“He was going to take in, possess the whole of the world. Aussie Aussie Aussie, Oi Oi Oi? Fuck off. He wanted more.”

 

Ezra swims. Douglas-Apsley National Park, Tasmania. January 2021.

Barracuda by Christos Tsiolkas

While the novel's arc did not entirely convince me – the tale of a gay half-Greek/ half-Scots/ not quite-Aussie who only ever wanted to be one thing (a world champion swimmer) – Barracuda held my attention the whole way through.

A scathing critique of Australia’s tendency towards self-mythologising, the book bristles with an undercurrent of rage that blooms in a moment of devastating brutality on which the entire novel turns. Issues of race, class, sexuality, friendship and what it means to succeed and fail permeates throughout.

All the while, the characters surrounding the central protagonist are glimpsed more in shades and shadows, echoing the self-absorption required of the elite athlete. There is a lot of pain on display, and it is grim reading at times. Still, it is thoroughly readable, and we are rewarded with a satisfactory resolution.

One thing that struck me was that – at seven or eight years old now – the scathing indictment on the national character seems even more prescient than it did in the immediate period, post-John Howard. Given the love of the liberal use of “c*$t”, I was saddened that more weren’t thrown in the direction of the c*$ts in Canberra.

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