randal j. junior

The Underwater God continues to haunt the characters of Australian-Gothic folklore in this exploration of antipodean identity. Sex, drugs and dirty deeds is a recipe that few narratives can sustain; and without characters who inhabit the landscape with the full depth of their conviction, there is no story to be told. 'If I were to sing out of tune I would lend you my ear' said a wise man to a fish, thinking him to be a knight in gilded armour, but there are no Knights of the realm in the Great South Land; for we are a mongrel breed of exiles and dissidents, intent on denying the hierarchy that would import itself above the common man. But what of those who were here already, and who watched the flood of European migrants sweep across the land in search of grass, gold and grain? Those men, women and children who were bashed, burned and buried in the name of a new culture that knew not the land that they would call their own? Have we the wisdom, the courage and the compassion to right the wrongs of the past? Or are we too caught up in the inane longing for a white-picket fence to realise that the land is big enough for all of us and that it mourns the loss of those who knew it best? And where would we look for the answers to these questions? If not within ourselves? This book asks all of these questions but no amount of pages can provide all of the answers.