It was a Wiradjuri bloke I know who once told me that, from his point-of-view, every book written in Australia is a work of crime fiction, especially those books that have nothing to do with the ‘true history’ of this country. He was squatting on the old mission land outside Dubbo, a visible reminder to the council (which was considering developing the land) of the generations that had lived there and whose descendents had moved into town, to ‘vegemite valley’ as he called it.