Hysterical.

Shirley Barrett’s THE BUS ON THURSDAY reads like Bridget Jones Demon, with the first hundred pages serving up a cracking pace, accelerating round hair pin narrative bends and ignoring give way signs.

Told in the first person singular by the recent singleton, Eleanor, the first third of THE BUS ON THURSDAY maps her journey from mammogram to mastectomy to the spectre of metastasizing, in a mad, manic rollercoaster rant of rom com riffs, patient doctor infatuation, and conflicting cancer counsel.

The story then snakes into totally wonkitated territory when Eleanor takes a job teaching at Talbingo, just out of Tumut. The school has recently gone through a tumult with the sudden disappearance of a much loved female teacher, Miss Barker.

There’s something of the village of the damned about the place, with a town padre called Friar Eugene Hernandez, who tolls The Turtles’ tune, Elenor, from his batty belfry, (well a carillon, actually), and a parent more interested in Miss Barker’s menstrual cycle than her daughter’s academic progress.

The WTF of the battle with cancer becomes the WTF of Welcome to Freakydeakyvville.

A tale of excision and exorcism, of phantasm, orgasm, ghost vehicles and a lady in a lake.

Barrett buses in the dreams, digressions, and drunken muses with no care if they have a ticket to ride. Readers become passengers, spectators to a pile up that is hard to look away from.

Unafraid of silliness, she’d rather clutch than brake, angel gearing down a slope of madness and mayhem, whilst revving up the mirth.

There’s a sliver of shiver, a splutter of shudder, and a coolish ghoulish, as the ordinary is infected by the strange.

See-Saw Films has bought the television rights and is currently fast tracking development.

I hope Shirley gets to direct.

In the meantime, catch THE BUS ON THURSDAY – you’ll be off it by Friday and may just want a return trip on the weekend.

THE BUS ON THURSDAY by Shirley Barrett is published by Allen & Unwin.