Chameleon

Honesty being the best policy: this is the first book by Robert Dessaix I have read. Indubitably, I feel a certain shame in this admission. I am a bookseller after all, and Robert Dessaix is one of Australia’s most gifted writers. Of course, I have read articles penned by him, reviews, and considerations he has given over the years, but not a book, cover to cover. Strangely now, after reading this memoir of sorts, I feel like I know him. Reading this offering is a crash course on his style, his wit and his being.

Chameleon is a personal conversation about being Robert Dessaix. It is a delightful, meandering cavort from childhood till now. Like all the most interesting people in the world, he queries himself over and over. He draws on his literary influences, or his travels or love of languages (particularly Russian) and his love affairs to either consolidate his story or, indeed, question it. And he does not stop there. He examines changing morality, education, and films. He searches everywhere for the axis of this work. Is he who he thought he would be? Is he the man he wants to be? And why?

I gobbled this unique read all up. I basked in his humour, intellect, and sensitivity. His musings on literary influences inspired me to make a list of books to read again: anything by Milan Kundera (but not James Joyce, despite Dessaix’s devotion) and films to rewatch: Lawrence of Arabia, for example. Having now read Chameleon, I firmly believe that Dessaix would not hold it against me that I had not read his previous works; but rather, like all great intellectuals, query my next read.

It will be A Mother’s Disgrace, by the by. It’s written by this bloke I know.