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Before we start this review we want to preface by saying we are not professional critics, so please don’t try and track us down. We are merely loyal ANU theatre enthusiasts who go to more shows than are healthy. Because of this addiction we have decided to review all of the student shows put on this year — from NUTS, to ShakeSoc, to MTC and college productions. We can’t wait to highlight the amazing talents of all the people involved in these shows in the reviews.
Macbeth is arguably one of Shakespeare’s most famous works, centring on deceit, ambition, power with a fair share of blood and gore. Shakespeare Society’s (ShakeSoc) production of the Scottish play — although it appeared the cast were confused about geography with their accents — proved an exciting choice to a packed opening night crowd.
What this play certainly was not lacking was ambition. ShakeSoc’s decision to stage Macbeth without re-contextualisation in roughly a seven week period proved a brave choice for the society and first-time director Natasha Ludlow. The choice of Macbeth was a production guaranteed to fill seats due to its popularity…and the trauma of year nine English. However, as the first of the 2024 season, this production failed to make as much of a bloody splash as it may have hoped. Where credit should be attributed, is to the tenacity of the directorial and production team in organising this show so early in the year.
While with humorous intentions the stabbing reference made during the introduction about looking to your left and right wondering who may have a knife left the audience uncomfortable. The joke felt in poor taste before the production had even started.
Matthew Wooding as the titular lead (pictured above) provided a stand-out performance, not only furthering the plot but providing a nuanced portrayal of the complex and often fraught Macbeth. Where a stellar performance by Wooding captivated the audience, unfortunately for Lara her Lady Macbeth was outshined by her counterpart. Lady Macbeth is well-known as one of Shakespeare’s most difficult female roles, and with the added pressure of a seven-week rehearsal schedule, Lara’s portrayal at times felt one-dimensional. Ultimately the pair’s chemistry aided both their depictions, with the scenes focused on the couple providing a sense of intimacy to the violent background of the play.
A personal standout in the cast came from Ash Telford as Banquo, whose ghost at the end of Act One left the audience gasping. Despite blood drooling from the mouth, Telford remained in character, providing a chilling portrayal haunting Macbeth and the audience long after the scene had concluded. A surprising standout scene came in the Second Act. Marcelle Brosnan’s Lady MacDuff alongside Marlon Cayley as her son showcased a different side of Shakespeare’s work, with a touching vulnerability accompanied by a maternal passion that provided a much needed refreshment to the latter half.
A hallmark of Macbeth remains the trio of witches. The choice to double-cast this production, whilst not unusual for ShakeSoc, proved ill-advised, with the decision to double-cast Lady Macbeth with a lead witch serving to confuse rather than enchant. Suspension of disbelief can only go so far, and despite both of us having read, studied, and watched the play prior, we found ourselves having to check the script at the conclusion of Act One. Perhaps a costume change could have justified the directorial choice, as where a witch remained crowned and in an evening gown, the production failed to convey a change in character.
Despite costume changes needed to underpin character shifts, the costume team consisting of Archie Church, Isabel Moller, Alana Flesser and Georgia, provided a clean look to the large ensemble. Colour blocking different pairs and groups dependent on the character was a nice touch, showing the team’s attention to detail.
Technically, Ella Ragless’ sound design created an occasional atmospheric ambiance to slower scenes, with the cast’s voices easily projected across the small theatre. The simple yet effective lighting done by Charlotte Harris and assistant Elinor Hudson showed a contrast between battle scenes, dinner parties and emotional soliloquies, adding excitement to the lack-lustre black set.
Walking into the theatre, the only set on the stage was a few pieces of dirty cloth hung limply from the black curtains and unfortunately the stage design rarely became more advanced than that. Whilst a simple set can be effective, watching the cast walk between sides of the stage between scenes and the door to backstage occasionally visible to the audience was an unwanted distraction. The one attempt at a major set piece in the feast scene regrettably did not go to plan on opening night, with stage crew having issues with the tables.
Overall, despite Macbeth being one of Shakespeare’s shorter works, this production proved too lengthy. Potentially the inclusion of more action and gore in the latter half may have re-captivated audience attention. Ultimately, ShakeSoc’s production could have made a bigger and bloodier splash into the 2024 season with the overall disjointed and rapidly put together production falling short of our high expectations.
All in all, the play set the tone for a dramatic season for ShakeSoc. We look forward to their next show Then I’ll Be Brief in Week 10.
Rating: 2.5/5 stars
The Stella Prize longlist was announced March 4, which means twelve new books to add to your “To Be Read” list (actual reading optional, unlikely, and encouraged).
The Stella Prize is the foremost Australian literary award specifically for women and non-binary authors. Founded in 2012, Stella works to place the writing of women and non-binary authors at the forefront of conversation, promoting gender equity within the Australian literary scene and contributing to a ‘vibrant national culture’.
The $60,000 prize is awarded annually to one book deemed ‘original, excellent, and engaging,’ and among the winners (and those long- and short-listed) are some of Australia’s most recognisable literary names. Think Hannah Kent, Michelle De Kretser, Alexis Wright, Melissa Lucashenko, Ellen Van Neerven (ANU’s own 2023 HC Coombs Fellow), Georgia Blain. Last year, the Stella was awarded to Sarah Holland-Batt for The Jaguar, and in 2022 was taken by Evelyn Araluen for Dropbear (which I can vouch for as a brilliant collection, even as someone who mostly associates contemporary poetry with Instagram poetry and therefore actively avoids it, preferring arrogantly to remain ignorant).
The 2024 lineup is a noteworthy one. In a deviation from the past two years, only one poetry collection has been longlisted, and almost all of the titles come from smaller independent publishing houses. In fact, only two — Maggie Mackellar’s Graft (Penguin) and Stephanie Bishop’s The Anniversary (Hachette) — have made it onto the longlist from ‘Big Five’ publishers. The Big Five consists of HarperCollins, Simon & Schuster, Macmillan, Hachette, and Penguin, which tend to collectively dominate the publishing industry. It’s a big year, then, for indie presses and prose writing.
This year proffers some very well-established names — many of whom have previously been listed for (or, in the case of Alexis Wright, won) the Stella — as well as some who are newer to the game. The shortlist will be announced on the 4th of April, and the winner on the 2nd of May.
Praiseworthy by Alexis Wright
Undoubtedly one of the greatest living Australian writers, Alexis Wright’s latest epic novel Praiseworthy seems to be just that — the New York Times calls it ‘the most ambitious and accomplished Australian novel of this century.’ Each of her three other novels — Plains of Promise (1997), Carpentaria (2006) and The Swan Book (2013) — have been similarly received. Carpentaria won the 2007 Miles Franklin, and her ‘unconventional’ (Sydney Morning Herald) memoir Tracker (2017) won the 2018 Stella Prize, which makes Wright the only author to hold both the Miles Franklin and the Stella.
Wright, a Waanyi woman, blends the real, the surreal, and the magical and draws on the rhythms of oral storytelling to create sprawling, sharply intelligent works of profound commentary on ‘contemporary Aboriginal life’ (Giramondo Publishing) and the ongoing nature of colonialism.
Praiseworthy has already taken the 2023 Queensland Literary Award for Fiction, and looks set to be a fierce competitor for the 2024 Stella.
She is the Earth by Ali Cobby Eckermann
Notably the only poetry collection longlisted this year, Ali Cobby Eckermann’s She is the Earth ‘is unlike any other book in Australian literature’ (The Conversation). In 2017, Eckermann won the international Windham-Campbell prize, becoming the second Australian ever to do so.
She is the Earth is a novel-in-verse (however notably lacking a distinct plot and characters) inspired by landscape, natural elements, and ‘the healing power of Country.’ (Magabala Books) It narrates the process of healing and its inherent relationship with the permanence of trauma.
If you’d like to read more about this one, I really enjoyed this article from The Conversation.
Feast by Emily O’Grady
Emily O’Grady’s sophomore novel Feast is already raking in international recognition with a nomination for not only the Stella, but also the Dublin Literary Award. Feast looks at darkness, isolation, secrets and their exposures, familial relationships which are equal parts love and cruelty, and ‘the unmet needs of women’ (The Guardian).
In the Scottish mansion of a retired actress, Alison, and rock star, Patrick, we observe the complicated consequences of the appearance of a nearly-eighteen-year-old daughter and her mother, an ex-partner of Patrick’s.
Feast centres on the women of the family, ‘connected by something far darker and thicker than blood’ (Readings), ‘and what happens when their darkest secrets are hauled into the light’ (Allen & Unwin).
Abandon Every Hope: Essays for the Dead by Hayley Singer
‘Can anyone smell the suffering of souls? Of sadness, of hell on earth? Hell, I imagine, has a smell that bloats into infinity. Has a nasty sting of corpses. What was it Dante wrote?’ (Upswell Publishing)
Hayley Singer teaches creative writing at UniMelb, so perhaps it isn’t surprising that Singer’s debut essay collection is stylistically experimental and steeped in figurative language. Abandon Every Hope ‘map[s] the contours of a world cut to pieces by organised and profitable death’ (Upswell Publishing) — specifically, Singer centres on animal cruelty and the inhumanity of the slaughterhouse industry.
The Hummingbird Effect by Kate Mildenhall
Simultaneously historical, contemporary, and futuristic, The Hummingbird Effect follows four women dispersed through time, connected by ‘the mysterious Hummingbird Project, and the great question of whether the march of progress can ever be reversed’. One working in a meat factory during the Great Depression, another living in a retirement home during COVID, a third some sixty years in the future, and a fourth further still, ‘diving for remnants of a past that must be destroyed’ (Simon & Schuster).
The Hummingbird Effect grapples with climate change, artificial intelligence, and ‘the enduring power of female friendship.’ (The Guardian)
Body Friend by Katherine Brabon
Katherine Brabon’s previous two novels The Memory Artist (2016) and The Shut Ins (2021) have, between them, accumulated a pretty sizeable list of awards and nominations. These past wins include the 2016 The Australian/Vogel’s Literary Award, the 2022 People’s Choice Award at the New South Wales Premier’s Literary Awards, and the 2019 David Harold Tribe Fiction Award.
It’s a shock to no one, then, that Body Friend is up for the Stella. This one looks at chronic pain, female relationships, and the distance between body and self.
‘Body Friend shows that pain can be a friend and a friend can be a mirror, but what they reflect is more than just a mirror image, and contains many possibilities.’ (Sydney Morning Herald)
The Swift Dark Tide by Katia Ariel
‘What happens when, in the middle of a happy heterosexual marriage, a woman falls in love with another woman?’ (Gazebo Books)
One of two memoirs longlisted, Katia Ariel’s The Swift Dark Tide is ‘a diary that doubled as a breathing exercise and tripled as a love letter.’ (Ariel) The Swift Dark Tide chronicles the author’s journey of self-discovery, interlaced with the stories of her husband, mother, and grandparents to create a ‘matrix’ (Ball, Compulsive Reader) of desire, heritage, selfhood, and family.
West Girls by Laura Elizabeth Woollett
West Girls is interested primarily in beauty and race, in a way that feels like a more unhinged, more rooted in physicality, more innately feminine reconstruction of The Secret History’s ‘morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs.’ The female body becomes something at once displaced from and deeply connected to the self. The body is the identity but also belongs to everyone outside of it.
West Girls is interested in the modelling industry, racial inequality, cultural appropriation, the sexualisation of girls’ bodies, and the normalisation of sexual assault.
Our half-white, half-Maltese protagonist Luna Lewis, obsessed with beauty and a modelling career, presents herself as a ‘17-year-old Eurasian beauty, discovered while dismembering an octopus at a southern-suburbs fish-market’ in order to launch her career. This review from The Guardian talks about the act of yellowface in West Girls and looks at the thematic parallels with R.F. Kuang’s novel Yellowface, which was one of the most internationally popular releases of 2023.
Graft: Motherhood, Family and a Year on the Land by Maggie MacKellar
‘To attempt to sum up this book is to do a disservice to the delicate and finely woven lattice of narrative threads that comprise it, like reducing a glimmering spider web to its geometry.’ (Sydney Morning Herald)
A kind of hybridised memoir/nature writing number, Graft is a lyrical, ‘gorgeously written’ (Penguin) account of life spanning one year on a Tasmanian sheep farm. We see birth and death on the farm, interwoven with reflections on childhood and motherhood. Graft is a meditation on mothers, the land and what inhabits it, and home.
Edenglassie by Melissa Lucashenko
Melissa Lucashenko, winner of the 2019 Miles Franklin for her last novel Too Much Lip, is producing a not-insubstantial catalogue of fiction and non-fiction. The bookshop I work at generally has a significant chunk of shelf space occupied by her books (even better, they’re all being released in new, visually cohesive editions, which always makes my heart happy). Lucashenko writes predominantly literary and YA fiction, which are very sought-after in the shop.
Edenglassie ‘slices open Australia’s past and present’ (The Guardian), elucidating the dark, ongoing realities of colonisation by vacillating between and drawing together two narratives set in colonial and contemporary Meanjin country, Brisbane.
Hospital by Sanya Rushdi
Hospital is about psychosis, mental illness in general, and the medical system. A research student is diagnosed with psychosis, and spends the book questioning her diagnosis and the medical system — ‘indeed questioning seems to be at the heart of her psychosis’ (Giramondo). Rushdi approaches time with skilful indifference, ‘braiding past and present’ (Westerly Magazine), and blends reality with ambiguity. The reader is left wondering where her episodes start and end in a state of constant disorientation.
At just 128 pages, Hospital is the shortest novel longlisted. First published in Bangladesh in 2019, it was translated into English and published in Australia for the first time last year.
The Anniversary by Stephanie Bishop
From the author of Man Out of Time (2018), The Singing (2005), and The Other Side of the World (2015) comes The Anniversary, a ‘compulsive, atmospheric’ (Hachette) psychological thriller which looks at gender, power, art, and the craft of writing.
When her filmmaker husband dies falling overboard on a cruise, novelist J.B. Blackwood navigates her past and her suddenly successful present, visiting and revisiting events and ideas with ‘increasing honesty and nuance.’ (New York Times)
To the New York Times, Bishop writes, ‘A lie told well should sound true. The Anniversary is about the lies we tell ourselves when the traumatic facts of our lives become unbearable and we need to twist them into a story we can stomach.’
This year’s lineup has pulled through with banger after absolute banger, and I’m hedging my bets by saying that it’s really, genuinely, anyone’s game. Every last one of these fits the criteria of ‘original, excellent, and engaging.’ If I had to make a guess, though, I can see Melissa Lucashenko’s Edenglassie coming out on top. It’s super relevant and thematically significant, and the way that it is selling and being received makes me think that it especially brings home the ‘engaging’ requirement. But I’ll leave it up to the infinitely more qualified panel of judges to do the judging, and follow along with bated breath.
Editor’s Note: Edenglassie didn’t even make it to the shortlist. Sorry Caelan.
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Daughters of Sparta by Claire Heywood
Set in Ancient Greece, Daughters of Sparta follows sisters Helen and Klytemnestra of Sparta. Separated through their political marriages to brothers Menelaos and Agamemnon, the novel chronicles a tragedy imbued with equal parts love and violence. After Helen is whisked away to Troy with its prince Paris, a thousand ships set sail to steal her back at significant personal cost to Klytemnestra. For fans of Greek mythology and Homer’s Iliad, Daughters of Sparta gives voice to the two women central to the tale and what it means to be caught in the crossfires of the cruel ambition of men.
Homegoing by Yaa Gyasi
The novel follows the descendants of two half-sisters, Effia and Esi, born in different villages in Ghana during the 1700s. Effia is married to an Englishman and lives in the Cape Coast Castle. Her sister, Esi, is imprisoned in the castle’s dungeons to be sold into the slave trade. One family line lives in freedom yet is haunted by the guilt of its role in enslaving its own people. The other is forsaken to a life in shackles for generations. Each chapter of the novel follows a different descendant from both family lines, positioned against the backdrop of historical movements and events. Despite the changing perspectives, characterisation is the novel’s greatest strength. From the conflict between the Fante and Asante nations in Ghana to plantations of the American South, the book traverses Ghanaian and American history. This is an incredibly emotional story that effortlessly explores the generational impact of colonisation and slavery on family, bloodline, and nation.
Of Women and Salt by Gabriela Garcia
Beginning in 1866, Maria is a cigar-roller in a factory living through political unrest and the threat of revolution in Cuba. In 2014, Jeanette, the daughter of a Cuban immigrant, struggles with substance abuse. After ICE detains her neighbour, she takes in her young daughter. Carmen, Jeanette’s mother, has a complicated relationship with her own mother stemming from a traumatic event she witnessed as a child. Following the women of one family through several generations, from 1866 to 2019, this novel explores the complexity of mother-daughter relationships and how they intersect with colonialism, patriarchy, race, and immigration.
The Dictionary of Lost Words by Pip Williams
The Dictionary of Lost Words is written by Australian author Pip Williams and is set in England from the 1880s to the Great War. Following the protagonist, Esme, from childhood to adulthood, the novel centres around the compilation of the Oxford English Dictionary. Esme spends most of her childhood under a table in the Scriptorium, where James Murray and his lexicographers work. She begins collecting words used by and about women that the lexicographers have discarded. These words form the creation of her own dictionary: The Dictionary of Lost Words. This novel illuminates the erasure of women and their experiences in lexicography. It is an incredibly unique and gripping read incorporating historical events like the women’s suffrage movement.
The Color Purple by Alice Walker
Walker’s epistolary novel is split between rural Georgia in the early 1900s and an unnamed African nation. When Celie is forced to marry “Mr.” and care for his children, her younger sister Nettie travels to Africa as a missionary for the Olinka tribe. The two sisters write to each other, hoping they may be reunited one day. The Pulitzer Prize for Fiction winner, the novel is a shocking and emotional examination of race, class, gender, sexuality, and religion. It refuses to shy away from the domestic violence and sexual abuse experienced by black women and gives voice to their pain, resilience and courage.
Pachinko by Min Jin Lee
Pachinko is an epic historical fiction novel that spans generations and decades. It begins in the early 1900s during the Japanese occupation of Korea, following Sunja, a teenage girl who falls pregnant after being seduced by a wealthy older married man. She accepts an offer of marriage from a sickly minister, Isak, who takes pity on her. Together, they travel to Japan. The novel follows the trials faced by the family as they experience poverty, discrimination, and the Second World War. The pachinko parlours serve as a powerful metaphor throughout the novel, depicting the unpredictability of life. This is a story of love and sacrifice in the face of struggle and hardship.
The House of Doors by Tan Twan Eng
Longlisted for the 2023 Man Booker Prize, The House of Doors is set on the Straits Settlement of Penang in 1921. It is based on W. Somerset Maugham and reimagines the inspiration behind his 1926 short story “The Letter”. Maugham, with his secretary and lover Gerald, visits his old friend Robert Hamlyn and his wife Lesley in Penang. The story consists of two strands that Lesley gradually recounts to Maugham: her connection to Chinese revolutionary Dr Sun Yat Set and the 1911 murder trial of Ethel Proudlock. As Maugham contemplates writing on what Lesley has told him, the novel reckons with a question that all writers must face: who has the right to tell a story. The book is a masterful exploration of British colonialism, queer and feminine identity, and the power of storytelling.
Small Things Like These by Claire Keegan
This 120-page novella is small but mighty. Short-listed for the 2022 Man Booker Prize, the story is set in a small Irish town in 1985. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, Bill, a coal merchant, makes a horrific and shocking discovery. Throughout her novella, Keegan explores the mistreatment of women in the Magdalene Laundries, the church’s role in this systemic abuse of power and the silent complicitness of all those who knew the truth.
I Must Betray You by Ruta Sepetys
Ruta Sepetys’ I Must Betray You is a historical fiction young adult novel set in 1989 communist Romania in the last few months of the reign of dictator Nicolae Ceauşescu. The protagonist, Cristian Florescu, is compelled to become an informant for the government and obtain information on a family of American diplomats in exchange for treatment for his grandfather, who is ill with leukaemia. Given the code name ‘Oscar’, Cristian struggles with feelings of loyalty and duty as he attempts to survive under an oppressive regime. The novel paints a stark picture of 1980s Romania and its climate of government surveillance.
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The beginning of a new academic year calls for fresh distractions, and I come fully equipped to help you drain your wallets and your study time. Even better, you can tell yourself you’re wasting neither; reading is good for you, it makes you smart. You might as well be studying for your actual degree. Girl maths is calculating how many pretty hardcover novels you could buy with the money you saved by pirating your textbooks online (for legal purposes, this is a joke).
Full disclosure, this list does not offer very much in the way of nonfiction, aside from a few little numbers I especially liked the look of, which I’ve put in their own category. Sorry to the non-fiction buffs, but also not really.
General Fiction:
The Mother of All Things by Alexis Landau
(Releases May 7)
This one is for all my dark academia girlies. Think The Secret History but more human, and with a healthy dose of female rage.
Ava Zaretsky is a wife, mother, and art history professor. Following her husband to a film shoot in Bulgaria one summer, she is ‘swept up into a circle of women who reenact ancient Greco-Roman mystery rites of initiation, bringing her research to life and illuminating the story of a 5th-century-BC mother-daughter pair whose sense of female loyalty to each other and connection to the divine feminine guides Ava in her exploration of the eternal stages of womanhood.’
Read the full synopsis (and preorder, if you like) here.
See also:
Table for Two by Amor Towles (releases April 2)
From the bestselling author of A Gentleman in Moscow, The Lincoln Highway, and Rules of Civility comes a collection of six short stories set in turn-of-the-(twenty-first)-century New York City and a novella set in Hollywood’s Golden Age. Fans may recognise some characters from Rules of Civility.
What I Would Do to You by Georgia Harper (releases March 26)
A speculative fiction which places the reader in a near-future Australia, where the death penalty is legalised—but the family of the victim must carry it out themselves.
Fantasy/Science Fiction:
The Atlas Complex by Olivie Blake (The Atlas Six #3)
(Released January 9)
Is it the year for dark academia, or are publishers milking this trend a little bit? Here’s another one which will be a favourite with the dark academics among us.
That was cynical of me—when they don’t feel formulaic, tropey, and artificial (read: exclusively written to test their luck on BookTok), the dark academia branding can work well. This series seems to resonate with a very wide audience, so I’m sure we can expect good things.
The final instalment in the Atlas Six trilogy which more or less pioneered the BookTok cult of dark academia, The Atlas Complex is ‘a race to survive as the Society recruits are faced with the question of what they’re willing to betray for limitless power—and who will be destroyed along the way.’
More info here.
See also:
House of Flame and Shadow by Sarah J. Maas (released January 30)
I’m personally an SJM hater, but as that is a controversial opinion I’ll mention that House of Flame and Shadow came out last month. It’s the third instalment in the Crescent City series, and the Google animation was a jump-scare when I was researching for this article. As one of my friends said, Oh God, she got to the tech bros.
Faebound by Saara El-Arifi (released January 23)
Elves, fairies, high stakes and romance providing all the escapist vibes for your Semester 1.
Tales of the Celestial Kingdom by Sue Lynn Tan (released February 6)
An illustrated collection of short stories set in the world of fantasy romance duology Daughter of the Moon Goddess and Heart of the Sun Warrior, inspired by Chinese legend.
Historical Fiction:
All We Were Promised by Ashton Lattimore
(Releases April 4)
‘A housemaid with a dangerous family secret conspires with a wealthy young abolitionist to help an enslaved girl escape, in volatile pre-Civil War Philadelphia.’
Aside from a gorgeous cover, All We Were Promised proffers commentary on racial injustice, Western slavery, class divides, and female friendship. We follow three young Black women in 1937 Philadelphia fighting for freedom, inspired by the real-life Philadelphia Female Anti-Slavery Society and the Philadelphia abolitionist movements during the early 19th century.
I expect this one will be a brilliant debut from Ashton Lattimore, award-winning journalist and former lawyer.
More info here.
See also:
The Familiar by Leigh Bardugo (Releases April 9)
The author of Shadow and Bone, Six of Crows, and Ninth House delves into the world of adult historical fantasy, set in the Spanish Golden Age.
Literary Fiction:
Hagstone by Sinéad Gleeson
(Releases April 11)
Recent years have seen some brilliant literary voices coming out of Ireland—I’m thinking of Sally Rooney, John Boyne, Maggie O’Farrell, among others—so I have high hopes for Sinéad Gleeson’s debut Hagstone.
Drawing on myth and folklore, Hagstone places our protagonist Nell on an isolated island, ‘the source of inspiration for her art, rooted in landscape…and the feminine.’ The island is inhabited by a commune of women who travel from all over the world seeking its refuge. Described as ‘beautifully written, prescient and eerily haunting,’ I think this one will be gorgeous.
More info here.
See also:
Until August by Gabriel García Márquez (releases March 12)
This one is super exciting—a lost novel by the Nobel Prize-winning author of One Hundred Years of Solitude and Love in the Time of Cholera, to be published with the permission of his two sons. Sure to be an instant modern classic.
Anita de Monte Laughs Last by Xochitl Gonzalez (releases March 5)
‘A mesmerising novel about a first-generation Ivy League student who uncovers the genius work of a female artist decades after her suspicious death.’ (Macmillan)
Whale Fall by Elizabeth O’Connor (releases April 25)
Set on a remote Welsh island, this one is a study of ‘loss, isolation, folklore, and the joy and dissonance of finding oneself by exploring life outside one’s community.’ (Penguin Random House)
Nonfiction: A Novel by Julie Myerson (released January 2)
I want to read this based on the title alone. Nonfiction dissects the relationship between a mother and her child. We look at motherhood, addiction, and the act of writing.
Crime & Thriller:
Anna O by Matthew Blake
(Released January 31)
Predictably and unsurprisingly, I work at a little independent bookshop in Kingston, which is in part how I’ve devised this list. Since its release at the end of January, Anna O has been selling well. According to our customer base, at least, it probably isn’t quite the ‘instant global phenomenon’ HarperCollins eagerly declares it to be, but it’s definitely getting some solid attention.
Anna O is an ‘ingenious’ (The Times) psychological thriller interested in the human mind and its subconscious. Anna O, suspected of the murder of her two best friends, has been in a deep sleep for four years. Forensic psychologist Doctor Benedict Prince must find a way to wake her, and in the process any information about what happened the night of the murders.
‘As he begins Anna O’s treatment – studying his patient’s dreams, combing her memories, visiting the site where the horrors played out – he pulls on the thread of a much deeper, darker mystery. Awakening Anna O isn’t the end of the story, it’s just the beginning.’
More info here.
See also:
Butter by Asako Yuzuki (releases March 6)
I believe Butter has met with success overseas, and is being published for the first time in Australia. We’re getting so much fantastic Japanese literature, which I’m loving (Japan and Ireland absolutely killing the game). Inspired by a real case, Butter is ‘a vivid, unsettling exploration of misogyny, obsession, romance and the transgressive pleasures of food in Japan.’ (HarperCollins)
James by Percival Everett (releases March 19)
A ‘harrowing and fiercely funny’ (Penguin) retelling of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, from the perspective of the enslaved Jim.
Romance:
Funny Story by Emily Henry
(Releases April 23)
I think Emily Henry (author of Beach Read, Book Lovers, and You and Me on Vacation among other titles) could quite reasonably be called the mother of BookTok romance. Maybe I should confess that I haven’t actually read any of her novels yet, simply because romance isn’t a genre that I tend to gravitate towards, but her readership is so large and so devoted that it’s pretty clear Funny Story will be big this year.
There is absolutely something to be said for the importance of the romance genre, and the questionable foundations on which we often dismiss it as unimportant or holding less literary value. Romance as a genre is often written by women, typically for women, centring female characters. Lately I’ve been interested in the way we determine our hierarchies of artistic value, and the potential sociocultural issues underlying the way we perceive literature and its importance. Emily Henry herself did an interview with The Age last year which I thoroughly enjoyed—if you’d like to give it a read, here’s a link.
But I digress. Funny Story sets our heroine Daphne in a small town, ‘propositioning [her ex’s fiancé’s ex, Miles] to move in. As roommates of course. A temporary solution until she gets a new job literally anywhere else.’ The ‘awkward exes of exes-to-friends-to-lovers’ trope is a new one for sure, but I have no doubt all the romance lovers will eat it up.
More info here.
See also:
Fangirl Down by Tessa Bailey (released February 13)
The bestselling author of It Happened One Summer is jumping on the sports romance trend, but the love interest ‘was once golf’s hottest rising star’ (HarperCollins, italics added by me for emphasis). A romance novel where our protagonist is the hardcore fangirl of a ‘gorgeous, grumpy golfer’ sounds insane, and if I end up reading it you can be so sure of a review. (If not, someone else read it and tell me how it is.)
Token Non-Fiction:
Outspoken by Dr Sima Samar
(Releases March 6)
This list has been almost entirely composed of fiction (sorry, not sorry), and while there were several non-fiction titles I wanted to include, for the sake of keeping this readable and a not-absurd length we’ll stick with this super important memoir which I’m hoping to read when I can get my hands on it.
‘The impassioned memoir of Afghanistan’s Sima Samar: medical doctor, public official, founder of schools and hospitals, thorn in the side of the Taliban, nominee for the Nobel Peace Prize, and lifelong advocate for girls and women.’
Outspoken is relevant and necessary; it recounts how Simar ‘[became] a revolutionary,’ single-handedly providing medical aid to remote areas and fighting tirelessly for the rights of Afghan women, and ‘all the citizens of her country.’ Important reading for our 2024.
More info here.
See also:
The House of Hidden Meanings by RuPaul (releases March 6)
‘From international drag superstar and pop culture icon RuPaul, comes his most revealing and personal work to date—a brutally honest, surprisingly poignant, and deeply intimate memoir of growing up Black, poor, and queer in a broken home to discovering the power of performance, found family, and self-acceptance.’ (HarperCollins)
Who’s Afraid of Gender? by Judith Butler (releases March 19)
Who’s Afraid of Gender? studies the relationship between authoritarian movements and gender as a concept, and the fearmongering surrounding particularly non-binary and trans people promoted by certain ‘anti-gender ideology movements’. ‘From a global icon, a bold, essential account of how a fear of gender is fueling reactionary politics around the world.’ (Macmillan)
Rebel Rising by Rebel Wilson (releases April 3)
A memoir from Rebel Wilson is so certain to be thoroughly iconic. Recalling her rise to fame with all the insane anecdotes our little hearts could desire, you just know this one will go crazy.
That’s all I’ve got for you today, but I always have one eye on the upcoming releases throughout the year, so expect a part two somewhere in your (relatively) near future.
Until next time!
Comments Off on Review: How to Date Men When You Hate Men
Fair warning: if you’ve come here in search of some profound insight into the matters of the heart, I apologise. I’m just an 18-year-old girl with uncommendable dating experience, who is also severely prone to falling into a pit of crippling anxiety at the mere sight of a text from a guy (it takes me five hours and a solid brainstorming session with three other friends to respond to a simple “Hey” followed by a series of sleepless nights). So, for the sake of honesty, I’ll admit I don’t know shit.
Perhaps now you can also see how a ‘self-help’ book called How To Date Men When You Hate Men would entice someone like me. To be clear, neither I nor the author hate men, we just hate the troubles we’ve to endure to date them and the patriarchal bit of it all.
For a long time, it was a running joke in my friend group that this book held the key to fixing our love lives. Armed with foolproof strategies to sail through the treacherous waters of dating a guy, we’d be unstoppable! So here I was, embarking on this transcendental journey, flipping through the pages of the book like a madwoman and hoping to finally learn the art of dating men just in time for Valentine’s Day. No more being lonely and miserable, I had declared!
By the first chapter, bitter disappointment had settled in. I had fallen prey to clickbait. The book was (unfortunately) neither misandrist propaganda nor, as the author herself admits, a proper “how to” book.
It hypes you up in the beginning, and you, naïve little you, are convinced that you’re about to read something so earth-shatteringly revolutionary that you will single-handedly end patriarchy and the systemic sexism prevalent in our society. But you’ll soon realise this is just a patronising version of your girls’ group chat.
‘It’s not that there are “good men” versus “bad men” (though there are some obvious monsters): all men have received this coding. They aren’t born evil, they’re born into an evil system! It just didn’t sound as catchy to name the book How to Date Men When They Are Born into and Brainwashed by an Evil System That Mightily Oppresses Women.’
The author, Blythe Roberson, is an American comedian and humour writer, who has previously written for publications like The New Yorker and The Onion. As expected, you can sense the immaculate sarcasm and wit right off the bat. Unexpectedly, though, it quickly falls flat.
Throughout the book, Roberson makes various attempts to put modern dating problems in a comedic and engaging light. Sadly she misses the mark almost every single time. Roberson fills the book with quirky little displays of her hilarity, but because the book is so inconclusive everything she writes becomes almost irrelevant due to the lack of direction. The snarky comments that probably would’ve gotten her a good laugh in a different format soon turn annoying (looking at the 125, 689, 871 Trump jokes).
This humour severely lacks purpose. Roberson describes the book as ‘made up of so many opinions all clumped together that they just might have congealed into some sort of worldview’, taking a step further to boldly call it a ‘comedy philosophy book’. I like to call it the ‘Roberson’s Attempt at Turning Her Journal Therapy Journey Commercial’ book. It truly does seem like she was advised by her therapist to try to pen down her feelings, and she thought, well, why not turn this into a book and make some money out of it?
Her personal reflections and all the bottled-up frustration she harbours towards dating finally find the light of day in these pages. She talks so extensively about patriarchy and its impact on modern dating that you wonder if you really are about to read a social philosophy book, but she doesn’t explore this problem with any depth or nuance and you’re just left pondering. The book ends up being a collection of Roberson’s dating expeditions. So, while I yearn to learn more about the nitty gritties of Roberson’s ‘intersectional-socialist-matriarchal revolution’, I find myself learning the superficialities of Roberson’s date with some film student named Luke instead.
While the first half of the book might irk you, to give Roberson due credit, the second half does get better.
‘And so: you, right now, are a full tree. You don’t need to be in love to count as a human. Look—you already ARE a human, existing!’
Even though it’s cliché big sister advice and I know at this point we’re all tired of listening to the ‘you can only be loved if you love yourself first’ crap, it is undeniably true, and Roberson’s take on it is, dare I say, quite refreshing! She preaches against overthinking by emphasising that ultimately people will always do what their heart desires and so, if they are talking to you, it is because they want to! Probably nothing you haven’t heard before, but it’s the unwavering conviction with which Roberson almost commands the reader to stop over-analysing every little thing that almost has me convinced every guy is in love with me.
Okay, I don’t actually hate How To Date Men When You Hate Men. I know by now I might’ve convinced you otherwise, but genuinely, my only qualm with this book is that it shouldn’t have been a book. The way Roberson describes her dating mishaps and all the valuable lessons she’s gleaned from dating guys all these years make for solid entertainment. Not for a book. But, perhaps, as the set for her Netflix special. Oh, what wasted potential the book has. It’s relatable and charming, with seamlessly woven humour, while also targeting the idiosyncrasies of modern society. It could have been a 10/10 comedy show.
For me, the true measure of a book lies in the emotion it evokes. Often, over time, plots and character arcs get buried and decay with memory, but the emotions etched in the heart stand the test of time. The brain forgets, but the heart remembers. And while this book did have moments of Roberson’s glittering wit, it failed to leave an imprint. All I’d remember five years later would be the riveting title.
So, final remarks. Firstly, nobody really knows what love is. Some days it’s peeling an orange, while other days even taking a bullet might not be enough. All we know is that love is cataclysmic in the most beautiful ways and sadly, no book will ever have the answer to all your questions. You just have to wing it, as frightening as that might be.
Secondly, don’t read this book. You probably won’t read it til the end (unless you’ve thought it’d be cool to review it for Valentine’s). I recommend spending that time hating some other aspect of your life.
Lastly, if you do plan on spending Valentine’s alone, all sad and pathetic (like me), remember that it’s just a day. A Wednesday too, literally nothing special. The human experience will have us all being melancholic the rest of the year, even those cringy people in love (I’m just jealous). Go get yourself an ice cream and be a hater for a day.
Comments Off on An Official Ranking of (most of) ANU’s Student Theatre
Before I start this ranking-slash-review, I want to establish two things. A list before the list.
First of all, I’m not a theatre critic. I don’t have any professional qualifications. I’m just a guy who’s been to a lot of ANU theatre productions, so if you don’t like my ranking you can tell yourself I’m wrong and dumb and just don’t get the sacred art of the stage. Or send Woroni some anthrax in the mail, whatever makes you feel better.
Second of all, every one of these theatre productions were worth seeing. While I enjoyed some more than others, I have an incredible amount of respect for everyone involved. As somebody who got a solid 60 in high school drama, I can’t imagine all the work that goes into making these performances actually good, and definitely couldn’t do it better.
But not all art is created equal, and it is with a sort-of-heavy heart that I must rank (most of) this year’s ANU theatre productions. (Apologies to the Musical Theatre Company, I’m sure Grease was great.)
Away
Michael Gow’s Away follows three sets of parents and their high-school-aged children (or lack thereof, in the case of grieving Coral and Ray) as they embark on their summer holidays. It’s mercifully set in Australia, and therefore none of the actors speak with American accents. As you’re about to learn, bad American accents are an inexplicably common pitfall for ANU student theatre.
Mothers Vic (India Kazakoff), Gwen (Genevieve Cox) and Coral (Grace Fletcher) are standouts, especially Gwen and husband Jim (Eli Narev). Cox and Narev work so well together you’d believe they really have been unhappily married for decades. Their troubled connection with daughter Meg (Chloe Tyrell) made for some of the play’s most dramatic and moving moments. The play deals with some heavy themes – classism, terminal illness, grief – and the actors are talented enough to handle these themes with care, even bringing humour and light to the darkness.
The costuming (Tess McClintock) and hair and makeup (Zara Faroque) were show-stealing: Coral’s blue dress and Leonie’s (Lily Wilmott) green look deserve their own special mention.
However, despite a strong cast and excellent costuming, the play was a little slow. While some scenes would have you laughing or on the edge of your seat, others dragged. No disrespect to Michael Gow, but directors Maeve Ireland-Jones and Ellie Shafir could have been more ruthless in cutting down the script.
Accent ranking: No complaints.
Then I’ll Be Brief
For those who aren’t as dedicated to ANU theatre as I am, Then I’ll Be Brief (TIBB) is an annual show made up of scenes from various Shakespeare plays adapted, reimagined and reprised in whichever way their director chooses. For example, this year I was treated to a bogan version of King Lear (how dare Cordelia go off to ANU), A Midsummer Night’s Bush Doof, and a skit delivered alongside a video of Subway Surfers gameplay, for the iPad babies in the audience.
It’s hard for a show of snippets and skits to stand on its own against the full-length plays on this list, but TIBB is quick and funny. It feels like a bunch of theatre kids (complementary) having fun, and the audience is drawn into that fun too. The atmosphere is mostly light and silly, with songs like Something Rotten’s ‘God I Hate Shakespeare’ breaking up scenes of fratboy Sir John Falstaff and modern-day Merry Wives.
I say mostly, because there were one or two surprises. Macbeth’s final speech was performed Shakespeare-accurate and serious, except for the fact that Luke Lourey’s Macbeth was dressed like a character from the Matrix and the scene was lit like Upstairs Moose, for reasons unknown. I spent half the scene waiting for a punchline, but that’s the fun of TIBB: you never know what you’re going to get.
Accent: Good and normal.
The Taming of the Shrew
The fact that this is fourth is a testimony to the quality of the shows above it, because ShakeSoc’s The Taming of the Shrew was probably the funniest play I saw this year. It’s inexplicably set in the Wild West, which just means that the actors wear cowboy hats, say they’re from Reno, Nevada, instead of Pisa, Italy, and speak with a Southern drawl (more on the accents later).
The thing that really brings the humour of this centuries-old comedy to 21st-century ANU is the performance of the actors. Adam Gottschalk’s Tranio is fine-tuned right down to the facial expressions, and Annabelle Howard’s Baptista incorporates some impressive cane choreography. My personal favourite, however, was Jarrah Palethorpe’s brief but inspired performance as the random merchant pretending to be concerned-father Vincentio. There’s no way I can really describe this, except for saying it was like watching an alien in a human suit. I mean that as positively as possible: it was hilarious.
Now, onto the accents. They have their moments – there is something inherently comedic about country-and-western soliloquies – but the play is long and sparsely edited. The accents hamper the already-unwieldy Shakespearian, and at some points it’s difficult to understand what a character is even talking about.
This is most apparent in the ending. I’ll admit, before this my exposure to The Taming of the Shrew had begun and ended with 10 Things I Hate About You (1999). But I’m pretty sure in the original Shakespeare, the shrew, doesn’t walk her new husband offstage with a gun.
Maybe it was meant to be a feminist twist, but somewhere between the accent and her assumedly ironic speech about why women suck, the ending gets lost, and you’re left with a confused ‘good for her?’
Accent ranking: High highs and low lows.
Mr Burns
Anne Washburn’s Mr Burns, directed by Lachlan Houen and Isiah Prichard, is split into three sections, and there was no point at which I knew what was coming next.
It opens on a world without electricity a year after some vague apocalypse, where strangers bond over their attempts to recall a particular Simpsons episode. The tragedy of this situation was accompanied by the tragedy of my realisation that, once again, they were all going to be speaking with American accents.
The first section was a little slow, as you’d expect from a scene that is just people talking around a campfire, but there were genuinely poignant, painful moments. You watch each character’s hopes rise as they encounter a newcomer, and fall as they are told no, they haven’t seen their loved ones. Seven years go by, and these same characters are struggling together as a troupe of actors. Colleen (Natasha Lyall) and Quincy (Tess McClintock) are excellent additions, and Gibson’s (India Kazakoff) breakdown as the pressure of their dog-eat-dog world gets to him is a heartbreaking watch. It’s almost immediately followed by a post-apocalyptic Pitch Perfect-esque mashup, thanks to musical directors Lachlan Moulds and Paris Scharkie. You really never know what’s coming next.
The third section goes completely off the rails. The original cast is abandoned. Now the actual Simpsons – credit to costume designers Malachi Bayley and Natasha Ludlow for an excellent Marge hairpiece – are escaping on a riverboat in the middle of a storm. They’re escaping the titular Mr Burns (Thomas Neil), only this time he’s been combined with Heath Ledger’s Joker to create a villain whose monologues are sometimes ironically overwrought and evil, sometimes just a bit too long. At one point he starts rapping. He and Bart (Annabelle Hansen), who has the pluck and earnestness of a Victorian orphan, duel on the deck of the riverboat as the storm rages around them.
While all the actors were excellent, a special commendation has to go to Eli Powles and Liah Naidoo as Itchy and Scratchy, Mr Burns’ violent animal henchmen. It’s very easy to sit in the audience and write a snarky review where you whinge about accents. It’s undoubtedly much harder to screech and leap and scrabble across the stage dressed as animals. Lesser actors (or cowards like me) wouldn’t have committed as hard as they did, and their resulting performance was both hilarious and more than a little terrifying.
Accent ranking: Eh.
macbitches
macbitches takes place almost entirely inside a dorm room, where five female theatre students celebrate and commiserate after the casting of Macbeth. It explores the complicated, love-hate-respect-devotion-envy ambition dynamics between theatre kids. Watching it, you can’t help but wonder if ShakeSoc is self-reporting.
Trapped in just the one set, the tension builds throughout the play until it’s almost unbearable. You want to look away, but you can’t. Anisha Mujib and Hana Sawal carry this tension with good performances – one feels especially bad for Mujib’s Cam, pathetically in love with a girl who doesn’t seem to care about her – but the eyes-wide, car-crash feel of the play reaches its fever pitch thanks to Natasha Lyall, Winsome Oglivie and Lillia Bank.
Playing new freshman Hailey, who’s snatched the role from the more senior Rachel (Natasha Lyall), Bank nails the grating combination of wide-eyed naivete and constant humble-bragging, but it’s Lyall who steals the show. She is terrifying, stalking the stage, closing in on oblivious Hailey until one can’t help but think of a panther closing in on its prey. I don’t think I breathed during her fight with partner-in-crime Alexis (Winsome Oglivie), who has a sickening scream fit for a slasher movie – sort of what the play devolves into by the end.
But despite its gory twist, this play works so well because it’s grounded in reality. The set design creates a realistic, lived-in college dorm, with dialogue and references that refreshingly reflect how young people actually talk – with the exception of the accents.
macbitches is set in the US, and rather than trust us to suspend our disbelief and accept that these students at a vaguely-American college say words like ‘sophomore’ with an Australian accent, the cast all adopt American accents. It hampers what are otherwise excellent performances – some are strongest when they slip out of the accent altogether.
I saw macbitches with a group, and after we left one of the guys asked us whether this was actually what female friendships were like. The answer was a resounding yes. It’s a warped but strikingly accurate depiction of female group dynamics, as powerful love wars with powerful resentment.
But macbitches goes further than that. Though it’s an all-female cast, it points to the man behind the curtain. Would these women have been pushed to this depravity at all if there were more roles for them, if the roles were better, if they weren’t beaten down by constant dismissal and mistreatment? As director Caitlin Baker puts it, macbitches asks ‘whether the violence lies in the hands of the women we see onstage – or the men off it.’
Accent ranking: Wish they hadn’t.
The Lieutenant of Inishmore
This delightfully gory dark comedy has everything you could want from a play: disembodied torsos covered in blood, Toby Griffiths covered in blood, a stage covered in blood, and Irish accents that are actually good.
Martin McDonagh’s The Lieutenant of Inishmore (not to be confused with The Banshees of Inisherin or The Cripple of Inishmaan), brings levity to The Troubles, and in her director’s note, Liat Granot writes that cast and crew wanted to ‘[toe] the delicate line between humour and trauma’. While this production falls far more on the former than the latter, it was still an exceptional performance.
If you’ve reached the end of this review you might think I harp on about the accents, but I think here they’re emblematic of why The Lieutenant of Inishmore was so good: its attention to detail. Set and props designers Marty Kelly, Tali Backmann and Jamie Cardillo decked the Kambri Drama Theatre out with all the trimming of a typical Irish home, complete with the essential photo of Queen Elizabeth II (rip) with her eyes scribbled out and ‘die bitch die’ scrawled across her face. The stagehands crept and rolled commando-style across the set in balaclavas, like they were planting bombs rather than moving chairs. Costume designers Eleanor Cooper and Natasha Ludlow blessed/cursed Davey (Wyatt Raynal) with a painfully 90s mullet-hair piece-thing. This was obviously a performance with a great amount of thought and care put into it, at every level, and it really paid off.
Of course, a script making light of such a dark time in Irish history couldn’t have been carried through without an incredible cast. Adam Gottschalk is, again, excellent and hilarious with his equally funny IRA (or ILA?) lackeys (Paris Scharkie and Anna Kelly). Jamie Gray’s Donny and Raynal’s Davey play off each other like a standup duo who have toured together for several years – which they should consider if theatre doesn’t work out.
If you didn’t see this, you missed out. Raise a glass to the cast, crew, and an Ireland free.
Accent ranking: Derry Girls!
An earlier version of this article did not credit Marty Kelly as set and props designer for The Lieutenant of Inishmore.
Comments Off on ANU Arts Revue: Sending Brian Back to Kansas
Arts Revue opens with a joke. Not a skit, a single joke. The keyboard player gets up, walks to centre stage, and announces that he’s going to tell a joke that’s ‘okay to say’, because he heard it on the radio.
“How does a pornstar get paid?
Income.”
(Get it, because it sounds like in-cum?)
It wasn’t a bad joke – it was fine, it got a laugh – but we were left confused. Who was this guy, who didn’t appear in a single skit after his one joke? Why was this the opener? Were they stalling while they sorted out technical issues? Did he just really want to be a part of it, while also playing his keyboard?
Arts Revue left all of these questions unanswered, but it gave us a great show to make up for it. The just-fine pornstar joke is thankfully followed by an excellent ‘Life is a Highway’ parody, ‘Life is a Parkes Way’, full of jokes about the perils of driving in Canberra. This was the first of many solid parodies. A special shoutout to ‘Love is an Open Door/There’s Vomit on the Floor’, an ode to a scenario many a Senior Resident has faced on a Thursday night, and a long but funny and oddly heartwarming skit where the Phantom of the Opera joins the Backstreet Boys. Though these were all good, the highlight had to be the number about society keeping Miss Piggy and Kermit apart. The costuming – a frog suit, a dress and a cheap wig – was exactly what you’d expect, and Georgia Mcculloch’s performance as Kermit was especially moving. From Kermit to Brian Schmidt’s American accent to the practised cadence of a newsreader, Mcculloch’s unique talent for impressions – ie. ‘doing funny voices’ – meant she never once broke character.
If a powerful, poignant anthem about the enduring power of frog-pig sex doesn’t sound like your kind of thing, then Arts Revue provided plenty of ANU-related comedy for the average revue enjoyer. A breakup between ANU and Schmidt, where his Nobel Prize is the other woman, captured the heartbreak of Schmidt’s departure. Even the Devil himself, accompanied by a grovelling minion he had an insane amount of sexual tension with, visited to announce his plans for a new and improved ANU. These ranged from not-that-bad-maybe-an-improvement-actually (sinking Wamburun into the depths of Hell) to downright evil (quadruple-factor authentication for every sign-on).
Not all of the skits were this good. A few were just drawn-out puns. A woman goes to the doctor about a lump on her arm; it’s Taylor Cyst, a cyst that plays Taylor Swift songs. Bird watchers make jokes about seeing nice pairs of tits. The latter does get points for walking right up to my co-writer and implying they had thrush, though. Excellent audience participation, almost as good as the bit where they turned off all the lights and ran a guided meditation, lulling us all into a false sense of security so that they could steal our belongings. Thankfully everything was returned after the show – no need to press charges.
Charlie Joyce Thompson deserves a special mention for bringing an extra laugh to every skit he starred in. His delivery, accents, acting and improv were fantastic and he had us keeling over, whether he was playing Miss Piggy or a South African High Court judge.
We saw Arts Revue on the opening night, so we were ready to forgive any tech issues. Which is good, because there were a fair few of them: lights going up randomly during scenes that were supposed to be dark (at least we think so), Taylor Swift playing during the devil’s speech and the wrong Powerpoint playing during a student presentation skit – somehow, this last one was still kind of funny.
Nonetheless, Arts Revue proved a funny, well-coordinated, well-acted performance. Its strengths were its actors and its parodies and musical numbers, each one somehow better than the last. It ended with a bang: a parody of ‘I’m Just Ken’ to the tune of “I’m Just Brian” and mashed up with even more Backstreet Boys. A fantastic way to the end night, and a charming and funny end to the revue season.
It should be a surprise to no-one that I’m back with more book content. I’m not apologetic yet—you can prize my silly little novels from my cold, dead hands.
Let me begin by establishing that, for my purposes here, what constitutes a “classic” book is its bearing the following qualities:
Period – written during and about a society in a particular historical period. (I haven’t included any works post early 20th century here for the sake of keeping the list a reasonable length. My unsolicited opinions on modern classics next time??)
Relevance – remains a faithful portrait of human character and relationships, and continues to have something to say today.
Significance – contains something which I feel is important, be it anything from an entertaining story to elaborate social commentary.
Note that I am mainly looking at these books as historical works of fiction which I believe to be significant (or just plain fun) more than especially well-known, in light protest against our funny habit of labelling certain books “classics” and entirely forgetting others. In general, the term “classic” and its meaning is very unclear and rigorously debated. As an English major, it’s one of those random things that I think about weirdly regularly (think: men and the Roman Empire, apparently). I can understand the virtues and evils of many arguments—even traditional ideas where long-lasting fame is necessary for the distinction of “classic” hold a lot of weight in my opinion. But here I have included both very famous and also a few lesser-known works because I think they’re all worthy of the title.
I totally understand that classics can be super intimidating, but I genuinely think that all the books on this list are such a joy to read. If you’re not always a fan of older writing, I recommend listening to audiobooks, maybe reading along. I find audiobooks are great for getting through that first slog where you’re still undecided and the book hasn’t caught your interest yet. Obviously, I also need to come to grips with the fact that not everyone is obsessed with the same things I am, so I’m intervening here to add that if these aren’t your vibe, that is completely valid and fair as well.
My reading is generally guided by very specific little inclinations, and classics by women is one of those niches which I often gravitate towards. I love my classics, but there are only so many early forms of the manic-pixie-dream-girl you can read before it starts to tire you out. Men writing women makes my head hurt and the only cure is Elizabeth Bennet running around Regency England laughing at men. It can prove a nightmare, though, when it seems like there are all of three women writers in the classic lit canon—so here are a few of my faves which I think are worth the hype (or deserve way more).
Without further ado, this list is brought to you by: my annual binge-reads of classics written by women (because they’re super cool and smart and vibey).
Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf (1925)
Look, I’m the first to acknowledge that Woolf is not for everyone. Personally, I sometimes find her wandering style difficult to stay invested in. But I also know die-hard fans of her work, and she was ridiculously cool.
Superficially, Mrs. Dalloway details a day in the life of fictional upper-class Englishwoman Clarissa Dalloway as she hurries in last-minute preparations for a party she’s to host in the evening. But beneath the surface lies an intricate narrative of class, war, and female sexuality.
It’s a short read, like a lot of Woolf’s works, so super doable.
For other fiction if you’ve read this one, Orlando has very ahead-of-its-time discussion on gender, gender roles, and gender fluidity. If you prefer non-fiction and haven’t read it already, I also suggest A Room of One’s Own, which is my favourite of Woolf’s books.
Wives and Daughters by Elizabeth Gaskell (1864)
Gaskell’s Wives and Daughters is all vibes and very little plot, but in the best way. We follow seventeen-year-old Molly Gibson, daughter of a widowed doctor, as she navigates social expectations, class, sisterhood, new family, and love in all its forms.
This was one of my favourite reads of 2022. I read somewhere that one of Gaskell’s biggest strengths is her female characters, and I can tell you with absolute certainty that it’s true. The women in Wives and Daughters are deeply complex and so beautifully written.
It’s a longer read at around 600 pages depending on your edition, but I promise it’s worth your time!
Full disclosure, it’s unfinished because the author died before completing the final chapter. It’s devastating to be ripped out of their little world at the end, but in my copy (the Penguin Classics edition) it explains Gaskell’s intentions for the conclusion.
Save Me the Waltz by Zelda Fitzgerald (1932)
No, I will never shut up about this book.
Save Me the Waltz is an infinitely underrated work of sheer brilliance (go read the essay I wrote on it earlier this year here). Written by the wife of the significantly more famous F. Scott Fitzgerald, the novel is semi-autobiographical and recounts their early marriage and the years they spent in Paris during the 1920s. Zelda wrote in the face of her deteriorating mental health and opposition from her husband, and she produced a masterpiece.
This book is feverish and intelligent, filled with life and surrealist influences. Save Me the Waltz captures the wild spirit of the Jazz Age, and if you only ever listen to one thing I say, let it be that everyone should read this book.
Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston (1937)
This is one of those rare books that leaves you feeling totally aimless once you’ve turned the last page. You wonder how you can possibly return to your daily activities as though everything is normal. (Because it’s not normal, because you’ve just read one of the most beautiful, profound, heart-wrenching books you’ll ever read.)
Hurston chronicles the life of an African-American woman in early-20th-century Florida, challenging the inherent racism and misogyny which permeates her society. Hurston’s criticisms are quiet yet striking, and intensely moving. The writing is exquisite, the characters so full of life. Hurston explores the intricacies of the human character with extraordinary empathy, and leaves nothing wanting. Their Eyes Were Watching God is deeply feminist and absolutely beautiful.
If you read this one (please read it, you won’t regret it), I implore you to listen to the audiobook on Spotify narrated by Ruby Dee. I don’t often listen to audiobooks because I’m very picky with the readers, but Dee does such a phenomenal job that I don’t think I can say enough good things to adequately describe the experience of listening to it.
It’s a super short read, too, so I see no reason why you should put it off! Do yourself a favour and get your hands (or headphones?) on this book.
The Viper of Milan by Marjorie Bowen (1906)
Written when the author was just sixteen, The Viper of Milan is enthralling, and I was invested all the way along. Richly Gothic, Viper is set in medieval Italy under the tyrannical rule of Gian Galeazzo Visconti. We follow multiple sets of characters through deceit, treachery, rebellion, and villainy, and I found every one of them compelling.
This one is a fun read, and not too long either. You may have some difficulty getting your hands on it – my copy is a very old one which I found second-hand—but if you can, I highly recommend it!
Little Women by Louisa May Alcott (1868)
Every time I reread Little Women, I’m flawed by the beauty of it—especially the second part, sometimes bound together with Little Women as Part Two, sometimes separately as Good Wives. Little Women is the loveliest coming-of-age story following young Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy March from childhood through to adulthood.
Each sister has a dream which she pursues with all her might—and that, in my opinion, is truly feminist. Jo is a writer, Amy an artist, Meg and Beth homemakers. Each is given the space to carve her own place in the world.
I first read Part One several years ago, but it was only this year that I finally found a copy of Part Two second-hand. I loved the former, but the latter is simply gorgeous. I don’t think I’ve ever been quite as in love with a set of characters as I have been with these.
The writing is lovely, but also super accessible. If you’ve struggled or been disappointed with classics in the past, I would give this one a shot if you haven’t already.
Plum Bun: A Novel Without a Moral by Jessie Redmon Fauset (1929)
Plum Bun follows Angela Murray, a young Black woman in 1920s America. As a child she finds that she can pass for white, and following her parents’ deaths moves to New York in hopes of pursuing her art and escaping the racism of her hometown. But Angela soon discovers that gendered and racial discrimination cannot be evaded, and not all problems can be solved with the financial and social stability offered by marriage.
I have a great love of 1920s literature. I think there’s a spirit about it that we haven’t captured since. I absolutely love this one; it has so much to say, and remains deeply relevant for today’s society. Highly recommend.
Pride & Prejudice by Jane Austen (1813)
A fun fact about me is that I am a die-hard Jane Austen fan. I have two different decks of Jane Austen-themed cards and a whole dedicated Jane Austen section on my bookshelf. There are a solid three of her books that I reread basically every year, and at thirteen I basically modelled my personality on Elizabeth Bennet. I honestly stand by that—it was not the most cringeworthy thing I did at thirteen, and it was kind of valid.
Now, I know you’ve been recommended this one hundreds of times. It’s practically the poster child of classic literature—but I swear to you it is worth the hype. This is the original enemies-to-lovers, with all the wit, social satire, cool female protagonists, and pretty Regency dresses you could possibly want. The characters are so distinct and I love every one of them, even silly little incel William Collins.
If you liked this one, my next favourites are Northanger Abbey, Emma, and Sense and Sensibility. You can’t go wrong!
Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë (1847)
Another one for fans of the Gothic, Jane Eyre is utterly spellbinding, and bleak in all the best ways. Raised by a cruel aunt then sent off to a strict boarding school for girls, the titular Jane eventually finds some freedom when she takes up work as a governess. She is tasked with the care of the ward of Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Mysterious, but this book goes way beyond just a romance—as stated on the Penguin Classics edition’s blurb, Jane Eyre is a “passionate depiction of a woman’s search for equality and freedom” within a society which opposes her at every turn.
Brimming with gorgeous Gothic imagery and armed with a very compelling plot, I could not put this one down.
If you enjoyed Jane Eyre, you’ll probably like the rest of the Brontës’ works. I also loved Wuthering Heights.
*Note: as with many classics, from memory this one has some fairly questionable lines. We’ll have to accept the internalised misogyny as the result of its time, and these issues can also be great food for thought.
Comments Off on All’s Funny in Love and Law: Reviewing Law Revue
Law students may be known for many things, but having a sense of humour isn’t usually one of them. Good thing then, that the majority of this year’s Law Revue cast are not law students. It seems that theatre kids from all over Canberra were drawn in by that sweet, sweet Blumers Personal Injury Lawyers money. The law students that did participate seemed to be the kind who study it in the hopes that it’ll make their arts degree more practical, because there were some serious skills on display at the Canberra Repertory Theatre. This year’s Law Revue was hilarious, highly-choreographed and fun as hell: it blew our minds.
17 people wrote the jokes for Law Revue and the directors and producers are proud to tell us that this year’s skit-writing sessions produced over 300 skits, more than ever before. Of these 300, only 48 made it into the show, leaving us very curious about the 252 left on the cutting room floor. We can only hope for a bloopers reel.
The skits varied throughout the show, from an opening skit about nudist yoga in a Coles to a quip about the High Court being a bunch of stoners. (Get it, because it’s the High…) The majority of the skits are clever, even when they’re not necessarily about clever topics. Comedy that is well-structured and effectively includes several punchlines is quite a trick to pull off, but one that Law Revue largely achieved.
Last year’s Law Revue – the 50th anniversary – was so successful it was performed again at the Canberra Comedy Festival. This extra performance gave this year’s directors, Fergus Wall and Layla Brady, an advantage heading into their own Law Revue. But, they admit, it also puts the pressure on. They recount how some of this year’s cast saw the CCF performance and immediately started talking about what they’d do differently when they performed at CCF next year. Having not seen last year’s revue, we are in no place to judge this year’s. But, a lot of the comedy of this revue was independent of ANU experiences, the kind that you would expect most people to laugh at. Avoiding inside jokes is impressive, however low-hanging fruit can still taste pretty good and one or two more jokes about the ANU wouldn’t have gone amiss.
The jokes that were ANU-related were good: Harry Harthog teaming up with the Peaky Blinders to run a textbook racket and a Kambri Side Quest, where two sleep-deprived students must follow a trail of clues to appease an eccentric wizard man. The latter, of course, featured a Pokemon-esque encounter with Socialist Alternative (not its actual members, who likely couldn’t get time off from all the flyering). This earned one of the loudest laughs from the audience, reflecting either that ANU students like jokes about themselves, or that there’s something funny about SAlt.
But honestly, calling any of these jokes low-hanging fruit is a disservice. Apart from the SAlt dig, which is basically mandatory for any university comedy, Law Revue is a masterclass in subverting expectations.
The best example of this – and our favourite skit of the show – was ‘A Census Act’. The ABS comes to visit a nice suburban family, and we all have a chuckle as the consultant husband declares he’d ‘prefer not to say’ his yearly income. Classic sleazy consultant stuff, right?
Wrong. It’s a robbery. The nice old ABS lady draws a gun, and when the husband and wife insist they’d ‘prefer not to say’ where they keep their household income, she asks them how many children they have.
“Three?”
She turns and shoots one of the children, right between the eyes. The gunshot is loud. The child falls to the floor.
“Try again!”
People laughed, people screamed. It was awesome.
But the talent doesn’t end at high-stakes ABS crime drama. Law Revue had a range of impressive musical numbers, complete with costumes and choreography.
We saw the performance on its opening night, when there are bound to be technical issues. Due to an audio mixing problem, the music was far louder than the lyrics. What we did hear was funny, but we didn’t hear a lot. We were also in the front row, near one of the speakers, which could also explain why the instruments drowned out nearly everything else. But credit must go to band director Ryan Yu and the musicians, because the music itself was good. Despite this, the numbers were fun and original, ranging from a Disney villain-esque song about plastic and car batteries polluting the ocean to a personal number about struggling with a UTI. This was just one of a few urine-related jokes at Law Revue, and while Woroni doesn’t condone kinkshaming, it was almost enough to raise questions about the writers’ personal lives and proclivities.
This revue quite possibly has the largest budget of any, coming in at around $18,000. The money appeared well-spent though, as pretty much every skit had costume changes and props. It certainly added to the range of the performance and while the actor must act, being in a different set of clothes certainly helps to further suspend disbelief.
Located in the Canberra Rep Theatre, the revue also took advantage of the more professional setting than the usual Kambri Theatre. A rotating stage floor was used for a slow-building skit on the invention of the Lazy Susan. It was a simple joke, but the physical gag of characters struggling with a rotating stage, and the build-up to the reveal was well-executed. The theatre also had an impressive lights display, but at times it appeared that the lights weren’t working as expected. There were a few times where actors had to find the spotlight rather than have it find them.
However, it is without a doubt the actors who make a performance, and the revue had a fantastic cast. Everyone thoroughly committed to the bit, and we always got the impression that movements and actions were planned and organised for maximum effect. Particular credit goes to Cody Williams for his indecently-exposing meditation class, and his performance as a swing voter who swings in more ways than one. Director Layla Brady was fantastic as well, especially in skits that required some serious drama to heighten the joke, and her solo performance of the original song ‘Dream Girl’ was a pop ballad to rival Olivia Rodrigo’s latest release (on Spotify when??). Not everyone can bring manic energy to a performance and remain funny and integrated with the show, but Matthew Campbell certainly could. However, as much as certain individuals stood out, every performance was genuinely fantastic.
Directing a revue seems like a daunting task. With everyone pitching in to write, no doubt people become attached to their skits, and if group work in class is anything to go by, sorting through feedback and considering alternatives is a challenge. Wall and Brady both acknowledged this, but added that the process goes two ways: they respect cast-members’ ideas, and cast-members respect that a decision must eventually be made. That trust evidently paid off.
Revues inhabit a real ecosystem at the ANU and at universities beyond. It’s a fun place to see students perform, and to participate in shared humour about things we’ve all experienced. Everyone is kitschy and low-budget and that is part of the joy. This one, though, went beyond that to something that felt like it would be funny for anyone. The comedy was well-structured, and what was likely a quick idea has been fleshed out and developed. Most skits were unified by the fact that they were unexpected, but fit seamlessly, to the point where the build-up is obvious only after the fact. It felt less like jokes written up by friends and peers, and more actual comedy. Who knows what qualifies you for the Canberra Comedy Festival, but this must be a big part of it. In short, all was funny in ANU Law Revue 2023.
Law students may be known for many things, but having a sense of humour isn’t usually one of them.
Comments Off on Review – The Bookbinder of Jericho by Pip Williams
The unread piles of books beginning to crowd my little B&G room have a peculiar habit of growing faster than I can explain away, but in spite of my love of stories, there are very few authors whose books I will always, without fail, scramble to get hold of. When I do, I will steal away with them, fingers crossed for upcoming grey skies and rain, the kettle boiling, Hozier/Lorde/Bon Iver (no, I won’t be taking criticisms on my obnoxious music tastes) playing, and curl up to try and squeeze myself between the letters, to temporarily live inside the pages.
One such author is Pip Williams, the writer behind 2021 multi-award-winning debut The Dictionary of Lost Words and, more recently, The Bookbinder of Jericho. And while I didn’t find it quite as beautifully executed as Dictionary, Bookbinder didn’t disappoint.
I was first made aware of the novel late last year, when Williams’ publisher Affirm Press posted a cover reveal on their Instagram. I was ecstatic, then promptly let it fall to the back of my mind. In March of 2023, I was vaguely aware of its finally landing on shelves, but even the new books of one’s much-beloved storytellers may be pushed aside by the chaos, the newness of things when one moves to a far-off city for university. (“Far-off” sounds like something the narrator of a fairy tale might say, so I’m happy applying it here as someone from Newcastle, New South Wales, exactly four and a half hours’ drive away.)
It wasn’t until the event Williams hosted in partnership with the Canberra Times and the ANU, held in the Kambri Cultural Centre on campus, that I recalled my excitement and determined to have it in my hands as soon as possible. I might note that this resolution was conditional: my first priority was to avoid paying the $32.99 it was being sold for at the event. I was fairly confident I could persuade Affirm to send me a copy in exchange for a review as I had so thoroughly enjoyed Dictionary, which they kindly did. (Thanks besties.) I left the lecture theatre more eager to read than I had been in a long while.
I remember feeling that The Dictionary of Lost Words embodied everything I love about words and literature. Bookbinder carries a lot of the same themes (and largely shares the context and setting, with a few familiar characters). Set against the atmospheric backdrop of Oxford University, The Bookbinder of Jericho explores the life, relationships, and ambitions of a woman in early 20th century England. Throughout the novel, Williams navigates these experiences through the lenses of literature, war, social class, and gender. We follow young, “pretty Peggy Jones,” a bindery-girl at Oxford University Press, whose job is to “bind the books, not read them,” but who longs to study instead.
Bookbinder’s great strength is its characters, who are already complex when we meet them, and whose development throughout the novel is seamless. Here, I think it did a better job than Dictionary, which felt marginally more inclined towards aestheticism than fleshed-out characters and their relationships. I also loved the relatively slow but realistic and still compelling plot, which is becoming characteristic of Williams’ writing—the dream for people like me, who are always in it for the vibe of the thing.
I think the novel left something to be desired in the writing, though. The beautiful prose was what I found most striking about Dictionary, but unfortunately I wasn’t especially impressed by the writing in Bookbinder. There is every possibility that my tastes have just changed since reading the former, but I sense an inkling of a shift in William’s style from the first book to the second, and that maybe something of the earlier eloquence was lost in favour of wider appeal. Much of the criticism Dictionary received was relating to what (I feel) may simply have been its literary style. Historical fiction doesn’t typically lean this way, but Williams’ writing is vaguely reminiscent of emerging literary voices in the vein of R.F. Kuang and Sally Rooney. I suspect that, understandably, there may have been expectations for the style which were not met, which might have put some readers off. Something about the style of Bookbinder felt more in line with its genre, but less in the distinctive voice of Pip Williams. I wonder if this was in response to some of the negative feedback on Dictionary. I also would like to note, however, that I have read very legitimate grievances, and if this book wasn’t for you, that’s so valid. Take my thoughts with a grain of salt; I’m only one person, one perspective. I have no authority whatsoever on the subject—I just talk with wildly unearned confidence.
I liked some of what Williams had to say about women’s suffrage, a topic she engages with a lot throughout the novel—super appropriate, of course, for the mid-WWII period. Her main idea is the fact that the vote did not extend to all women—only those in possession of land or a degree (which Oxford wouldn’t provide to women, even on the completion of a “degree course”)—excluding the vast majority. However, in only touching on land ownership and education, Bookbinder really only delves into class, and to me it felt like there was a gap left to be filled—the glaring whiteness of the early women’s suffrage movement, and the exclusion of women of colour in a context where it was made near impossible for women of colour to obtain either land or a degree. In a 2018 article for UK organisation Voting Counts, Natalie Leal writes, “While there was no direct, obvious discrimination based on race written into the legislation, implicit structural discrimination was still writ large, as so often happens race and class intersected.”
There is a surprising lack of conversation regarding this in relation to her books, possibly due to their both being fairly new. I did some digging to see if anyone else had reached a similar conclusion to me, and eventually stumbled upon a blog post which touched on the space for racial discourse in The Dictionary of Lost Words, which I found resonated with what may be considered the gap in Bookbinder.
Jenny A. at Righter of Words takes a brief but thought-provoking linguistic approach, which I would have loved to read more of. Dictionary has a particular interest in the way that certain kinds of words go ignored in particular circles (notably academic and literary). The protagonist Esme is raised in an Oxford ‘scriptorium,’ where words are collected and compiled—and routinely excluded—for each edition of the Oxford English Dictionary. Esme begins to collate her own volume of omitted ‘women’s words’ which are overlooked—usually for vulgarity or being ‘lesser than’: they are “by women, about women, and for women” . Dictionary is interested in the words that are left out of a book which, having historically been put together chiefly by white men, is fundamentally biased, and asks whether that truly makes them any less credible or valuable.
The author notes that Dictionary is “focused…on early feminism in predominantly white circles,” but wonders about vernacular which is typically used within the circles of particular racial minorities, and is often looked down upon. They mention AAVE (African-American Vernacular English) as a well-known example, and consider it a “missed opportunity.” I agree; some ideas about the way that all women’s words (including and perhaps especially women of colour) have been excluded could have made for such a brilliant contribution to the plot.
Slightly more recent ideas about intersectional feminism didn’t quite reach these books, and I do think so much depth could have been added with a deeper dive into the historical exclusion of all women within academia, suffrage, and linguistics. Of course, however, not all books need to cover all issues, and Dictionary and Bookbinder absolutely pose valuable questions about class and gender. I thoroughly enjoyed both, and maintain that both are valuable contributions to Australian—and global—literature.
With the announcement of The Dictionary of Lost Words being adapted for TV, I hope to see more of Pip Williams and conversation surrounding her books. I’m excited to see what she produces next.