- This is not an angry voice condemning Australians and their anti boat-people prejudices and policies. It does not descend to that ordinary political level.
- It is a far more profound story of the pain and horror our nation has inflicted on the refugees we’ve imprisoned on Manus Island. It simply records the facts, firstly of the boat journey from Indonesia and then of the realities of life on Manus.
- It’s beautifully written in lyrical and often poetic prose. And Boochani as narrator maintains a distance that enables him to describe the prisoners and their captors, and the reality of life on Manus objectively, insightfully and sympathetically.
- This book is not propelled by anger, but by a larger vision of captivity and hopelessness, and what that means for humans and their relationships with each other.
- There are long chapters on the kitchens and the food offered, the medical facilities (so-called), the endless queues for basics like cigarettes, the horrific and putrid toilet facilities, the utterly inadequate and crowded sleeping quarters, the constant power outages, the oppressive heat and humidity, the plague of mosquitoes, and more.
- And Boochani is a master at describing the various characters that populate the prison and define it, and how they cope or not (there are many tragic suicides).
- It reminded me of Solzhenitsyn’s The First Circle and other classic prison narratives. The desiccated bureaucracy of these places, verging on the comic. George Orwell also came to mind. The petty absurdity and cruel minutia of authoritarian systems.
- I found this book very difficult to read. Manus and Nauru define the ugly dimension of the Australian character. It rubbed my nose in it and made me ashamed. But it’s a book that will undoubtedly become a classic of Australian literature. And how ironic is that - written by an author who can never set foot in the country let alone become a citizen.
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