Open Page with Tim Winton

Why do you write? Because I can, I suppose. I enjoy the mysterious undertow of story, and I love language. Oh, and to pay the rent. Are you a vivid dreamer? I’m not sure how to measure the vividness of dreams, but they certainly seem lurid enough to me. Where are you happiest? In the water, or on the verandah with a book. What is your favourite music? Totally dependent on my mood, but I tend to favour collaborations between Frank Zappa and Captain Beefheart. And your favourite book? I’m not sure I have one. I tend to reread The Sun Also Rises every year, if only to remind myself of what it was like to be eighteen or nineteen and overcome by the initial excitement, the shock, of something fresh and distinctive. Who is your favourite author? Again, I’m not sure I have one. But I think Les Murray is probably our best living writer. Flannery O’Connor was a big influence. And your favourite literary hero and heroine? Bartleby. Name an early literary idol or influence whom you no longer admire – or vice versa. White is still important to me, though there’s so much more dreary stodge than I remember. Stow looks better all the time, especially by comparison. How old were you when your first book appeared? Twenty, I think. What, if anything, impedes your writing? Nonsense like this, of course. Plus marriage, parenthood, taxation, arthritis. How do you regard publishers? It’s a class war, but every so often we get to sing ‘Silent Night’ across the haze of no man’s land. Then we’re all in hell together and you remember there are good people in every trench. What do you think of the state of criticism? Hey, I’m still thinking thoughts of goodwill and ceasefire. Why bring that up? If you had your time over again, would you choose to be a writer? I like being a writer, but I don’t know if I’d do it twice. What do you think of writers’ festivals? At best, they’re an opportunity for people to think and argue and dream aloud. At worst, they’re an entertainment franchise providing comfort for the comfortable. Do you feel artists are valued in our society? That depends where you live. In some enclaves they’re overvalued and mediocre work is received into a perpetual warm bath of approval. Too much art is conducted in secret-sacred language that excludes the vast majority of the population. It’s a shame more artists don’t speak across barriers of class, generation and region. Sometimes we earn the indifference we complain about. I think a certain resistance is useful for makers of art; a bit of indifference can be a challenge, a goad, even. Maybe we should be asking whether artists value the society, i.e. the unwashed outside the gates. What are you working on now? A questionnaire, isn’t it?

From the New Issue

The Buddhist and the Ethicist: Conversations on effective altruism, engaged Buddhism, and how to build a better world by Peter Singer and Shih Chao-Hwei

No Church in the Wild by Murray Middleton

Three recent short story collections

We All Lived in Bondi Then by Georgia Blain

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Letters to the Editor - December 2016