In the small hours of Saturday, 31 August, after the wind-up dinner of the Association for the Study of Australian literature in Armidale, John Hanrahan told the writer not to forget the self-portrait he had promised for Australian Book Review. The writer, at that stage somewhere between exhaustion and tranquillity, assured him it would be done soon. Later he regretted what he’d said, because, at fifty-four, he didn’t like looking at himself in mirrors. Perhaps though, if he softened the lights just a little ...