Publisher of the Month with Martin Hughes

Martin Hughes is co-owner and Publishing Director at Melbourne-based independent publisher Affirm Press. Martin has previously worked as editor of The Big Issue magazine, as a writer, editor and photographer with Lonely Planet Publications, and in journalism and public relations in Ireland and Britain.

What was your pathway to publishing?

I’ve always been around journalism and publishing.

When I left as editor of The Big Issue magazine, I had an idea for a book combining my experiences, passions, and lack of pragmatism: a DIY job called The Slow Guide to Melbourne, which I wrote, publicised, and sold myself. That book went so well that another publisher proposed co-publishing a Slow Guides series. The series didn’t go so well, but by then I had set up the infrastructure of a publishing company. I worked on this part-time for several years, with some great people, but we didn’t really know what we were doing. In 2013, I teamed up with Keiran Rogers, who knew what he was doing.

How many titles do you publish each year?

Each year we aim to publish one hundred new Australian titles across our children’s and general lists.

Do you edit the books you commission?

Structural edits only; authors deserve better editorial support than I could provide. We have a fabulous team of editors across both of our lists.

What qualities do you look for in an author?

Besides skill and a dedication to their craft, I want to work with authors whose motivations are pure (not vain), who have a vision for where they want to go, and who will be good collaborators.

In your dealings with authors, what is the greatest pleasure – and challenge?

Début novels are often the most difficult books to publish, but being on that journey with authors is immensely fulfilling. The greatest challenge is dealing with authors who have unrealistic expectations.

Do you write yourself? If so, has it informed your work as a publisher?

I was a working journalist for years, so I appreciate the benefit of good editing, and I try to ensure our authors feel that same support. In the past, I harboured a desire to write fiction (and it’s probably still harboured now, just deeper down). I often think that once I take my foot off the pedal of trying to create a successful business, I will write. More likely, though, I will just read what I want, when I want.

What kinds of books do you enjoy reading?

All sorts, but when I do get to read recreationally (which is rarely), I get particularly excited about contemporary Irish fiction.

Which editors/publishers do you most admire?

Knowing what I do about how our industry is dominated by multinationals, I admire all independent Australian publishers for their chutzpah and creativity.

What advice would you give an aspiring publisher? Find a partner like Keiran Rogers.

How significant, in a protean age, are book reviews?

Extremely significant for authors, not so much for publishers.

In a highly competitive market, is individuality one of the casualties?

I wouldn’t blame the competitive nature of the market for any lack of individuality. I think we are very lucky in Australia to have so many independent publishers and a passionate network of independent retailers who support them. If there’s any shortage of individuality, I’d say it is down to the fact that Australia is a niche market. It’s very difficult to be niche in a niche market.

What’s the outlook for new writing of quality?

Quality is in the eye of the reader, but I would say it’s bright – especially if at least some of the new Australia Council funding can be channelled towards publishers supporting authors of books that have cultural value but are not necessarily commercially viable. g

Gillard as everywoman

Hagiography in secular form

Clare Monagle

First things first, the audience loved it. As Julia Gillard, in a performance that blended naturalism and impersonation, Justine Clarke held the crowd in the palm of her hand. They swooned and sighed to the wholesome depiction of Gillard’s working-class Welsh parents and cackled at the jokes made at the expense of Kevin Rudd, Mark Latham, and John Howard. When Julia wrestled with her conscience over the policy compromises of her government – the refusal of same-sex marriage, the resumption of offshore processing for asylum seekers, the reduction of the single-mother benefit – the audience was encouraged to see that such disappointments were the cost of doing business in a dirty game.

That the audience accepted this mitigation became clear at the rapturous reception afforded Clarke’s performance of Gillard’s famous misogyny speech at the end of the play (Sydney Theatre Company, until 20 May). The speech enabled the apotheosis of Julia. At the show’s conclusion, Gillard has become the shoulderpadded saint of women working in a man’s world. She is sung off by a choir of young denim-wearing angels. In spite of the sins she may have committed on her path to canonisation, the searing speech is the miracle that proves her sanctity.

Julia is a hagiography, a saint’s life, albeit in secular form. And as far as hagiography goes, it is beautifully done. The play seeks to persuade the audience that Gillard’s life story offers meaning and exemplarity. She battles the demonic forces of misogyny in Australian public life, and they come close to breaking her, but she emerges unbowed and leaves the stage a heroine, accompanied by a standing ovation at the performance I attended. So, as hagiography, Julia is an emphatic success. As a theatregoer, I have rarely experienced an audience that seemed to be so collectively persuaded, although perhaps the production’s title invited an audience ripe to be so.

Clarke’s performance beautifully captures the contradictions of Gillard as everywoman and as wholly extraordinary in achievement. She switches between accents seamlessly, occasionally mimicking Gillard’s distinctive drawl but only offering a clear impersonation when delivering ‘the speech’. She gives us, briefly, the voices of John Howard, Rudd, and Tony Abbott, with excellent timing. Clarke’s Gillard, who is never parodied, is given a repertoire of human moments and reflections that convey the character’s virtuous subjectivity. The same cannot be said of the aforementioned Australian political villains, who are played for admittedly satisfying laughs. But this is Gillard’s hagiography, and so other players in the story can only be foils for our heroine’s journey.

Joanna Murray-Smith’s text illustrates the ease with which we accept Gillard’s account of herself. Julia offers us a Gillard of pithy prose, sharp humour, and plain-spoken cleverness. MurraySmith writes Gillard as linguistically anti-pompous; she is Machiavellian enough to describe the political game with sharp insight, but humane enough to rhapsodise the pleasure of a cup of tea and a bickie. The writing is at its best, to my mind, when Gillard explains the libidinal pleasures of a political victory or the magic of a successful negotiation. But those moments were all too brief, often displaced by the everywoman character with whom the audience was encouraged to bond. In the same vein, the production design is sparse and precise. When images are projected, such as that of the ocean when Gillard ponders her handling of refugees, they are not deployed to trouble or challenge Gillard’s explanations of her actions. Rather, the play’s projections serve the persuasive qualities of Clarke’s performance, achieving amplification rather than intrigue or contradiction.

Julia is a bona fide hit; the Sydney production is almost entirely sold out for the remainder of its run. No doubt it will tour to other cities. It is a highly successful production, by myriad measures. In particular, Clarke’s performance is, as the man behind me said very loudly to his companion, a tour de force. As someone of Clarke’s generation who watched her every night on Home and Away in the 1980s, I thrilled to seeing Roo Stewart own that stage so decisively, to see the apotheosis of Justine.

It feels churlish, then, to criticise this production, given the clear enjoyment it engendered for its audience. Actually, I can’t fault the production itself. Julia is a highly professional, engaging, and cogent piece of work, one that knows its audience and plays to it adroitly. But in the end, we all know that Julia Gillard was no saint. I do not seek to besmirch her in pointing out her lack of sanctity, but only to suggest nobody is actually a saint. If the play, then, seeks to produce St Julia, for it to be truly creatively successful it should do more than persuade us of her sanctity, it should explain why we need St Julia or what type of miracles she might be able to perform. g

Hojotoho! Heiaha!

A brilliant Ring in Bendigo

Peter Rose

Afull production of Der Ring des Nibelungen, presented over the course of a week, is an immense undertaking for any company, let alone a small one. Since 2021, Melbourne Opera has commenced the journey in three instalments: Das Rheingold (2021), Die Walküre (2022), and Siegfried (2022). These productions surpassed most people’s expectations. Now –because of a dearth of available venues in Melbourne – the production has moved to the Ulumbarra Theatre, the old colonial jail, which has been transformed into a performing arts centre of surprising amplitude and adaptability.

What a feat it is for this small, enterprising company – fast becoming Victoria’s most impressive one, given Opera Australia’s virtual retreat from local stages. What an achievement it is to stage not one but three full cycles in regional Victoria. Here, it’s worth remembering, as Lady Potter (Patron-in-Chief) notes in the program, that ‘this production, a major event in the crucial constituency of regional Victoria, has received no Federal or State government support whatsoever’. (Meanwhile, we know that Opera Australia received $33,324,538 from the Australia Council in 2021.)

Of the four works, each Wagnerite has their favourite. For some, Das Rheingold – Wagner’s ‘preliminary evening’ – has the edge because of its narrative cohesion over four relatively concise scenes. There are none of the longueurs of the later operas. One good example is Erda’s great scene, when the ancient, all-knowing god, looming to music of great portentousness, exhorts Wotan to hand over the Ring. Compared with later monologues, this slips by like Don Giovanni’s Champagne Aria.

Suzanne Chaundy’s production is a triumph of lucidity, precision, and common sense. Nothing is extraneous or puerile; Chaundy avoids the extravagances that have diminished many Rings. If something moves or lights up, there is a reason – not a directorial whim. Andrew Bailey’s sets look good on the broad Ulumbarra stage.

The conception is pleasingly timeless. (There isn’t a fascist or showgirl in sight.) In her director’s note, Chaundy writes:

[The creative team] never considered a contemporary or period-style naturalistic setting. ‘The Ring’ is a mythic story – of gods, demi-gods, giants, elves, nixies and people. We have created a non-specific, yet familiar world to serve the story, characters, and situation … Simple and abstract, our focus is on clear and detailed story telling with a symbolic nod to circularity, and therefore ‘the ring’.

The lighting (Rob Sowinski) is inspired, especially at the end of Rheingold when, Freia having been rescued, the moody gods (ironically dubbed ‘the augustly glittering race’ by Fasolt) process to their latest castle.

Mention must also be made of Harriet Oxley’s costumes, none of which looks silly – surely a first for Wagner productions. Loge’s bright striped suit rightly set him apart, and the two Giants project massiveness without expensive or distracting devices or prostheses.

British conductor Anthony Negus returned to lead the first two cycles. For many of us, Negus’s conducting was the highlight of Siegfried, which was presented in concert at the Melbourne Recital Centre last September. This time, on opening night, the results were mixed. The famous E-flat prelude – such a brooding, suggestive passage – seemed rushed. The brass section was not in good form; this was not the horns’ finest hour.

Once again we could admire Simon Meadows’s Alberich, the bald, grubby dwarf. Somehow Meadows managed to better the celebrated performance he gave in 2021. How he colours the voice to convey Alberich’s endless humiliations and provocations. There was explosive power when he needed it. He was at his best in the long scene with Wotan and Loge, when they betray him into parting with the Ring. The famous Curse was searing. Alberich, after all, is just about the only honest character in Rheingold

Equally good was the Loge of James Egglestone, who also sang the role in 2021. Egglestone’s voice has never sounded better. He was consistently droll as the opera’s great ironist and iconoclast.

In 2021, Eddie Muliaumaseali sang the role of Wotan. This time it was Warwick Fyfe, who all but made the part his own last year in Die Walküre and Siegfried. These were monumental performances, vocally and dramatically. Rheingold is less demanding histrionically. Here, Wotan is static, torn, reflective, anxious – badgered by a succession of women, and needled by Loge. Fyfe’s sheer volume continues to impress; there was much to look forward to in the next two operas.

It was the performance of Die Walküre in February 2022 that alerted audiences to the fact the Melbourne Opera was on the verge of achieving something quite exceptional with its first Ring. My colleague Michael Shmith, reviewing it for ABR, wrote: ‘[T]his was one of those rare nights when everything seemed right with the world. This triumphant performance must be regarded as a glory for Melbourne Opera.’ I saw it twice last year and was similarly impressed, but the performance in Bendigo on Sunday was even better, led radiantly (and briskly) by Maestro Negus. The production itself looks fine on the stage, especially Act I, when the exhausted Siegmund seeks shelter bei Hunding and ultimately recognises his lost twin sister and future wife, Sieglinde. Andrew Bailey’s set, in its clarity and sheer domesticity, was the perfect backdrop for this brilliant first act, which culminates in some of Wagner’s most rousing and luminous music.

Sets aside, something seems to have happened since 2021 – surely vindicating the decision to stage the Ring over several years. There is a remarkable bond between singers, conductor, and director. In their daring, their passion, their intensity, some of these performances seem to surpass the limitations of conventional opera. It is a measure of what a true ensemble company –working together off and on for a number of years – can achieve.

Lee Abrahmsen, a veteran of Melbourne Opera and its many Wagner productions, was every bit as good as she was in 2022. If anything, she was in more luxuriant voice, and her great outpouring in Act III – which Wagner called the Glorification of Brünnhilde motif – filled the theatre.

Her soul mate on this occasion was James Egglestone, who was in ringing, ardent voice as Siegmund. It’s unusual to see such an engaged and credible pair of lovers. During the Todesverkündigung in Act Two, when Brünnhilde foreshadows Siegmund’s death, Siegmund’s revulsion at the notion of abandoning Sieglinde was powerfully conveyed.

Antoinette Halloran sang Brünnhilde in the first two cycles. Brünnhilde has one of the most testing entrances in all opera, with the repeated war-cry ‘Ho-jo-to-ho’, and there was an edge to Halloran’s high notes, but as the drama unfolded – bellicose exultation giving way to complicity in Wotan’s betrayal of Siegmund, followed by rebellion, exposure, and rejection – Halloran offered a fine performance. Most poignant of all was Brünnhilde’s plea to her adored father: ‘War es so schmälich’ (‘Was it so shameful’).

Again, Fyfe was simply magnificent. There seems to be no limit to his vocal power, yet he can also be subtle, intimate, almost conversational. His extended Act II monologue begins with a confession: ‘When the joy of young love departed from me, my spirit longed for power.’ Fyfe almost whispered this passage, before rising at the end of his narration to a shattering and definitive ‘Das Ende’.

The long scene that ends the opera – when Wotan rejects his favourite Valkyrie and condemns her to be abandoned on a rock, easy prey for strangers, only to soften at the end and mitigate her sentence with a ring of fire – was unforgettably powerful. Rare is it in the theatre – rarer still in an opera house (to be honest) – to watch two performers in complete and eloquent artistic accord. For once, the conductor, the director, and the singers were in perfect sync. Music and drama fitted together seamlessly. At times the emotion on stage – especially during Wotan and Brünnhilde’s Farewell (when both singers were visibly moved) – was almost unbearable.

Of all the major operas, Siegfried had the most curious gestation. After completing Act II in 1857, Wagner put it aside for twelve years. During those years, he wrote Tristan und Isolde (1865) and Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg (1868).

The new production opens with Andrew Bailey’s busiest set to date. The cave that Siegfried shares with Mime, brother of Alberich, has become a kind of man cave. It works just as well as chez Hunding in Act I of Die Walküre and is similarly naturalistic. Director Suzanne Chaundy and Bailey never set traps for their singers, unlike many sadistic creative duos before them.

This act can pall – especially the soup-making scene – but here it moved briskly. It ends with the extended scene when Siegfried forges Nothung from the fragments of Siegmund’s shattered sword.

Bradley Daley – returning as Siegfried after his great success in last year’s concert version – was excellent in this thrilling scene.

Siegfried, with his endless petulance and puppydom, can be the most irritating hero in German opera. He is vicious and ungrateful towards his admittedly diabolical guardian, Mime. ‘In the end,’ as Michael Tenner writes: ‘it comes down to the question of whether Siegfried is sufficiently interesting to deserve a whole long drama virtually to himself, when we have the far more intriguing and involving figure of Wotan spending most of his time in the wings, and appearing, lightly disguised, only as the Wanderer.’ Daley negotiates these hazards with skill. His is a likeable and plausible young Siegfried.

Daley was especially good in the Act II scene when Siegfried – listening to Waldweben or Forest Murmurs – tries to imagine his parents and wonders if all mortal mothers perish because of their sons. Daley sat on the edge of the stage, unusually close to the audience. Here, the Ulumbarra Theatre’s peculiar intimacy really suited this affecting scene.

Robert Macfarlane returns as Mime, having sung the role last year. Mime can be an irritating character, especially if he chooses to bark at us. Interestingly, Anthony Negus, interviewed by Sophie Rashbrook for the excellent program, says: ‘I’ve always thought the problem with Act I is that we have no female voices, and it can become very wearing if the singer playing Mime just sings it all in an ugly way, or as a caricature.’ Macfarlane mostly avoids the strident pitfalls. His is not a large voice. The physical comedy is broad. Mime’s schemes are endless, for he is every bit as ambitious as his brother, Alberich, to whom he reports.

The Dragon scene was simple and effective, mostly via video. Siegfried duly slays Fafner with Nothung. Best of all was the almost tender passage that follows when Fafner – now embodied as Steven Gallop – demands to know who has conquered him, to which Siegfried replies: ‘There is much that I still don’t know: / I still don’t know who I am.’

The Prelude to Act III – Wagner’s return to the Ring – is the most thrilling and orchestrally complex passage in the Ring. The scene that followed was momentous. Wotan awakens Erda – all-knowing, eternal woman (Ewiges Weib) – from her brooding sleep that he may now ‘gain knowledge’, as he puts it. ‘My sleep is dreaming, / my dreaming brooding, / my brooding the exercise of knowledge,’ she tells him. The deeds of men ‘becloud her mind’, and in the end she rejects the ‘stubborn, wild-spirited god’ who has disturbed her sleep. Deborah Humble moved with grace – a bravura, almost balletic performance – and she sang magnificently.

Wotan, with his reflexive amour-propre, is incapable of submitting to anyone: that is his true curse. In his final scene, Wotan seeks to bar Siegfried’s way, but his authority is literally shattered and he surrenders the stage in one of the forlornest exits of all.

The final scene in the opera, when Siegfried discovers the sleeping Brünnhilde, who eventually responds to him, offers some of the most exalted music in the Ring. Daley and Antoinette Halloran negotiated this long, climactic duet with power and artistry.

Götterdämmerung – the last opera in Der Ring des Nibelungen – opens with a subtle, doom-laden modification to the chords to which Brünnhilde had finally stirred in Act III of Siegfried The Prologue and Act I are then performed together – two hours in all, though on this occasion it felt like half that time, such was the dramatic fervour on stage.

First came Erda’s daughters the Norns (Dimity Shepherd, Jordan Khaler, Eleanor Greenwood), weavers of the rope of fate on which the world’s future will depend. The portentous rope can be a drag, but here it was stealthily deployed as the Norns proceeded to tell us much about Wotan. By now, members of the audience may have thought they knew everything there was to know about the ruler of the subjugated world, but Wagner once again, in his retrospective zeal, surprises us. What a relentless teller he is: imagine his table-talk at Wahnfried.

Utimately, the Norns realise that their time is over, their wisdom at an end. ‘Eternal knowledge has ended,’ they lament. When the fateful rope snaps, they join Erda in exhausted, timeless sleep. Done well, as here, this is a scene of considerable pathos; Chaundy directs these three singer-actors with her customary assurance. Hers is such a sensible, elemental conception of the Ring. It enables her singers to ‘stand and deliver’ in the best sense, unencumbered by otiose directorial whimsies. Everything makes sense, possibly for the first time in the history of the Ring

We must wait until the second scene of the Prologue to meet the post-coital lovers on their rock. The orchestral interlude was superb, conveying the grandeur of this music. From the outset, the orchestra was in excellent form after the serial lapses we heard during Siegfried. It was quite a transformation. Maestro Negus drew impassioned playing all night, with a rich overlay of the many leitmotifs (there are more than sixty in all) – those melodic moments of being, as Wagner called them.

This is a new production, of course, like Siegfried. In Act I, we were keen to see what Bailey would make of the castle of the

Gibichungs. In fact it rather resembles an expensive pile in Portsea, with its red carpet, its garish modern sculpture, its diaphanous curtains, and the inevitable sea view. This felt just right for the three arrivistes: Gunther and his sister, Gutrune, and Hagen, their half-brother, son of Alberich. The two men, keen to enhance the Firm’s reputation by orchestrating a prominent marriage, settle on Siegfried as Gutrune’s groom, carnally distracted though he is.

Just when you thought this ensemble could not produce another duet to rival those that have preceded it – Brünnhilde and Wotan’s Farewell, Erda and the Wanderer in Siegfried, and many others – along came Waltraute in Scene Two. Visiting Brünnhilde on her rock, she tells of Wotan’s catatonic state and implores her sister to return the gold to the Rhinemaidens. Brünnhilde – exultant in love – refuses. The Ring is her salvation. Waltraute can tell their father that Brünnhilde will never part with the gold – will never relinquish love.

Once again, as in Erda’s brief interdiction in Rheingold and her seismic quarrel with Wotan in Siegfried, Deborah Humble revealed herself to be an artist at the height of her dramatic and vocal powers. Hard it is to recall a more impassioned account of this scene, which can pass unnoticed in lesser hands. Humble, not holding back, brought out the fiery best in Halloran. This was grand singing and acting that shook the house – unforgettable theatre that once again, as so often in this production, seemed to transcend the form.

Act II begins memorably, with Alberich’s final appearance as Hagen sleeps, spear in hand. To the gravest music, Alberich (the self-declared ‘mirthless, much wronged dwarf’) extracts a promise from his son to kill Siegfried and regain the Ring. ‘Hasse die Frohen,’ Alberich beseeches him – ‘Hate the happy’. Simon Meadows’s three Methodish turns as Alberich have been vocal and dramatic highlights of the production.

Then we had the crude and abrupt conceit when Siegfried is drugged into betraying Brünnhilde and goes on to arrange her proxy rape and abduction. Brünnhilde’s devastation when she is dragged to the castle of the Gibichungs and realises that Siegfried is about to marry Gutrune is always distressing to watch. Here, Halloran was imperious, shock and disbelief soon giving way to indignation and murderous intent.

In Götterdämmerung Wagner begins to do all manner of things that he had hitherto resisted in the Ring. Finally, a chorus is introduced, to rousing effect in Hagen’s bereted Blackshirts’ two mighty choruses. Act II ends with a distinctly Verdian revenge trio between the wrathful Brünnhilde and the scheming half-brothers.

Thus, finally, Act III, and the conclusion of Der Ring. Initially, it was to end quite differently, with Brünnhilde leading Siegfried to Valhalla. But then Wagner drew on Erda: ‘All that is – ends; a gloomy day dawns on the gods.’ He decided, controversially, that the gods must perish, even though the Ring was to be returned to the Rhine.

After the melodic scene when the Rhinemaidens make a last attempt to prise the Ring from Siegfried, and after the hunting party when Siegfried indulges in yet another lengthy narrative recapitulation, Hagen dispatches him with his spear. Undrugged now, the dying Siegfried recalls how he awakened Brünnhilde from sleep. Bradley Daley acted with energy and involvement, just as he sang with great accuracy and power.

The Funeral Music that followed was beautifully executed. No supernumeraries trooped on to dispose of the corpse. Siegfried – private in death – lay on his own as the stirring music unfolded. Then Brünnhilde presides in an epic scene of expiation and self-abnegation. Here, Antoinette Halloran was at her most impressive. What a vivid and agile singer-actor she is. There was some fine soft singing in the lower register, but the high notes were always there – steely, ringing, fearless. Brünnhilde’s blessing for Wotan (‘Ruhe, ruhe, du Gott’), one of the most affecting blessings in all opera, was beautifully sung. How keenly Wagner’s beloved Valkyrie realises that the Ring is the cause of all misfortunes. Then Brünnhilde lay by Siegfried as the flames rose in our imagination and as violins played the theme last heard in Act II of Die Walküre – ‘Redemption through love’.

When Wagner finished writing Götterdämmerung, he noted the date and added: ‘I shall say no more.’ But never trust an artist! After all, Wagner hadn’t tackled Christianity yet. Parsifal in Bendigo, perhaps?

First, though, let’s congratulate Melbourne Opera for what it has achieved – against the odds – and hope that it will revive this production in a few years’ time. Vocally and conceptually, it surely ranks as the finest modern Ring seen in Australia. g

Der Ring des Nibelungen (Melbourne Opera) was performed in three cycles at the Ulumbarra Theatre in Bendigo in March and April 2023. Peter Rose attended the first cycle. He reviewed the Ring in two instalments. Longer versions of both reviews appear online.