“My writing allows me flight from society through solitude while permitting me to rejoin society on some of my own terms through the trading of the finished work with the society. My imaginative narrative gives me relief from prevaility and strident ideologies by allowing me the heresy of decadence (as in erotica). Namely, revenge against normality, reversal of normality and regression from normality. My imaginative narrative is relief from prevailing self by allowing the potential self, the discarded self, the rejected self and the non-self to have play. My imaginative narrative is relief from privacy by allowing exposure of self and the network of self.” ~ Frank Moorhouse, 1985, private telex
'Frank Moorhouse was legendary in Australian literary and cultural life, the author of a huge and diverse body of work – essays, short stories, journalism, scripts, the iconic Edith Trilogy – an unapologetic activist, intellectual, libertarian and champion of freedom of speech and sexual self determination. Though he lived his life publicly, his private stories have not been shared, the many paths he forged left unexamined, until now.
'Matthew Lamb shared many a luncheon table with Moorhouse and immersed himself in the archived life and cultural ephemera of Frank’s world. This landmark study, from Moorhouse’s own publisher, the first in a projected two volumes, is the fascinating and comprehensive story of how one of Australia’s most original writers and pioneer of the discontinuous narrative came to be.
'Fearless, sardonic and utterly dedicated to his creative life, his relationships with friends, other writers and lovers were complex and long-lasting. Lamb shares the strange paths that Frank traversed and gives us a cultural history of the times that shaped Moorhouse and which Moorhouse himself helped to shape.'(Publication summary)
'I only properly met Frank Moorhouse once. It was the mid-2000s and as a writing and cultural studies student, I had submitted a short story to the University of Technology, Sydney’s annual literary anthology. The story – like this book review – was (perhaps overly) preoccupied with bisexuality. It featured a married couple who are seduced by a sculptor named Voltz; at the climax of the story, the latter ends up taking the couple to bed before a TV explodes. I had lifted the name from Moorhouse’s then recently published Martini: A Memoir (2005), where ‘Voltz’ was one of his key correspondents. The slim volume must have made an impression on me, though I don’t remember much from it now. At some point, after drafting my story, I typed ‘For Frank Moorhouse’ under its title, perhaps acknowledging the loan of a character’s name, but also nodding to the story’s sexual openness, which Frank had been known for. After hitting submit, I didn’t think much more about it.' (Introduction)
'Frank Moorhouse: Strange paths has no introduction, but Matthew Lamb describes it in his author’s note as ‘the first in a projected two-volume cultural biography of Frank Moorhouse’, covering the long writing apprenticeship of 1938–74 during which Moorhouse ‘br[oke] into the literary establishment, on his own terms’. Lamb does not explain his use of the term ‘cultural biography’ within the book, but the term is apt to describe how ‘biography intersects with social history’ as the book tracks Moorhouse’s ‘negotiation of shifting social conventions and historical moments’ (as Lamb puts it in an article on the Penguin website titled ‘“When the facts conflict with the legend” – How does a biographer balance storytelling with the truth?’).' (Introduction)
'Frank Moorhouse: Strange paths has no introduction, but Matthew Lamb describes it in his author’s note as ‘the first in a projected two-volume cultural biography of Frank Moorhouse’, covering the long writing apprenticeship of 1938–74 during which Moorhouse ‘br[oke] into the literary establishment, on his own terms’. Lamb does not explain his use of the term ‘cultural biography’ within the book, but the term is apt to describe how ‘biography intersects with social history’ as the book tracks Moorhouse’s ‘negotiation of shifting social conventions and historical moments’ (as Lamb puts it in an article on the Penguin website titled ‘“When the facts conflict with the legend” – How does a biographer balance storytelling with the truth?’).' (Introduction)
'I only properly met Frank Moorhouse once. It was the mid-2000s and as a writing and cultural studies student, I had submitted a short story to the University of Technology, Sydney’s annual literary anthology. The story – like this book review – was (perhaps overly) preoccupied with bisexuality. It featured a married couple who are seduced by a sculptor named Voltz; at the climax of the story, the latter ends up taking the couple to bed before a TV explodes. I had lifted the name from Moorhouse’s then recently published Martini: A Memoir (2005), where ‘Voltz’ was one of his key correspondents. The slim volume must have made an impression on me, though I don’t remember much from it now. At some point, after drafting my story, I typed ‘For Frank Moorhouse’ under its title, perhaps acknowledging the loan of a character’s name, but also nodding to the story’s sexual openness, which Frank had been known for. After hitting submit, I didn’t think much more about it.' (Introduction)