Books like this are why I'm always apprehensive to quit reading one if I'm not enjoying it. After a middle that sagged a little too much for my liking, the final act and climax 100% reeled me back in and made up for it, and I'm glad I powered through.

It's odd to think that a "Western" doesn't have to be set in the United States, but this really does check all the other boxes aside from the geographic location. Latter half of the 19th century, people eking out a tough living on a homestead in an unforgiving landscape, conflicts between white settlers and the native populations; scrub away the details and the premise could easily pass for a Wild West story, but this is a uniquely Australian tale at its core.

Two teenage brothers witness something they shouldn't have, get coerced into a lie, and their lives are functionally destroyed as a result of that moment of weakness but it takes so long for both them and you as the reader to understand exactly how. A reluctant revenge story becomes a genuine one, but even after it's over it doesn't feel like it was worth it. Not because of any failing on the author's part, but because the wrong that these two boys experienced could never truly be righted.

This is a violent book that pulls no punches, and there's a particularly disturbing massacre that happens in the middle that is plot relevant and not just thrown in for shock value. We also have what amount to two separate antagonists, each with their own agendas and not always aligned with each other, one of whom was an intense yet fascinating guy that had me on edge every time he showed up. And while I'm not usually a fan of coming-of-age novels, but this was not a gentle and gradual ascension into adulthood; this was a shotgun blast to the chest of trauma and these boys were forced to grow up overnight.

If you want yet another example of how toxic masculinity is such a fucking prison to yourself and everyone around you but also want the occasional kangaroo in the background, give this one a try.