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592 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 2007
was only twenty-six years old and she believed she had lived an entire life. Wynter [her violent drug-addict boyfriend] had removed the middle of it, cut it out of her, and hooked her childhood onto early middle age. She had spent an eternity in motel rooms and in cars and in the unending stupors they had experienced together where it was always dusk or dawn, where there was always new and old light, fresh yellow and old yellow, clear and blurred shadows, but never a moment without a trace of the night. (p. 77)There is some wonderful writing here: Aurora visits the Buckley’s Crossing Hotel in Dalgety and feels that “it had been the epicentre of the dialogue of a town” (p. 544); Wilfred takes a child fishing and recalls fishing with his father: “How relentless, this thing called life. Everything going forward, getting faster. He was glad the boy did not yet know this. That a day still stretched forever” (p. 609); after a bushfire, Wilfred rides through the blackened country where sheep “smouldered like peat bogs” (p. 613).
Lives were mercurial. They slipped and shimmered and darted. Then they were different again, in one person’s memory, and then another. And in the next layer, with the stories and memories relayed to another and removed from direct observation and experience, life became something else, part of the life of the person doing the telling, and away it went again… (p. 699).Highly recommended!