What do you think?
Rate this book
As I set out from the city's southern end, the sandstone walls beneath the Central railway line still held the day's heat …The moon rose from the invisible harbour into a sky of such a deep royal blue it was almost hard to believe in. The street smelled of low tide. For all its beauty, the city could return in an instant to pulp. And that thought was strangely cheering. Sydney has always been the sexiest and brashest of our cities, but perhaps the most misunderstood. In this new edition of Sydney , Delia Falconer conjures up its sandstone, humidity and jacarandas, its fireworks, glitz and magic. But she discards lazy stereotypes to reveal a complex beautiful, violent, half-wild, and at times deeply spiritual. Beginning with her childhood in a decaying '70s Sydney, caught between a faded Art Deco age and mega development, Falconer intertwines her own stories with the wellsprings of the city's history and its literary past. Melancholic, moving, and funny, Sydney is intensely atmospheric and seductive. In a new afterward, Falconer ponders the city's twenty-first century transformations—might it have become a softer, nicer place? Will it be able to withstand the real presence of climate change?
320 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2010
11 people are currently reading
159 people want to read
About the author
Delia Falconer
26 books20 followersDelia Falconer is the author of two novels, The Service of Clouds and The Lost Thoughts of Soldiers and Selected Stories and the memoir Sydney. Her fiction and non-fiction have been widely anthologised, including in the Macquarie PEN Anthology of Australian Literature. She is a senior lecturer in creative writing at the University of Technology, Sydney.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 34 reviews
Read
January 12, 2022Three years ago, I fell in love with Sydney. Big cities fascinate me because of the sheer amount of stories, the depths and layers and treasure hunts, and, while I still don’t fully understand what it is about a particular place that slots like a puzzle piece into my heart and memory, in this case, it was not any preconceived notion: I expected to prefer Melbourne’s planned grids and coffee culture to brash, self-assured Sydney, but it was the latter, with its chaos and a faint feel of melancholy and remembered violence under the glitz of Christmas trees and the glamour of its harbour, whose story I was desperate to read. And there were also the ‘simple’ touristy pleasures: the light (“There is the sense … that it comes not from the sky, but the ground, that it is some glowing emission of the sandy earth”; “And at dusk, when the light is most like that of the bush, the landscape gives the illusion, as it does in the wild, of undergoing an almost spiritual transformation from harsh to soft”, writes Delia Falconer), the wild abundance of its residents (Australian white ibises roaming the streets, flying foxes like a shadow puppet theatre in the dusk), an endless bus ride through the easy living of the eastern suburbs, the unexpected greens of the beach walks, Waverly Cemetery perched on the rocks. Having sampled a few Aussie places and barely scratched the surface of the great continent, I promised myself to come back for an exploration of Tasmania as well as an extended return to Sydney before boarding the Indian - Pacific to Western Australia, this time switching between the half-forgotten, rough fabric of the researched past and the smoothness of a ride frequented by ‘grey nomads’.
Falconer’s Sydney is not the one of today (“Ask anyone who lives in a large city to describe ‘their’ town and it will probably be the city of their early twenties, when their generation seemed to own it; but in my generation’s case, for a little while, when the inner city was a ruin, we really did.”). Her Sydney is not the showy playground of McMansions and exorbitant real estate prices, it is often the epitome of squalor - and it has changed, seemingly irreversibly. And yet both Sydneys - the old one and the new - seem to teem with memories, arteries faintly pulsing under the surface, like the rivers forgotten in the boarded-up belly of that mutable city.
Here are some of the stories of Sydney that I want to remember:
- In 2000, the Sydney Harbour Bridge spelled the word ‘Eternity’ as part of its firework display. For 30 years in the 20th century, Sydneysiders would wake up to find the word scribbled in chalk on the pavements of their city, and the identity of the person behind the act remained unknown until the 1960s. One of the great ironies is that, even though the illiterate Arthur Stace had reproduced the same word over and over again, following the millennium firework display ushering in the 21st century, Sydney City Council decided to trademark the script.
- I have loved the word ‘jacaranda’ for some years now (the ‘j’ pronounced like a /h/ in Spanish, a /dʒ/ in English, and a /ʒ/ in Portuguese (the trees are originally from Brazil)). But I did not know that October and November are jacaranda season in Sydney. Falconer mentions that there is a special moment when the number of fallen flowers reaches an equilibrium with those still on the trees, resulting in an uncanny mirroring effect; also, she notes that jacaranda trees are often planted next to the bright red Illawarra flame trees, and when the two colours alternate, the effect is spectacular. (There is also this story - “For a few decades, in the middle of last century, a hospital on the north shore sent each mother of a newborn home with a jacaranda seedling. And so when the valleys on either side of the city’s tram lines flare violet in October and November, each bright burst represents the beginning of a life.” The same story apparently also exists in Queensland, so its historical veracity is doubtful, but that does not detract from its loveliness). In an afterword to this - second - edition of Falconer's book, she mentions that in recent years, jacaranda viewing has become an Instagram phenomenon, and I cannot help but think again of reflections and mirroring, the impermanence of memory and the disorienting permanence of photographs without context.
- From Patyegarang, an Aboriginal woman, Lieutenant William Dawes learned words from the Eora language; one of these constructions, recorded in his notebooks, is "to warm one's hands by the fire and then to squeeze gently the fingers of another person".
- There is a lot of unease in the stories of Sydney, too: the clearing of spiritually important sites (of the Eora), the destruction of the memory of the convict colony, the bush that stalks the suburbs, the lantana, the spiders and cockroaches, the smells, deaths, murders, disappearances. Or the story of the - allegedly - Lithuanian couple who fled Europe after World War II, and terrified of being persecuted by the KGB, hid in a cave in the Northern Shore suburbs for at least 25 years, the man emerging with the heartbreaking ‘Meine Frau ist tot’.
- The stonemasons in Pyrmont once classified the grades of Sydney sandstone as hellhole, purgatory and paradise (depending on the degree of difficulty in working with them).
- The story of Mei Quong Tart.
- The bit about the ‘six o’clock swill’ reminded me of a painting I once saw somewhere and whose name I then swiftly forgot - after finding it again, I realised that it is not a Sydney story but a Melbourne one: Collins St., 5pm, by John Brack; it is The Bar, also by John Brack, that captures the ‘six o’clock swill’.
Sites:
- The Satyr sculpture in the Botanic Gardens by Guy Lynch, modelled on his younger brother Joe Lynch, a cartoonist who drowned in the harbour; Kenneth Slessor’s ‘Five Bells’ is written about Joe Lynch
- The Cadigal carvings on the Bondi to Bronte Beach Walk, at MacKenzies Point (following Peter Solness’ photographs)
- The convict bricks in the Fitzroy Gardens in Kings Cross (in particular, the dog paw prints)
- El Alamein Fountain in Fitzroy Gardens, Kings Cross
- The Luna Park
- The Yellow House in Potts Point
- The Powerhouse Museum
- Customs House
- Flemington Markets
Reading list:
Kenneth Slessor
Voss, The Vivisector (Patrick White)
The Harp in the South (Ruth Park)
Southern Lights and Shadows (Frank Fowler)
Lieutenant William Dawes’ notebooks, available in a digital copy online
Illywhacker (Peter Carey)
For Love Alone (Christina Stead)
Tirra Lirra by the River (Jessica Anderson)
Hidden in Plain View (Paul Irish)
D'harawal: seasons and climatic cycles (compiled by Frances Bodkin)
Misc:
1977 ABC Radio's Double J documentary looking at the conflict between residents of Victoria St in Kings Cross and developers
Finally, some Australian words that I particularly loved: wowser(ism), to have tickets on oneself, rort, grog shop, furphy
Falconer’s Sydney is not the one of today (“Ask anyone who lives in a large city to describe ‘their’ town and it will probably be the city of their early twenties, when their generation seemed to own it; but in my generation’s case, for a little while, when the inner city was a ruin, we really did.”). Her Sydney is not the showy playground of McMansions and exorbitant real estate prices, it is often the epitome of squalor - and it has changed, seemingly irreversibly. And yet both Sydneys - the old one and the new - seem to teem with memories, arteries faintly pulsing under the surface, like the rivers forgotten in the boarded-up belly of that mutable city.
Here are some of the stories of Sydney that I want to remember:
- In 2000, the Sydney Harbour Bridge spelled the word ‘Eternity’ as part of its firework display. For 30 years in the 20th century, Sydneysiders would wake up to find the word scribbled in chalk on the pavements of their city, and the identity of the person behind the act remained unknown until the 1960s. One of the great ironies is that, even though the illiterate Arthur Stace had reproduced the same word over and over again, following the millennium firework display ushering in the 21st century, Sydney City Council decided to trademark the script.
- I have loved the word ‘jacaranda’ for some years now (the ‘j’ pronounced like a /h/ in Spanish, a /dʒ/ in English, and a /ʒ/ in Portuguese (the trees are originally from Brazil)). But I did not know that October and November are jacaranda season in Sydney. Falconer mentions that there is a special moment when the number of fallen flowers reaches an equilibrium with those still on the trees, resulting in an uncanny mirroring effect; also, she notes that jacaranda trees are often planted next to the bright red Illawarra flame trees, and when the two colours alternate, the effect is spectacular. (There is also this story - “For a few decades, in the middle of last century, a hospital on the north shore sent each mother of a newborn home with a jacaranda seedling. And so when the valleys on either side of the city’s tram lines flare violet in October and November, each bright burst represents the beginning of a life.” The same story apparently also exists in Queensland, so its historical veracity is doubtful, but that does not detract from its loveliness). In an afterword to this - second - edition of Falconer's book, she mentions that in recent years, jacaranda viewing has become an Instagram phenomenon, and I cannot help but think again of reflections and mirroring, the impermanence of memory and the disorienting permanence of photographs without context.
- From Patyegarang, an Aboriginal woman, Lieutenant William Dawes learned words from the Eora language; one of these constructions, recorded in his notebooks, is "to warm one's hands by the fire and then to squeeze gently the fingers of another person".
- There is a lot of unease in the stories of Sydney, too: the clearing of spiritually important sites (of the Eora), the destruction of the memory of the convict colony, the bush that stalks the suburbs, the lantana, the spiders and cockroaches, the smells, deaths, murders, disappearances. Or the story of the - allegedly - Lithuanian couple who fled Europe after World War II, and terrified of being persecuted by the KGB, hid in a cave in the Northern Shore suburbs for at least 25 years, the man emerging with the heartbreaking ‘Meine Frau ist tot’.
- The stonemasons in Pyrmont once classified the grades of Sydney sandstone as hellhole, purgatory and paradise (depending on the degree of difficulty in working with them).
- The story of Mei Quong Tart.
- The bit about the ‘six o’clock swill’ reminded me of a painting I once saw somewhere and whose name I then swiftly forgot - after finding it again, I realised that it is not a Sydney story but a Melbourne one: Collins St., 5pm, by John Brack; it is The Bar, also by John Brack, that captures the ‘six o’clock swill’.
Sites:
- The Satyr sculpture in the Botanic Gardens by Guy Lynch, modelled on his younger brother Joe Lynch, a cartoonist who drowned in the harbour; Kenneth Slessor’s ‘Five Bells’ is written about Joe Lynch
- The Cadigal carvings on the Bondi to Bronte Beach Walk, at MacKenzies Point (following Peter Solness’ photographs)
- The convict bricks in the Fitzroy Gardens in Kings Cross (in particular, the dog paw prints)
- El Alamein Fountain in Fitzroy Gardens, Kings Cross
- The Luna Park
- The Yellow House in Potts Point
- The Powerhouse Museum
- Customs House
- Flemington Markets
Reading list:
Kenneth Slessor
Voss, The Vivisector (Patrick White)
The Harp in the South (Ruth Park)
Southern Lights and Shadows (Frank Fowler)
Lieutenant William Dawes’ notebooks, available in a digital copy online
Illywhacker (Peter Carey)
For Love Alone (Christina Stead)
Tirra Lirra by the River (Jessica Anderson)
Hidden in Plain View (Paul Irish)
D'harawal: seasons and climatic cycles (compiled by Frances Bodkin)
Misc:
1977 ABC Radio's Double J documentary looking at the conflict between residents of Victoria St in Kings Cross and developers
Finally, some Australian words that I particularly loved: wowser(ism), to have tickets on oneself, rort, grog shop, furphy
May 29, 2013
I picked up Sydney in a bookstore in the Rocks, wanting to know more about the history of the town. The historical aspects of the book, especially in the beginning, were very interesting. But Delia Falconer's writing style left me feeling exactly the way I felt when we landed in Sydney; exhausted, dizzy, confused, and feeling like things were fairly familiar but enough different that I had to really concentrate to understand what was being said. She writes in circles, mixing some history with personal stories, conjecture, and tons of references to Australian history and writers with whom I doubt non-Australians would be familiar (lots of name-dropping; almost like going to someone else's high school reunion). And so instead of being illuminating, this book is very cryptic and becomes even more so as it becomes less of a history and more of a personal assertion. I would have appreciated a better organizational structure so that there is context for the historical portions and also clarity in discussing the development of different neighborhoods, attitudes, and perceptions. Falconer recounts some vivid stories, and Sydney certainly has a haunting and dark history, but the stories are pieced together in such a patchwork way that it is very difficult to make any sense of them or to draw any true conclusions.
August 7, 2021
Finally caught up with reading this one.
January 7, 2012
A lyrical and fascinating portrait of Australia’s first city, looking to its literary history to fully explore the author's relationship with those parts of it she knows well. However, those readers looking for a book about contemporary Sydney outside the author's self-imposed border of Eastern Suburbs-Lower North Shore-Inner West will be disappointed. Her portrait of Sydney’s suburbs - particularly the Western Suburbs and Sutherland Shire - as constraining and limiting and simmering with an undercurrent of violence seemed unfair at best, and prejudiced at worst. But this might have been a result of the constraint imposed by the book's small format - given more space perhaps the author might have looked more deeply at wider Sydney.
Read
January 28, 2011Evocative and poetic account of the author's Sydney, in which fecund, decaying nature and an ancient and largely invisible history leave their traces, both physical and melancholic, on a dynamic city. Highly recommended.
March 17, 2024
This was a walk down memory lane for me, an early Babyboomer, who grew up in the Northern Beaches area of Sydney and later lived at Mosman and McMahons Pt in the 1970s and 1980s. I particularly enjoyed Falconer's descriptions of the stunning landscape, flora, fauna and weather patterns of this city, and the references to its Aboriginal and colonial history. They made an indelible impact on me too.
It was interesting to reflect on the various well-defined village cultures in Sydney, represented by the insular peninsula, The Shire, the North Shore, the lower North Shore, the eastern suburbs, the inner west, the greater west, the south west, the Hills district and the Hawkesbury, to name those I'm very familiar with. But it's difficult to name a place as the heart of Sydney, except for the gravitational pull on its citizens of Circular Quay, the Rocks and the Opera House.
The book was a painful reminder to me of the superficial glitz of Sydney, its competitiveness, its showmanship and one-upmanship, its obsession with real estate, home renovations and property values, its smugness, and the constant undercurrent of misogyny, corruption and sleaze, dating back to the 1790s. To me, Sydney seems to skimp on everything that's important for human happiness, including the qualities of kindness towards others. It was a relief for me to escape to a fundamentally different Australian city, Melbourne, more than thirty years ago.
It was interesting to reflect on the various well-defined village cultures in Sydney, represented by the insular peninsula, The Shire, the North Shore, the lower North Shore, the eastern suburbs, the inner west, the greater west, the south west, the Hills district and the Hawkesbury, to name those I'm very familiar with. But it's difficult to name a place as the heart of Sydney, except for the gravitational pull on its citizens of Circular Quay, the Rocks and the Opera House.
The book was a painful reminder to me of the superficial glitz of Sydney, its competitiveness, its showmanship and one-upmanship, its obsession with real estate, home renovations and property values, its smugness, and the constant undercurrent of misogyny, corruption and sleaze, dating back to the 1790s. To me, Sydney seems to skimp on everything that's important for human happiness, including the qualities of kindness towards others. It was a relief for me to escape to a fundamentally different Australian city, Melbourne, more than thirty years ago.
December 25, 2021
This book conjured up so many memories! Delia Falconer's book on Sydney takes you back in time revealing snippets of the city's history, secrets, hidden gems, tragedies and the search for its sense of self.
So many times during reading this book, I caught myself saying "oh yeah I remember that!". The city's glorious old buildings, some of which are long gone mix with the various crime figures of the eras, the Indigenous history that was wiped away, colonisation, crime figures - are all brought to life in this wonderful account.
It's not just the CBD that is the focus, Falconer explores the suburbs - the elite east, the uppity northern beaches, the 'westies' (which tag is now worn as a badge of honour - and is much more middles class), the winding Hawksbury are all explored.
Points in time also brought back many memories - the tragedy of Luna Park, the horror of Anita Cobby's murder, crime (or colourful!) figures like Abe Saffron in contrast with the nightlife, restaurants, the harbour and how hard Sydney tries to be at the forefront.
Fabulous tales of times past and how they will influence times future.
So many times during reading this book, I caught myself saying "oh yeah I remember that!". The city's glorious old buildings, some of which are long gone mix with the various crime figures of the eras, the Indigenous history that was wiped away, colonisation, crime figures - are all brought to life in this wonderful account.
It's not just the CBD that is the focus, Falconer explores the suburbs - the elite east, the uppity northern beaches, the 'westies' (which tag is now worn as a badge of honour - and is much more middles class), the winding Hawksbury are all explored.
Points in time also brought back many memories - the tragedy of Luna Park, the horror of Anita Cobby's murder, crime (or colourful!) figures like Abe Saffron in contrast with the nightlife, restaurants, the harbour and how hard Sydney tries to be at the forefront.
Fabulous tales of times past and how they will influence times future.
January 13, 2018
I picked up this book from a small bookshop, during my first few months of living in Sydney. I was intrigued by the premise of the book and the fact that it is part of a series. As a newcomer to Sydney (at the time), I thought it would be interesting to read about one author’s experience of having grown up in the city.
Delia Falconer writes beautifully and clearly spent a lot of time researching the history of Sydney. I appreciated learning more about the city’s history and hearing some of its stories.
I struggled a bit to enjoy reading this book, I think because I was expecting something completely different. I suppose also that my short experience of living in Sydney compared to Falconer’s, allowed me to view the city from a foreigner’s perspective. Having grown up in a small town in the USA, I found Sydney to be an extraordinary place! I think Falconer and I both love Sydney but for different reasons.
Delia Falconer writes beautifully and clearly spent a lot of time researching the history of Sydney. I appreciated learning more about the city’s history and hearing some of its stories.
I struggled a bit to enjoy reading this book, I think because I was expecting something completely different. I suppose also that my short experience of living in Sydney compared to Falconer’s, allowed me to view the city from a foreigner’s perspective. Having grown up in a small town in the USA, I found Sydney to be an extraordinary place! I think Falconer and I both love Sydney but for different reasons.
March 25, 2013
As I was about to enter my teenage years in the backwater – not necessarily a negative – that was Burnie, in the early 60's, two events occurred that gave me the heebie jeebies for years. The first was venturing to the long gone Somerset Drive-in, on the fringes of town, to see Alfred Hitchcock's 'The Birds'. I have no idea now whose car I was in, or indeed with whom I saw the movie, but it gave me nightmares for months. The al fresco cinema experience was just across from the sea shore, so as well as out of control avians on screen, the real McCoy, in the form of gulls, were passing their sinister shadows across the ‘goings on’ as well – a double whammy, and a scarifying one at that! I still avoid all but the cheesiest of horror film until this day, and you can image the impact of diving plovers!
The other unnerving event was an occurrence in a city I'd never been to, but again nightmares and cold sweats ensued. The Bogle/Chandler 'murder' impacted on my post pubescent sensibilities like no other event since. Sleepless nights caused by the sensational details of that last evening of 1963 at Lane Cove, Sydney, profoundly gave me worse heebie jeebies than 'The Birds'. As well as the lurid descriptions of half naked bodies in, and on, the media of the day, and all the conspiracy theories, it was the nature of the relationship between the dead couple and their spouses that bugged. Used to conventionality, their supposed 'free love', before it became a hippy phenomenon later that decade, caused me much disquiet. Nowadays, it's felt, there's a distinct possibility that their demise was caused by foetid fumes emanating from the polluted cove itself – which does not fully explain the tampering with their bodies post-succumbing to their fates. Why were they 'covered up' before discovery by a couple of youngsters searching for golf balls? Afore the Azaria Chamberlain farrago, this 'weird' event, and the disappearance of the Beaumont children, shook the nation from its 50's lassitude, and burdened the country for decades. It sure as hell shook me up!
This, Falconer's entry into the engrossing 'Cities' boutique book series, will take some beating as its siblings come on-line. To my mind, it is superior to the other like tomes I have perused, on Hobart and Melbourne, by Peter Timms and Sophie Cunningham respectively. There have been more published since. My high regard may be because, firstly, I live in the little state capital on the Derwent, and am quite intimate with 'Bearbrass' on the brown Yarra. I am yet to get a personal sense of Sydney as my visits there have been few and very superficial. Why, even a visit to Bondi is still on my bucket list after all these years. I spent a week there back in 1976 – I can vaguely remember a trip to the Blue Mountains. More recently were a few nights either side of a cruise. I was restricted to the Rocks, Darling Harbour and the CBD. No real feeling for a place can be garnered from such limited exposure. Now a touristy mecca, I was intrigued that right from the get go of European settlement the Rocks was home to any who preferred to live outside the established mores of the day – out of sight of the strictures of the Anglican ruling class.
The second reason for being so taken by this book is that Falconer gives it all a Lantanaesque sheen. She is at pains to stress that under its ritzy surface there's all manner of festerance. 'Lantana' is, by far, my favourite Australian film, so I am very drawn to her sweaty presentation. All boxes are ticked by this erudite author. We have the quick sad diminishment of the people of our first nations around Sydney Town, paralleling Grenville's marvellous 'Secret River' trilogy. The story of the relationship between Lieutenant Dawes and the mysterious Patyegarang has always fascinated me, and is cited by Falconer, as well as being superbly imagined on by Grenville. The better known tale of Bennelong is featured too, and there is much 'tipping of the lid' to the city's literary luminaries, past and present. Writers of poetry and prose, such as White, Slessor, Anderson, Knox, Park and Kate G, give some sense of place through their wordsmithery, quoted at length by our guide. The fable of the 'Eternity Man' is recounted, and much is made of the city's irreverent past seguing into its present 'gayness'. Falconer writes of areas of Sydney that are a mystery to me – the vast expanse of the Sydney's west (maybe less of a mystery to Julia now), the national parks and the inner suburbs surrounding the core. It draws me to get to know the city well; even if Melburnians regard it a Gomorrah – to Sydneyites, so I’m told, its southern sister city is simply irrelevant.
Where I live in my idyll on the Derwent, above our mantelpiece are two images of Sydney, courtesy of sale prices during our recent expedition. One is an attractive rendering of the iconic vista of Circular Quay and Opera House, in pointillistic style. The other is a semi-cartoonish print by Mark Ahr of that beach I have yet to perambulate on. To me, all beaches are rites of passage, places where I feel most free - where the breadth of Aussie culture is called on to unveil itself of its layers. In my dotage I know that my days of disporting myself, on the many strands of this sun worshipping nation, belongs in the past. But for this beach I will make an exception. It is part of our collective psyche – I want to experience it before it is too late. Falconer's Sydney has inspired me to ensure it happens.
The other unnerving event was an occurrence in a city I'd never been to, but again nightmares and cold sweats ensued. The Bogle/Chandler 'murder' impacted on my post pubescent sensibilities like no other event since. Sleepless nights caused by the sensational details of that last evening of 1963 at Lane Cove, Sydney, profoundly gave me worse heebie jeebies than 'The Birds'. As well as the lurid descriptions of half naked bodies in, and on, the media of the day, and all the conspiracy theories, it was the nature of the relationship between the dead couple and their spouses that bugged. Used to conventionality, their supposed 'free love', before it became a hippy phenomenon later that decade, caused me much disquiet. Nowadays, it's felt, there's a distinct possibility that their demise was caused by foetid fumes emanating from the polluted cove itself – which does not fully explain the tampering with their bodies post-succumbing to their fates. Why were they 'covered up' before discovery by a couple of youngsters searching for golf balls? Afore the Azaria Chamberlain farrago, this 'weird' event, and the disappearance of the Beaumont children, shook the nation from its 50's lassitude, and burdened the country for decades. It sure as hell shook me up!
This, Falconer's entry into the engrossing 'Cities' boutique book series, will take some beating as its siblings come on-line. To my mind, it is superior to the other like tomes I have perused, on Hobart and Melbourne, by Peter Timms and Sophie Cunningham respectively. There have been more published since. My high regard may be because, firstly, I live in the little state capital on the Derwent, and am quite intimate with 'Bearbrass' on the brown Yarra. I am yet to get a personal sense of Sydney as my visits there have been few and very superficial. Why, even a visit to Bondi is still on my bucket list after all these years. I spent a week there back in 1976 – I can vaguely remember a trip to the Blue Mountains. More recently were a few nights either side of a cruise. I was restricted to the Rocks, Darling Harbour and the CBD. No real feeling for a place can be garnered from such limited exposure. Now a touristy mecca, I was intrigued that right from the get go of European settlement the Rocks was home to any who preferred to live outside the established mores of the day – out of sight of the strictures of the Anglican ruling class.
The second reason for being so taken by this book is that Falconer gives it all a Lantanaesque sheen. She is at pains to stress that under its ritzy surface there's all manner of festerance. 'Lantana' is, by far, my favourite Australian film, so I am very drawn to her sweaty presentation. All boxes are ticked by this erudite author. We have the quick sad diminishment of the people of our first nations around Sydney Town, paralleling Grenville's marvellous 'Secret River' trilogy. The story of the relationship between Lieutenant Dawes and the mysterious Patyegarang has always fascinated me, and is cited by Falconer, as well as being superbly imagined on by Grenville. The better known tale of Bennelong is featured too, and there is much 'tipping of the lid' to the city's literary luminaries, past and present. Writers of poetry and prose, such as White, Slessor, Anderson, Knox, Park and Kate G, give some sense of place through their wordsmithery, quoted at length by our guide. The fable of the 'Eternity Man' is recounted, and much is made of the city's irreverent past seguing into its present 'gayness'. Falconer writes of areas of Sydney that are a mystery to me – the vast expanse of the Sydney's west (maybe less of a mystery to Julia now), the national parks and the inner suburbs surrounding the core. It draws me to get to know the city well; even if Melburnians regard it a Gomorrah – to Sydneyites, so I’m told, its southern sister city is simply irrelevant.
Where I live in my idyll on the Derwent, above our mantelpiece are two images of Sydney, courtesy of sale prices during our recent expedition. One is an attractive rendering of the iconic vista of Circular Quay and Opera House, in pointillistic style. The other is a semi-cartoonish print by Mark Ahr of that beach I have yet to perambulate on. To me, all beaches are rites of passage, places where I feel most free - where the breadth of Aussie culture is called on to unveil itself of its layers. In my dotage I know that my days of disporting myself, on the many strands of this sun worshipping nation, belongs in the past. But for this beach I will make an exception. It is part of our collective psyche – I want to experience it before it is too late. Falconer's Sydney has inspired me to ensure it happens.
March 1, 2025
This book gives an historical and cultural overview of the city of Sydney, Australia (mostly from the 1970s and 1980s up until just before the turn of the 21st century), describing a gritty city more akin to Los Angeles, California than the Sydney I lived in for a few years around 2020. By the author's own admission in the afterword, the city has significantly changed in the past 20 years. The organization of the book doesn't make much sense. Those who live or have lived in Sydney will enjoy the nostalgia.
March 28, 2025
Fascinating history and travel guide of Sydney, by Delia Falconer.
Delia weaves in her personal, family stories, with research into the Indigenous and colonial occupants of the area surrounding Sydney Harbour.
The small hardcover I found at the Lifeline Book Fair has a lovely map on the inside cover, and has lasted perfectly from it's 2010 publication.
I'll have to track down the other New South Publishing books on the other Australian cities now.
This one will stay on the shelf.
Delia weaves in her personal, family stories, with research into the Indigenous and colonial occupants of the area surrounding Sydney Harbour.
The small hardcover I found at the Lifeline Book Fair has a lovely map on the inside cover, and has lasted perfectly from it's 2010 publication.
I'll have to track down the other New South Publishing books on the other Australian cities now.
This one will stay on the shelf.
January 26, 2020
I realised quickly I had read this before, but was glad to read it again - the author offers a multi-layered, well-researched, but also quite personal take on Sydney. I've lived here nearly 20 years now and saw a lot of my city in these pages, while not agreeing with everything.
November 7, 2024
A great description of places I have visited - being from Melbourne, some background history is unknown to me
February 22, 2025
As shallow and BORING as the city itself!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
September 18, 2025
A difficult read but was quiet deep.
February 26, 2024
This is a book by a Sydneysider for Sydneysiders. Outsiders may enjoy its contents, many will be disgusted by them, but few will fully understand them.
This is not an advertisement for Sydney, it's not a guidebook for Sydney, it's just one person's account of Sydney.
Falconer recognises the dark irreverence that ripples under everything Sydneysiders do. It's not something that's easy to explain but you can describe it. This passage on the 2nd page does it perfect justice.
Anyone can wax lyrical about the beauty of Sydney, it's much harder to capture what it feels like to live here. Yet I think Falconer has achieved it quite readily. She's lived across quite a few parts of Sydney too and so it's not all just an account of Surry Hills or the Eastern Suburbs (though they do feature heavily). There'll be those from the West and South of the city who feel they've been forgotten but an account of their part of the city can be found elsewhere.
There's plenty of little factoids to layer some meaning over the city for you. I'll update them shortly when I get time.
This is not an advertisement for Sydney, it's not a guidebook for Sydney, it's just one person's account of Sydney.
Falconer recognises the dark irreverence that ripples under everything Sydneysiders do. It's not something that's easy to explain but you can describe it. This passage on the 2nd page does it perfect justice.
"Just the other day I was walking up the hill from my apartment at dusk when I saw a small silver car with a parking ticket on its windscreen. The envelope looked strange. When I got closer I saw that someone had written on it in black texta: I just backed into your car, and now I'm pretending to write a note. FUCK YOU! It wasn't hard to imagine the triple assault as the owner returned: horror at seeing the parking ticket, and the big dent from a four-wheel-drive's tow-bar in the bonnet, then relief on finding the note that turned quickly into outrage. 'My god, if you could do that you could rape someone', a Melbourne friend said, horrified. But there was a part of me that felt some base response of familiarity, even of pride. This was my town. It was a place you took lightly at your peril, whose beauty has never been far from rage, and perhaps even the urge for destruction."
Anyone can wax lyrical about the beauty of Sydney, it's much harder to capture what it feels like to live here. Yet I think Falconer has achieved it quite readily. She's lived across quite a few parts of Sydney too and so it's not all just an account of Surry Hills or the Eastern Suburbs (though they do feature heavily). There'll be those from the West and South of the city who feel they've been forgotten but an account of their part of the city can be found elsewhere.
There's plenty of little factoids to layer some meaning over the city for you. I'll update them shortly when I get time.
July 15, 2016
This is way too much of a literary review, especially of books and poets I've never heard of (my ignorance, I'm sure), that I found myself having trouble connecting to the story. The writing style is evocative and lyrical but it's so circular and weaves in and out of historical narrative, personal memoir and literary association that I felt like I was being drawn in and left standing utterly confused at the same time.
I would have liked more history and a somewhat clearer organisation to give me a greater sense of the place. What I did get is a sense of Sydney's dark, violent and seedy past but that's about it.
Enjoyed some chapters more than others, eg the one on the Cronulla Riots (but I wanted more!), or how Sydney has become "yuppie" (or "pretentious") in recent years.
Sydneysiders might find this way more inspiring than I did; perhaps reading Melbourne will do that for me! :) (I must say that Melina Marchetta's books, eg Looking for Alibrandi, have given me a much greater sense of Sydney than Sydney has!)
2.5 stars
I would have liked more history and a somewhat clearer organisation to give me a greater sense of the place. What I did get is a sense of Sydney's dark, violent and seedy past but that's about it.
Enjoyed some chapters more than others, eg the one on the Cronulla Riots (but I wanted more!), or how Sydney has become "yuppie" (or "pretentious") in recent years.
Sydneysiders might find this way more inspiring than I did; perhaps reading Melbourne will do that for me! :) (I must say that Melina Marchetta's books, eg Looking for Alibrandi, have given me a much greater sense of Sydney than Sydney has!)
2.5 stars
September 2, 2012
I suspected I wasn't going to like this book. I'm not a huge non-fiction fan - the topic has to be very interesting and there has to be some sort of clear narrative to hold my interest.
Very early on, my suspicion was confirmed. Not only was the style disjointed (sometimes effective in fiction, never, in my opinion, effective in non-fiction) but Falconer tends towards the over-dramatic. I am not really an eye roller, but found that I rolled my eyes several times in the first chapter of this book.
Occasionally, there was a tale that did vaguely interest me. The sections on Luna Park, William Dawes and the Eora were of interest, but these parts were all too short. The Cronulla riots were potentially a very interesting chapter in Sydney's history, but Falconer really downplayed them.
Having said all that, I would consider reading one of Falconer's fictional works, I suspect her style would be more suited to a different genre.
Very early on, my suspicion was confirmed. Not only was the style disjointed (sometimes effective in fiction, never, in my opinion, effective in non-fiction) but Falconer tends towards the over-dramatic. I am not really an eye roller, but found that I rolled my eyes several times in the first chapter of this book.
Occasionally, there was a tale that did vaguely interest me. The sections on Luna Park, William Dawes and the Eora were of interest, but these parts were all too short. The Cronulla riots were potentially a very interesting chapter in Sydney's history, but Falconer really downplayed them.
Having said all that, I would consider reading one of Falconer's fictional works, I suspect her style would be more suited to a different genre.
Read
October 28, 2020Gave up very quickly. I was so looking forward to it.
April 1, 2013
I love Delia Falconer's work and was looking forward to reading this book but I was a little disappointed. It was a very dark view of Sydney and focused only on some parts such as the city and northern and eastern suburbs mostly. It seemed to define Sydney by its major crime events and dark under-side not by the light and positives that I see everyday traveling around large parts of Sydney including the south west where I work and see the positive side of diversity. Maybe a book on Sydney will always be idiosyncratic; there were aspects I enjoyed and could relate to from my childhood but it didn't feel too much like the Sydney I know and love.
August 9, 2011
I'm really enjoying her style of writing..and the memories of my own about Sydney in the 60's and 70's.
I finished this book and loved it. I like the idea of a different author writing about a city they know and love. I have since read Brisbane, by Matt Condon, but didn't enjoy it nearly as much. He got so caught up in the placing of a memorial to John Oxley it was repetitive and boring.
Also want to read Sophie Cunningham's Melbourne, though it didn't get a very good review.
I finished this book and loved it. I like the idea of a different author writing about a city they know and love. I have since read Brisbane, by Matt Condon, but didn't enjoy it nearly as much. He got so caught up in the placing of a memorial to John Oxley it was repetitive and boring.
Also want to read Sophie Cunningham's Melbourne, though it didn't get a very good review.
August 14, 2012
This is a very personal story of Sydney told beautifully by Delia Falconer. I particularly enjoyed the way she weaved historical information and stories into the narrative, as well as her own experiences and ideas. A thought-provoking story filled with lush, sensual images in typical Delia Falconer style.
August 27, 2013
A beautifully written meditation on and memoir of Sydney, contrasting its old urban grit and Protestant restraint with the fecundity of its setting and the glitz of its current incarnation. My only real criticism is that the book functions more as a series of contrasting insights and thus tends to lack much in the way of narrative drive. Well worth reading for a different perspective on the city.
December 21, 2014
Sydney is allergic to earnestness … live here and you soon learn that showing-off is only allowed if it is tempered by flippancy. You can observe your own beliefs, celebrate your good fortune outrageously, only as long as you do not do it in a way that implies criticism of others. You do it in private, or you do it with exaggerated parody.
October 28, 2015
How anybody who has lived in Sydney and loved it, could possibly find anything negative between these pages is quite beyond me. This gorgeous, beautifully written little book is a treasure to be read and re-read. I came across it entirely by accident, and found it incredibly evocative and deeply moving. If I could send an email to Ms Falconer herself I would. I adore this book.
January 17, 2011
Fascinating. I did feel like the changes she discussed toward the latter half were really shifts in her that altered how she engaged with the city. It's far to say that when you move to the Eastern suburbs from the Inner West, the city will seem more obsessed with the source of fish etc.
January 11, 2015
Beautifully written. Really absorbing.
January 16, 2011
I've read the first dozen pages and it's written in a haunting manner. Having lived in Sydney all my life, I am looking forward to finishing it.
August 15, 2011
Sometimes interesting, somewhat a chore to finish..
October 25, 2011
Really lovely meditation on the city where I grew up and still live. Nice to have some of the literary life of the city and quirky elements of the past.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 34 reviews