the human zoo is not the exhibition of savagery but its construction
[le zoo humain n’est pas l’exhibition de la sauvagerie, mais la construction de celle-ci]
– Bancel et al., Zoos Humains

The above is the epigraph to Paris Savages, a fictional imagining of a true story involving human zoos.

One of the more perverse products of colonialism, native people from various ‘exotic’ locations were publicly exhibited to crowds of curious white people in ‘ethnological shows’. Paris Savages recounts the journey of three Badtjala people from K’gari (Fraser Island) in Queensland to the shows of Europe.

The story of Bonangera (Boni), Dorondera and Jurano, taken to Europe as living exhibits in 1882–83, may have been lost to time were it not for the full body cast of Boni, located in a museum in Lyon, France.

The piece is endlessly perplexing: a near-perfect 3D representation of a Badtjala man from 135 years ago, it is aesthetically as strikingly beautiful as any classical Renaissance statuary, but it is not art. Unlike many other museum pieces, it is not actual pilfered human remains, but it was born out of the same colonial context, and racialised 19th century notions of science. It is both disturbing and a marvel. The museum in Lyon does not have it on display, out of respect.

The cast - labelled only as ‘Australien lancant le boomerang’ - led researchers to try to find out more about this man and eventually scant details were pieced together: his name, that of his companions, their origins on K’gari and participation in the ethnographic shows. Johnson’s novel aims to fill the gaps in the historical record by imagining what the group’s experiences in Europe might have been like.

The novel is a respectful and well-researched piece of historical fiction, and I am grateful to Johnson for bringing this story to a wider audience. Some of the fictional aspects didn’t quite work for me, notably the (completely invented) young German girl who is the main character, and the sections narrated by a mysterious ghostly presence.

I highly recommend Paris Savages for anyone with a particular interest in the subject of human zoos, or fans of Australian historical fiction generally. For a strictly non-fiction take on Boni's story, the radio documentary Cast Among Strangers is excellent, and the link also includes photos of Boni’s cast.

‘My views on the matter are quite strong, you may have gathered. The matter is simple. The spectacs have grown in size and nature and are now something quite ugly, telling us more about ourselves than the visiting tribes. If you keep showing him, as you have,’ he said, ‘his worth as a natural example of his type will diminish. It would be a great loss.’


This novel has rather devastated me in the way that only brilliant fiction can. There is a beautiful spirituality present throughout the entire novel that is in sharp contrast to the distressing history that it conveys. I have heard in passing about humans from different cultures appearing in ethnographic exhibitions, but I have never been immersed into a story that explores it so fully. It is a history that is so offensive, yet these ethnic shows, ‘human zoos’, were big business in Europe and America in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. I can barely fathom a society that considered showing fellow humans beings in such a manner – an entirely dehumanising practice that really redefines for me, exactly who was the more ‘savage race'. The shows themselves were tragic enough, but the scientific research was distressing and sickening. There seemed to have been a complete detachment on the part of scientists. These people were specimens to experiment on, not human beings to consider. This novel is meant to make the reader uncomfortable. Hidden histories once exposed are like that.


‘During our time here Papa has added to the ethnographic notes that our patron, Mr Sheridan, requested. Papa's own tests included measurements of people’s bodies and strength, although Mama and I never liked such invasions. As Mama said, we do not need rulers and lengths of tape to see that our friends are as human as we are. ‘The act of measurement reduces us, Louis,’ she said, not unkindly, taking his hand into her own. Mama, like Mr Sheridan, preferred studies of what people do and what they know. But Papa argued that scientists overseas would demand objective facts.’


Paris Savages is uniquely narrated. We have Hilda, who is compassionate and personally attached to Bonny, Jurano and Dorondera. Then we gain additional insight into Hilda’s perspective via her diary, offering the reader an interesting dual gaze from the one perspective. It was cleverly done. A third perspective is offered by a ghost narrator, whose job it is to tell us the story from Bonny’s perspective. I really loved this narrative tool, it was beautifully done, harnessing Bonny’s spirituality and conveying his intelligent analysis of the situation he and his fellow Badtjala travellers had found themselves in. We are also privy to what is going on back home in Fraser Island through the gaze of this perspective. Like I mentioned earlier, this is a very immersive novel and this is largely owing to the style of narration.


‘Do not think the ghost storyteller is blind to Hilda’s distress. She feels it deeply, but that is another story, and it is Bonny’s story she promised to tell now as best she can. Hilda, the ghost storyteller has seen, has started a journal. The ghost storyteller is pleased. She goes on, whispering the story into the wind in the hope it will be heard by all who stop to listen.’


I felt very much a part of the story in terms of journeying through it all with Hilda. Right from the beginning, when they all board the ship off the coast of Fraser Island, I was filled with a sense of unease that was mirrored within Hilda. As her unease moves into concern, morphing into distress at what is happening to her friends, so too did I feel all of these emotions and feelings of entrenched dread and horror at what was unfolding. I found this to be such an affecting novel, yet not so much that I couldn’t read it because it was too distressing, more that I wanted to know everything about the history; I wanted to fully appreciate the horror of what has been done to indigenous people in the pursuit of science and spectacle, with callous regard for them as human beings. Exploring this history through fiction was ideal for me, because I honestly could not have gone there with it in a non-fiction form. As far as colonial history goes, this is a sample of some of our worst. I am so grateful to Katherine Johnson for giving us Paris Savages. It is an exceptional novel that is so well informed, intelligently articulated, and portrayed with truth and empathy. Highly recommended reading.


‘Hilda felt sick. What had she and her father done bringing Bonny, Dorondera and Jurano here? She had thought they were helping. She had hoped the crowds would look upon her friends with the admiration the three had been denied in their own country and that they would be treated well.’



Thanks is extended to Ventura Press for providing me with a copy of Paris Savages via NetGalley for review.

‘They are dying under our noses.’

K’gari/ Fraser Island, 1882. The population of the indigenous Badtjala people is in sharp decline: introduced illness and brutal massacres have each had an impact. This is a part of our history that many Australians prefer not to think of. In this novel, based on a true story, Ms Johnson invites us to revisit an uncomfortable past.

‘This is a work of imagination inspired by the little-known true story of three Aboriginal people - Bonangera (Bonny/Boni), Dorondera and Jurano – taken to Europe as living exhibits in 1882-83.’

Louis Müller, a German engineer, his wife Christel and their daughter Hilda have been living on K’gari for some time. But Christel dies, and Louis Müller receives an invitation, from a man called Hagenbeck, to return home to Germany if he takes three Badtjala natives with them. Louis Müller tells Hilda that there is great interest in seeing them, and if the dangers of extinction become known, perhaps a reserve will be created. Hilda has misgivings, but eighteen-year-old Bonangera (Bonny) agrees on behalf of himself, twenty-two-year-old Jurano and his fifteen-year old niece, Donordera.

Bonny agrees, believing that while the journey will require the trio to perform in Hamburg, Berlin and Paris, they will then travel to London where they will seek help from Queen Victoria.

Nothing goes according to plan. Three people, displaced from their homes, treated as curiosities in a human zoo. Three people treated as living exhibits. Three people who’ve been taught to speak the ‘civilised’ languages of English and German but who are told to only speak Badjtala so they will appear authentic. Three people required to wear their customary clothing in the cold climates of Europe.

‘But it is worth keeping in mind that speaking a language is not the same as knowing someone’s thought.’

Much of the story is told by Hilda, who becomes increasingly uncomfortable with what is happening.
There were times when I had to put this novel down. While we can only imagine how Bonny, Jurano and Donordera felt, and the stories they would each tell, there is enough fact behind the fiction to make me feel very uncomfortable. Despite this discomfort (and perhaps because of it), I recommend this novel to all Australians seeking to know more of (at times uncomfortable) colonial history.

‘There is comfort to be gained from remembering the bravery of the people who journeyed before you.’

Note: My thanks to NetGalley and Simon & Schuster Australia for providing me with a free electronic copy of this book for review purposes.

Jennifer Cameron-Smith