It’s been a week since the vigils, in Melbourne and elsewhere, for Eurydice Dixon, raped and murdered while crossing Carlton’s Princes Park. Feelings are still raw, and they will remain so for a long time -- at least in the inner-city area of Melbourne, essentially a large village, for which Princes Park is a sort of central green.

Eurydice Dixon’s rape-murder was particularly awful, not only for people like her, but also for people who had come to the inner-city from the ‘burbs, seen their, or their friends’ children grow up and become self-made, self-styled people -- musos, comedians, artists. Public grief is distributed as unfairly as anything else these days; a life that projected into the future, a life as a series of projects and possibilities, is, for a broader public, more to be mourned than the murders of the poor and afflicted, which is most murders. Even more than the murder of Jill Meagher six years ago, this was an event that in some way cannot be accepted.