The Shark Net
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- $15.99
Publisher Description
Aged six, Robert Drewe moved with his family from Melbourne to Perth, the world's most isolated city – and proud of it. This sun-baked coast was innocently proud, too, of its tranquillity and friendliness. Then a man he knew murdered a boy he also knew. The murderer randomly killed eight strangers – variously shooting, strangling, stabbing, bludgeoning and hacking his victims and running them down with cars – an innocent Perth was changed forever. In the middle-class suburbs which were the killer's main stalking grounds, the mysterious murders created widespread anxiety and instant local myth. 'The murders and their aftermath have both intrigued me and weighed heavily on me for three decades. To try to make sense of this time and place, and of my own childhood and adolescence, I had, finally, to write about it.'The result is The Shark Net, a vibrant and haunting memoir that reaches beyond the dark recesses of murder and chaos to encompass their ordinary suburban backdrop.
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
At first glance, this memoir is reminiscent of such classic true crime memoirs as Ann Rule's A Stranger Beside Me--but Australian literary sensation Drewe (The Drowner, etc.) has more in mind than sharp reportage here. He looks back at the years, in his youth, when his hometown was racked by a series of brutal murders. Reflecting on these killings--including that of a boy who'd been his friend--opens up a gloomy window onto Drewe's lonely childhood. His family had moved from cosmopolitan Melbourne to the "sandy moonscape" of 1950s Perth in western Australia. Drewe starkly renders this isolated realm of provincial whispers, suburban boredom and frustration. His father, a rising star with his employer, is distant in every way: he only half jokes that he loves the company more than his wife, and rarely engages Drewe and his brother in any father-son activities. Drewe's mother is no less remote for her overprotectiveness; over time, her spiritually empty moralizing grows vicious. This emotional climate makes Drewe's adolescent traumas surreal--and complements perfectly his account of the senseless and random murders, which at times is deeply affecting. Unfortunately, in his first major work of nonfiction, the author's anecdotes frequently go nowhere. As a result, the book--which drifts along lazily instead of dreamily--isn't as effective as it could have been.
