After the Flood
We started the renovations eighteen months ago, and began by lovingly packing our books into sixty-eight cartons which we placed in the storeroom in the basement of the house.
“They’ll be right there,” said the builder. But one missing downpipe and a rare Sydney downpour was all it took for those sixty-eight cartons to be sitting in two inches of water.
The flood may have been divine retribution for daring to write this book– for daring to suggest that the book is dead.
For what seemed an eternity, the boxes were stuck in the middle of the building site, rotting from the ground up.Finally, the surrounding scaffolding was removed, allowing us to get to the storeroom. Most of the boxes were fine, but the ones on the bottom had sacrified themselves for the greater good.
For posterity, here they are: