There are legions of Helen Garner fans. We hang out for her muscular, part lyrical, part blunt, prose and for her unsparing look at the world behind its appearances. The Season is her gentlest outing yet, as well it should be in her eighties: she sets out to follow her teenage grandson’s year playing in the local Under 16 football (Australian rules football, not soccer) team. She hangs out during training, completely invisible with her notebook. She watches her favorite professional team. She travels to matches and, in one memorable scene, issues oranges to the players during their breaks. She writes of the exquisite joy and terror of being a grandmother able to witness this coming of age, knowing there might be few witnessings ahead. The Season is at once a paean to suburban ordinariness; a celebration of Homeric sport; the chronicles of an old woman; and an intimate journal of love. It is a book to be read for insights and experiences, but also a book in which each sentence and paragraph is enjoyed for its craft. It is, in short, a triumph.
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