Kenneth Cook (1) (1929–1987)
Autor(a) de Wake in Fright
Para outros autores com o nome Kenneth Cook, ver a página de desambiguação.
About the Author
Image credit: Sélection du Reader's Digest
Obras por Kenneth Cook
Associated Works
Etiquetado
Conhecimento Comum
- Nome canónico
- Cook, Kenneth
- Nome legal
- Cook, Kenneth Bernard
- Data de nascimento
- 1929-05-05
- Data de falecimento
- 1987-04-18
- Localização do túmulo
- Frenchs Forest Lawn Cemetery, Sydney, New South Wales, Australia
- Sexo
- male
- Nacionalidade
- Australia
- Local de nascimento
- Lakemba, New South Wales, Australia
- Local de falecimento
- Narromine, New South Wales, Australia
- Locais de residência
- Broken Hill, New South Wales, Australia
- Educação
- Fort Street High School
- Ocupações
- journalist
novelist
short-story writer
documentary filmmaker
screenwriter
politician - Organizações
- Liberal Reform Group
- Agente
- Curtis Brown
Membros
Críticas
Listas
Prémios
You May Also Like
Associated Authors
Estatísticas
- Obras
- 20
- Also by
- 1
- Membros
- 588
- Popularidade
- #42,664
- Avaliação
- 3.8
- Críticas
- 44
- ISBN
- 120
- Línguas
- 6
He has 20 pound notes in his wallet as well as the check from his savings from his wages for the past term. 140 pounds.
He has to travel a great distance on the Friday train from the tiny Town to a town called Boondanyabba, where he will get a plane to Sydney the next morning.
"even before the train pulled into the siding, he could hear the singing. On every slow train in the West they sing, the stock men and the miners, the general storekeepers and the drifting workers; the Aborigines and the half-castes shyly joining in on the outskirts. And somebody always has a mouth organ, and they sing with desperate, tuneless gayety the songs of the American hit parades which filter through the networks of the Australian broadcasting commission or from the static-ridden apparatus of the occasional country radio station."
A town cop befriends John in a pub where he is drinking a beer, before going to look for a place for a bite to eat. He tells him that the School, the name for the restaurant and pub, is the best place in town for food. It's also another name for the Two-up game. More commonly still it was simply referred to as "the Game."
He eats his meal, which is not very good, and does not feel like going back to his hotel yet. So he starts watching in the room where they're playing the Game. He soon convinces himself to join in, and lays down a 10 pound note.
There's so many men crowded around the square where the game is played, that when the game is called, and he's won, he doesn't know where or how he gets his money.
He starts to walk away, when the man who helped him put down his bet, tracks him down, and gives him his winnings,
"Grant looked ashamedly at the money and gestured remote thanks to the man who had rescued it. He was putting the money in his wallet when he experienced an entirely new emotion - the remorse of a gambler who has not put all his money on a successful wager. He paused with the money halfway into his wallet. He had 22 pounds 10 shillings. Twice that was 50 pounds, Twice 50 was 100. Twice a 100..."
He ends up winning 200 pounds. He scoops the money up, stashes it in his pockets, and goes back to his hotel room. The reader thinks, "yay, john, that's the way!" When he's back in his hotel room, he spreads out the money, and looks at it. He lays on the bed, and thinks about it. Thinks about what he could win if he took all that money and put it back down to bet, why, he could win so much money that he could impress Robyn! So he goes back to the School. He loses all the 200 pounds he has just won. He starts to leave in sadness and shame, but then asks his old friend the town cop if he can cash his check.
"Just 3 minutes after he had received the money for his check, he had lost it.
The cry of 'heads!' Had no effect on him; but a moment or two later there was the dull, bruising shock of realization. He watched blankly as the hands scraped away the money he had laid down. He Kept on looking at the bare carpet where it had been, until suddenly another growth of notes flowered there, and the Game was going on."
Now John has no money but the 10 pounds back from the deposit of turning in his hotel room key. He has no idea what he's going to do. Walking with his two suitcases, down the street of the "Yabba," he turns into a pub, and buys at 10 pence schooner of beer.
He is befriended by the man sitting next to him, who insists on buying him drinks. Telling him that he's completely out of money has no effect on his new friend, and he tells him " don't worry about it, as long as you're with me!" They drink, and drink, and then they go to the man's house for lunch. The wife seems unfazed by this, and serves them lunch. They go back into the parlor and begin drinking again.
Two friends come by and join them in the drinking. Then another man comes and joins them, named "Doc." (Talk later confesses to John that he is a medical doctor and an alcoholic.)
The night turns into a drunken Haze for john. And he wakes up in the house of Doc. He has a shattering hangover, but Doc serves him flat beer, encouraging him to drink the "hair of the dog."
He tells them they will be picked up by Dick and Joe, and will be going kangaroo hunting. Grant doesn't remember making these plans, but Doc assures him he did.
What follows is one of the most horrifying scenes I've ever read in any book. Here's an excerpt:
"Grant clung to the seat, fascinated, watching through the windscreen the fluctuating approach of the kangaroo. Up it went and down, then up, up, and down, a wild gray figure bearing down on them as though in passionless attack.
It turned 10 yards from the car, but Dick, quite mad now, pulled the car around and ran the animal down.
It disappeared quite suddenly under the bonnet.
A thud, the car lifted, skidded, rocketed almost over on to its side, righted itself and stopped.
Grant looked out of the rear window as the others tumbled out. A gray bundle was flopping about in the dust behind the car.
Following the others over to the broken mess, Grant saw Dick draw a long-bladed knife from a sheath at his side, kneel down, and cut the animal's throat. It died then.
'It's not worth cutting up,' said Dick. The kangaroo had split open and trailed entrails for a dozen yards. Its body was so shattered that bones stood out from the skin every few inches, white and glistening."
"Grant reached it, and if he had not known the men in the car were watching he would have turned back for his rifle. He stood behind the animal, wishing it would move. Then he put a hand on its shoulder. It was furry and warm. It's chest was heaving. When he was that close, the animal had two heads. Janette had had two profiles the other night.
Grant leaned back and struck at the kangaroo with his knife. The blade slit a deep gash down its back and the blood came out, a thin line on the fur, black in the spotlight. Still the kangaroo did not move.
Oh god! What was he, John Grant, schoolteacher and lover, doing out here under the contemptuous Stars butchering this warm gray beast?
He leaned forward and drove the knife into the white fur on the kangaroo's chest. The blade went in easily, deeply, but the kangaroo would not die.
Its flesh closed hard around the blade and Grant had to drag it out.
Sobbing, he drove the knife into its chest and its back again and again, and it stood there, mute, unprotesting, but it would not die.
Grant stood away for a moment, Drew His hands across his eyes and heard the yells of encouragement from the car.
He put his left arm across the kangaroo's shoulder and pulled his head back and began hacking away at its throat. In time the blood gushed out, warm on his hands, and he could feel the head pulling further and further back until at last the kangaroo shuddered terribly and felk to the ground.
Grant grabbed it by the tail and began hauling it back to the car.
And as he stumbled in front of his load he pulled down the shutters in his mind and just walked and dragged and drew the blanket of drunkenness over his being again."
The scenes in this book spiral down and down and down until you think surely he's reached the bottom. But he hasn't. Things get worse and worse for John Grant.
Although this is one of the most horrifying books I've ever read, it's also one of the books that made the most impression on me. It's great writing, and a fantastic invention of an author's mind.
… (mais)