Biography

Notwithstanding recent expressions of disaffection with large-scale narrative biography (e.g., James Walter's biography of Whitlam), I remain a devotee of the genre. In Australia, our communal sense of identity, our historiographical debates and our literature are diminished by the infrequency of such works.

The obvious cliche to describe this book is ‘light and frothy’. The beer connotation is more apt than the sparkle of champagne conjured up in the title.

Alan Renouf traces in more or less anecdotal fashion his career as an Australian diplomat. There are very readable, if almost glib, passages about his experiences at overseas postings and at home in the public service. These are interspersed with commentaries on the exasperating job of running the Foreign Service Department, the long list of duties and responsibilities entrusted to diplomats, and the declining state of the Australian Foreign Service. Some of this is highly interesting, but the book’s uneven pace and the abortive attempt at sparkling wit do little to enhance the author’s distinguished reputation.

The men of the 2/30th Battalion laughingly enlisted. They didn't laugh on 16 February 1942 when, as part of the 8^th Division and the Singapore garrison, they reluctantly surrendered to the Japanese. Happiness being relative, some of these Australians laughed all the way from Changi to a new camp near the wharves. Struggling to load bagged salt, they had no laughter, just helpless sickness in the stomach, as Sergeant Stan Arneil was savagely beaten by guards. Scenes change, states of mind go up and down, until the survivors are about to disembark in Sydney late in 1945: ‘and everybody on the ship is laughing all the time’.

Although Howard Florey spent most of his life abroad, he was a great Australian and according to his biographer probably the most effective medical scientist since Joseph Lister.

More serious works have been written on the life and times of W.M. Hughes than on any other Australian prime minister and, probably, any Australian at all. The little man got off to a flying start with his own books about himself and his amazing adventures, then Farmer Whyte among others came along and, to cap it off, there has emerged the very lengthy two-volume study of Hughes by L.F. Fitzhardinge, among the best and certainly the most elegant of our political biographies.

This book is a bird of most curious kidney. For the life of me I can’t see any raison d'etre for it. Not that James McAuley, with his wardrobe of fascinating hats, doesn’t cry out for a book, and not that Peter Coleman doesn’t have so many of the qualifications to write that book. But this work is not it. It’s thin, to the point of emaciation. It appears exactly four years after McAuley’s death, which, as literary biographies go, is but a day. Which puts me in mind of an Entebbe Raid or Teheran Hostages book, hitting the market while the event is still fresh. But McAuley’s career, for all its interest, lacks that brand of newsworthiness. And a book with so comprehensive a title as The Heart of James McAuley: Life and Work of the Australian Poet presumably aims to be more than a piece of ephemera.

The daughter of a prosperous-enough middle-class farming family in Devon, Elizabeth Veale received an upbringing and an education that stood her in good stead during her long existence in New South Wales as Mrs. John Macarthur.

Hamish McDonald has provided us with the first biography of President Suharto since O.G. Roeder’s authorized work which appeared in 1969. It is not only much more critical, but more comprehensive, and, as much of this second book deals with the events of the last few years, it can be said to be about a different Indonesia and a different President Suharto.

Sir Samuel Griffith was chief justice of the High Court of Australia for sixteen years, from October 1903 to October 1919; but he had effectively retired in July 1919. Sir John Latham was chief justice for sixteen and a half years, from October 1935 to April 1952; but he had effectively retired in May 1951. Thus, Sir Garfield Barwick, who last month completed his sixteenth year as chief justice, has already established a record for active service in the position; if he remains in office until 24 October this year, he will have broken even Lathams formal record.

The holder of such a record term of office as chief justice would, on that ground alone, be assured of a unique place in Australian legal history; but in Barwick’s case, the years as chief justice are only a climax – perhaps even an anti-climax – to an extraordinary career.