This was published 3 years ago
Louise Adler: ‘I don’t think my generation of feminists really did change the world’
By Benjamin Law
Each week, Benjamin Law asks public figures to discuss the subjects we’re told to keep private by getting them to roll a die. The numbers they land on are the topics they’re given. This week, he talks to Louise Adler. The 67-year-old ex-CEO of Melbourne University Publishing is publisher-at-large for Hachette and a vice-chancellor’s professorial fellow at Monash University.
Louise Adler: “It’s important to have conservatives given the space to argue their positions, in the public square, and to be able to rebut their ideas with civility.”Credit: Kristoffer Paulsen
SEX
You would’ve come of age in the early ’70s. To what extent were you a beneficiary of the sexual revolution? I always remember my father saying, “Do you really have to walk around in year 12 with a copy of The Female Eunuch under your arm?” [Laughs] I was absolutely, irrevocably shaped by feminism and that generation of feminists: Germaine Greer, Shulamith Firestone, Kate Millett, Juliet Mitchell. They were provocateurs in a seemingly static world.
What do you envy – and not envy – about younger generations when it comes to attitudes to sex? Well, I think there’s a tendency to overshare [Laughs]. I guess I’m a little bit coy about these matters. At the same time, I don’t think my generation of feminists really did change the world. I feel very depressed, for instance, when I think about how conversations around consent haven’t really changed.
Why hasn’t the conversation evolved? I don’t know. I thought that when we used certain expressions – “chauvinist pig”; “sexist pig” – that they would come into the language, seep into the discourse and change how we think. I don’t think they have. Yes, we’ve got a legislative framework that says it’s not okay to harass people in the workplace any longer, yet it continues to happen. I don’t understand. A thousand years ago, when my husband and I went on our second date, he said to me, “May I kiss you?” It was quaint, a form of respect.
Your husband is actor and comedian Max Gillies. How long have you been together? Probably 39 years? I thought it would last two! [Laughs] It’s because he’s a steadfast human being.
What’s sexy about him? Sexy?! [Laughs] Oh, he makes me laugh. I love his sense of humour.
What would he say if I asked him the same of you? I don’t know! After this, I’ll ask him!
RELIGION
Your parents were Jacques and Ruth Adler, both Jewish immigrants. My father came here from Paris in 1948, my mum from Berlin in 1939. My father was in the Resistance in Paris and came after the war.
Were you raised in a household that was both religiously and culturally Jewish? We were “devout secular Jews”, atheists steeped in Jewish culture. I’m not denigrating people who believe but, for me, it’s about this world, this life. Can you be a decent person? Can you do something? Can you make a contribution – however modest – in your private life, your public life, in this world? I don’t believe in the hereafter. My parents and grandparents didn’t, either; we went to Yiddish school to learn Yiddish and Jewish traditions. My parents didn’t go to synagogue, but were deeply Jewish in their attitudes to life. I think I am, too.
In what way? Actually, I don’t know if it’s specific to being Jewish or being immigrants. After all, Jewish people aren’t the only ones to say that education – and seeing the next generation become professionals – is important. But it wasn’t just about going to university, which was expected and a given. It was also about cultivating a life of the mind. Intellectual and cultural engagement. Like many Middle European Jews, we didn’t go to synagogue, but we went to the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra every Saturday night.
What are your commandments for authors? Think about your audience. Work out who you’re writing for. If you’re writing for yourself, enjoy it, then put it in the drawer. And just because Aunty Beryl or Uncle Kevin thinks it’s great, don’t hang on to their viewpoint. They may not be the best arbiters.
BODIES
When it comes to your body of work, you’ve said you’re an enthusiastic publisher. What does it take for you to say no to something? It sounds banal, but you have to have something to say. Something to contribute. Friends and family with progressive politics would say, “Why did you publish Tony Abbott’s Battlelines?” Well, I thought Abbott could write and has – or had – something to say. We’ve all got our limits. My friends would say Abbott’s views are reprehensible on a whole range of issues. But I thought it was important to have conservatives given the space to argue their positions, in the public square, and to be able to rebut their ideas with civility. It’s why I was happy to take up the invitation to curate a series of short books called In the National Interest about issues of government, governance and public policy.
Are you happy with your physical body? Have you ever met a woman of my generation who is?
Any major scars? My brother Paul and I in our North Balwyn backyard: he’s seven and I’m four. He’s playing with a shovel when he “accidentally” cuts me here, on the bridge of my nose. Mum’s on the phone saying, “I’ve told you, don’t interrupt me when I’m on the telephone!” Then she sees the blood.
Tattoos? Never. Not a Jewish thing. My parents would have been devastated. “How can you mark yourself?“
Very understandable. How are you finding your 60s? Well, you can’t say, “It’s a horror show!” [Laughs] You’re supposed to say, “It’s great!” Maybe we could put that in. “It’s all great. Everything’s wonderful. It’s so good!”
What can you still do that surprises you? Make a cake. So Jewish.
The first book in the In the National Interest series (Monash University Publishing) is out this month.
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