Music. Refrain and lament. Music of words. Music of images. Music of nature. Music worked at, honed, wrought by labour. Such staccato layering forms Dirt Music. It is a book chipped from the landscape of Western Australia and honed like a knifeblade in the beating heat of the White Point sun. Winton has created something singular here, but like a difficult melody heard for the first time, it is hard to tell at once whether you like it. Dirt Music, then, may have to be re-read: replayed on a loop until the rhythm drives its way into your unaccustomed skull.
But this is not to say that Winton's new book is difficult. But it is harsh. Harsh like the habitat in which it is set. Like the people who live there. The language is what is most striking. At times it is as beautiful as the coral reefs of Australia must be up close. At times it seems a little forced. Words borne of the sea, of fishing, are repeated over and over, like a mantra. Clothes are not taken but reefed off, time and time again. And I'll be honest: I'm not sure whether this was an over-laboured device, or simply part of the beauty of a repeated note in a glorious song. But either way, it is in the language that Dirt Music gains its solidity.
The characters occur as a product of the landscape. That is what Winton seems most to love. Western Australia is the biggest character that he could have to write, and so Fox, for instance, becomes like his namesake. He is elusive. He lives on the edge of human life, seeking out scraps on which to feed. Stealing, not chickens from a farmer, but fish from the licensed fishermen. He is very distant, though. His loss is felt by the reader, but not explained to great satisfaction. All the others, from Darkie to Beaver to the Aborigines he meets up north, are all like this. It is where they live, not what the do that is important.
Yet all this tough, unrelenting poetry is capturing. Like the fish watching the dazzling lure, no matter what the consequences, it is hard not to take a mouthful. Winton's words are like that. They cut but they shimmer. And there is no escape.