Deep South v.3 n.3 (Spring 1997)
Daughter Buffalo evokes a mysterious, disquieting world consisting
of atypical perceptions about life and death. It is a "strange,
visionary work" (Avant 2642) concerned with the expression of mystical
experience and knowledge of death. Frame's visionaries/artist figures transcend
mortality through their very ability to accept death within their imaginations,
translating it into larger and richer symbolic terms. Indeed Frame's enduring
preoccupation with death, surprisingly, "never destroys her fascination
with life", as Winston Rhodes notes in his review of Daughter Buffalo
(162). In this novel Frame expresses her fullest awareness of the positive
dimension of death, drawing on the Heraclitean notion of the cyclic nature
of life and death, the tendency of the final stage to curve back towards
the initial stage. Hence, life is in itself is inseparable with death,
and death is also the source of life, not only mystical life but of the
resurrection of matter as well. This doctrine is embedded in the heart
of Oriental (Hindu and Buddhist philosophy).
In Daughter Buffalo Frame's seer/artist communicates to us that
death is a phase in creation, evolution rather than annihilation. The visionary-protagonists
of the novel -- one 'Turnlung' and Talbot Edelman -- belong to that definite
group of people Patrick Evans terms as people "whose apprehension
of death or of a deeper dimension in life alienates them from their fellows"
(294). However, it is their imaginative affiliation with death that
is Frame's core concern in the quest for visionary experience that derives
from the 'sanctuary' that nourishes and cherishes individual creative potential,
even at death.
Jeanne Delbaere in her article, 'Turnlung in the Noon Sun: An Analysis
of Daughter Buffalo (1992), provides an approach that emphasizes
the role of Frame's visionary/artist figure, and Turnlung's search for
the mystical dimension of experience through metaphysical penetration into
the unknown and the unconscious, and his consequent liberation from personal
conflicts and restrictions:
The poet knows that beyond all man-made divisions there is a continuity of consciousness, a unity of experience which our limited and partial vision generally prevents us from recognizing. In the total realm there are no separate identities; all forms, human and animal, animate and inanimate, are connected, everything is both an agent of change and an object of transformation; death itself is a stage in creation -- metamorphosis rather than extinction. It is the artist's privilege to recognize this unity; his task is to try and transcend the contradictions of life; his burden to feel exiled from timeless Being in the temporary division of human nature. (161)
I feel that Delbaere's interpretation of Daughter Buffalo as portraying
the interconnectedness and coherence between all organic and inorganic
forms, between the living and nonliving, and her larger view of mortality
itself as a stage in creation instead of just extinction, reaches the heart
of visionary experience. In this novel, this hub of mystical thought seeks
to establish "a state of undifferentiation [and] a collapse of differences",
so that all life forms "slide into one another" (Jackson 50).
My strategy of interpreting Daughter Buffalo is close to Delbaere's.
Turnlung, in my opinion, is Frame's visionary who is driven towards a realization
of the contradictory elements of life and death as merging in the desire
for undifferentiation. This is represented preliminarily in the novel by
the image of silkworms, with their circular structure of activity, constantly
multiplying, producing more worms, followed by more silk. It is their "miracle
of metamorphosis" (31), of devouring the leaves of the mulberry tree
and transforming it to silk. In all their knotted energy these silkworms
partake in the constant life and death cycle, of death followed by resurrection,
just as the scales of the snake ("serpentas ") are renewed
after being shed, or the tail of the lizard ("sauria ")
regrows after dropping away ('Prologue') (italics in text).
Indeed, I suggest that the idea of the mutability of death that Frame presents
through her visionary figures in this novel can be identified with Heraclitean,
Schopenhaueran, and Nietzchean philosophies. Turnlung, in Heraclitean fashion,
conceives of his impending death as an event of fertility, a way to effectively
nourish other new forms of life, human as well as inanimate life. Indeed,
for Heraclitus "the chain of life cannot be broken . . . and the process
of creation of life from dead matter will go on in all eternity" (quoted
in Choron 38). In the same vein, Heraclitus stresses that
death is not the absolute and irreversible cessation, but that there is a unity of life and death that means not only that life dies, but that death generates life. And precisely because everything flows and changes, death itself is not final, for man's soul is part of the eternal Fire and as such returns and passes again and again into everything. (my emphasis)
Turnlung's thinking and philosophy is distinctly Heraclitean in nature.
These same essential ideas re-surface again in the nineteenth century in
the philosophical writing of Schopenhauer, and Nietzsche, particularly.
Schopenhauer in his book The World as Will and Idea (1883) asserts
his doctrine of human indestructibility and imperishability. "Matter",
he writes, "through its absolute indestructibility guarantees us [humankind]
our indestructibility[,] . . . the conservation of raw matter, . . . the
continuation of our essence" (260). At the end of the nineteenth century
Nietzsche also proposes a parallel and affirming idea, in his theory of
'Eternal Recurrence'. Nietzsche acknowledges his debt to Heraclitus as
well as to Oriental philosophy, particularly Hindu and Buddhist beliefs
in the (re)incarnation of all matter, and the total absence of annihilation.
Nietzsche adopts a defiant attitude to death, which is reminiscent of Turnlung's
own stance. "Death", Nietzsche declares, "has been made
into a bitter medicine by narrow pharmacist minds. . . . [O]ne should make
a feast out of one's death", and in his doctrine of 'Eternal Recurrence',
Nietzsche is positive and bold, like Turnlung. Indeed to Turnlung, life
is the same as death, just as time is the same as eternity, and evolution
is tantamount to petrification. Every ending has a beginning, just as every
beginning has an end. Turnlung apprehends death not only as a source of
spiritual life, but of the resurrection of matter as well. He appears to
me to believe in the Hindu philosophy of death as positive, as a supreme
form of liberation, where the corporeal body of the dead is destroyed without
annihilating its soul or essence. In a positive sense then, death symbolizes
the transformation of all things, the progress of evolution, and dematerialization.
This concept, as Turnlung states, is very different to the Western/Christian
philosophy of death as negation, as involving decomposition and the end
of anything determinate within a period of time.
A brief account of Turnlung at this point would be helpful in situating
his distinctive preoccupation. He is a writer who has made a voyage to
America from the "Southern Hemisphere" (55), presumably New Zealand.
For him, America is the "country where death appears to be more important
than life" (28), and where the "vocabulary of death" is
given precedence (29). Turnlung is an aging man, somewhat mad, and on the
verge of senility; however he is also one of Frame's boldest visionaries.
He asks, "[is] this the state for an old man like myself to be involved
with anything but a clear search for death?" (101) Later, he confesses
that he is now at the "centre", "the foreground" of
death experience, apprehending it "directly" (102), instead of
at its "circumference". In leaving the borders for the hub of
experience, Turnlung has moved from the exterior to the interior, to contemplation
and unity of the self; he has reached the Centre of mystic Nothingness
which is, in Oriental thought, a point of spacelessness and timelessness,
where species are not fixed, but fluid. Such a movement subverts most ideas
of 'reality' in the normal, everyday, practical world, forming instead
the visionary dimension of the 'Framean' world. Instead of denying and
fearing his approaching death, Turnlung is propelled to confront it head
on, and death becomes for him a "twilight preoccupation" (20).
With each symptom of old age that assails him, Turnlung gets increasingly
prepared to face his death. In Part Two of the novel, "The Bees in
the Flowering Currant", Turnlung plans to follow and study the rhythms
of his own body in its journey towards death. For him, death is an "ultimate
darkness" that requires privileged entry qualifications, and the company
of the dead in itself brings a sort of splendour: "I knew that a .
. . mystery and exclusiveness surrounded the community of the dying and
the dead. I wanted to enter the community of the dying" (28). "It
is a consuming mystery, the game to discover the secret, the game of trying
to identify the last silence, and, hardest of all, the game of learning
to accept and love the silence" (29). Turnlung's journey then is a
psychological quest for visionary experience, and interior excursion from
fragmentation to entirety, from life to death, or as Delbaere states, "from
ego to self, . . . . a journey inwards to the 'antipodes' or the other
pole of the self" (173).
Indeed, Turnlung feels the urgency to experience the occult dimension of
death, an experience that for him is nourished by imaginative development.
As he declares: "the only contract that can be made with death is
an imaginative one" (90). As a writer, Turnlung inquires into the
nature of words, his "mix of amino acids", in the same way Talbot
experiments on his dog. Imagination, for Turnlung, reconciles the "opposing
impulses" of life (159), and death to him is the ultimate completion
of life, its supreme "finishing touch" (108). Frame has introduced
in this novel two different attitudes towards life and death through the
juxtaposition of Tunlung -- who studies death artistically-- and Talbot
-- who studies it scientifically.
Turnlung is introduced to the reader as a somewhat shadowy, marginalized
artist figure: he "write[s] alone", as a "solitary worker"
(99). However, he is the 'Framean' seer, the bringer of valuable and original
news. Like "a bottle with a message in it" (34), his particular
vision brings revelation. He is obsessed with the desire to "kn[o]w"
(86) of the essence of things, for access of the secret knowledge of the
imagination; he is the "jeweler" (143), the bringer of treasure
to whom Frame grants an optimistic vision. In New York he desires "to
take a closer look at death. At my [his] own death. I'm an old man, restless
as at the commencement of a journey, the search, the discovery" (106).
At this point, Turnlung is in the process of freeing himself from the shackles
of the manifest world: "soon I shall live in a hollow house listening
to the glint of the sun" ('Prologue'). His is a journey of evolution,
and dissolution of the self, towards a new and mystical experience of death.
The name "Turnlung", according to him, means [a] state of readiness
for death", a state which all of us must prepare ourselves to face.
It may be interpreted further as a turning, a reversal, a cessation, of
the lung's natural activity of expansion and compression which enables
breathing, thus bringing about death. Near death, Turnlung is a perfect
embodiment of the shadowless state of death, without substance as a physical
self (102). His impending death, as he says, will be an act of "vacating"
himself (106), in which his soul will journey away from his corporeal body
towards the "sanctuary" (145), "the still point of pure
vision" (Delbaere 175).
Talbot Edelman, an American, is secondary in function to Turnlung in the
novel, but he too is invested with certain visionary properties, though
on a smaller scale than Turnlung. Talbot's initial interest in death is
spurred on by watching the gradual death of his grandfather at a nursing-home.
A doctor by profession himself, Talbot chooses to specialize in the "study
of death" (Daughter Buffalo 7) at the Department of Death Studies,
in order to practise "the unique art of dying and learn the secrets
of death and the dead" (23). He switches over from embryology to death
studies, as a result of his growing interest in dying patients at the hospital
at which he works. Talbot craves for knowledge about dying and death as
much as the 'normal' person craves love and sex (15). He studies "[a]bortion
brains" (13), and performs several surgical experiments -- including
the removal of one eye -- on his pet dog, Sally, treating her more like
a human being than a dog, as Talbot claims (128). Talbot is certainly a
bizarre character in the eyes of 'normal' reality. When the dog dies as
a result of cumulative internal infections, Talbot hands her over for pathological
dissection to his colleagues at the laboratory where he works. He "tampered
with her[,]. . . . made corrupting changes". In fact he "did
everything to her, except make love" (141), despite his desire to
have sexual intercourse with the dog; as he tells Turnlung, "[o]ne
does have fantasies sometimes, at times, of penetrating, not always in
the habitual places". This is undoubtedly gross bestiality to the
reader. However, in half-consciously desiring to copulate with an animal,
Talbot may be seen to identify himself with the beast, representing
the integration of the human and animal unconscious.
It is not surprising, that with his almost carnal and erotic yearning for
death, Talbot is a deviant personality whom the reader may find distasteful
or even perverse. However, it is the almost mystical , homosexual
relationship between Talbot and Turnlung, which is sustained by a mutual
yearning for knowledge of death, that forms one of the interesting aspects
of Daughter Buffalo . Talbot yearns for the older man to serve as
the object of his death studies; as Talbot states, "I wanted the old
[man] to give me free, [his ] death" (20) (emphasis in text);
Turnlung, in turn, desires to empty his life in Talbot, to use the younger
man as a receptacle to contain the experiences of the concluding phase
of his life. In their relationship, love and death merge, as do converse
feelings of "grief [and] sadness", on the one hand, and on the
other, comfort" (197). Talbot consummates in Turnlung a special kind
of love that he cannot realize with his girlfriend Lenore, or any other
woman. It is also significant that in his semi-visionary capacity, Talbot
offers sporadically to the reader an alternative penetrating reality, as
if seen from above, overlooking and viewing all creation, a visionary cognizance
that is often surreal in nature: "I saw myself as a pair of tired
eyes attached to skin attached to a white-coated body, and if I caught
a glimpse of the city it was a dream city like those of cloud seen from
the windows of aircraft" (14). More importantly, Talbot is portrayed
as the "hunter" pursuing cosmic verities, "the twin trophies
of creation and destruction" (15).
Like Talbot, Turnlung claims to have had a death obsession from a young
age, when he discovered that cemeteries gave him "relief from the
attachments of living" (59). His early death experiences, he says,
were shaped by literature, mainly romantic poetry, expressed in the language
of cliches. The implication is that poets too have sanitized death, made
its reality sentimental and digestible in a similar way to conventional
society's language of emptiness, thus "conceal[ing]" (74) the
actual 'truth' about death. He is in possession of a collection of deaths
that his death education has supplied him with (41). He waits for a death
"to give meaning to life", contradicting the conventional concept
of death as annihilation, for life relies on death to gain its sustenance
(43). The first death experience for Turnlung, it should be noted, was
the relatively uncomplicated death of his cat,
a death explained in a simple sentence. The cat is dead. . . . It lay under the flowering currant bush where honeybees swarmed about the clusters of tiny purple bell-like flowers, and for me the purple flowers and golden bees became part of the smell and sight and sound of death, as spring became the season of death. (35-6)
This death, according to Turnlung, was an unsightly incident (like the
death of Talbot's dog) because it was treated casually by the other people
around him, as though it were insignificant. However for Turnlung the animal's
death, in all its spontaneity and earthiness, "was the meeting of
its presence and its absence, where before I had known each only separately".
In this condition of indifferentiation, there exists for Turnlung an absence
of conflicts and contrasts, for spring/life and death/winter coalesce,
the season of death and the season of the flowering currant, "presence
and absence". For Turnlung, such a realization means "know[ing]"
death, a knowledge of the cyclic curve that integrates, not separates,
the initial and final stages of life. Death is the complement, not the
negation, of life. All of which everyday society attempts -- the "embellishing[,]
. . . softening[,] . . . denying[,] . . . or disbelieving" of death
-- is not necessary for Turnlung, who simply 'sees' the fact of death and
accepts the reality of it through his visionary consciousness.
Indeed for Turnlung, death is a condition to be longed for, as it allows
the human and the animal to merge with the natural world, in a state of
"unbeing and of unknowing" (60). Thus through his union with
nature expressed in the prologue to the novel, Turnlung portrays himself
as a man who lives in empathy with nature; he is the natural wild man existing
in a state less evolved than the modern urbane 'civilized' man. Talbot
observes that Turnlung
was raw, foreign, his accent . . . uncut, . . . , he was from a land which had not yet been glazed with people, where the rivers were only then being 'tamed' to obedience to the hydro-electric impulse or reflex; . . . where clay, not plastic foam, touched the flesh feet standing on the real earth. An unfinished land. (149)
In fact, Turnlung identifies himself with mankind's earlier state, prior
to evolution of the homo sapiens ; he is the animal with the visionary
"third eye" (170) with a wide peripheral vision and acumen, as
opposed to the two eyes of the 'normal' person. He is "contained in
the orange and lemon trees" in his garden", and exists parsimoniously
without luxury, like trees that grow only a certain number of leaves each
year after shedding their old leaves, with no a surplus growth of leaves
(120). Later, he is presented imagistically, as a plant: "I am tied
down to my stem. Today I, Turnlung, pulled up my roots to inspect them.
. . . My green stem had a bitter taste" (33). After his death, he
believes that he will carry on a metamorphosized life in plant form, and
that he will be part of the larger unities of the universe, "the noon
tides of water and grass". For Turnlung "the damp dark places
where death is" are nourishing, because he believes that death is
an active force that is associated with the colour "green", the
colour of renewal and "life" (60). Hence for him, there is a
continuation of life "beyond the act of dying", a cycle through
destruction, decomposition, and fossilization, finally giving birth to
new life, "to fresh grass and yellow buttercups" (75).
The image of "death-light", "the heliocentric place of stone
light" that Turnlung refers to in the epilogue (8) to the novel is
central to the visionary experience conveyed in the novel. It is
undoubtedly an image that concentrates on the sun as Centre, the source
of supreme riches and mystical enlightenment. Frame's solar symbolism appears
to me to be drawn from the Copernican theory that the planets move in circular
paths around the sun, their common centre. Also, the image of "stonelight"
appears to originate from the Neolithic priests' observation of the sky,
and their working out of a cosmological system of ideas that explained
the way in which the heavens and the earth were bound together in an unified
sacred order: neolithic stone circles were built "to monitor . . .
the turning of the midsummer sun [and] also the rising and setting points
of the moon in summer and winter" (see Stover and Kraig 28 & 29).
Turnlung's image of "stonelight" thus possibly suggests the stone
circles built by the early neolithic peoples of Europe, where the sun,
sunlight, and the seasons, played such a vital cosmological role. In this
context, it becomes even more significant that the image of "stonelight"
is the symbol of the Circle, which Jung took to correspond to the ultimate
state of oneness within a person who has achieved inner unity. Death to
Turnlung is a movement away from the periphery towards the centre, the
source of Creation. In his own death, Turnlung conceives of himself as
becoming a religious icon of mythical force, a potent hallowed place to
be venerated, a place of permanence and resonance: "his universal
echo would be heard in cathedrals -- he would become a cathedral,
a mountaintop, a crossroad and cross of bone" (150). Furthermore,Turnlung
conceives of the place of stonelight as --
the sanctuary, the place of stone bees and men who place reliance on the noon sun,
where beasts lie warm but have no shadows
and ice is at last unknown. (183)
-- a congenial haven of spaciousness and limitless potentialities, a timeless
retreat for the shadowless state of death.
Talbot mentions a "surrender" of the self to "the surrounding
death-light, to perceive its shadow in our faces, to take time to consider
the silence and the peace" (8). I have stressed how such a "surrender",
a prescient 'yielding' to death is the definitive expression of a visionary
perception of it, a vision that by that by harmonizing the contraries of
life and death, comes to a realization that death is inevitably the source
of life and resurrection. Thus, a resignation to dying means finding rebirth
in light and clarity. For the visionary then, death is not tantamount to
eternal darkness but is, paradoxically, the basis of life. The paradox
inherent in "death-light" (8) in the novel speaks of the elimination
of dualism and separation, resolving thesis (life) and its antithesis (death)
in a union in the mystic Centre. Indeed in mysticism, the antithesis is
the complement to, not the denial of, the thesis. Seen as parts of the
same cycle, both life and death become elements of the passage of evolution
and the metamorphosis of all substances, instead of disintegration and
irrevocable annihilation. Thus the state of death is one in which life-forces
are transformed from one to the other. This circular form, particularly
in Hindu philosophy, signifies eternity, an idea which is echoed in Daughter
Buffalo "dead becomes alive, lost is found, empty is filled"
(132-33). This is what Turnlung does in the novel: his ultimate aim is
to arrive at a visionary notion of opposed predicates as forming an union.
In this context, it is possible that Frame has drawn on the Heraclitean
theory of the 'oneness', that elements commonly thought of as opposites
can in fact be united; that opposites co-exist in what is one and the same.
This discovery of 'unity-in-opposites', as Frame seems to say, can be recognized
by searching the self.
Talbot's notion of death is intuitive, as "a simple darkness",
"a pure personal darkness like the original void of the universe"
(14). "[I]n thinking about death I discovered a small area of pure
darkness, a sanctuary for the dying" (15), like the darkness that
forms the unity of the preconscious totality before the advent of light.
This is the original darkness, corresponding to primordial chaos that is
impelled towards the creation of a new order of experience, of hidden meaning.
This "original void" contains the germs of universal creation,
a chaos which encompasses all contesting energies in a condition of undifferentiated
dissolution. Such a mystical concept, for Talbot as well as Turnlung, can
only be discovered in the imaginative 'sanctuary' that fosters spiritual
acumen. Furthermore, the notion of sanctuary is similar to the idea of
mystic Nothingness, which suggests a neutrality experienced in the mind
when there is an absence of conflicts and contrasts. Because death, in
the sanctuary, is a state in which the life-forces are transformed so that
death becomes life, and vice-versa, Nothingness indicates eternity, the
still point where the powers of life and death fuse in harmony. However
as I will show later in this chapter, it is Turnlung, and not Talbot, who
ultimately discovers this 'sanctuary'. It is also interesting to note that
Talbot's philosophy of death seems to echo the Hindu notion of the original
void as opening up to the concepts of immortality, of the advent of new
life, instead of just annihilation. Hence Daughter Buffalo, we might
say, welds a 'Framean' visionary, cosmological vision of an eternal 'life-in-death'
and 'death-in-life' state of being for mankind. Through Turnlung's visionary
capacity, the restricting and mundane physical order of the world is transcended,
bringing with it a new dimension of being which is palpably a new resurrection
and immortality for the human spirit.
Emerging from the notion of indifferentiation between life and death, as
Turnlung expresses it, is a wider notion of indifferentiation between all
life forms, "people and animals" (137). The "incompatibility"
between these two forms that "led to war", Turnlung asserts,
must be eliminated. So he and Talbot decide to adopt a baby buffalo, a
symbol of their homosexual love. The buffalo consequently becomes their
"daughter" (145), as Turnlung arranges for the "custody
of his daughter". He becomes the "father of a buffalo" (173):
The paradoxical image of "death-jewel", as epitomized in the
buffalo, constitutes an amalgam that enables the synthesis of death with
"jewel", with 'treasure' of the imagination, thus speaking of
knowledge of death as the superior knowledge, as symbolized in the image
of a jewel. This is the kind of mystical apprehension achieved through
the synthesis of contradictory elements that Turnlung comes to comprehend.
For it is as though Frame is saying that the animal represents the non-human
psyche, the realm of subhuman instincts and the unconscious areas of the
mind, and that ultimately the self can re-emerge in any shape, can identify
with anything in the universe. Turnlung utters this blurring of boundaries
between "dog, man woman, buffalo" (177), just as Part Four of
the novel carries a title which obliterates the disparities between "Man,
Dog, Buffalo ". Furthermore Turnlung sees himself as a new species
of life -- a "Heterodon platyrhinos" (173) -- that may
be interpreted creatively as a scientific genus of a new species of life,
a merging of heterogenous forms: the amphibious, egg-laying monotreme platypus,
and the large, thick-skinned mammal rhinoceros. This is the creature emerging
from Turnlung's psychic depths, "the non-human psyche[,] . . . the
"world of subhuman instincts[,] . . . [and] the "unconscious
areas of the psyche" (Cirlot 13). Turnlung himself is embodied as
an animal, and this speaks of the tradition of totemism, which drew up
the relationship between man and animal.
The image of the buffalo, I would claim, is a model conception for a liberty
gone astray, and a missing concord between man, animal, and environment.
The everyday American society demands the banalities of "the American
way of life" for the baby buffalo, "to keep it warm, to educate
it, to teach it . . . how to procreate, shoot, shit and die; and the catechism
of comfort, and how to eradicate, defoliate the forest of Why" (136).
However, the image of the mother buffalo and her baby in confinement within
cages, voices the antithesis of American values, that is unimaginative,
material instead of natural lifestyles. The baby buffalo represents the
kind of freedom that is evoked by the expansive, uninhibited, grassy plains
of the prairie. After Turnlung's death, Talbot contemplates, "the
absent Turnlung and Daughter Buffalo gallivanted through the world of the
dead, in the protective custody of death" (202). Then, the Buffalo
is part of the visionary's vision, and is a factor in the visionary dimension.
Obviously for Turnlung, death is a positive romp of joy through vast, uninhibited
tracts of land towards a safe haven of the 'sanctuary', a protected territory
where the imagination is granted its powers of creation. Death itself is
"a comfortable sheltered place" connected with the symbol of
the valley, which is "a neutral zone for the development of all creation"
(Cirlot 168). In this space, Turnlung achieves Frame's zenith of mystical
knowledge "in the calm of stone, the frozen murmurs of life, squamata,
sauria, serpentes ; in the sanctuary" (212) (italics in text),
a primeval world of a collective genus of ancient species -- reptiles
(squamata ), lizards (sauria ), and snakes (serpentas
) representing the most primitive strata of life. [5,038]
WORKS CITED
Avant, John. 'Review of Daughter Buffalo'. Library Journal 97 (August
1972): 2642.
Choron, Jacques. Death and Western Thought. London: Macmillan, 1963.
Cirlot, J.E. A Dictionary of Symbols. London: Routledge &
Kegan Paul, 1971.
Delbaere, Jeanne. 'Turnlung in the Noon Sun: An Analysis of Daughter
Buffalo' .The Ring of Fire. Ed. Jeanne Delbaere. Sydney: Dangaroo
Press, 1992, 161-176.
Evans, Patrick. 'Alienation and the Imagery of Death: The Novels of Frame'.
Meanjin [Australia] 32 (1973): 294-303.
Frame, Janet. Daughter Buffalo. 1972. Auckland: Vintage, 1994.
Jackson, Rosemary. Fantasy: The Literature of Subversion. London
& New York: Methuen, 1981.
Rhodes, Winston. Review of Daughter Buffalo. Landfall 27 (1973):
159-163.
Schopenhauer, Arthur, trans. T.B, Haldene and J. Kemp. The World as Will and Idea. Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1948.
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