Malouf's legacy: grief, grace, and a classicist's enduring echo

The news of David Malouf’s death spread like wildfire on Thursday night, a flood of messages arriving on phones across the globe – from Greece to Scotland, from South Africa to the familiar shores of home. It wasn’t just grief; it was an outpouring of gratitude for a writer who, undeniably, etched himself into the very fabric of our literary landscape.

A voice uncommonly precise

I remember the first time I truly understood Malouf’s power. It was during my high school years, when a teacher gifted me his 1975 novel, Johnno. Even then, the prose possessed an extraordinary tenderness, a rare ability to dissect the intricate dance of friendship and memory with startling clarity. That initial immersion solidified a focus – a need to move beyond mere reporting of events and delve into the ‘why’ behind their resonance.

Defying the critics

Malouf’s work, particularly in its early years, faced a wave of often-cruel criticism. Some dismissed his style as overly formal, a clinging to the traditions of the classics. He was a classicist, deeply influenced by Ovid and Homer, yet he managed to infuse these ancient echoes with a startling sensuality, a palpable feeling that defied easy categorization. It was, frankly, a ridiculous reaction – a failure to recognize the sheer tenacity of his craft.

Brisbane in the blood

I recall my first visit to Brisbane in the early 80s. The air hung thick and heavy, saturated with the scent of eucalyptus and damp earth – a sensory experience so intensely evocative that it immediately transported me back to the pages of Johnno. That’s the power of Malouf's observation, his ability to translate experience into language with an almost hallucinatory precision. He didn't just write about places; he inhabited them.

Beyond the masterpieces

Of course, not everything Malouf produced resonated with equal force. Remembering Babylon presented moments of uncertainty, a slight faltering in the narrative, yet even in its complexities, I admired his willingness to grapple with the uncomfortable truths of colonial history. Nam Le’s monograph on Malouf, within Black Inc’s Writers on Writers series, offered a compelling, if sometimes hesitant, assessment of the novel’s beauty and its problematic tendencies.

Echoes of white and stow

His work on Patrick White’s Voss – setting the libretto – felt entirely appropriate. White’s novel, much like Randolph Stow’s Tourmaline, confronts the myths of colonialism and the dispossession of Indigenous peoples with a courage that’s often overlooked. They don't shy away from the inherent difficulty of this reckoning, and their attempts to forge alternative narratives deserve recognition. It's been far too long since we’ve engaged with these uncomfortable truths.

A personal encounter

I’ve had the good fortune to meet Malouf three times. Each encounter was marked by his grace and considered nature. I recall one instance at a Melbourne writers’ festival, where my parents, unfamiliar with the literary scene, found themselves somewhat overwhelmed. David took the time to speak to them, to offer reassurance. My mother, to his amusement, elicited a genuine laugh. I’ll always be indebted to his kindness. In Auckland, he engaged in a fascinating discussion about the enduring influence of the Russian novel on Western Literature. The wisdom he displayed was truly profound. The last time I saw him, in the green room of the Sydney festival, I felt a familiar shyness, a respect born of years of admiring his work. I spoke of Ransom, a novel I consider a masterpiece, a breathtaking synthesis of Homeric grandeur and deeply human emotion. It’s an experience that transports you to the blood-soaked fields of Troy, forcing you to confront the universality of grief and compassion.

A quiet gratitude

This morning, I walked out onto my veranda and inhaled the fresh air. I whispered a simple thank you – “Mr. Malouf, thank you.” The silence that followed was a testament to a life dedicated to the pursuit of beauty, precision, and understanding. Christos Tsiolkas is the author of 11 books, including The Slap, Barracuda, Loaded, Damascus and, most recently, The In-Between.