Hanging Rock
Hanging Rock is a geological rarity born of volcanic activity located close to the town of Woodend in Victoria, Australia. Its dramatic, irregular form lies within the broader landscape of the Macedon Ranges. Encountering this imposing natural structure involves traversing roads that give little hint as to what to expect. Tantalising glimpses are possible when gaps appear in the heavy roadside foliage, but the most striking perspectives only emerge once in close proximity. When Hanging Rock is fully revealed, its appearance is breath-taking—its craggy facade and dark-hued pinnacles possessing a uniqueness and authority that resists comparison as it stations itself as a solitary presence within the relative flatness of the immediate terrain. The exposed rock face is stunning, characterised by sheer, vertical cliffs that loom over the surrounding agricultural countryside. On many occasions over the years I've travelled the highway running through the Macedon Ranges, and I have frequently noted a distinct microclimate around the Woodend area, most obvious in winter. A persistent drizzle and mist often enshrouds this specific stretch, while clarity prevails on either side—a divergence likely due to its slightly elevated position compared to nearby lowland areas, creating a distinct atmospheric pocket.
I found the thought of Hanging Rock compelling as a child, although the exact origins of this interest are elusive. It wasn't until my twenties that I watched the eponymous movie, but I do recall a television advertisement that was promoting a soundtrack album. There were snippets of footage from the film alongside the spectral-sounding theme music, which was so thrilling and strangely galvanising. This was apparently enough to stimulate vague notions of delicate white dresses, evanescing figures, and a magical locale, which all coalesced in my imagination in some intuitive way. These enigmatic fragments were further underpinned by a half-heard whispery web of adult commentary that referenced dark goings-on at Hanging Rock. My mother tells me I would play games centred around picnics at Hanging Rock with my dolls and cat, the latter bedecked in an embroidered baby dress. I don't remember this, but can well imagine such a tableau fitting the general aesthetic as I perceived it then. I think more than anything, what prompted this interest was an immediate sensory identification with particular elements spied amongst these fleeting shots—images of honeyed grasses and towering rocks correlated strongly with my experiences as a child growing up amidst the granite boulders and golden summer hills of Taungurung Country. I recognised this place—the colours, the raven calls, the spell, the songs, the humming and thrumming of insects reverberating so loudly they induce a loss of form. Holy afternoons amongst the radiant light as it caressed the muted greens of the eucalypts. My fascination with Hanging Rock prompted my father to organise a day trip there one weekend. Slightly frightened, I approached with great solemnity, unequivocally anticipating auspicious events and brimming with expectations of the uncanny. My father disrupted this mood somewhat by regularly ‘disappearing’ inside rock clefts, then reappearing with great mirth, at one point exclaiming, 'Well someone has to get lost at Hanging Rock!' Not long ago, I found a tiny dried wildflower and a small rock that I had collected that day, sealed in an envelope, carefully labelled. Since that initial visit, I've returned to Hanging Rock numerous times. Each approach rekindles an appreciation of its stately and anomalous nature. It appears like a massive stone idol operating on a different temporal system—an otherworldly entity within its commonplace surrounds.
The Macedon Ranges are part of the Great Dividing Range, a collection of mountain ranges composed of layers of rock formed during colossal volcanic eruptions that took place some 36–370 million years in the past. Hanging Rock emerged as a mamelon formation around 6.25 million years ago, resulting from an eruption of lava through a narrow vent in the underlying bedrock that established a steep-sided volcanic structure. Subsequent eruptions layered additional strata, and Hanging Rock underwent ongoing weathering that led to the evolution of its numerous distinctive formations such as pinnacles, monoliths, caves, and boulders. Over time, Hanging Rock settled into its current configuration, and now stands at a height of 718 metres above sea level. Along with two other nearby mamelons known as Camel’s Hump and Brock’s Monument, it forms a unique volcanic province with more similarities to those in the Eastern Highlands of New South Wales and Queensland than to the volcanic plains found elsewhere in Victoria. Significant mamelons such as Hanging Rock are rare, both within Australia and in an international context. It is considered to be the best example of this type of geological formation in Victoria, and among the most accessible mamelons globally. While its various complex elements are collectively known as Hanging Rock, the titular hanging rock itself is just one among them, being a large boulder resting atop two others that creates a short tunnel and adds an extra layer of intrigue to its geological diagenesis.
Hanging Rock sits within a wider reserve of largely cleared land that has some historical significance as a popular recreational destination. The reserve has hosted bi-annual horse races since the 1860s, alongside seasonal markets, car shows, and various one-off events. In recent years, concerts featuring well-known artists have been held regularly. Hanging Rock has a considerably more extensive history stretching back at least 26,000 years as an important Aboriginal Australian cultural site. It is positioned near the traditional land boundaries of three Aboriginal Australian community groups: the Wurundjeri, the Dja Dja Wurrung, and the Taungurung. Specifically, the Gal Gal Baluk clan of the Dja Dja Wurrung people, the Nira-Bulok clan of the Taungurung people, and the Gunung Willam-Balluk clan of the Wurundjeri people. Although each of these three Traditional Owner groups claim some custodianship of Hanging Rock, the site holds important cultural and spiritual significance for all, emphasising its relevance as a place of shared cultural heritage.
Generally speaking, for the Taungurung, Dja Dja Wurrung and Wurundjeri peoples, Hanging Rock encompasses a spectrum of values tied to mythology, resources, and ceremony. It is an integral part of a wide-ranging and interconnected cultural landscape, which includes the mamelon atop Mount Macedon—Camel's Hump—that is visible from Hanging Rock, and situated to the south in Wurundjeri Country. Hanging Rock is positioned just west of the headwaters of Deep Creek, a location identified as a songline and transit route for the Wurundjeri people. It has links to numerous other culturally significant places such as the traditional stone sources of the Dja Dja Wurrung people at Coliban Dam to the north-west, the Goulburn River to the north that runs primarily through Taungurung Country, and Mt. William to the northeast. Within the Hanging Rock precinct, an area known as the East Paddock served as a locale that could accommodate large gatherings of people, where water, food, and shelter were readily available. The Wurundjeri Elders believe the East Paddock was also a ceremonial site with important mythological associations. As a prominent landmark, Hanging Rock likely served as a site for ceremonies and other traditional activities involving assemblies of the three groups. These gatherings encompassed various events such as marriages, conflict resolution, trade, and initiation rituals, marking Hanging Rock as a vital feature in cultural lore.
Multiple archaeological excavations at Hanging Rock have revealed deposits of stone tools, which indicate that the site was occupied and utilised by First Nations people prior to the end of the last Ice Age. Some of the stone sources used to craft the tools found at Hanging Rock came from a considerable distance, supporting accounts that place Hanging Rock within a much larger social and economic network. Archaeological investigations conducted in the East Paddock uncovered a significant number of artifacts made of a type of volcanic glass called tachylite. X-ray fluorescence analysis conducted by La Trobe University demonstrated that this tachylite was obtained from the Coliban River, a journey that would have required several days of walking north on Dja Dja Wurrung Country. At Hanging Rock, the tachylite was likely worked onsite to create tools and implements, which were subsequently used in traditional practices.
Efforts to decisively ascertain Hanging Rock's original name have encountered complications. Some propose 'Anneyelong', derived from an inscription beneath an engraving of Hanging Rock by a German naturalist named William Blandowski. During an expedition of central Victoria in the mid-1850’s, Blandowski and his Aboriginal Australian travelling companions, Sandy and Mackenzie, passed by Hanging Rock, where this name ‘Anneyelong' was likely conveyed to Blandowski by his fellow travellers. It has been more recently suggested by some linguists and Traditional Owners that the linguistically correct spelling of the name might actually be ‘Ngannelong'. The exact meaning of this name remains unclear at this point.
For thousands of years Wurundjeri, Dja Dja Wurrung and Taungurung custodians met cultural responsibilities in diligently caring for Hanging Rock. However, following the devastating impacts of European invasion they faced enormous disruption to their way of life, with widespread mortality due to introduced diseases, displacement from their lands, and frontier conflict. Survivors were often forcibly relocated to missions, which were frequently located in places far from their traditional Country, disregarding and dislocating fundamental spiritual, familial, and cultural ties. Only recently have Aboriginal Australian custodians of Hanging Rock received some rightful acknowledgement in the official recognition of its significance as a cultural landscape. The State Government of Victoria and Macedon Ranges Shire Council now recognise First Nations peoples rights to traditional custodianship, and ongoing joint management of Hanging Rock now involves the Dja Dja Wurrung, Taungurung, and Wurundjeri Traditional Owners playing a role as partners in planning, managing and decision-making. As outlined in the Hanging Rock Strategic Plan, the Department of Environment, Land, Water, and Planning, in collaboration with the Macedon Ranges Shire Council, the local community, and the three Traditional Owner groups, are developing a master plan for the management of the Hanging Rock Reserve. The draft master plan includes an objective to utilise a network of songline trails to delineate culturally significant places, while another goal is for the three Traditional Owner groups to collectively decide upon a traditional name, leading to the formal retitling of Hanging Rock.
As a place of such cultural significance, Hanging Rock is undoubtedly steeped in numerous stories. According to a traditional tale of the Taungurung people, the long vertical rock formations of its distinctive facade represent young boys (wiylak) who misbehaved during initiation ceremonies. As a consequence of disregarding the ceremony's importance and failing to show adequate respect, the boys were transformed into stone by the creator spirit, Bundjil. Regrettably, there is a scarcity of other documented Aboriginal Australian stories associated with Hanging Rock in the public domain at this stage. Conversely, a more recent and widely circulated one originating from a non-Aboriginal Australian source has influenced some perceptions of this site, and acquired a type of mythological status for more cryptic reasons. First published in 1967, Joan Lindsay’s novel Picnic at Hanging Rock is set at the turn of the twentieth century on Valentine's Day. The plot unfolds as a group of schoolgirls and their teachers embark on a trip to Hanging Rock for a picnic. The disappearance of two students, Miranda and Marion, along with their teacher, Miss McCraw, enfolds the narrative in mystery as Lindsay chose to conclude the book with deliberate ambiguity, leaving their fate unresolved. Despite its fictional nature, Lindsay subtly hinted that the story may have been based on real-life events.
As a child, Lindsay and her family had holidayed in the Macedon Ranges and made several visits to Hanging Rock. Friends recount that she remained captivated by the place throughout her life and generally felt a profound connection to nature. Lindsay asserted that the inspiration for Picnic at Hanging Rock came to her through a series of recurring dreams, which materialised nightly in a consecutive fashion over the course of around a fortnight. Compelled to capture these nocturnal visions, she would wake each morning and rush to transcribe them, completing her novel at a frenetic pace within just a few weeks. This unusual generative process sets the tone for a pervasive theme of dreaming and altered states of consciousness that runs throughout.
While the book was well received upon publication, it acquired further dimensions of richness and notoriety when adapted into a feature film directed by Peter Weir in 1975. A critical and popular success, Picnic at Hanging Rock helped firmly establish Weir’s international reputation. When Weir first approached Lindsay in 1973 to secure the rights for the film adaptation, he expressed curiosity about the enigmatic ending and suggested various explanations. Lindsay refused to confirm or deny his postulations and responded, 'Any of the above’. This obliquity permitted Weir the freedom to hone his own interpretation and vision for the film, to great effect. Picnic at Hanging Rock is now considered to be a cardinal part of the Australian New Wave, a movement in Australian cinema that emerged during a time when the industry had been struggling with an economic downturn. Beginning in the 1970s, it persisted throughout the 1980s and spurred a surge of global interest in Australian cinema. While many films of the Australian New Wave were defined by their distinctive techniques, Picnic at Hanging Rock stood out even in this context, characterised by its enigmatic style and lack of narrative resolution regarding the mysterious disappearances. Rather than providing explicit explanations, it encouraged viewers, as Lindsay had encouraged Weir, to rely on their own instincts, fostering a unique and immersive cinematic experience.
The text transposed into a screenplay by Cliff Green remained faithful to the book, while the addition of Weir's imagery resulted in an adaptation that was visually eloquent and lyrical. Weir infused the film with a sagacity that displayed a notable sensitivity for Hanging Rock itself, evident in impressive shots that capture its many features, especially in the opening scenes wherein certain formations appear to take on the shape of imposing faces. Weir was able to artfully reproduce the mood of the central Victorian summer. Filming in February, he captured its mellow-gold, hazy softness, the languor that descends upon the land, and the soporific sounds of the bush—the rhythmic crescendos of insects and birds executing a kind of lullaby, bringing to life a crucial element of the narrative. To enhance this dream-like atmosphere, Weir experimented with bridal veils placed over the lenses, creating gently diffused images with a glowing, diaphanous quality. The employment of such creative strategies meant Weir's interpretation has an almost mesmerisingly luminous effect that stands as a testament to the synergy between literary and cinematic artistry, and the ability to craft something that transcends the boundaries of the written word.
The effectiveness of the cinematography is enormously enhanced by the evocative soundtrack. The main title music comes from two traditional Romanian panpipe pieces known as doinas, arranged and performed by Gheorghe Zamfir accompanied on organ by Marcel Cellier. The choice of the doina, a traditional form of Romanian music appreciated for its emotional resonance, adds an additional layer of poignancy to the film. The music's delicate, uplifting, yet vaguely disturbing qualities have an almost visceral effect that emphasises the alluring power of Hanging Rock. It becomes a key aspect of the film's enchanting atmosphere, contributing to the creation of a preternatural experience for the audience. Equally bewitching, however, was the use of less standard soundscapes, which used naturally occurring ambient noises in place of more typically melodic ones. Weir has made mention of utilising low-frequency noise inaudible to the human ear at strategic points throughout the film, and of employing reversed recordings of earthquake vibrations in order to generate the thunder-like rumbling and ominous droning sounds that accompany the characters as they traverse the upper reaches of Hanging Rock. In working with sound in this subtle way, Weir was continually manipulating mood while evoking subliminal responses and alerting the viewer to the presence of invisible forces of non-human origin.
The lack of a clear resolution to events was exasperating for many audiences accustomed to clear-cut explanations. This unconventional approach even resulted in an incident wherein one American film distributor threw his coffee cup at the screen in frustration. But perhaps it made a particular kind of sense to Australian audiences, and certainly it invited interpretations based on resonant topics of the time. As a conceptual device in the art and literature of that era, the Australian natural environment was frequently portrayed as brutal and unyielding. The notion of menace in the landscape, and alienation from it, was especially fitting in the non-Aboriginal Australian context, where a psychologically uneasy relationship with the land prevailed in many quarters. Other films from the Australian New Wave such as the riveting Wake in Fright, based on a book by Kenneth Cook, effectively employed such themes. Individuals of European descent were often depicted as foreigners in a hostile territory more akin to another planet than a different continent, armed with an imperative to conquer or be conquered, encouraging a battle-like attitude towards nature. This portrayal painted the landscape as non-nurturing and inaccessible, despite the reality that it was the home of people who had not only survived but thrived for millennia due to its benevolent qualities. While dangers may have existed, exaggerating an antagonistic relationship has historically also served a function for some newcomers to Australia, justifying an often violent takeover that involved wide-spread despoiling and theft. This tendency to perceive the natural world as threatening accordingly influenced the popular conclusion that something sinister had befallen the missing women in Picnic at Hanging Rock.
A cursory interpretation might identify clichéd tropes in text and film of delicate women striving to conform to repressive English standards, with Australia's natural environment depicted as being especially inimical to women, who could only risk the most superficial and guarded contact. The opening scenes of the film are almost cloying, such is the excess of signalling regarding supposed feminine daintiness and folly, involving exchanges of romantic cards and recitations of saccharine poems. But, given that these scenes are also peppered with portentous statements, the lightness is heavily shadowed, and they are possibly more an allusion to the innocence of youth and the fragility of life itself, with the celebration of St. Valentine introducing themes of love and loss. Additionally, while the women appear pliable and obedient at first, it becomes clear that these societal constraints are imposed rather than innate, and given the choice they are to be abandoned at the first opportunity. The central character of Miranda, initially appearing frail and ethereal, later turns out to be bold and intrepid—she engages ardently with the omnipotent thrall of the rock and adopts the role of leader in proceeding beyond the permitted boundaries. These earlier depictions are ultimately superseded by those of women at peace in a place considered dangerous and terrifying to many. A six-part television series made in 2016 makes use of a similar interpretation wherein the characters are anxious to rebel against coerced repression; however, this is conveyed in the more phallocentric and predictable approaches that plague many stories where women feature, and in doing so imparts little of the subtle magic and more complex sensuality of the book or film. A considerable use of artistic licence also effectively renders it a separate entity in spirit.
The suggestion of people vanishing was also poignant, reflecting the historical reality of First Nations people being displaced from once-populous areas, and the conspiracy of silence given legislative stature in the fallacious doctrine of Terra Nullius, leaving Australia with something akin to a haunted landscape. The history of these forced removals remained largely unwritten and unacknowledged. Additionally, the contemporary presence of First Nations people was not even officially recognised. 1967, the year of the novel's publication, was also a defining period for Australia, as it marked the amendment of the Australian Constitution to finally include Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people as equal members of the population, with the Commonwealth able to make laws regarding them. Prior to this change, Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people had been explicitly omitted from the census count and subject to differing state laws and prejudicial policies rooted in assimilationist ideologies. This discriminatory exclusion denied First Nations people their presence and history in their own country and was fundamental in propagating the fiction that they had effectively ceased to exist.
The fact that these interpretations may not necessarily align with the creative goals of Lindsay or Weir does not diminish their validity. Impactful works of art usually serve as catalysts for discussion. While some view Picnic at Hanging Rock as a symbolic commentary on the dysfunctional European relationship with Australia and its First Nations people, it's worthwhile recognising that the subjective nature of appraising creative works allows for multiple coexisting perspectives. Lindsay herself encouraged diverse interpretations of her work, and emphasised its multifarious nature. These thematic conjectures are legitimate, but I do not think they were the dominant intentions in the minds of Lindsay or Weir. In a 1976 interview, Weir emphasises his lack of interest in such ideas: 'Australian books tend to concentrate on the idea of being an Australian, on fitting into your environment, on what the country means to you, on the crisis of a European man trying to fit into an alien environment at the bottom of the world... And these things have never interested me at all’. Similarly, Lindsay frequently expressed her love rather than distaste for the Australian landscape. As an artist, she reportedly said that she aimed for the novel be a kind of 'atmosphere of place' that captured something of its essential nature, much as a painting might. The sense of unease engendered by both novel and film is the product of an expert conveyance of the incomparable ambience and aesthetic values of Hanging Rock itself. The intentions of both seem more likely to have been to induce a sense of reverence and veneration, rather than perpetuate a message of estrangement or conflict. As a consequence, the central element of both book and film that predominantly ignited audience imaginations was Hanging Rock itself.
In the opening sequence of the movie, Hanging Rock is revealed as a curtain of mist drops away, and this establishes the rock as the dominant character in the narrative. The inherent magnetism of this ancient place coupled with the uniqueness of its geological features would always mean that it would command attention, but the representation of its majesty through these and other similarly beguiling shots brought it to a world stage, inspiring admiration and curiosity. How did such a place come into being, and what lies behind its formidable power to transfix? Humans are often driven to construct stories to explain gaps in our knowledge or regarding things that especially inspire us—this storytelling tendency is the basis of many belief systems around the world. In particular, especially captivating landscapes fascinate, and can inspire both creative processes and strong emotional reactions that can lead to personal transformation. The visual impact of Hanging Rock summoned up the shared human capacity for receptiveness to numinous locations. The audience senses that there is something unknowable about this place. It prompts feelings of awe and a type of comfort, while simultaneously generating an awareness of our fragility and transience compared to its permanence. The Taungurung story is one example of recognising our reflection in landscapes, and the many different ways in which we may connect with a place because of what we have inferred.
Many cultures around the world have legends associated with places that seem to yield this particularly resonant quality that stirs the senses, this heightened spiritual or transcendent quality. Irish Celtic folklore refers to such places as 'thin places’. This concept holds that these are locations where the boundary between the visible and invisible worlds is considered more porous, allowing for a closer connection to the sacred and the unseen. Hanging Rock appears to have been a type of thin place for Lindsay. Her fascination with the site began in her early years and persisted throughout her life. Lindsay was described by friends as a kind of mystic with a profound sensitivity to the natural world, and was believed by some to possess an extraordinary awareness. At times it seemed she could sense things that others couldn't, and reportedly, there were many occasions of her knowing details about the past or predicting future events without pertinent information being provided beforehand. It's conceivable that Lindsay had a deeper sensitivity to place than is typical for several reasons, making her well-suited to convey something intrinsic yet challenging to articulate precisely. It seems credible that perhaps Lindsay's novel was an attempt to give a framework and form to the subjective impressions elicited by Hanging Rock, and although many now associate it inextricably with her creation, it was Hanging Rock that defined the shape of the book and not the other way around.
The popularity of Picnic at Hanging Rock resulted in the construction of an additional mythology of place. Such was the evocative impact of the narrative that genuine confusion arose regarding its fictional nature. Lindsay's intentional vagueness contributed, but the rendering of Hanging Rock as inscrutable and supranormal encouraged a widely felt intuition that it could very feasibly be a place where the inexplicable might occur—somewhere people could seemingly vanish into thin air. The alchemy of Lindsay's writing combined with Weir's cinematic adroitness, replete with haunting musical score, pierced both the conscious and unconscious and made the story seem far more real than imagined. Debate persisted for years regarding whether the story was based on actual historical events, despite there being no evidence of any such things occurring. Many felt compelled to solve the mystery and various theories, essays, and articles circulated, along with books of hypothetical solutions that went into greater depth, such as The Murders at Hanging Rock by Yvonne Rousseau in 1980. Lindsay was repeatedly asked about this strange phenomenon throughout her life and expressed surprise at the time people invested. Lindsay's publisher was dismissive of these efforts, but Lindsay, although somewhat nonplussed, asserted, 'Yes, but something did happen', as though the facts were in some way unclear even to her. Anne Lambert, the actor who played Miranda, recalls her first meeting with Lindsay as being somewhat unusual. During a break from filming, Lambert and Lindsay came across one another, and Lambert remembers Lindsay's first words as being, 'Miranda, it's been so long!’ A heartfelt embrace followed, and Lambert says Lindsay had tears in her eyes—the moment was as authentically moving as if a true reunion was taking place. This indicates that there were genuinely aspects of this story that had a sort of reality for Lindsay, whether because of the experiential nature of the dream state that was its genesis, or because there were secrets known only to her that she had left purposefully unrevealed.
Picnic at Hanging Rock was famous for its lack of resolution, and this was central to its success and popularity. However, years after the book’s initial publication, it was revealed that a final chapter existed that explained the girls' fates, which had been excised by Lindsay's publisher prior to publication. This eighteenth chapter was published at Lindsay's request after her death as a standalone book in 1987 titled The Secret of Hanging Rock, and its release caused some controversy as it differs notably in style from the rest of the book. In contrast to the preceding chapters, The Secret of Hanging Rock has an almost stream-of-consciousness style, with some elements more aligned with science fiction. Opinions on this final chapter are mixed, with many feeling that it adds no value to the original text and instead detracts from it. Some even question its authenticity, so thoroughly does it deviate. Nonsensical conversations and descriptions of fantastical events like corsets floating in the air baffled people. A whirling vortex appearing in space took things into distinctly surreal territory. In particular, those who have attempted to parse this chapter’s full meaning often write about the almost Dadaist fatuity of the newly reappeared mathematics teacher 'turning into a crab'—the peak of absurdism via which this chapter was wholly denigrated. Upon closer reading, one might see that this is not so literally stated, yet it is still cited frequently as the kind of smoking gun that proves Lindsay had lost her way and that the publishers had unquestionably made the right decision to exclude the chapter. One contributor to a book of various theories who personally favoured a landslide explanation opined that to explain the mystery using 'inconsistent, supernatural, or far-fetched reasoning' degraded the reputation of 'both Joan Lindsay and of the novel itself’. One can imagine, given her knowledge of the withheld chapter as well as her interest in the esoteric throughout her life, that Lindsay might have found this severe attitude entertaining. It seemed that while so many people had wanted to know what had happened and had expended considerable time in puzzling it out, the resolution provided only left many frustrated because it so adamantly defies logic. The narrative up to this point makes sense, even if the conclusion is not entirely satisfactory, whereas The Secret of Hanging Rock takes a running leap into indisputably supernatural waters. Its existence remains mostly overlooked or consciously ignored, almost like an embarrassing relative. Due to this general dismissal, many people have no idea it even exists or that the famous mystery concerning the disappearances has been solved. Regardless, it appears that when offered this denouement, the preference is to retain the antecedent mystery along with its more morbid possibilities.
A later scene in both novel and film sees the characters Irma, Marion, and Miranda silently ascend the higher elevations of Hanging Rock, then disappear into a passage behind a monolith. Their fellow student Edith pleads with them to come back, but is ignored. The scene concludes with a solitary Edith screaming repeatedly in profound psychic agitation. This is the last we see of Marion and Miranda in the version of the narrative that most are familiar with. The Secret of Hanging Rock unfolds from this point. The departure from the preceding style begins immediately with language that infers something deeply peculiar has occurred:
'It is happening now. As it has been happening ever since Edith Horton ran stumbling and screaming towards the plain. As it will go on happening until the end of time. The scene is never varied by so much as the falling of a leaf or the flight of a bird. To the four people on the Rock it is always acted out in the tepid twilight of a present without a past. Their joys and agonies are forever new’.
These abstruse opening lines appear to allude to a quantum understanding of time as being non-linear, suggesting that the past, present, and future might coexist concurrently. Lindsay was reportedly fascinated by a curious tale involving two English academics named Charlotte Moberly and Eleanor Jourdain. The two women reported that while walking in the grounds of the Palace of Versailles one afternoon in 1901, they entered a region of the gardens where they encountered people clothed in late eighteenth-century dress, including Marie Antoinette herself. Titled An Adventure, their account of this experience was published in 1911 (using pseudonyms), and inspired considerable debate—no surprise given the women were claiming to have engaged in some kind of time travel. In writing, 'As it will go on happening until the end of time. The scene is never varied by so much as the falling of a leaf or the flight of a bird' Lindsay seems to be envisioning a variation of this strange episode, wherein a moment in time has somehow become embedded within a location, and can be accessed given certain conditions. Possibly, parts of Hanging Rock may be able to absorb events and serve as a repository of experience—the rock acting as a type of holographic plate—with this scene latent within it and reanimated by a specific type of light perhaps, replaying over and over, forever.
Having passed beyond the monolith and upon reaching another plateau, the girls are overcome with a profound lethargy that has them lie down and drift into a sleep so deep that a lizard feels secure enough to curl up in the crook of Marion's arm. Miranda awakens first and is greeted by 'a colourless twilight in which every detail was intensified, every object clearly defined and separate’. Shortly afterwards, more reference to this kind of hyper-sense or hallucinogenic state Miranda seems to be experiencing is made when Miranda hears the separate beating of Irma and Marion’s hearts while they still sleep. It becomes evident that choosing to venture through the passage behind the monolith involved a sort of initiation into an alternate reality, and the plateau they arrived upon is some kind of divergent dimension that operates as a transition point where the usual laws and limitations do not apply. The intimation is made early on that Hanging Rock is no ordinary place when it is noticed that several people's watches have suddenly stopped—the science fiction elements now introduced expand upon preexisting philosophical concepts rather than contradict them. Shortly after the other girls rouse themselves, an older woman bursts through the shrubs that border the plateau, ecstatically crying 'Through!' before collapsing to the ground in a faint. The girls do not seem to recognise her, nor she they, yet the narration suggests she is their mathematics teacher, Miss McCraw. Miranda loosens the woman’s corset to help revive her, and the girls then decide to remove their own and throw them over a nearby cliff. The corsets appear to hover statically in mid-air, while Miss McCraw propounds that they are 'stuck fast in time'. Miss McCraw seems perfectly at ease, even jubilant, and it appears she has arrived exactly where she hoped or expected to: 'I perceive that I have discarded a good deal of clothing. However, here I am. The pressure on my physical body must have been very severe’. This statement suggests that she was even quite well prepared, acknowledging that travelling through inter-dimensional portals is not necessarily easy on the body and there is no guarantee of arriving unscathed, hence her exhilaration upon arrival.
While the Many Worlds Interpretation (MWI) of quantum mechanics didn't acquire its formal name until 1970, it’s plausible that Lindsay was acquainted with its underlying concepts as proposed by American physicist Hugh Everett III in 1957. The MWI suggests the existence of numerous parallel worlds coexisting simultaneously in the same space and time as our own. Everett's hypothesis involves the idea of the universe ‘splitting’ into different versions when confronted with quantum choices. In the MWI, our reality is just one amongst an endless array of universes, all existing in the same physical space but evolving independently and isolated from one another. These universes contain replicas of individuals living lives that are almost indistinguishable yet unfold independently. This theory seems to align to a certain degree with the experiences of the characters on the plateau, where they perceive each other with a sense of familiarity yet notice subtle differences. After Miss McCraw comments on the corsets, Marion says to her, 'I didn’t mean to stare. Only when you said that about time I had such a funny feeling that I had met you somewhere. A long time ago’. It appears they have not yet integrated completely with these other versions of themselves, or they have retained their previous form, which now strives to adjust to this newly accessed universe, where everything is slightly mismatched and time does not operate on a simple continuum.
In the concluding pages of The Secret of Hanging Rock, the girls notice a snake lying beside a crack running underneath the lower of two massive boulders that are balanced on top of each other. After the snake slithers away behind some vines, they pull away the vegetation and reveal a hole in the ground, possibly the entrance to a cave or tunnel, into which the snake has disappeared. Understanding that they should follow, Miss McCraw requests to go first, saying that once inside she will rap on the rock to signal to the next person to join her. Contorting herself into a crab-like shape, she flattens herself upon the ground and is thus able to slip through the narrow opening. Here is the much derided point at which McGraw 'turns into a crab'. However, what is actually written is less literal. Given the somewhat jumbled together imagery of crab-like features, human body parts and clothing, it seems more likely to have been a purely fanciful descriptive passage, especially as the two who follow apparently have no need to shape-shift in order to enter. Marion follows after receiving the agreed-upon tapping signal. After her departure, Irma suddenly becomes very reluctant to enter the hole, and implores Miranda not to go 'down there’. Miranda, however, is excited about the coming adventure and eagerly approaches upon hearing her cue. Irma waits, but no signal comes. Eventually, one of the boulders falls precisely over the entrance to the hole, denying Irma ingress.
Picnic at Hanging Rock, with and without the addition of the eighteenth chapter, transcends straightforward storytelling and delves into the mythic. The act of entering the hole/cave correlates with numerous ancient myths that involve passages through an underworld. Caves have historically been venerated by pagans as places of magical energy, and associated with landscapes of spiritual significance in various traditions. They frequently symbolise thresholds of transformation, connecting the material and ethereal realms, and venturing into an underworld through caves is a process commonly linked with transmutative journeys after death. It's noteworthy that those granted entry to this symbolic underworld at Hanging Rock possess character traits that make them well-suited for such potential metamorphosis. Miranda, with her love of nature and philosophical inclinations, Marion, a kind of natural scientist, and Miss McCraw, a mathematician—a poet in her own way, fluent in the language of Pythagoras and the music of the spheres. These characters all have the capacity to see beyond the superficial and are more attuned to appreciating abstract existence and its miracles.
At least part of the reason why Picnic at Hanging Rock affected people deeply was likely because it contained these genuinely mythological aspects familiar across many cultures that appear in parables reflecting human challenges, encompassing universal themes like birth, death, and the afterlife. Mythic elements such as supernatural phenomena, journeying, and transformation are all evidenced in the narrative, and many sections appear to have a dual meaning due to subtly inlaid archetypal symbolism. The ultimately mythological nature of the story becomes especially clear in The Secret of Hanging Rock, when a kind of hero's quest culminates for the chosen few who stand at the threshold of entry into another level of existence. Even the way in which the story originated has mythological features, coming in dream form like messages from an otherworld. Throughout the novel and film, a pervasive theme of dreaming is evident—the opening scenes of the film could not make this more clear when a voice recites a paraphrasing of Edgar Allen Poe: 'All that we are, and all that we seem, is but a dream within a dream.' Characters drift in and out of sleep, waking up in altered realities, as is the case in many mythological tales. Obviously, discussing dreaming and landscapes in the Australian context could be a reference to Aboriginal Australian beliefs concerning the Dreamtime, but I think Lindsay perhaps had the sensitivity and humility not to try and appropriate culturally specific concepts inlaid with multiple layers of meaning, and instead relied on her own feeling for place and her interpretation of its psychic space.
The sense of impending grief subtly introduced from the beginning permeates, generating a melancholy undercurrent that flows beneath the surface frivolity. As the character Miranda begins her initial ascent of Hanging Rock, she turns and waves, and although she has promised to return soon we see finality in this gesture, especially as Miranda has already advised her devoted friend Sara to find others to love as she 'won’t be here much longer’. The anguish the events that followed provoked in many was another of the defining impacts of Picnic at Hanging Rock. The film’s aesthetic beauty and pace, which bestowed an almost hypnotic quality, contributed to the audience's connection with the characters and created for some a deep emotional investment. Many felt a real sense of loss following the disappearances, especially that of Miranda. Anne Lambert has spoken in interviews of being approached and embraced by complete strangers who recognise her from the film. There is a palpable air of relief as they do so, reassuring themselves that Miranda is still here, and not lost after all.
Although the inferences to parallel universes seem clear in the concluding chapter, there are also indicators implying that the foreshadowed deaths have occurred, although this is not directly stated. The disorientating circumstances and altered behaviour of the girls upon awakening on the plateau, along with their disordered dialogue, have a similarity to the chaos that often follows bereavement, both for those left behind and perhaps for the departed themselves. Such a scenario would correspond in some ways with the Tibetan Buddhist concept of the Bardo—an intermediate state between life and death—wherein all manner of singular phenomena can occur as the newly disembodied consciousness reckons with the transmutational process, and the arrival into a new form and sensory reality. The confusion described mirrors the real-life experience of grappling with the profundity of death and its associated changes. The characters become new to one another in a place where old connections no longer exist and where memories are of no more substance than a dream. Despite exhibiting heightened perception and apparent memory loss regarding aspects of their identities and each other, there is a lack of distress over this, contrary to conventional expectations. The act of discarding their corsets becomes emblematic of their entry into non-material existence or, at the very least, a new existence detached from the material world. The plateau is conceivably an intermediate space between earthbound existence and the disincarnate—a type of antechamber—and the three individuals who venture into the hole are evidently passing completely from their former state of being with no option to return—the falling boulder makes this demarcation clear. The slightly disparate element here is Irma, who, while allowed to experience this space, is not able to progress further. At this transitional juncture, it appears that she could choose to go in either direction, but the choice was made for her. Perhaps her expression of apprehension and reluctance was enough to have an invitation rescinded. However, although she eventually returns to the world, it seems that she was not untouched by the strange conditions experienced in this in-between region. When found after several days, she is barefoot and unharmed, with no signs of injury or the effects of exposure to be expected after such a period of time.
As Irma waited in vain to receive her signal, her gaze fixed on the colourless sky, she asked aloud, 'Where were they going? Where was anyone going? Why, oh why, had Miranda thrust her bright head into a dark hole in the ground?' This echoes the unanswerable questions that arise when confronted with the incomprehensible, that those grieving often grapple with when faced with an irrevocably altered life and severed bonds. In subsequent moments after the boulder falls, Irma, in her misery, flings herself upon it, tearing and beating at it with her bare hands, expressing the wordless horror of the realisation that she will never see them again. Her desperate cries of distress and grief embody a stark recognition of mortality and our inherent powerlessness. This scene conveys the devastation of sudden and absolute absence, when a loved one precedes you into the unknown, and the inconceivable extinguishment of something bright and alive. In a way, this entire last chapter's uncompromising and abrupt nature reflects in its overall form the surreal and awkward realities of death—the lack of closure, the unresolved business, and the untidy endings that can characterise the aftermath of loss.
The Secret of Hanging Rock actually harmonises unreservedly with what is in aggregate a deeply metaphysical story, based at first on sensorial impressions and gestated in a subliminal dream state—states that don’t always make sense except perhaps in a sort of intuitive feeling of rightness. Dreams reveal variances of reality that, by their very nature, seem resistant to language; honing them into a logical narrative often necessitates the dissolution of the original impulse. In this concluding chapter, Lindsay gives the dream language its head and makes little effort to shape it into the tidy structure of the preceding chapters, polished down to a more palatable end product. If one is able to shrug off the meaning constructed through decades of understanding the incomplete story as a particular thing, one sees that rather than being an aberration, the last chapter makes sense of numerous allusions that appear earlier in the text and brings together all these themes of love, loss, longing, separation, and transition. The book is revealed as something far superior to a discourse upon nature as something intimidating and ever-ready to chasten the trespasser, and far more than an unusually engrossing thriller. Instead, it is a journey between worlds upon an ancient site with the apparent power to facilitate metamorphosis, permitting something exceptional to come into being. Although many were apparently unimpressed, it is salient to note that despite its divisive nature, Lindsay specifically wanted The Secret of Hanging Rock to be published. And while it is often pointed out that it was still in draft form as a way of perhaps invalidating it, the fact is that Lindsay certainly had plenty of time to tweak and correct it in the close to two decades between its writing and her death. If she had wanted to fully accept the verdict of her publisher that her novel was better without it, she could have, but she didn’t. I assume that although many are clearly dissatisfied with it, she was not.
While the mystery of what happened to the schoolgirls and their teacher is ostensibly resolved, in some ways their fate remains uncertain, leaving room for yet more interpretations. It would seem one of the most important things to keep in mind when trying to decipher this eighteenth chapter is that it is not sensible, it is unapologetically illogical, which conversely makes the most sense. Events may seem irrational, but they are perfectly coherent in dream vernacular, in that of a parallel universe, or if occurring in an atypical state. The uncertainty revolves around whether the characters have actually died, leading to an afterlife scenario, or if they have embarked on travel through multiple universes. However, it appears that it is not necessarily one or the other, and rather that there is a fusion of concepts involving liminal states that suggest death is not to be feared as it is not a categorical end. It may well be that the afterlife is when we see science fiction made real. Every possible interpretation might be valid, especially in the context of a discussion of the Many Worlds Interpretation, wherein Everett suggested that our belief in a single outcome of a measurement is a limitation. In truth, all possible outcomes occur simultaneously. While we may perceive only one reality, others exist independently with their own.
The beautifully poetic final chapter enriches and elucidates the rest of the text, and to surmise otherwise deprives one of an appreciation of the far greater breadth of Lindsay's objectives for her work. An expectation of menace leads some to prefer to interpret Picnic at Hanging Rock as a murder mystery, which in turn colours some perspectives of place. With The Secret of Hanging Rock, these vengeful notions are dispelled—this was never Lindsay’s intention. Rather than emphasising threat and otherness, Lindsay suggests the possibility of harmonious blending, encouraging connection between humanity and the natural world. Hanging Rock is not a malicious deity waiting to distribute punishment to interlopers; for those who greet it with joy, appreciation, and trust, it is embracing—a nexus of gateways, a location existing beyond the constraints of time. Hanging Rock is reinforced as a site for transition and initiation, as it has been over many millennia, esteemed by Aboriginal Australians as a meeting place and ceremonial ground. It is a mystical, primordial realm that emanates a distinctive atmosphere as a citadel of ancient power, whose rocks retain the records of ages, and where deeply human, cross-cultural myths converge. Rather than a macabre vanishing point, it is a place of awakening, and arrival into new worlds of illumination.