Peter Carey’s Archive and
the Australian Literary Field
KEYVAN ALLAHYARI
University of Melbourne
Peter Carey’s archives are a missing element, albeit a remarkably important one, in the
critical literature about the productive mechanisms of his celebrity. This paper explores the
archiving of Carey’s materials in the State Library of Victoria, a process commenced by
the Library’s purchase of the documents relating to Carey’s True History of the Kelly
Gang (2000). This collection, catalogued as ‘The Papers and Drafts of Peter Carey’ marks
the convergence of canonicity, the literary market, and the materiality of the cultural
artefact. This archive adds a new facet to Carey’s image as an Australian author in the
public domain, creating a sense of continuity of his relevance to the canon of Australian
literature. Drawing on Pierre Bourdieu’s sociological paradigm, I demonstrate how the
constitution of the archive is the result of the collective recognition of the economic and
cultural capital of Carey’s manuscripts and paraphernalia. Through a case study of an agent
in constructing the archive, I investigate the stakes invested in the ongoing dominant
position of Carey in the Australian literary field into the twenty-first century. This
section also examines the ways that agents augment their volume of literary and
economic capital through engaging with, what I call, Carey’s archival capital.
I
In August 1998, Connections, the journal of the University of Queensland Library,
announced the acquisition of Carey’s collection, including manuscripts of Carey’s major
books as well as several short stories, articles, notes, reviews and related correspondence
(Connections 6). The report is accompanied by a photo that captures Carey opening a
folder with his left hand while placing his right hand on the documents in the presence of
the librarians Ros Follet and Jamie Schmidt, Professor Alan Lawson (literary scholar),
Laurie Muller (UQP’s General Manager), and Craig Munro (Carey’s editor and UQP’s
Publishing Manager). The gesture is one of signing an important financial transaction
which created the largest collection of Carey’s materials at the time. It also captures an
archival moment in Carey’s career that brings together representatives of academia, the
library, and the publishing industry. In December 2000, Laurie Muller notified the State
Library of Victoria that Carey was offering his documents for sale; since the Fryer
Library was unable to fund the purchase of the new materials ‘the True History archive
was being offered to the open market’ (Murphy 113). The State Library began purchasing
Carey’s papers soon after this. It is noteworthy that Carey’s celebrity enabled him to secure
a financial transaction with the State Library even before his novel brought him his second
Booker Prize. This did not stop the entrance of Carey’s archive into the ‘open market,’ as
he managed to sell another significant collection of manuscripts to the New York archive
magnate, Glen Horowtiz. This collection was subsequently gifted by the donor Joshua
Steinberg to the New York Public Library in 2003.
Through these multidisciplinary exchanges, Carey’s documents are granted institutionally
guaranteed recognition and economic value. Once produced, this currency can be
transmitted to other cultural institutions, and in the process augment in monetary and
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cultural worth across national and international systems of cultural production. Bourdieu
argued that the processes involved in the production and consumption of cultural products
constitute what he called a field, a sphere of human activity, which has its own actors,
institutions and laws of functioning. This social arena is the locus of struggles aiming to
transform and maintain their stakes in the field which are ‘for the most part the product of
the competition between players’ (An Invitation 98). Bourdieu maintains that sociological
analysis should be applied to phenomena not based on their properties, but in relation to
the field of cultural objects and activities within which they are situated. The literary field
comprises a myriad social spaces or positions occupied by agents among which a
designated species of capital is negotiated and transacted. Carey’s literary archive can
provide a point of entry into understanding his position in the literary field in relation to the
cultural economy of his fame, and the assumed value for Australian literary and historical
heritage.
II
Carey’s miscellaneous documents and manuscripts had been held in various collections
in Australia long before the establishment of his archives at the Fryer Library and the State
Library of Victoria. The University of Melbourne, for example, holds the Meanjin Archive
comprising a large assortment of files belonging to Meanjin’s editor, C.B. Christesen,
including a letter by young Carey confirming probably the earliest royalty that he received
for his short stories, the sum of 40 dollars. The University of Melbourne also owns a copy
of the manuscript of Carey’s unpublished novel ‘Wog.’ The Special Collections at the
University of Melbourne Library purchased this document from a bookseller in 2005 and
catalogued it the following year. The UQP Collection, Laurie Hergenhan Collection,
Craig Munroe, Margot Hutcheson Collections, all housed at the Fryer Library Manuscript
Collections, are other examples of institutional archives containing materials related to
Carey. Archiving Carey in the form of discrete collections started in 1984 in the National
Library of Australia in Canberra. This initial instalment of papers was acquired from Carey in
1984, under the Taxation Incentives for the Arts Scheme. As explained above, the Fryer
Library at the University of Queensland became the second institution to acquire a
significant collection of documents and paraphernalia belonging to the author.
Carey’s entrance into the open archival market came at a time when he was experiencing
his greatest publishing success with True History. The novel’s popularity marked a new
record in UQP’s history, with $350,000 profit in 2001 alone (Steger 14). Partly due to the
local resonance of the Kelly mythology, the novel reached a readership ‘far beyond the
usual literary audience and became a popular culture phenomenon’ (O’Reilly 490). Initially
titled ‘The Secret History of the Kelly Gang,’ the novel is set in northeast Victoria, in socalled Kelly Country. Written in the form of archival documents retrieved from a fictional
‘Melbourne Public Library,’ the narrative casts the historical bushranger, Ned Kelly, as
the author of his own history. Carey borrowed the idea from the Jerilderie Letter. This
historical document was dictated by Kelly in 1879 to a banker on one of his raids in the
Victorian town of Jerilderie in the hope of making his grievances against the Victorian
police force heard, giving Carey’s novel the cachet of Kelly’s long-repressed
‘autobiography’ (Gaile 38). The narrator describes his life from his childhood in
Beveridge, Victoria, until sentenced to death by Sir Redmond Barry, the founder of the
Melbourne Public Library (later the State Library of Victoria) in 1880.
Archives had already featured in Carey’s fiction before True History. Towards the end of
Carey’s previous novel, Jack Maggs (1997), the narrative pictures the novel written by the
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English writer, Tobias Oates, next to the letters written by the eponymous Australian
convict-author. This entrance into the archive is an uncanny prelude to the opening of True
History and the establishment of Carey’s ‘Drafts and Papers’ in the State Library, where the
archive as a point of envied destiny for literary product becomes a place of origin, of sheer
existence. Unlike Jack Maggs, it is not so much a revision of the archive in the form of
cultural transmissions; rather it is cloning an Australian variation of it. Felix Moore, the
semi-autobiographical protagonist of Carey’s Amnesia (2014), explores archives in the
State Library, bearing another reference to Carey’s own public persona, as this is where his
archive is housed.
Awareness, both thematic and institutional, of an archival future for True History was
confirmed by the nationalistic tone that marked its prolific marketing, especially in
Australia, where reviewers read the book as all things Australian, including the voice, the
narrative, and the author. The reviewer for the Guardian hailed Carey for being
‘uniquely well matched’ with his tale and his narrator, thereby sharing the ethos of
Australian authors such as Marcus Clark and Henry Handel Richardson, celebrated for
embodying the spirit of Australian cultural resistance in colonial times (Edric 8). Other
commentators made enthusiastic announcements about Carey’s bond with his country of
origin. Lee Tulloch called Carey ‘the most important Australian voice in world literature’
(64). In another interview, John Bemrose talked about Carey as a cultural ‘desperado,’ and
that meeting him in his apartment in New York was a ‘quintessentially Australian’
moment (51). Bemrose cites Carey on the people who disagree with his representation of
the folk-hero:
I would think that the people who call him simply a horse thief and a murderer
are in an absolute minority,’ he says. ‘By and large, they’re the genteel types
who care what the British think about them—the same people who won’t have
Waltzing Matilda as their national song. (51)
In Carey’s words the nation is conveniently purified of its heterogeneity: those who won’t
have Waltzing Matilda as their national song are not Australian enough. C a re y’s
read e rs are as s i gned a foundation story, a hero, a national song, and a clear instruction
about who to defy and who to embrace. In effect, Carey of True History is invented as the
author capable of speaking to this manifestation of the Australian psyche. This revival of
Carey’s ambassadorial role for Australia in world literature taps into what Graham Huggan
describes as Kelly’s ‘continuing profitability as a commodity circulating within an
increasingly globalised memory industry’ (132). Carey is dealt with as a ‘typical’
Australian character: egalitarian, democratic and non-elitist. Ironically, these journalistic
portraits mould a peculiarly elitist reference point for what constitutes Australian literature
in relation to True History. The stratified nature of this literary taste is maintained
through consumption—in this case journalistic—practices.
The journalistic publicity of True History was confirmed by its success in literary prizes.
Published by Faber and Faber in the United Kingdom in 2001, the novel gained Carey
his second Booker Prize in the same year. It also won the Victorian and Queensland
Premier’s Literary Awards, the Courier-Mail Book of the Year Award, as well as the
Commonwealth Writer’s Prize. Published with at least 16 different cover photos,
discounting the editions in translation, True History became a success story in book
design as well. Motivated by the success of True History, Carol Davidson at UQP
employed Jenny Grigg with ‘a brief to liven up its image and introduce Carey to a younger
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readership.’ Accordingly, she redesigned the cover image of the eight novels that Carey had
previously published. Consequently, in 2002, she was named young designer of the year,
winner for the best designed cover of the year, and co-winner for the best designed literary
fiction book for the 50th Australian Publishers Association Book Design Awards
(Wyndham 19). As Anna Auguscik writes in her recent book Prizing Debate, literary
prizes, and in particular the Booker Prize, help consolidate the longevity of media attention
of novels, resulting in boosting a larger scale post-Booker ‘connectivity’—be it on the basis
of topicality, seasonal appeal or other events (311). True History had these contextual
advantages on its side, reflected by a promotional narrative with an unmistakable rhetoric
of belonging to Australia.
In November 2000, around the time that Carey released his novel, he spoke in favour of
purchasing Kelly’s iron shoulder-plate as the last piece of the outlaw’s historical armour. In
a conversation on ABC radio with Jon Faine as part of a promotional spiel for his novel, he
argued for the necessity of bringing together the remnants pertaining to Ned Kelly in a
public collection. This interview could not have been more timely as the Australian police
ruled that this last talisman ought to stay in Australia. The Kelly Saga was at the height of its
official publicity, prompting a few agents and institutions to compete over buying the
armour, including the State Library of Victoria, a private owner, the Police Museum, and the
Museum of Victoria. Carey became yet another successful participant in this revitalised
competition over the cultural and economic capital associated with Ned Kelly. In 2000, the
State Library negotiated the terms of possession and exhibition of Ned Kelly’s last piece of
armour with Old Melbourne Gaol and a private owner. The rhetoric of keeping the relic of
the hero in the nation and offering it to the open market goes hand in hand with the
dynamic of keeping Carey’s archives in Australia, instead of offering them to the open
market. This coincides with increasing competition among libraries around the world to
house collections related to a famous living author (Hodson 157). The competition to be
associated with the author or the text of the novel by a larger number of cultural
custodians adds to the ‘literary value’ of the novel. Once they have a hold on these
materials, these cultural institutions struggle to increase the cultural capital associated with
the cultural artefact.
The investment of more agents into archival material produces a specific form of archival
capital for the materials and by extension the associated author and the text. In The
Rules of Arts, Bourdieu terms this illusio, the sense of investment that ‘pulls the agents out
of their indifference and inclines and predisposes them to put into operation the distinctions
which are pertinent from the viewpoint of the logic of the field’ (228). The added ‘literary
value’ is socialised and agreed upon through a series of contracts which carry cultural,
economic and legal weight, entered into by a multiplicity of agents including the author
himself, the editor, the publisher, the State Library of Victoria, journalists, individual
collectors, and academics. This literary currency remains pertinent only as long as the logic
of the field—nationalistic literary economy—is functioning, and is always in flux as the
result of the participation of the agents who engage in the production of value. The
cultural politics that shape Carey’s archive contribute to enhancing the positions of
agents who participate in the making of it. Bourdieu writes:
The producer of the value of the work of art is not the artist but the field of
production as a universe of belief which produces the value of the work of art as
a fetish by producing the belief in the creative power of the artist. Given that the
work of art does not exist as a symbolic object endowed with value unless it is
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known and recognized—that is to say, socially instituted as a work of art by
spectators endowed with the aesthetic disposition and competence necessary to
know it and recognize it as such. (Rules 229)
The State Library opened a new exhibit displaying Carey’s writing materials for True
History alongside Ned Kelly’s iconic armour in 2001. The Library purchased and
archived Carey’s drafts and documents shortly after a private owner donated the
manuscripts of the Jerilderie Letter to the State Library. This inspired the Library to run the
exhibition called ‘Kelly Culture: Reconstructing Ned Kelly’ from 25 February to 28 May
2003, which brought together the Jerilderie letter and Carey’s writing materials for
drafting True History, alongside an interview with the author. As Rowan Wilken (2013)
observes, the acquisition of these items coincided with a series of contingent
developments such as the $200 million redevelopment of the State Library, including the
refurbishment of its domed reading room, the creation of major gallery spaces, and
preparations for the launch of a Ned Kelly retrospective (101).
The State Library of Victoria also acquired the first digital component of Carey’s
archives, including a Mac Classic laptop. This device was the first born-digital artefact ever
acquired by the Library to be added to the Australian Manuscripts Collection. Afterwards,
the State Library of Victoria News noted that this computer was purchased primarily
because it was the most convenient way of accessing and documenting Carey’s emails to
and from Gary Fisketjon, his editor at Knopf (2002). Although these emails do not
feature in the Library’s catalogue, the significance of this purchase as the signifier of a
shift in preserving cultural material still holds: the Library coordinated Born Digital 2016,
the inaugural digital preservation week in Australia and New Zealand (8–12 August), in
which Carey’s laptop was featured as a ‘dream collection,’ departing from the era of
paper manuscripts only (Molloy n. p.).
In 2008, the library updated its Carey collection by purchasing further typescripts, notes,
and a White G4 Mac iBook from the author. This device stored all the drafts of My Life as a
Fake (2003) and Wrong About Japan (2004), multiple drafts of Theft: A Love Story (2006),
Four Easy Pieces (2002), the libretto of the opera Bliss (premiered in 2010), and His
Illegal Self (2008). This laptop is displayed in a glass container alongside some
translated versions of True History next to the armour of Ned Kelly on the fourth floor
of the State Library and the Jerilderie letter. The acquisition and the exhibition of these
materials marked a response to the need to address the digital side of the creative
process of Carey’s writing if the Library is to keep the archive updated. In 2013, the
Library acquired the seventh collection of Carey’s manuscripts and electronic files relating
to Parrot and Olivier in America (2009), and Chemistry of Tears (2012). Nonetheless, the
Library restricts access to the electronic files, and some other papers. These documents have
been received in a variety of ways, including by direct purchase from the author,
through auctions, from booksellers and as gifts from donors. The State Library controls
access to the material; however, Carey himself manages the copyright over his archives.
The cultural momentum that results in housing Carey’s documents occurs as the result
of a shared belief, or illusio, in the rightful place of Carey’s work in making a belated
canon of Australian literature. The canon assumes a community of believers, and
inventing a canon always is, as Harold Bloom puts it, an ‘ideological act in itself’ (22).
This spontaneity of behaviour of social agents in reproducing literary stratification recalls
Bourdieu’s concept of doxa. As he writes in Outline of a Theory of Practice, the objectivity
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which the agents generate is the result of the ‘misrecognition of the limits of the cognition
that they make possible, thereby founding immediate adherence, in the doxic mode, to the
world of tradition experienced as a “natural world” and taken for granted’ (164). The
archiving of Carey’s materials amounts to a doxic moment in his career, where his status as
an Australian writer is defended by agents, in and beyond the Australian literary field,
invested in upholding a sense of literary tradition, regarding what should constitute, and
continue as, national literature.
III
Carey’s archive at the State Library contains evidence of how the archiving of Carey
imposes its own distinct logic, that of a patriotic belonging to Australia and its literature.
The small folder, MS 13420 Peter Carey Papers re: True History of the Kelly Gang,
comprises letters and documents which relate to attempts by Stephen Tapsell, a bookseller
from Beechworth, Victoria, to sell the fourth draft of Peter Carey’s True History. It also
includes a catalogue produced by the same person to promote the launch of Carey’s novel
and photos taken by the photographer Norman McBeath which portray Carey signing his
books. Titled, ‘A Special Catalogue to Mark the Launch of Peter Carey’s Novel, True
History of the Kelly Gang,’ this folder is prefaced by an article comprising two columns. In
the first column, Tapsell, owner of Tapsell Books, promotes his literary property as
follows:
A Carey Collection. A collection of signed Carey first editions, anthologies and
ephemera. Most of the novels came from the author’s library. Unless stated
otherwise, all are Australian firsts in fine condition and are signed by the author.
The collection comprises . . . several interesting handwritten faxes and postcards
from Carey, a small collection of Australian newspaper reviews and interviews
and two photographs of Carey taken during his March 1997 trip to Beechworth to
research True History of the Kelly Gang. $8,000.00.
The indicated $8,000.00 for this collection was the original price that Tapsell had in mind
in 2001 when True History’s sale proved promising. Tapsell’s correspondence with Carey
shows that he was completely convinced of the collection’s worth, and therefore
determined to promote his Beechworth literary sensation as national treasure. He was
interviewed in different newspapers at the time, including the Sydney Morning Herald,
the Age, and the Canberra Times. Through a campaign to increase the visibility of this
collection, Tapsell becomes a minor agent, claiming to possess manuscripts and documents
that allegedly contain materials of literary, historical and cultural significance. For this,
he evokes two forms of cultural capital, namely the figure of the author, and the cultural
heritage of Australia. Tapsell annotates the second column with the same persuasion of the
value of his possession. This time he gives more emphasis to the cultural value of the
bestseller:
(True History of the Kelly Gang). The Secret History of the Kelly Gang. 4th
Draft of the Work in Progress (January–February 1999). This is the bound
typescript of the 4th draft which the author lugged around North-East Victoria,
in Australia, during his second research trip to Australia, during a trip to Kelly
country in May, 1999. He annotated it and used it as a sort of scrapbook and
record of his trip. Everything—from Stringybark Creek vegetation (!) to
photographs—has been pasted in. The typescript is incomplete (it’s the novel as
it existed in early 1999, ending at page 270 of the final work, just before the
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Stringybark Creek killings); it’s unedited and differs substantially in form and
style from the final work. . . . That novel very quickly has become Carey’s most
commercially successful work to date, having already sold 50,000 copies in
Australia alone. . . . The personal record and early draft, showing the gradual
development of an idea, is a unique and extremely collectable item by an
important and exciting Australian author. $50,000.00.
Despite having the media on his side—one reviewer for the Canberra Times described it as
one of the ‘rare book gems’—Tapsell did not manage to sell this item at the 13th Canberra
Rare Book Fair in June 2001 (Moran 2). Tapsell’s other attempts to convince the open market
proved futile as well, evidenced by the sheer presence of these documents in the Carey
archives in the State Library. Instead, he offered them for sale to the State Library of
Victoria in 2004. These notes reflect Tapsell’s struggles to enter the game of the field
based on the logic of proximity to the author, and an exclusive knowledge of how the
novel was developed.
In another set of documents in the same folder, Tapsell corresponds with Carey
enclosing a letter addressed to Tony Whiting, Chief Executive Officer of the Border Mail
newspaper. A part of the letter to Carey reads: ‘Hostilities have flared up again with the
good old Border Mail. Hope you don’t mind us using your photo—I thought the bemused
and knowing look on your face gave added input to the otherwise visually drab letter.’ In
his note to this newspaper, Tapsell objects to the fact that their report about the draft ‘does
not centre on us.’ Possessing the manuscript and being acquainted with the writer
strengthens the position of the local bookseller to further pursue his interest in what was
then generally considered a literary work of national importance by various individuals and
institutions. The letter includes a photo of a smiling Carey, implying Tapsell’s closeness
to the author and therefore sanctioning his stand against the Border Mail’s ‘hostilities.’
Tapsell affiliates himself with Carey and the bushranger Ned Kelly as a kind of writing
against what he regards the oppression of the literary system. The bookseller holds that
he is disinterested in his disapproval of the Border Mail’s decision to rule out the saleability
of ‘his’ news, implicitly claiming that it is Australian literary culture and its renowned
author that everyone should support. Thus, individual struggles over the value of
materials of the archive-in-the-making results in an increase in the assumed value of the
literary work and its creator. To use Bourdieusian terminology, consecrating the writer is
materialised through consecrating objects that transmit cultural currency through
‘innumerable acts of credit which are exchanged among all the agents engaged in the
artistic field’ (Rules 230). It is through engaging with a larger number of agents and
institutions that Tapsell becomes another distributor of Carey’s archival capital, and by
extension, of the literary value associated with his fictional and authorial personae.
The invention of Carey’s archive at the State Library vis-à-vis the production of True
History occurs at a disjunction between political and symbolic structures of the centre and
post-colony through integration of state institutions, national culture, and folklore mythology,
clearly of post-white settlement origin. Akin to what Ankhi Mukherjee calls the ‘invention
of alternative canons,’ this archive creates a diversion from high canonical literature and,
paradoxically, a congratulatory emulation of it (9). The archive, therefore, can provide a
window into demystifying the canon as solitary and secular aestheticism; it finds ways to
explain how it assumes the superiority of a class of authors whose work is worthy of
archiving. In effect, it reveals a logic of practice for the field in which a collective
perception of literary value is created in correspondence to the objective reality of the
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field, that is, an archive in a grand architectural display with roots in colonial Australia, in
the heart of Melbourne.
Carey’s archive contributes to understanding the evolving mechanisms that reinforce his
celebrity into the twenty-first century.
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