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I have become fairly addicted to the morose Italian detective, Aurelio Zen, and am just polishing off End Games, #11 in the series. Need to move onto something else.
I did mix in some Australian fiction, The Lost Man by Jane Harper and also Scrublands by Chris Hammer. Found them both rattlingly good reads as well as conveying the sense of limitlessness of woop woop (as the Aussies call the outback) and the isolating capacity of same.
As an aside, I once pulled into an outback pub, ordered a beer and got talking to the owner.
"Nice place you've got here"
"Thanks. You want to buy it?"
He was literally being driven mad by the oppressive emptiness. These books have that as part of their themes. And let's face it, it's not often Australians produce anything worth reading that's longer than a menu.
I have become fairly addicted to the morose Italian detective, Aurelio Zen, and am just polishing off End Games, #11 in the series. Need to move onto something else.
I did mix in some Australian fiction, The Lost Man by Jane Harper and also Scrublands by Chris Hammer. Found them both rattlingly good reads as well as conveying the sense of limitlessness of woop woop (as the Aussies call the outback) and the isolating capacity of same.
As an aside, I once pulled into an outback pub, ordered a beer and got talking to the owner.
"Nice place you've got here"
"Thanks. You want to buy it?"
He was literally being driven mad by the oppressive emptiness. These books have that as part of their themes. And let's face it, it's not often Australians produce anything worth reading that's longer than a menu.
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