The scene of Paul Hetherington’s ‘verse novel’, Blood and Old Belief, is established in the opening stanza: ‘ironbarks that wander / on ancient hillsides /stringybarks and cypresses / blackening horizons / in the western country.’ The stanza unrolls in a leisurely twelve-line sentence, but working in opposition, in tension, are the terse trimeters of each line. The effect is to simulate an eye’s isolation of individual elements of this rural landscape. From the start, we are in the hands of a skilled verse practitioner for whom ‘conservative’ metrical forms are both the bedrock and the supple medium of the story that he tells.