The magnificence and the tragedy

I write this with a vodka apple cranberry by my bed. I just got off the phone from a friend who tells me he's going to see a movie called "Wake in Fright" this Saturday. It's showing as part of the Sydney film festival this year. It's the movie they made of my grandfather's novel of the same name. Apparently the original negatives of the film have been lost for years and two men made it their business to track down the only surviving copy, which happened to be in a warehouse in Pittsburg, marked "to be destroyed." So much of life is accidental.

To me the re-release of this film has huge significance. It's come at an extremely turbulent time in my family's history. We've suffered recent tragedy. On top of less recent but still fresh tragedy. My grandfather's personality, though he died when I was three, has been a strong influence in my life for as long as I can remember. In some ways his personality serves as a thread that runs through our family, making sense of the magnificence and the tragedy. He had a remarkable talent. He was a story teller. He told stories about the great Australian outback. Stories about the harsh brutality, the surprising beauty and the complexity and simplicity that co-exist out here. We all aspire to greatness, to making a decent contribution, and I've always felt I wanted to live up to his legacy.

At my uncle's funeral, before I came to Alice, I was suddenly struck by how important it is to have lived a life, which when you die, people who knew you will say you lived a worthwhile life. Say that you contributed something. My uncle contributed a huge amount. Everyone contributes in different ways. I may not write novels like my grandfather. I may not defend the rights of the oppressed and systematically disadvantaged like my uncle. But I will add to the dialogue. The stories of the past that contribute to our present and future should never be underestimated.