My Brilliant Career

by Miles Franklin

1901


Contents

[INTRODUCTION]
[CHAPTER ONE. I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER]
[CHAPTER TWO. AN INTRODUCTION TO POSSUM GULLY]
[CHAPTER THREE. A LIFELESS LIFE]
[CHAPTER FOUR. A CAREER WHICH SOON CAREERED TO AN END]
[CHAPTER FIVE. DISJOINTED SKETCHES AND CRUMBLES]
[CHAPTER SIX. REVOLT]
[CHAPTER SEVEN. WAS E’ER A ROSE WITHOUT ITS THORN?]
[CHAPTER EIGHT. POSSUM GULLY LEFT BEHIND. HURRAH! HURRAH!]
[CHAPTER NINE. AUNT HELEN’S RECIPE]
[CHAPTER TEN. EVERARD GREY]
[CHAPTER ELEVEN. YAH!]
[CHAPTER TWELVE. ONE GRAND PASSION]
[CHAPTER THIRTEEN. HE]
[CHAPTER FOURTEEN. PRINCIPALLY LETTERS]
[CHAPTER FIFTEEN. WHEN THE HEART IS YOUNG]
[CHAPTER SIXTEEN. WHEN FORTUNE SMILES]
[CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. IDYLLS OF YOUTH]
[CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. AS SHORT AS I WISH HAD BEEN THE MAJORITY OF SERMONS TO WHICH I HAVE BEEN FORCED TO GIVE EAR]
[CHAPTER NINETEEN. THE 9TH OF NOVEMBER 1896]
[CHAPTER TWENTY. SAME YARN (Cont.)]
[CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE. MY UNLADYLIKE BEHAVIOUR AGAIN]
[CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO. SWEET SEVENTEEN]
[CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE. AH, FOR ONE HOUR OF BURNING LOVE, ’TIS WORTH AN AGE OF COLD RESPECT!]
[CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR. THOU KNOWEST NOT WHAT A DAY MAY BRING FORTH]
[CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE. BECAUSE?]
[CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX. BOAST NOT THYSELF OF TOMORROW]
[CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN MY JOURNEY]
[CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT. TO LIFE]
[CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE. TO LIFE (Cont.)]
[CHAPTER THIRTY. WHERE IGNORANCE IS BLISS, ’TIS FOLLY TO BE WISE]
[CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE. MR M’SWAT AND I HAVE A BUST-UP]
[CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO. TA-TA TO BARNEY’S GAP]
[CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE. BACK AT POSSUM GULLY]
[CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR. BUT ABSENT FRIENDS ARE SOON FORGOT]
[CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE. THE 3RD OF DECEMBER 1898]
[CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX. ONCE UPON A TIME, WHEN THE DAYS WERE LONG AND HOT]
[CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN. HE THAT DESPISETH LITTLE THINGS, SHALL FALL LITTLE BY LITTLE]
[CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT. A TALE THAT IS TOLD AND A DAY THAT IS DONE]

PREFACE

A few months before I left Australia I got a letter from the bush signed “Miles Franklin”, saying that the writer had written a novel, but knew nothing of editors and publishers, and asking me to read and advise. Something about the letter, which was written in a strong original hand, attracted me, so I sent for the MS., and one dull afternoon I started to read it. I hadn’t read three pages when I saw what you will no doubt see at once—that the story had been written by a girl. And as I went on I saw that the work was Australian—born of the bush. I don’t know about the girlishly emotional parts of the book—I leave that to girl readers to judge; but the descriptions of bush life and scenery came startlingly, painfully real to me, and I know that, as far as they are concerned, the book is true to Australia—the truest I ever read.

I wrote to Miles Franklin, and she confessed that she was a girl. I saw her before leaving Sydney. She is just a little bush girl, barely twenty-one yet, and has scarcely ever been out of the bush in her life. She has lived her book, and I feel proud of it for the sake of the country I came from, where people toil and bake and suffer and are kind; where every second sun-burnt bushman is a sympathetic humorist, with the sadness of the bush deep in his eyes and a brave grin for the worst of times, and where every third bushman is a poet, with a big heart that keeps his pockets empty.

HENRY LAWSON
England, April 1901