This was a surprisingly interesting post to write. Remember that I’m using this blog primarily as a writer’s notebook, and this one’s about my impressions of the universities – more specifically, about Em’s impressions. You can see that the buildings become metaphors for people, so please forgive me if the critique of the architecture sounds harsh.

Pepper and I went for a wander around Notre Dame and UTS, and we drove through Sydney Uni. Later, we went out to UNSW.

All the time, I’m looking at Pepper’s reactions, and looking at the buildings, and thinking, “How would Em react to these universities? What details would she notice?”

Before I get into that, I’ve just gotta record two snatches of overheard conversation. Granted it was a Sunday and the unis were pretty empty, but they were pretty iconic. At UTS, we overheard this:

We were wondering what factors had the most effect on their growth. Then we found out it was phytoplankton.

Come on! If Em heard that, her heart would nearly burst with envy. It just sounds so nerdy and cool! So esoteric.

As we were walking through this park, I noticed people on their phones, people with bags, people with books. Surely, they are engaged in significant econversation about their study projects, about unearthing case law gems. And what is that book the other guy is reading? It must have come from some special, sacred corner of the library, all smelling of books and knowledge, and now he is engaging with it, letting it speak to him as a friend speaks to a friend. It makes me wish I was part of it. It makes me with I belong. But I’m just a stranger, an outsider, walking through the park.

The secong quote, however, which we heard, was just so 2025. It was at UNSW, and a couple of students in their twenties were pacing slowly across the park. The she/her said to the he/him:

Yeah, it was a trigger to my attachment issues.

As soon as we were out of earshot, Pepper and I looked at each other and cracked up/ Precious. Bless their little snowflake hearts, says the Gen Xer. I can’t use this quote on the novel though. It would be so out of context in 2010.

Okay, onward and upward.

Notre Dame University

Entering the precinct of Notre Dame university on a Sunday afternoon is like stepping out of the real world. The honking of horns and revving of engines is replaced by the growing sound of green trees and the sound of soft, red bricks shifting deeper into their beds. It’s a secret place, a quiet place, for soft, murmuring voices, the swish of autumn leaves and the trickle of rain.

It’s an intimate space, and it’s easy to feel like you’re intruding. Should we be here? Is it okay if we belong? During the day, when the place is full of students, and the coffee grinders are whirring in the cafe, you can almost forget the space. Almost. But it’s always there. Quiet. Present. Waiting to be noticed. (George gravitates here, because it’s where he feels he belongs. It feels like home.)

University of Technology Sydney

UTS is ugly. There. I said it. I know I’m meant to like it, and at first I said I did, but I just don’t. It’s where Em has her class.

It’s impersonal. Cold. Hard. An architect’s rendering. The buildings are hard and ugly. The curves are forced. You can almost see the dimension lines hanging over everything. Measuring. Designating. Calculating. The pencil-box people gather in little, busy knots below the buildings, in the common spaces. There is a woman on her phone. There is a small tree. There is a stainless steel railing.

That ugly brown building that thrusts into the air all ribbed and hard. It’s male. But ugly male. In a tweed coat with leather patches and coffee stained breath. Impotent. And that new building? The curvy one? Female. But it’s too forced. Wrinkles and rings. Too much shiny makeup. Too much sweet glaze on the smile. Its funnel entrance is huge, cold, open and harsh. Barren.

Then, Baby Bear off to the side. Look up and you can see the void between. It stands alone. It’s a massive overgrown monstrosity of drilled metal plate. It’s grown too quickly. It mushrooms into the sky. There’s a lump on the side because it’s holding back its own vomit. Ugly and hard, with a hard, hard shell.

Can you see where we’re going with this? Dad. Mum. Em.

University of Sydney

I thought maybe this is where George attends, but I’m not sure. Em goes there, but never gets out of the car. The girls she sees are the private school type, with gold tennis bracelets, blonde pony-tails and long, soccer socks. Just looking at them, you can see that they attended boarding school and know how to ride. They never sweat. They pause their conversation to stare at Em as she passes. Then one says something and they all laugh. The crisp logos on their soccer uniforms say that they belong here. They got the grades. They had the tutors. They did the time. They cross at the crosswalk in front of Em and their stares are hard, like she is intruding.

George doesn’t like the feel here. He doesn’t feel like he belongs. This is velour armchair stuff. He’s beanbag, console and cheese toastie. He enjoys soccer with the guys on the pitch, but what he can’t stand is the way that the girls cluster at the edge of the field, watching, turning up their noses and wiggling their bottoms in disgust. If there was a collective noun, it would be an alliance. But get them alone and unguarded and they’re like cornered kittens, calves in the headlights. Their eyes roll to the door. They paddle on their phones, they’re lost for conversation. They have no colour.

If a girl becomes isolated from her pack, she dead!