Book Review: The Inconvenient Child

The Inconvenient Child, by Sharyn Killens & Lindsay Lewis

The Inconvenient Child tells the extraordinary story of an innocent child born to a young blonde Australian woman in Sydney in 1948. From the moment of this child’s conception her life was to be different. Her absent father was a black American merchant marine, and this was an Australia that was deeply conservative, in a time when the White Australia Policy was in effect and Indigenous Australians were not even recognised as full citizens. Baby Sharyn, with her delicate chocolate-brown skin, emerged into a life of almost inconceivable challenges.

From foster care to a party house in Kings Cross, and through convents, orphanages, reform school and juvenile detention, Killens’ childhood is marked by horrific neglect, prejudice and inexplicable contempt. The concept of cherished children, to be nourished and sheltered, is totally absent from Killens’ early life. She is abandoned by her mother and despised by her grandmother. Her mother’s struggles with shame and final selfish choices make difficult reading and are ultimately infuriating and painful. I found myself passionately angry with the mother, desperate to reach into the book and drag her out by her neck. Killens endured an unimaginable childhood institutionalised “for her own protection” by authorities who clearly had no caring intention whatsoever. The history of these institutions and Killens’ experiences in them is a strong point of the book. I was engrossed by these places, drawn to their horror, so wholly unfamiliar to me, unfamiliar to my memories of childhood as a time of love and sunshine.

The story follows Killens as she enters adulthood and finds cold comfort in the wild lifestyle of Sydney’s party district, Kings Cross. Her life unfolds to a steady rhythm of minor joy by minor tragedy. Throughout she is transfixed by her burning desire to discover her father’s identity, and this is the final phase of the book. It’s something of an Oprah moment in an Oprah book – gushing and formulaic. By this stage it feels as if you are eating something bland but vaguely nutritious: it fills you up and fills the time and so you spoon it into yourself steadily, without needing to chew or taste. It is not unpleasant at all. It is just not tasty either.

The Inconvenient Child has at its core a compelling story, and one that should be heard. However, it is let down by the writing; repetitive and dull, it seems designed to drill in the facts, the whos, whens and wheres. This leaves a lot of the true emotion to languish beneath the surface, denied an honest role by some lacklustre vocabulary. The English language is magnificently rich and it is so disappointing when it is ignored in favour of bland kindergarten adjectives. The simple language, and motto of “Tell ’em once, tell ’em twice, and tell ’em again,” drowns the narrative and grinds down my resolve to read. I can appreciate that in a book where history is important, it is necessary to ensure that all readers are on the same page, so to speak, and set the scene well. But I came out of it more often that not feeling irritated, like I had been treated to the idiot’s guide to the Free Love Movement 101. Please stop it. I know what a hippy is. Please don’t make me read it again.

Killens has opened a window onto an extraordinary life, and she must be commended on making it from a childhood of abject neglect and mistreatment to her career as a successful singer and entertainer. Her story is most worthy of publication. I just wish she could have been a little less clinical and a little more bold, and given this story her confidence to stand alone. With the right voice it would shine. Here it is dimmed.