Customer Reviews

My Brother Jack (Imprint Classics)

5 star:		(4)
4 star:		(2)
3 star:		(0)
2 star:		(0)
1 star:		(1)

 

 

An intriguing story that fills the reader with conflicting and contrasting emotions. Gives an in-depth look at Australian suburban life pre WW2 and also an insight into Johnstons own life. Starting with David Merediths father coming home from WW1, David, as a 6 y.o., grows up often in the shadow of his brother Jack who is older, trendier, and more 'blokey.' David manages to get into Journalism and create a superficial happiness for himself and his wife, the story continues... Having to read this book for V.C.E. Literature (Victorian Certificate of Education, for those that aren't Australians) I was surprised to find myself enjoying it. Definitly worth the read as it is a great classic.

I'm sure that the critics and reviewers are correct in stating that this is a fine piece of literature and that it deserves all the accolades that it has won over the years,but it induced in me a terrible sense of claustrophobia and a feeling of melancholy.I was born in Melbourne and was a child during the years of W.W.2 so am very conscious of all the aspects of living in the closed,careful society that was Melbourne and its suburbs in the 40's. Not having had to think about that time for years,reading this book is,(to me)remembering the feeling of suffocation and also the feeling of being out of step with my family,even at that young age.My father believed that we all would be happier by "keeping your head down and fitting in".Perhaps My Brother Jack should be read by someone who grew up in a totally different environment and who would be fascinated by its culture.

The story of a young boy growing up in Australia in the years leading up to World War II. Although not quite as good, it compares favorably to Joyce's Portrait of the Artist. The fact that this book is out of print is a sad commentary on our reading habits. This book should be required reading material in every school in the country.

Before the author drank himself to an early death, he wrote this sublime novelised biography of Melbourne of the twenties to forties. Achingly nostalgic and wonderfully paced, this tale of growing up is now forty years old, and perhaps the best novel ever written by an Australian.

A wonderful Australian friend of mine sent this book to me. He's from Melbourne and thought I might get a kick out of reading about some of the places he has so often told me about. This book captivated me from the very first page! So rich in Australian culture, the character studies are incredible. I think we all have a "Jack" in our lives no matter which continent we find ourselves on. I understand there are two sequels to this work and I am very anxious to read them as well. I highly recommned this book to anyone who wants to get a clear picture of what it is like to grow up in Melbourne.

I studied this book for the 12th grade of high school, and it is just not very good. It was a highly sentimental book filled with mediocre lines and left nothing to the imagination. If a character is having dinner, George Johnson goes to painstaking effort to describe absolutely all the food, what the table looked like and what kind of chair he is sitting on, but without any emotion behind the descriptions. Indeed, just about every second paragraph is merely a long list of the things in a characters surrounding. This is not good writing. This is not a book. It's a catalogue.

I was inspired to read this novel at the request of my english teacher and positive reviews. I was going through a tough period of my life and it really helped me through when I needed a friend. Davey was my friend.

One night while sitting in the pouring rain on the verandah while an annoying fly was annoying me, I simply fell apart and started bawling my eyes out when I picked up the book and was transpoted to a world where life was perfect and the horrific death of my gold fish Victor simply dissapeared.

It was a was a warm night when I got home from a game of bingo with my geriatric friends. As soon as I walked in the door I new something was wrong. The customary chirp I hear from Victor as I walk in the door was simply not present. All I heard was a gulp like noise from my parrot Barabra. I was worried. I raced over to Victor's fishtank and saw him floating belly up. I was horrified and cried all night. I was utterly shattered and it is only now 15 years on the I have totally overcome my sorrow.

I pay tribute to My Brother Jack, as it was the turning point in my life and I have now progressed so much that I have purchased a Mexican Walking Fish Name Vladamir.