Q&A: Alex Miller, author, 83

Author Alex Miller on his new work of non-fiction, how brain surgery saved his life — and the upside of isolation.

Second chance: Alex Miller. Picture: John Tsiavis

How has your life changed as a result of the pandemic? Outwardly things are much the same. I still start work at seven o’clock after breakfast. I work in the same room at home where I have always worked and I come out and have coffee with my wife Steph around 10. This is normality for us. The change is inward and intangible.

What changes do you see around your home town in Victoria? Castlemaine isn’t Manhattan. It’s always quiet here. Now there’s this eerie stillness of everyone holding their breath, waiting for this thing to end or to grow more menacing. We’re in a state of change that we don’t yet understand.

Your most recent novel The Passage of Love was published in 2017. What are you working on now? For the past five years I’ve been working on a non-fiction book. It’s a portrait of the great friend of my youth, Max Blatt, and it’s also the story of my journey to find his story, to find the traces he left in Europe. An illness nearly put an end to the book, but I was cured with brain surgery – and able to finish it.

Brain surgery? I had something called normal pressure hydrocephalus – too much water on the brain, which increases the pressure inside the skull. The symptoms include a loss of a sense of purpose and extreme tiredness as well as an inability to walk. I consulted half a dozen doctors without getting a diagnosis and Stephanie and I decided I was dying. Then we found a neurologist who knew what was wrong within the first 10 minutes of seeing me. What distinguished him from the others was that he observed me, rather than the screen.

What impact did that experience have? While I was in hospital I was deeply moved by the generosity and decency of the staff and the patients, some of whom didn’t expect to live much longer. An old lady walked past my window every day, shuffling along with her cane. She was about to be moved to a hospice. Walking past my window on her last day she looked in at me, an old man lying in bed with his head swathed in bandages, and she gave me a lovely smile then a vigorous thumbs up. I’ll never forget her.

Has your view on humanity changed as a result of what we are all experiencing in 2020? Not really. I think of that mad shopping that went on, people fighting each other for toilet paper. That was depressing but it wasn’t unexpected. Should we ever be surprised by anything that humans do? We know what our species is capable of, the beautiful and the damned.

What do you think of the new language that has entered our lives: “social distancing”, “flattening the curve”? People resent changes in language. They feel uncomfortable with the loss of the meaning of words that were reliably static during their childhood. But I’m reassured by anything that shows language is still alive. The coronavirus may destroy capitalism in a way war never could, but it absolutely won’t destroy the life of language.

Where is the lightness in your world right now? Our daughter returned from Berlin, where she is doing a Master’s degree, for a two-week holiday between semesters. She brings new energy and new ideas with her and always inspires us and lightens our existence. She’s stuck here with us now, which is wonderful.

The Passage of Love is published by Allen & Unwin. Max will be published later in 2020.