Bücher von Lindsay Barrett

A group of aimless young blokes from the suburbs of Sydney go troppo in 1980s North Queensland as all around them, men fuelled by the resources boom tear up the landscape with abandon. If Jack Kerouac had been Australian he might have come up with something like North, a tale of Australian masculinity searching for itself, while learning that we need to tread softly on the land if we are to have any sort of a future.

Alive in the hive to the sound of drills. The screeching scrat drones of pop scratching at the paving stones from a house window across the way and a passing car on course for a collision. This sweltering city is a little Chicago. Why, just this month, in commemoration of Julius Caesar, thirty-three people were discovered gunned-down on the steaming streets. Crack gangs invading territories, posses disputing space...Beware! If you are thinking right now of going out for a casual walk start taking to wearing a flak jacket. Better still stay indoors with Dis. Smoke some blow. Drink some red wine, have a good time. Talk and chalk. Go visit chat rooms and discover answers to those lingering questions that pose themselves late at night around about the moment you are falling into sleep...Like how could ten thousand experienced Persian soldiers disappear without a trace in the Sahara Desert?...

Smoke rising from a street cauldron of morning stew. Evil-smelling and nourishing. Each ragged member shuffling forward...taking a wooden bowl of steaming gruel. Roll up, roll up, step right in and spy the Crystal Grotto, linger by the Marionette Theatre...steal a visit to the ermit's Caveglorious wonders and excitement...daling delights and secrets of the rient. ..high above the illuminated gardens you can see a balloon descent twinkling out of the dark, starry night sky...tiers and tiers of supper and pleasure boxes...costumed waiters and bawdy wenches serving the rich and famous... Welcome to the dichotomy that is Cremorne...