A painted winter dawn at an ocean rock swimming pool: grey-green water with steam lifting off it, four men in dark period swimming costumes in the pool, and in the foreground a lean broad-shouldered man with dark hair and a towel over one shoulder standing at the edge with his back to the viewer

Winter, a little before sunrise: steam off the water, spray over the far wall, the others already in, and Tom Brennan on the edge deciding nothing in particular. Nobody here would describe this as therapy.

The patch

The south end of the beach, where somebody blasted a swimming pool out of the rock shelf and a club grew up around it. In winter the water comes over the wall in sheets and the men get in anyway; that is the whole point of the place, and it is the only thing several of them have found that works.

The building is not much — a clubroom, hooks, a bench, a board by the door — and after the war years it is coming apart, with the council making noises. Everything in these six books happens inside a triangle of the baths, the sea wall and the beach, and the men in it came home from somewhere they will not describe.

The set

A painted close view of a concrete sea wall beside an ocean pool: five steaming white enamel mugs in a row, a battered kettle, a dark towel over a rusting iron rail, a pair of worn leather sandals

What passes for ceremony: enamel mugs along the wall, the kettle, a wet towel on the rail, somebody's sandals. This is where the talking gets as close as it gets.

The cast

A closed male ensemble, told throughout in one voice. In brief:

A painted summer scene on a wide Australian beach in the late 1940s: two figures playing beach cricket on the flat wet sand, deck chairs and bathers up the beach, a small terracotta-roofed pavilion and a headland beyond

The other half of the year, and the other half of the series: cricket on the flat sand, deck chairs, and the ordinary life the winter books keep looking across at.

The rhythm

Six books alternating winter and summer, and the cold does a different job in each — survival, then absence, then brotherhood, then ordinary life, then grief, then warmth. This is community drama rather than mystery: the pressure on the club is external and civic, a building falling down, a council, a developer, a storm, and the men fix it themselves because that is the only method any of them trust.

The register is embodied and plain — cold, water, breath — and the culture is no-weakness, so the emotional work happens sideways, in the water, in insults, in what is not said. Warm and closed-door where it goes there.

A painted interior of a spartan timber-lined seaside clubroom: four dark towels on iron hooks, a plain varnished board on the wall, a worn wooden bench, a galvanised bucket, and an open door onto flat grey sea

Hooks, wet towels, a bench worn smooth, a bucket, and a board on the wall. The whole plant of the place, and every bit of it needs work.

The question the series asks

What do you do with a way of surviving that has stopped being survival and become a life?

Where to start

One narrator, one club, six books in time from 1945. Each stands alone, but they are a spiral rather than a set of cases, so read them in order.

  1. The First Cold — start here. Winter 1945. A man off the tram with a kit bag, a clubhouse falling apart after the war years, and a council starting to talk about closing it.
  2. The Warm Water
  3. The Brotherhood
  4. The Ordinary Swim
  5. The Coldest Water
  6. The Summer He Stayed In — the last one, and the only title in the six that is a promise: a wedding, a business, a dog, and a man who no longer describes himself as a returned soldier.

The Bondi Swimmers shares its suburb, and several of its people, with the other Bondi series — most closely with The Six O'Clock Leads and the Connie Reilly books.