Melina Marchetta
Looking for Alibrandi is a novel by Australian writer Melina Marchetta, one of three works attributed to her in the record alongside On the Jellicoe Road and Finnikin of the Rock.
Marchetta was born on 25 March 1965 in Sydney, Australia. She received her education at Australian Catholic University and has worked both as a teacher and as a writer. An Australian citizen, she writes in English and her occupational record encompasses several distinct roles: writer, children's writer, and screenwriter. That breadth of professional designation indicates that her work has not been confined to a single form or readership.
In addition to Looking for Alibrandi, Marchetta is the author of On the Jellicoe Road and Finnikin of the Rock. These three titles together constitute the body of work identified in the available record. Her roles as a children's writer and a screenwriter sit alongside her work as a novelist, pointing to a career conducted across more than one medium and more than one intended audience.
Finnikin of the Rock is the third named title associated with Marchetta, and its place in her output as a writer reflects the range her career has taken. As someone who has also worked as a teacher, Marchetta has maintained a professional life in which writing and education have run in parallel. Her work, produced in English and situated within an Australian context, spans the three novels named here, each of which stands as a concrete marker of her continued activity as a writer.
Quotes by Melina Marchetta
Melina Marchetta's insights on:
Someone asked us later, “Didn’t you wonder why no one came across you sooner?” Did I wonder? When you see your parents zipped up in black body bags on the Jellicoe Road like they’re some kind of garbage, don’t you know? Wonder dies.
In a kinder world,” he whispered, “one I promise you I’ve seen, men and women flirt and dance and love with only the fear of what it would mean without the other in their lives.
Do you belong to the king?” he asked, his voice husky. She gently placed his hand against the beating pulse of her heart. Always, always it beat out of control, and he held his hand to it until he felt it perfectly match his. “Yes, Finnikin,” she said. “I belong to the king. I will always belong to him.” And there lay the bittersweet despair of what awaited them in the Valley.
I’ve had it with this waiting business. I can cope with another woman, but I can’t cope with being ignored when there’s nothing in his way.
Finnikin met her eyes, wanting desperately to make sense of her request. Why Pietrodore? But in a moment the realization hit, and he smiled in wonder. “It’s not chance, Trevanion,” he said, kicking the golden carpet of leaves at his feet. He ran back toward her, sliding part of the way until he could grab her by the waist and swing her around. “You are a goddess, Evanjalin of the Monts.
You can’t go around feeling too much”, Captain Travanion had explained watching a moment to ensure the man was indeed dead. “Because if you feel too much, enough to want to kill them so savagely then one day you are going to feel enough to spare their lives.
And I don’t know why, but I sit on that step until the last person’s gone home and I’m still grinning. Like someone who has a bit of a crush.
Sometimes you don’t let us talk about how we’re feeling. If we feel scared, you say, ‘Nothing to worry about, guys,’ but that doesn’t make it go away. It makes it grow.