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There comes a moment in Davey Lloyd’s Tin Man when the most important voice in his memoir is no longer his own. It comes relatively late, during his engagement with therapy, when his parents finally have the opportunity to explain what it has meant to love their son through years of addiction and recklessness.
Every now and then, we cognitively inflexible (read ‘grumpy’), and mature (read ‘old’) men (read ‘stale pale males’) should venture beyond the comfortable boundaries of literary fiction. This time, I wandered into YA fantasy. I was, quite possibly, the least qualified person in the room. Veils of the Fallen follows Esme, a seventeen-year-old navigating a troubled family life and a world in which danger is never particularly far away.
Kerryn Harvey has proudly worn the green and gold representing Australia as a para-triathlete. But it is perhaps through her writing that she most wonderfully represents the Australian character.
Rebecca Armitage's The Heir Apparent is a royal flush down the dunny of aristocratic absurdity…or is it?
This book is no one’s cup of tea. In fact, it’s not a cup of tea at all. It is a passionfruit mezcal margarita with chilli salt around the rim, served at midnight in the Geisha Bar in Northbridge surrounded by Perth’s shortest of miniskirts and bulging-est of biceps, Ferraris and Lambos parked outside.
Tracey Lee’s The Aphorism Club is, at heart, a coming-of-age novel about a young woman learning not merely how to survive the world she has inherited, but how to argue with it.
Elizabeth Strout’s The Things We Never Say is, on its surface, a quiet novel about an ordinary man carrying an extraordinary accumulation of secrets. But beneath that lies a more unsettling question: how much truth can a life, or a relationship, actually bear?
Set against the nail salons of Claremont, restaurants of Subiaco and grand homes of City Beach, fellow lawyer Shoshanna McNerney’s Chameleon is a gripping psychological thriller with a distinctly Western Australian flavour.
Dawson Hann has spent a lifetime noticing what others pass by: a phrase used awkwardly, graffiti carved into a school desk, the disappearance of Adelaide’s trams, a tie presented for service to school sport.
David Ryan’s The Butterfly’s Daughter is a truly ambitious endeavour, with signal notes to William Styron’s Sophie’s Choice and Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five.
Lucia Domenica’s Operator 56: A Call, a Kiss and a Body Count is, on its surface, a memoir of survival: a brutal childhood, an unhappy marriage, four daughters to support, and an improbable passage through telephone sex lines and Sydney brothels. It is funny, confronting, frequently shocking and, above all, extraordinarily candid.