In Chapter 2, the author makes use of personification and foreshadowing to describe Mr. Melvyn’s discontent with his family’s secure, remote life on the stations of Bruggabrong and Bin Bin:
The fact of the matter was that the heartless harridan, discontent, had laid her claw-like hand upon him.
Sybylla's family is forced to leave Bruggabrong, their cherished home, due to this unsettling feeling of dissatisfaction that overwhelms her father. He cannot shake it, and so he disrupts their entire existence to move to pastures new and try a career in the stock-market. Franklin employs personification to represent “discontent” as a "heartless harridan" that has clutched Mr. Melvyn with her "claw-like hand". This “harridan”—a pejorative term for an ill-tempered and bossy woman— is portrayed as merciless and destructive. Sybylla feels that discontent’s “claw-like hand” manipulates her father's emotions, leading to drastic and unwise decisions.
By attributing human characteristics to this abstract feeling, the author amplifies the emotional gravity of the situation. Franklin’s description here makes the discontent Mr. Melvyn feels seem independent of his own personality. It is an evil force, “heartless,” and actively destructive. This serves to enhance the reader's empathy for Sybylla's father, who might otherwise seem like a villain. Instead, Franklin presents Mr. Melvyn as a victim of his emotions, controlled and led astray by his discontent.
In Chapter 5, Franklin employs personification and paradox to illustrate Sybylla's internal conflict. As Sybylla yearns for a life beyond her small farming community, she grapples with the nature of hope:
Hope—sweet, cruel, delusive Hope—whispered in my ear that life was long with much by and by, and in that by and by my dream life would be real.
The personification of Hope as a "sweet, cruel" and "delusive" being adds depth to Sybylla's struggle against her poverty and the decline in her family’s circumstances. Hope is "sweet" in its allure, providing Sybylla with dreams of an alternative future filled with opportunities and excitement. At the same time, it's "cruel" because that picture is the opposite of her current reality.
"Hope" emphasizes the gap between her aspirations and her circumstances. This personification helps the reader feel the psychological tension that Sybylla faces. It's clear in this passage that for Sybylla, hope is a double-edged sword—it brings her both pleasure and pain. The term "delusive"also suggests the uncertainty inherent in Sybylla's hopes They may or may not come to fruition, and this precariousness adds some psychological tension to the narrative.
Franklin also uses the duality of “Hope” to reflect the paradox in the feelings Sybylla has towards her future. On the one hand, she craves more than what her life currently offers; this is the "sweetness" of hope. On the other hand, the very act of hoping serves as a bitter reminder of her restrictive surroundings: this is its cruelty. The idea that hope can be “sweet” and “cruel” at the same time is paradoxical, and it reflects Sybylla's youthful struggle to understand herself. Hoping makes things better and worse. Franklin uses all these contradictions to give the reader a sense of Sybylla’s complex, nuanced feelings surrounding her difficulties.
In Chapter 10, Franklin employs personification, similes of wind and weather, and auditory imagery to infuse the landscape of Caddagat with a sense of melancholy and regret. This also foreshadows Sybylla’s later grief and longing for her life there. Sybylla tells the reader that almost every night at her grandmother's house:
Aunt Helen would sing in her sweet, sad voice all the beautiful old songs I loved, while I curled myself on a mat at her side and read books—the music often compelling me to forget the reading, and the reading occasionally rendering me deaf to the music; but through both ever came the solemn rush of the stream outside in its weird melancholy, like a wind ceaselessly endeavoring to outstrip a wild vain regret which relentlessly pursued.
The constant sound of the stream is described in this passage as having a "weird melancholy," almost as if it's sad itself. Because the stream isn’t alive, the “solemn rush” of the sound of its passing seems almost supernatural in its intensity. The auditory imagery Franklin uses here is both appealing and creepy, making the scene seem unreal. Sybylla herself seems to waver between deafness and hearing, as the music and her reading interrupt one another. Though the scene is not a noisy one, its description is packed with conflicting sounds.
The stream's continuous flow is also compared to a "wind ceaselessly endeavoring to outstrip a wild vain regret which relentlessly pursued." This simile, featuring personification of the wind, makes the setting and the sound of the stream seem even more regretful and sorrowful. It also foreshadows the “wild vain hope” of returning to Caddagat that the older Sybylla will feel. It's not just Sybylla who's feeling regret and loss; the landscape of Caddagat seems to feel it, too.
In Chapter 14, Australia itself becomes personified. The personification of the country works as a motif in the novel, and is often accompanied by metaphors of parenthood and the human body. In this chapter, Sybylla poses a rhetorical question to the reader, asking:
Australia can bring forth writers, orators, financiers, singers, musicians, actors, and athletes which are second to none of any nation under the sun. Why can she not bear sons, men of soul, mind, truth, godliness, and patriotism sufficient to rise and cast off the grim shackles which widen round us day by day?
The passage reflects Sybylla’s wish for Australia—then under British imperial rule—to achieve its “true” potential and shake off oppression. Her plea here uses a metaphor of birth and motherhood to personify Australia. She compares the country to a childbearing woman and its people to her children. She lists many distinguished occupations, asking why her country can’t also “birth” patriots. Sybylla wants to see “men of soul, mind, truth, godliness, and patriotism" instead of just artists and athletes. She wants people she feels could liberate the country from its metaphorical "shackles."
At the end of the novel, Chapter 38, the motif of Australia as having human qualities resurfaces. Sybylla expresses her pride in her Australian identity and her connection to the land as she bids farewell to her reader:
I am proud that I am an Australian, a daughter of the Southern Cross, a child of the mighty bush. I am thankful I am a peasant, a part of the bone and muscle of my nation, and earn my bread by the sweat of my brow, as man was meant to do. I rejoice I was not born a parasite, one of the bloodsuckers who loll on velvet and satin, crushed from the proceeds of human sweat and blood and souls. Ah, my sunburnt brothers!—sons of toil and of Australia! I love and respect you well, for you are brave and good and true. [...] My ineffective life will be trod out in the same round of toil—I am only one of yourselves, I am only an unnecessary, little, bush commoner, I am only a—woman!
The personification in this passage also includes a metaphor comparing Australia to a mother, as Sybylla describes herself as a “daughter” and a “child” of Australian things. The country is also compared to a physical human body here. Through the metaphor of being a part of the "bone and muscle of [her] nation," Sybylla emphasizes how deep she feels her link with Australia goes. Her fervent rejection of being a “parasite” who does not work aligns her with the “sons of toil” that she praises. In this passage, both Australians and Australia itself are depicted as people living an honest, laborious life, rather than a wealthy, lazy one. Sybylla is proud to be a peasant and embraces it as part of her Australian identity.
In Chapter 14, Australia itself becomes personified. The personification of the country works as a motif in the novel, and is often accompanied by metaphors of parenthood and the human body. In this chapter, Sybylla poses a rhetorical question to the reader, asking:
Australia can bring forth writers, orators, financiers, singers, musicians, actors, and athletes which are second to none of any nation under the sun. Why can she not bear sons, men of soul, mind, truth, godliness, and patriotism sufficient to rise and cast off the grim shackles which widen round us day by day?
The passage reflects Sybylla’s wish for Australia—then under British imperial rule—to achieve its “true” potential and shake off oppression. Her plea here uses a metaphor of birth and motherhood to personify Australia. She compares the country to a childbearing woman and its people to her children. She lists many distinguished occupations, asking why her country can’t also “birth” patriots. Sybylla wants to see “men of soul, mind, truth, godliness, and patriotism" instead of just artists and athletes. She wants people she feels could liberate the country from its metaphorical "shackles."
At the end of the novel, Chapter 38, the motif of Australia as having human qualities resurfaces. Sybylla expresses her pride in her Australian identity and her connection to the land as she bids farewell to her reader:
I am proud that I am an Australian, a daughter of the Southern Cross, a child of the mighty bush. I am thankful I am a peasant, a part of the bone and muscle of my nation, and earn my bread by the sweat of my brow, as man was meant to do. I rejoice I was not born a parasite, one of the bloodsuckers who loll on velvet and satin, crushed from the proceeds of human sweat and blood and souls. Ah, my sunburnt brothers!—sons of toil and of Australia! I love and respect you well, for you are brave and good and true. [...] My ineffective life will be trod out in the same round of toil—I am only one of yourselves, I am only an unnecessary, little, bush commoner, I am only a—woman!
The personification in this passage also includes a metaphor comparing Australia to a mother, as Sybylla describes herself as a “daughter” and a “child” of Australian things. The country is also compared to a physical human body here. Through the metaphor of being a part of the "bone and muscle of [her] nation," Sybylla emphasizes how deep she feels her link with Australia goes. Her fervent rejection of being a “parasite” who does not work aligns her with the “sons of toil” that she praises. In this passage, both Australians and Australia itself are depicted as people living an honest, laborious life, rather than a wealthy, lazy one. Sybylla is proud to be a peasant and embraces it as part of her Australian identity.