“On the Edge of a Plain” is generally classified as a short story, but it is peculiar sub-genre within that more expansive type of fiction that is variously described as a “sketch” or “yarn.” Henry Lawson uses just 530 words (more or less) to convey a lot more than one might expect from a tale lacking standard conventions of plotting like conflict, characterization and climax. While the story features a surprisingly robust cast of characters, none—not even the protagonist—even comes close to fulfilling traditional notions of being “fleshed out.” Nor do those characters come into conflict with each other which serves to serve the drive the narrator. With the absence of any tension to build, the story cannot accurately be said to even contain a climax. Despite lacking all these elements generally considered essential for constructing a story worth contemplating after completion, “On the Edge of a Plain” actually takes more time to understand than it takes to read.
The attentive reader who allows the story to simmer in the mind afterward will be rewarded with the revelation that the protagonist actually is quite rounded and far from sketchy stereotype and that not only is there conflict in the narrative, but it does build with tension toward a climax. “On the Edge of a Plain” is about a man facing a prison sentence for a crime he didn’t commit and his successful escape. The denouement of this story is almost exactly the same as one of the most stories ever written about a prison escape; that one you all know about that guy in Shawshank with the movie poster on his wall. You may recall that following his escape from Shawshank, Andy winds up off the grid of conventional American society along with his friend Red. Lawson ends his story having Mitchell and his unnamed workmate heading off into the wilderness of the treeless Australian plain to live off the grid of turn of the 20th century domesticity.
The crime which Mitchell did not commit is dying. Despite the fact that his death is only a recently revealed misunderstanding which sends his family into mourning, his reception after being away for eight years is treated as though he really had died. The eight year absence is exponentially intensified by the day-old rumor that he was dead. This combination creates an intoxicating brew of sentimentality on the part of his family that rises to such a fever pitch he is moved to swear on a Bible that he will never leave home again until after his parents have died. A week later, however, he is on the trail again as he takes a break on the edge of the plain and relates his story to a companion. If Mitchell had not committed the “crime” of dying, the reaction to his sudden reappearance would have produced only the emotional intensity of a reunion with anyone who had not been seen for eight years. Instead, though only a rumor—and a rumor known only for a day—his seeming to come back from the death changes everything and the result is an equally exponential increase in the pressure for him to stay home and become domesticated. This would, of course, be tantamount to a prison sentence to Mitchell but, seeing that he’s already been convicted and sentenced, he reluctantly gives into pressure and agrees.
The excuse that Mitchell gives for breaking his sworn promise so soon after making it was that his family “began to growl because I couldn’t get any work to do.” Of course, what he really means is that he couldn’t any work that he wanted to do. And there’s the conflict of the story: the work of being a domesticated man versus Mitchell’s irredeemable inability to be tied down to such emasculating choices. Rather than break down and accept the imprisonment of doing such work his breakout from prison is in the form of rejecting such oppressive conformity and making his way to paradise of freedom far away from the comfort and conveniences of home that most do not view as a life sentence.
Rare indeed is the critical analysis of “On the Edge of a Plain” that uses fewer words than Henry Lawson used to actually tell his story. Such a discrepancy does not necessarily indicate that a writer has done something right, but in this case it certainly applies. Lawson’s story is proof positive, in fact, that sometimes what a writer doesn’t tell his reader is what makes the story worth reading again.
