Book review: Foal’s Bread

At the start of this century Mears was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, and finds it painful to write for long periods of time. Echoes of her physical struggle reverberate through this new work, a multi-generational saga about a family of show jumpers and hardscrabble farmers in the unforgiving Australian outback.

When we first meet Noah, she is 14 years old, helping her father drive pigs across the wilderness. While he’s off drinking, she gives birth, unassisted, to her uncle’s child, a little boy she consigns to the river, like Moses in his rush basket. It’s a sacrifice that she never speaks of to anyone, but one that haunts her throughout her life, tragically underpinning all her decisions and colouring her reactions to life’s vicissitudes.

She’s a natural in the saddle, able to leap in excess of 6ft – and in time, much higher. This brings her to the attention of Rowley Nancarrow, himself a prize-winning show jumper, and in time their passion for horses, and each other, propels them into marriage. But once installed on the Nancarrow farm, amid interfering in-laws and extended family, Noah finds it hard to fit in. Matters worsen when Rowley is struck by lightning and slowly loses the use of his legs.

A daughter, Elaine, is born, followed by a “Mongoloid” son called George, whom the fiercely protective couple bring home to raise, despite everyone’s expectation that he will be immediately institutionalised. As Rowley’s disability worsens Noah takes on more and more of the gruelling physical labour of running their farm, but it’s still not enough to stay on top of their debt. Plus, she takes to drink, which keeps her out of commission for days at a time.

Elaine has inherited her parents’ riding skill, but instead of revelling in her daughter’s triumphs, Noah is jealous, and a rift develops which is exacerbated by Elaine’s realisation that her mother is abusing the animals she so loves – which is not bad as a metaphor for her style of mothering, as well. The toughness of life in the outback is driven home on every page. This is not the Australia found in tourist brochures!

Mears offers an interesting take on Noah’s incest: she is profoundly connected to her uncle for the love he showed while raising her, and the horse knowledge he imparted and at times she even enjoyed their intimacy. It’s a bold, truthful authorial choice, and one that’s perfectly reasoned within the context of the novel. She is equally strong in describing emotional paralysis that makes it impossible to discuss our fears with those we love – or even demonstrate that love. The result is akin to a clinical diagram describing how lack of communication causes relationships to disintegrate.

Where she lost me was in the meandering nature of her plot – nothing much seemed to happen, and it seemed to take forever not to unfold. In that respect, maybe the novel is too lifelike, and non-Australian readers may find it tough settling into the rhythm of the prose, notably the archaic – and unintentionally funny – back country patois, full of phrases like, “Fair dinkum”, “crikey”, and the horse jargon that will be unfamiliar to non-equestrians.

A book about a family that flies – albeit on the backs of horses – by a woman who’s lost the power to walk comes with in-built poignancy. One suspects there are many autobiographical resonances in Foal’s Bread, and that they’ll hold great interest for scholars, but this reader found it difficult to engage with the story.

• Foal’s Bread

by Gillian Mears

Allen & Unwin, 368pp, £12.99