At a time when publishers of poetry in Australia are light on the ground, the verse novel as a form appears to be, at least comparatively, a growth industry. The Australian poetry scene has been blessed on this front in recent years, with the sticky-as-sex efforts of Dorothy Porter (The Monkey’s Mask and Wild Surmise), the curious-noir of John Tranter (The Floor of Heaven) and the boots’n’all myth-building of Les Murray (Fredy Neptune). This penchant for a prosey poesy has by no means been limited to our shores, Vikram Seth and Anne Carsons being prime examples. Similarly, the most stunning verse novel of recent years, W.G. Sebald’s After Nature, is a testimony to the force and suppleness of the form.