I don’t know what it is about Peter Carey – the sense of confidence he has, or my growing familiarity with his style, but I’m starting to go off him.
A couple of years ago I was enthralled by his Ned Kelly book and now we get this jumbled up familiar story (to Australians of a certain age) to wallow through. I have to admit to reading this in disjointed chunks, so it didn’t flow as it should, but the whole thing read like deja-vu and the self-conscious Australian references came across as contrived and annoying. 3.5 stars.