Andrew: Unknowing Agent of Disaster.

Review of E. L. Doctorow’s Andrew’s Brain, 2014, 198pp.

17834914Many readers will know the name E. L. Doctorow from his works of fiction including Ragtime, The March, The Book of Daniel, City of God, and Welcome to Hard Times, and his wide achievements and honours including the National Book Award, three National Book Critics Circle awards, the National Humanities Medal, and a Gold Medal for Fiction awarded in 2013 by the American Academy of Arts and Letters. Doctorow is well known for his work in “historical fiction”, a label he has moved away from in his latest novel Andrew’s Brain. Doctorow has moved well away from historical fiction – even though Andrew’s Brain does have a strong historical base to it – and into the realm of psychology and cognitive development.

In Andrew’s Brain, Doctorow abandons lineal storytelling that was a feature of his distinguished novels, such as The March – a precisely woven novel set in late 1864 and early 1865 during the American Civil War. In an interview with Manuel Roig-Franzia in the Washington Post, Doctorow explains that he wrote Andrew’s Brain in order to challenge the reader: “I do think this book, more than most, is one that judges its readers. If someone is looking for ordinary formulaic fiction, this is not it.” In the most part, Doctorow is correct. It isn’t your ordinary novel, yet it isn’t really challenging.

Andrew’s Brain is centred on the extended conversations, and writings, between the cognitive scientist, Andrew, and a frequent questioner, that Andrew calls “Doc”. Andrew is retelling his misfortunate life, prompted by his thoughts and questions from “Doc”. It is through these conversations, thoughts, and writings that Andrew gradually reconstructs his path of disorder and misfortune – his loves, his tragedies, and his triumphs that lead up to his current position.

There is a lot of pain in Andrew’s story. At the beginning of the novel, Andrew is still dealing with a fatal mistake that led to the death of his baby daughter:

It is true I accidentally killed my baby girl that I had with Martha: In good faith I fed her the medicine I believed had been prescribed by our pediatrician. The druggist sent over the wrong medicine and I was not as alert as I should have been…

Andrew’s second tragedy, the death of his second wife, Briony, who died in the September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks. Briony’s death not only leaves Andrew widowed, it also leaves their newborn daughter, Willa, motherless. The terrorist attacks in Andrew’s Brain are both vivid and emotional. After the towers collapse, Andrew attempts to look for her:

In the confusion, the fire engines, people stumbling through the streets, shouting, sirens, it was as if all of that had swallowed her up. Where was she? She would think first of Willa. She’d be back in a second to make sure the baby was all right. Wouldn’t she? Then where was she? Doctorow, who has his own personal story with the terrorist attacks, deftly conveys the confusion that was present that day along with the hopeless and desperate search for loved ones days after the attacks: There were in the street these posters everywhere plastered, on every wall, on every fence, on mailboxes, on phone booths and in subway stations, with the photographs of intensely alive, of can’t possibly be dead, faces. Name, age, last seen. Phone numbers in black marker. Have you seen this person? Call this number. Please call. I went around putting up the picture of Briony. Name, age, last seen. I wanted people to see her face. I knew it was useless, but I thought it necessary. I had taken in the park, she was smiling at me. I had a folder with her faces, a hundred copies, printed at Kinko’s, and I went around posting them. She was in that community of the last seen, their names and addresses, that they were loved. Please call. She was in that community of what was left of them.

After enduring what he could, and the sleepless nights waiting for Briony to come home, Andrew decides to take Willa to Martha.

After taking Willa to Martha – Andrew believed it was only fair for Willa to be taken care of by Martha considering it was he who killed their child – Andrew sells everything and moves to Washington, and as an academic, now takes a job as a science teacher at a public school. During one lesson, it is interrupted by a surprise visit by the President of the United States. And, as it turns out, Andrew knows the President from his time at Yale. From here, Andrew is hired by the President and appointed to a position titled ‘White House Office of Neurological Research’.

Andrew’s presence in the White House and Oval Office creates some suspicion and he becomes a source of interest for White House reporters – not to mention some conspiracy theorists. It is here that we also meet two other characters, Rumbum and Chaingang. Even though the Presidents name is never mentioned, it is quite clear that the President is G. W. Bush. Chaingang and Rumbum also resemble former Vice President Dick Cheney and former defense secretary Donald Rumsfeld. Andrew now becomes a pawn in some type of game between the President, Chaingang and Rumbum.

Andrew then finds himself in an unknown location continuing his life of suffering, despair, and his ability to carry disaster with him. His final thought reflects upon his desire to protect his children like the way Mark Twain – one of his idols – did with his children, and not be the pretender he himself, and his life, have made him out to be.

While Andrew’s Brain does leave particular questions open to challenge the reader – for example, who is “Doc”? Is he a psychologist, or is he a close friend? Or, is Andrew really the “first computer invested with consciousness?” – it isn’t an extremely challenging read. Even though the novel doesn’t follow the previous footprints of other E. L. Doctorow novels, the storyline does flow through the disastrous life of Andrew. Andrew’s voice throughout the novel is very fascinating, and at times, charming – even amusing. He is clearly intelligent, demonstrated with his vast speeches and thoughts on the human brain, consciousness and neurological science. Andrew’s powerful voice creates a buffer between his academic achievements and his life of misfortune. Andrew’s Brain also provides some comical and powerful passages on the President, Chaingang and Rumbum. Demonstrating their somewhat “sinister” characteristics and their legacy on one of the most crucial moments in American History.

Review: Tasmania Aborigines

Tasmanian Aborigines: A History Since 1803,

by Lyndall Ryan.

Allen & Unwin, 418 pages.


 tas aborigines

“The white men have killed us all; they shot a great many. We are now only a few people here and we ought to be fond of one another. We ought to love God. God made every thing, the salt water, the horse, the bullock, the possum, the wallaby, the kangaroo and wombat. Love him and you will go to him by and bye.”

In 2005, Eddie Kneebone, a member of the Bangerang people and reconciliation campaigner, painted a multi-panelled work to exhibit the impact of European settlement on the north-east of Victoria. The work was titled Bones of Contention and was painted shortly before his death. Along with the painting, Eddie Kneebone provided notes beginning with the so-called Massacre at Broken River in 1838. Kneebone wrote of the aftermath: “the troops came on horses with guns and swords, hunted and killed the Aboriginal people as they found them…” Kneebone continued: “land truly did bleed and their bones fell like rain.”

Lyndall Ryan first encountered Aboriginal History at Macquarie University in 1970s with her PhD thesis. The thesis was later transformed into the book The Aboriginal Tasmanians in 1981, with and a second edition appeared in 1996 containing an additional two chapters. However, Tasmanian Aborigines: A history since 1803 is a completely new book. Nonetheless, the thesis of her early work – that Tasmanian Aborigines resisted British colonisation and did not die out in 1876 or in any other period of Tasmania’s history, still remains cogent.

Ryan suffered more than any other scholar during the ‘History Wars’ and the ‘Black Arm-band of History’ – brought about from Historians Geoffrey Blainey and Keith Windschuttle. Windschuttle charged Ryan and fellow historians – Henry Reynolds to name one – of deliberately misleading Australians about Australia’s contact history. Windschuttle argued in several articles in the journal Quadrant and his book The Fabrication of Aboriginal History: Van Diemen’s Land 1803-1847 that Ryan had fabricated footnotes to invent settler massacres in the Black War during the 1820s.

Tasmanian Aborigines is Ryan’s vindication from Windschuttle’s “fabrication” claims. The book is divided into six parts: Invasion, 1803-26, War, 1826-31, Surrender, 1829-34, Incarceration, 1835-1905, Survival, 1840-1973 and Resurgence, 1973-2010. Each section of the book continues a sysinct path through Tasmania’s contact history; one of the many strengths of Ryan’s new book compared to her 1996 edition. It adds clarity to her argument and assembles what I would have thought to be a irreducible topic, into an argument of outstanding clarity.

The beginning of the book introduces the reader with a comprehensive overview of Tasmania, or Trouwunna as the Aborigines called their island. Ryan provides a detailed and interesting overview of migration movements, physical features, landscape, food, family and the nine nations of Trouwunna. The opening chapters are important to the whole work. Ryan surveys several sources dealing with the original population of Aboriginals in Tasmania before and during the European settlement of the island. These numbers provide a firm base for the rest of Ryan’s thesis.

Next, Ryan begins to analyse the first steps of the European invasion (a term that Ryan consistently uses through the book): the Wrangeowrapper – White Devil, up until 1826 with the “pastoral invasion.”

The book moves drastically into a new phrase of Aboriginal and European relations between 1826 and 1831. With Aboriginal attacks, European reprisals, and increased atrocities led Governor George Arthur to declare Martial Law on 1 November 1828.

In the sixteen months between the declaration of martial law in November 1828 and March 1830, it would seem that there were at least 120 attacks by the Aborigines on the settlers, leading to about fifty deaths and at least sixty wounded. On the other hand, at least 200 Aborigines had also been killed, many of them, it appears, in mass killings of six or more. The war was beginning to take its toll on both sides (p. 121).

Late in 1830, Arthur was still under serious pressure from settlers. Settlers, including women and children, were still under attack from Aboriginal tribes. A further sixty colonists were killed in settled districts. In comparison, 300 Aboriginals were killed in the same period, with at least 100 of these losing their lives in mass killings of six or more. The continued pressure on Arthur led him to respond with a “sledgehammer.”

This sledgehammer solution from Arthur was to drive the Big River and Oyster Bay Aborigines from the Settled Districts to the Tasman Peninsula. To do this, Arthur called on every able-bodied male in the colony, bond or free, to combine with the military and police forces to form a human chain or line to undertake the task (p. 131) on 7 October:

The line would advance for three weeks in a pincer movement south-east across the Settled Districts until it converged on 28 October unto a 60-kilometre line bounded at one end by the towns of Sorell and Richmond at Pitt Water and the stretched along the Prosser River and Prossers Plains to Spring Bat on the east coast.

Arthur’s Black Line was meant to be “a knockout blow that would bring the conflict to an end.” The line was “more like a very large scale Scottish Highlands shooting party: the soldiers and colonists were the bearers and the Aborigines were the prey waiting to be flushed out of the bracken.”

The Black Line gave the colonists in the Southern, Central and Eastern parts of the Settled Districts unfettered possession of the land. The “reckoning” of the Black War and the Black Line in the Settled Districts of Tasmania, an estimated 1000 people had perished, with an Aboriginal to colonial death ratio of 4:1.

The catastrophic destruction of the Aboriginal population in Tasmania after the Black War marked a new policy direction for Australia colonies. The new policy direction was for ethnographer, humanist and devout Christian G.A. Robinson, to walk around Tasmania to organise the surrender of Aboriginal survivors. Robinson and Arthur’s plan was to remove the remaining Aboriginal population from the main island of Tasmania to a “sanctuary” at Wybalenna. The task Robinson undertook was no small feat. Robinson first had to track down a dwindling population that would more than likely have been avoiding contact with whites. Furthermore, Robinson then had to negotiate with the Aboriginals: removing them from their land and relocating them.

Ryan’s detailed account of Robinson’s task is both chilling and at most times confronting. Ryan’s tone throughout this section of the book remains elucidate, even though there are some passages that cause a feeling of aghast. “Both men firmly believed they were saving the western Aborigines from certain extermination and extinction and providing them with the benefits of British civilization and Christianity (p. 214-15).”

Even with Robinson’s and Arthur’s good intentions, their actions can only be described as myopic. Both men were unprepared for the consequences of removing the remaining Aboriginals off their land. The consequences were devastating: as fast as Robinson was brining Aborigines to the sanctuary, they were dying.

The Wybaleena Island sanctuary was a disaster. After successful lobbying by the remaining the Aboriginal population on the island, they were later removed to the ‘Oyster Cove Aboriginal Station’. The station was divided into two sections, with a total area of just over 700 hectares. Nevertheless, the suffering of the Tasmanian Aboriginals continued. At theOyster Cove Aboriginal Station, there was still a “shocking” death rate, dreadful conditions and massive alcohol abuse: “The realisation that many white people saw more value in them as skeletons than as a living people led them to fear for their lives. It is not surprising that more of them resorted to alcohol to drown the prospect of the impending horror (p. 263).”

With the death of Truganini in 1876, many white Tasmanians believed that the colony was now completely ‘native free’ (p. 275). Her body was exhumed in 1878 and was available for scientific purposes until it was placed in the Tasmanian Museum where it was on public display. The vile desecration of Aboriginal remains were commonplace. However, Truganini’s death and then the public display of her remains, promoted the belief of a native free Tasmania.

I recall several times being told that the only successful genocide in Modern History was that of the Tasmanian Aborigines. I even recall myself saying it to others. Having said that, it is completely wrong. Ryan’s cogency is the argument of resurgence. Even though the duration of Ryan’s book is devoted to destruction and death, the remainder is filled with the important fight by the Tasmanian Aboriginals to regain their identity.

Ryan thoroughly recounts the prodigious work of the Tasmanian Aboriginal Centre (TAC) and campaigners such as Michael Mansell, in their effort for recognition and also the return of ancestral remains that were taken from the Aboriginal people and taken to various institutions.

The work of the TAC, Mansell and other campaigners, led to the Tasmanian parliament to apologise to the Aboriginal community to the Stolen Generations; the first to do so in Australia. Tasmania was also the first to compensate the Stolen Generations.

Ryan applies an equanimity narration throughout the whole book. This is in spite of various accounts of death, incarnation and desecration that will no doubt cause some aghast in most people. Ryan’s eminence as a historian is broadcasted throughout this work. It is an account that brings together a pragmatic and irreducible topic with a didactic tone, giving Australians, and future Australian’s some issues to discuss openly if White Australians and Aboriginal Australians are to move forward.

As aforementioned, Tasmanian Aborigines: A history since 1803 is Ryan’s vindication. The “few, explicable and trivial” errors that were made in her previous works have been rectified. If there was a positive to come from the history wars, it is this book. Only on several occasions Ryan mentions Windschuttle, yet, convincingly refutes his myopic claims. Tasmanian Aborigines is a vital scholarly work that leaves Windschuttle’s work in a state of dilapidation.