Jan Morris has been everywhere, seen everything, met everyone, and tries to see the good in all of it. She seems happiest, though, among the young. She is surprisingly forgiving toward some of the hollower booster-driven cities of North America, while often coming down hard on New World cities that seem too full of themselves. (She memorably describes Washington, DC as seeming designed for nuclear annihilation.)
Not surprisingly, then, Morris is generous toward Sydney, honoring its brief history but focusing on its childlike present. Since the book was completed, of course, the child has become an adolescent, frantically acquiring attractions that will make it seem more adult -- preening itself for its moment on the world stage in the 2000 Olympics. Like many books about childhood, this one should be read wistfully, with the knowledge that the city it describes is only a snapshot, circa 1990, of a place that seems to be disappearing under its own need for approval.
Of course, during the inevitable post-Olympics hangover, this book may be useful in another way. When we lose track of who we are, when the purpose that has obsessed us suddenly evaporates, it's sometimes helpful to recall what gave us pleasure when we were children. At such a moment, Morris's portrait of Sydney in its last moments of childhood may offer the city a route back to its core, and thus forward into a happier adulthood.
