Gould's Book of Fish: A Novel in Twelve Fish

Firstly this is like nothing I have ever read.

Secondly I knew of the subject William Gould prior to this read.

Thirdly I have actually seen Gould's art in various galleries, recently in the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery.

Fourthly it is not in my opinion a historical fiction as some may think but a bizarre magical realism journey that is phantasmagorical.

Fifthly it has some serious meaning of life questions raised.

Sixthly it has a lot of outright humourism's.

Seventhly it portrays man's inhumanity to man.

Eighthly it can have one researching who are real figures from history and who are not.

Ninthly it makes me think that for a small island, Tasmania sure packs a punch in terms of literature produced at a high level.

Tenthly it makes me want to read Richard Flannigan's entire oeuvre.

Eleventhly it makes me know I want to revisit Tasmania.

Twelfthly it is highly recommended to those that think we are all fish.

This masterpiece is written like water - the rhythms of its words, moving and flowing back and forth in time, and characters that bleed into each other - ‘real life' and imagination, illusion, delusion are indistinct, and the distinction is irrelevant. This book is Neptune incarnate. It is brilliant, brutal, beautiful, bewildering, horrifying and fascinating.
Its brilliance is in its evocation of the true timbre of colonial Tasmania that treads the knife-edge between a fictionalised baroque fantasy and historical record.
Immediate Australian classic. Bit tough-going at times, but crazy piece of genius storytelling.