‘It could have been fatal’: What pushed crime author Mark Brandi to focus on writing

This story is part of the June 21 edition of Good Weekend.See all 15 stories.

Mark Brandi, the author of five crime novels, starting with Wimmera (published in 2017 and winner of the prestigious British Crime Writers’ Association Debut Dagger Award for an Unpublished Manuscript), writes about outsiders: heroin addicts, former prisoners, and child victims of poverty and violence. A look at his family background and his career in Corrective Services before he started writing full-time sheds light on why he is drawn to people on the margins.

Mark Brandi at Melbourne General Cemetery, where his father is buried.Credit: Elke Meitzel

You were born in 1978 in Italy, the fourth son of migrants who ran a pub in Stawell, in rural Victoria. What was your childhood like? There were great aspects to growing up in the country. We went rabbiting, fishing, yabbying, all that stuff. The flip side was being in a small Victorian town which was very Anglo-Saxon. We were the only Italian family, which was tough, especially in the schoolyard. I couldn’t make friends, and I didn’t know why. You start to think, “There’s something wrong with me.” Then, some of the kids told me, “My dad told me not to be friends with you because you’re a wog.”

Did that childhood experience feed into your interest in writing about people who are outsiders? Yes, definitely. Being an outsider myself created a greater degree of empathy for others on the margins. Plus, when you are on the outside, wanting to be accepted, you start to observe people closely. I was watching kids in the schoolyard – how they spoke, what they talked about – and that observational skill has helped me in my writing.

Also, growing up in the pub, where I met people from all walks of life: farmers, police officers, chronic alcoholics, criminals. When I started working behind the bar, my dad always said, “Don’t make judgments about people based on how they look. Talk to them because everyone’s got a story they want to share.” And that’s what I found over time. You listen to people who might look a bit rough and they often had the most interesting stories. That sparked something inside me. When I sat down to write, it affected the subject matter I was drawn to.

Your parents ran the pub successfully for many years. Then in the 1980s, the local police started to harass them. What happened? In the 1980s, there were [false] rumours that we were dealing drugs from the pub. At the time, thanks partly to Robert Trimbole [a prominent Mafia figure of Italian background who was involved in the drug trade in Griffith, in south-west NSW], there was a perception that Italians doing well might be linked to organised crime.

The police started to take a keen interest in the pub, showing up regularly, checking patrons’ IDs and security logbooks. It was relentless. It seemed like they were trying to drive Dad out of business. It was crazy because he was the most clean-living person you could imagine.

Then, one night in 1985, there were people from out of town in the bar, drinking heavily. They started provoking some of the customers to violence, then pulled out their badges and said they were undercover police. They started to arrest patrons indiscriminately, grabbing them from their bar stools by the hair. I was seven and heard it all from my room upstairs. It was terrifying.

They took people to the cells, then showed up the next morning and charged Dad with multiple breaches of his licence. When it went to court Dad ended up pleading guilty to illegal gambling on the premises – for having a footy tipping competition on the wall, which every pub in Victoria had at the time. None of the other charges stuck.

The police kept up the harassment, and it was unbelievably stressful for my parents. It led to them deciding to sell the pub, which was a bitter pill for my dad. He loved running that pub.

You studied criminal justice at Royal Melbourne Institute of Technology (RMIT) then worked for 10 years in the criminal justice system in Victoria, including as a political adviser to the corrections minister. Tell us about that. I loved studying criminal justice: the law is fascinating, full of drama and good versus evil stories. We learnt about the social determinants of crime and why we label people deviants. After RMIT, I got a placement at the Department of Justice [now Justice and Community Safety], where I worked in multicultural policy, disability policy, emergency services, gambling and other areas.

I went into the department a bit as a crusader, wanting to make a difference. That was partly born of that experience in the pub, seeing power exercised unjustly, and the terrible impact it can have on people.

I wanted to do something positive, and that led me to work as an adviser to the corrections minister, advising on corrections, emergency services and counterterrorism. I loved that job.

‘I don’t believe that we are a meritocracy in that jingoistic way we like to believe. I don’t think we are the land of the fair go.’

Your latest novel, Eden, is about a man who spent time in prison, trying to rebuild his life. What did your work in corrections teach you about the prison system? I learnt that we essentially have the same cohort cycling through the prison system again and again. The recidivism rate is stubbornly stuck on about 40 per cent [on average] Australia-wide. It was dispiriting to see the impotence of some of the initiatives to address the problem. You can’t just fix it through the prison or justice system. The broader social justice issue is how you keep people from getting into the prison system in the first place.

You have written before about class in Australia. Are we the classless society we like to think we are? No. It’s incredibly tough for people to overcome the circumstances that they’re born into. I don’t believe that we are a meritocracy in that jingoistic way we like to believe. I don’t think we are the land of the fair go. A lot of people struggle throughout their lives and are sold this message that if you don’t make it, it’s your fault. That’s not true. There are so many things beyond our control that affect our chances in life. Everyone is doing their best to live a good life; no one is seeking to fail.

Let’s talk about the role luck has played in your life. In 2010, you had some good luck. What happened? I decided I would like to do some writing, but needed money so I could move to part-time work. My brother suggested I go on Eddie McGuire’s Millionaire Hot Seat because I was good at trivia. I thought I’d humiliate myself, but I won $50,000! That enabled me to move to part-time work and start a writing course at RMIT, which was life-changing.

With Eddie McGuire after Brandi won $50,000 on Millionaire Hot Seat in 2010 – enabling him to study writing.Credit: Courtesy of Mark Brandi

In 2012, you were a victim of an equally life-changing piece of bad luck. What happened? I was riding my bike down Brunswick Street in North Fitzroy, a busy area. A car turned right in front of me and didn’t see me. It hit me, and I went flying over the handlebars. I had to have two shoulder operations and the recovery was painful; I was out of action for six months.

It was unlucky, but in some ways it was a bit of good fortune because it brought things into stark relief for me. I realised it could have been fatal, and I got to thinking about what was important to me in my life. Of course, that was family and those close to me, but also my writing. I realised that I really needed to focus on it and give it a proper go. So I quit my job to jump into the financially precarious world of being a writer. It’s a struggle; you can’t plan for the future. Forget about super. I rely heavily on government grants.

Is it worth it? I absolutely love it. There’s nothing else I would want to be doing. When I’m writing a book I love being inside of it, even though my characters are often in difficult circumstances.

The two most satisfying things are when I finish a book and I know it’s working, and hearing from readers at writers’ festivals. That is magic: you’ve created this imaginary world, and they’ve gone away and created something bigger out of it, with their own interpretation of it. That’s what keeps me coming back to the page.

Dogs feature in almost all your books, often in a prominent role. Why? I’ve always loved dogs. When I was a little kid having a tough time at school we had dogs, and they were my best friends. Dogs have no agenda; it’s just unconditional love. They are special to me, so it’s inevitable that they end up in my books. I’m paying tribute to their role in my life and the lives of many others.

Why did you choose to be photographed in Melbourne General Cemetery for this article? It is just a couple of streets from where I live. My father is buried there, as are his parents, and I’ve spent a lot of time exploring its sprawling grounds, mostly while walking my dog.

Then a few years back, while visiting my father’s grave, I encountered someone sleeping rough near one of the mausolea. I began to wonder about what had brought him there. It was the spark that led me to write my
latest book, Eden. It features in Eden very prominently.

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