A Room Made of Leaves

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It is historical fiction turned inside out, a stunning sleight of hand that gives the past the piercing immediacy of the present. Having re-read this to prepare for a Book Club discussion, I am still captivated by the story-telling skill of Kate Grenville. What she does demonstrate is a shrewd insight into John’s character: his love of grandiose schemes, of the ‘long game’, his need to be proved right, his delight in catching other people out, and his sensitivity to any suggestion of insult. Most striking is the way Grenville makes images startlingly fresh that ought to be worn out with use. I just felt that Grenville literally rewrote a real woman's experience to suit the point she wanted to make; especially given she frames the book as though the diary is real, then admits at the end it isn't.

How may we celebrate Elizabeth’s hard-won self-possession, however knowing or regretful, when it is conditional on the violent dispossession of others? This turns out to be an uneasy coupling, as the novel tries to balance the happy empowerment of Elizabeth, her flourishing against the odds in a hostile environment, with the inescapable knowledge that the conditions of her flourishing depend on the oppression of others.

This playful ruse makes the novel an immersive fictional experience but it also adds to the sense of what went unsaid both in the historic documents Elizabeth left behind and concerning the circumstances that led this couple who came from humble origins to build a lucrative Australian wool industry. And it’s taken the skill of the author to turn these memoirs into an intriguing depiction of life for those early Australian settlers.

I was hot with a sudden shame for being wilful, as well as for having no looks and no portion, ashamed that no one would want me. Elizabeth was attracted to the quiet manner of Dawes which was in such contrast to the petulant, argumentative and aggressive nature of her husband, Lt. View image in fullscreen Australian author Kate Grenville has always been fascinated by women’s hidden stories.

I didn’t feel the connection- and while I admired her tenacity and drive in the face of a completely male dominated society- I wish Granville explored more of her inner workings - her fears, joy and sorrow. It would take the form of her secret memoirs, hidden in a tin box tucked away in the roof of her house. Twenty-one-year- old Elizabeth is hungry for life but, as the ward of a Devon clergyman, she knows not to expect much. However, upon reading the authors notes at the end of the book I discovered that in fact the story that I had just read was actual fiction and the editors notes at the beginning where in fact false.