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Birds have long been omens and so it is with Lucky, the garrulous galah of Sorensen’s rollicking, beautifully observed debut novel. Set in north-western Australia, the sixties are both near their end and — in significant ways — yet to arrive in this corner of the country. The town’s satellite dish not only captures staticky images of men on the moon for the world to see but also the townspeople’s characterful thoughts — Lucky, in this case, their sole diviner.
While this dawn chorus of a novel is busy with incident, invention and charm, such is Sorensen’s skill that it never once threatens to collapse into any incoherence. Sorensen skilfully maintains the balance between the exhaustion of the past and the too-long awaited future with real wit and verve.