"I must apologise because I know all writers have memories of being on the outer because it's the children on the side of the playground who become the dangerous writers"
About this Quote
Keneally’s line slips in under the guise of politeness, then promptly turns the apology into a provocation. He “must apologise” not because he’s misspoken, but because he’s about to name a shared, slightly shameful origin story for writers: the outsider complex. The charm is in how he universalizes it (“all writers”) while keeping it tactile and unglamorous. Not the romantic garret, not the heroic dissident, but the kid parked at the edge of the playground, watching the game they’re not invited to play.
The subtext is that exclusion is not just a wound; it’s a training ground. The child on the periphery develops the skills the center doesn’t require: attention, inference, a talent for reading social weather. That’s the seed of narrative authority. The “dangerous” part isn’t melodrama; it’s social chemistry. A writer built from the outside learns to puncture the stories groups tell about themselves. They notice the rules because they weren’t cushioned by them. They can describe belonging without being mesmerized by it.
Context matters: Keneally, an Australian novelist who often writes about institutions, power, and moral compromise, is speaking from a tradition where the writer’s role is partly civic and partly insurgent. The playground image compresses class, clique, and hierarchy into a scene everyone recognizes. It also flatters the listener-writer while warning them: your best material may come from the moments you’d rather file away, because alienation, once metabolized, becomes critique.
The subtext is that exclusion is not just a wound; it’s a training ground. The child on the periphery develops the skills the center doesn’t require: attention, inference, a talent for reading social weather. That’s the seed of narrative authority. The “dangerous” part isn’t melodrama; it’s social chemistry. A writer built from the outside learns to puncture the stories groups tell about themselves. They notice the rules because they weren’t cushioned by them. They can describe belonging without being mesmerized by it.
Context matters: Keneally, an Australian novelist who often writes about institutions, power, and moral compromise, is speaking from a tradition where the writer’s role is partly civic and partly insurgent. The playground image compresses class, clique, and hierarchy into a scene everyone recognizes. It also flatters the listener-writer while warning them: your best material may come from the moments you’d rather file away, because alienation, once metabolized, becomes critique.
Quote Details
| Topic | Writing |
|---|---|
| Source | Help us find the source |
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