It is an engrossing story of a dedicated man, indulged by his parents, especially his mother, so that he expects others to indulge him, especially women. Torn is a romantic idealist but is unable to choose between the literary and the revolutionary life. He has no insight into himself and very little into others, which makes possible some comical scenes where the author blandly lets him make a fool of himself. As an example, the young and innocent Tom, in Sydney, sets out for the Mitchell Library in search of literary luminaries and finds only Jim Dunn, a minor poet well past his prime. Jim cons Torn into taking him to a pub to meet ‘writers and painters’ and manages to hold up his end of a vaguely literary conversation while Torn, flattered, buys their drinks of fourpenny dark:

‘We need another drink,’ said Jim, slowly getting to his feet. He put his hand in his pocket.

‘Nothing,’ he said in a tragic voice, staring down at his hand as though amazed at not finding anything. ‘You got any more sugar, young fellow?’

Tom searched in his coat pocket.

‘My last ten bob,’ he said, pulling out the ten-shilling note, his eyes trying to focus on the poet. ‘You can have it.’

‘I don’t want it all, said Jim. ‘I’ll give you back the change,’ he added belligerently, walking to the bar.

A bleary-eyed, elderly woman came up to Torn and stood motionless in front of him.

‘How about a drink?’

He pointed to Jim, carrying two glasses of red, barely managing to prevent them from spilling, little drops trickling down the sides.

As soon as he came near enough, he said:

‘Clear out.’

‘I want a drink,’ the woman repeated.

‘You’re not getting one,’ said Jim, brushing past her and sitting down and placing the glasses on the table.

‘You bastard,’ she screamed at him.

Suddenly her cheeks swelled; she could no longer hold back the vomit that choked her. She stumbled towards the lady’s toilet.

‘You know her?’ asked Torn.

She was my wife once. She’s no bloody good. ·

A shocked expression passed over Torn ‘s face.

‘What’s the matter with you? Haven’t you heard of ex-husbands and ex-wives hating each other?’

Of course he had, Tom thought indignantly. Yet he hadn’t expected this. He had carried with him a rosy vision of the poet Dunn and everything associated with him, and now he found himself sitting at a table sticky with wine, staring at an unpleasant old man with an unshaven face, the wine running down his chin, ‘his eyes red and blinking cunningly. Suddenly Torn felt ill, and an unusual melancholy took hold of him. Standing up unsteadily, he said:

‘I’ve got to go.’

‘Well, go. Go, you pampered prick. Get to the Shithouse.’

Although it is reasonable to assume that there is much in the novel that is firmly based on actual experiences of the writer, it would be unwise in the extreme to identify him too closely with his main protagonist, an imperceptive youth with a penchant for older women, a slow maturer who continues to dream about being a great revolutionary leader and an equally great writer, particularly a great poet. His attempts at poetry reveal him as, at best, an indifferent versifier as these lines in memory of Beethoven show:

One hundred years ago the decaying old world
Inspired Beethoven’s soaring melodies,
and he perceived in the distance freedom slowly marching towards him …

This is merely prose in broken lines and the author knows so, yet he never overtly criticises his hero; it is for the reader to judge Tom, and it is only one of the many pleasures this novel has to offer.

The story of Tom’s progress from innocence to experience and then to a kind of sad resignation yet, as ever, imbued with a purpose is the major theme of Scenes of Revolutionary Life and is the force which impels us forward in reading it. Yet the title of the novel is by no means misleading. Tom is very much embroiled in CP affairs; both in Australia and England he participates in and/or observes many actual historical events, like the third hunger march by contingents from all over Britain culminating in a great meeting before the marchers went on to Hyde Park to hear Stafford Cripps and others speak. At the Clerkenwell Green meeting, Tom addresses the crowd and then appeals to the police not to use their batons against the marchers even if ordered. For this Tom is arrested and charged with inciting the police to refuse to carry out a lawful command. He is sentenced to three months in Wormwood Scrubs, mainly because he insists on defending himself: at this stage he sees himself as heroic, an embryonic martyr for this cause.

From this condensed example, it can be seen how intricately woven the fabric of this novel is. The scenes from Tom’s revolutionary life are often closely entwined with historic moments with which Communists were involved before World War II, their shifting attitudes to the proletariat revolution and their fierce adherence to a noble cause. Moreover, Waten uses Tom’s incarceration in Wormwood for a bitterly funny chapter which shows, among other things, that the authorities equated ‘red raggers’ with homosexuals, who, at that time, were regarded as the lowest form of criminal life.

I suppose, by now, my prejudice is showing, so I’ll confess that I think this marvellous book gives a very objective view of a kind of life not, so far as I know, dealt with in this country. It covers a broad canvas with all kinds of scenes of revolutionary life and, as well, is an engrossing story of one man’s life. What a splendid television serial it would make!