Books That Make Us Cry

On the last day of the last school term for 2019, I sent a text message to my husband, Andy:

We just got a bushfire emergency warning.

A few minutes later, Andy phoned me and I said, “The fire isn’t far away.” It was burning in our neighbouring village. My voice wobbled as I added, “Everyone has been told it’s too late to leave. The only option is to take shelter.”

Andy asked, “Are you okay?” A couple of seconds of silence and then he said, “I’m coming home.”

That was the moment when the bushfire became personal. It was no longer kilometres away. It wasn’t a fire that might or might not affect us. It was here, just down the road.

Fire is unpredictable. It moves fast. It destroys. It kills. It changes lives. It’s not something that anyone wants to experience firsthand.

We haven’t always lived in a bushfire danger zone. But I’ve always known about fires and how they can impact communities. When I was a child, I read the classic Australian novel, Ash Road which was written by Ivan Southall:

“It’s hot, dry and sweaty on Ash Road, where Graham, Harry and Wallace are getting their first taste of independence, camping, just the three of them. When they accidentally light a bushfire no one would have guessed how far it would go. All along Ash Road fathers go off to fight the fires and mothers help in the first aid centres. The children of Prescott are left alone, presumed safe until it’s the fire itself that reaches them. These children are forced to face a major crisis with only each other and the two old men left in their care.”

A couple of years ago, I read this book out loud to my girls. It’s the kind of story that makes your voice wobble. At various points in the book, tears appeared in my eyes. I had to breathe deeply before continuing to read. I hoped I could finish the book without crying.

Imagine being able to write stories that make a reader cry. How do authors do that? Perhaps it’s all about the subject matter. Are sad topics guaranteed to move us to tears? Or maybe there’s more to writing than that,

A few years ago, I read a memoir written by a bereaved mother. She described the heartbreaking moment when she discovered her young baby lying motionless in his crib, and then what happened in the days, weeks and months afterwards. The words the author chose were beautiful. It was an exquisitely written book. But somehow I couldn’t connect with the mother’s story. I should have been able to because I’ve also experienced the loss of a child. I just couldn’t understand what was wrong. Had I lost my compassion? How could I not be touched by a story that has so much in common with mine?

Then in the final chapter of the book, I understood. The author had given the finished manuscript to her editor to read. A few days later, they met in a cafe to discuss the book. I guess the author was hoping her editor would say the book was finished and it was ready to be published. But that’s not what happened. The editor said there was something missing from the story. The mother had described her experience from a distance. She’d taken a step back from the pain. She hadn’t revealed her feelings. She hadn’t told the most important part of the story and so had failed to connect with the reader.

Why had the mother done this? After thinking about it, she admitted she didn’t want to face her grief. As she was talking with her editor, tears finally came to her eyes. And then a heaving overwhelming grief came pouring from the mother. She had no choice: it refused to be contained a moment longer.

It was at this point in the book that I stepped into the mother’s shoes. I could feel her pain intensely. You see, I can remember grief pouring out of me. It just kept coming, taking me with it. In my story Feeling Crazy, I wrote:

I kneel on the ground beside my son’s grave, tears streaming down my face. My body is bent over double with pain. My chest heaves as I sob noisily. The tears come from deep, deep inside me, overwhelming me, making me gulp for air. I let the sorrow pour out of me unrestrained… And I imagine digging up my son so I can hold him close to me one final time. Yes, anyone seeing me would think I’ve gone crazy. I am not the woman I was yesterday. That woman was in control.

We don’t necessarily need to have experienced someone else’s pain in order to understand how someone is feeling. Of course, we will never feel everything to the same depth. But we can get an idea of what someone else is going through. By listening to or reading someone’s story, we can learn. We can grow in compassion.

I bet the next time I read Ash Road, my voice will again wobble. Tears will fill my eyes. I will feel the characters’ fear. And I will understand a bit more than I did last time I read this book. Our own bushfire experiences will connect us more deeply to the story.

If you’d like to read Ash Road, it’s available from Amazon. The book was published in 1965 when ‘mothers helped in the first-aid centres.’ These days, of course, many mothers are fighting bushfires alongside the men!

Ash Road is on the Reading Australia list:

“This book deals with one of the big Australian themes – a bush fire and its effects on people especially those who have accidentally caused it.”

It’s recommenced for year 6 children, but I think older kids and parents would enjoy it too.

If you’re looking for some Australian books, you could take a look at the Reading Australia list. The books range from Alison Lester’s picture book Are We There Yet?  to Marc Zusak’s The Book Thief.

Something Extra

Sometimes people ask us, “Why do you choose to live so close to the bush? Surely you’d be safer in town?”

Yes, it might seem crazy to live here. A lightning strike, a fallen power line, or a careless tossing of a cigarette butt on a hot and windy day could result in a fire over our back fence. (Our house is in a red bushfire zone, the highest risk zone.) It might seem more sensible to move to a built-up area. But it’s too late for us to do that because we’ve fallen under the spell of the beautiful Australian bush.

A few years ago, I wrote a blog post called Under the Spell of the Australian Bush: a Movie, a Book, a Walk. I said:

Have you ever fallen under the spell of the beautiful Australian bush?

“While Joan Lindsay’s haunting Australian classic Picnic at Hanging Rock is a work of fiction, the story is often considered one of Australia’s greatest mysteries.

In 1900, a class of young women from an exclusive private school go on an excursion to the isolated Hanging Rock, deep in the Australian bush. The excursion ends in tragedy when three girls and a teacher mysteriously vanish after climbing the rock. Only one girl returns, with no memory of what has become of the others . . .”

The movie version of this book was released when I was a teenager. Everyone was talking about it. But for some reason, I didn’t see it. Years later, I found out why everyone was interested in Picnic at Hanging Rock. The movie was beautifully filmed, and it has a haunting theme tune.

Also, an unsolved mystery always provides lots to talk about! After reading the book, I set out on a huge rabbit trail, trying to find out whether it is based on fact despite the author’s claim that it isn’t. My search led me to the missing last chapter of the book that the author’s editor had removed before publication. It has the answer to the mystery. Sadly, I didn’t like the explanation at all. The book is definitely better without the final chapter!

A mini-series of the book was made in 2018. It doesn’t appear to be as successful as the original movie.

Bushfire Update

A few days ago, ‘our’ bushfire was finally described as contained! Of course, contained doesn’t mean extinguished. But it’s still good news! The fire has been burning since 26 November 2019.

Photos

I took these photos on Boxing Day 2019 before the bush near our home was back burnt.

So, have you read Ash Road? Or maybe you’ve read other books out loud that made you cry?

And have you seen Picnic at Hanging Rock? The movie and book won’t make you cry, but they might make you fall in love with our beautiful Australian bush!