Set in a fictional town on the south coast of New South Wales, Cassie Stroud’s debut novel Iluka centres on siblings Helen, Sylvie and Brendan, who return to the family home – named Iluka – following the death of their grandfather. They’ve come together to clean up the house for sale, or at least, that’s the plan.
Beecham Point may be fictional, but Stroud’s vivid descriptions of landscape feel instantly recognisable. A typical Aussie coastal town, picturesque from the outlook yet heavy with generations of family history embedded into the earth.
Helen, Sylvie and Brendan all grew up in Iluka with their grandparents Iris and Paddy, having been told from a young age that their mother had died. Secrets have settled in every wall, floor and ceiling of their family home.
The siblings are joined by Helen’s 18-year-old daughter, Tegan, a film student, who documents the entire week as part of an assignment, unknowingly capturing the unravelling of her entire family.
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Finding family secrets
Early on, we learn that the siblings’ parents worked in the theatre industry in the 1970s and struggled with addiction, often prioritising drugs over feeding their children. Then, as they clean the house, the siblings discover letters written by their mother, addressed to them, which prove she was alive long after her supposed death.
The letters, hidden by Iris, also suggest their mother is still alive and living under a stage name.
So much for cleaning the house. More baggage is being brought in than taken out.
Stroud shifts point of view between female perspectives, allowing shared childhood memories to be revisited from different angles. The eldest sibling, Helen, carries the weight of the world. Forced into adulthood before her time, she is forever looking out for everyone but herself.
Iluka is broken into four parts. Parts one and four focus on the siblings, while part two jumps back to 1979 and follows their mother, Marguerite, year by year. This section moves quickly and fluidly, laying out the motives and actions that led the children to this point. It feels as though Marguerite’s story pours straight out of Stroud, unapologetically unfiltered.
Part three explores Grandma Iris’s motivations, why she claimed Marguerite was dead, and the consequences of that choice.
Exploring motherhood, memory and generational trauma
Sectioning the story into parts allows motherhood to be seen from multiple perspectives, and what it means to be a mother differs for every character. This sits at the heart of the novel, with Marguerite and Iris’ timelines adding nuance and depth.
Throughout the novel, secrets and lies ripple across generations as they do with many families. As Sylvie puts it, ‘Brush the detestable thing under the carpet, and never mention it again, even when everyone starts tripping over it.’
The revelation of Marguerite being alive complicates the story, with questions as to why wasn’t there a funeral? Why did the children just accept this and never find out more in their adult years?
But as with much family history, Stroud leaves many of these questions unanswered.
The neighbour Dom, who Tegan befriends, offers another perspective: ‘I think you can still be an honest person and leave things out sometimes…Honesty at all costs is not…practical. Or sustainable as a family.’
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Punctuated by explosive moments, Iluka is a slow-burn of a novel about family, memory and the deep wound of generational trauma. Grief and loss sit not only in Marguerite’s absence, but in the life that might have been lived had the truth been known earlier.
Iluka asks us to consider how different memories can exist within a shared past and whether understanding them might finally break the cycle.
