His writing is remarkably evocative, whether he is describing everyday occurrences or characters . . . we gain an insight into the minds of the Japanese so even if we don't empathise with their desire for a glorious death, we can comprehend it.
Keneally skilfully weighs broad cultural questions against the concerns of the soldiers and community . . . In a supremely dramatic ending, it is impossible to guess the fate of any of the characters.
Shame and the Captives suggests that Keneally's late period is as rich as any other in his fifty-year career . . . Keneally's elegant classicism miniaturises grand narratives - here the war in the Pacific - without sacrificing subtlety . . . Shame and the Captives is sobering, horrifying, humane and even strangely uplifting.
A story very suited to Keneally's talent for letting his imagination play on real-life events. The narrative is gripping, slow-moving but absorbing for the first half and more of the novel, then fast-moving, exciting and appalling.
Keneally's fine novel gives us insight into how, over time (as in Australia itself), imprisonment, even brutal imprisonment, can evolve into something worthy of the human race.
Readers wondering whether there is anything new to be said about the world wars of the twentieth century can pick up one of Keneally's books for a renewed sense of how it felt to live through those terrifying times . . . [he] makes the reader sympathise with the mindset of the prisoners, having rooted out yet another unfamiliar and powerful example of the madness of war.
As he states in his introduction: "Fiction has always tried to tell the truth by telling lies." On the evidence of this book, and at seventy-eight years of age, Keneally remains one of the most compelling liars on the planet.
A tremendously accomplished novel, rich in character, detail and incident. It is the work of a master novelist