FitzSimons asks an intriguing question: can a genius also be a saint? He answers it strongly in the affirmative. Readers who know a bit about saints would expect their saintly heroes to be without peer in their approach to the spiritual life and even in writing about it. But in the secular world? No, probably not.

If readers doubt Jorn Utzon's saintliness, read the letter he wrote to Davis Hughes's widow on learning of her husband's death. Most would know that William Davis Hughes, minister in the Askin government and responsible for the Opera House, effectively ran Utzon out of town, taking from him responsibility for completing his genius of a building.

Now Utzon writes to the grieving widow, praising her late husband, accepting that he acted from the best motives: "Sydney got that building because of him". Not a hint of bitterness, malice or remorse. Utzon wrote that he was sorry he never spoke to Hughes after he had left Sydney. Lady Hughes reported that she, and her daughter, were both in tears as they read the letter. Lady Hughes said: "Utzon must have been a great man to have said what he said." Saintly? You bet.

So Utzon is a FitzSimons hero, although in an utterly different way than all the others in that category. But so also is New South Wales Labor Premier, John Joseph ("Joe") Cahill. Most who think about the Opera House would give fleeting attention, at most, to Cahill's role. Not FitzSimons. He gives readers a beautiful picture of a humble, poorly-educated, passionate man, without whom the Opera House would never have been considered, let alone built.

Fired up by men like Charles Moses, Eugene Goossens and George Molnar, Cahill accepts that Bennelong Point is the only possible site, accepts the concept of an international competition as the only means of finding the world's best and most appropriate architect, and goes into bat strongly for Utzon's adventurous solution.

Most normal politicians, schooled from the political cradle to "gently, gently" would have run a mile from each of these three major decisions. As an aside, readers might like to wonder how the idea of the Opera House would fare in today's timid climate. It is completely inconceivable that it would progress beyond a bright idea in some arts-fancier's head.

But Joe Cahill was different. Presented with a problem or an objection, he simply ordered that it be removed, and right now. Here was supreme power working in the cause of supreme good. It is a tragedy for the Opera House and for Utzon, in particular, that Cahill died in office and totally unexpectedly. He did not even have enough time to draw up the pathway to completion.

The politicians who took his place revert to type, and the Opera House lacked an engaged patron thereafter. As in Greek tragedy, we know the ending before the first act is over. Great aspirations, the highest ideals, perfect harmony among all the players, and a great opera house all die alongside Premier Cahill.

FitzSimons battles on. He expands his cast of characters, tells a multitude of interesting stories, perhaps gets bogged down a little in technical detail, but he ploughs on to the glorious opening of the Opera House in 1973.

In her opening speech, the Queen paid attention to those who built the building. Not only to the architects, the engineers, the financiers, the politicians, but to those whose tough physical labour, and the greatest devotion, actually put the building up. So does FitzSimons. He reminds readers of the multicultural nature of the workforce, drawn from every part of the world. And he reminds readers that the first person to sing there, before building even properly began, Paul Robeson, sang for the workers with arias and tunes they were brought up on.

Everyone who worked for Jorn Utzon respected, admired and wished to protect him in a way that is unusual in the workplace. They, who were closest to him, apart from his wonderful wife and loving family, knew his gentleness, his sense of fun, his capacity for prodigious hard work and his genius. The destruction of this team is perhaps the saddest part of the book.

Finally the Sydney Opera House is open and immediately becomes an Australian icon, forever intimately associated with a new, modern, appropriate image for Australia. Utzon never saw it, never set foot in Australia again, and FitzSimons carefully, sympathetically, explains why.

Utzon did not bear a grudge, did not hate, did not rail against the fates. Saints are not like that. We are in FitzSimon's debt for explaining that to readers. This may be an unusual book for Peter FitzSimons. It is long, perhaps too long, and readers will need perseverance. But it is also a very, very good book.