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I found this a book of uncertain trajectory. On the one hand its target seems to be a broad readership, for these forty-three short stories were first written for the periodical, Tabloid Story, whose method of distribution has been the effective one of being hosted by student and national journals of wide circulation. On the other hand, the collection includes a long self-conscious explanation of itself whose apparent interest in a secure perch on a tertiary syllabus would exclude the popular audience. In it the editor outlines why these stories represent a revolution in Australian short fiction, anatomises the causes and course of this upheaval, locates its European and Latin American antecedents, names its genres – in short tells why his authors should attract serious study rather than serious enjoyment. The ruse, of course, is to hallow an episode in Australian literature, a manoeuvre that I found as transparent as it is indicative of shaky confidence. A revolution with genuine roots will hallow itself.

The exploits of legendary heroes, so deeply rooted in particular cultures, very often suffer diminution by being retold in another language. Heroic deeds need no justification or explanation for the original audience, who share with the teller the same aspirations, the same fears, and the same codes of behaviour. The explanatory footnote and the authorial aside to mitigate strangeness in a new version are just as fatal to authenticity as those turn-of-the-century illustrations showing Jason and Perseus looking like upper-class British Empire builders, exemplars of the Baden-Powell ethos.

The approach taken by the South Australian Royal Commission into the Non-Medical Use of Drugs is to be highly commended. This commission was appointed in January 1977, under the chairmanship of Professor Ronald Sackville, Professor of Law in the University of New South Wales, nearly nine months ahead of the Federal Commission chaired by Mr. Justice Williams and the New South Wales Commission, chaired by Mr Justice Woodward. The South Australian Commission includes Earle Hackett, Deputy Director of Adelaide’s Institute of Medical and Veterinary Science, and Richard Nies, Head of the School of Social Studies at the South Australian Institute of Technology.

During the past fifty years far-reaching changes have occurred in the manufacture of dairy products in all developed countries. Some of these changes have been dictated by much stricter health and hygiene standards. Other changes were made possible by rapid advances in food engineering.

Today, milk is collected and transported in bulk tankers and the manufacture of dairy products is carried out in very large factories by mechanised and often fully automated processes. There is no more need for the dairy farmer’s wife to set the pans for the cream to rise, or to churn her own butter. She no longer coagulates milk with rennet, or strains the cheese curd through a cloth, setting aside the whey to feed the pig. The art of making dairy foods on the farms or at home has almost died.

But in recent years a strong trend has emerged, particularly among young people, towards ‘natural’ foods. In the case of dairy products this means – milk your own cow or goat. If this is not possible, buy the milk and make your own yoghurt, sour cream or even your own challenge to Stilton! But how?

The title of David Malouf’s novel, An Imaginary Life, must be read three ways. Most obviously, the novel is an imaginative recreation of the last years of the life of the Roman poet, Publius Ovidius Naso (Ovid), who was exiled to a village on the Black Sea by the Emperor Augustus in the last century BCE. The life is imaginary because it imagines – most successfully – the circumstances of this exile.

State Premiers are usually required to be articulate; to be literate and civilised as well is an unexpected bonus.

After almost nine years in office, one of our most literate Premiers since or before Federation, has set down in urbane, often oratorical prose, his observations on the way Australia is going.

Fifteen years ago the British urban historian Asa Briggs wrote a short but stimulating essay on Melbourne in the Victorian era in his Victorian Cities. In thirty pages he not only challenged the conventional assumptions of Australian historiography of that time (specifically deploring the lack of systematic study of the Australian city) but also threw out various ideas about how to approach Australian urban history. It took some time for historians here to take up Briggs’ challenge, but with the publication of Graeme Davison’s The Rise and Fall of Marvellous Melbourne Australian urban history has come of age.

This book in praise of the potato, the most versatile and delicious of vegetables, is one I thoroughly enjoyed. Having a penchant for the potato I am an easy mark for the creative use of this lovely vegetable.

Ms Souter shows us over and over again in this well defined book how very diversified one can be with the potato. She gives general information on the types of potato grown in Australia and those types usually available at the local markets, which type to use according to methods of cooking, and growing and storing potatoes.

 This volume of stories adds to the spate of books by or about Turgenev that have appeared recently yet it cannot be said to be redundant, as it provides an English version of five novellas not readily available in a collected form. Since the translator’s argument rests on the importance of the frequently neglected later part of Turgenev’s oeuvre (i.e. the shorter works appearing after the major novels) to a true understanding of Turgenev’s philosophical and spiritual history, then obviously the English-speaking world must have access to it, and they should be pleased to make the acquaintance of this accurate and easy translation.