Two children unwittingly find themselves in a battle against evil In a secret part of the world, protected by a secure passageway, is a place called the Archipelago. It's a place of wonder, populated with the creatures of ancient myth: unicorns, sphinxes, nereids, mermaids, dragons, hippocamps and centaurs, to name a few. When a young boy named Christopher Forrester comes across a baby griffin in a lake, he finds himself drawn into the archipelago. There he meets Mal Arvorian. She tells of how a magical force keeps the archipelago and its wildlife thriving, but its natural sustainability is under threat from malevolent forces. Mass extinction and ecological disaster looms. Through a series of great adventures and battles, Mal learns she has been enlisted to help save the Archipelago from ruin, with Christopher offering all the help he can. Children (8+) will eat up this fantasy / adventure story. Katherine Rundell writes in a crisp, well paced prose. There are all the usual set pieces – magic flying coats, floating buildings, strange creatures – creating a fabled world that is never short of surprises. The serious themes of the book (ecological destruction caused by greed) are balanced by Rundell's wit and cheerful style. The bittersweet ending will leave readers emotionally satisfied. Adventure, the battle between good and evil and a wild cast of characters (the gruff sailor Nighthand is a delight) make Impossible Creatures a sure delight for young fantasy readers. Impossible Creatures, by Katherine Rundell. Published by Bloomsbury Children's Books. $18.99 Review by Chris Saliba A box of letters reveals a tragic past. Jack Shine works on the docks in the Irish city of Cork. It's 1980 and Jack is forty-one years old. He's helping clear out his uncle Joe's house, which is up for sale. It is the house he was born and raised in. While cleaning up they find a box of letters and news articles. The letters are addressed to his mother, Rebekah, and are from a famous footballer named Matthias Sindelar. Rebekah had fled Vienna in the late 1930s, in serious danger as a young Jewish woman. The letters and articles reveal the essence of a passionate relationship between Rebekah and the Catholic Matthias. Eager to find out more, Jack travels with his Jewish (and German speaking) father-in-law, Samuel, to Vienna, trying to piece together more pieces of the puzzle. Rebekah had died when Jack was only 10 years old and had never explained this mysterious part of her past. The Paper Man (the title refers to the on-field agility of Matthias Sindelar as a footballer) is apparently based on real people and events. Irish writer Billy O'Callaghan has fashioned a slow moving yet absorbing story of love, desperate times and the tragic effects of war on everyday people. This is not a perfect love story by any chance. Matthias is portrayed as a bit of a womaniser, and Rebekah's parents are none too happy with their relationship, but O'Callaghan shows how war cut like a scythe through society. Those on the Nazis' hit list had to drop everything and run for their lives. We don't know how Rebekah and Matthias's relationship would have panned out had not war interrupted it. A poignant war story carefully told. The Paper Man, by Billy O'Callaghan. Published by Jonathan Cape. $34.99 Review by Chris Saliba An Irish poet's legacy is generational trauma for daughter and granddaughter alike. Nell is a twenty-something freelance writer, knocking out dodgy travel pieces for online publications. She's in a sort-of relationship with Felim, a strapping lad of farming stock. Things are less than ideal, as Felim is borderline abusive. The sex is often rough and unsatisfying, but Nell is a bit of a masochist, prone to self-harm, and employs a wry sense of humour to try and rationalise her experiences. She has moved away from home, and her mother Carmel, to try and begin living an independent life, and hopefully forge a more independent identity. The two women, mother and daughter, have a complicated relationship, full of love, but also frustration and exasperation. Carmel is a no-nonsense woman, with a realistic yet also ironic outlook. She raised Nell without a father, conceiving her daughter randomly, seeing single motherhood as less complicated than a traditional nuclear family. Carmel's attitude to men is perhaps coloured by her father, Phil McDanagh, a famous Irish poet (as far as poet's can be famous) Phil McDanagh is a mildly comic figure, the proverbial Irish poet. Neither daughter nor granddaughter take him too seriously, although he is a major presence in their lives, despite the fact that he has passed away. The poetic Phil, in touch with the beauty of language and expression, dumped his wife Terry when she was suffering with cancer and quickly took up with other women. Old television interviews of Phil are available online, which are a focus of Nell and Carmel's attention, as they try to figure out what his relationship with them meant, and how it continues to shape them. Anne Enright has a great skill for describing life as it really is, with a focus on motherhood and its complex, often divided emotions. Nell and Carmel are undoubtedly close, and would do anything for each other, but there are fights and resentments. Enright also writes about the body in an almost Chaucerian way, with emphasis on menstrual blood and sperm, stark realities of life's cycle. All these elements put together – the natural insistence of the body, the challenges of mother-daughter relationships, a steady stream of bad or boring sex, a gnome-like poet father – create an emotionally messy yet compelling page-turner of a novel. Enright weaves much humour through her well observed prose, creating well rounded characters that readers will feel close to. A skilful portrait of intergenerational relationships, executed with wit and understanding. The Wren, The Wren, by Anne Enright. Published by Jonathan Cape. $32.99 Review by Chris Saliba Megan Davis and George Williams take an historical perspective on the Voice in this instructive and useful guide. Constitutional experts Megan Davis (a Cobble Cobble woman from south-west Queensland) and George Williams AO have put together a neat, easy-to-read history of the Indigenous struggle for recognition in Australia's founding document, with useful timelines and appendices. Starting with an explanation of how the constitution came to be, Everything You Need to Know About the Voice then moves onto the 1967 referendum, which proposed changes that would allow Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples to be counted as part of the population and provide the Commonwealth with the power to make laws for them. This referendum was carried with an overwhelming majority and the authors spend much time dissecting the reasons for its success and the misunderstandings as to what was being proposed. The rest of the book describes the democratic process that led to the Uluru Statement from the Heart and some of its key goals, namely Voice, Treaty and Truth-Telling. Davis and Williams put the Voice referendum in historical perspective, highlighting its challenges and clearing away the fog of misinformation. A vital contribution to the upcoming referendum that will help citizens to make an informed decision. Everything You Need to Know About the Voice, by Megan Davis and George Williams. Published by New South Publishing. $27.99 Review by Chris Saliba A novelised account of Kate Grenville's grandmother's life. Born in the early 1880s in rural New South Wales, Sarah Catherine (Dolly) Maunder was never going to have many career options. In those days when women married, their fate depended on the quality of their husbands . Dolly wants to teach, one of the few pathways to independence for a woman, but her stern, cheerless father forbids it. Instead Dolly marries Bert Russell, a friend of the family from childhood. It's a loveless match, even though Bert is handsome and a decent enough chap. The couple have three children, but Dolly isn't really suited to motherhood. And she loathes farming. She spurs Bert to set up various businesses – shops and pubs – that turn into roaring successes. Despite Dolly having all the get-go to take risks and get ahead, being a woman means she has no money in her own name. Celebrated Australian author Kate Grenville has turned the life of her grandmother into a novelised account of what it is to be a woman in late 19th and early 20th century Australia. It's a tough life, with hard won successes and much heartbreak. A gritty portrait of early Australia, with subtly woven in feminist themes. Restless Dolly Maunder, by Kate Grenville. Published by Text. $45 Review by Chris Saliba A son turns his mother's migrant story into first class literary fiction. In the prelude to Peter Polites third novel, God Forgets About the Poor, a sassy, wise-cracking mother gives her adult son some tips on how to write her story. “You don't know the first thing about me,” she admonishes her gay son, warning him off entwining his personal story too much with hers. Through the course of the novel we learn about Honoured's (the mother's name) growing up on the Greek island of Lefkada. It's the post-war period, and Greece is in the midst of a civil war. Honoured and her sisters are peasants, and being girls, they're not prized. In fact, their very female existence is a source of shame. It was a boy, highly valued by agrarian Greek culture, that their parents really wanted. Honoured will eventually make her way to Sydney, Australia, marry and have two children. She carries with her the scars from a serious leg infection she contracted in Greece as a child, which left her hospitalised for a year. She remains ambivalent about her life, torn between two cultures, and is resigned, though not happy, about her second class status as a woman of migrant origin. An aura of dissatisfaction surrounds her. Polites could easily have fallen into the trap of writing a straight, fictionalised biography of his mother in this deeply resonant novel. Instead he's opted to write a long prose-poem, a rich and evocative portrait of peasant life in Greece during the post-war period and an homage to the migrant experience. There are profound layers of meaning to be gleaned from Polites' fine, textured prose as he explores identity, being, gender and one's place in the world. This is an absorbing, formally innovative book that demands careful reading and will most likely appeal to fans of Rachel Cusk and Deborah Levy. A triumph of skilled storytelling. God Forgets About the Poor, by Peter Polites. Published by Ultimo Press. $34.99 Review by Chris Saliba An uplifting journey along Melbourne's Yarra River. Harry Saddler is a Melbourne writer (he moved from Canberra 20 years ago) whose work concentrates on the natural environment. In his new book, A Clear Flowing Yarra, he devotes himself heart and soul to Melbourne's defining river. It should be noted at the outset that the name Yarra is a misnomer, a misunderstanding by the Surveyor-General John Helder Wedge in 1835, who misinterpreted the words of two Kulin nation people. Yarra actually means flowing water. The river's real name is Birrarung, meaning river of mists. A Clear Flowing Yarra is an immersive, companionable book, a love letter to the Yarra River. It's also inspiring in its enthusiasm and eagerness to experience the Yarra first hand. Readers will want to start their own journey of rediscovery after finishing the book. Saddler interviews a range of people – environmentalists, activists, scientists – who work towards keeping the river in a sustainable position. The story of a woman who voluntarily organises rubbish clean ups shows how it is the work of quiet, unsung heroes that make a huge difference to the river's health. Saddler is also a keen watcher of animals, and he devotes much time to describing the wildlife that lives along and in the river – birds, snakes, bats, birds, possums. He infuses every page with his own sense of wonder and awe at nature's marvels. An easy-to-read series of riffs on Melbourne's main river system that will delight and enchant. A Clear Flowing Yarra, by Harry Saddler. Published by Affirm. $29.99 Review by Chris Saliba Release date 29th August, 2023 A luxury hotel becomes a place of menace and fear. A group of rich guests have booked places at the Termush hotel, a comfortable resort. The only difference is that they are not hoping to enjoy a relaxing holiday. They have reserved places in the hope of surviving a nuclear Armageddon. The story opens after the “disaster” has happened, with a brief description of what atmospheric changes a nuclear explosion can wreak. The hotel guests try to believe that life can return to some sort of normalcy – but everyone knows they are lying to themselves. The hotel's management endeavours to create a veneer of polite civilisation, but tough decisions are being made, primarily, whether survivors of the explosion that try to enter the hotel should be allowed in. Should there be a cap on how many survivors can be accommodated? Who gets to make these decisions? What are the ethical implications? Can there even be ethical questions in such an environment? A mounting tension builds as it becomes obvious that there are forces outside the hotel that want to break in. No matter how much the management tries to pretend that everything is under control, it's clear that the hotel provides a flimsy bulwark against the reality of the outside world. The guests' safe haven is crumbling before their eyes. Danish author Sven Holm published Termush in 1967, and it was translated into English in 1969 by Sylvia Clayton. It's a short, terse novel with clipped, pared back prose. Every character in the story remains unnamed, except for Maria, whose emotional outbursts are deemed the only rational response to the unfolding horror of the guests' situation. Termush brilliantly examines the psychology of survival at any cost, creating a novel of unremitting despair. Termush, by Sven Holm. Published by Faber $22.99. Review by Chris Saliba A new biography of Rupert Murdoch concentrates on his early years. Rupert Murdoch’s influence is ubiquitous, yet the man himself remains oddly opaque. Contradictions abound. During his university days, he toyed with left-wing politics, but soon moved to the right. He painted himself the outsider, but quickly became the establishment. As Murdoch once said candidly: “Monopoly is a terrible thing, until you have it.” Journalist Walter Marsh’s new biography of Murdoch concentrates on the mogul’s formative years in Adelaide at the helm of The News, especially its controversial coverage of the 1959 Stuart royal commission, which brought Rupert and his editor, Rohan Rivett, close to a jail term for seditious libel. The book also works as a dual biography of his father, Keith. Murdoch senior started as the editor of the Melbourne Herald and was soon engineering a series of ambitious business deals that sowed the seeds of the Murdoch empire, but left him overdrawn and overstretched. Rupert clearly inherited his father’s penchant for high stakes and risk taking. Young Rupert is a scrupulously well-researched history that examines the power of the press in the twentieth century, and its influence on politics. Rupert Murdoch remains largely elusive, yet new research shows glimpses of a man under pressure and unable to enjoy his success. Readers interested in Australian politics and publishing will find much to satisfy here. Young Rupert: The Making of the Murdoch Empire, by Walter Marsh. Published by Scribe. $34.99 Release date 1st August. Review by Chris Saliba This review first published at Books + Publishing. Blood was Tony Birch's debut novel, published in 2011 and shortlisted for the Miles Franklin award. It appears now as part of the University of Queensland's First Nations series. Thirteen-year-old Jesse and his younger sister, eight-year-old Rachel live an itinerant life with their mother, Gwen. Gwen is a terrible mother- there's no other way to put it. She's banned Jesse and Rachel from calling her “Mum” - a word she can't stand. She has no money, lives on the occasional job and a bit of drug running. Her boyfriends are generally pretty bad – ex convicts and worse. Things get so dire at one stage that she dumps Jesse and Rachel with her father, an ex-alcoholic who has found the Bible. The children like their grandfather and wish they could stay with him. He has his rules, but also provides stability and regular meals. They are soon disappointed when Gwen turns up again, with a new boyfriend, the borderline psychopath Ray Crow. Gwen takes Jesse and Rachel from Melbourne to Adelaide, with the creepy Ray in tow. They meet up with Ray's mate, the equally scary "Limbo", so named because his criminal court cases were always in limbo. When Jesse finds a stash of cash and a gun, he knows the two men are up to something dangerous and illegal. The children decide to make a run for it and try to make it back to their grandfather in Melbourne. Tony Birch's sparse, clipped prose (think James M. Cain and Cormac McCarthy) is a page-turning delight. Instantly the reader is hooked on this nail biting story as Jesse and Rachel live by their wits, trying to evade Ray and Limbo who are out looking for them with evil intent. The scenes and situations seem so real that you feel certain the book is some thinly disguised autobiography. The descriptions of outback roads, greasy diners and dingy suburban shopping malls are all easily recognisable, giving the book an attractive realism. A First Nations perspective is added by the fact that Jesse's father is Indigenous (his sister, Rachel, was fathered by a white man). Jesse is yet to fully realise his heritage, but witnesses the racism of white people around him. A brief encounter with an otherworldly Indigenous man, Magic, opens his eyes to other life possibilities – of identity and destiny. An edge-of-your seat story told with consummate skill. Blood, by Tony Birch. Published by University of Queensland Press. $19.99 Review by Chris Saliba |
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