Someone Come Get Her, The Drover’s Wife Is Wildin!

 Reassessing OG texts:

In my ongoing series of entries on iconic Australian Literature, I’ve deliberately avoided Lawson like it’s a bad ex. Why?

Let’s just say… the baggage is REAL. But it’s time to go there, especially given the events of the last few weeks with the heckling of Welcome To Country at football matches and now ANZAC dawn services. TBH this short story, like many of our cultural moments can reflect the best and worst of White Australia, simultanously celebratory and divisive. 

We all know the gist: a badass woman holding down the fort while her husband’s out droving. Generations of Australians have been presented with a strong and determined woman navigating both the harshness of nature and the weight of societal expectations and this text, like the ANZAC legend, has been hard-baked into mainstream Australian culture – for better and worse. (Read here.) Seriously, the story's been shoved into Aussie culture like a meat pie on a Saturday—sometimes it slaps, and other times, it’s a whole mess. 

 "The Drover's Wife" exemplifies how literature can inspire thought and drive change. It prompts us to engage with complex themes and can act as a catalyst for dialogue. So, grab your bush hat – we’re diving into some key themes and contexts!

The Aussie Bush:

The Australian bush is not merely a setting; it serves as a formidable character in its own right. Lawson’s vivid descriptions right from the start transform the landscape into a powerful presence that influences the experiences of the drover’s wife and her family. 

The deliberate repetition of negatives in the opening,  “.. bush with no horizon…no ranges in the distance…. no undergrowth. Nothing to relieve the eye….” emphasizes the stark emptiness of the environment, painting a picture of desolation that evokes feelings of confinement and hopelessness. This unrelenting flatness strips away any sense of grandeur or escape, leaving the characters to confront a landscape that feels both oppressive and unforgiving. It was a deliberate repudiation of Banjo Patterson’s sentimentality in the midst of the battle Lawson was waging with him during the 1890s in the pages of The Bulletin. (Pause, this ain’t the Insta-perfect Australia we’re used to seeing.) 

Through these descriptions, the Australian bush emerges as a character that mirrors the internal struggles faced by the drover’s wife. Lawson’s portrayal of the land reflects not only the physical challenges of survival but also the emotional toll that such an inhospitable environment exacts on those who must endure it….and endure it we must, right?

#girlboss periodt:

Lawson's portrayal of the bush woman fetishizes her forebearance, presenting her as a symbol of strength in the face of adversity. On one level, "The Drover’s Wife" fits neatly into the archetype of the tough woman, a portrayal that has become hard baked into the Australian national identity. But hold up—this “stoic” vibe has some downsides. It kinda glamorizes the notion that women should just suck it up, which isn’t great, considering the mental health issues we see today  – and their impact on rural communities in particular.

We see this in the use of numerical specificity—“nineteen miles”—that serves to magnify the daunting nature of her journey  “carrying” her dead child, Lawson’s unadorned language subtly reinforcing the burden of her sorrow, indicating that her journey is not merely a physical one but also an emotional ordeal filled with loss. It’s a dual burden: she carries both the lifeless body of her child and the heavy emotional load of a mother’s heartbreak. Secure the bag sis!

This narrative style compels readers to confront the harsh realities of her life without the cushioning of Pattersonian ( and we’ve just invented an Australian literary sub-genre here) melodrama, forcing an internalization of her grief and resilience. By presenting her pain in an unembellished manner, Lawson challenges his contemporary urban readers to recognise her sacrifice of her femininity to navigate a male-dominated space. Because spaces that are defined as strictly male and female are so 2025….right? 

BUT….. although there’s more willingness to critique the impact of 19th-century texts that have transformed these stereotypes into icons, there’s an uncomfortable reluctance to critically examine the representation of Indigenous peoples in the same narratives.

Hard-Baked Racism: the biggest red flag:

Now, what about the elephant in the room—the hard-baked racism? We just can’t ignore the overt racial undertones that reflect the prejudices of its time. Lawson's detailed portrayal of Indigenous Australians exists against a backdrop of societal stereotypes that permeated Australian culture. The bush woman interacts with Aboriginal people only twice, and in both instances, they are depicted as tricky or unserious,  a “stray blackfellow” (note the adjective that casually implies he’s like a dog) rips off the woman with a hollow woodpile. When I re-read this yesterday, I was forced to reflect how often I had missed that he had been “paid” with tobacco (helpful much...) and that his lack of a name reflects his non-human status in the eyes of Lawson’s readers – a status that is sadly still reflected in attitudes today.

Importantly, the absence of Aboriginal characters throughout the narrative underscores their secondary importance in the minds of white settlers and suggests that the land in the outback is open for taking. The drover and his wife are described as having “started squatting when they were married,” implying that they took the land without seeking permission, thereby reinforcing the narrative that legitimizes their claim through cultivation and mastery over nature. It is this claim that manifested itself at the weekend when members of white footy crowds made it clear that they do not need to be welcomed to a country that already belongs to them: long live Terra Nulliius.

Side note…:

Barbara Baynton’s “The Chosen Vessel” contrasts Lawson’s exploration of women's resilience in the Australian bush by examining both men and land as threats to women's safety.

Here, she illustrates that the fight for survival isn't just against nature but also against male aggression. This contrast emphasizes the multifaceted challenges women endure, painting a deeper picture of their struggle for survival in a country filled with danger.  

Conclusion:

Lawson's text reflects the cultural attitudes of its time, shaping and being shaped by societal perceptions. So here’s the tea: should we reject such texts due to their problematic elements, or should we engage with them in a more nuanced way? Understanding the roots of these attitudes is essential, as they hold historical significance. But more than that: this text has been used to define who we are as a nation and as individuals.

This is why Leah Purcell's revisionist interpretation of the story in her 2021 play brings forth a

refreshing and critical perspective. Purcell makes significant changes that acknowledge Indigenous voices: Indigenous people are given a prominent
role, her own biracial identity is woven into the narrative, and the representation of the bush shifts from a colonial battleground to a place of refuge. Notably, Purcell confronts the harsh realities of colonial violence, including an encounter where her character is assaulted by a white policeman, adding layers of complexity and urgency to the narrative.

Cancelling Lawson’s original text, risks losing the opportunity for meaningful discussion about its impact on our understanding of history and the ongoing struggles faced by marginalized communities. Purcell's stage and film adaptations, exemplify the importance of revisiting foundational texts to generate conversations essential for driving cultural change.

Here’s the thing, every culture has its own set of foundation myths and key texts that really shape who they are. We know colonial vibes still run strong here, but it’s kinda wild that in 2025 this is  still seen as the go-to story for what “Australian” values are all about, right? But let’s be real – Indigenous stories are totally sidelined, and that’s a major problem. Instead of just throwing shade at “The Drover’s Wife” and saying it’s mid, let's get critical and make space for everyone's story. 

Whaddaya reckon?

(1320 words)