This is the only book of Peter Carey’s I’ve ever actually liked. He’s one of those writers you know you’re supposed to admire but I just don’t quite get most of his books. But this one is a winner. Written phonetically and often hilariously from the perspective of Ned Kelly, it’s as much about police persecution and the abject, grinding poverty of the times as it is about Kelly’s crimes. The picture he paints of Australia’s history is nothing to be proud of, but compelling all the same. Unforgettable.
