Kylie Tennant, Tiburon (review)
Compassion was, indeed, a scarce commodity in the thirties, vanishing underground with the stream of money and leaving us with dry eroded faces, cracked into grim lines, a desperate humour to defend us from grief
Mary Gaunt (2)
Bronwyn. “the Volta River is entrancingly lovely. It’s quiet reaches are like deep lakes in whose clear surface is mirrored the calm blue sky, the fleecy clouds and hills clothed in the densest green”
Eleanor Dark, Slow Dawning (review)
by Debbie Robson. To me, as a reader in the 21st century the novel is not the melodrama that Dark and even her biographer, Barbara Brooks, claims it is. I found the book a wonderful barometer of the twenties.
Lesbia Harford
by Jonathan Shaw. [Harford] was an intellectual, an ex-Catholic, a factory worker, an activist, a free spirit, a lover, a tutor and a student: all of these fed her poetry.
Rosa Praed, Sister Sorrow (review)
by Jessica White. “I was brought to the belief that there could be no such recent starting-point for an association like ours. It seemed far more reasonable to conclude that it had existed in past lives and that our attraction towards each other in this one, was the result of subconscious recognition”
Patricia Wrightson and appropriation
by Michelle Scott Tucker. “White societies [display] the impulse to acquire whatever is of value in Indigenous culture while consigning the bearers of that culture to invisibility or extinction.” (Attebery)
