6.5.25

Woman of Substances


I read Jenny Valentish's Woman of Substances as research for my current work in progress (very much in the early stages). Part memoir, part non-fiction study of women and addiction, this was a fascinating and sometimes terrifying excursion into a part of life I know very little about. As someone who was too wussy to dip more than a toetip into the world of illicit substances, it made me feel queasy to read about Valentish's many brushes with physical danger, social humiliation and bitter regret. However, Valentish is deeply compassionate toward herself and others who turn to drugs, alcohol or other addictions for escape, comefort or self-medication, and it's clear that some kind of trauma is usually at the bottom of these choices.

Valentish examines the particular social and biological difficulties faced by women and the specific hurdles that can make it especially hard for them to access treatment. Hardly any rehab facilities accept children; there is confusion about whether it's preferable to treat pyschological trauma or substance abuse first, when the two are frequently intertwined; women are more vulnerable to food disorders because of the social pressure to be judged on looks.

Valentish's candid use of her own experience makes Woman of Substances a vivid and wrenching examination of vulnerability and strength, and while it's often raw and painful, it does offer realistic hope and encouragement for others in the same boat.

2.5.25

A Song For Summer

Another lovely Eva Ibbotson novel, this one from 1997 (she kept writing almost up until her death in 2010). A Song For Summer is set at an eccentric artsy school in Austria, just before the outbreak of the Second World War. Our heroine is Ellen, who despite being the child of a famous suffragette, has turned her talents to the housewifely arts and is working as a cook. Our hero is Marek, who despite being a world-renowned composer, is working as a groundsman and handyman in the same establishment (he's secretly rescuing Jews from the Nazis). This time there are three ill-matched couples who need to be disentangled and reassorted, and the obstacles in their way are even more dramatic than usual, including an actual marriage, a terrible fire, and of course the war.

By now I know exactly what I'm going to get from an Eva Ibbotson novel, and if some of her notions are a little old-fashioned, she's also refreshingly candid about sex, and values kindness above all other virtues. There will probably be a big old neglected house somewhere in the mix, a lake or a river and some animals, a precocious child, and music, as well as our star-crossed lovers. My only quibble was an anachronistic mention of Bletchley Park at a time when its very existence was top secret, but I can overlook that. I'm so glad to have discovered Eva Ibbotson.
 

1.5.25

Always Was, Always Will Be


I was lucky enough to see Thomas Mayo speak at the recent Sorrento Writers Festival. In person, he is a calm, strong, gentle presence, the very embodiment of healthy masculinity. Always Was, Always Will Be was written in the aftermath of the unsuccessful Voice referendum which had such a disappointing result and seems to have virtually shut down any further discussion of First Nations issues since. It wasn't until some far-right dickheads disrupted the Anzac Day Welcome to Country speech that any politicians even mentioned Aboriginal issues in the current election campaign.

But Always Was, Always Will Be begins and ends with a message of hope and optimism. It's subtitled 'the campaign for justice and recognition continues,' and it contains numerous practical ideas for allies to take the fight forward. As Mayo points out, every other step toward equality and justice has at first been met with opposition and hostility, and yet slowly the cause has crept in the right direction.

The book is less than two hundred pages, but it neatly summarises the history of First Nations peoples since colonisation, a history of oppression and pain that even in 2025, many Australians would prefer to deny or forget, or are simply ignorant about. Without this basic historical understanding, there will never be justice. Always Was, Always Will Be is engaging and simply written, without bitterness or blame, and I hope it will provide a perfect starting place for anyone who is curious about First Nations issues.

28.4.25

She Said

I didn't realise, when I borrowed She Said, by Jodi Kantor and Megan Twohey, that my reading it would coincide with Harvey Weinstein's rape retrial (though he will remain in jail on other charges, no matter what the result). One of the reasons for the retrial is the contention that the judge improperly allowed what's called 'propensity evidence,' in other words, evidence from other women, not plaintiffs in the case, to give evidence that Weinstein had acted in a similar way with them -- to show that he had a pattern of predatory behaviour. In a way, this cuts to the very heart of the Me Too movement, which relies on women sharing their testimony to provide a weight of corroboration that eventually becomes irrefutable.

Kantor and Twohey, the New York Times journalists who broke the Weinstein story, had to dig behind numerous non-disclosure agreements, which acted to silence many individual women and hide the truth of Weinstein's history of sexual assaults. It wasn't until a couple of brave women came forward to bear witness, facing down the threat of legal action, on-line vilification, and personal intimidation, that Weinstein was toppled.

She Said also covers the story of Christine Blasey Ford, who revealed that Supreme Court hopeful Brett Kavanaugh had sexually assaulted her in high school, and subsequently suffered the full weight of the above consequences. Kantor and Twohey end the book on a note of hope, with a gathering of the women involved in the Weinstein case comparing their experiences and bonding together; but I can't help feeling that the backlash is in full swing. In Australia, the preferred silencing tactic is defamation laws, and anyone who has followed the case of Bruce Lehman and Brittany Higgins must feel disheartened. The full weight of patriarchy still comes crashing down on any woman who dares to challenge toxic male behaviour, and with serial sex offender Trump in the White House, things are not looking any brighter.
 

24.4.25

The Cryptic Clue

I really enjoyed Amanda Hampson's first Tea Ladies mystery, so I was thrilled to spot this second novel, The Cryptic Clue, in a local street library (I told you I'd made some good finds lately!) Just as with Richard Osman's murder mysteries, the real joy is the cast of characters. The redoubtable tea ladies include intelligent, level-headed Hazel (who has dyslexia and can't read), flighty, soft-hearted Betty, cynical Merl and grubby Irene, who provides a lot of impetus for the plot with her shady connections, including a husband who has just died in jail.

The Cryptic Clue is set in Sydney in 1966 and features the then half-built Opera House. It's hard to remember, now that the building is the single most iconic image of the entire country, that it was highly controversial when it was first being built. Hazel befriends a Scandinavian acoustic engineer working on the project, and helping out Jørn Utzon -- who also had dyslexia, something I learned from this book.

Oddly, The Cryptic Clue and House of Many Ways both featured characters who lisped, as well as girls who didn't know how to wash dishes...

With the tea ladies' careers threatened by the new-fangled Cafébar (an Australian invention), I wonder if there will be any more sequels? Surely there will have to be a third volume at least.
 

23.4.25

As Fast As I Can

Full disclosure: I made friends with Penny Tangey years ago when we both attended a literary festival at a school in Queensland. She was a baby author back then, having just published her first book, Loving Richard Feynman, which I adored. I spotted As Fast As I Can in a street library -- I've had a few good finds lately!

As Fast As I Can was published in 2020 and it won both the Readings Prize and the Queensland Literary Award, and rightly so, because it's terrific. Ten year old Vivian wants to go to the Olympics. After trying and failing at several different sports, she discovers that she is actually a talented long distance runner. But when her mum is diagnosed with a genetic heart condition, it might mean the end of Vivian's Olympic dream.

As Fast As I Can is filled with Tangey's droll humour, perfectly pitched to a young audience, but as all the best kids' books are, thoroughly engaging and funny for an adult reader, too. Vivian's story is a poignant one but it's never sentimental, and there is plenty in here about changing friendships, healthy choices and family relationships, as well as hopes and dreams. Even though I've never been a runner or indeed sporty in any way, I really loved it.
 

22.4.25

House of Many Ways


I'm supposed to be not buying books this year (I have a pile of books TBR a mile high as well as my multiple library memberships), but I couldn't resist adding this to the cart when I was buying a different book for my daughter (yeah, I know, any excuse). I hadn't read this particular Diana Wynne Jones title before. House of Many Ways is a sort of sequel to Howl's Moving Castle, though it centres on a very relatable character called Charmain, who would rather curl up with a book than do anything else.

It's so much fun to curl up with a Diana Wynne Jones book and allow her to pelt you with all sorts of weird and wonderful stuff -- purple insectoid lubbocks, houses in multiple dimensions, a shabby and bookish royal family, a sweet little dog, a missing and mysterious 'Elfgift', delicious cakes -- and relax in the knowledge that they will all be woven together into a satisfying and logical plot with not a word out of place.

I raced through this story and enjoyed every minute, especially the parts where Charmain is working with the King to sift through the ancient royal archives to figure out where all their money has gone. And it was lovely to see Sophie and Calcifer again, though Howl appears in a very (intentionally) irritating disguise as an annoyingly cloying toddler called Twinkle, rather than his usual dashing self.

21.4.25

There It is Again

I picked up this 2018 collection of Don Watson's writing, There It Is Again, from an op shop about a year ago and finally got around to reading it. I am a huge admirer of Watson's writing and his politics, but it wasn't until I opened the collection that I realised that I had probably read most of these pieces before. Many of these essays first appeared in The Monthly, to which I have subscribed for many years and which probably turned me into a Don Watson fan in the first place (or maybe not, I loved Recollections of a Bleeding Heart way back in 2002 when it was first published, while The Monthly only started in 2005).

Don Watson is a wonderful writer and he writes with extraordinary vividness and insight about current affairs. The downside of focusing on this subject matter is that the political pieces date quite quickly; do I really want to read about Tony Abbott or John Howard now that that particular nightmare is over? Mind you, he was incredibly prescient about Australia's position as dutiful deputy to the US, and the dangers this might pose if, for example, a lunatic was elected to the White House... and we all know how that's worked out.

It's not just politics in this volume, though. There are sharp pieces about the degradation of language, a recurring bugbear of Watson's; there are book and radio reviews; there are extracts from other books of Watson's like The Bush and American Journeys. He is only 76, so I hope we can look forward to much more writing from Don Watson to come.
 

17.4.25

The Wedding Forecast & I'm Not Really Here

By chance, I ended up reading two contemporary Australian romances at the same time: Gary Lonesborough's YA novel, I'm Not Really Here, and former YA writer, now adult novelist, Nina Kenwood's The Wedding Forecast.

Both these books were sweet, satisfying romantic stories. In I'm Not Really Here, gay Aboriginal teenager Jonah's struggles are mainly internal doubts -- he feels fat and unattractive, he's not sure if his crush Harley returns his feelings or if he's even gay. In contrast, in The Wedding Forecast, thirty year old Anna is fresh out of an eight year relationship with Joel, when she meets hot but US-based actor Mac at a mutual friend's wedding. There's no doubt that Mac finds Anna equally attractive, but how can they build a life together when he's so far away? The obstacles here are mostly external ones.

Interestingly, given the different ages of the characters and presumably the intended audience, the amount of sexual content is about the same and at about the same level of explicitness (ie not massively explicit, but enough to make these books probably unsuitable for very young children -- not that they'd be harmed by reading either of these novels. I got most of my sex education from reading Jean Plaidy historical novels as an eight year old, so what would I know?)

I really enjoyed both these books. I had a long wait at the library for the Nina Kenwood, so I'm obviously not the only fan out there! And I'm happy that Gary Lonesborough's book has made it to the CBCA Shortlist, because we need so many more of these kinds of tender, honest stories, especially for boys.

14.4.25

Scattered Minds

Even though it's twenty five years old now, Gabor Maté's Scattered Minds remains a clear and compelling explanation of ADHD and a useful guide to what to do about it. I have a vested interest in this topic because my family has informally diagnosed my husband with (mild, manageable) ADHD tendencies. Maté himself and all his children have been diagnosed with ADD and he is breathtakingly honest about his own shortcomings as a parent as a result of the disorder.

Maté's thesis is that ADHD is the result of the infant brain failing to fully develop self-regulation, leading to the distractability, impulsivity and restlessness that are characteristic of the disorder (Maté doesn't like the term 'disorder.') A good portion of the book is devoted to exploring the concepts of attunement and attachment in parenting, which Maté believes lies at the root of the hyper-sensitivity and failure to develop self-regulation. This is familiar territory, thanks to our long-ago family therapist who was very keen on attachment. There doesn't have to be dramatic trauma for parent-child attachment to be insecure; there are all kinds of reasons why a parent might be unable to respond completely to their baby (depression, illness, instability in their lives).

Scattered Minds is highly readable and packed with good advice for parents of ADHD kids, and adults with ADHD who are now able to parent themselves and fill that gap that formed in childhood. Maté also includes an even-handed discussion of medication and what it can and cannot do; though he has taken medication himself and supported his children doing the same, he is no Ritalin cheerleader and advises caution before prescribing.
 

12.4.25

I Hope This Doesn't Find You

Next on my list of the CBCA Older Readers Notables is Ann Liang's I Hope This Doesn't Find You. Since I began this list, the official shortlist for the awards has been released, and it includes three books I've already read -- A Wreck of Seabirds, Birdy, and Comes the Night. I was disappointed that Deep Is the Fen missed out -- I wish Lili Wilkinson would get more recognition from awards committees.

I Hope This Doesn't Find You didn't make the shortlist cut, either, but my friend Cathy who is a librarian at a girls' school tells me Ann Liang's books absolutely fly off the shelves, so maybe she doesn't need any extra help! This novel centres on high-achieving, self-effacing private schoolgirl Sadie Wen, who has endured a ten year rivalry with her co-school captain, the insufferable (but weirdly hot) Julius Gong. Julius inspires such strong emotions in Sadie -- it's because they hate each other, right? Right?

I found this book a bit of a weird reading experience because, although Liang explicitly says it's set in Melbourne, it seems to float in a strange unanchored American-ish location, where there is a palm-lined beach two hours from the city, people say Mom and math, students aspire to attend Harvard and Berkeley and older brothers live in college dorms. I found this disorienting, but Cathy assures me it works for Liang's young readers. For me, the will-they, won't-they romance took a while to get going, and I was more interested in perfectionist Sadie's urge to control and solve every problem, while never admitting to any weakness in herself. Her dilemma is symbolised early in the novel when a secret cache of draft rage-emails are unwittingly sent to the whole school, and everyone learns what Sadie is really thinking.
 

11.4.25

Prep

It's official: my mild crush on Curtis Sittenfeld has turned into a full-blown passion. Her smash debut novel, Prep, which is surely at least semi-autobiographical, follows diffident, middle class, Mid-western student Lee as she navigates a posh East Coast boarding school. I never wanted this novel to end. I was totally absorbed in Lee's agonising social awkwardness, her desperate attempts to fit in. As someone tells her towards the end of the book, 'You should have realised you're not that weird, or that being weird is not that bad.' (I'm paraphrasing.)  

Lee's experience at boarding school reminded me of my own life at residential college. At one point, Lee begins cutting people's hair; it gives her a social role, a confidence, an identity. That reminded me of the way I used to tell fortunes for my fellow students with tarot cards. The section where Lee faces expulsion from the school because she's failing pre-calcuus was viscerally distressing (mind you, I can't see how she could go from utter bafflement to a B or C the next year without ever actually understanding what she'd missed). The stakes are very low throughout -- no one's life is ever at stake -- but Lee's misery and joy are so closely observed that we feel her pain and delight in our own body.

I was fascinated to discover that Ault, the posh school in the novel, was based on Groton School in Connecticut which Sittenfeld herself attended, and which in turn featured as a filming location in the movie The Holdovers, which I watched over summer. So I can summon up some images of Lee's beautiful, traditional school surroundings. It was those images that she first fell in love with, just like I fell in love with the Oxford-style (or so I assumed) buildings of my college. Mind you, the students at my college didn't have ridiculous names like Horton, Aspeth, Gates (girls) Cross, Devin, and McGrath (boys). That's first names, not surnames, just to be clear.

Curtis Sittenfeld has just released a collection of short stories, which includes one featuring the characters from Prep. I'm in two minds about whether to read it, because I've heard mixed opinions, but I bet I won't be able to resist.

 

10.4.25

A Company of Swans

I recently read another novel by Eva Ibbotson, The Countess Below Stairs, so I pounced on this ex-library copy of A Company of Swans. Originally published in 1985 as an adult romance (like The Countess), it was reissued in 2013 by Macmillan Children's Books. I feel this was a... dubious... decision. Certainly from the look of this cover, and the others in the Macmillan series, the casual browser would probably take A Company of Swans to be a conventional ballet book, a suitable follow-up to Noel Streatfeild's Ballet Shoes, or Lorna Hill's Sadlers Wells series. But it's not.

A Company of Swans is a sweet, frothy romance. Young adults could definitely read it in safety, and no doubt that was what Macmillan intended. However, to my eye, it is clearly marked and packaged as a children's book: a children's book that features, as the kids say these days, 'some spice.' We have brothels, seduction, naked breasts and an instance of heartbreaking child neglect. It also has an exotic setting -- South America in 1912 -- with some potentially awkward colonialist overtones. However, overall, it's a delightful romp, with a noble hero, a kind, determined heroine, and an array of stiffly respectable adversaries whose defeat is a joy to witness.

I think I know exactly what to expect from Eva Ibbotson now, and I'm looking forward to reading more.
 

7.4.25

Conclave

I just realised I forgot to write about Robert Harris's novel Conclave, which I finished about a week ago! I borrowed it from my daughter and gave it back to her when I'd finished reading it, so it vanished from my various book piles -- it's out of sight, out of mind, with me. My younger daughter saw a preview of the recent film, starring Ralph Fiennes, Stanley Tucci and Isabella Rossellini, and then took me to see it because she thought I'd enjoy it, which I did.

The film is mostly faithful to the novel, which follows a straightforward timeline. There are several likely candidates for the role of new pope, but as the conclave proceeds over several days, one by one doubts arise about the integrity or suitability of each frontrunner. The outside world intrudes by means of a terrorist attack nearby; Dean Lomeli (Lawrence in the film) is racked with his own crisis of faith and dabbles in a little detective work. When the last vote is taken, everyone is happy with the final decision -- but there is one more mighty twist to come...

Conclave is a highly readable, engaging glimpse into a world that most of us know little about, with its arcane rituals, shameful secrets and strange leadership role in an increasingly secular world. It was an undemanding read (it was my daughter's 'tram book') but a very enjoyable one, even though I already knew what was going to happen!
 

Upheaval

I've read almost all of Jared Diamond's comparative history books, starting with Guns, Germs and Steel, which had a profound effect on the way I saw the world, but also Collapse, The World Until Yesterday, and The Rise and Fall of the Third Chimpanzee. In Upheaval, which was actually published in 2019, Diamond takes seven case studies of nations that have faced various crises (military coups, invasion, sudden contact with the outside world) and compares how successfully (in his view) they have handled them. Interestingly, one of his case studies is Australia, and the slowly unfolding challenge this country has faced in separating our identity from Great Britain (and re-attaching ourselves to the US instead, which is not looking like a great idea at the moment). He also examines the histories of Indonesia, Finland, Chile, Japan and Germany.

The last part of the book was most interesting, because Diamond turned his critical lens on his home country, the United States, and wondered how well his own nation might handle a crisis. Upheaval was written before the Covid pandemic (which the US handled badly), and before Trump's second presidency (though during his first). Diamond pointed to the biggest problem, in his opinion, in the US being the growing polarisation of political opinion, and the loss of the ability to compromise -- it's hard to disagree that this situation has indeed led to catastrophe, just a few years after Upheaval was published. I'm sure Diamond feels no satisfaction in seeing his predictions come to pass, but his observations were so astute that I feel a new respect for his insights on other matters, too -- even Australia.
 

31.3.25

Deep is the Fen

Lili Wilkinson just gets better and better. Deep is the Fen is a novel set in the same universe as A Hunger of Thorns, with magical 'mettle' (like a life force or energy) controlled by a handful of corrupt corporations. Merry's father and her best friend have been co-opted into a male only organisation called the Toadmen, whose silly bonnets and secret rituals mask a more serious and sinister power.

Deep is the Fen is a perfect combination of fantasy, fast-paced action and romance (side note: I was briefly quite cross with Lili for naming one of her characters Caraway, because I've been working on a fantasy-adjacent novel also featuring a character called Caraway -- however, her Caraway is a boy and mine is a girl -- and mine may never be published, so I guess it doesn't matter!)

The Toad magic is deeply nasty, brown, marshy and pustulent, and I enjoyed the women's power uniting to challenge it (the boys also fight). I get the same 'safe hands' feeling with Lili's work that I do with other writers I trust and admire, and I'll be very pleased if Deep is the Fen wins the recognition it deserves.
 

26.3.25

Comes the Night

To my shame, I've only read one other Isobelle Carmody title, despite her being the 'queen of YA fantasy' as proclaimed on the cover of Comes the Night. But as soon as I started reading, it was obvious that I was in the safe hands of an experienced and accomplished author.

I would classify Come the Night as science fiction more than fantasy, though it does contain a fantasy element in the form of 'dream-walking,' whereby some individuals can enter a kind of collective consciousness known as the dreamscape and even enter into the dreamspaces of other people. There are some baddies looking to manipulate politicians and take over the world using the dreamscape, and I must confess that I became a little lost in the intricacies of their plot towards the end of the novel.

However, the struggles of Will and his friend (or more than friend?) Ender to discover what happened to Will's dead uncle Adam, the mystery of the extraordinary kite Adam left behind, who has abducted Ender's gifted twin Magda, and why, are all absorbing and exciting. This story, like We Do Not Welcome Our Ten Year Old Overlord, is set in an alternative Canberra, this time in the future (2070) when cities are protected by domes from the damaged environment resulting from climate change. People communicate with ophones, use and are monitored by household computer hubs, and travel by tubeway between domes. But they still go to see films, exercise on climbing walls and ride buses.

The world-building, as you'd expect from Carmody, is highly detailed and meticulous, and I enjoyed being immersed in this slightly dystopian world. I wondered if some of its features might have been influenced by Covid lockdowns, with intensive surveillance and the possibility of protective measures being abused by authorities. But most of all I appreciated the name of Will's beautiful and technologically sophisticated kite, Lookfar, the same name as Ged's boat in the Earthsea books.
 

25.3.25

Rodham

I felt a bit iffy about Curtis Sittenfeld's Rodham, as I always feel about novels that take real people as their protagonists, especially people who are still alive. (Actually I even felt a bit iffy about Geraldine Brooks using Mr March from Little Women -- though I don't have any reservations about Percival Everett's James from Huckleberry Finn, so I am not consistent at all.)

Having said that, my friend Bridget recommended it and I trust her judgement, and as usual, she was right. I really enjoyed Rodham, which is narrated by Hillary herself and interweaves real events and people with invented ones. It pivots on a crisis in Bill and Hillary's relationship, where Hillary admits she could have just as easily stayed with him or left. In real life, she stayed; in the novel, she goes, and her life from then on takes a very different trajectory. She becomes a law professor, then a senator, and runs for president several times. She continues to cross paths with Bill and also, amusingly, with Donald Trump. Sittenfeld's channelling of Trump's voice results in some of the novel's most hilarious moments (whoops, pun unintended). 

I wonder if Hillary Clinton has read this book; I'm pretty sure she wouldn't be able to bring herself to do so, and I'm equally sure that there were plenty of people in her life who were eager to read it and report back to her. She has no need to worry. This is a highly sympathetic portrait of what might have been, though Sittenfeld probably underestimates the level of hostile sexism and prejudice that Hillary would have faced, even in a fantasy alternate universe.

24.3.25

Look Back With Gratitude

The final volume of Dodie Smith's autobiography, Look Back With Gratitude, is the only one not available from the Athenaeum library, so I took the liberty of buying myself a copy as a Christmas present. Gratitude covers what might be called 'the American years.' Smith's partner, later husband, Alec Beesley, was a conscientious objector, and when World War II broke out, they decided to stay in the United States so that he would escape imprisonment (this became complicated later in the war, when the US joined the fight and Alec faced even more stringent rules around conscientious objection). This was not a decision taken lightly; Smith was horribly homesick and was tormented with guilt about missing out on her country's wartime sufferings. Then, when the war ended, neither could face the prospect of quarantining their three beloved Dalmatians for six months (journalists found this difficult to believe, but it was true!)

Smith's income was erratic; she earned huge chunks of money consulting on screenplays, but the last section of the book is largely concerned with the failure of her play, Letter From Paris, in London after the war. It sounds absolutely agonising, juggling cast, director, set designer, producer -- it made me realise how many elements need to gel to produce a theatrical hit and just how chancy it can be. 

It's been so odd reading these memoirs; my conception of Dodie Smith is as a fiction writer first and foremost (and Gratitude also deals with the writing of I Capture the Castle), but clearly she saw herself as principally a playwright. I have never seen or read a single one of her plays and have no idea if she was actually any good or not (I mean, she must have been, she was popular in her time and made a good living from it). Yet all those plays she fretted over and which so consumed her energies have largely vanished without a trace.

Gratitude ends with Dodie, Alec and the dogs returning to live in England in 1953, she says hopefully forever, and I think it was.

17.3.25

Can Any Mother Help Me?

 

Can Any Mother Help Me? was such a fascinating book! In the 1930s, an anonymous, lonely mother wrote a letter to a UK parenting magazine, which resulted in a group of women in similar situations beginning a correspondence club that lasted until 1990.

The way it worked was that the women would write 'articles' or letters to the group in general, which the editor would bind up in a lovely embroidered linen cover and post off to the first name on the list, who could then add her own comments or notes if she wished, and post it to the next person. New volumes were sent off fortnightly, so there were always various editions in circulation. In a way it functioned like an early kind of community internet forum, without the immediacy of response, of course, but bonds of lively interest, sympathy and friendship grew between these women who came from all backgrounds and different parts of the country. Most, however, were well-educated, intelligent women who were denied careers by the demands of family, and consequently felt frustrated.

The author, Jenna Bailey, discovered an archive of the letters and has compiled these extracts into a thoroughly absorbing book, covering the years of World War II and after, through domestic heartbreak, career success, worries about children and money, and everyday experiences. One episode is especially striking -- one member who developed a romantic crush on her doctor, which seemed to be reciprocated, though nothing ever happened beyond meaningful glances. She finally, after much inner torment, told him it would be better if they didn't see each other again, whereupon the doctor called her husband and Told All (not that there was much to tell...) The woman relayed this whole saga, in installments, years afterwards, and it reads like part of a novel.

It might not be everyone's cup of tea but I was completely gripped by this book, part memoir, part diary, part potted biographies of a host of everyday women. One woman, known to the club as Angharad, wrote successful TV screenplays and also several books on the 'aquatic ape' theory of human evolution. And I was amused that Heal's furniture store made another appearance -- one woman's husband made bookends for them (which seems like a very niche way to make a living).

15.3.25

Birdy

Birdy is South Australian author Sharon Kernot's second verse novel, after her acclaimed debut, The Art of Taxidermy. I'm not usually a fan of verse novels, but Birdy won me over, packing in a huge amount of plot, backstory, mystery and emotion into relatively few, but well-chosen, words. 

Maddy has been mute ever since 'the Incident,' which we gradually learn involved some kind of sexual assault and social media exposure (she seems more traumatised by the social media aspect than the assault). But as she gradually thaws in the peace of the countryside, and befriends young Levi and old Alice, she begins to heal. Alice says that Maddy reminds her of her missing daughter, Birdy, and Maddy feels an affinity with the other long-departed girl, and it's through Maddy that the mystery of Birdy is finally brought to closure.

I enjoyed Birdy much more than I expected to -- it wraps up pain, grief, betrayal, nature, secrets and friendship in a beautifully judged package. It might even be my top pick of the CBCAs so far.

14.3.25

A Shilling For Candles

Of course I found this Josephine Tey mystery at the good old Athenaeum. A Shilling For Candles is the second Inspector Grant novel and when I went hunting for a cover image, I found about a gazillion different editions since it was first published in 1936.

A Shilling For Candles kicks off with the discovery of a body on the beach, but was successful young starlet Christine Clay murdered or suicidal, or was her death a terrible accident? As always, the real interest for me in a period mystery story is the historical detail: 'cranks' (hippies and vegetarians), 'fanatics' (anyone overtly religious) and unfortunately, a light vein of anti-Semitism. I'm struggling with whether to call it anti-Semitism, since the Jewish character I'm thinking of is very sympathetic, but attention is continually drawn to his 'race' and his alleged racial characteristics, in a way that shines a horrible light on the general mood in 1936.

I particularly enjoyed the character of Erica Burgoyne, self-possessed, serious, seventeen year old would-be-detective, daughter of the Chief Constable, practical and not at all girly. I'd read a whole series about her, please.

And apparently there is a whole mystery series by Nicola Upson which features Josephine Tey herself as the detective! Of course they have them at the Ath -- I might need to check them out, too.
 

12.3.25

A Wreck of Seabirds

Karleah Olson is a young, first time author whose manuscript for A Wreck of Seabirds was shortlisted for the Fogarty Literary Award in 2023 and was subsequently published by Fremantle Press. This is a very WA novel, set in a coastal town and filled with the presence of the sea in all its moods -- beguiling, sunny, violent and threatening.

This novel is ambitiously structured into three threads. One is set in the present day, centred on the growing relationship between Ren, who has lost his younger brother, and Briony, whose sister has disappeared. One is set in the past, tracing the troubled history of Ren and Sam's family, and the last is ambiguous, following what has happened to Briony's missing sister. The different chapterlets are all very short, usually no more than a page or two, and until I twigged that each thread was labelled differently, I sometimes found myself a little lost.

A Wreck of Seabirds contains some beautiful writing and fits perfectly into the Coastal Gothic genre (Olson is studying this for her PhD). The mystery at the heart of Briony's sister's disappearance isn't fully answered, but perhaps, like the unresolved mystery of Picnic at Hanging Rock, this is what gives the story its submerged power? I'll be interested to see what Olson does next.

11.3.25

A Way Home

For the last few years, I've been neglectful of new children's and YA fiction; I've burrowed into the comfort reading and nostalgia of my childhood and steered away from recently published titles. But my new resolution is to do a bit of catching up, and my means for doing so is to read the current CBCA Notables list. (I'm very well aware that this method means I will miss some gems which the committee don't see fit to include (cough Tumbleglass) -- not that I bear a grudge or anything...;-)

I'm proceeding alphabetically, so the first cab off the rank is Melbourne author Emily Brewin's A Way Home, her first YA novel (she has previously written two novels for adults). Sixteen year old Grace is homeless, sleeping on the streets of the city -- technically, on a ledge under a bridge. Melbourne definitely has a terrible situation with homeless people at the moment, and it was bracing to see them through Grace's eyes, as friends, acquaintances or threats, but always as fully rounded people, not just shapes to hurry past.

Grace finds some solace and kindness in a city library. It's always cheering to see libraries and librarians championed, even though I struggled with the likelihood of the sympathetic librarian being able to hand out casual work to a homeless teenager (and also the non-fiction books being filed alphabetically??) Grace's mother has a serious mental illness, and the story if them losing their home is very moving. Less successful was the sub-plot concerning Grace's father, which ended in anti-climax. Again, Grace sometimes seemed a little young for her supposed age, but I guess this book's intended readership is probably in the early teens. A Way Home is a cry for the power of music, friendship and the compassion of strangers, and while Grace doesn't find a fairy tale ending, Brewin offers a plausible amount of hope.

10.3.25

Making Sense

David Crystal has written dozens of books about the English language (there are a couple already on my shelves) but I wasn't aware of this smart little series in matching covers. The orange Making Sense deals with grammar; Making a Point (red) is about punctuation; Spell It Out (teal) -- you can guess that one; Sounds Appealing (blue) is about pronunciation; and there is also The Story of English in 100 Words (green) which I've already read without realising it was part of a series.

I was sceptical about the implied promise of the subtitle (The Glamorous Story of English Grammar) to make grammar interesting, and he did mostly succeed. He cleverly starts each explanatory section with the example of his little daughter learning how to speak -- first in single words, then stringing two words together, then more -- and unconsciously picking up principles of grammar along the way. He points out that so many of the 'rules' of grammar traditionally taught were misapplied to English from languages like Latin and Greek, and paid little attention to the way English was actually spoken. Crystal strikes a nice balance by conceding that language is an ever-evolving, living system, and at the same time gently demonstrating that some rules are necessary for clarity of meaning.

I'm fighting a continual battle in my house with my younger daughter, who is definitely from the 'language is always evolving' school, while I'm often fuming in futile pedantry because some radio announcer has said 'less' instead of 'fewer,' or 'different to' instead of 'different from' (I do have to admit defeat on that one, the horse has well and truly bolted there). David Crystal has persuaded me that I should loosen up a little, but I reserve the right to fume -- I'll just have to fume silently!
 

8.3.25

The Constant Gardener

In high school I read a lot of John Le Carré novels. I enjoyed their meaty sophistication, their hints of insider knowledge to a mysterious world of secrets and disillusion. They made me feel very grown up. And they were nice and thick and complex, something I valued in those days when I would tear through a novel at breakneck speed. I haven't read a spy/thriller novel for a long time, but I was going away for a couple of days and when I spotted The Constant Gardener in a street library, it seemed like suitable holiday reading. I might also have been influenced by a recent viewing of The Night Manager, based on a 1993 Le Carré novel.

It's weird to think that Le Carré started writing novels before I was born, and he was still pumping them out until his death in 2020. After the end of the Cold War, he switched to writing about international crime cartels, conspiracies and corruption, and The Constant Gardener centres on Big Pharma shenanigans in Africa, where a bereaved husband sets out to solve the mystery of his activist wife's murder. I really enjoyed the early part of the novel, in the immediate aftermath of Tessa's murder, with various players in the diplomatic corps observing the reserved Justin and speculating on the situation and his inner state. And I also liked the middle part, where Justin starts investigating and we find out exactly what Tessa was up to and the truth about her relationship with African doctor Arnold, who has disappeared. But the last section, which became a pure thriller really, with chases and confessions, was less interesting to me, though I'm sure it probably formed the core of the movie adaptation.

I'd be quite interested to see the film version now; I was definitely picturing Ralph Fiennes as the mild-mannered but steely Justin all the way through. It's a pity there weren't more actual African characters in the story to give a different perspective to the world of aid workers, corporations and foreign diplomacy.

 

3.3.25

Thus Far and No Further

This was a treat for myself and to plug a gap in my Rumer Godden collection. It was first published in 1946v as Rungli-Rungliot, then reissued in this edition under the title Thus Far and No Further in 1961. This is another book adapted from a diary. Godden and her two young daughters (plus various staff and servants, some who travelled with them and some who were acquired on the spot) spent only a few months in this isolated house on a tea plantation in Kashmir, but though their stay was brief, it made an indelible impression.

The events of their time in Kashmir also formed the basis for Godden's later novel, Kingfishers Catch Fire, but there is no whisper of that drama in these pages (one of their servants apparently tried to poison the family with ground glass). Instead, the focus is on the utter physical beauty of the mountains, the quiet serenity of their lives there, Godden's gradual calming after a turbulent period in her life. It's a very meditative book, short passages, sometimes no more than a sentence or two, or a brief snatch of dialogue. Godden reflected that this time was valuable in truly getting to know her children, and 'Rafael' and 'Sabrina' emerge as vibrant characters.

Godden returned again and again to this precious, brief time in her writing; it was obviously both a golden period of joy and beauty, and a harrowing crisis. Though she doesn't talk about the bad side, that emotional intensity colours Thus Far and No Further.
 

1.3.25

What The Dog Saw

Picked up from a local street library, What the Dog Saw is a collection of articles and essays published in 2009. For a few years I've been a fan of Malcolm Gladwell's podcast, Revisionist History, and the pieces in this volume are very similar in style -- I can hear Gladwell's voice in my inner ear while I'm reading.

Gladwell says he wants to provoke and challenge his readers (and now his listeners, presumably) to think about aspects of the world in a new way, and something from this broad range of topics will surely needle any given reader. The pieces here discuss everything from the seemingly trivial (why is it so hard to market different kinds of ketchup while many different styles of mustard flourish?) to the socially important (if it's actually easier, and cheaper, to solve the problem of homelessness by giving homeless people somewhere to live, why don't we do that?). I was slightly appalled to read Gladwell's efficient demolition of FBI crime profiling (nooo, Malcolm, don't tell me that Mindhunter is garbage!) and fascinated by his account of the way the contraceptive pill was developed to seem more 'natural' (to get the approval of the Catholic Church) when in fact it's not 'natural' at all to expect a modern woman to endure hundreds of periods over her lifetime.

The difference between panicking and choking; the evolution in strategies for selling hair dye to women (especially interesting if you happen to be re-watching Mad Men at the moment); the secrets of dog training; the flaws of the job interview system -- there is something here to amuse, puzzle and yes, challenge, every reader.

28.2.25

Life Below Stairs

Regular readers of this blog will already know that I am fascinated by servants, probably because in another life I almost certainly would have been one. So how could I resist Alison Maloney's Life Below Stairs: True Lives of Edwardian Servants?

When it arrived, Life Below Stairs proved to be a slim little volume, under 200 pages, and doubtless published to cash in on the popularity of Downton Abbey (Julian Fellowes, its creator, is even quoted a few times). It is, however, a really solid informative little source book for useful information about the exact hierarchy of roles and duties inside a house, wages and uniforms, etiquette and rules of behaviour. If I were writing a novel set in an Edwardian grand house, this would not be a bad place to start. For one thing, it would have cleared up Anna's confusion about whether or not she was a 'tweeny' in Countess Below Stairs.

To my amusement, I found quotes from other books about domestic service that I've already read, but I did find out some information I didn't know before -- like the fact that young girls hoping to secure a job as a maid had first to work and save up (maybe for a couple of years) to afford to buy the dresses and aprons they'd be expected to wear on the job! However, footmen, despite being paid more, had thier uniforms supplied. And did you know that a 'servant's bed' measured only 2 foot 6 across, compared with a standard single bed, which was 3 feet in width? (I was chuffed to see an advertisement for such furniture from Heal's, where Dodie Smith worked.)

I was really hoping for more in the way of personal stories and experiences, but I'm sure I'll find those elsewhere.
 

26.2.25

Metal Fish, Falling Snow

As you can see from the huge number of award stickers on the cover above, Metal Fish, Falling Snow gleaned a long list of prizes and shortlistings for debut author Cath Moore when it was published in 2020. Fourteen year old Dylan sees the world aslant, and when her beloved mother dies in an accident, she is forced to make a long road trip with her mum's boyfriend to reconnect with the only family she has left. The metal fish and the snow globe of the title refer to the only tangible mementos Dylan possesses from her parents.

Dylan's story is told in an idiosyncratic, very original voice, alive with word play and metaphor, and I can understand why the judges of literary prizes would have sat up when they opened these pages. It's beautifully written, often droll, sometimes very sad. Dylan seems sometimes much wiser than a typical fourteen year old, and sometimes much younger. For me, Metal Fish, Falling Snow falls into the category of books for adults who like YA or kidlit, which is a perfectly respectable category with plenty of readers and one I aspire to write for myself (as well as reading it :-)
 

24.2.25

The Sentence

Louise Erdrich has become one of my favourite authors. The Sentence, published at the end of 2021, is partly a pandemic novel, partly about Black Lives Matter, partly about ghosts, and mostly about reckoning with the past.

Links with Erdrich's life seem clear -- Tookie, our narrator, works in a bookshop owned by an author called Louise which focuses on Native American and marginalised voices, just like Erdrich's own Birchbark Bookshop (Trump will probably try to shut it down soon). Tookie spent a decade in jail and she was first arrested by the man who is now her beloved husband. Her life is now safe and comfortable, but there are elements of her past that she has never come to terms with, signified by the fact that she is being haunted by the ghost of a former bookshop customer.

The Sentence covers a tumultuous year in Minneapolis as Covid sweeps the country and then the murder of George Floyd sparks protests, riots and brutality in the streets. Erdrich expertly weaves national and even global trauma with the deeply personal story of Tookie and her family. She must have written it so fast! As always, I'm struck with admiration for the way Erdrich combines the spiritual, the political and the domestic. The Sentence is a powerful and moving novel.
 

20.2.25

We Do Not Welcome Our Ten-Year-Old Overlord

I enjoyed this book a lot. Garth Nix has mined his own Canberra childhood, his history as a teenage D&D Dungeonmaster and put a John Wyndham-esque sci-fi twist on it all to produce an action-packed middle grade novel.

Kim (Chimera) and his younger sister Elia (Elieithyia) live with their eccentrically hippie parents on the outskirts of 1970s Canberra, spending most of their time hanging out with their friends Bennie and Madir, but everything changes one day when they fish a mysterious golden globe out of the lake. This incident is based on a true story from Nix's childhood, when he thought he saw a severed head in the murky waters one day (I think it turned out to be a motorbike helmet). Before long, child prodigy Elia is in communication with the strange sphere, which becomes progressively more and more threatening and dangerous.

We Do Not Welcome Our Ten-Year-Old Overlord reminded me of John Wyndham's classic Chocky, which scared the suitcase out of me as a child, and also fascinated me. Things never get too terrifying here, though there is certainly plenty of danger and lots of action. I raced through it and I hope plenty of young readers do the same. My only quibble is that I was never quite sure how to pronounce Elia.
 

18.2.25

Madly, Deeply

I first came across Alan Rickman as the superbly smarmy Obadiah Slope in The Barchester Chronicles (a performance that JK Rowling has said inspired the character of Severus Snape, so how appropriate that Rickman ended up playing him). But I fell in love with him in Truly, Madly, Deeply when he played the ghost of Juliet Stevenson's husband, and even more as Captain Brandon in Emma Thompson's Sense and Sensibility. For most people of a certain generation, he will always be Professor Snape; for an older demographic, he is the villain in Die Hard (never seen it). What always set him apart was his divine, languid voice -- the result of being born with a tight jaw, apparently.

These diaries run from 1993-2015. Unlike, say, Michael Palin's diaries, which always seem to have written with at least one eye firmly on eventual publication, Rickman's diaries sit in an uneasy space between being shorthand enough to seem purely personal, but elliptical enough to be frequently opaque to future readers.

It's weird to read about the actual process of film-making from the actor's perspective. I think somewhere in the back of my mind I've assumed that if the action covers a year, then they've spent a year making it... whereas of course the actor might be on set for only a few days. One gathers that Rickman wasn't always easy to work with -- he's exacting, critical (including self-critical) and he can always see how things could be better. As an actor, he chafed against directors; as a director, he demanded a lot from his actors. But his prickliness was never in service of ego, always in service of the work.

But he was a wonderful, generous friend; he was always politically engaged, and he stayed with his partner from 1977 until he died in 2015. It's worth remembering that most people only write in their diaries when they're unhappy -- I know I certainly did -- and if Rickman comes across as a bit of a grump, that's probably one reason why. He also illustrated his diaries with gorgeous coloured drawings, only a handful of which are reproduced here -- I would have loved to see them all.

17.2.25

A Countess Below Stairs

Eva Ibbotson's A Countess Below Stairs has also been published as a YA novel under the title The Secret Countess, and to me it perfectly straddles the ground between light adult historical romance and young adult fun -- it's a fairy tale, and utterly satisfying in a fairy tale way.

I can't remember how I heard about it, but I found it at the Ath (of course) and it was perfect, delightful comfort reading. Our heroine, Anna, is a dispossessed Russian noblewoman, forced into exile in England after the 1917 Revolution. She's a sweet, unspoiled, enthusiastic young woman who takes a job as a housemaid at a grand country house -- can you see why I couldn't resist it? Of course, her fellow servants can see at once that she's cut from different cloth, but they all fall in love with her anyway. And naturally, there is an eligible heir to the estate, survivor of the War, unfortunately engaged to a beautiful but deeply unpleasant fiancèe...

Everything plays out as it should, complete with high comedy vignettes, tearful misunderstandings and a dog called Baskerville. It's pure froth, but such deftly handled, pleasurable froth. I've never read any of Eva Ibbotson's work before, but I have a feeling she might become a favourite.

10.2.25

Stories

It's almost hilarious to contrast how skinny this volume of Helen Garner's collected short fiction is, compared with the companion volume of True Stories, which is about four times as fat. Lots of blank pages and huge margins in Stories, too.

Some of the pieces in Stories don't read much like fiction; as always, the border between fiction and non-fiction in Garner's work is porous to say the least. There were only a couple of these stories where I couldn't trace some kind of connection to Garner's own life, and perhaps even in those cases I just couldn't see the connection because I don't know her well enough. Does it really matter what's true and what's invented, or shaped, or curated, or edited, or enhanced? Every writer uses the clay of real life to some degree; just because Garner is more honest about her material doesn't make the final result any the less art.

I think all these pieces were new to me, so I was very happy to have read them. The final story, What We Say, was especially devastating, in that understated, elliptical way Garner has. What a superb writer she is.

8.2.25

Jennifer, Hecate, Macbeth and Me

 

This is a book that I think I probably acquired thorough the Scholastic Book Sale while we were living in PNG; my edition is from 1974, so I would have been eight or nine. The book sale was just for books (revolutionary, I know) and it was essentially the only way I could access books apart from the library -- there were no bookshops in Mt Hagen. And of course all the books were American... though this is the UK edition, the original US version had the title, Jennifer, Hecate, Macbeth, William McKinley and Me, Elizabeth. I have to agree with the UK publishers re the (slightly) snappier title.

I've hung onto this book all these years, but I don't think I've actually read it since we left PNG. As a child, I loved Jennifer, Hecate, but there was plenty in it to mystify me -- Pilgrim costumes for Halloween, apartments with elevators, quarts of water, New Math, snow and school at Christmas time and the fact that watermelon at New Year was strange. I was intrigued by witches, too, and I also experimented with magic potions, so I found that very relatable. I can't remember what I thought about the fact that Jennifer was Black and Elizabeth was white, though I was also living in a highly segregated community at the time.

Reading some more recent reviews, I found that some reviewers looked askance at this book because they took the view that Jennifer was 'bullying' Elizabeth by putting her through her 'witch apprenticeship.' Give me a break! Elizabeth has to eat strange foods (a raw egg every day, raw onions). But Elizabeth is well able to stand up for herself, and she undertakes her witch 'trials' willingly -- she adds the egg to milkshakes, and she loves onion sandwiches anyway. Elizabeth is just as sarcastic and feisty as Jennifer is cool and sardonic -- they are a great pair, a fact I only appreciated properly this time around.

7.2.25

The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian

Published in 2007, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian has become something of a modern classic. It's the semi-autobiographical story of Arnold Spirit (almost the same initials as Sherman Alexie) who makes the difficult decision to leave his school on the reservation and attend the mostly white high school in Reardan, 22 miles away. His community see him as a traitor, his new school mates see him as a misfit, but gradually, mostly with the traditional mechanisms of fisticuffs and sport, he becomes accepted.

There are plentiful illustrations, Diary of a Wimpy Kid style (ooh, apparently they were published the same year! interesting...) but the content is much darker. There are deaths on the reservation, none from natural causes, Arnold's parents are alcoholics, and they are so poor that often they can't afford to pay for petrol to drive him to school. The toughness of the material is made bearable by Arnold's ironic, self-deprecating style, the humour of the drawings, and the loose, readable printing -- short chapters, lots of space on the page. No wonder it's a hit with reluctant readers.

It was disappointing to discover that Alexie is yet another author whose personal behaviour has come back to bite him, though at least he seems to have been willing to apologise and try to make amends. I really don't want to have to cancel this one!

6.2.25

Growing Up Aboriginal in Australia

Black Inc has a whole series of these Growing Up in Australia books: Growing Up Asian, Growing Up Queer, Growing Up Disabled and more, only some of which I've read. 

Growing Up Aboriginal in Australia, edited by Anita Heiss and published in 2018, was a sobering read. It includes dozens of firsthand stories, from people born in the forties right up to teenagers, and while the narratives of the older generations included some desperately sad accounts of stolen children and even passed-down memories of brutal massacres, the most recent life stories are also full of racism, low expectations and relatives lost to suicide and despair, as well as loving families, community support and individual achievements.

One common theme was the exasperation and anger at being constantly asked to justify their own Aboriginal identity, especially, but not only from fair-skinned people: being required to quantify what 'percentage' of heritage they possess. I must admit I thought this was something that had gone out with the census referendum and I was shocked at how often even the youngest writers complained about this sort of interrogation.

There are many different kinds of stories here. Some writers have a strong, joyous sense of culture and belonging; others feel adrift. There are accomplished authors here, including Tara June Winch, Ambelin Kwaymullina, Jared Thomas and Tony Birch; celebrities like Adam Goodes and Miranda Tapsell; political figures like Celeste Liddell, and many others. Some stories are warm and funny, some are angry and sad, but all are worth reading.

5.2.25

A Month in the Country

J.L. Carr's short novel (just over 100 pages) was first published in 1980, and I studied it for either English or English Lit a few years later. I remember loving it, and it was safe on my shelves, but I hadn't revisited it for forty years, until I was prompted to do so by a Facebook friend.

A Month in the Country is a beautiful, elegiac little book, set in an idyllic English summer in 1920. The narrator, Tom Birkin, is restoring a painting in the church; Charles Moon is excavating someone's lost ancestor in the grounds outside. Both are survivors of the War, and both are deeply scarred. Nothing much happens, but gradually some things shift and begin to heal; in fact, what happens is that Birkin begins to make connections in the village, and these connections continue to nurture him long after that magical summer is gone.

A couple of years after I studied the book in high school, and unbeknownst to me, they made a film out of it, starring Colin Firth and Kenneth Branagh in very early roles. I'm very excited to see it (though apparently it's not as magical as the book). It's so weird what survives in the memory -- as I re-read it, I remembered reading about Alice Keach's father testing her on obscure types of apple, and the fig leaves pressing up against the windows of the vicarage like hands, and one character being found 'in bed with his batman,' and what that implied, and I remembered what was particular about the missing ancestor and how he featured in Birkin's altarpiece. But loads of more dramatic scenes and details had vanished from my mind completely. I found myself thinking, oh, that's where that came from.
 

4.2.25

Honour & Other People's Children

Honour & Other People's Children was Helen Garner's follow-up to her immensely successful Monkey Grip: the difficult second album. Apparently she originally intended to write something similar to her first novel (I guess that meant mining her diaries in the same way) but couldn't make it work, so the noven-in-progress was split into two separate novellas. (I always have trouble remembering that Honour is one story and Other People's Children is another.) 

Honour, the novella I prefer, centres around a separated couple and the challenge to their amicable, long-standing relationship when the man wants to marry his new partner. Other People's Children concerns friendship and share-house politics, the breakdown of a friendship between Ruth and Scotty, and a possible new relationship for Scotty with the unattractive Madigan. Unfortunately I found Madigan so unappealing that I had no interest in whether or not he and Scotty would get together.

The autobiographical elements are not difficult to discern, though it seems that Ruth and Scotty both contain elements of Garner herself. Scotty seems closer to Garner in personality, but Ruth is the one with children, to whom childless Scotty is deeply attached and is likely to lose if the household breaks down. There's less meat in these novellas than there is in Monkey Grip, and I don't think Other People's Children entirely succeeds, but even a flawed Helen Garner book is always worth reading.