Monday musings

Monday musings on Australian literature: Vale Kerry Greenwood

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I was sorry to hear a few days ago that the Australian writer Kerry Greenwood (1954-2025) had died on 26 March, at the too-young age of 70. Her death was only publicly announced week ago, which is fair enough. Families have a right to grieve their loved person in private if they so desire. It appears she had been seriously ill for some years, but was still writing to the end. Once a writer …

Kerry Greenwood, The Castlemaine murders

Greenwood has appeared a few times on my blog, but more in passing – such as being the inaugural winner of the Davitt Lifetime Achievement Award in 2013 – than as a featured author. This is because she mostly wrote in a genre I don’t tend to read, crime fiction. She is best known for her Phryne Fisher historical crime detective series, which was turned into a very successful television series, and a movie. I saw both the series and the film, which is how I consume most of my crime, rather than through reading.

She was, however, a prolific writer, as you can tell from her Wikipedia page. She wrote across many forms and genres including mysteries, science fiction, historical fiction, children’s stories, and plays. She won many awards for her books, including Australia’s various crime awards, and a few children’s book awards. She was, from what I’ve read, as colourful, brave and inventive as her heroine.

Allen & Unwin, Greenwood’s publisher since 1997, wrote on Facebook that:

Kerry was a gifted writer, a generous spirit, and a fierce advocate for creativity, joy and justice. She brought us the iconic Phryne Fisher and Corinna Chapman—two unforgettable heroines who continue to inspire readers around the world.

Since 1997, we’ve had the honour of publishing her work, with over 1.4 million copies sold globally. A new Phryne Fisher novel, Murder in the Cathedral, will be published later this year.

The Guardian’s obituary shares more from Allen & Unwin, including that she’d said she “had two burning ambitions in life: to be a legal aid solicitor and defend the poor and voiceless; and to be a famous author”. She certainly achieved the latter, and I understand that as a lawyer she did her best to achieve the former. Melbourne’s Her Place Museum shared this little video on Facebook, in which she talks about her decision to become a lawyer. The beautiful obituary on her website, by her partner, the “Duty Wombat” (aka David Greagg), tells more about her legal work.

But, I’ll end with some words from Sue Turnbull’s obituary in The Conversation. Many of her books, she writes

sit within what has often been characterised as the “cosy” genre: a subgenre of crime fiction to which Kerry’s crime fiction certainly belongs. Until recently, cosy crime has tended to be underrated, compared to the kind of “gritty” crime fiction that wins accolades. 

This has obscured the achievement of crime fiction such as Kerry’s, in which historical and contemporary social issues are reflected back to us in ways that give us pause, even as they are presented in a form designed to entertain.

This is Kerry’s legacy: a wealth of entertainment with a heart. Her novels are provocations to care about social justice.

Many tributes are being planned, such as a screening of the outrageously flamboyant movie, Miss Fisher and the Crypt of Tears, at Yarraville’s Sun Theatre, on 16 April.

Vale Kerry Greenwood.

Monday musings on Australian literature: the Australasian Book Society

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Back in 2023, I briefly mentioned the Australasian Book Society (ABS) in my Monday Musings post for the 1962 Year Club, adding that the society deserved its own post. Finally, here it is, albeit still introductory. There is a lot to research and tease out about this initiative, and I am not planning to write a thesis.

The ABS has a very brief page in Wikipedia, which tells us that it was a cooperative publishing society that ran in Australia between 1952 and 1981. It was co-founded in Melbourne by trade union leader and community activist George Seelaf, at the suggestion of novelist Frank Hardy.

In 2021, the ANU offered a Zoom seminar, titled “The Australasian Book Society: Making a Literary Working Class During the Cultural Cold War”, with Professor Nicole Moore, UNSW Canberra, as speaker. The promotion explained that one of the Society’s “masthead aims”, was

“To encourage mass participation in and responsibility for the publication of progressive Australian literature”.

According to the Zoom promo, it was “a mid-twentieth-century, book-club style, cooperative publisher with a subscription model that promised four books a year to members and distribution through unions, industry associations, education organisations and the communities of the organised left in Australia, including the communist party”. Wikipedia suggests that it was “perhaps a unique venture in Australian publishing history”. The Zoom promo explains that it produced “a long list of notable books by Australian, New Zealand and other regional authors through the polarised years of the cultural Cold War”, and was also a “conduit for Eastern Bloc publishers”.

However, there is apparently still much research to be done into “its model of production and the readership it mobilised”, into how successful it was in “creating a literary working-class readership”, and more. Hopefully someone is out there working on this.

In the meantime, I’ll share some things I found through Trove. Tribune announced the establishment of the society with much enthusiasm. On 28 May 1952 it said that

THE formation in Melbourne the Australasian Book Society is being widely hailed as an event of outstanding importance to every Australian reader and to all our serious writers. 

Six years later, on 4 June 1958, it carried an article by the writer and Communist, Judah Waten, who was the Society’s chairman. He believed strongly in the society and its value to Australian culture. He wrote:

FROM its inception the Australasian Book Society has taken an active part in the great contemporary battle of books and ideas between the forces of reaction and the forces of progress.

On the side of advancement, the ABS, as a co-operative organisation of writers and readers, has published books by writers who have endeavored to describe life truthfully and thus deepen our understanding of human relations and problems.

Unlike today’s fashionable writers who preach pessimism and man’s helplessness, the writers whose books have been published by the ABS look to the future as well as the past, arousing in their readers a determination to end the evil conditions which give rise to unhappiness. 

These writers, perhaps more than any other group of writers in the country, have continued the democratic traditions in our literature and are outstanding exponents of Australian realism.

Back in 1953, however, Melbourne’s more conservative Weekly Times (6 May) noted that not all readers who subscribed to the Society knew who was behind it:

Many people throughout Australia and New Zealand have joined the society unaware of its association with Communists. 

The society’s printed publicity said they would get “worthwhile books at the lowest possible prices.” Instead, they have got books by well-known Communist authors such as Frank Hardy. 

It doesn’t seem like the ABS hid its origins, but it probably didn’t shout it out either.

Anyhow, ten years after its inception, in 1962, the ABS was still going, and newspapers carried little tidbits of news about its achievements, such as:

  • Many Australian books published by ABS were finding their way into foreign translated editions: Dorothy Hewitt’s Bobbin up (see kimbofo’s review), about women factory workers, had already been published in the German Democratic Republic, was soon to appear in a Rumanian edition, and Hungarian and Dutch editions were looking likely (Tribune 17 January 1962); Judah Waten’s Shares in murder, was being serialised in the New Berlin Illustrated magazine, with book editions being published in both Germany and Czechoslovakia, and a Soviet edition expected “at any time” (Tribune 7 February 1962). 
  • Gavin Casey’s Amid the plenty, was, according to R.T. (Canberra Times 24 March), a truly Australian novel that bucked the modern anti-colloquial world-aware trend. “Most of the self-elected realists in Australian writing spend too much of their time explaining their characters”, says R.T., but “Casey lets them explain themselves in rip-roaring, hell-for-Ieather, damn ’em all slang”.
  • Ron Tullipan toured northern New South Wales and southern Queensland with the secretary of the Australasian Book Society Jack Beasley to promote his book March into morning, which won the 1961 Mary Gilmore Award (Tribune 10 October 1962). Tullipan is recorded as saying that “Australian people are very interested in Australian literature — if it is sincere.”

As we move into the 1970s in Trove, there are still articles about books being published by the ABS, but I could find nothing in the 1980s about its demise. This could be because, for copyright reasons, fewer newspapers from more recent decades have been digitised.

I will close with a review from the Tribune (18 July 1979) of another book published by ABS, the memoir, Red letter days: Notes from inside an era, by the above-mentioned Jack Beasley. Beasley covers the writers he knew – including Judah Waten – but also the Society as a whole. Reviewer Bob Makinson discusses the pros and cons of an insider’s view, but suggests that “those who seek to examine Australia’s cultural-political history must be prepared to accept the value of studies like this”.

Makinson concludes:

The ABS has had more than its share of problems since its official formation if 1952. The founding members had different ideas about its aims: should it publish books with “progressive social content” oriented to a trade union readership, or promote Australian literature at a time when it was stifled by establishment publishers? 

He goes on to say that “The ABS was forced to answer these questions during a period of extreme red baiting and sometimes heavy handed interference from the left” and then, concludes – he’s writing in the Tribune after all, that “it came through and still provides many Australian writers with their first publishing break. Tribune readers who wish to join ABS or find out more about it should write to …. In a period of cultural confusion and struggle ABS is worth supporting.”

A fascinating part of Australian literary culture, and one that’s ripe for study.

Monday musings on Australian literature: on 1924: 2, New novels

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Then as now, newspapers regularly announced new Australian novels as they are published. In these year-based series, I’ve not done a post specifically on the new releases, so have decided to do it for this year. This is not complete but contains books by authors who had some career longevity.

New novel releases

I’ve listed the books alphabetically by title, and have included some of the assessments made by the papers. I’m not including the books published by Bookstall, of course, because I listed them last week.

Dale Collins, Ordeal (Cornstalk Publishing): The Land (1 August) says that “it may be said without hesitation that Ordeal would be a remarkable and arresting story under any circumstances, but it is all the more remarkable for being a first essay in this class of fiction” (this class being, I think, a sea adventure). However, there are also reservations: “Occasionally the writer does not appear to be over-sure of his ground, and here and there we have lapses into excessive analyses of emotions, with a slight over emphasis of subtle suggestion, but on the whole the work is admirable. 

Zora Cross, Daughters of the Seven Mile (Hutchinson): Cross’s debut novel was praised, albeit faults were also identified by The Australasian (10 May): “It is not by any means a book without faults, but its merits are many and considerable, and most of them are to be found in the drawing of its characters. The scene is laid in Queensland, in the bush country outside a promising mining town, and the theme of the story is the difficulty of bringing two great forces into harmony, the call of the bush and the allurement of life in great cities.” The paper claims that with her first novel she has “won an important place in the ranks of Australian novelists”.

Ruby M. Doyle, The winning of Miriam Heron (Edward Dunlop): I wrote a recent Forgotten Writers post on Doyle, so I won’t say much. The Australasian (8 November) says that “its best points lie in the studies of bush life, with which the author is evidently familiar”. The plot “is slight”, but Doyle “shows a facile, kindly pen in dealing with the humorous type, and writes a straight, healthy story, that has less of morbidity than has the usual Australian bush tale”. The Advertiser (18 November) also admires her ability to write of the bush. However, The Queenslander (15 November), which also criticises the plot, concludes, interestingly, with “Miss Doyle appears to have attempted to graft something of the Ku Klux mystery into the character of the Australian bush, and so the story develops an atmosphere in places that is not Australian”.

Mabel Forrest, The wild moth (Caswell): According to The Advertiser (9 August), its strength is less its story as its descriptions of the bush. It concludes that “the vivid descriptions of the various phases of Australian life are its most enduring and attractive features”. 

Fergus Hume, The moth woman (Hutchinson): Hume is not Australian, but he did live in Australia for while, and published his detective novel The mystery of a hansom cab (my review) here, which made him of interest to Australians. The Australasian (26 January) says it is “written with a vigour and a freshness that a younger man ambitious of writing stories of the kind might envy” and that “the night life of London, the drug traffic, a mysterious murder following upon efforts to cope with the vices of the under world, provide thrills enough to satisfy the most blase reader of “shockers.” Then the little kicker: “Probabilities or possibilities matter little when one excitement follows on another, when the reader likes that sort of thing.”

DH Lawrence, ML Skinner, The boy in the bush
First US ed., Thomas Seltzer, 1924

D.H. Lawrence and M.L. Skinner, The boy in the bush (Martin Seeker): Bill and I have both written about Lawrence and Skinner’s collaboration so I won’t repeat that here, but The Australasian (1 November) says that it’s “not easy to decide where Mr. Skinner [except it’s not Mr.] comes in, since there seems to be not a page in the book that is not unmistakably stamped with Mr. Lawrence’s peculiar genius”. Overall, the reviewer is not overly impressed, saying “an irritating mannerism is the repetition, of certain words and phrases, particularly in the description of physical peculiarities. While at times the story is vivid and almost overwhelmingly powerful, it lacks somehow the vital spark”. The Advertiser (22 November), on the other hand, is positive about its humour and insight, and calls it “readable”, but also comments that “at times Australians may be inclined to resent some of the severer criticisms of habits, dress, and customs”.

Vance Palmer, Cronulla (Cornstalk): The Australasian (13 December) gives Palmer’s book fairly short shrift, saying it “will be read with interest by reason of its Australian setting and the act of its being the work of a leading Australian writer”. For the reviewer, however, this station-life story is “built on well-worn lines, and has nothing new to offer either in plot or treatment”.

A few points about this list. First, there is the focus on bush and rural stories. Only two, it seems, are not; one is a sea story, and the other set in London. Even though our population was well urbanised, the bush was how we differentiated ourselves – both to ourselves, and in marketing ourselves to others. Then, there’s the fact that women writers are well in evidence, which confirms again what we know about Australia’s literary scene from the 1920s to 1940s. And, finally, I notice here, as I frequently notice in these earlier Trove articles, a willingness to identify faults. The comments are generally not smart-alecky or cruel, just clear about what they see as strengths and weaknesses. In some cases they recognise that the identified weaknesses are not important to the readers. In other cases, they note that it is a new author who can work on the problem areas. I wonder how the authors felt.

Thoughts?

Previous posts in the series: 1, Bookstall again

Monday musings on Australian literature: on 1924: 1, Bookstall, again

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During 2022 and 2023, I wrote a series of posts on Australian literature as it was read, and thought about, a century earlier, in 1922 and 1923. Last year, I researched 1924, with a view to doing the same, and in fact heralded the upcoming 1924 series, but didn’t end up writing any posts. This was partly because many of the concerns were the similar to those of 1923, and partly because other ideas overtook me. But there were some interesting things said, so, nearly a quarter of the way through 2025, I’ve decided to write at least a couple of posts relating to 2024, starting with the Bookstall Company’s Bookstall series of Australian fiction.

This series of cheap paperbacks of Australian novels, as I have posted before, were introduced to the Australian market in 1904. I featured them in posts on 1922 and 1923, and am here updating us with 1924’s output. The series continued to serve its purpose, it seems, of supporting Australian writers as well as of providing reading matter at an affordable price. The Queenslander, introducing two new books in the series, started its brief article on June 7 with:

Australian novelists owe a great deal to the New South Wales Bookstall Company, which, during the last few years, has published more than 200 novels by Australian writers. 

Sydney’s The Labor Daily made a similar comment on December 16.

As far as I can tell from the research I did, publication did slow down with significantly fewer books published in 1924 than in 1923. Here is what I found.

  • Roy Bridges, By mountain tracks
  • Ernest Osborne, The copra trader
  • S.W. Powell, The trader of Kameko: South Seas
  • Lilian M. Pyke, The harp of life
  • W. Sabelberg, The key of mystery
  • H.E. Wickham, The great western road

So, just 6 books, compared with 20 in 1923, and only one by a woman. (There may have been a few more, but it’s these six that kept popping up in my searches.) Most are adventures of some sort and most feature a “love interest”.

Bushranger stories were still popular at this time, even though the worst of the bushranger era had ended by the 1880s. Both Roy Bridges’ By mountain tracks and Wickham’s The great western road belong to this genre. That said, Bridges’ book is described in The Queenslander (7 June) as “a story associated with the Kelly gang, but the theme generally is that of a romantic love episode”.

Two of the books, those by Pyke and Sabelberg, seem to be contemporary stories, Pyke’s being a tangled story about a waif rescued from the arms of its dead mother on a Queensland beach, and Sabelberg’s a mystery/thriller.

Adventures in the South Seas were apparently making a come-back around this time, with Jack McLaren (who appeared in my 1923 post), Ernest Osborne and S.W. Powell all setting books there. Hobart’s World (12 February) wrote of Powell’s novel as being “full of incident and adventure, and aglow with the rich color of the South Seas. A good shilling’s worth.” This latter point was frequently mentioned in reviews of Bookstall books. Indeed the World, in the same article, said of Wickham’s novel that

“Most of the characters in the book are well-drawn, and convincing, and there are humorous episodes to relieve the tragedies, and compensate for the author’s rather marked tendency to waste words in trite moralisings, and in a too-conscious elaboration of dialogue. Just the same, it is a marvellous shilling’s worth.”

Most reviewers of these books understood their intention as escapist reads or, what we would call today, commercial fiction, and wrote about them within that context. They either praised the works – with one, in fact, describing Osborne’s novel as “brilliantly written” – or, where they were critical, they tempered it with this understanding, as in the Powell example above. However, a report in the Murray Pioneer and Australian River Record (5 December) was not so generous. Sabelberg’s The key of mystery, it said, “is a crude murder story, crudely written”; Powell’s The trader of Kameko, “is a story, with no literary merit, of a white man, two brown girls and a hurricane”; and Wickham’s The great western road “is a story of the early gold rushes in N.S.W. of the same crude character as the other two”. Of course, reviewers do pitch their writing to their audience. Perhaps readers of the Murray Pioneer and Australian River Record had more refined tastes, and more money to spend, and our writer recognised that?

Some newspaper articles noted that some of these writers had already developed their writing skills in other forms. Sabelberg and Wickham, for example, are described as established, successful short story writers, and Lilian Pyke as a writer of “capital” stories for boys and girls – all of which proves, I guess, the point about Bookstall’s role in supporting Australian writers. How better to cut your teeth as a novelist than with a company like this?

And I will leave 1924 on this point. Life has been very busy this last week … so I have not been able to pay as much attention to reading and my blog as I’d like, but I do hope to post a review this week.

Monday musings on Australian literature: Forgotten writers 10, Ruby Mary Doyle

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Unlike my last forgotten writer, Dulcie Deamer, today’s writer, though a prolific contributor to newspapers in her day, has slipped into the shadows. Neither Wikipedia nor the Australian dictionary of biography (ADB) contain articles for her, but the AustLit database does. As with many of my Forgotten Writers articles, I researched and posted a versions of this on the Australian Women Writers’ site.

Ruby Mary Doyle

Ruby Mary Doyle (1887-1943) wrote short stories and serialised novels, newspaper articles including travel and nature pieces, and plays, mostly publishing as Ruby Doyle or Ruby M. Doyle. Much of her writing was published in Fairfax’s weekly magazine, The Sydney Mail. By the 1930s she had, says AustLit, gained a reputation as a writer of some standing. She was also active in the Lyceum Club and the Pioneer Club in Sydney. And yet, there are no articles for her in Wikipedia or the Australian Dictionary of Biography.

Doyle was born on the 20 February 1887 in Gunnedah, New South Wales, to Joseph McCormick Doyle, a bank manager for the Commercial Bank, and Annie (née Hooke). She was the first of six children. In 1935, in an article titled “The making of the writer”, Doyle wrote of how she came to writing:

As a child, when I walked through the bush, well behind the family party, every tree seemed an enchanted castle. Birds, butterflies, flowers talked, and I understood them. Imagination — that blessed gift from the gods — had come to me from every side of my family, and finally led me, whether I would or not, into the realm of writing.

According to Kingston, of the Dungog Historical Society, her first published serial was The Dragon, which appeared in The Sydney Mail from 4 June 1913, and was later published in book form as The mystery of the hills. Promoting the book form, which was published in 1919, The World’s News wrote that:

Those who love a story which is thoroughly and typically Australian and of the country will enjoy this tale of love and adventure … The “mystery” we shall not, of course, say anything about, except that it has to do with men who defy the law and have a chief, who is a man of importance. There are several love stories, and they have the usual course, and there is quite a fund of information as to how we Australians live in the country, and how we manage to enjoy ourselves there. 

This little piece says much about how Australia saw itself. “How we manage to enjoy ourselves there [ie “in the country”]” suggests that Australia was well on the way to urbanisation, but fascinated by its bush self.

Further stories and serialisations appeared, including The winning of Miriam Heron in The Sydney Mail in 1918, which was published in book form by Edwards Dunlop in 1924. Announcing this new serial in 1918, The Sydney Mail wrote:

She [Doyle] has already contributed to the ‘Mail,’ and has disclosed literary and dramatic ability of a high order. It is gratifying to note that she shows no disposition to ‘write herself out.’ On the contrary, ‘The Winning of Miriam Heron’ reveals that she has mastered the art of construction, and thus gives her readers a better chance than previously to fully appreciate her literary powers.

From 1924 to 1926, Ruby travelled overseas a few times – to the United Kingdom, the continent, Canada and America – during which time she regularly submitted travel articles to the Dungog Chronicle, which, according to that paper, “were reprinted in many country papers throughout the State.”

Doyle wrote for local papers through the 1920s and 1930s. AustLit lists over 30 works of hers published over this time. She also tried her hand at playwriting. Kingston writes that her play The Family Tree came second in a competition at the Independent Theatre, Sydney, in 1933, and that the following year, The Man from Murrumbidgee, was produced at the Kursaal Theatre, also in Sydney. I believe these are the same play, given The Man from Murrumbidgee is about a status-seeking wife who tries to find “a worthy ancestor” on the family tree.

Doyle’s writing reflects the versatility of the working writer. Her short stories dealt largely with domestic subjects, while her serialised novels included historical stories about the colonial days, and romantic adventure stories. Her non-fiction focused particularly on nature, travel and local history, rather than on social or political commentary. Many of her local history pieces drew on her own family’s long history in the region, and include some delightful touches of humour. For example, she describes a pioneer family (hers it seems), coming out to Australia in 1828 with various things, including merino sheep and

rolls and rolls of beautiful silks, Mr. Hooke having an idea that he would be able to deal successfully in such merchandise. It proved only a supposition, and for the rest of her life Mrs Hooke had a marvellous collection of silks from which her dresses were made. 

There is also some recognition of the original people of the land. Writing in The Sydney Mail 1931 on the town of Gresford, she says that:

Most of the homes in the vicinity bear English and Welsh names — Norwood, Clevedon, Goulston, Camyr ‘Allyn, Caergule, Penshurst, Tre vallyn, etc. The river, named Paterson by the white man, was called Yimmang by the aborigines; one of our poets has written a very beautiful poem, “Ode to the Yimmang,” in which he extols its beauty.

Ruby Doyle was regularly written up in the local Dungog Chronicle, clearly being of interest to the community. She went to England, again, in 1935, planning to be away for two or three years. On 1 March, the Dungog Chronicle,reported on a farewell for this “gifted novelist”, and named Flora Eldershaw – one half of the M. Barnard Eldershaw collaboration – as a co-guest at the event. This suggests Doyle was known to the literati of her time. Doyle died in England in 1943, having never returned home again. A small obituary appeared in various local newspapers, including The Gloucester Advocate (see under Sources). The obituary noted her three published works, but also commented on her writing overall, commenting in particular that

a keen observer of nature, she had the gift of translating her thoughts on paper in an easy readable way.

The piece I posted for the Australian Women Writers Challenge is titled “The flame” (linked below). It is an intriguing story about a disgruntled wife, and invites – particularly from modern eyes – a variety of readings. I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Sources

  • Miss Ruby Doyle, The Gloucester Advocate, 12 January 1943 [Accessed: 14 January 2025]
  • Ruby Doyle, “The flame“, Sydney Mail, 24 July 1935 [Accessed: 3 February 2025]
  • Ruby M. Doyle, AustLit [Accessed: 3 Feb 2025]
  • Maureen Kingston, “Was Ruby Doyle our first local travel writer?”, Dungog Chronicle, 25 August 2021 [Accessed via the NLA eResources service: 3 February 1924]

Monday Musings on Australian literature: Diverse publishing

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With the idea and practice of diversity under attack in more than one place around this world of ours, it’s encouraging to see publishers continuing to support the need for more diversity in their output.

I’ve written several Monday Musings about diversity in publishing, including these, listed from the most recent to the earliest:

  • Bundyi (2024): on a new First Nations imprint, being curated by Dr Anita Heiss, and under the auspices of Simon & Schuster
  • Canberra Writers Festival 2023: 2, Celebrating the classics (2023): on a panel discussion about UQP’s First Nations Classics initiative
  • First Nations Classics (2022): introducing UQP’s First Nations Classics initiative.
  • Magabala Books (2022): spotlight on this First Nations publisher, which was established in 1984.
  • Diversity and memoir (2021): on the issue that people from diverse backgrounds are expected to write memoirs about their experience rather than free to write on their choice of subject.
  • Multicultural NSW Award (2019): on this award that celebrates the publishing of books dealing with or furthering our understanding of migrant experience, cultural diversity or multiculturalism in Australia
  • Who is publishing the interesting books (2014): looks at what “interesting”means from a number of angles including diverse writers

Of course I’ve written posts on diversity from other angles – such as on festivals, or listing books by diverse writers – and I have reviewed many books by diverse writers.

I was inspired to write this post by another publishing initiative in this space, Allen & Unwin’s Joan Press. It was created, in fact, in 2020, but I only cam across it recently. Curated by Nakkiah Lui, a Gamilaroi and Torres Strait Islander woman, and a writer, actor and director, it describes itself as “Radical, inclusive, rebellious”. Its simple home page says:

Joan publishes books across all genres and forms. Each Joan title creates space for voices that get pushed to the fringes; voices that challenge and interrogate the world around them. Named after Lui’s grandmother, Joan Press recognises that storytelling is both the legacy and the future of any community, and aims to be a home for stories and storytellers who are redefining the mainstream in a way that is radical, inclusive and bold.

As far as I can tell, Joan has so far published three books:

  • Emma Darragh, Thanks for having me (2024), Joan Press’s first fiction title, described as comprising “interwoven stories about three generations of women in one family as they navigate girlhood, motherhood and selfhood, perfect for fans of Jennifer Egan, Meg Mason and Paige Clark”. 
  • Sarah Firth, Eventually everything connects (2023), a work of graphic non-fiction, described as  “a delicious mix of daily life, science, philosophy, pop culture, daydreams and irreverent humour”
  • Madison Godfrey, Dress rehearsals (2023), described as “A memoir made of poetry, Dress Rehearsals documents a decade of performing womanhood in a non-binary body”.

Unlike some of the publisher sites I’ve visited recently, Joan does seem to be currently still accepting submissions.

And a little extra …

Related to the issue of diversity in publishing is that of diversity in the publishing workforce. In March and April of 2022, a survey was conducted of diversity and inclusion in the Australian publishing industry. You can read about it here 9where there are links to further details including the full report, but the summary drawn was that

The publishing industry in Australia is highly educated, driven by women and has strong LGBTQ+ representation, yet struggles to reflect Australia’s cultural and social diversity, according to the first survey examining diversity in Australian publishing.

The summary said that the survey yielded “important insights that will help to push for change in the sector”. Some of you may remember this survey, because it got quite a bit of coverage at the time. But what has happened since? That has been hard to find, as my search on the subject produced a page or more of hits on the 2022 survey, but a page or so in, I found a Books + Publishing article from February 2024, titled “APA [Australian Publishers Assoication] releases diversity and inclusion plan” and stating that APA had released ‘a diversity and inclusion plan “to guide and support industry progress over the next two years”‘. The article lists eight recommendations for publishers to work on, and provides a link to the plan.

I also find an announcement from August 2024 that Hachette Australia and Media Diversity Australia (MDA) “are excited to announce a significant partnership, with Hachette becoming the inaugural book publisher member of MDA. This collaboration also marks the launch of the Hachette x MDA Publishing Traineeship, aimed at championing diversity and inclusivity within the publishing industry”. Besides this traineeship, membership of MDA apparently gives Hachette “access to a suite of valuable services, including the MDA TalentHub to reach a more diverse talent pool; participation in advocacy initiatives and industry roundtables; and customised Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion training and guidance”.

Too early to see how all this is playing out, but it’s surely positive.

Any thoughts? Do you seek writing my diverse authors, and if so, how easy is it to find?

Monday musings on Australian literature: Supporting genres, 9: Romance novels

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Back in 2020 I commenced a Monday Musings subseries I called “supporting genres”. Some of the posts have, admittedly, been more form- than genre-based. Today’s however is a genre, and one I have been putting off because it’s not one I am at all familiar with. However, with Valentine’s Day looming this week, I felt it was now or never. The problem is that not only am I not familiar with this genre, but it is a huge field, so this will be basic, and more suited to the generalist like me, not specialist readers of Romance.

jane Austen, Love and Freindship

This is not the only problem. Defining Romance – given the multiple uses of the word through time – is a challenge, so in the interest of keeping this tight, I’m going to keep tightly to the “genre” which Wikipedia describes as follows:

A romance novel or romantic novel is a genre fiction novel that primarily focuses on the relationship and romantic love between two people, typically with an emotionally satisfying and optimistic ending. Authors who have contributed to the development of this genre include Maria Edgeworth, Samuel Richardson, Jane Austen, and Charlotte Brontë.

As with many genres, Romance fiction encompasses many subgenres – including crossovers with other genres. Sub-genres include fantasy, contemporary, historical romance, paranormal fiction, and science fiction. According to the Wikipedia link above, “women have traditionally been the primary readers of romance novels, but according to the Romance Writers of America, 16% of men read romance novels”. I certainly know some here in Oz.

Modern romance fiction has moved on from what it was in the mid-twentieth century – in variety and diversity of its characters, and in storylines. It is also not averse to grappling with significant issues in relationships, like rape. RWA (see below) is focusing on increasing inclusivity and diversity in its mission, and says its “working definition of diverse encompasses all ages, cultures, ethnicities, social backgrounds, neurodiverse and physical abilities and attributes, all genders, and all sexual identities”.

Perhaps – but don’t quote me as I’m no expert – the grand dame of romance fiction in Australia was Valerie Parv (1951-2021). You can check her out at Wikipedia, but Secrets from the Green Room podcast also did an excellent interview with her. For more writers, the Romance Writers Australia blog is a good source, with their Author Spotlight and New Release posts. The blog seems to go back to 2015, but doesn’t have the usual navigation tools (at least as far as I can see).

Organisations

There seems to be two main organisations supporting romance fiction in Australia.

Romance Writers Australia (RWA)

Describing itself as the “Home and Heart of Romance Writing in Australia”, RWA was established in Sydney around 1991, with its membership now including writers from Australia, New Zealand, Singapore, the United States and the United Kingdom. It has “become internationally recognised and respected by both category and mainstream publishers of romance”. Its aim is:

to promote excellence in romantic fiction, to help aspiring writers become published and published authors to maintain and establish their careers, to foster a safe, equitable, inclusive and diverse community, and to provide continuing support for romance writers – whatever their genre – within the romance publishing industry.

Their big event of the year is the Romance Writers of Australia Annual Conference. The 2025 conference, themed “Writer Wonderland”, will be held in Hobart from 22 to 24 August. As you can see from the program, this is clearly a conference geared more to writers than readers.

RWA also, apparently, organise “write-ins, library panels, workshops, retreats, and social gatherings in capital and regional cities”, plus other “special events and book launches”, but there were none listed on the website at the time of writing this post.

Australian Romance Readers Association Inc (ARRA)

Formed in 2007/2008, ARRA is an association “created by romance readers, for romance readers”. Starting with sixteen members, it now has well over three hundred. They outline their goals and activities on their About page.

They too run events. They held five Australian Romance Readers Conventions, with the last one being 2017. In 2019, they reinvented their convention to what they call A Romantic Rendezvous, which comprised multi-author, multi-city events, held in March 2019 in Brisbane, Sydney, Melbourne and Perth. They repeated this in 2020, and then the pandemic hit. Not to be thwarted, they held a Locked Down version. They returned to annual live events in 2023, with the 2025 event now locked in (as against locked down!) You can read all about these on their site. They also have what looks like an active blog.

Awards

Romance writing seems less well-served with major awards than, say, Crime Fiction and Science Fiction, which is interesting. However, some awards are offered by and/or coordinated by the above organisations:

  • Romantic Book of the Year (Ruby) Awards: According to Books+Publishing, which lists the 2024 winners, these are RWA’s awards, but I can’t find them on their site, except through a site search which retrieves random historical hits.
  • RWA Contests: RWA seems to offer a variety of contests which they say offer not only a “wonderful way” for writers to “showcase” their talent but also a “chance to receive valuable feedback from experienced judges and industry experts”. The contests cater for different experience levels as well as a broad range of romance genres. Current contests can be found on this page.
  • ARR (Australian Romance Readers) Awards: ARRA offers awards for the best romance books in several categories, and are voted for by ARRA members. The 2024 awards will be announced at a dinner in Melbourne on 28 March 2025. You can see a list of Previous Winners on their site. How do you like this for an award category, “Best Banter in a Romance”? What fun.

Publishers

As with awards, I found fewer specialist romance publishers in Australia, than for science fiction, but the best known romance publisher of all, Mills and Boon, does have an Australian arm. Last year ABC News wrote that while the company launched in 1908, “it wasn’t until 1974 that it set hearts aflutter among Australian readers in its first venture outside of Britain and North America”. This makes it now 50 years old in Australia. According to the ABC, “there’s a growing appetite for romance novels”, which they support by sharing Books+Publishing’s report in late 2023 that sales of romance fiction were up 37 per cent in Austra last year in Australia.

  • Hot Tree Publishing: Established in 2015 HTPubs seems to specialise in diverse romance. Their Submissions page states that they “are currently seeking M/F+, M/M+, and F/F+ series novels in the following CONTEMPORARY and PARANORMAL subgenres”. This is “not a restrictive list and exceptional stand-alones may be considered” but they are not “open to historical romances” (accessed: 10 February 2025).
  • Mills and Boon Australia: Established in Australia in 1974. Currently, according to their website, there are over 75 Australian and New Zealand authors amongst their 1,300+ authors.

Of course, most of the general publishing houses also publish romance. It is a well-served field.

Romance and me

While I understand the attraction of romance fiction, I don’t seek the genre. However, I do read many books containing romance. After all, love and relationships underpin most of our lives. What did the Beatles say – yes, “all you need is love … love … love is all you need”.

My first romance novels were, of course, Jane Austen’s (see all my Austen posts). When I first read them in my teens, my biggest interest was, as I recollect, the romance component. But since then, it’s not the romance that sets my heart aflutter, but Austen’s wit and her timeless insights into humanity, into how we think and why we behave the way we do.

Anita Heiss Paris Dreaming

However, since blogging, I have read some romance fiction – mostly what the industry calls chick-lit – Anita Heiss’s choc-lit novel, Paris dreaming (my post), Tony Jordan’s Addition (my review) and Fall girl (my review), and Graeme Simsion’s The Rosie project (my review). These books attracted me because they reflected that trend I mentioned above, including more diverse characters – First Nations, neurodiverse, and so on.

Do you like romance fiction and, if so, care to share why?

Previous supporting genre posts: 1. Historical fiction; 2. Short stories; 3. Biography; 4. Literary nonfiction; 5. Crime; 6. Novellas; 7. Poetry; 8. Science Fiction

Monday musings on Australian literature: Prime Minister’s Summer Reading List, 2024

/ Whispering Gums / 14 Comments

In early December last year, I started looking out for the Grattan Institute’s Prime Minister’s Summer Reading List for 2024. But somehow, although it was published on their website on 9 December, I missed it. I have no idea how, because I went to their website, but maybe I was a day or two too early, and then forgot in my Christmas-busyness-befuddlement. Anyhow, I believe it still has value, even if the PM is back at work, so here goes …

For those of you who haven’t caught up with this initiative, some background. The Grattan Institute is an Australian non-aligned, public policy think tank, which produces readable, reasoned reports on significant issues. They have also published annually, since 2009, their Prime Minister’s Summer Reading List which, as they wrote back in 2009, comprises “books and articles that the Prime Minister, or any Australian interested in public debate, will find both stimulating and cracking good reads”.

Here is the 2024 list in their order (but with the author first), accompanied by an excerpt from their reasoning, which is available in full on their site):

  • Clare Wright, Ṉäku Dhäruk The Bark Petitions: How the people of Yirrkala changed the course of Australian democracy (Australian): “The truths told in Wright’s Näku Dhäruk make it essential reading for the Prime Minister and the Australian people. If studying history helps us learn from our mistakes, Australia’s dismissal of the bark petitions is a chapter worth poring over.”
  • Adam Higginbotham, Challenger: A true story of heroism and disaster on the edge of space (British): “At its heart, Challenger is a human story … The frozen rubber O-rings that ultimately led to the disaster were a known problem. But a flawed decision-making process allowed it to become merely one ‘acceptable risk’ among many. As demands on governments grow even as trust in institutions declines, Higginbotham provides a timely reminder of the role of individual agency in shaping the success or failure of humanity’s greatest endeavours.” 
  • J. Doyne Farmer, Making sense of chaos: A better economics for a better world (American): “Farmer argues that traditional economics fails to grapple with the complexity and uncertainty of real-world economies. He makes the case for complexity economics, a new approach that draws insights from biology, neuroscience, and physics. This framework models the economy from the ground up, simulating the dynamic web of interactions between people, goods, and institutions … With vast data and computational power now available, complexity economics could be the next testbed for evidence-based policy.”
  • Caitlin Dickerson, Seventy miles in hell (American): “In contemporary debates, where migration policies are entwined with political positioning, easy scapegoating, and a way for politicians to signal ‘toughness’, migrants are often treated as numbers, inputs into an economy, or worse, rather than as human beings with their own hopes, strengths, and impossible choices … Dickerson’s message is clear … ‘What I saw in the jungle confirmed the pattern that has played out elsewhere: The harder migration is, the more cartels and other dangerous groups will profit, and the more migrants will die.’”
  • Madhumita Murgia, Code dependent: Living in the shadow of AI (Indian): “as AI is increasingly embedded in our systems and decisions, what does this mean for our society? … Murgia argues that our blindness to AI systems and how they work makes it harder for us to understand when they go wrong or cause harm. And there’s a risk that those harms disproportionately affect marginalised groups … The questions that policymakers must grapple with are almost as numerous as the possible uses of AI: How do we know if AI technologies are safe, or if they are being manipulated or used in discriminatory ways? Which laws need to be amended to take AI into account? More broadly, who is ultimately responsible when AI technologies cause harm?” 
  • Ceridwen Dovey, Only the astronauts (Australian): “Dovey, an Australian science writer as well as novelist, shows us humans as they might appear to the objects we create and use. Like Adam Higginbotham in Challenger, Dovey critiques the masculine bravado of the space race … This inventive collection of stories has moments of beauty, as well as laugh-out-loud fun …”

The selection process, we’re told, was rigorous. The staff book club “read, loved, loathed, and debated an extensive array of novels, non-fiction books, essays, and articles”. They believe their final six are “all cracking good reads”, and summarise their choices as follows:

Ṉäku Dhäruk and Challenger are case studies in how a handful of people can shape the course of history, for better or for worse.

Making Sense of Chaos argues that we can glean new insights into the economy by modelling individuals’ behaviour from the ground up.

Seventy Miles in Hell and Code Dependent remind us of the human consequences of our high-level policy choices on migration and AI.

Our last pick, Only the Astronauts, is a little different: it’s a series of vignettes about inanimate space objects. But it too offers a new perspective on the human experience by looking in from the outside.

It’s interesting – and, I admit, disappointing – that only two are by Australian writers. And again, only one is a work of fiction. Also, while the ongoing challenge of reconciling our colonial past is included, it’s not in a work by a First Nations writer – as excellent as Clare Wright is. However, I do like that, while it may look like some critical issues are not covered, there seems to be some big picture and lateral thinking included here, which is important.

My track record for reading Grattan’s selections is poor. To date, I have read two of 2022’s list, Debra Dank’s We come with this place (my review) and Jessica Au’s Cold enough for snow (my review), and only one of 2023’s list, Anna Funder’s Wifedom (my review), though I had hoped to also read Ellen van Neerven’s Personal score. Let’s see how I go with 2024’s list!

You can see all the lists to date at these links: 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019, 2020, 2021, 2022, 2023.

If you had the opportunity to make one book recommendation to the leader of your country, what would it be?

Monday musings on Australian literature: Historical fiction by First Nations writers

/ Whispering Gums / 14 Comments

With this weekend in Australia being a long weekend for Australia Day (or, Invasion Day), I decided that the best thing I could do would be to write a post promoting historical fiction by First Nations Australian writers. While there are First Nations historians writing histories, I figure more people read historical fiction, given I’d like to encourage us all to broaden, fill out, revise our understanding of Australia’s history, then historical fiction seemed a good place to start.

Of course, there’s the obvious proviso. Historical fiction is not history. However, I believe that good historical fiction does provide truths about the past that can inform our understanding of what happened. Historical fiction by First Nations writers ensures that this understanding extends beyond the point of view of the victors to that of those who were displaced and dispossessed. Historical fiction can also provide some facts, but we can’t assume what we read is factual. It is fiction after all. All the books I list here have some basis in fact, but how much, and what sort of fact varies. All, though, offer important truths.

The books – which include some I’ve not read – are listed in rough chronological order by their time setting, and organised under some broad “eras”, because while some issues are overarching or ongoing, there are experiences and ideas particular to different eras. Stories that encompass multiple timeframes are listed under the earliest one. Where possible, and to the best of my ability, I have identified places using both their local and settler names.

Early settlement

The books set in this period explore what happened when white settlers first appeared on land belonging to First Nations peoples. These novels explore the clashes that occurred, the mistakes that were made, the possibilities for doing it differently or the moments where it might have gone differently, and the ultimate dispossession of the traditional owners.

Jane Harrison, The visitors (2021): 1788; Warrane/Sydney Cove: reimagines the arrival of the First Fleet from the perspectives of elders from seven nations (Brona’s review).

Julie Janson, Benevolence: 1816-1842, Dharug Nation/Western Sydney: based on the author’s ancestor, tells the story of Muraging who, when around 12 years old, is handed over by her father to the Parramatta Native Institution, in the hope that she will help their people by learning British language and ways (my review).

Anita Heiss, Dirrayawadha (Rise up): around 1824, Wiradyuri Country/Bathurst: inspired by the 1824 Bathurst War, fought between the Wiradyuri people and the British, tells the story of the Wiradjuri resistance leader Windradyne, through the eyes of his fictional sister Miinaa (my CWF 2024 post).

Kim Scott, That deadman dance (2011): 1826-1844, Noongar Country/Southwest WA: a first contact story set in Western Australia in which the generosity of the local people, and their willingness to engage, is ultimately met by rapaciousness and violence (my review).

Julie Janson, Compassion (2024): 1836 on, Dharug Nation/Western Sydney: sequel to Benevolence, and based on the life of another Janson ancestor, Muraging’s outlaw daughter, a horse thief and resistance fighter who took on colonial authorities (including in the courts). 

Melissa Lucashenko, Edenglassie (2023): 1850s and 2020s, Magandjin/Brisbane: a “what if” story in which armed resistance to the dispossession, massacres and other brutalities from the colonisers is told alongside attempts from both sides to work together (my review).

Mid to late 19th century

By this period, the settlers had established themselves throughout Australia, with First Nations people surviving as best they could – often in the employ of the settlers and living, of course, under British law. Their lives, health and culture were severely affected by dislocation, and they lived at the mercy of the settlers. Many were separated from their Country, with culture, including language, was being lost.

Anita Heiss, Bila Yarrudhanggalangdhuray (River of dreams) (2021): 1852 on, Wiradjuri Country/Gundagai and Wagga Wagga: inspired by the story of the four First Nations men who, using bark canoes, saved 40-70 people during Gundagai’s 1852 flood; tells the fictionalised story of the daughter of one those men, her ending up working for one of the landowning families, and being forced to leave her country (my review).

Ali Cobby Eckermann, Ruby Moonlight (2012): 1880s, mid-north South Australia: verse novel about a teenage girl, Ruby Moonlight, whose family is massacred by white settlers, and who meets the lonely “colourless man”, Miner Jack (my review).

Leah Purcell, The drover’s wife (2017): 1890s, Ngarigo and Walgalu Country/Snowy Mountains: re-visioning of Henry Lawson’s classic short story, turning the drover’s wife into a First Nations woman left to fend for herself in a hostile world (my review of the film version).

Federation to 1930s

Larissa Behrendt, Home

While the facts of First Nations lives at this time are largely a continuation of the previous era, fiction set in this period starts to address more specifically the impact of the missions, and of government policies, on First Nations’ lives.

Larissa Behrendt, Home (2004): 1918 through to 1980s, Eualeyai Country/North-western New South Wales: based on the story of the author’s grandmother, who was abducted from her camp in 1918, and following her seven children. (Lisa’s review)

Post World War 2

As we move closer to contemporary times, the fiction addresses more contemporary issues, particularly regarding government polity, while still retrieving stories from the past that are little known.

Anita Heiss, Barbed wire and cherry blossoms (2017): 1944, Wiradyuri Country/Cowra: inspired by the 1844 breakout from the Cowra POW Camp, imagines a relationship between escaped Japanese POW Hiroshi and the daughter of a First Nations couple who offer him refuge at Erambie Mission. But, mission rules, and government protection and assimilation policies limit their choices. (Lisa’s review)

Marie Munkara, A most peculiar act (2020): 1940s, Larrakia Nation/Darwin: follows the trials and tribulations of a 16 year-old Aboriginal fringe-camp dweller, in Darwin during the Japanese bombing raids, and her resistance to protectionist policies like the Aboriginal Ordinances Act and the “White Australia” policy (Lisa’s review).

Dylan Coleman, Mazin Grace (2012): 1940s and 50s, Kokatha Mula Country/western South Australia: fictionalised version of the author’s mother’s childhood at the Koonibba Lutheran Mission (Lisa’s review).

Alexis Wright, The plains of promise (1997): 1950s Gulf Country of Queensland: starts at St Dominic’s Mission in the Gulf Country of Far North Queensland, where a young Aboriginal woman is taken away from her mother, and explores the brutality of colonisation at the mission and beyond (Tony’s review).

Book cover

Tony Birch, The white girl (2019): 1960s, fictional rural town: tells the story of Odette who is determined to save her granddaughter from being removed, against the backdrop of the egregious restrictions of the Aboriginal Protection Act are in force (my review).

Karen Wyld, Where the fruit falls (2020): 1960s-70s, multiple locations: spans four generations of women, over several decades, with a focus on the 1960s and 70s, a time of rapid social change and burgeoning Aboriginal rights (Lisa’s review)

There should be something here for everyone!

Any thoughts? Or, do you have any historical fiction titles to add?

Monday musings on Australian literature: Vale SPN or?

/ Whispering Gums / 15 Comments

Late last year I went looking for the 2024 winner of the Small Press Network’s Book of the Year (BOTY) Award, originally called the MUBA (Most Underrated Book Award). It is/was an annual award highlighting ‘authorial and publishing excellence by small and independent publishers’, and is/was open to any book released by an SPN member during the previous calendar year. It aimed to provide some of the recognition and promotional opportunities for publishers and authors that the big awards facilitate. I didn’t always post on this award but I always checked it out.

But, I was surprised and disappointed to find no mention of the 2024 award. Instead I found articles suggesting that the sponsoring organisation, the Small Press Network, was on the brink of collapse.

I wrote a post back in 2011, on SPUNC (or, Small Press Underground Networking Community) as it was initially called until – as with their award – they renamed it to something with a little more gravitas, to the inoffensive SPN! It was formed in Melbourne in 2006 and its aim was “to promote independent publishing and support the principle of diversity within the publishing industry as a vital component of Australian literary culture”. It seemed to be a wonderful organisation, with an information-rich website (no longer available as far as I can tell) and an active Facebook page (but inactive since March last year.)

So, what happened? Unfortunately, most of the information sources, like Books+Publishing and ArtsHub, are paywalled, but I did glean some information from ArtsHub. On 22 October 2024, Thuy On penned a news report headlined “Small Press Network to terminate unless new board is formed” followed by the news that the organisation was at risk of ceasing operations within the month. The full article is paywalled. However, the article’s publicly available intro said that SPN had emailed its members and supporters that the current Board would be wound up, but there was an option for the community to reform a new Board. Failing that the organisation would cease to exist. SPN’s email apparently cited “numerous reasons” for all this, but those are presumably hidden behind the paywall.

Coming soon from Anna Solding’s MidnightSun

Around the same time, on 17 October, writer, author advocate and presenter, Anna Featherstone wrote a brief blog post titled “Australia’s Small Press Network (SPN) to shutter”. She writes that she’s loved attending SPN conferences over the years “for some incredible nuggets of wisdom and plenty of publishing and book stats” so was sad to hear that it was “officially winding down”. “Totally understandable”, she writes, “but still a loss for the local publishing industry who aren’t the Big Five”. She then quotes SPN’s then board chair, Anna Solding, as saying the the Board had “worked hard to find feasible ways to make SPN financially tenable again but have not found any viable way to achieve this”. Featherstone concludes her post with links to her highlights posts from the 2021, 2022 and 2023 conferences.

The next piece of information I found was also at ArtsHub. Dated 13 December and written by George Dunford, a writer and digital content expert, its headline is “The future of Australian small press”. It continues that the pausing of the SPN was seen by many as “a death knell for independent publishing” but that it had a new Board and “looks set to again champion small press in 2025”. It says that former SPN General Manager Tim Coronel had said that SPN ‘saw “a big membership boost during COVID” as many writers thought it would be a great time to start self-publishing’ … and then we go behind the pay wall. Doh!

So, with the website gone and Facebook inactive, I can find out nothing more, but I do hope it survives, that it revives those sites, and offers its BOTY award again.

Does anyone know anything more?