Our sale of $15 books continues, to read more about it go here.
We are listing next week a group of military books which includes:
An Edinburgh Boy
A Story of Active Service in Foreign Lands.
Extracts from Letters sent home from the Crimea 1854-1856
(Edinburgh and London: William Blackwood and Sons: 1886) First Edition.
Half leather (that is, hard covers) pp. viii, 262.
We observe this notice of its publication in The Spectator 1 JANUARY 1887, Page 34
A Story of Active Service in Foreign Lands :
Extracts from Letters sent Home from the Crimea, 1854-1856. By “An Edinburgh Boy.” (William Blackwood and Sons.)—All who are old enough to remember the Crimean War, and all who care to know what war is when stripped of its tinsel and its glamour, will find profit, and possibly take pleasure, in the reading of this book. The author was an Army surgeon who went out to the Crimea towards the close of 1854, and remained there until the end of the campaign. Daring this time he wrote regularly to his friends, and his lettere, now first published, give a plain and unvarnished, yet vivid and realistic account of his experiences during the war. Not being a newspaper correspondent, he was under no temptation to write for effect ; and his position as an actor in the drama makes his testimony both more valuable and more truthful than that of a mere observer, however quicksighted and painstaking. One of the sensations of the war was Russell’s letters to the Times, describing the condition of the Army after the battle of Balaclava, the blenders of the Com. missariat, the lack of comforts, and the misery of the men. The excitement these letters caused in England was intense. They overthrew a Government, and ruined the reputation of a Minister. Yet, judging from the testimony of “An Edinburgh Boy,” and of other participators in the strife, it does not appear that the sufferings of our troops were either so terrible or so extraordinary as was represented at the time ; nothing to be compared, for instance, with the sufferings endured by the Russian and French armies during the retreat from Moscow, of the Russian Army which forced the passage of the Balkans in the last Turkish War, or of Bourbaki’s army when it was forced to retreat through the passes of the Jam into the neutral territory of Switzerland. But in 1854 there had been no European war for forty years; the English of that age had forgotten that wars are not made with rose-water ; Russell’s letters thrilled them with horror and compassion, and they allowed indignation to get the better a their judgment. War spells suffering ; and the most fortunate soldiers are probably those who meet with instant death on the field of battle ; its minor as well as its greater miseries can be known only to those who, like oar author, have seen active service, and survived the perils of a cam- paign. But all who would form some idea of them at second-hand, may do so very effectually by reading his truthful and interesting book.
Of Books and Auction Sales part 2
Prices and Value
Is the best value in collectable books to be found in book shops or at auctions?
The answer must necessarily depend upon how well you know your chosen area and how determined you are to buy as soon as possible. When books are offered in box or shelf lots, the dealer has the advantage because his interests will be wider than those of any collector—large lots at mart auctions are rarely if ever sorted by category, meaning that the books represent many fields. In this context the collector must be distinguished from the accumulator, though it is not uncommon for accumulators to call themselves collectors. The collector is given his chance through the increasing tendency of the auction houses to offer books singly, a trend most noticeable at present at Small & Whitfieldʼs and at Megaw & Hoggʼs: for a desirable single item the collector always has the opportunity of beating the trade. Not everyone, however, is comfortable about buying at auction, and there is something about finding a desired book in a shop which is entirely sui generis. There is also the advantage that, in a shop, you may change your mind while you browse—how often have we not all picked up the first ʻmust buyʼ only to put it back when something even more ʻmust buyableʼ comes to hand?—whereas at an auction you cannot change your mind. A bought lot is yours and at your risk from the fall of the hammer: there are no second chances.
Another problem at auctions is that nothing has a fixed price, so that you cannot foretell how much particular items will make: it is therefore difficult to budget. Again, this must favour the trade. One is often left in the position of having to think sharply on oneʼs feet after having clinched a few lots at or above oneʼs pre-set maxima: how far to go for the next lot or lots? Compare this jungle atmosphere with the civilized, the gentle joys of browsing. However, if you are of the temperament which the sports commentators term ʻcompetitiveʼ, and you derive pleasure from beating others, then auctions are for you, for every time an item is sold by auction someone ʻwinsʼ and someone else ʻlosesʼ.
Of course, the ʻwinnerʼ may not necessarily be the person who makes the purchase, for, of all the fallacies which surround collecting, one of the more pernicious is to the effect that if you buy at auction you cannot be paying too much. Indeed, for every ʻbargainʼ buy at a lively mart auction (there are days when most lots are bargains) there will be a buy made at or above shop price. Again, the first principle of buying at auction must be restated: know your area and keep to it.
It takes all types to make an auction, from the over-cautious bidder who all too often is left lamenting that he did not ʻgo one more jumpʼ to the swaggering bravo who bids with the almost mad enthusiasm of Errol Flynn playing a pirate king. The sale room is to a large extent a theatre wherein we all play our parts, including the freewheeling swordsman who likes to cut his way to the treasure whatever the cost. This sort of thing cannot last, unless perhaps if the hero has an independent income of great proportions—in which case, why would he do his own buying at auction if it were not for the theatrical impact of his triumphs? It is not unknown for audiences (I mean audiences, which may include buyers) at auctions to burst into applause at the end of a spectacular bidding duel.
To buy advantageously at auction needs much preparation: books have to be examined as to condition, edition and completeness. At our own (Pioneer Books) auctions this is done by us to the best of our ability, and the results are in the catalogue. We have had some errors, but happily not too often: the fact is that no auctioneer can give absolute surety, but especially is this so at mart auctions. Here you bid for what the auctioneer displays and you buy, in the end, according to your judgement. No auctioneer would last long if the house did not act in good faith—deliberate false representation is unthinkable—but there is no way in which any mart auctioneer could collate and fully describe the books he offers—that is up to the would-be purchaser. The auctioneer is bound to do his best for the vendor and for the purchaser, which is a unique position to be in, for he must get the best price he can for the vendor while the purchaserʼs aim is to buy as cheaply as possible. Nevertheless, the house will answer your questions to the best of its ability, for it is the competition between two or more would-be buyers that makes an auction, not some amazing sleight of hand on the auctioneerʼs part.
I have found the staffs of all five houses discussed here to be both friendly and helpful: if they ever seem less than that to you, pause to consider the pressure on them not only on sale days but during the preparation of sales. There is no auction unless buyers attend, and I cannot imagine a house which would do anything to upset visitors. They know that the casual visitor of today is the vendor or the buyer of tomorrow: it is just a matter of letting them hook themselves. For those of us who are already addicted, life would be much more dull without the mart sales by auction.
Paul’s many sorties into publishing and writing included ʻIn-Houseʼ (1981-1993), which was modest enough in its beginnings, but developed into a quality production; we felt as if no expense was spared. I thought I’d lost the soft copy of these long ago, but I’ve just discovered them and so I thought I’d reprint some of the articles.
Another love of Paul’s was auctions. He loved buying at them. He loved holding them – we were pioneers of book auctions in Adelaide – and so we have here a record of things as they were mid-1990s. This article was the lead in The Pioneer Books Magazine Volume one, Spring 1994. I reprint the Contents Page to give a flavour of a typical issue:
Of Books and Auction Sales 5
by Paul Depasquale
Sunburying: A Tale of Ephemera 13
by Judith Crabb
The Playing of Cards: 21
A Consideration of the Literature.
Part 1—The Elizabethan Period
by Cathy Chua
The Fourteenth Trump. A Trick 41
Violet Needham: An Afterword 45
Mortal Games. A Review 47
by Chris Depasquale
An Incomplete Essay on Guy 53
Boothby and the London Theatre
by Paul Depasquale
Of Auctions and Book Sales part 1
If you were to look into a volume of Australian Book Auction Records (compiled and published these days by Jill Burdon of Canberra) you would find only Pioneer Books representing book auctions in Adelaide. We have in fact conducted twenty two book auctions, the list reading like this:
1 – September 1986 Pioneer Books/Academy Enterprises
2 – December 1986
3 – March 1987
4 – September 1987
5 – March 1988
6 – November 1988
7 – March 1990 Under the style of Academy Enterprises Pty Ltd.
8 – June 1990
9 – September 1990
10 – November 1990
11 – February 1991
12 – March 1991
13 – June 1991
14 – August 1991
15 – September 1991
16 – June 1992 Under the style of Pioneer Books
17 – September 1992
18 – February 1993
19 – September 1993
20 – February 1994
21 – May 1994
22 – September 1994
The first fifteen book auctions were held at the Dom Polski Centre, 230 Angas Street, Adelaide; latterly, they have been held at Enterprise House, Greenhill Road, Unley.
Our results for Australian books above a certain value are recorded because we prepare comprehensive and detailed Catalogues, with full bibliographical details, careful descriptions and estimated prices (prices realised are also published after each auction sale). It is fair even for me to say that we prepare our catalogues well and conduct our auctions well, but a further glance into a volume of the Australian Book Auction Records will show that we are very much lightweights in the overall scene—the records are dominated by the results of heavyweights with international clout in Sothebyʼs and Christieʼs, as well as by such Australian specialists as Lawsonʼs in Sydney and Joelʼs in Melbourne. Our aim is to cater for the more modest areas of book collecting ($5 upwards, with not much above $100) which hardly come within the purview of those great rivals.
Our book auctions are but a small segment of our overall business. Pioneer Books conducts book auctions because I am myself fascinated by auctions, by their excitement, by their unpredictability, by the unending variety of styles displayed by the auctioneers and by the rich diversity of ʻfeelʼ in auction houses great and humble. I made sure to attend Sothebyʼs great book auctions in Melbourne at the height of the boom in the 1980s and I was not so much merely impressed as bowled over but that is another story. It is to help sate my own thirst for auction excitement that our firm plays out its modest role in the vast drama of sale by auction in Australia.
Unless you study the Advertiserʼs ʻAuctions Generalʼ columns from day to day but most importantly on Saturdays you could scarcely credit how many goods ranging from heavy earth moving equipment to thimbles are cleared through sale by auction in Adelaide each week—and this infinite range of goods naturally includes books and plenty of them. We are concerned presently with mart auctions i.e. auctions held in the markets or permanent premises of auctioneers who sell goods brought to these places in order to be offered for sale.
It would probably be impossible and certainly would be deleterious to health to attempt to attend most, let alone all, of the mart auctions held in Adelaide each week. I shall confine my remarks to the five auction houses whose sales it happens that I attend most frequently in the endless quest for books—there is no suggestion intended that there are no other houses worth following, for there are, but I can neither follow them all nor write about them all here.
Moss Marchant & Co., of 52 North Terrace, Kent Town, is a long established house which conducts a mart auction each Monday. From a bookmanʼs point of view, these auctions are entirely unpredictable and that is a large part of their charm. One visit to Mossʼs (we all call the house ʻMossʼsʼ, never ʻMarchantʼsʼ) may leave the bookman cold, but a series of visits will not. Mossʼs is distinguished by the eclecticism of its offerings: everything comes within the charmed circle of offerings here, meaning that much that is odd and curious in the line of printed matter (not necessarily books) surfaces here from time to time—general books old and new, old bibles large and small, childrenʼs books, old newspapers, old magazines, sheet music, comics, calendars, ephemera, just about anything printed on paper may be found at Mossʼs over a period of time. While the purist might lament the houseʼs lack of censorship of these offerings—the theme song might well be ʻAnything Goesʼ—the fact is that the all-embracing breadth of the offerings has meant that, over the years, Moss Marchant & Co. has been responsible for the preservation of thousands of old items which are a significant part of our sociological heritage.
The atmosphere at Mossʼs is unique: Moss himself has seen it all over the last quarter of a century and he banters with his ʻregularsʼ in the confident knowledge that they are free to give as good as they get. The importance of ʻregularsʼ to an auction house cannot be over-stated; in the field of books, for example, whether at a televised sale at Sothebyʼs or at a mart sale at Moss Marchant & Co.ʼs, it is extraordinary how few the buyers of any substance are. Only an observer ʻin the knowʼ would realise this; it has struck me at large auction sales in Sydney and Melbourne as well as at the humbler marts in Adelaide.
It is important to get to know the characteristics of the auctioneer if you wish to enjoy his auctions (the main auctioneers in all these houses are men). Moss is a patient auctioneer of the old school: once he knows that you are ʻin the marketʼ he will always come back to you before ʻknocking downʼ an item, giving you that one last chance to exceed the dictates of common sense. Perhaps at this point I should say that it is foolish at mart auctions not to let the auctioneer know that you are ʻin the marketʼ; mart auctions are always running against time (as it is, some do not finish until late afternoon), and the auctioneer has his deadlines to meet. If Moss has ever conducted an auction at which he has not grumbled about the reluctance of buyers to bid up or complained that the auction is moving too slowly, then I have not seen it.
Also on Mondays these days (formerly on Tuesdays) are the mart auctions of Adelaide Antique Auctions, 75 King William St., Kent Town. The principal auctioneer, and the one who sells whatever books are in, is Stephen Sinclair, who is younger in years and in auction experience than Moss Marchant. I will not say that he is aloof but he is polished and goes very fast, sometimes at what seems an almost hectic pace. The ʻregularsʼ, of course, find this no problem, for they are used to it and have normally ʻdone their homeworkʼ. Mr Sinclair does not have (yet) Mossʼs bedside manner or his casual banter, though occasionally there bursts out from him a wicked humour which I presume that he generally keeps in check.
Adelaide Antique Auctions, unlike Moss Marchant & Co., also conducts specialist auctions, often held in the evening, of art, fine furniture and other collectables. Thus it has a leg in the two worlds of mart auctions and fine art auctions—and what different worlds these are: you do not see many women in furs at a mart auction. As to its book offerings at its mart auctions, they are more or less comparable with those at Moss Marchant & Co.: anything and everything will be given a chance to find a buyer. Again it is a house whose mart sales, from the bookmanʼs point of view, must be gauged over an extensive period, for any one given sale may be disappointing in this area, and no wonder, given the diversity of the offerings. I still recall the shock with which I learnt that some people collect tins with the same passion that I have for books. Amazing…
Small & Whitfield, of 1 Unley Road, Parkside, hold their mart auctions weekly on Tuesdays, though the mart sale will be dropped when one of their important Monday evening auctions of select old furniture etc. is conducted. Graham Small and David Whitfield are the dynamic duo of Adelaide auctions: they work together in their highly raised seats overlooking the crowd—and their auctions usually are crowded—and responding with startling rapidity to every bid so that, when a bidding duel develops, the progress is excitingly swift. At none other of the houses under review do two auctioneers work together, one actually conducting the auction, the other spotting bids and generally being helpful (they swap roles about half way through the auction), but the results are so impressive that I am surprised that they have this technique to themselves. Partly because of the overall excellence of their offerings, and partly, I am convinced, because of their method of going to work, this house is the most electrifying of any in Adelaide. Bidding here is always brisk and for the better items usually vehement: it is no place for the faint-hearted. When things are ʻgoingʼ the place fairly buzzes.
Of particular interest to us is the fact that Small & Whitfield is a house that has always been prepared to feature books, and the stream of interesting books on offer here seems to be neverending, whether as single items or as shelf lots. The difference from both Moss Marchant & Co. and Adelaide Antique Auctions (I am speaking here of mart sales) is that estate (i.e. privately owned) books surface here from time to time in quality and quantity rarely if ever seen at the other houses. But I emphasize again that many items appear at the other two houses which would not normally fit into the ambience of a sale at Small & Whitfieldʼs whose interests and standards are very much their own. Nobody interested in books of quality can afford to miss Small & Whitfieldʼs.
At another extreme is Henley Auctions, of 103 Henley Beach Road, Mile End, where Ziggy Badrice and Bob Lambourne reign supreme, giving this mart also a style and a life of its own. Many deceased estates pass through this house whose ample proportions are always crowded with goods and people. Both Bob and Ziggy are no-nonsense auctioneers conscious, I should think, of the thousand and more lots before them, who when wound up progress at such astonishing speed that one wonders how the clerk and the office keep up with them. Both Adelaide Antique Auctions and Small & Whitfield use the number system for bidding: each buyer has to register and show the number when clinching a purchase. Some buyers will have permanent numbers and the auctioneer will knock items down to their number from memory. But at Moss Marchant and Co. and at Henley Auctions the auctioneers call the buyerʼs name, initials or pseudonym as the case may be—a remarkable feat of memory and of mental gymnastics separating ʻXʼ from ʻYʼ and ʻXYʼ from ʻYXʼ (so to speak) while selling at a frantic pace. One dips oneʼs lid. It will be a pity if increasing sophistication means that this time-honoured method is lost. (I should note that the buyers still have to register at the office before being able to use a name under which to buy).
I sometimes get the feeling that there is a crowd of people who live at Henley Auctions, for they are so much part of the place; at no other auction house within my experience do so many people settle in for the day, staying for so many hours apparently out of mere interest. People seem to attend this houseʼs auctions as they used to attend the weekly dance—and Ziggy and Bob and their aides put on quite a show for them. There is no place quite like Henley Auctions, but it is an acquired taste—its appeal grows on one with experience, until you would miss the crowded rows of goods and the restless crowd of people if they were not there. Books are usually sold in box or shelf lots here, a method which naturally favours the dealers—but it is amazing how often the presence of a collectable book or comic or two in a lot will bring about a duel between the trade and a private buyer. This shows that Henley Auctions, for all its down-market appearance and sheer comprehensivity of offerings, also comes within the rounds of that peripatetic person, the keen collector.
Every second Thursday sees us at Megaw & Hogg Auctions, of 107 Sturt St., Adelaide. This house also uses the number method and is otherwise nearer to Small & Whitfield than to the others in their method of featuring books as either single items or as shelf lots, with the emphasis on quality—though, as in any auction house, nothing is left out from the cheaper offerings in the later part of their sales. Certainly, as in the case of Small & Whitfield, the appeal of collectable books is acknowledged here. Every house has its own style, its own themes, its own ʻstuffʼ, too, if you like. Megaw & Hoggʼs chief auctioneer is Joseph (Joe) Tabaszewski whose manner is mild and whose banter is friendly, though his eye is (necessarily) sharp: the contrast with the heightened atmosphere of Small & Whitfield could not be more emphatic. If there is drama here, it is usually the drama of competition on the floor with the auctioneer acting as a friendly referee.
Like Small & Whitfield, however, Megaw & Hogg features from time to time books of real quality and importance from private estates, and their auctions play an important part in our own activities. As to the difference in styles between these two houses and between them and the others who have been mentioned: it is one of the chief fascinations of the study of auctioneering that there is no one ʻbestʼ method—there are as many styles and methods as there are auction houses, and vive la différence.
I’m having problems loading our new list of some 500 titles to our website.
You can download it here as a .pdf or as a document. If there is anything you would like a shipping quote on, please email or phone us your query. As usual we will wait a day or two before loading it to the various databases so our regular customers have first look.
We continue our special deal which started when we turned 40: we have almost 7000 books listed at $15 and we’d like to sell lots of them so please help us out!
Buy any 10 of our $15 books for $100 AND we’ll ship them postfree within Australia.
Click here to start.
Yes, you are welcome to buy more than ten: the 11th (etc) will be charged at $10 each. Lots of them are absolute bargains already, so we hope you will be spoilt for choice!
The easiest way to browse is to go to our search page here : set the Sort By option to Price Ascending and key in a subject, author, whatever you like. The books will appear from $15 up.
You can order online or email/phone/fax us your order.
You can, of course, simply browse the entire stock from $15 up, but any modifications can be included.
Some examples of searches:
subject: childrens – over 2500 titles at $15
Author: Enid Blyton books – 80 titles at $15
subject: crime fiction – over 400 titles at $15
subject: Australia Military – 36 titles at $15
subject: Travel Description – over 200 titles at $15
subject: cricket Australia – exactly 10 titles at $15
subject: science technology – over 250 titles at $15
subject: biography – over 500 titles at $15
subject: art illustration – over 200 titles at $15
There are a large number of keywords that will give you a result: history, religion, medical, humour, crime fact, literature, australia, aboriginal, south seas, maritime, theatre, cycling, world war, poetry, sport, food, drink, ballet, music, education, politics, craft, science fiction and many more.
Make sure you set the Sort By option to Ascend to get a list which starts at $15.
We can also generate you a document list on a subject if you prefer. Let me know.
I’ve been meaning to write something about this myself, but Judith has beaten me to it. I will add to it another time.
I let Monica answer the phone as a rule. My familiarity with telephones stretches back less than sixty years, and coming to terms with technology new to me is not my strong point. For some reason, though, I fielded a call a couple of days ago. It began inauspiciously. The enquirer mentioned haggling. I mentioned that I don’t, but would get the book in from the storesheds anyway. He rang back the next day and asked for me. I was able to tell him what a lucky fellow he was: the book was listed at $75 but the insured postage was a mere $6 by insured large letter, making a total of $81.
Once, for bookdealers, pricing was a bit like breathing – you hardly noticed that you were doing it. You made it up as you went along. Now with all the information on the internet it may be a little more difficult: look up a title, find a given price range, viz. $0.01 to $2564 and take your pick. However, it remains quite refreshing to come across a potential customer who has studied the subject, although these customers are seldom of the kind who help us booksellers pay our bills. The enquirer had calculated that the book was worth $60 to him, postage included. He recommended with cogent argument that I accept his offer. He based his price on a number of incontrovertible facts. Firstly, the size. It seemed to him that, with but 112 pages, the 279 x 198 mm book was not much more than a pamphlet. Secondly, the subject matter was people whom nobody has heard of, and some of them are, in fact, already dead. The clinching argument concerned a theory of supply and demand. It appears that Pioneer Books is oversupplied with this title as we have never sold this copy, and it is highly unlikely that anyone, apart from himself, will ever want to buy it.
I had to agree with everything he said. I mean, it’s almost self-evident. I did demur over the word ‘pamphlet’, but it’s certainly no Gutenberg Bible. And, yes, the subjects of the book, are, like most of us, practically unknown, and if not already dead, soon will be. And, yes again, there is, at the moment, no line of people at our door all desperately hoping to be the lucky purchaser. Most telling of all is the devil’s advocate in the heart of all sensitive new age booksellers, informing us of the likely final resting place of most of our unsold stock in this digitally blighted age.
Nevertheless, the phone call ended with my suggesting that he try elsewhere for a cheaper copy. I wished him luck, and told him that though he could not get a better copy, I’d be surprised if he didn’t get a cheaper one. He, admirable man, accepted defeat less easily than I. He asked me to consult my partners and suggest to them that we accept his offer.
What is it about secondhand books that inspires such fiscal restraint among a certain percentage of buyers? Many years ago Paul and I provided a collector with a copy of a title in the ‘British Trials’ series. The purchaser, a man who had accumulated great wealth as a defence lawyer for the notoriously criminal and who has since received official honours for conspicuous philanthropy, looked at the book, deemed it not worth the $25 we were asking for it, paid us $15, and left.
‘How did that happen?’ I asked. ‘Why did we let it happen?’ Paul asked; then, ever the philosopher, shrugged his shoulders. ‘Oh, well,’ he said, ‘If ever we take up crime instead of bookselling perhaps he’ll give us a knock-down on his fees.’
Once I would have concluded these observations by drawing attention to the coincidence that it is only when the bookseller is considered to be overcharging that these differences of opinion arise. However, a few months ago a woman came to collect a copy of Mincham’s book on the Flinders Ranges.
‘That will be $15 dollars,’ said Monica.
‘No,’ replied the customer. ‘I couldn’t pay $15 for this. It’s worth $25.’ And she refused to pay less even when Monica showed her the price clearly on our data base
A note by Judith about a small memoir by Paul not long before his death.
In his autobiographical memoir ‘My Path to the Brownlow’ Paul Depasquale begins at the end. He tells us that he is a man who is terminally ill (he was, in fact, dead within a year of publication) and that he is about to retrace a journey which ended ten years before, in 1999, in Melbourne, Australia, when, to the continuing astonishment of some in Victorian football circles, he, a middle-aged South Australian second-hand bookseller, purchased the first Brownlow medal offered for sale at public auction. The Brownlow medal is awarded to the Best and Fairest Australian Rules footballer of the season, and this medal had been awarded to Len Thompson in 1972.
This book tells the story behind that purchase, a memoir of growing up, Italian-Australian and unhappy, on an Adelaide western-suburb market-garden. A confused child, alienated from both his family and the wider community, (an Australia at distant war with Italy and her allies), he seeks and finds comfort in a solitary devotion to Australian Rules Football. These are days of tears and rage and a sense of impotence, but this is not a sombre account. As an outsider, and later an adolescent ‘consciously garnering memories’, he becomes able in his final year to recreate in lucid prose a past made eidetic by the intensity of his feeling and the details of its remembered realities. The passage about pumping up the footballs in the school store shed, an account almost numinous in its recall of rituals observed, concludes with this delight, but one of many profoundly recognisable episodes:
‘In early boyhood the football was taken to be the ideal, the real thing, the only thing. It was necessary to clap one’s hands when it was passed fit to play with and Rogers (or some other god) walked out of the store shed bouncing it on the asphalt, casually, with one hand, as though his mastery had been doubted and he felt the need to re-establish it.’
And thus is mapped out for his childhood and adolescence the escape route – along suburban streets to the Ovals, and a life-long love affair with Australian Rules (begun at a time when champion footballers were also ordinary blokes). Leavened with touches of dry humour, the narrative carries the reader, digressions aside, from the child’s initial enchantment to the apotheosis, more than half a century later. This memoir defies categorisation. Part elegy for the sorrows of twentieth-century Italian diaspora, part confessions of a troubled mind, part reasoned disquisition by an authority on a national sport, it is above all a celebration of the human capacity to escape the intractable problems of real life through the exercise of the imagination.