I stuck to it because I had faith in the story and its message-one I wanted to put over if it was the one and only novel I ever wrote.-FB Vickers, handwritten note on an early typescript draft of The Mirage (dated May 1958)BY THE TURN OF THE TWENTIETH CENTURY, AND INCREASINGLY in the decades that followed, most of mixed Ab- original and European descent were consigned by their white compatriots to a figurative limbo that paralleled the slum- like camps and reserves on the outskirts of towns and in ob- scure areas of cities in which they were forced to congregate. the century wore on, mainstream society's widespread and com- forting belief that the true or tribal Aboriginals were pass- ing into extinction was shadowed by a perception that these so-called half-castes-a term that had come to designate all those of mixed white and ancestry in whatever pro- portion-and their conceptual siblings, the dwellers, were now the dark Others whose enduring presence threatened the dream of an all-white Australia. Not all fringe dwellers were of mixed descent, of course, nor were all part-Aboriginals de- racinated (detribalized), as was frequently assumed. None- theless, a virtual equation between genetic and cultural inter- breeding was taken for granted by most commentators who directed their attention to fringe life. In the eyes of white Australia, these fringe-dwelling non-white/non-black were the nation's phantom natives-faceless inhabitants of placeless locales. They were, to borrow Henry Reynolds's apt phrase, Australia's nowhere people (1-2).Usually they were simply not in view; when sighted by main- stream Australians they were deemed literally unremarkable. As a kid I unconsciously learned the Australian denial, no ac- knowledgement or speaking about the of the land: 'out of sight, out of mind,' commented Margaret Jeffrey with regard to her postwar childhood in Australia (Ashforth 42-43). Simi- larly, Hal Jackson has written that, although in or near the Vic- torian towns in which he grew up in the 1940s and 1950s there must have been people, he wasn't aware of them: Aboriginal were out of my sight and out of my mind, as I'm sure they were among the bulk of my contemporaries (84). The anecdotal evidence of the ghostly insubstantiality of the nowhere people is of course impossible to document empiri- cally, but the abundance of such testimonies is persuasive none- theless. It appears that until at least the 1960s, the dominant society's image of itself amounted to a kind of ethnic cleansing of the imagination. And the culture's chronic inclination to render its most marginalized social group translucent was no- where more apparent than in the sphere of literary and popular narratives. In Australian novels, stories, and memoirs of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries the near invisibility of the nation's half-castes registers as an all but palpable absence. This was less the case in other discursive forums. Government reports and regulations, for example, though predicated upon the assumption that of mixed descent would need to be actively erased from the Australian scene, did acknowledge their presence backhandedly in regarding them as a significant demographic presence and social problem (Rowley 18-31; Reynolds 133-58). Newspapers and magazines would occasion- ally call attention to their troubled and troublesome existence; C. D. Rowley has noted that greater chances of employment during the Second World War had brought many part-Aborig- inals into cities and towns, resulting in increased press pub- licity of the 'half-caste problem' after the war (Rowley 38). But prior to the 1930s, there were very few representations of detribalized Aboriginals in either popular or self-consciously literary narratives-those important means by which a nation stories itself into a sense of communal identity. They are all but entirely unsighted in the familiar nineteenth century texts of Lawson, Paterson, Furphy, and Clarke. …
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