Any Ordinary Day by Leigh Sales

As the year draws to a close, I seem to be drawn to more new books than usual – to the detriment of A Century of Books. One area in which I’m particularly allowing myself to go rogue is audiobooks. While I am ticking off some ACOB years with it, I’m also going earlier (thanks to the copyright-free restrictions of Librivox) and later (thanks to… my wish to read the books in question).

I’ve been listening to the Chat 10: Looks 3 podcast for a while, hosted by Annabel Crabb and Leigh Sales. Those names meant nothing to me and, indeed, it was a while before I realised they were famous outside of the podcast – which was recommended to me by an Australian colleague. And, indeed, Australians will probably recognise those names as journalists/presenters/newscasters/etc. Leigh Sales presents a flagship news programme, but in a recent episode of Chat 10: Looks 3 (which is always hilarious) she talked about finding time to write her new book – Any Ordinary Day (2018).

The book stems from the idea that life-changing moments happen out of nowhere – that people get up, get dressed, leave the house as they do on any other day. And then the extraordinary happens, potentially ending their lives. Sales first thought about this when she experienced a life-changing event herself: a uterine rupture, while pregnant with her second child. Thankfully she had gone to the hospital earlier, with unfamiliar pains – and thus was able to be rushed straight to surgery, and survived something that is usually fatal. In the midst of other dramatic or traumatic family events, it put her in mind of speaking to people who experience or witness the extraordinarily tragic.

That ‘witness’ is fascinating, but let’s start with the ‘experience’. She speaks to the man whose wife and two children were murdered in the Port Arthur Massacre; she speaks with a woman who was in the Lindt cafe siege and has MS – with someone who lost his first wife in an avalanche and his second to cancer; with a man who survived over a month stranded in a snowdrift; with someone whose husband was murdered by his schizophrenic son. There is a panoply of grief and tragedy here.

Many of the names are famous, particularly in Australia – and that is part of what makes her conversations with them so interesting. People are changed by these things happening to them, or to people they love. But they are also expected to remain in a stasis of grief. The Port Arthur widow related people asking “Oh, you’re over it, then?” if they saw him laughing in public – as though being over that sort of event were possible. The man lost in the snow has had to live with a curious urban myth about a Mars bar in his bag – perhaps this will mean something to Australian readers! – and tells Sales that people joke about that Mars bar to him at least once a week. Discovering the after effects of these extraordinary moments is saddening in a wide range of ways but so interesting.

And then there are the people who walk alongside the mourners, or work with them. Some of the most fascinating parts of Any Ordinary Day were when Sales interviewed people whose jobs are connected with people’s most tragic days – particularly the empathetic, wise woman who worked in a morgue and accompanied those who had to identify dead bodies. In a similar vein, she speaks with the police officers who have to inform people that their loved ones have died, and a priest who particularly helped one widow. The meeting of ordinary and extraordinary is so unusual, and Sales writes about it brilliantly. This is their livelihoods; the other people engaged in each day will never forget the encounter.

Along the way, Sales tries to find out answers – how people cope with these events; if they try to find any reason in them; what responses are most likely to lead to emotional recovery. I had never heard of post-traumatic growth, but apparently it’s much more likely than the much-more-talked-about PTSD.

Several of the people Sales meets are Christians, and (as a Christian myself) I found it really interesting to see how she responded to that, as somebody predisposed to scepticism. She is a little patronising to them at times, and conflates the idea of a sovereign God with “this was meant to be” – the problem of evil and suffering is, of course, endlessly complex – but I thought it was intriguing how often she came upon people of faith.

Having said that, her writing and interviewing is extremely sensitive and thoughtful. Being a big name in the Australian media has granted her access to many people who might not speak out otherwise, and she draws together the stories and threads extremely well. It is not trying to be sensational, nor answer all the big questions – but by introducing the questions (and, indeed, some less eternal questions – like the idea of media intrusion and journalistic integrity) she creates a very good book. My biggest take away was the extraordinary bravery of survivors, kindness and wisdom of those who have helped them, and troubling way that the media and public at large treat tragedies. No answers, perhaps, but definitely worth a read to explore the issues – and I can definitely recommend the audiobook, narrated by Sales herself.