J.J. Kenneally's 'The Inner History of the Kelly Gang' mightn't have the grand sweeps of history of Manning Clark, but for passion, intrigue and historical significance it has few rivals. In 1929, long before Ned Kelly became the darling of mainstream historians, Kenneally (grand father of Melbourne writer and comedian Mary Kenneally) declared Kelly a hero and the police, judiciary, squatters and government, the villains.

Replete with quaint turns of phrase such as 'loaded dice' and 'outrageous Miscarriage of Justice' to explain the Kelly family's string of legal transgressions, and drawing heavily on evidence from the damning 1881 Royal Commission into the Kelly outbreak, Kenneally's book is a stark reminder of how mainstream historians had buried the real Kelly story.

Throughout the book are alluring, intricate moments gleaned from the memory of Kelly's cousin, Tom Lloyd. In Kenneally's world the oral tradition assumes a privileged status. With Lloyd as scout we climb the Beechworth Ranges, cross the Murray and Ovens rivers, camp under the stars a cooee from the police 'pursuers' and crane our neck to better hear and understand the words spoken by this strange collection of recalcitrant farm boys.

Even those who see in Kenneally the partisanship of an Irish Catholic ally of the Kellys have to admire his courage and his research. Seldom in history has the judiciary been treated to the accusations of prejudice saved for judge Redmond Barry. That Barry had been feted by the establishment for his alleged philanthropy was no impediment to Kenneally's attack. Quirky in style, Kenneally's book broke the orthodoxy and exposed the dark secret of Constable Fitzpatrick's sexual assault of Ned's sister, Kate. Thankfully it changed the writing of Kelly history forever and sent me out back of Greta in search of the real Ned. So even though it omitted any reference to Kelly's masterful polemic, the Jerilderie Letter, Kenneally's book is treated like gold in my bookshelf.

Philip Cleary