Journal
Articles
On being sane in insane places
I’VE BEEN THINKING about how my body inhabits place and how it changes – fluctuating between comfort and pain – depending...
Order, not chaos
IT WAS A muffled cheer. On 19 October 2017, it rose from behind a stiff oak door in New...
Best laid plans
THE KIDS IN Eleanor Hardy’s class are all still talking about the fight. They shouldn’t be – she heard the...
Expert judgment on markers
Sending this message was important to us. We considered ourselves a powerful culture. What is here was dangerous and repulsive to...
Conversation
He held the light for me I saw the door there was no Spot – outside and inside. It was my first day In the new house. Dad,...
Where the voices aren’t
IN 2018, THE University of Oxford ran an essay competition that asked, ‘Are Men (Still) Beasts?’ Students were prompted...
The burning question
THE WESTFIELD KOTARA in Newcastle is a carbon copy of shopping centres around the world, with its jumble of...
Democracy and the corruption question
I’M RUNNING ON a beach near Cairns, spending a rare holiday moment trying to regain some of the fitness...
The things we’ll leave behind
THERE’S A LIGHT blearing hazy through the glass behind her brother’s head, the red-blue red-blue of a police car...
Trust and the competition delusion
The competition delusion sees competition and co-operation as two ends of an ideological spectrum. And it presumes that, where one has to choose, competition should be presumed preferable to co-operation.
Working through the problems
WE WORK TOGETHER as co-directors of the Indigenous Settler Relations Collaboration, a research unit at the University of Melbourne....
The market seller
For as long as she could, Emily hung back among the shelves of her shop. Being near books was one of the few things that truly comforted her. Her love of fairytales in particular, for the hope in darkness within them, had been the reason she’d started her market bookshop after Robert left her with barely anything following their divorce. Emily picked up a Victorian anthology of fairytales and poems, ran her fingertips along its edges, thinking of all the ways second chances might arrive in a life. Of how much she had to offer someone, how much love she had to give, if only she could find the courage.
