A Testament of AbilityJames Cockington, the Sydney Morning Herald's resident pop culture guru, regularly saves for me the more outlandish of the unsolicited manuscripts and publications which find their way into the paper's offices. I'm indebted to him for rescuing from the waste paper bins these two gems, which together constitute the self-published autobiography of a 38-year-old ex-public servant who lives with his father in the Sydney suburb of Maroubra, and whose life gives new meaning to the words "mundane" and "uneventful." A Testament of Ability takes us from his birth in 1959 up to 1992, chronicling his Catholic schooldays, his years spent filing in the Land Titles Office (until his sacking for poor performance), his attempts to find a girlfriend through dating agencies, the letters he writes to newspapers extolling the praises of late Australian rocker Johnny O'Keefe and, er, that's about it. In a prose style resembling the slow dripping of a tap, Cartwright (who, as a photo in one of the books shows, looks alarmingly like George from Seinfeld) faithfully records all the important details of his life, from the number of photos he took during his 1978 trip to Canberra (24), to the momentous day he bought his first Slim Dusty album.
All of this reads like a Frederick Forsythe thriller however, compared to the second volume, the author's reprinted diary entries from November 1995 to October 1996. Cartwright's life, as chronicled in A Matter of Timing, consists of little more than taking long walks. The entries--which were unexciting the first time--often repeat themselves, sometimes almost word for word:
On Friday 26 April I walked a few kilometres around the city. A very mild day for this time of year. I saw the movie Sgt Bilko. I have three or four letters to post to The Telegraph. I do not know if my life is boring or not.A hint of drama emerges as Cartwright tells of his attraction to a nice girl who works in the chemist's. Will he have the courage to ask her out? Alas, no. But the book ends on a life-affirming note:Why is there not one park or entertainment venue named in the memory of The Wild One, Johnny O'Keefe?
Why is there not one park or entertainment venue named in the memory of The Wild One, Johnny O'Keefe?
How come there is no park or garden named in memory of The Wild One, Johnny O'Keefe?
How come there is no park or garden named in honour of of The Wild One, the late, great Johnny O'Keefe?
On Saturday 27 April I walked a few kilometres around Maroubra. I still believe I am not doing enough exercise. I posted five letters to the Daily Telegraph. A sunny and mostly mild day. I need to get married hopefully next year.
On Sunday 28 April Jimmy Barnes turned 40. I walked a few kilometres around Maroubra. A windy day with scattered clouds. I have to lose more weight but I feel fine.
On Monday 29 April I walked several kilometres around Kensington and Maroubra. A mild and sunny day. I posted a letter to the Daily Telegraph. A fairly good sort of day. I am still sort of alone day and night. I have faith in myself. I actually keep myself going day to day.
I walked around Pagewood and Maroubra.As agonizingly dull as all of this sounds, I have to say I found the whole thing quite mesmerizing. Reading A Matter of Timing is like watching someone's mind turning in gradually decreasing circles, so that they appear to be disappearing before your eyes. The overall effect is quite unnerving.
There's no address printed in these books, so I don't know how you can get hold of them. Maybe just go to Maroubra and keep your eyes open for a balding, bespectacled guy walking around looking incredibly glum.
This piece originally appeared in Bizarrism No. 6.