The moment I entered the back room, I felt the familiar buoying feeling of being here, among a friendly bunch of people who loved words, and a sprinkling of starry lights. Joseph Moore called our eyes to the stage with some casually lovely guitar and soft, paperbark tree vocals. Delana Carbone, our MC for the evening, spoke her whimsical words and evoked images of circus smiles and flights of imagination, and we kicked off the evening with Mister Mario Pilla. Our favourite flame-haired fiend sauntered onto the stage, armed as always with his usual witticisms and a poem or two. He humorously and eloquently outlined some concerns in 'To a Lady Who Took Offence When I Turned My Back on Her to Find Sleep', insisting that ‘tis not that you’re uncomfortable. ‘Tis more that I’m uncomfortable.’ And received a ‘standing ovation’ after encouraging the audience to participate in a game of standing and clapping.
There were plenty more laughs to follow as Chris Willis passionately related the epic tale of facing his annotated story drafts. ‘The thought of editing this piece makes me sad. Sadder than when Mufasa died!’ He spoke with great enthusiasm and his richly intertextual work flitted along with vivid imagination. Piri Eddy entertained us as well with a hilariously fast-paced metafictional piece, playing two characters at once as they argued about the difference between positivity and realism, and the limits of their power as invented characters. ‘The writer… He knows.’
The mood came down as we all settled in and Samuel Williams lulled us with a lullaby in a murmuring voice. He then told us a moving story about the anxieties of growing up in 'Staying Up All Night with Andy'. An older brother seeks independence, while the younger seeks the closeness and simplicity of the past. ‘Had he always been this naked in the bath? It seemed unthinkable.’ Susan Nelson used vivid, almost tangible description in her piece about the slow degeneration of a grandparent’s health—the fragility, brightness and speed of life. And Melanie Pryor hypnotised us as always with her words, flowing like water, and vivid imagery. ‘Bone, the symmetry of boundless existence … silhouettes of summer legs in the sun…’
Kenneth Nixon employed light humour and a quick, neurotic tone about a character searching for narrative and passion in even the most mundane places, and Dominiek Neall spoke of youth, beauty and family in his story about a young girl. ‘Mishka danced beside me like a large, ecstatic golden retriever.’ Peter Beaglehole was our final student reader, concluding the set with a humorous work about apprehension toward adult responsibilities and the loss of childhood ease. ‘Skinny bastards, with their exoskeletons. You never see a fat ant.’
Our lovely headliner, Kalinda Ashton, author of The Danger Game (2009), concluded the night with a fascinating piece about dissociative disorder. She described the illness with remarkable perception in 'I Can Remember Much Forgetfulness' as her protagonist struggled to explain his experiences to a shrink: ‘I don’t feel … that they are just confused memories … It is merely that I know that this life I have is not my own … [This life] is an underexposed photograph.’ I listened, captivated, to a story of a man separated from the life he thought he had a right to, and went home to a wife he feigned knowing at all, and did not love. It was tragic and funny and intriguing—the perfect story to end the night.
We had pizza delivered in the interval and a raffle at the end, with fabulous prizes organised by the Speakeasy team, headed by Threasa Meads and Alicia Carter. Chatting pleasantly for a while afterwards, I wondered what more I could want in an evening out. It was yet another magical night, wrapped in sweet narrative. .
Reviewed by Miranda Richardson Miranda Richardson is a third year BCA: Creative Writing student at Flinders University. She loves cloudy days, sweets, and art in all its forms.
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