Chances are I’m not telling you anything when I say that The mushroom tapes is about an Australian murder trial that took place over two months in the middle of 2025. However, if you don’t know, this trial concerned a woman named Erin Patterson who was accused of murdering three relatives and attempting to murder a fourth, by serving them toxic-mushroom-laced beef Wellingtons for lunch, in July 2023. The victims were her estranged husband’s parents and aunt, with the survivor being his uncle, Ian Wilkinson. The estranged husband, Simon, had also been invited but pulled out the day before. You can read more at the Wikipedia article, Leongatha Mushroom Murders.
This was one of those cases that captured local and international attention, so when it went to trial coverage was intense. Not only were there the usual news reports on television and radio, and in print and online newspapers, but there were also podcasts, social media threads, and of course conversations everywhere you went. Within weeks of the trial’s conclusion, the books started coming out. People were, as Helen, Chloe and Sarah* write, either obsessed and consuming all they could or repulsed and doing everything possible to avoid it. I was in the middle-ground. I certainly wasn’t obsessed. I didn’t seek out reports but couldn’t miss hearing snippets of news. If it came up in conversation, I took part with whatever information I had recently heard. It’s not that I didn’t care. It’s a terrible and devastating story – for the families involved and particularly for Erin and Simon’s two young children, who were 14 and 9 when the murders occurred. However, having lived through the Lindy Chamberlain days, I’d rather let the court do its job as unhampered as possible. I am increasingly uncomfortable with pronouncing on controversial situations, because the sources are often questionable or incomplete.
Then I heard that Helen Garner, Chloe Hooper and Sarah Krasnostein – all writers of thoughtful narrative nonfiction that I have loved – had decided to write jointly about the case. This, I knew, would interest me, because I could trust them to engage in honest and open-minded thinking that would consider the greys. I hoped, too, that they would reach beyond this particular case to offer something more. I didn’t have a preconceived notion of what this might be, but just wanted them to tease out something bigger than this case for us to take away and ponder. Did they? Read on …
“a rent in the social fabric” (Hannah Arendt)
In the book’s opening pages, the three discuss what they are doing, whether, in fact, they should be doing it. After their first day in court, a few days into the trial, they talk about what they have seen in the witness, Simon – the grief, horror, incomprehension. Invoking Hannah Arendt, they suggest they are “bearing witness to a rent in the social fabric and how the law is going to deal with it” (p. 15). Nonetheless, they are concerned at this early stage, and revisit it often throughout the process, that they might be “just perving”. Helen admits there is an element of “perving” of course,
but you hope that by the time you’ve got a certain degree of skill as a writer, you can become useful. I think it’s useful work. These trials are excruciatingly painful. Your [Sarah’s] description of that journalist, going to drink at the pub – that’s defence, isn’t it, defence against the pain. The pain that you volunteer to witness. (p. 16)
Chloe adds that another issue is the transformation of the town by the media pack. These are just two of the many ideas these three explore amongst themselves as the trial progresses – because this book is completely framed by the trial.
“our eyes will go to different places” (Chloe)
This brings me to the book’s structure and form. It is divided into 6 parts which follow the trial, chronologically, through to the verdict. The parts are themed around the focus of the trial at that point in time, such as mushrooms or the victims. They tease the theme out, while also interrogating wider thoughts that their process was generating.
And their process was an interesting one. When they decided to jointly write this book, rather than individually, they recognised that by working together their eyes would “go to different places”. During the conversation I attended with Helen and Sarah, they talked about these different “places”. Helen’s tended to be “Shakespearean”, and personal, concerned with questions like where is the line that an ordinary person crosses to commit such a crime, while Chloe’s tended to the sociological (as in, what in society created this). No surprises for guessing what legally trained Sarah’s was! These are loose divisions, because they are not one-dimensional women, but it does mean that the discussions are wide-ranging.
The overall tone is one of reportage: “we” drove to Morwell, or “in her opening address for the Crown, Nanette Rogers had told the jury …”, or “Helen and Chloe are still on the phone with Sarah”. These reports, which provide facts, describe the scene, or establish bona fides, are interspersed with conversations selected from hours of recordings and other communications like email. They are introduced by the speaker’s name, as in “Chloe: The public gallery wants a plot twist… ” (p. 109). This might sound disjointed, but in fact the book flows well, which is impressive given the time-frame in which it was produced.
“it has everything in it that’s human, including absurdity” (Chloe)
I have never sat on a jury nor attended a trial, but these writers conveyed a real feeling of what being in that courtroom was like – of the tedium of long days of evidence about mushrooms and dehydrators, of the little communities of people attending court, of the cafe where attendees would go for coffee or lunch, of attendee Kelly the dairy farmer who gets a mushroom tattoo, and so on. It’s both life-changingly serious and oh so ordinary.
But, of course, the centre is Erin. Their discussions about her, as their thoughts waver and shift through mounting evidence, convey just what a strange case this was. As Chloe comments near the end, “it’s a miasma of why?” (p. 222). Who is she? Why did she kill her parents-in-law who had treated her with much kindness? What happened in the marriage? Why does she lie? Is she a “monster” or “a broken person”? They can’t decide. Sarah says, as they wait for the verdict:
“We should be nervous – we’re finding out how much we’ll never know” (p. 226-7)
So, back to my question: Did I come away from this book with some meaningful takeaways? I do think it suffers a little from its rapid production. It is fresh and immediate, but not quite as complete as I was hoping for. Many ideas were touched upon, rather than fully explored – including the impact on a community of being at the centre of such a tragedy and then of intense media attention, the bigger issues about what makes someone (particularly women) kill, the moral questions about what they were doing, not to mention questions about the legal system.
However, meaningful questions were raised, and I enjoyed spending time with these three. On their own, they are some women, but together, they are a force. It was like eavesdropping on the sort of intelligent, compassionate and open conversation that we all aspire to. And they ended on the hopeful note that, despite the horror and the “appalled sorrow”, there was survivor “Ian Wilkinson’s offer of kindness – an enlargement of the field”. “An enlargement of the field”. What a beautiful thought.
Brona, Jonathan, Kate and Rose have all posted on this book.
* I use first names because that’s how they present themselves in the book.
Helen Garner, Chloe Hooper, and Sarah Krasnostein,
The mushroom tapes: Conversations on a triple murder trial
Melbourne: Text Publishing, 2025
240pp.
ISBN: 9781923058750
Whispering Gums 
This is, of course, ‘vintage’ Helen – that is, if you’ve experienced “The Consolation of Joe Cinque” – or, to a certain extent, “The First Stone”. I have never read either of the other two women’s work; but am confirmed in my opinion of Garner as a human being by her preparedness to co-author.
It appears to be a truism that women who kill use poison. How strange it all is … That ‘why’ you speak of, ST – it will forever remain unanswered: Patterson is certainly never going to reveal it. She’s never going to admit guilt.
You’ve rendered the book worthy of reading. But I shan’t, simply because it’s not Garner’s alone. How weird is that ?! 😦
Thanks for all this MR … yes I’ve read all those Garners plus This house of grief. I have also read the other two authors. As much as I love Garner it was the combination of these three that intrigued me.
I have a question for you … How do you find new authors you like if you don’t try new ones?
I read the summaries in Audible, largely. But I have read a goodly few through this blogsite – and Australians, at that !! 🙂
Great! Then I’m happy MR!!
I tried not to read a word about this case, and certainly do not understand why the press found it so much more newsworthy than other murders.
And I can’t imagine why a writer as good as Garner would dedicate so much time to attending and writing up trials.
I read very little too Bill. Most of what I knew came from TV and radio news. Why the press found it newsworthy is complex but I can understand some of it … re the sort of murder (a middle-aged woman killing older relations who were not cruel to her) and the method. What I didn’t want to be part of was all that talk based on little knowledge but assumptions and prejudices and how she looked and behaved about whether she did it, why she did it etc.
As to why Helen Garner does this I think it’s pretty clearly to do with wanting to understand humanity. As she titled an essay on one of the cases her question was “why she broke”. And, perhaps, why don’t we? I guess you could argue that if it’s only a tiny few who do these things, it’s not an important question but on the other hand the horror of these actions coming from seemingly ordinary people living ordinary lives makes you wonder. Why don’t we do these things? What in our society/social system might lead people to do these things? How do we respond to them?
I’m surprised Bill wasn’t interested in this story seeing as he has a Leongatha connection! As do I… and remember very clearly when news started to filter in about these murders because I went to secondary school in that town and later worked on the (now defunct) local paper and now everyone knows Leongatha’s name when before I always had to explain that I grew up in a little country town 140km south-east of Melbourne! LOL. (I actually grew up 8km further east of Leongatha, in Koonwarra, and my dad jokingly says the most exciting thing that has ever happened was when the police descended on the local tip to look for the food hydrator — he wondered what all the sirens were about !)
That said, I haven’t read the book. There’s a million holds on it at the local library, so I’ll wait a bit longer before I read it.
And just to give you a laugh, albeit in poor taste, when I went back to Leongatha last October for my mum’s 80th, we went out to dinner to the local pub and there were two mushroom dishes on the menu – and yes, people were ordering them! My sister was appalled. No-one, mind you, talks about the case though… it’s like they’ve wiped it from their collective memory because it was so traumatising/stigmatising.
Mum’ll be over here in a few weeks. I must ask her if she followed the case (we used to pick mushrooms and blackberries in the paddocks across the street)
Oh do … it would be interesting to know, Bill.
That last para is particularly interesting kimbofo, re no-one talking about it. One of the issues I’m interested in is how towns go after an event like this. Shelley Burr’s second crime novel deals with dark tourism. Will Leongatha experience that, is the question. And, I nearly made a joke in my post about ordering mushroom dishes over that time. Everyone was super-aware whenever they even said the word “mushroom”.
A beautiful account of the book, Sue. Thanks for the shout-out
Thanks Jonathan … happy to give the shout-out. We all looked at it a bit differently which is not surprising given the sort of book it is.
Thanks for the link, Sue.
I wanted an answer from this book that I didn’t get, because the question of why did she do it hasn’t been and probably won’t ever be answered.
A pleasure Rose. I think it’s clear we never will get that answer, particularly if she never confesses. And if she ever did she may not even be able to articulate why. You know how you can have a really strong emotion about something and then some time later you cannot really understand or properly remember why you had it?
And as Garner said – and was surprised about – the court doesn’t have to find why, it just has to decide whether she did it.
Yes, I can remember feeling passionate about things that seemed unexplainable later on. Most madnesses like that are passing and we all get them. You raise a good point.
I can remember news reports during the trial stressing that the reason why didn’t have to be found. Strange, isn’t it, because that is the question that most interests most of us.
It is strange, I agree. I guess that’s part of what the legal system is about versus what humans feel and think – and is a useful takeaway from the book for us? In crime fiction, why (the motive) is often the key focus, for the very reason that it’s what humans want to know. I hadn’t really stopped to think – until it was pointed out here – that in fact it’s not what the courts focus on. Of course motive often comes up as part of the evidence and the argument but it’s not what the court ultimately cares about.
Thanks for the shout out Sue. I think I went onto this with very few assumptions about what I might get out of reading it, except that I knew that garner usually grappled with the same dilemma that has concerned me most of my life – man’s inhumanity to man. This case highlighted the concern at a more micro level, but the result was very similar – believing one’s own lies (or the lies of others) and believing that your own life was somehow more important than someone else’s.
If anything, with more time to think about it, I would have liked to see more of a discussion on the behavioural, psychological and sociological aspects that might make someone believe and act like this (on an individual level and at a societal level).
Yes, all of that Brona … well said. It’s exactly those things that they touched on and that I’d have liked more of. But then that would have been a different book full of research using those specialists? Because the very reason I didn’t want to follow the case was all the pop psychology etc that goes on.
I should say I didn’t have any assumptions but I had some wishes.
One of the aspects that fascinated me, that I still wonder about, were the true crime social media groups that Patterson was involved with. Did she hope to pick up tips by being in such groups? Or did the idea came to her after hearing about what others have got away with? What do the others in the group think about her now that she has been found guilty?
Yes, that was fascinating … and I wonder about that too.
I enjoyed the conversations the three authors had. I am fascinated by legal issues and this was a good one to follow. However more than anything I just wondered why, like the authors. Especially, why poison the aunt and uncle? It was as though she just wanted to decimate her husband’s entire family but why didn’t she consider her children and why did she think she could get away with it. Overall we’ll never have the answers as I wonder if Erin even understands why she did it. Great review.
Thanks Pam … the WHYs are multitudinous aren’t they.
I was also fascinated by a reference the authors made to true crime influencers. What do true crime influencers influence? The whole book is full of things to think about.
I agree. I had not heard of the true crime influencers. It doesn’t sound good.
It sounds weird doesn’t it.
Loved Sarah Krasnostein’s The Trauma Cleaner so this intrigues me.
Oh that’s interesting that you read that book Laura. How did that come about? It was one of those books that I initially resisted because of the hype about the “sensational” to the media subject matter, but I loved it too. So warmly written about very difficult lives.
I was a big fan of the Wellcome Book Prize before it was discontinued, and TTC was on the shortlist in 2019 when I was informally shadowing the prize with some other bloggers. We actually ended up picking it as our winner, which SK was pleased to hear when we met her at the ceremony!
I love that! I did a shadow jury once but I just couldn’t keep up with the reading. It was fun though.
So keen to read this. I have a paperback on order but I won’t get it here until November!
I love that you want to read this Cathy. Did you follow the case? I think I remember that you like Garner.
Yes, the case was covered pretty extensively here. I’ve read House of Grief and The Spare Room and loved both.
Great … I agree they are great books. I look forward to seeing what you think about this one.
I only loosely followed the news of it, but when I heard Garner’s book was to be discussed in a podcast, I thought, ohhh, I won’t find this very interesting… and I was wrong. As you say, the whole situation comes to life despite her own initial reluctance to engage with it initially. (I have been on a jury, for ten months once, and do find the courtroom scenario fascinating.) BTW, one volume of HG’s diaries is available here now: it’s on my list (how lucky is that)!
I understand completely your reluctance or assumption about that podcast Marcie because it would’ve been mine too if it had been anyone else but Garner. She is so honest, feeling (if you know what I mean – “emotional” carries too much baggage), articulate and intelligent.
That’s great re the diaries. I still have the third on my TBR but I have greatly enjoyed the two I’ve read.