Arts, Australia, Books, Literature

Book Review: A Far-flung Life

LITERARY REVIEW

– The story is a sweeping epic that follows the MacBride family on a million-acre sheep station in Western Australia, exploring themes of secrets, tragedy, and resilience across several generations

In ML Stedman’s immensely popular 2012 debut, The Light Between Oceans, moral ambiguity was the eddying undercurrent, in a story about a couple who discover a baby on the shores of their remote island home off the coast of Western Australia. That novel spurred an international bidding war and sparked a lacklustre film adaptation. In her second publication, A Far-flung Life, Stedman remains just as preoccupied by what governs our understanding of right and wrong, as well as how we define our sense of family and identity.

Also set in Western Australia, A Far-flung Life begins in 1958 and follows several generations of the MacBride family on their million-acre sheep ranch, Meredith Downs. Here, small decisions have vast consequences: when the patriarch, Phil, swerves to avoid a kangaroo while driving home from the market, he and his eldest son, Warren, are killed. Matt, the youngest son, only just survives. Lorna, suddenly a widow, takes over the reins of the ranch, now the sole parent not only of Matt, whose amnesia from his head injury forces him to redefine who he is and the life he had once hoped for, but also of her “fiery, mercurial” daughter, Rosie.

As the years pass, other figures drift in and out of the MacBride orbit: there’s the taciturn Pete Peachey, a former prisoner of war in Japan who culls the kangaroos on the family homestead; and Miles Beaumont, a dapper Englishman of noble blood who’s learning the ropes on the station. Everyone has their secrets, the albatross they carry. Rosie’s causes her to flee to the outback, though she returns not long after, with a newborn in tow. She, too, will make a decision that reverberates for the MacBrides over the decades – particularly for Matt, who must learn what it means to live a life indelibly marked by unfathomable events.

A recurring theme through this attentive novel is a “forgetment”, a Stedman coinage and idea not for a memory but for a “thing you forget”. The struggle of writing our own narrative when it is violently altered and the way we are shaped as much by conscious knowing as by unknowing (what we hope time will dissolve) – these richly human notions are handled with skilled care. Just as the unflinching land can “rearrange itself without warning or permission”, so can our lives, our sense of self. As Pete Peachey reflects, “’Us’ is an ever-changing thing.” Throughout A Far-flung Life, the at-times herculean labour of weathering that change is shown as not an interruption of life but a part of it.

Time and its fickle passing are insightfully examined. The nature of loss and its temporal warping – where “one minute didn’t have the same length as another” – stands in counterpoint to the indifferent, relentless passage of time on the land. Hours, days, weeks: these human-made creations, the contours of which seem to blur, are only one way we mark our passage. There’s also “the gradual curl of a ram’s horns”, “the stretching and the shrinking of the light”. Stedman elicits, too, how when dazed by grief, one can experience time as stasis: for Matt, forever tied to a cataclysmic single moment, “maybe the roo was always going to bound in front of the truck; was still bounding in some eternal present”.

As the MacBrides learn how to endure the challenges besetting them, it’s a testament to Stedman’s deftness and skill that A Far-flung Life, racked with calamity, only occasionally approaches the mawkish. Every loss feels earned, and what may have otherwise been a syrupy saga is instead a palpable examination of loss, memory, and identity. Her breadth of research is also fully alive in the novel’s expansive detail: the landscape is rendered with intimate familiarity, as is the quotidian minutiae of life on the station. Stedman’s masterful control of perspective, shifting between multiple characters as well as expanses of time and place, culminates in a remarkable, poignant tale.

The moral ambiguity animating the novel lies in things which are best left buried; which parts of a life are allowed to become “forgetments”. This isn’t a question of feigned ignorance but rather of what role forgetting plays in forgiveness – not only of others but of oneself. The author holds the inquiry up like a glimmering piece of quartz, illuminating its shadowed recesses and fractures. The answers, she suggests, aren’t important as the life lived in pursuit of them.

– A Far-flung Life by ML Stedman is published by Penguin, 448pp

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Iran, Middle East, United States

Trump’s dilemma of his own making

IRAN WAR

Intro: Iran’s leaders will not be threatened into relaxing their hold on the Strait of Hormuz. The US president will have to break it for them

It cannot have been part of America’s plan that nearly four weeks into this war with Iran, Donald Trump should still be issuing furious threats and ultimatums.

By now, he must have believed that the Islamic Republic would either have been overthrown or so incapacitated by American and Israeli firepower that its surviving leaders would be imploring him for terms. The reality is closer to being the other way round. Incredibly, it is the US president who finds himself making ever more fevered demands for Iran to reopen the Strait of Hormuz.

The reason why he has landed himself in this invidious position is that his administration failed to foresee the blindingly obvious: that Iran’s regime, once backed into a corner, would retaliate by closing the Strait of Hormuz and start firing missiles at America’s allies in the Gulf. Why else would Iran have spent decades amassing the biggest arsenal of ballistic missiles in the Middle East? The commanders of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps always knew that their greatest strategic asset was the power given to them by Iran’s geography to, in extremis, wreck the global economy.

Supertankers laden with 20 per cent of the world’s seaborne oil pass every day – at least in normal times – through the Strait of Hormuz.

By attacking only a handful of these tankers, the IRGC calculated that it could sabotage global oil supplies as no one has ever sabotaged them before. That is exactly what has happened.

If Trump had possessed any foresight, he would have ordered the US navy to secure the Strait of Hormuz before the war began. That was supposed to be why the US Fifth Fleet was based in Bahrain.

Instead, before starting the war on Feb 28, Trump neglected to send any more warships than would be needed to bombard Iran and protect the two American aircraft carriers.

Now that the IRGC has closed the strait to any shipping that Iran considers hostile, the president has resorted to threatening escalation. Will Iran give way and allow free passage? That is almost inconceivable.

Will Trump have to make good on his threat to attack power stations in Iran? Given his unpredictable habit of zig-zagging from one position to another, no one can be sure. But even if he did, the IRGC would almost certainly refuse to yield. Iran would then likely act on its threat to strike power stations in “countries in the region that host American bases”. Given that the IRGC has already fired missiles at the world’s biggest gas export facility – Ras Laffan in Qatar – this cannot be excluded.

At some point, it should dawn on President Trump that the Iranian regime will not be threatened into relaxing its stranglehold on the Strait of Hormuz. Given that they will never choose to loosen their grip, Trump will have to break it for them. He will soon have to decide whether to reopen the Strait by force – a highly risky operation that would probably require troops on the ground – or endure huge economic damage. He surely never planned in having to face this dilemma.

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Iran, Middle East, Saudi Arabia

Water: The Gulf’s most precious resource under attack

WATER AND DESALINATION PLANTS

The Gulf states may have been built on wealth from oil, but it is another liquid – water – that keeps these desert countries running day-to-day.

Recent attacks on desalination plants in countries on both sides of the Iran war have targeted the Gulf’s most precious commodity, and threatened to weaponise a resource needed to prevent the region’s megacities from collapsing.

Just days ago, Bahrain accused Iran of damaging a desalination plant, hours after the Iranians claimed a US air strike had hit one of theirs.

Securing plentiful water in a region with almost no underground supplies or rain has been central to the vaulting ambitions of the fast-growing Gulf countries. The solution has been desalination plants, which turn seawater into drinking water for millions of people in one of the world’s driest regions.

In Kuwait, about 90 per cent of drinking water comes from desalination, along with roughly 86 per cent in Oman, and about 70 per cent in Saudi Arabia.

Everyone thinks of Saudi Arabia and their neighbours as petro-states. But, in reality, they are saltwater kingdoms. They’re human-made fossil-fuelled water superpowers. It’s both a monumental achievement of the 20th century and a certain kind of vulnerability.

Nearly half the world’s total desalination capacity is in the Gulf. The processing of water is needed not only to quench the thirst of fast-growing populations, but also for hotels, resorts, shopping centres, golf courses, and other facilities.

Yet, what has been a marvel of engineering and economic planning, has also been recognised as the dangerous vulnerability it is. Gulf governments and their allies have long warned of the risks these systems pose to regional stability.

In 2010, a CIA analysis said attacks on desalination facilities could quickly trigger national crises in several Gulf states. If critical equipment were destroyed, water processing could be halted for months.

A leaked 2008 US diplomatic cable warned that Riyadh, Saudi Arabia’s capital, “would have to evacuate within a week” if either the Jubail desalination plant on the Gulf coast, or its pipelines or associated power infrastructure were seriously damaged. The cable added that “the current structure of the Saudi government could not exist” without the plant.

Gulf states are thought to have bolstered the resilience of their desalination networks since then, but the recent air strikes have again highlighted their vulnerability.

The Iran war is not the first conflict in the region in which water-processing plants have been targeted. After Saddam Hussein’s 1990 invasion of Kuwait and the subsequent Gulf War, Iraqi forces sabotaged power stations and desalination facilities as they retreated.

At the same time, millions of barrels of crude oil were deliberately released into the Gulf, creating one of the largest oil spills in history. Workers deployed booms around the intake valves of desalination plants to prevent the vast slick from contaminating seawater-intake pipes.

The destruction left Kuwait largely without fresh water and dependent on emergency water imports. Full recovery took many years. More recently, Houthi rebels have targeted Saudi desalination facilities.

In the Gulf, desalination facilities are not merely infrastructure. They are essential lifelines that supply drinking water to millions. Striking them risks turning a military confrontation into a direct threat to civilian survival.

Iran, too, uses desalination and must deal with acute water shortages. Tehran claimed that a US air strike had damaged one of its water processing plants last weekend.

Abbas Araghchi, the foreign minister, said the strikes on Qeshm Island, in the Strait of Hormuz, had affected the water supply for 30 villages. He warned that in doing so, “the US set this precedent, not Iran”. The US military denied striking the facility.

The Institute for Strategic Studies said it was unlikely the Americans had targeted the desalination plant. However, Qeshm was essential to Iranian plans to block the strait to shipping, and was probably being targeted for other strategic reasons – such as to hit underground stocks of drones and missiles.

What seems certain, given the conflagration, is that the Americans would have been pounding Qeshm Island to take out these underground facilities where the drones and the missiles basically embodied the last strategic option, or one of the last strategic options, of Iran.

For Iran, that would’ve been a nice coincidence to create an information operation to say the Americans are targeting civilian assets. And it would justify the retaliatory attacks on desalination plants without looking like the villain.

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