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Australian football has lost its magic, a unique quality existing in the 1950s, and even as late as the 1970s. It derived from the fixed positions that players adopted and from their physical diversity. In their competing forms, they became metaphysical constructs – good versus evil, beauty versus ugliness, benign innocence versus malevolent experience – constructs limited only by the human imagination ...

Zoltan Torey’s Out of Darkness begins dramatically in Sydney. On a winter’s night in 1951, Torey, a refugee from Hungary studying dentistry, is on night shift at the battery factory in which he works to support his studies. When he moves a drum of acid, the plug blows off, ‘sending a massive jet of corrosive liquid at my face’. The acid eats into Torey’s eyes, blinding him for life. In addition, he swallows some acid, damaging his vocal cords. Torey describes this event twice: the second time, he emphasises how the event was experienced. ‘The last thing I saw with complete clarity was a glint of light in the flood of acid that was to engulf my face … It was a nano-second of sparkle, framed by the black circle of the drumface, less than a foot away.’ As this suggests, Torey’s prose has moments of extraordinary power.

James Stirling’s naval career was helped by having an uncle who was a Rear Admiral. The other side of his family was involved in trade, and some have argued that his proposal for the Swan River colony was based on personal ambition and family influence. This is true to some extent. However, in a deeper sense, he was shaped by his family’s involvement in two of the mainsprings of nineteenth-century British imperialism: naval dominance and worldwide trade.

Stirling was the founding governor of Western Australia for ten years, but the major part of his career was with the Royal Navy. A strength of this biography is that it is the first full account of that career. There is too little space in this review to deal fully with this part of his life, and Australian readers will be more concerned with his governorship. Like most colonial Australian governors (and post-colonial ones), Stirling has had his admirers and detractors. The author, obviously an admirer, argues persuasively in his favour.

With the world apparently going to hell in a handbasket, the flood of contributions to ideas of global governance shows no sign of abating. There is something dizzying about immersing oneself in such far-reaching and ultimately – necessarily – optimistic works about the possibility of a just global civil order at a time when the most basic liberal democratic rights and freedoms are being traded away willy-nilly at the national and local level. From national security laws to nightclub curfews, nothing seems easier to knock over than liberty, and nothing more difficult to resist than cultures of fear and repression.

Nevertheless, there is no reason not to project into a future that may offer scope for a reversal of this process. John Keane is an Adelaide-born heavy-hitter in the area of studies of civil society and democracy, and also a political biographer – most recently of Vaclav Havel. He is thus ideally placed to write a book that is both accessible to the general, well-informed reader, while sacrificing little in the way of academic smarts. He goes a long way towards succeeding, but that is in part because the political questions to which the answer is ‘global civil society’ by their very nature exclude certain dimensions of human beings whose character would complicate the picture.

This book is dedicated to Judith Brett’s grandparents, ‘none of whom ever voted Labor’, and their grandchildren, ‘most of whom do’; and concludes with the observation that ‘the relationship between … emerging social formations and nationally based political parties is not yet clear – or at least not to me’. The dedication suggests even-handedness, and the concluding words imply a commitment to evidence as the basis for argument. These qualities characterise this major study of Australian Liberalism – an impressive personal achievement and a significant event in Australian intellectual life – though Brett sometimes appears to believe that they are one and the same thing, and that, in order to understand human relations, one must first accept the equal validity of ideologically opposed views.