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My mother never really coped while I was growing up. My dad died when I was seven and she had a nervous breakdown. My sister got murdered when I was about 15. She had just turned 18. That's when my life rolled out of control.
mapping the cobbled Parisian dawn .. in search of juxtaposition .. stairways, upturned street vendors' carts .. unglamorous prostitutes, pedlars .. the stillness of odd, aged architecture .. angles, spaces awash with light
The rule seems to be that one's attitude to Harry Potter should be either obsession, derision, or total lack of interest. If that's true, I'm in a minority: I am an equivocal fan. A few of the books are great. At least one is bloody awful. The movies are similarly hit-and-miss.
A landmark ruling in Victoria's 'terrorism trial' found the accused were subjected to oppressive conditions beyond what prisoners on remand should endure. It's as if they were to be punished prior to the outcome of the trial, irrespective of the jury verdict.
The problems besetting Wall Street investment banks seem a long way from life in downtown Australia. The need to know the context of the economic crisis, and to keep a clear head, has never been more important.
Are we writing too many of them? Is there a crisis of relevance in Austlit? No, argues Delia Falconer.
Tony Smith reviews Ian Rankin’s Fleshmarket Close; Garry Disher’s Kittyhawk Down and Alexander McCall Smith’s The Sunday Philosophy Club.
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