From the first paragraph of this book I knew I was in safe hands. There is no nicer feeling than opening a book and knowing you can give up your own thoughts immediately. It’s like you give yourself over.
This was a story of a man who grew up very poor in seventeenth century London, was transported to Australia as a convict, and the battles – moral and otherwise – he fought in trying to build a new life there. One forgets how rough people had it in Europe, and how recently. At one point his wife and he discuss quite pragmatically how she can start prostituting herself. It gives me hope for the developing world. It also helps you understand in some ways the context of the terrible things these Europeans did to the Aboriginal people. This conflict with the local people is really a stomach-churningly horrible part of this book.
I am surprised there are not more books like this. This meeting of two worlds in fantastically interesting. I’m surprised I haven’t seen much of it. I can’t for example think of a single example in African lit. You wouldn’t think at this late stage there would be any white space left, but here it is, I guess.