We might first affirm the strangeness of dreams, their resistance to interpretation, their symbolic excess that can never be carried fully into daytime consciousness. If we are to use ‘dream’ as a metaphor, we should respect the radical otherness of its literal referent, and not vulgarise it by reducing it to a synonym for ambition, at best, and avarice at worst.

The latest issue of Southerly, 74.2, has the title ‘Australian Dreams’. Frank Moorhouse, one my favourite Australian writers, has a piece in there, which makes it especially gratifying that my essay is in it too.