A Few Words With
Al Campbell debut author of The Keepers (UQP, 2022)
For people who haven’t yet read ‘The Keepers’, how would you describe the book?
I’d probably describe it as another book entirely—as a romantic comedy, for instance—in the hope that someone might buy it! 😃
But if being apocryphal isn’t an option, I’d describe it as a book that contains all of my heart—the red, pulsing side that faces outward, toward my children and my few friends, and the flayed bits, the atrophied pulp, dead against my ribs, that my mother killed off. It’s about a deeply broken woman, her two sons, and a world that doesn’t really want much to do with any of them.
It seems to me that ‘The Keepers’ is a book that other writers admire. Nikki Gemmell called you a major new voice in Australia’s literary landscape. What’s your response?
I would respond by saying that Nikki is very kind in her unwavering support of other creatives, especially older writers.
Are you working on something new and what can you tell us about it?
I am currently 73,000 words deep into a second novel that is doing its best to defy description. A genre blend, it’s inspired by an historic true crime, and much of it is told from the perspective of a traumatised house. Sadly, once again, not a blockbusting romantic comedy.
What is it you strive for as a writer?
To not bore readers. To expose them to something they might not know, or to at least tell a story in a way it might not have been told before.
You’re sharing a panel with Lyn Yeowart on the 4th of August at Avid Reader, moderated by Cass Moriarty. Are you a writer who basks in the spotlight or are events difficult for you?
Dear God! No, no basking! In fact, suggesting Lyn’s participation in the August 4 event (https://avid.circlesoft.net/pages/7824-SilentKeepers-apanelwithAlCampbellLynYeowartandCassMoriarty) allows me to avoid the spotlight being solely on me, in much the same way that Annabel Crabb was the true headliner at our 2022 Sydney Writers’ Festival conversation. Also, my son’s art is going to be on show at that event, so the spotlight will be (very comfortably) shared across all four of us. Even though I used to act for a living and I’m okay on stage in front of a crowd, I struggle to imagine that anyone would attend an event just to listen to me.
Finally, if you could name any writer who influenced you, or books that you admire, who or what would they be and why?
When I was young, Wuthering Heights, Great Expectations and Rebecca were re-read comforts. Their overtures of doom and brutality were what I knew in my own life, and the misery depicted within those pages made me feel less like a one-off freak. I was also heavily into plays and theatre in my youth, and I’m on the record as claiming that Beckett, Ionesco and Pinter pretty much saved my life just by showing up. No exaggeration, hand on heart.
My favourite books are those with distinctive, in-your-ear voices. The Bell Jar, Mrs Dalloway, The Remains of the Day and William Maxwell’s So Long, See You Tomorrow are, therefore, perfect novels for me. I’ve only to think of those books for their voices to ring. Ottessa Moshfegh’s Eileen also fits that bill, as does Sebastian Faulks’ Engleby, a novel with perhaps the greatest mic drop revelation of all time. I don’t read much historical fiction (not sure why) but Anthony Doerr’s All the Light We Cannot See is a remarkable achievement, a must-read, as is anything by Max Porter, my copy of Grief is the Thing with Feathers dog-eared and battle-scarred by admiration. I believe that Cormac McCarthy’s Blood Meridian is the most extraordinary novel I will ever read, its final image beyond likeness.
As with historical fiction, I rarely read short stories, but Joy Williams’ The Visiting Privilege is a gift from the writing gods. At times, I almost ruptured something I laughed so hard, and while I understand she is an acquired taste, she shows us that riotous humour and devastating sadness aren’t at all strange bedfellows. Closer to home, Amanda O’Callaghan’s This Taste for Silence is a stunning, unsettling collection of short dark turns.
Alan Garner’s exhilarating Treacle Walker demands a mention before I go (it reinstated my faith in my own wayward weirdness during a recent funk of low self-esteem) as did Hilary Mantel’s Beyond Black, a masterpiece almost no one has heard of.
And finally, this one: Years ago, having delivered the boys to school, I gave myself permission to ignore my daily to-do list and have a feet-up day. I never did that, truly, which is why that day stands out so vividly in my memory. It was winter, my favourite season, such as winter shows itself here in the gothic tropics. I purchased an obscenely large coffee on my way home, lay a rug over my knees, set the dog on my lap, and picked up my second-hand copy of Per Petterson’s Out Stealing Horses. I can’t tell you how perfect a choice it was for that day – a transcendent evocation of place and time. I could almost hear the snow slowly banking up, flake by flake, and smell the pot of coffee perpetually on the brew in Trond’s tiny, isolated cabin. And Trond himself—such a detached, contemplative character, whose immense love for those in his life coexists cheek by jowl with his need for quiet and solitude. Man, how I get that. This book is short, spare, and utterly gripping. I love it to death.
Al Campbell