I had long wanted to write a love story, and I had long - wisely, I felt - shirked the challenge because I felt it the hardest story of all to write.

'The Bradshaws' is the appropriately inappropriate English title given to an enigma - some hundreds of thousands of mysterious rock art paintings scattered through the wilds of the Kimberley, an area larger than Germany in the remote, scarcely populated northwest of Australia.

The Bradshaws suggests an extraordinary civilisation that existed long before modern man reached the British Isles.

Everything about The Bradshaws is controversial, fluid, uncertain: their age - perhaps 30,000 years old, perhaps older, perhaps more recent - who painted them, what they mean.

The 2007 Labor campaign was the most presidential in Australian history, with a slogan - Kevin07 - exceeded in its banality only by its success.

Black Saturday reminded many Australians of what they know only too well: that of all the advanced economies, Australia is perhaps the one most vulnerable to climate change.

It may be that the carbon tax is the final chapter in the strange death of Labor Australia.

Under Malcolm Fraser's Liberal governments in the 1970s, large numbers of refugees fleeing Vietnam in wretched boats were taken in without any great fuss.

For much of the latter part of the 20th century, Australia seemed to be opening up to something large and good. It believed itself a generous country, the land of the 'fair go.'

In 1995, the Paul Keating Labor government commissioned an inquiry into the forcible removal of Aboriginal children.

I have met Aborigines younger than me who used to hide every time anyone official came round their camp for fear of being taken away.

I was born too late and missed the dream of empire. Its shadow, the Commonwealth, coincides with my life but rarely connected with it.

What supposedly bound that Commonwealth together was a mysterious shared identity - Britishness.

Through my youth, there was imposed on us a culture relentlessly English. English books were all you could buy; English television filled our screens, and in consequence, England seemed to matter in a way that our world didn't.

I went to study at Oxford University in the 1980s on an imperial scholarship instituted by Cecil Rhodes.

Nothing seemed to offer more striking proof to the late Victorian mind of the infernal truth of social Darwinism than the supposed demise of the Tasmanian Aborigines.

Through the 1990s, the fracturing of Tasmanian Aboriginal politics was given impetus by the ongoing corruption of a number of black organisations started under federal government programmes, with large amounts of public money being lost.

Unlike some mainland black groups, Tasmanian Aborigines now have no traditional tribal culture left. It was taken from them with great violence and great rapidity.

The survival of extraordinary creatures such as the giant Tasmanian freshwater crayfish - the largest in the world - is in doubt because of logging.

Logging is an industry driven solely by greed. It prospers with government support and subsidies, and it is accelerating its rate of destruction, so that Tasmania is now the largest hardwood chip exporter in the world.

Since woodchipping began 32 years ago, Tasmanians have watched as one extraordinary place after another has been sacrificed. Beautiful places, holy places, lost not only to them, but forever.

Within white Australia, there was a growing movement for what was known as reconciliation - a movement that peaked with millions marching in 2000 to demand the government say sorry for past injustices.

Under Howard, federal government support for black Australia slowly dried up. Services were slashed, native title restricted.

History, like journalism, is ever a journey outwards, and you must report back what you find and no more.

A novel is a journey into your own soul, and you seek there to discover those things that you share with all others.

In reading, you sense the divine: the things that are larger and greater and more mysterious than yourself.

Shakespeare was completely fictionalising the people who were then the great celebrities of English.

In Australia, the Man Booker is sometimes seen as something of a chicken raffle.

I was struck by the way Europeans see history as something neatly linear. For me, it's not that; it's not some kind of straight railway.

You can spend a day in a library and feel: 'Great, I've done a day's work.' But it's only research, not writing.

I am, of course, greatly honoured to win the Booker, which is one of the great literary prizes in the world.

Generally, literary prizes are significant not for who the winner is but the discussion they create around books.

I think all novels are contemporary. When people went to see 'Antony-Cleopatra' at the Globe in the 16th century, they were not going to get a history lesson on the Roman Empire. It was about love, sex, and also about dynastic troubles.

I am the happiest writing and being with the people I love.

I love all forms of music. I even like music I dislike, because the music you dislike is like going to a strange country, and it forces you to rethink everything and to appreciate its particular joys.

My mother hoped I'd be a plumber.

Perhaps the virtue of coming from a place like Tasmania is that you had the great gift of knowing that you were not the centre of things, yet life was no less where you were.

My father, unusually for a PoW, talked about his experiences, but he talked about them in a very limited way.

'The Narrow Road to the Deep North' is one of the most famous books of all Japanese literature, written by the great poet Basho in 1689.

We're a migrant nation made up of people who've been torn out of other worlds, and you'd think we would have some compassion.

My secret skill is baking bread. My mother was a farmer's daughter and still made bread every day when I was a child. She would have me knead the dough when I got home from school.

If 30 Australians drowned in Sydney Harbour, it would be a national tragedy. But when 30 or more refugees drown off the Australian coast, it is a political question.

The past is there, but life is circular. I have a strong sense of the circularity of time.

I do not come out of a literary tradition.

A Labor prime minister, Julia Gillard, who does believe in climate change, nevertheless advised her predecessor, Kevin Rudd, to abandon his emissions trading scheme.

In Tasmania, an island the size of Ireland whose primeval forests astonished 19th-century Europeans, an incomprehensible ecological tragedy is being played out.

Companies that are terrifying to a writer are companies like Amazon.

John Howard, willing to apologise to home owners for rising interest rates, would not say sorry to Aborigines. He refused to condone what he referred to as 'a black armband version' of history, preferring a jingoistic nationalism.

Horror can be contained within a book, given form and meaning. But in life, horror has no more form than it does meaning. Horror just is.

I believe in the verb, not the noun - I am not a writer, but someone compelled to write.