“Childhood,” writes Toni Jordan in her eighth novel, Tenderfoot, “is as much a place as it is a time.” The place? Suburban Brisbane – specifically Morningside – and the city’s greyhound tracks, which throb with punters on race days. The time? Joh Bjelke-Petersen’s febrile 1970s, a memorable era of political regression and palm-greasing by police.

Jordan’s protagonist, the bruised and cerebral Andie, is 12 years old, on the cusp of finishing primary school. She’s a gifted student – precocious but impeccably polite. Despite her natural academic prowess, she has one goal: to drop school at 15 and become a greyhound trainer, just like her beloved father.

In the space of only a few days, though, life as Andie knows it takes a sharp detour – upended by an episode of tween meanness that coincides with her father’s unexpected departure. Beneath the house, only one of the dogs remains, a velvet-eared greyhound named Tippy, her most trusted companion and confidante.

Review: Tenderfoot – Toni Jordan (Hachette)

What unfolds in Tenderfoot is a feat of delicate foreshadowing and reflection. As Andie schemes to regain her social footing and track down her father, she finds herself adrift in a microcosm governed by the curious workings of the track. “Gambling was our religion and the TAB was our church,” Andie explains. “We were people who understood luck.”

As readers, we quickly acclimate to the pre-pubescent logic of Andie’s small world, where the sweetness of Tang and Chupa Chups coexists almost inevitably with the bloodied sugar bags on which Tippy sleeps.

We know something horribly unlucky is looming.

Jordan is a seasoned........

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