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320 pages, Paperback
Published June 4, 2019

I drink in my father's anger, see how it makes him glow and other people cower, and I repeat it. I punch my mother in the stomach and call her a stupid slut.
While Tracey's own children swan about, living the high life, the foster children have entered a bizarre arms race of grovelling.
Tracey was my penance. That's not to say there weren't other ways I could have been changed. Therapy, love, kindness. But cruelty can also save.
Poverty was a part of life, but it was Australian poverty. There was always enough money to chuck two dollars in a chocolate bar skill tester. No matter how poor we were, we could afford to pay money to not win chocolate.
My father takes me to the pub where he drinks beers and bets on horse racing. He speaks of systems, quinellas, exactas, trifectas, quaddies. It is our special paradise. Most of all I adore the smoke, the way it unfurls in the air like ghosts from cigarettes. I love the silence of the men with the occasional eruptions of hope.
I was contaminated, mutilated. For years I had believed that love held out the one hope of cleaning me and making me whole. Now I knew the truth. Love was just another way I'd wished in vain to be fixed. There was no salvific silver bullet. What was taken from me when I was young could not be replaced.
Am I a liar? No, I'm not a liar. I'm an unreliable narrator.
I wish I were a liar. Liars know the truth.
”He hits my mother, he hits my sisters, but he does not hit me. I am special, his favourite. I am beloved.”
"Am I a liar? No, I'm not a liar. I'm an unreliable narrator. I wish I were a liar. Liars know the truth.”