How did Of a Boy by Sonya Hartnett escape my attention in the decade since it was first published? I have just finished it and I am shaking like a leaf.

The year is 1977, and Adrian is nine. He lives with his gran and his uncle Rory; his best friend is Clinton Tull. He loves to draw and he wants a dog; he’s afraid of quicksand and self-combustion. Adrian watches his suburban world, but there is much he cannot understand. He does not, for instance, know why three neighbourhood children might set out to buy ice-cream and never come back home…

I read this book with a mother’s grief as my constant companion. Grief over the missing children. Grief for Adrian – separated from his mother and feeling so alone in the world. It was in fact Adrian’s loneliness, combined with that special brand of self-centred pragmatism that kids have, that I found incredibly heartbreaking. If you’ve ever observed a child sitting alone in a playground, you’ll know what I mean. Continue reading →