve noticed you, and noticed changes in you. You hover alone, you stand in the lane that skirts my house and hides you from smirking eyes. In the beginning, you were naive. Now you wait by my vigorous climbing Pierre de Ronsard rose blooming in spectacular fashion over the side fence that stretches the length of my yard. You wait, smoking and listening, as if to the du chant of Ronsard’s poetry. Your beauties, although they are in full bloom, in a short time will wither away and fall, and, like flowers, will perish in an instant. Time passes, time passes, my Lady. You seem more mature now, like ripe fruit with soft spots. You take your time and smoke a Virginia Slim. You’ve tried Eva, Kiss Lady, Camel, but you favour Virginia Slim, the cigarette that appears narrower and longer than other brands. You smoke a stick and send an sms. In less than a minute, a white battered Toyota Camry with Mena number plates edged into the lane out of nowhere. I was shocked to see the MA 125 registration plate. I peered at the young male driver’s face. Would I recognise him? With Mena plates, I might know his family. Mid 1950s to ’60s, I knew everyone in Mena. Any earlier, and it 10 was all swamp and dairy farming. Mena’s funky, but bust. Just another spit-in-the eye- left-to-die-by-the-government-kinda town. I’d left home to study music. My students take me to hip hop; they want me to listen and play, cut and sample. There’s a hip hop hit playing the rounds called “Cool Town”. It’s about a boy called Mena; the song doesn’t mention where he lives, except it’s a happening place. Much to his dissatisfaction, Mena can’t attract girls.