In surf fiction it is common for wave-riders to be tested. The test of self -battling against nature, against others, and against one's own capabilities -is a popular thematic pathway for discovery, growth and freedom, as manifested regularly in surf-related fiction since its beginnings in 1849. This paper looks at the first three novels that featured surfing -Mardi and a Voyage Thither (Melville, 1849), The Coral Island: A Tale of the Pacific Ocean (Ballantyne, 1857), and Kelea: The Surf-Rider, A Romance of Pagan Hawaii (Twombly, 1900) -to examine why the authors wrote about surfing in conjunction with themes of battle and contest.
No abstract
This paper examines the first 90 years (from 1849 to 1940) in the development of surf fiction. It focuses on how, at the genre's beginnings, the view taken of surfing was shaped by the colonial worldview, with its attendant super-narrative of white cultural and individual superiority, marginalisation of non-white traditions, and disrespect for others' values and practices. The period can be divided into two phases. The first extended from 1849 to 1920 with pioneering novels by Herman Melville, R. M. Ballantyne and others, including Jack London's 'The Kanaka Surf' (1916), the long short story which we claim brought surf fiction to a new-found maturity in terms of cultural respect. The second phase, from 1921 to 1940, included lesser writers Stuart Martin, Don Blanding and Claude La Belle whose novels continued to trace the white world's attempt to come to terms with the cultural and racial influence that surfing had begun to exert. Most surf-depicting fiction in this first 90 years was set in Hawaii and written in the Adult Adventure or Boys Adventure genres. This article examines how early surf fiction traced the impact of indigenous-based surfing on imperialbased white thinking, and proposes that some creative writers were sensitive to the on-going cultural appropriation of surfing and the lessons surfing could teach the colonialists about individual, racial and cultural respect. When the earliest creative writers tried to surf, they admitted they were inferior, but they admired Pacific Islander expertise. During the first 90 years of surf fiction, the narrative perspective moved from the colonial observer gaze to the participant view. Fiction sought to outline the growing Western awareness that surfing would be a key influence on cross-cultural thinking.
On the next instance of the New South Whales making an appearance in the assignment, she hesitated, then typed out a pithy question. Because a third mention surely deserved sarcasm. She tapped it out two-fingered on her laptop. 'Are these related to the Southern Right Whale?' Was she undermining the student's self-esteem by pointing out he didn't know how to smell the name of his home state? More to the point, had she been teaching too long? It was supposed to be a heart and soul job, a vacation like being a nun. She wanted to do the right thing but increasingly felt she was losing the plot and not just of the students' convoluted assignments. It was like an illness, this feeling stalking her.The bus lurched to a stop and she was jostled by the outflow of passengers spelling of body odour and expensive perfumes and daily grind. She stared blankly at the swelling cityscape beyond the window. Sighed. Not her stop. Dropped her eyes back to the coldface.The hall was deserted. She sometimes doubted students existed in threedimensional space. The laminated A4 on the Professor's door announced Consolation times, handily colour coded on a timetable. No one had introduced him to the vagaries of autocorrect, nor his students to the futility of expecting anything soothing when they came to consult behind that particular door. She arrived just in time, a skerrick before the nick, in a case of hurrying up to get somewhere to sit still. The school meeting dragged, its soul-purpose, it seemed, to prepare them for hell. The diminutive sessional tutor alone did not partake of the neatly triangular sandwiches and cut fruit provided as incentive to get them there. This woman had long subsided on next-to-nothing at all.As the clock on the far wall itched its way closer to the advertised conclusion, she found herself drowning. She woke as her chin hit her chest. 'I meant drowsing,' she apologised. The Head droned on, having made a slightly more complex spelling mistake: perusing agenda items took so much longer than pursuing them.The list of mistakes in the afternoon marking grew. The baddie had another think coming. A ballerina was frilled when she won the Eisteddfod. Some boys went surging. The versus of a song were eluded to.
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