The last time I was on a residency, a year ago at Bundanon in New South Wales, I put up an A4-sized sign above my desk – BE BRAVE. A high-end publisher had given me that advice a week before and I made sure to take it with me down to the Shoalhaven. Whenever I struggled, I looked up, saw the sign, and then I was brave. At least, I tried to be. I have the same sign with me here at Cataract Gorge: it’s just there, on the wall, a metre away from where I’m writing this post (still by hand, would you believe; I’m sticking to my guns).
Bravery seems to be the theme of the week.
Most days in this place young boys or men strap themselves high up to the Gorge cliffs and abseil their lives away. Sometimes they stop mid-fall, steady themselves, put out their arms and have a photo taken by their friends back up the cliff – should the rope break, or the equipment fail, they’d smash their bodies open on the rocks below.
Every evening, Launceston joggers – men and women – plug themselves into their i-Pods and send their bodies up one side of the Gorge and down the other, across and through and around and over the duckboards, boardwalks, catwalks, even along a suspension bridge that makes you feel drunk just by looking at it. I scared the living crap out of one of these folk last night, when, wearing my black jeans and black hoodie and black jacket, I rounded a corner and almost ran into a guy. He stopped, put his hand to his heart, and said, ‘Bloody hell, it’s a bit dark here, eh?’ He meant, of course, I’m sure you were about to stab me with a flick-knife, you bastard.
In summer, apparently, Lonnie boys throw themselves off the Kings Bridge (pictured above, at dawn) and dive or drop or flop or crash into the liquid, silty mud that makes for water at this the Gorge end of the river.
I think I’d rather listen to The Smiths.
As hoity and literary and – quite frankly – wanky as it may sound, I’m having a Grim As Buggery Short Fiction Festival while I’m here in Launceston. The head-lining acts are the Grand Reapers of Grim-ness, Leo Tolstoy, Anton Chekhov, and Australia’s own Nam Le (who can actually be very funny, but that’s beside the point).
In Tolstoy’s short story ‘The Raid’, his main character, a civilian who’s curious about war, says, ‘I remembered that Plato had defined bravery as the knowledge of what should and what should not be feared ‘ [and] wanted to explain my idea to the captain. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘it seems to me that to every danger there is a choice, and the choice that springs from a sense of duty, for example, is courage, while a choice made under the influence of base feelings is cowardice. Henceforth, the man who risks his life from vanity, curiosity or greed cannot be called brave. Conversely, the man who avoids danger from an honest sense of responsibility to his family, or simply out of conviction, cannot be called a coward.’’
Today, am I brave or cowardly?
Would I dive off the Kings Bridge? No.
Would I run around Cataract Gorge at night? No, I wouldn’t.
Would I abseil down the rocks and stop to pose for a photo? No, is the answer to that as well.
But good characters must do all these things, and more.
20 comments
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May 2, 2010 at 9:16+00:00May
Nana Jo
All I want to do is surround your post with nothing but avid and respectful silence, to pull off the road for a while and watch the brave and the good. Your words take me there, and there’s a special kind of bravery in that …
May 2, 2010 at 9:16+00:00May
Nigel Featherstone
As always, Nana Jo, thanks for your wonderful comments. I’m glad that there are words here at Under the Dovecot that resonate with you.
And your ‘avid and respectful silence’ is very much appreciated, though I wonder how the blogosphere deals what that kind of thing??
May 3, 2010 at 9:16+00:00May
Nana Jo
I guess I was just trying to say in my own bumbling way that your post stands out within the blogosphere …cool word, that!
May 3, 2010 at 9:16+00:00May
Nigel Featherstone
Well, thank you so much, Nana Jo. Your words are appreciated around here!
May 3, 2010 at 9:16+00:00May
Nana Jo
I have no idea why every time I comment on your blog, I am accompanied by that little avatar of a penguin!
May 3, 2010 at 9:16+00:00May
He Who Stayed at Home
Nana Jo – my mother would be most impressed with the random penguin. Ask Nige just how many penguin-related items he has, courtesy of her, for no real good reason.
May 3, 2010 at 9:16+00:00May
Nana Jo
He Who Stayed at Home (how very grand that title sounds!) … It must be a mother thing. I started my younger son on a penguin collection when he was a wee baby (also for no real good reason). Last Christmas, at the age of 24, my now 6 ft 7 in, handsome lad tactfully informed that he no longer wanted/needed/would house any more penguin related items. And just when I had bought him the cutest penguin ice-cream scoop ever for his Christmas stocking! Obviously, that penguin avatar is karma …
May 3, 2010 at 9:16+00:00May
He Who Stayed at Home
Hehe, I’ve said to my mother that Nige isn’t *that* excited about penguins. But she operated her selective listening.
Sorry to hijack, Nige. Back to being brave (in regards to which, I bravely battled my blackberry jungle, and have the scars to prove it – abseiling is nothing compared to those vicious bastards!).
May 3, 2010 at 9:16+00:00May
Nigel Featherstone
Well, He Who Stayed At Home, a couple of things:
1. Your poor mother if she visits Under the Flutter and sees this comment string!
2. By some amazing piece of synchronicity, penguins have actually played a part in my day today…though I’ll keep that a mystery from the blogosphere.
3. Yes, I dare say that blackberries may need more heroics than abseiling.
Though, talking of bravery, I dad man-handle a huntsman spider off the Cottage’s verandah this morning. Beat that!
May 3, 2010 at 9:16+00:00May
Nigel Featherstone
Erm… ‘I dad manhandle’? I’d like to think I was channelling ee cummings, but really that was just a bad typo.
May 3, 2010 at 9:16+00:00May
He Who Stayed at Home
I don’t do spiders. Particularly huntsman spiders.
There is no bravery there to be found from me.
May 4, 2010 at 9:16+00:00May
Nigel Featherstone
If it was a snake, well, I’d have found myself at the top of the hill behind the cottage (there are about 200 steps to get there, and, yes, I have counted them) in a nano-second.
May 3, 2010 at 9:16+00:00May
Sarcastic Bastard
I wouldn’t do any of those things either, Nigel. I like to live one step back from the edge.
Laugh.
May 4, 2010 at 9:16+00:00May
Nigel Featherstone
Hi SB, interesting you say that you like to live one step back from the edge. This place in which I’m currently living – the Gatekeeper’s Cottage at Cataract Gorge – is all about The Edge (and, clearly, I’m not referring to the U2 guitarist). Edge of the city. Edge of the bush. Edge of the gorge. Edge of the bridge. And considering I’m here to write, well, that should be about edges as well. I guess sometimes, at some point, we’ve got to go over the edge. That’s what I’m learning from being here… rather regrettably!
May 4, 2010 at 9:16+00:00May
itallstarted
Spiders are disgusting.
Just wanted to throw that in there…
May 4, 2010 at 9:16+00:00May
Nigel Featherstone
Thanks for throwing, Agnes! For me it’s snakes, rats, and, erm, snails. But if there’s one thing that I can’t watch on TV it’s someone getting a jab in the arm – syringes make me go weak at the knees.
I reckon I could defend my country if I had to (hopefully such an event will never come my – our – way), but if someone in my vicinity either has or is about to get a syringe, well, it’s all over – I go upside-down turtle.
May 4, 2010 at 9:16+00:00May
itallstarted
Don’t mind snakes. Hate rodents of all descriptions.
Hate needles – but had no problems getting my nose pierced. Closed my eyes, and it only hurt for two seconds. I think the problem with needles is that feeling of all that STUFF going into your arm. Shudder.
Regarding defending the country – let’s hope that never happens. And I don’t think I could do it.
May 4, 2010 at 9:16+00:00May
Nana Jo
Oh dear. I’ve been a nurse for 32 years, but I work in the burn unit and rarely have to give needles. I do not like snakes at all, AT ALL … but …oddly, I am least brave around clowns. They terrify me.
Here on the Pacific rim on British Columbia, the tourist jingo is “Life on the Edge”… edge of the Pacific, edge of excitement and the edge of adventure! You can get t-shirts, hats and all manner of things with that saying.
May 4, 2010 at 9:16+00:00May
itallstarted
Clowns are all kinds of frightening – I don’t find that odd at all, just sensible!
May 4, 2010 at 9:16+00:00May
Nigel Featherstone
Nana Jo – OH NO! I’VE BECOME A TOURISM SLOGAN! Slam my face on a t-shirt and send me packing. (Actually, it’s rather funny.)
Agnes – clowns are wrong, there should be a law against them. Santa should be included in that law. I’d need all kinds of bravery to be at a dinner party at which there was also a clown and a man in a Santa outfit.
PS Interesting that we’ve gone from bravery to phobias. Must be something about modern life being a bit too much.