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food in our lives. I loved Ailsa Piper’s Sinning Across Spain, about carrying her friends’ sins along the Santiago de Compostela pilgrim’s trail. Sophie Cunningham’s Melbourne was everything a memoir should be: the shining point at which the personal and the public meet. I’d never read Anita Heiss before Am I Black Enough For You?, which explains Australia’s questionable history of moving the goalposts when it comes to ‘‘ blackness’’. I also managed two terrific Australian novels, both featuring tigers in their titles and examining, from different angles, human culpability: Chris Flynn’s A Tiger in Eden and Emily Maguire’s Fishing for Tigers. Gillian Mears’s Foal’s Bread shimmered with a bleak beauty. I devoured Jeffrey Eugenides’s The Marriage Plot and Jonathan Franzen’s Freedom, both reminding me how well Americans do muscular, emotionally penetrating literature.