Michelle de Kretser..
Plaudits to the publisher for their tactile, trim presentation of this small-is-beautiful novella. And to the Australian author herself for a rewarding - and riddling - little read.

It's a ghost story: the sub-title says so. It's set in inner-suburban Sydney. Frances and Charlie have just arrived there from refined, restrained Melbourne and plunge into a place where "the streets ran everywhere, like something spilled", and where trendies carry business cards describing themselves as a "creator" (cue gnashing of teeth).

From the start, places and events are immediate yet elusive. Frances, walking her neurotic bull terrier, glimpses another dog and its enigmatic, indeterminate owner. Physical and intangible begin sliding past each other. Small encounters glow with significance. Conversations are pregnant with half-comprehended import.

For all their worldly success and vigour, Frances' friends and colleagues seem unsure of their own reality. A dinner party is clamorous with confidence yet holds strange and fearful gaps.

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