June 2020


‘The Trials of Portnoy’ by Patrick Mullins

By Sean O’Beirne
The finely detailed story of the legal fight in Australia against the censorship of Philip Roth’s ‘Portnoy’s Complaint’

When Philip Roth’s novel Portnoy’s Complaint was first published in the United States in 1969, it really did, as they say, “cause a sensation”. After just one week it was a nationwide bestseller, and The New York Timesdescribed it as “potentially monumental in effect”. This was because the book – told in the form of a long confession to a psychoanalyst – let loose a near-incredible amount of exuberant and anguished truth about sex. Poor Alexander Portnoy longs to get away from the rules and restrictions, the orthodoxies, that They – family, community, religion – always try to make about sex, or about anything. But as soon as he tries to take more pleasure, he finds it horribly hard to keep enough control over himself, and feels a desperate need to go back, to be with the family, the community, again. (“Dignity! Health! Love! Industry! … What the hell do I care about sensational sex?”) And Roth delivered all this complaint, this sad and comic permanent human trouble, in a language that was sometimes like what you’d ordinarily get in a novel, and sometimes in language that was the opposite. (“Doctor … they all have cunts! Cunts—for fucking!”) 

And you may well imagine what happened when a load of that landed in Australia, at a time when culture in this country was still controlled by old, conservative Protestant and Catholic “family men”. Patrick Mullins’ new book, The Trials of Portnoy (Scribe), tells the true story of how Portnoy’s Complaint was declared illegal throughout the Commonwealth, and how, eventually, it became a book we were allowed to own and read. Mullins is shrewd about the whole long history of Australian over-censorship, and why we, predominantly a group of white Britons down the bottom of Asia, were so obsessed with staying “clean”, and so frightened of losing social and sexual control. (We ran an embarrassingly strict system, banning everything from Balzac’s novels to The Catcher in the Rye.) But Mullins also shows how we started to say, more and more: please, let literature free. Let us have it. Let literature be a way to properly recognise what is always in the human, any human.

By the end of 1970, Portnoy’s Complaint was banned in almost every state, and, at long last, quite large parts of the Australian business and professional establishment had had enough. Mullins tells exactly how Penguin Australia made a secret plan to print the book, get it to booksellers and out on sale, before the vice squads even knew what was happening. And, in a series of particularly well-researched, finely detailed chapters, Mullins takes us into the courtrooms in Victoria, New South Wales, Queensland and Tasmania, where one thunderous prosecutor after another fought and fought to keep Roth’s book forbidden. Mullins brings off the job of keeping enough suspense in a story where you know what the end is going to be. The real treat of The Trials of Portnoy though, is to see how many people were willing to stand up in court and make the always difficult argument for literature. The defendants at the Portnoy trials argued that the book should be permitted because it had “literary merit”: it wasn’t good, or needed, just because it told a bunch about sex, but because it also told enough of what can be frightening, even tragic, in pleasure. Fifty years later, in a very different world, a world of trolls and memes, fake news and Pornhub, we need every chance we can get to think again about pleasure, and restraint; what literature does; what good culture is, and isn’t. The unexpected lesson of the fight for Portnoy, and of this book, is that all those trials were as much an argument for self-control, self-examination, as they were for any kind of freedom.

Sean O’Beirne

Sean O’Beirne is a bookseller and critic, and the author of the short fiction collection A Couple of Things Before the End.

In This Issue

Bondi Beach, May 2020

The new tyranny of distance

Facing a historic isolation of a different kind, what next for our migrant nation?

Cover of ‘The End of October’

‘The End of October’ by Lawrence Wright

A ‘New Yorker’ journalist’s eerily prescient novel about public-health officials fighting a runaway pandemic

Illustration by Jeff Fisher

The last word on George Pell

The royal commission’s damning verdict on what Pell knew about child sexual abuse in the Church

Illustration by Jeff Fisher

Tour de forced cancellations

How Port Douglas, the gateway to the Great Barrier Reef and the Daintree, has been quieted by lockdown

Online exclusives

Image of Oliver Twist. Image supplied.

Oliver Twist’s ‘Jali’

With quiet charisma and gentle humour, the Rwandan-Australian performer weaves together vivid autobiographical stories in this one-person show

Image of South Australia Premier Steven Marshall addressing the media during a press conference in Adelaide, August 24, 2021. Image © Morgan Sette / AAP Images

Marshall law

Premier Steven Marshall claimed South Australia was “COVID-ready” when the state opened borders just as Omicron was emerging, but it now faces the same issues as the eastern states

Image of Lisa McCune, Zahra Newman and Peter Carroll appearing on stage in Girl from the North Country. Image © Daniel Boud.

‘Girl from the North Country’

Weaving Bob Dylan songs into a story of Depression-era hardship, Conor McPherson’s musical speaks to the broken America of today

Still from ‘The Worst Person in the World’, showing Anders Danielsen Lie as Aksel and Renate Reinsve as Julie. Image courtesy Everett Collection.

‘The Worst Person in the World’

Renate Reinsve is exceptional in Joachim Trier’s satisfying Nordic rom-com