I picked up Everywhere I Look at the library on the strength of its really lovely/well-designed cover: the author’s name in bold black sans serif, the title beneath in the same font but smaller and red, and then a color photo that spans the front, spine, and back: the author in the center, looking at us, a dog by her side, with others in the background, against a white brick wall topped by a hedge: a woman talking to a small boy, a woman with a mobile phone, a man with a bicycle, a younger woman, an older one, an older man. It’s a staged and stylized photo but also has something of the feel of life, ordinary people moving through their days, and it’s an apt image for the book, whose essays and diary entries feel polished, crafted and carefully shaped, but with vivid moments of humor and lived experience.

The book is divided into six parts, some of which are more thematically organized than others, and some of which I liked more than others. Part Four, for example, with its five pieces about crime/court cases, was not my favorite section of the book, though there were things in it I liked, particularly the descriptions of an exhibit of photos of mug shots and crime scenes at the Sydney Justice and Police Museum in “On Darkness.” I also really liked the ending of “The City at Night”: in the piece, Garner writes about the period just after Jill Meagher’s rape and murder—hearing that a suspect has been charged, the crowds at the vigil, the experience of talking to a friend at a bar about the crime and the public reaction to it. And then the piece ends with an encounter with a stranger at a train station, which starts out a little uncomfortable but turns really sweet: here’s how we live, how we have to live, with moments of trust and kindness and connection in a world in which horrible things happen.

Elsewhere in the book, I really liked “Some Furniture,” which is about moving house and settling in and learning a place, and which proceeds by way of accumulation: little bits of Garner’s own experiences and also conversations she’s had about moving with various people, all piled together into a piece that works really well. I like all the diary pieces, filled as they are with a satisfying mix of thoughts and vignettes, conversations with friends and family and strangers, things seen on television or read in books or magazines or seen or overheard while out and about: a funny handwritten sign in a public restroom, or a conversation with women on a train about the challenges of baking scones. The pieces of criticism were all good, though I might have liked them more if I’d read more of the writers or seen more of the films they were discussing. The last two pieces in the book, though, are what I liked best: “The Insults of Age” is moving and very funny, and makes me want to be a badass like Helen Garner when I am seventy-one. My very favorite thing in this book, though, has to be “In The Wings,” which is a beautiful and perfectly-crafted piece about the behind-the-scenes workings of a ballet company: Garner observes a morning class for company members, rehearsals, and a wardrobe fitting, and it’s just a sheer delight. “Everywhere I look I see a wonder,” she writes, and I’m enthralled by those wonders and how Garner captures them.

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