Angus Nicol

Look, I picked up The Story of Tom Brennan thinking it was about some Aussie bloke who maybe burns his toast or misses a footy goal and learns a valuable life lesson. Easy read, I thought. Light stuff. WRONG. This book pulled me into a full-blown emotional hurricane with more drama than an episode of Home and Away during a cyclone. One minute I’m vibing with Tom and his rugby mates, the next minute his brother Daniel decides to play Fast and the Furious: P-Plater Edition and turns everyone’s life upside down faster than you can say “we’re moving in with Grandma.” Speaking of Grandma, Nan is an absolute legend. She runs the house like a military camp mixed with a bakery. She “runs this house” like all the bros are bro corp when a non bro joins! Tom, our emotionally repressed protagonist, spends most of the book doing a world tour of Sad Boy Energy: won’t talk to his mum, ghosting his mates, moodier than a Year 9 with no Wi-Fi. Honestly, I get it. His whole life imploded like a dodgy meat pie. But someone get this boy a therapist, a hug, and maybe a Spotify playlist called “It’s OK To Feel Things.” Meanwhile, his sister Kylie goes from “grumpy teen” to “actually kind of helpful,” the mum’s holding on by a thread (and instant coffee), and Daniel? Daniel’s doing time and hopefully reflecting on how drunk driving ruins lives, Daniel, you absolute goose. But just when you think it’s all doom and gloom, there’s light. There’s rugby. There’s a girl. There’s hope. And slowly, Tom starts to piece himself back together like a broken IKEA shelf held together with trauma and awkward family dinners. Top moments: • Tom discovering feelings are real and not a myth. • Nan baking as a coping mechanism (relatable). • Daniel getting exactly what he deserves (prison and a permanent place on the family “Do Not Talk About” list). • That slow but satisfying glow-up from “traumatised teen” to “okay, maybe I’ll live.” Final review: A funny, sad, and surprisingly relatable tale of healing, growing up, and learning to deal with life when it absolutely wrecks you. It’s like rugby — sometimes you get tackled by life, but you’ve gotta get back up. And maybe have a custard tart with Nan. Would recommend. Just maybe not on a Monday. Or when you’re already feeling fragile