AMANDA LOHREY The Labyrinth: A pastoral. Reviewed by Linda Godfrey
Amanda Lohrey’s Miles Franklin-winnning novel explores notions of impermanence and healing in a small coastal town.
This book’s epigraph is ‘The cure for many ills, noted Jung, is to build something.’ In Part One of this novel, the main character, Erica Marsden, has many ills: she has a son in prison for manslaughter; she has memories of her dead parents, her abandonment as a child by her mother, and her estrangement from her only sibling, her brother.
Erica decides she will leave her current life and move to the country, near where her son is incarcerated in south-east New South Wales, and buys an old shack on the beach. In their family home, which had been an asylum for patients under the care of her psychiatrist father, there was a labyrinth. Erica wants to build her own labyrinth on the land in her yard, on sand.
The subtitle of the book is ‘a pastoral’, indicating that Erica is moving to the country to seek a simpler life. Though we don’t know what her recent life in the city was like, she carries with her a history that she hopes to assuage by living in a small town, close to nature, and building her labyrinth.
Part One of the book sets out the traumas and violence in Erica’s life. Her father’s distance, her mother’s departure and death; her own violent relationships, and her son’s refusal, when she visits the maximum security jail, to engage with her. She knows he blames her for the absence of a strong father figure in his life.
Erica describes settling into the town, meeting the locals and, most importantly, determining the pattern of her labyrinth. She meets women struggling with relationships, whether with their husbands or children; a young woman coming to terms with the boredom of small-town life; and lots of prickly and eccentric men. She is introduced to an itinerant stonemason, Jurko, a mysterious younger man with a set of skills Erica is keen to use.
After much research and thinking on whether she wants a labyrinth or a maze, Erica decides on a labyrinth with a seed pattern. She reads that mazes are there to confuse, whereas a labyrinth is designed to be more of a meditative walk.
Part Two of the book concentrates on the construction of the labyrinth, which brings the attention of men who have dismissed her in the recent past. Jurko and Erica begin an awkward working relationship, but one that is very fruitful once they begin planning and building the labyrinth. Her neighbour, Ray, who has never spoken to her or even returned a wave, becomes interested, as does Lewis, a local architect who dismissed her ideas and couldn’t be bothered getting back to her about designs. Even her own son, Daniel, has a word to say to her after being aggressively silent when she has visited him in prison.
There is so much to read into this narrative, especially I think if the reader has a background in Jungian theory, which I don’t. What I saw was an exploration of the reconciliation of the female and male. This theme is there in the violence that surrounds Erica, whether from her father, her husband, her lovers, her son or the people of the town, and in Erica’s unconscious decision to take control of her life and ameliorate the pain and hurt through the act of building.
The seed pattern for the labyrinth is said to be an image of the uterus and has been used in some circles as a meditation during childbirth. Erica uses it as a source of female power. This is how she thinks of it as she remembers her mother:
And so here is her labyrinth, its opening curves the nub of the cervix, its outer walls the lining of the womb. And at its centre, the iron fire pit. Labrys: the womb and the axe.
Erica recognises that her relationship with Jurko is almost that of a surrogate son. He has a respectful relationship with her, but takes what he wants and argues about the rest. Building the structure does lead to reconciliation.
Yes, I can see how it might work: rough and yet delicate, makeshift and yet permanent, poor and yet elegant. I look up at him and smile. He too is smiling. We have got there; we have arrived at the form.
Ray the neighbour leaves his front porch and comes over to help build the labyrinth, even speaks to her. The architect brings his son to explore what is happening because labyrinths are the next big thing in landscape gardening. And while nothing is spoken out loud, it is possible that her relationship with Daniel may improve in the future. Erica has received a report that he has found a father substitute in jail and his mental health is improving.
One other theme I saw was that of impermanence. Erica baulks at the idea of using strong materials for her labyrinth:
‘Concrete footings? But that would be …’ I hesitate. The word permanent is on my tongue, and for the first time I consider whether anything lasting is what I want.
Jurko must run to escape police inquiries about him for being in the country illegally, and he does not stay in the safe place Erica finds for him. Erica’s house is on an unstable and windswept section of the shore and is subject to storms and floods, so both the house and the structure could be in jeopardy in the future.
But, overall, this book and its tale of the building of this labyrinth has done its job well. I read it twice and it sent me to research the shapes of labyrinths. Readers will find much to think about and meditate on in these pages.
Amanda Lohrey The Labyrinth Text Publishing 2020 PB 256pp $29.99
Linda Godfrey is a poet, editor and teacher. She lives on Dharawal land of the Wodi Wodi people, on the south coast of New South Wales.
You can buy The Labyrinth from Abbey’s at a 10% discount by quoting the promotion code NEWTOWNREVIEW here or you can buy it from Booktopia here.
To see if it is available from Newtown Library, click here.
If you’d like to help keep the Newtown Review of Books a free and independent site for book reviews, please consider making a donation. Your support is greatly appreciated.
