The awful Australian

In Short

This book is a provocative, polemical critique of the Australian national character at the turn of the 20th century. Through a series of sharp, cynical essays, the author attacks everything from the local accent and political ineptitude to the country’s lack of artistic substance and the "parasitical" nature of its citizens. It has endured as a historical curiosity, capturing the intense friction between colonial identity and the lingering influence of the British Empire, offering a mirror to a society that—in the author’s eyes—was desperately in need of humility.

The Story

The narrative opens with a defiant foreword by the author, who declares that the recent, sycophantic praise heaped upon Australia by outsiders has inflated the local ego to intolerable levels. Armed with a sharp pen and a disdain for "colonial" life, the author proceeds to dismantle the reputation of the Commonwealth chapter by chapter. The argument begins with the government, dismissing the nation’s politicians as "funny little men" who would be utterly overwhelmed if tasked with managing a London vestry, let alone a country.

From the halls of power, the gaze shifts to the street. The author finds the Australian accent an "abominable" jargon, a "horrible patois" that suggests a lack of breeding, noting with particular horror how it infects even long-term English residents. This disdain for the local "prowess" extends to the physical and the social. The author provides harsh judgments on the appearance of Australian women, drawing unfavorable comparisons between their figures and those of high-society American socialites. Public conduct is characterized as a series of rude stampedes, with tramways described as bear-pits and public celebrations dismissed as rowdy, unrefined orgies.

As the text progresses, the author turns toward the deeper, more structural failings of the nation. The economy is described as a cycle of debt, with a citizenry that prefers lounging to labor and a "backbone" (the rural landholders) that is actually a "national calamity." The colonial police force is mocked for its incompetence, and the legal system is framed as a joke where crime flourishes due to the sheer laziness of those meant to uphold the law.

Intellectual life is treated with equal vitriol. The author mocks the local literary scene, suggesting that the "Clever Young Australian" (C.Y.A.) is merely a newspaper-conferred title for mediocre people who contribute nothing of value to the arts. The book concludes with a dismissal of the country’s patriotism—or lack thereof—arguing that Australians themselves dislike their home, only remaining because they cannot afford to leave. The final message is one of profound pessimism; the author views Australia as a country that has "fenced out enterprise" and is marching toward a future of national decay, unworthy of the protection it receives from the British Empire.

How It Unfolds

The indictment begins The author sets the stage by identifying the book as a necessary corrective to the "adulation" of Australia, positioning the work as a formal prosecution of the nation’s inflated ego. The tone is established immediately: uncompromising, elitist, and intentionally provocative.

The critique of the tongue The focus shifts to the Australian accent and vernacular, which the author describes as a "weird jargon" akin to a sing-song patois. This section argues that the local way of speaking is a signifier of a lack of refinement that permeates all social classes.

The anatomy of bad manners The author spends considerable time observing public life, particularly in Sydney, finding the behavior of the populace on trams, in restaurants, and during festivals to be barbaric. The lack of etiquette is presented as a symptom of a deeper societal failure.

The judgment of the body Venturing into the aesthetic, the author offers a cold assessment of the Australian woman. By comparing local physiques to the "Phidias-chiselled" women of New York and Paris, the author suggests a fundamental physical inferiority in the colonial population.

The failure of the state The argument moves toward the political and economic, detailing a perceived national addiction to borrowing and a reliance on the "protection" of Great Britain. The inefficiency of the police and the laziness of the workforce are cited as evidence of a failed democratic experiment.

The dismissal of culture In the final beats, the author lampoons the "Clever Young Australian" and the local literary community. The work ends on a note of gloom, predicting that without a drastic change in character, the nation is destined for irrelevance and decay.

The People

The book is less a narrative of characters and more a catalog of archetypes, each serving as a target for the author’s derision.

The Australian Politician (represented by figures like Mr. Holman and Mr. Wade) is portrayed as a "funny little man," bumptious and aggressive, lacking the intellectual weight required to govern. They are presented as caricatures of statesmanship, unable to hold their own in any serious international forum.

The Australian Woman is scrutinized as a visual entity, often critiqued for her posture, her dress, and her penchant for "painting and powdering" to hide natural deficiencies. She is frequently compared, quite unfavorably, to the "Miss Maimie Valdervant" of New York, a standard of grace and beauty that the author suggests is absent in the colonies.

The "Clever Young Australian" (C.Y.A.) serves as a broader target—a collective of pseudo-intellectuals, struggling poets, and "dauber" painters who thrive on local praise but fail to achieve any real distinction in the wider world. They represent the author’s disdain for local pretension.

Lord Beauchamp is singled out as an example of a British figure who "makes a general Australian of himself," descending into a "snob" who uses blue and white tickets to create an artificial social hierarchy. He represents the author’s frustration with the way even the elite succumb to the "awful" influence of the continent.

In Its Own Voice

The author expresses a visceral reaction to the sound of local speech upon first arriving in the country.

I recall with actual pain the morning I awoke as the mailboat lay at Fremantle breakwater, and I heard this horrible patois filter through my porthole to offend my ear for the first time.

The author characterizes the Australian’s approach to work as an act of avoidance.

It's not that he dislikes work; he is really very fond of it--in the abstract.

The author reflects on the perceived lack of high-quality national figures.

If Australia were a great country, it would have the natural corollary, a great man.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an expression of deep-seated cultural anxiety, reflecting the tension between a burgeoning colonial identity and the traditional values of the British Empire. It is a polemic against the "excessive democracy" of the period, which the author fears has led to a leveling down of standards, breeding a society that values the "common man" over the "gentleman." The book asks whether a young nation can ever achieve true greatness when it is built on the foundations of its own self-congratulation and a lack of rigorous, inherited tradition. It is a study in the clash of ideals: the "new world" desire for independence versus the "old world" belief that true culture requires class, hierarchy, and a healthy dose of humility.

Why Read It Today

Readers interested in the history of Australian national identity will find this book a fascinating, if jarring, artifact. It provides a window into the "colonial cringe" from the opposite side—a glimpse of how the country appeared to those who held a rigid, imperial worldview. It is written with a sharp, biting wit that remains engaging, though its relentless negativity can become repetitive.

Modern readers should be aware that the book is deeply saturated in the prejudices of 1911. The author’s attitudes toward race, gender, and class are frequently offensive by modern standards, and the text relies on stereotypes that offer little nuance. The tone is consistently elitist, and the author’s commitment to "telling the truth" is clearly a mask for a deep-seated contempt for the Australian way of life. It is not a balanced historical account, but rather a performative outburst of colonial snobbery. However, for those who can navigate its dated attitudes, it is a rare, vivid example of the vitriol that once defined the conversation about Australia’s place in the world. Its value lies not in its accuracy, but in its raw, unfiltered expression of a specific, aristocratic mindset that viewed the birth of a new democracy as a tragedy of manners.