They are not just words whistling on the wind. They come laden with other gifts. With a whole place: Melbourne. It makes you wonder what elements must thus congeal to sustain the songs, the poems, across all these pages without once faltering, without missing a beat. Perhaps it is in what they call 'tone' - no pun intended, mate.

'Don't think you'll get away with lightly reading these Tony Birch poems. They are not just words whistling on the wind. They come laden with other gifts. With a whole place: Melbourne. Objects proliferate in The Anatomy Contraption sequence, where, in a singular assemblage of technology, modern science and early-twentieth-century eugenicism it is easy to coolly dissect 'three infant hearts' for a cabinet of curiosities, which 'congeals together / like a song.' It makes you wonder what elements must thus congeal to sustain the songs, the poems, across all these pages without once faltering, without missing a beat.' - Stephen Muecke