Heather Rose

And I've

it's not that I mean to do it.

In fact, someone last night at a book event said to me, Heather, the thing about your novels that you maybe don't understand is they're so different because every one of them you write from the heart.

And I thought, wow, and I've been thinking about that since.

I don't know if that's true of Margaret Atwood, but she writes from what she's curious about and what she wants to explore as a writer.

And all her books have been extraordinary to me

even the ones that I felt worked less well, have nevertheless really impacted me because I can see her mind at work.

Heather Rose, thank you so much for speaking to us on The Bookshelf.

It's been a delight, Kate.

Thank you.

Chapter Two.

Hobart Airport.

Scene of my great escapes from Tasmania.

There, waiting for me, was my sister Max.

Not Maxine Coleman, leader of the opposition, I can see everyone noticing, but my very petite older sister hugging me.

JC, our brother the Premier, had offered to send a driver, but Max had scoffed.

''I'm picking you up, Ace,'' she'd said.

''Of course I'm picking you up.''

''Ace, that's me, Astrid Coleman.''

Elsewhere, a political family like ours would be impossible, even ludicrous.