I Can’t Tell You But I Will by Magda Szubanski
In her second memoir, Australian actor Magda Szubanski offers fresh perspectives on the experiences that have influenced her life and work. While much of the focus is on her complex relationship with her mother and her advocacy for the legalisation of same-sex marriage in Australia – motivated by her ‘craving for justice, for fairness, for acceptance’ – she covers many other topics too.
[This] is the story of my political and personal evolution: from comedian to campaigner, from daughter to orphan, from idealistic extremist to modest improver.
Szubanski was diagnosed with an aggressive cancer in 2025. She says that since her diagnosis she has ‘less to lose’ and ‘more to do’. The 471 page-long memoir offers a relatively brief account of her diagnosis and treatment as she has many other stories to tell.
Szubanski describes herself as a ‘fat, famous lesbian descendant of a Polish assassin, an Irish convict and an Italian sculptor’. In reclaiming terms like ‘fat’, Szubanski pushes back against their power to demean, even as her memoir documents the lasting hurt that words can inflict – particularly the lifelong insults from her mother. Chapter after chapter, she describes emotional (although never physical) abuse, conditional love, and what she now sees as a form of neglect.
All the things that I needed to do in order that I might be me were discouraged, mocked, or ignored.
In turn, Szubanski uses harsh terms to describe her mother, including ‘mean’, ‘petty’, and ‘cruel’. Nor is her ‘malevolent’ father off the hook, although she acknowledges the ongoing consequences of his war experiences and likely PTSD, and the effects of Poland’s political history on her father and his family. In this memoir, as well as in Reckoning, Szubanski explores the enduring impact of intergenerational trauma.
Relationships in the immediate family were often strained, and for an almost five-year period Szubanski was largely estranged from her parents, avoiding speaking to or about them.
Szubanski has also had a push-pull relationship with Catholicism. She muses on faith and spirituality, and recalls early ‘brainwashing’ on topics such as mortal sin, purity, shame and the notion of eternal punishment. Catholic secondary school imposed additional constraints, including ‘uniforms, bells, hymns, exams, obedience [and] guilt’. Yet novenas, liturgies and religious rituals comforted and calmed her during and after the death of her parents. (With her sister, she fumbles through reciting the Rosary as their mother is dying.) Her memoir includes Catholics who offer support, including the thoughtful Pastoral Associate in her local parish, the good-hearted Father John, who does ‘amazing work’ with the community, and a closeted gay priest and theologian.
Eventually Szubanski has concluded that she loved and was loved by her mother, despite their difficult relationship. Especially during the last few years of her mother’s life, Szubanski made great efforts to support her. When her mother eventually moved into a tiny room in an aged-care facility, Szubanski did her best to recreate a home-like environment by bringing in familiar furniture, pictures, lamps, ‘nice sheets’, and her mother’s oil paintings.
Those who have supported aging parents will recognise Szubanski’s battles with bureaucracy and reliance on the healthcare system – the multiple forms required, the keeping track of appointments and bills, the aged-care assessments, and frequent visits to ED. Her mother’s eventual decline is described with compassion and respect, yet also tinged with frustration and the weight of expectations. On one occasion, her mother is ‘vibrating with anxiety and gratitude’ after Szubanski shows up once again in response to a panicked 5 a.m. phone call.
Szubanski’s efforts to manage stress, improve wellbeing, and address her internalised homophobia have included participation in various forms of therapy, ashram stays, yoga and spiritual remedies. She gives her all to causes she believes in, as evidenced by her work as a young woman with the Women’s Refuge movement, and her many contributions to the campaign for marriage equality. Fiercely protective of her privacy for many years, things changed when Szubanski came out publicly in 2012. The memoir acknowledges the support and validation she receives from her network of close friends and allies, both in Australia and overseas.
Each of the book’s main sections have multiple chapters, many covering a range of time periods. Quotes from writers including Proust, Alcott, Milton and de Beauvoir introduce some chapters. In the middle of the book are around two dozen candid photos. Some images from personal collections are grainy and blurred, but nevertheless reveal striking family resemblances across generations. There are also photos of friends and one or two celebrities. A beaming Szubanski stands alongside Olympian Ian Thorpe on the front page of Victoria’s Herald Sun, which announces the upcoming legalisation of same-sex marriage. The most poignant image is the black-and-white photograph of Szubanski’s mother, captured a few weeks before her death. Appearing frail and vulnerable, she sits with her eyes downcast.
The last few chapters contain revelations about significant events that negatively affected both Szubanski and her mother as children. These revelations help us to understand some of Szubanski’s attitudes and behaviours, including the ‘various oddnesses’ that she now recognises as characteristics of trauma – such as binge eating, thoughts of suicide, and problems with impulse control. There are similar revelations in New Zealand author Elizabeth Knox’s recent memoir Night, Ma.
Life, says Szubanski, does not proceed with stately uniformity. Her memoir is a testament to that. It’s not always an easy read, but it encourages deeper reflection about individual responsibilities, societal and familial pressures, and human rights.
Reviewer: Anne Kerslake Hendricks
Text Publishing
