AvonVilla reviewed When Yondi Pushed Up the Sky by Roland Eggleston
A lively, early collection of dreamtime myths
4 stars
I first read this book when I was ten years old. Saint Edward's School Canowindra didn't have a library, but the local council had a bookmobile - a van loaded with items from local libraries, which would visit weekly or fortnightly and let the children borrow a few books.
The title story left a great impression on me. It's a creation myth about the third dimension, and as such it involves concepts akin to geometry and physics, rather than the more typical geography and biology. There are plenty of them in here as well.
I was already pre-disposed to myths and fantasy. Around the same time I read a book of Arthurian legends, and another collection of ancient Greek and Roman myths. But these stories came from my own country, where I'd lived all my life, the only one I'd ever seen.
I have no indigenous ancestry. We lived on …
I first read this book when I was ten years old. Saint Edward's School Canowindra didn't have a library, but the local council had a bookmobile - a van loaded with items from local libraries, which would visit weekly or fortnightly and let the children borrow a few books.
The title story left a great impression on me. It's a creation myth about the third dimension, and as such it involves concepts akin to geometry and physics, rather than the more typical geography and biology. There are plenty of them in here as well.
I was already pre-disposed to myths and fantasy. Around the same time I read a book of Arthurian legends, and another collection of ancient Greek and Roman myths. But these stories came from my own country, where I'd lived all my life, the only one I'd ever seen.
I have no indigenous ancestry. We lived on stolen land, sovereignty was never ceded. Of course these stories would have so much more strength coming directly from, and being heard by First nations people. I presume Roland Eggleston is a white person. The brief biography says he lived for months among First nations people, and from his writing I feel that he has tried to be a neutral medium for other people's stories. It's a shame he didn't do what folklorists like the Brothers Grimm did, and give credit to the individuals who passed on the stories for him to put in a book.
But this is the book I found in 1973, and if I'd waited for something more authentic, I would probably have been left in even more ignorance. Later I would enjoy the picture books by Dick Roughsey, a brilliant first nations artist who helped educate us about the Rainbow Serpent and other deep dreamtime stories. My own children would be told the story of Tiddalik the frog, who drank all the lakes and rivers until the other animals made him laugh and quench the parched land. It's now a mainstay of early childhood education.
As I type Australia is debating whether to create a formal voice for indigenous people, and enshrine it in the constitution. These stories show that there is so much to say, and hearing from all those voices can enrich us all.