While we’re here, we have to stop and point out this line:
Sometimes it's so quiet, Dad says you can hear the dieback in the trees, killing them quietly from the inside.
This is an amazing bit of writing.
Writers build worlds through an accumulation of details, many of which are unnoticed by readers. The detail here is dieback, a fungus that kills trees in Western Australia, where this story is set. (Actually, dieback is just the symptom of the fungus; the fungus itself is called Phytophthora, but that wouldn’t sound as good, so Winton collapses the two details together.)
Selecting that detail is strong writing in and of itself, but to use it in this way, as a measure of how quiet the night is while also keeping death in the back of readers’ minds, it’s just masterful writing.
We don’t know what Winton was thinking when he wrote this line—whether it came to him instinctively as he wrote, he thought of it during revisions, he planned it in some way, or it was something he’d once said in conversation sitting on his own deck one night (“It’s so quiet, you can practically hear the dieback”) so it was an image already in his head and this was just the right moment to use it.
Whatever the case, it shows the power of knowing your story’s world in intimate detail.