I was blown away by this book. Simple, everyday living by a local parapalegic, living in my own neighborhood. It is told with honesty, dignity and self deprecating humor.
I have been in love with Peter Carey's writing for some time now and turned to this with great anticipation. Every book Carey writes is unusual, thought-provoking, beautifully written, and completely different. And this is no exception, although certainly not his best.
Here we go back to the sixties, to a small boy whose parents were revolutionaries and who is living with his wealthy grandmother in New York. He is isolated from the world around him, wishing he knew more about his radical parents but banned from watching the TV. Waiting for his parents to come for him. Then one day a girl arrives whom he assumes is his mother and pretty soon he is on the run. She takes him from city to city, then finally to a hippie commune in the Australian outback. And it is here that he has to face who he is and what has happened. Can he trust Trevor? Is Dial his real mother? And what does he really want now?
This is a love story between a young woman and a 7-year-old boy, the son she never had. I decided that what I was irritated about was the sixties themselves; the reality not the images so carefully assembled from movies and songs and well edited news footage. Carey paints pictures you find hard to get rid of and you find yourself utterly immersed in the times, wondering at the naivete of it all, desperately wishing for some logic. That said, I loved the ending, was not expecting it, and once again am in awe of Carey's ability to manipulate the story. --Angela M.
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