As much as our lives are shaped by the circumstances, both national and parental, into which we were born, we remain the choosers of our own destinies. After all, even those from the most meager backgrounds can wind up in positions of power. They invariably work much harder to realize their ambitions than do those from greater privilege, but their goals are nonetheless achievable, provided that, like all of us, they are blessed with both luck and dogged determination. Our choices are our own. They reflect who we are and what we desire. And it is this truth that grants memoirs their power. For even while the memoirist is relating the tale of their experiences, we are analyzing her choices, her desires, her fascinations, her biases. Few memoirs demonstrate this truth more clearly than this tale of family and isolation from Ms. Underwood.
In 1963, while working as a nurse in a Sydney hospital, Terry Underwood would meet a man who would forever change her life. A daughter of the Australian countryside working in the nation's largest city, she would aid and befriend John, a cattleman from the Outback recovering from the first of many serious wounds he would accumulate in a life devoted to this most gruelling of occupations. Enchanted by his charm and resilience, the young nurse would stay in contact with the cattleman after his release, entering into a relationship of letters with a man whose lonely world could not be more different than the hyper-urban existence Terry inhabited. And yet, should this otherness be a bar to her happiness?
As friendship kindles into passion, Ms. Underwood accepts two proposals from her future husband, one of marriage and one of life with him, on some of the most remote territory claimed by man. Full of sizeable spiders and venomous snakes, gruelling temperatures and horrific storms, the Northern Territory of Australia is thousands upon thousands of miles of red rock and dry riverbeds, vast plains and scraggly bush. Close enough to the equator that its seasons are differentiated by precipitation rather than temperature, it is some of the most forbidding land on Earth. And yet, it is the home of John Underwood and his kind, a hardened band of Australian homesteaders who'd sooner die than live in the soft lap of civilization. Here, Ms. Underwood helps her man build a home, raise numerous children, cultivate a healthy herd of livestock and create a home full of family and godliness, far away from the distractions of urban life. For this is the bushman's world, one in which there are no higher virtues than honor and self-sufficiency.
Though In The Middle of Nowhere purports to be an account of the trials and tribulations of living in the Australian Outback, Ms. Underwood quickly hijacks her own narrative, refocusing it upon the highs and lows of her family's existence at Riverrun. Rather than dedicating herself to the education of her readers on all matters Bush, its creatures and landscapes, its hazards and its glories, the author describes, in obsequious detail, her love for her husband, her admiration for his trade, and her unshakable faith that, together, they have been blessed by god to perpetuate his grace. Long passages are devoted to the detailing of the Underwood clan and all the wonderful gifts John and Terry have given to them by raising them to be creatures of the bush in the mold of their father. Consequently, the most instructive elements of Ms. Underwood's chronicle are neglectfully abandoned and given only passing reference. What are they, after all, next to the glory of god's little masterpieces, her children?
There is value here. While Ms. Underwood lacks anything like a lyrical pen -- her prose is so linear, it might've been constructed by a child --, she manages to convey a sense of the immensity of the Outback. Moreover, she succeeds in portraying its hardship and the extent to which this challenging terrain tests its human occupiers to their limits, requiring them to endure more than any citydweller could imagine. And yet, tragically, these virtues are almost entirely lost in the thunder of Ms. Underwood patting herself on the back for being such a fine Christian woman. Yes, some measure of this self-aggrandizement is bound to occur in every memoir, but this author does an especially poor job of disguising it.
In The Middle of Nowhere could have been a wonderful journey through life in the Outback. Unfortunately, instead, it is a self-congratulatory primer on how to raise a family in total isolation. The scope is damningly narrow and more than a little conceited. (2/5 Stars)
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