Environment, Space, Place

I would not be the first to describe Brett Heino’s new book as timely. Its publication in 2021 coincided with the fiftieth anniversary of the first publication of David Ireland’s The Unknown Industrial Prisoner (1971). This experimental novel, centered on a “kaleidoscopic vision” of its characters and their lives, tells the story of a group of workers at the Puroil refinery in a fictionalized part of Sydney. In Heino’s own words, this project emerged from a desire to write about industrialization and representation in Australian fiction. Working primarily as a legal scholar and historian, this work represents his first foray into literary geography.

At the heart of Heino’s argument is a question: What does literature know about space? In his pursuit of a spatially-directed reading of The Unknown Industrial Prisoner, Heino eschews work in literary geography that cultural geographers might recognize— particularly the writings of Sheila Hones, the doyenne of an emerging interdiscipline of literary geography, whose practitioners work at the interstices between literary studies and geography. Heino criticizes this interdisciplinary literary geography as being too focused on establishing the “sovereignty” or “imperialism” of fictional space at the expense of recognizing the [End Page 132] role of literature in the world. Arguably, such a stance is a misreading of the thinking within literary geography that “reading literature is essentially an experimental process in which the categorical distinction between the frames of ‘fact’ and ‘fiction’ become blurred,”¹ and where the “ontological distinction between literary and non- literary spaces” is undermined.² Neither of these statements supposes that reading literature is a practice by which the world falls away and nothing remains but the book. Instead, following Doreen Massey’s idea that space is a complicated process of events and happenings, literary geographers in this mold argue that fiction is a part of life as it happens, and reading is a constitutive practice in the co- production of space.

In its place, Heino emphasizes a form of literary geographical thinking that understands literature’s role as being separate from, but intimately connected to, the actual world. His theoretical framework is multi-layered, borrowing from Marxist literary scholars, including Terry Eagleton and Fredric Jameson, and Marxist geographers, including Henri Lefebvre. In essence, however, it can be expressed neatly in the following quotation from geocritic Bertrand Westphal:

Fiction does not reproduce the real, but actualises new virtualities that had remained unformulated, and then goes on to interact with the real according to the hypertextual logic of interfaces . . . fiction detects possibilities buried in the folds of the real, knowing that these folds have not been temporised.³

I think that Heino’s rejection of what he characterizes as poststructural literary geography, of the kind represented in his analysis of Sheila Hones’s work, misses some opportunities. First, there are similarities between his conception of literary geography and those he leaves aside— not least, their shared acceptance of the productive tension that sits between literature as text and world as practical, non- representational, and exceeding narrative. Secondly, the shared aim of both approaches is to understand how “representation ‘takes place’ and precisely how texts are part of what happens.”⁴ This is particularly powerful in the light of Heino’s aim to understand the development and contents of literary texts in materialist terms. Despite these areas [End Page 133] of convergence, Heino’s argument that literary geography’s potential to analyze class and political structures remains untapped is well founded. This is where Heino’s contribution is at its strongest.

Heino’s work is at its most convincing when he discusses the realities of “abstract space” that both permeate the spaces of The Unknown Industrial Prisoner and structure the very fabric of latter- twentieth century Australia. Running through both Heino’s critique and Ireland’s novel is an understanding “that the inherent drive of capital is towards the creation of a fragmented, homogenised and hierarchised space within which it can produce and...