novel, shown through an early exposure to death, emotional neglect and instability, which forces them into adult awareness before they are ready. Harry is only nine, and Miles thirteen, when they are left without real emotional support after the deaths of their mother and grandfather, and with a father who is emotionally absent. Parrett writes Harry’s early understanding of mortality plainly: “Harry understood it, right down in his guts, that time ran on forever and that one day he would die.” The simple, internal voice shows how grief works its way into a child’s mind, blurring the line between childhood and adult fear. This is echoed when “Harry picked up an abalone shell, the edges loose and dusty in his hand,” the tactile image of something “loose and dusty” reflecting the fragility of the family itself. Harry’s dependence on Miles comes through when he thinks, “If Miles got lost… Harry’s insides would go wrong and they might never come right again.” The metaphor of his “insides going wrong” puts grief in the body rather than the mind, as if for a child grief is not an idea but something physical and frightening. “Never come right again” takes away Harry’s usual childhood belief that things can be fixed, showing how much his sense of safety depends on Miles. The boys cling to small routines, like Miles checking the boat or Harry waiting for Joe, almost as a way of controlling something small when everything else feels out of their hands. Parrett’s short, clipped sentences in these moments reflect that same stuntedness, as if the boys’ growth has been cut short before it could properly form, shaped by the isolating context of their coastal upbringing.
Parrett reveals that emotional growth also emerges through violence, betrayal and imposed responsibility, particularly within the brutal environment created by Steven Curren. This is clear from the start: “First day of school holidays. First day he must man the boat alone… he must fill the gap Uncle Nick left.” The repetition of “first day” and the modal verb “must” show how forced this transition into adulthood really is. Steven’s violence towards Harry, especially when he has been drinking with Jeff, exposes just how broken the household is. When Steven “grabbed Harry by the shirt and shook him hard,” the sharp verb “grabbed” shows how fear becomes part of the boys’ everyday world. This is set against small moments of tenderness, like when Miles leans “his head down against his brother’s shoulder… and he let himself cry,” written in plain, stripped-back language that contrasts with the more violent scenes. Parrett complicates this bleak picture of fatherhood through George Fuller, an outsider first feared by local children as monstrous but who Harry finds to be a gentle, grandfatherly presence, offering the warmth and safety the boy cannot find at home. Harry reflects that “if Granddad hadn’t died then he definitely would have taken Harry fishing, too,” and George quietly fills that absence, sheltering the brothers after a violent night with their father. These moments show that the boys’ resilience is not something heroic, it is something they have been forced into, and something they must sometimes find outside their own family to survive, capturing the complex human qualities and emotions that arise from hardship.
Parrett leaves the reader with an awareness of the enduring impact of loss and trauma, showing that human experiences are often unresolved but profoundly shaped by relationships and circumstance. Harry’s death becomes the final result of the family’s dysfunction, and the novel’s clearest statement about grief that never gets resolved. The sea keeps returning as an image of this, “Out past the shallows… comes the dark water, black and cold and roaring,” the harsh figurative language elevating the boys’ personal experience into a universal theme of forces beyond human control. This is echoed in the Tasmanian coastline itself, which feels just as unforgiving as their home life. Later, Miles’ near-drowning, “He was part of it. Part of the deep water, part of the waves. Part of the rocks and reefs along the shore,” uses repetition to show him merging with the natural world, as if trauma has become part of who he is. The tide’s constant movement mirrors the boys’ own cycles of grief, fear and connection. Even the ocean’s unpredictability reflects their lives, since Miles “knew not to trust it,” just as he cannot trust his father. Parrett suggests that life goes on alongside suffering, the same way the waves keep moving no matter what happens on land.
