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And in the middle in khaki shorts, dusty knees, is he. Aged twelve he already has a certain earnestness, the solemnity, trying to comprehend what is incomprehensible, ‘he wouldn’t know what day it is’.
He. is an elusive, elliptical, often beautiful thread of observations and memories. It is not autobiography, or even memoir, but a portrait of a figure shown to be passing through time and circumstances.
In vignettes, sometimes mere fragments, we glimpse moments and lives—parents, teachers, wives; in Bombay of the 1960s, Paris and London of the 1970s, Melbourne and Sydney—as this figure remembers the years.
These are Murray Bail’s last reflections on his life: the final book from the acclaimed author of such classic novels as The Pages, Eucalyptus (winner of the Miles Franklin Literary Award) and Homesickness.
‘One of the most remarkable of the generation of Australian fiction writers that includes Peter Carey and came to first maturity 25 or so years ago.’
‘Few writers anywhere in the world can match [Bail] for stylistic daring.’
‘One of Australia’s most original and imaginative writers.’
‘As a storyteller, Bail cannot put a foot wrong.’
‘Bail writes like an angel.‘
‘Murray Bail ranks as one of three indisputably world-class Australian novelists now practicing.’