Some books bother me for reasons I struggle to articulate, and I sit there poised between turning the page or throwing the thing away entirely so as to avoid having to undergo the restlessness it inspires. Charlotte Bront??s Villette is one of those books.
1. At the 2012 Sydney Writers? Festival, at the Overland panel on the Tent Embassy, a woman in the front row put her hand up to make a comment. She understood Indigenous people were angry, she said. She understood that horrible things had happened. But she felt personally offended by what she perceived to be… Continue reading On offense
Sometimes the water gets so muddy it?s impossible to see through the swirling dirt and debris looms dark and sudden though the murk. Sometimes you have to wait for the silt to settle to clear your head. For what it?s worth: Sexism is not simply reducible to the prejudice of individuals. Individual misogyny is not… Continue reading Addendum
When I was five, Dean B?? bullied me for my freckles. It?s my first memory of primary school. I was self-conscious about the way my skin looked for years afterwards. The comments didn?t stop as I got older, either. I remember being 13 and walking out of Middle Brighton train station in summer in a… Continue reading A Study in the Art of Revolution II
Sometimes in this sultry climate, when the words won?t come, in between the storm-shadow, the rumbling of thunder, the pouring rain outside and the drumming of water on the shower curtain, my concentration begins to slip. I know it when it starts, the way you know the scent of home. And then there?s that hot… Continue reading Arioso