Reviews for The teaching of first year economics in Australian universities

The average rating for The teaching of first year economics in Australian universities based on 2 reviews is 3 stars.

Review # 1 was written on 2009-08-02 00:00:00 Rene Hernandez Oh, the dynamics of family psychology! A mother and father can have such a profound influence on a child - occasionally one emotionally charged incident will haunt one's memories for a entire lifetime. No better example of such an episode can be found than in this Barry Yourgrau flash fiction: HELIUM I open the box and take out the heavy, folded balloon and fix it up to the canister of helium. The balloon swells spasmodically. Then suddenly it finds its form and goes taut and hurriedly I shut off the gas. It's in the shape of my father. It's a terrific job and worth all the money. There it hovers, against the ceiling, like a obese bumblebee. I get on the bed and tie a line to one foot and pull it after me out the door. Behind our house is a small park, with a round hill. There's a blue sky, a few clouds and a breeze. I release the balloon and it hurries out, bumping into the wind, until it's at the end of my line. Delighted, I fiddle with the string and my old man dances idiotically under the clouds. At this point I become aware of shouting. I look, my mother is hurrying up the hill towards me, gesturing angrily. "What are you doing with your father!!" she cries. ""Get him down!" I start to laugh gleefully at her confusion, but then I'm brought up short by the intensity of her passion. "Relax, mom, it's a balloon," I explain to her as she reaches me. "You must be crazy," she hisses. She grabs the line out of my hand and starts pulling. "Mom, it's just a balloon!" I protest, but then I look and it really is my old man up there above the treetops. My stomach turns over. I can hear him cursing. "Hang on, hang on!" my mother cries, fighting her weight and the wind. Suddenly a gust shoves him into the very top of a tree. "Oh my god!" my mother cries. I shrink back from her, horrified at what is happening. I can hear the snapping and tearing in the branches as my father roars and struggles, and my mother shrieks, "Don't break the line, don't break the line!" I put my fingers in my ears and turn and flee down the hill. At the bottom I look back and my mother is standing silhouetted at the top, wailing and imploring the sky with outstretched arms as my father sails away, a clamorous, windblown blob, up into the blue. Author Barry Yourgrau, born 1949

Review # 2 was written on 2019-04-29 00:00:00 Frank Petermann I can't say that I liked this one. It was, however, for a college class.