Two of the most enchanting books I read over the last few months are Herta Muller's The Passport and Dimitri Verhulst's Madame Verona Comes Down the Hill. They are very different stories, the first a political metaphor, the second a study of human nature and love. But they seem to come from a European tradition that incorporates a kind of fairytale element with the everyday: the fabulist tradition that reaches back to Aesop, and forward to the likes of Saramago and Calvino.

Australian fiction, on the other hand, seems mostly to be grounded strictly in the realist tradition. This passage from Kenneth Cook's Wake in Fright exemplifies a style of writing tethered to the real that can be found in writiing from Patrick White to Tim Winton.

'...he could see the plains stretching west, broken only by rare clumps of the hardy saltbush that managed to draw sustenance even here where the earth had been innocent of any trace of moisture for months...somewhere not far out in the shimmering haze was the state border, marked by a broken fence, and that further out in the heat was the silent centre of Australia, the Dead Heart.'

There are, of course, exceptions to the rule: David Malouf's An Imaginary Life is steeped in mythology, but is also steeped in the European landscape and tradition. Some of Peter Carey's novels come close to this blending of the real and magical, but the two Australian novels that stick most clearly in my mind are by Aboriginal writer's: Kim Scott's Benang and Alexis Wright's Carpentaria. Perhaps indigenous culture more readily embraces a blurring of boundaries between the real and the imagined. Perhaps the Australian writers of European descent find the bright light of the Australia sun discourages the fabulist imagination to bloom; unlike the deep, dark forests that feed the European imagination.

The other element I find in these European stories, and I'm not sure if they are not part of the same thing, is the use of the everyman character to explore the universal; like the traditional morality tale, the characters are central, but not particularly distinguishable. Unlike the way the individual is so distinct and discrete in our stories: down to the colour of their eyes and the personal tics and quirks that define them as unique.

I'm not quite sure where I'm going with this - and I'm sure there are thorough and fascinating academic studies about the differences between 'old' and 'new' world literatures, that would make sense of these differences I am only just hinting at - but, it has set me thinking about styles of writing and the pleasures of reading, and, I for one, find a deep, dark pleasure in leaving the strictly fathomable behind.

And if you are interested in European literature, there is a great anthology edited by Aleksander Hemon that should hit the shelves this month: Best European Fiction 2010 that aims to promote emerging writers and those who have been so far neglected by English-language publishers.

The Wheeler Centre programme officially began on Saturday night with 'A Gala Night of Storytelling' at the Melbourne Town Hall. The Wheeler Centre grew out of Melbourne's successful application to become a UNESCO City of Literature and a Victorian Government initiative to support writing and ideas in our city.

So there was quite a buzz surrounding the first event, in which twelve of Australia’s favourite writers reflected on storytelling and the tales that have been passed down to them through the generations. And it was quite an experience. Each writer stepped up, without fanfare, to the microphone and related their story to a capacity crowd of approximately 2000 people.

Some, like Shane Maloney, had the crowd laughing out loud, with his forebears total lack of stories to tell. John Safran, with a similar sense of humour, related how his father's cheeky inquisitiveness, brought out the same in his son and Judith Lucy was in fine form with her tale of family secrets, intertwined with a fan letter about a woman's determination to have a life well lived.

Tara June Winch held us enthrall with a story at once profoundly beautiful and sad, of a note written to her by her grandmother on a scrap of paper and cherished for life; the words: I love you. David Malouf recalled how his mother's stories of wealth and privilege in England sat uneasily with her early impoverished life in Australia, and how there are many stories within a family that remain unsaid. Alexis Wright, bravely beginning her tale with a call for 'treaty now', also spoke of the unspoken, of memories stolen, but woven with childhood glimpses of love of family and country.

Christos Tsiolkas and Cate Kennedy both had stories of strong and beloved grandparents, whose love did not necessarily reveal itself all that clearly to a young child. Christos with warmth and humour describing his Greek grandmother's desire to teach the young city boy how to kill and cook a chicken. Cate, in a lively vernacular, described her grandfather's wonderous collection of 'stuff' that enthralled the young girl as much as his hard-drinking and blokiness kept her at bay.

John Marsden told a thought-provoking tale about a recent experience with a young man that caused him to deliberate on the nature of manhood and how young boys lack a decent rite of passage. Alex Miller retold a tale handed down to him, about how the things we value most, are often of the least value to anyone else. And, in perhaps my favourite tale, Chloe Hooper relayed Aesop's fable of the sun and the wind, reflecting on the nature of stories, and how they are perhaps not necessarily as wise or as fair as they seem.

And finally, Paul Kelly, in his much-loved medium of music, sang a tale of love between a favourite aunt and her American husband and the love story that may never have been, but for one fateful moment in Italy.

As I listened to these stories, so varied, and yet, in many ways, so universal, my mind wandered to my own stories: those that are etched in my memory from continual retelling by parents and grandparents, aunts and older cousins; of stories that were being told around the Christmas table just a few months ago, captivating my young niece and nephew; the secret stories I have only discovered as an adult about thwarted love, mental illness, damaged men on opposite sides of war. And I looked around me at all those 1600 people, wondering about their memories too, imagining all those stories floating above and around us in that beautiful vaulted hall and grateful that storytelling remains as important to us now as it has ever been.

Martin Hughes quietly launched Affirm Press in 2007 with the publication of the Slow Guides to Melbourne and Sydney. The Slow Guides aim to 'celebrate all that’s local, natural, traditional and sensory' about life in our cities. They explore different aspects of local lifestyle and character with attention to the finer details. And the response has been great, with the expansion of the series internationally in 2010, co-producing Slow London and Slow Dublin with Hardie Grant, another great local independent publishing house.

Affirm has followed the Slow Guides with an eclectic selection of titles from some great local authors, focusing on building a strong and dynamic publishing space for new and emerging writers. In 2009, they announced the Long Story Shorts initiative, a commitment to publish six individual collections of stories by new Australian writers. The first of which arrived in store this week: Bob Franklin's Under Stones.

Franklin's stories are taken from the everyday, but with a keen eye for the cool shadows that lurk just below the surface, swaying eerily into the surreal and back again, without losing their grounding in reality . In 'Hell Hath no Fury...' a man-boy whose partner wants him to grow up, finds the world around him become literally run by children. In 'Traitors Bay' a frightened young mother, battles with demons brought on by her alcoholic husband and his shady dealings. With clear and unnerving prose, Franklin creates a sense of unease, of the uncanny, that lingers long after you have turned the page.

Nineteen Seventysomething by Barry Divola, the next title in the series, is due out in March. And I'm already hearing some excellent advance reviews.

It looks like Affirm is onto something local and something good.