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I have never flown first class on Qantas; I’d love to, but somehow I don’t think I ever will. But next time you fly first class on a Qantas 747, take a look at the inflight library and you might be surprised to find copies of George Johnston and Charmian Clift’s Strong Man from Piraeus; Elizabeth Jolley’s Palomino; Evan Green’s Alice to Nowhere; Gerald Murnane’s A Lifetime on Clouds; or Kate Grenville’s Lillian’s Story.

Dear Editor,

I wonder whether you would be so good as to publish, in a forthcoming number of ABR, a short list of selected errata as they appear in Kenneth Gelder’s review of The Book of Sei and Other Stories in your June issue.

Mr Gelder’s opinions are his own affair, much as I might wish that he had not made a book of mine their vehicle. I was, however, disturbed to find that, purporting to quote the first lines of the story entitled ‘The Dolphin’, he in fact quoted the opening lines of quite another (‘Red and Black’).

This book is about the role played by ministerial staff in Australian federal government. It is particularly concerned with the potential influence on policy making that this group may have through their capacity to advise ministers. It is, then, about the nature of the relations between personal advisers and their principals – a general issue that can be explored through history, and in countries other than Australia (see chapter 2). From the outset, however, it is important to differentiate between advice to ministers and advice to government, and the term ‘adviser’ does not sufficiently alert us to that differentiation. Indeed, the term ‘adviser’ is traditionally used to signify public servants, who are formally charged with the responsibility of advice to government. I have therefore elected to borrow the term ‘minder’, a term that is creeping into journalism and into the vernacular to refer to a member of a minister’s staff. We can thus distinguish at once between minders (personal advisers) and mandarins (public servants).

The last time I’d seen this particular Bob was when we were at the school where I had to pretend not to be good at English and French and where he was a bikie and one of the likeable Bad Boys. I’d admired his audacity in running for school prefect and his campaign posters with their slogan ‘VOTE FOR BOB AND YOU WON’T GET DOBBED’.

And here he was at a party almost twenty years later, a taxation officer in a grey suit saying to me ‘And whaddya do for a crust?’ I said, ‘I teach a course in Australian Literature’. ‘Yeah?’ He didn’t sound too surprised. ‘Be a short course, wouldn’t it?’

Phoenix Publications literally sprang from an ardent belief that there is place in Australian publishing for a small press representing a wide literary culture and achieving a high standard of design and production.

Phoenix Publications arose in Brisbane, when Manfred Jurgensen, Professor of German at the University of Queensland, was asked to assemble a collection of writing by Australians whose native tongue was other than English. The anthology, Ethnic Australia, appeared in 1980 and met with such interest that it was set in many high schools and tertiary institutions and went into a second edition the following year. Jurgensen decided that the best way to achieve the standard of production he wanted for Ethnic Australia was to publish it himself, and Phoenix Publications was established.