What Zhao gives us, though, is the detail of the events as he himself lived them; and also the lacunae, things that others may have been aware of but he himself not. And this is itself a useful reminder that just because someone played a crucial role in major historical events, it doesn’t necessarily mean they knew everything that was going on. This applies both to the machinations taking place behind his back, but also to aspects of the situation as it developed in the streets.

What was not generally known at the time to outside observers was Zhao’s determination, mentioned several times in the book, that he not go down in history as the General Secretary who approved unleashing the PLA against the demonstrators.

In so doing he sealed his political fate, but also ensured his name would be added to the (all too long) list of upright officials who throughout Chinese history did the right thing – to their cost, but to their own, and China’s, ultimate credit.

The fascination of the book, though, goes much further than Zhao’s account of the June 4 events.

It will be mined in great detail by many for the insights it provides into the evolution of the economic reform program, the twists and turns of internal party struggles, the paramount role of Deng Xiaoping (but even his power was not unlimited), the serious differences within the reform camp over political reform (and in Zhao’s case, the way his thinking on this issue changed, and continued to do following his removal from power), Zhao’s insightful pen-portraits of his erstwhile colleagues, and his frank admissions of various policy mistakes (in particular the mishandling of the price reform of 1988).

Most of all, the book stands out as the sole account of how things worked – and in some, but not all ways, presumably still do – at the very top of the Chinese political system, by one who was there.

The difference now, regarding this latter point, is of course that there is no longer a Deng, or a Deng equivalent. Zhao tells us that at the time of the removal of Hu Yaobang, Chen Yun had expressed concern about how Hu’s resignation would be received, both domestically and internationally, and made sure the announcement explained that it was legal and in accord with proper procedures.

‘Deng himself’, says Zhao, ‘never took such matters seriously.’ Quite. None of the current leaders are cut from this cloth, nor have Deng’s power, deriving not from office but from who he was and what he’d done.

The book is in fact almost as much about Deng as it is about Zhao, and here the portrait is appropriately complex. While Zhao emerges very clearly as the man who was really responsible for the thinking through and execution of the reform and opening program, it would never have happened without Deng. Equally, without Deng other things that might have happened didn’t – most particularly really meaningful political reform.

Zhao makes it quite clear that for Deng political reform meant doing whatever it took to strengthen the position of the Communist Party as the sole ruling force in China. He was implacably opposed to anything that smacked of multi-party democracy or the separation of powers.

In this sense, the current leadership stands in a direct line of succession to Deng, as expressed most recently by the widely reported comments of Wu Bangguo; but it is good to be reminded that there have been, and are, other views within the Party itself. At the same time, Zhao demonstrates with equal clarity the support given him by Deng at various crucial junctures against the conservative forces that sought to turn the clock back on reform and opening.

Commenting on the June 4 events, Deng said, famously, ‘this storm was bound to happen’. Zhao shows that this was not necessarily the case – or at least that there was nothing inevitable about the way in which it was handled. Had he had his way, it was perfectly possible that the situation could have been resolved peacefully (as was quite obvious to almost anybody there at the time, other than to those who had an interest in what actually happened).

Going further back, had Hu Yaobang not been forced from power in 1987, Zhao believes the subsequent political trajectory would have been quite different (although, intriguingly, Zhao reveals that one of the accusations against Hu was that he had been too enthusiastic in his support of Kim Il Sung!).

A few days ago, responding to a foreign journalist’s question about a possible reappraisal of June 4, the Chinese Foreign Ministry spokesman said that this and all related issues had been settled years ago. I have too high an opinion of the MFA to believe that the spokesman believed this to be true, or that his hearers would believe it either.

Sooner or later – and later is still more likely than sooner – the issue will be reappraised. When it is, Zhao’s memoirs will play an important role in re-assessing this vital episode in the history of modern China. In the meantime, thanks to access to modern means of communication – an important aspect of the reform and opening program for which Deng, Zhao, Hu and their successors can all claim credit –whatever measures are taken to impede them, thousands of people across China will find ways of reading this fascinating and important book.

Richard Rigby is head of the China Institute at the ANU and was formerly an Australian diplomat and analyst specialising on Chinese and Asian affairs. He was based in China during the 1980s.