Richard Flanagan (1) (1961–)

I think I'm justified in calling the genre of this book magic realism. However, it's a sort of magic-realism-lite, since it's written by a white English-speaking man with no particular religious background. Yes, there are ghost animals at the dinner table, but they don't actually talk. Yes, there's knowing of the unknowable, but the protagonist is aware he's having a vision and he admits that it might all be imagined. For this reason, it's probably about as palatable to me as magic realism will ever be. It's also wonderfully written, with genuinely beautiful passages and a sensitivity to emotion that is incisive, but used with exquisite restraint. The Tasmanian bush comes alive, as does the sad history of that island and its eerie echoes today. This book stands as one of the literary milestones of the last twenty years and is essential reading for anyone visiting Tasmania or who loves to venture into the bush (especially white-water rafting).… (mer)