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It remains fresh in my mind because James, by his own prosaic description turns a phrase around and around until it catches the light and the polish of his work shimmers in the memory long after the book is put down.
Using very antipodean humour James takes the sting out of the sadder parts of his autobiography and paints such a vivid picture of his life in Kogarah that the reader is transported there. There is a certain amount of regret expressed - what life would be normal without it - but it's done thoughtfully and with a certain apologetic charm and the eerie feeling that we've also been there in some form or another.
I'd also recommend the book to anyone who wishes to improve their own written output; it's the most painless and enjoyable way to absorb well written and composed essay material that is available. (I was in my teens and supposed to be reading Rousseau's Les Confessions but once I'd put it down I just couldn't pick it up again, particularly when Unreliable Memoirs was within reach.)
Here is a short excerpt (Mr. James, I've bought all your books, some of them several times when the originals fell apart, and this excerpt is on the web, please show leniency):
Even the best set of school blocks wasn't as good as the set I had at home. Passed on to me by Grandpa, they were satin-smooth Victorian creations of inch-by-inch oak, every length from one to twelve inches, plus arches, Doric columns, metopes, triglyphs and sundry other bits and pieces. With them I could build a tower much taller than myself. The usual site was the middle of the lounge room. A length of cotton could be tied to one of the lower columns, so that I could retire into hiding and collapse the tower by remote control at the precise moment when Aunt Dot lumbered into range. It made a noise like Valhalla falling. She would have one of her turns — these needed plenty of space — and demand that I be sent to school next day.
...
[My friend's family] had a cattle dog called Bluey. A known psychopath, Bluey would attack himself if nothing else was available. He used to chase himself in circles trying to bite his own balls off. To avert instant death, I was supposed to call out from the front gate when I arrived and not open it until I was told that Bluey had been chained up. One day I opened it too early and Bluey met me on the front path. I don't know where he had come from — probably around the side of the house — but it was as if he had come up out of the ground on a lift.
He was nasty enough when chained up but on the loose he was a bad dream. Barking from the stomach, he opened a mouth like a great, wet tropical flower. When he snapped it shut, my right foot was inside it.
You can find the full excerpt here.
10/10
