2013 – me and rory macbeath ~ richard beasley

I have been writing. I am still writing.

But while I write, I thought I’d post a review I wrote a few months ago for you to read. The jacaranda trees are just starting to burst into bloom here in Sydney and it reminded me of this book. This review was actually intended for something else; I’d nearly forgotten I’d written it. But there it was, sitting in my Documents folder, looking neglected and lonely…

In other words – here’s one I prepared earlier.

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2013 – just_a_girl ~ kirsten krauth

Today, I’m lucky enough to be over at Newtown Review of Books reviewing Kirsten Krauth’s debut novel, just_a_girl. Click here to take a look…


One more thing: this is my second review for the 2013 Australian Women Writers Challenge. You know, it’s not too late to sign up

1952 – the old man and the sea ~ ernest hemingway

I read The Old Man and the Sea on a Sunday morning; the glorious middle day of a long weekend.

The weather outside was perfectly miserable. I woke up late, and, with nothing else to do, I reached for the little book where it sat, right next to the pile of books near my bed. I propped myself up with a pillow, pulled the covers up to my chin to stay warm – and I began to read.

I’m not sure when I emerged from the pages. It was probably two or three hours later. I was slightly dazed to find myself back in the real world.

In the time I’d been reading, the house could have burnt to the ground around me, a brass band could have marched down the quiet street where I live playing The Prodigy’s controversial 1997 hit “Smack My Bitch Up”.

I wouldn’t have noticed a thing…

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1949 – the sheltering sky ~ paul bowles

There are times when I feel rather like an obnoxious tourist in the land of literature, slowly learning the ways of the traveller.

Over the past year (and a half!) I’ve discovered books I wouldn’t previously have considered reading; books by authors I hadn’t heard of this time two years ago. I’ve revisited familiar stories, still warm with memories of my childhood. I’ve found new favourites that sit comfortably at the very core of my being, curled up like contented cats…

For me, reading has become an adventure. I never really know what’s going to happen next. It’s actually quite thrilling.

I’m completely aware that I’m not exactly doing this whole “life” thing terribly well. But reading these books, writing these words, makes me feel as if I might just be doing something right.

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