This month’s SixDegrees occurs the weekend we here in Australia celebrate (or, commemorate, depending your point-of-view) Easter. Yes, I know that we are not the only country to do this, but I also know that not all countries make it a four-day weekend as we do. So, I just thought I’d share this little bit of Aussie culture. The other point of course is that for us it is autumn so all the spring-focused cards and decorations that we used to be – and still do tend to be – regaled with, really don’t make literal sense for us. Now, having burbled on too much, I’ll move on to the meme, starting with the usual reminder that if you don’t know this meme and how it works, please check Kate’s blog – booksaremyfavouriteandbest.

The first rule is that Kate sets our starting book. This month, she nominated a book I haven’t read, though I have been told I would like it, Virginia Evans’ The correspondent. From what I’ve heard, I suspect it would be up my alley but whether I’ll get to it is another thing. It is apparently about a 73-year-old woman who writes letters every morning – to friends, family and others including apparently someone to whom she never actually mails the letter. It is also, apparently, an epistolary novel as the story is told through these letters and emails.

The obvious thing for me would be to link to an epistolary novel, but most of those I’ve reviewed here I’ve linked before and I don’t feel like going down that path. Instead, I’m going down the 70-something woman path. Charlotte Wood’s The weekend (my review) features not one or two, but three 70-something women. The story takes place over a weekend during which they come together to clear out the house of the recently departed fourth member of their group. Without her as their glue, their relationship is tested but, the centre holds in the end.

The women in The weekend are not your stereotypical older woman – the invisible grandma who cooks and knits for the family. They are professional women who are facing aging and ageism, and are still actively engaged in life, ready to fight for what they want (when they are not arguing amongst themselves). Another character who is definitely not your stereotypical sweet old lady is Elizabeth Strout’s Olive Kitteridge (my review). She is retired (and moves into her 70s during the novel), but is still a force around town, compassionate at times but definitely not the cuddly, apple-pie type.

Another strong, older 70-something woman, albeit getting us into grandmother territory, is the protagonist in Elizabeth Jolley’s Orchard thieves (my review). This is a deliciously wise and meditative, warm and witty book about generations, seen from a grandmother who worries about her daughters and grandsons, and uses all the wisdom she can to re-stabilise rising tensions. There are no pat answers, but a realistic understanding of the changes we all go through in life and how those changes impact family relationships as stresses – financial, health, the pressures of just plain living – rise and fall.

Shining a very different light on ageing women is Thea Astley in her memorable novella, Coda (my post). Kathleen’s age is not given, but she must be at least 70s. The point is she is moving into dementia. “I’m losing my nouns” is the novel’s opening line. This is a witty, but darkly clear-eyed interrogation of ageing and the loss of agency that comes with it – with or without dementia, really – and of children who are unable to cope let alone empathise with what is happening to their mother.

Another older woman who is losing her memory is 75-year-old Ruth in Fiona McFarlane’s The night guest (my review). This is not a satirical novel like Astley’s but its subject matter – including ageing, the loss of agency, and duty of care – are similar. McFarlane tells her story through a number of visitors and/or visitations – real and imaginary – and keeps us about as unsettled as Ruth is while we try to comprehend what is going on for her.

Another woman living alone, but not experiencing dementia, is Rabih Almeddine’s 72-year-old divorced, childless protagonist in An unnecessary woman (my review). Living in Beirut, she is a reader and a translator of the books she reads into Arabic. It is her life’s work, though her translations are never published. She has lived through war. Both lonely and alone, she is aware of how others see her, and of challenges to come, but when I read it, I was most interested in what she had to say about reading and literature.

I did something different this month, which was to stick with one theme – older women protagonists. Most ended up being Australian, mainly because, while I have read many non-Australian older protagonists, most were before blogging. I liked the range of women I met in these books. They all face their challenges with strong presence of mind (even where the mind is going). They prove what most of us know. Age does not stop us engaging with life. These books provide a great opportunity for us to learn from the experiences of those ahead of us, and to think about how we want to do it.

Have you read The correspondent and, regardless, what would you link to?

And just like that, it’s autumn. I can’t believe summer here downunder is already over, but this is what happens. Summer comes and goes, and then I have to wait months and months for it to come again. Oh well, Six Degrees will continue, so let’s continue get on with it … but first, the usual reminder that if you don’t know this meme and how it works, please check Kate’s blog – booksaremyfavouriteandbest.

The first rule is that Kate sets our starting book. This month, she nominated a book I have read … though a long time before blogging. It was once a favourite classic, but I haven’t read it for a LONG time, and I haven’t seen the movie. Still thinking about that one. Oh, the book, you say? It’s Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights.

Wuthering Heights, as I’m sure you know, is named for a house. So, my first link is going to be another book named for the house in which its characters live, Jo Baker’s Longbourn (my review). If Longbourn sounds familiar but you can’t quite remember, I’ll put you out of your misery: it’s Elizabeth Bennet’s home in Pride and prejudice. In fact, I nearly did the whole chain on Austen or Austen-related books that are titled for the name of a house, but I didn’t.

Longbourn is a Jane Austen sequel/spin-off about the servants downstairs in the Bennet household. Another story with an upstairs-downstairs theme is Sarah Waters’ The little stranger (my review). Of course, it’s not hard to find novels with this topic, but I chose this one because I don’t think I’ve featured it before, and I haven’t heard much of Sarah Waters lately. Have any of you read her? If so, do you have a favourite?

Anyhow, moving on while you ponder that question … The little stranger is a Gothic novel, also classified as horror. It was shortlisted for the Shirley Jackson Award for Fiction, so my next link is the only Shirley Jackson I have reviewed, her short story, “The lottery” (my review). It’s one of many short stories that turn on some idea involving lotteries – after all what a rich vein that idea can produce – and I’ve read a few here.

So, as I hinted above, my next link is another of those stories. The one I’ve chosen is Marjorie Barnard’s “The lottery” (my review). I chose it because it’s a great story about a woman taking control of her life, and it is in a favourite short story collection of mine, Barnard’s The persimmon tree and other stories.

And now, I’m sorry MR, but this next link will not be obvious unless you know a bit about Marjorie Barnard’s life. She was a significant person in Australia’s literary world, particularly through the 1930s and 40s. She and her collaborator, Flora Eldershaw, held salons in a flat in Sydney, and with Frank Dalby Davison they were know for some time as “The Triumvirate“. Consequently, my next link is to Frank Dalby Davison and his novel, Dusty (my review).

Dusty is about a dog, and part of the story is told from the dog’s perspective, albeit third person. Another novel I’ve read recently which is told (completely in this case) from a dog’s perspective is Sun Jung’s My name is Gucci (my review). Both dogs are bitzers (at least Gucci is at the beginning), but as their names imply, Gucci is far more sophisticated than Dusty. Both dogs have good stories to tell, however, stories which have something to say about who we are. They are great reads.

This month’s books are diverse in time, setting and genre, though all were written in English. There are rough cabins on farms and there are grand houses. There are working dogs and more pampered ones. There’s horror, and not only of the occult kind, because people will sometimes just behave badly. And there’s love and loyalty.

As for linking back to the starting book? Well, in the very first chapter of Wuthering Heights, we meet Heathcliff, and he has a dog!

Have you read Wuthering Heights and, regardless, what would you link to?

Last year, I read just one of the starting books. This year, I have started off well as I had read January’s starter (which is not surprising since it was my choice, not Kate’s!) This month, however, we are back to business-as-usual. Before I get onto it, the usual reminder that if you don’t know this member and how it works, please check Kate’s blog – booksaremyfavouriteandbest.

The first rule is that Kate sets our starting book. This month, she nominated a book I have heard quite a bit about, because my Californian friend, Carolyn, read it recently. It’s Susan Choi’s Flashlight. She chose it because it topped lots of “best of 2025” lists (see Kate’s list.) It starts with a father and daughter taking a walk along a breakwater, but only the daughter comes back (apparently.) I thought of many links for this novel, including a father-daughter one, but, hold that thought, because it might return. Meanwhile …

I decided to go with something that my friend Carolyn told me in our correspondence which was that this book made Barack Obama’s top ten of the year. Another book that I’ve read which made Obama’s Top Ten, albeit back in 2021, was Anthony Doerr’s Cloud cuckoo land (my review). I know I’ve linked to this book before, but any book that Obama recommends and that is positive about librarians deserves a good airing.

I am sticking with the Barack Obama link, and am going with a book written by him that I reviewed early in this blog, his excellent origin memoir, Dreams from my father (my review). And lookee here, there’s a father! So, with that, I decided I should go with the flow, for a little while at least.

My next link is fiction – but autofiction – and to a book I also reviewed back in 2009 when I posted on Obama’s book, Elizabeth Jolley’s My father’s moon (my review). The novel’s protagonist is Vera, a lonely young woman. The title refers to her loved father, who had told her throughout her childhood that wherever she is, she can always look at the same moon he is looking at, ‘And because of this … you must know that I am not far away. You must never feel lonely’. Lovely, eh?

I could do a whole post on fathers and daughters, but I won’t. However, because I’ve just reviewed a book on this relationship, I will do one link on fathers and daughters, Elizabeth Gaskell’s Mary Barton (my review). Apparently, Gaskell had initially planned to title it John Barton, for the father. This conveys that the story is evenly balanced between the two, but Mary is a good choice, I think, because she offers a more hopeful ending.

And now we leave fathers and daughters for unionism. John Barton turns to Trade Unions when he realises that the “masters” are not going to help workers without a bit of a push. Just as John and his mill-worker friends face starvation as employment disappears in 1840s England, so do the wharf labourers in 1920s to 30s Adelaide when jobs disappear, so the book I’m linking to is Wendy Scarfe’s Hunger town (my review). Although, unlike Scarfe, Gaskell lived during the period about which she wrote, the subject matter – workers’ struggles for fair treatment – is similar.

My last link picks up on two aspects of Scarfe’s novel – Adelaide and the Depression era – and is also historical fiction. The book is Margaret Barbalet’s Blood in the rain (my review). Barbalet’s novel is less overtly political. Rather, it’s a domestic story, but one that in its brief 200 pages tells a strong story about children, poverty and precarity.

Most of this month’s books are set in the 20th century, with just Mary Barton set in the 19th and Cloud Cuckoo Land spanning centuries. Two of my six books are by male writers, while regarding nationality, three are by Australians, two by Americans and one by an Englishwoman. And, though I haven’t read Flashlight, I think there is an argument for a circular link, because both the starting book and my ending one feature a young girl who is suddenly deprived of parents (albeit in Flashlight the mother is physically present) and who realises she must depend on her own resources to survive.

Have you read Flashlight and, regardless, what would you link to?

And so we start another year. I do hope it’s a good one for us all. I know that not everyone is as fortunate as I am, but wouldn’t it be wonderful if leaders around the world cared about their people and made the right decisions to keep us all safe and healthy. Meanwhile, I’ll just wish you all the best for 2026, including some great reading that feeds all of our hearts and minds. And with that, I will get onto the meme. As always, if you don’t know how it works, please check Kate’s blog – booksaremyfavouriteandbest.

The first rule is that Kate sets our starting book. This month, she did that sneaky thing she’s done at least once before which is that she has told us to start our first chain of the year with the book on which we ended our December chain. For me, that’s Biff Ward’s memoir, The third chopstick (my review). As I wrote in December, it’s about how Ward, a pacifist and anti-Vietnam War activist, decided later in life to revisit her actions during those emotional times. She sought out, met and interviewed some of the soldiers who fought in the war she’d demonstrated against.

So the obvious thing is for me to link to a book about that war. Trouble is, I have read a few. I did think of linking to one written from a Vietnamese perspective. However, in the end I decided to choose another one that looks at the aftermath for soldiers, Josephine Rowe’s A loving faithful animal (my review), in which she tells of a family broken by the father’s ongoing trauma (PTSD) following his Vietnam War experience. In her book, Biff Ward calls PTSD the Vietnam vets’ gift to the world, which, as many of you will know, is because it was largely through the Vietnam vets that PTSD became a recognised condition.

Rowe’s novel is told through multiple voices, with each chapter (or story) told from a different character’s point of view. Another novel about a family struggling with trauma – in this case the accidental death of a baby – and told through the different characters’ points of view is Melanie Cheng’s The burrow (my review).

In The burrow, the struggling little family’s life is disturbed by two new additions, a pet rabbit bought for Lucie and Amy’s mother Pauline who has broken her wrist and cannot live alone for a while. These two offer potential catalysts for change. I wrote in my post that it reminded me a little of Charlotte Wood’s Stone Yard devotional (my review), where three visitations threaten the peace of a quiet little religious community in an abbey on the Monaro.

One of the visitations to that abbey is a mouse plague, so my next link is to one of my favourite novels of all time, Albert Camus’ La peste/The plague (my review), about a community on the Algerian coast that closes itself off when it is visited by the bubonic plague in the 1940s.

I wrote in my post on The plague that it can be read on different levels, one of which is a metaphorical story about how to live in an “absurd” (that is, inherently irrational) world. This is a bit of a loose link, but Tom Gauld’s graphic novel Goliath (my review) is specifically about the absurdity of war. It presents a Goliath who just wants to spend his time quietly doing admin work, not being an aggressor.

My final book is about a character who, like Goliath, lives in a world that can be confusing, if not sometimes downright hostile. As I wrote in my post, the overall theme seems to be: How do you live in this world? The novel is Uruguayan writer Ida Vitale’s Byobu (my review). Byobu is a more complex work to read than Goliath, but there are similarities in the description of a world where, for example, “supervision and compliance” are expected, but where defiance and imagination might be better.

Many of this month’s books, including Biff Ward’s opening one, encourage us to rethink our world view, in some way or another, to consider how much we align with “the plague” and how much we defy it. I rather enjoyed putting this together, particularly because it reminded me of some books I’ve not thought about for a while.

Have you read The third chopstick and, regardless, what would you link to?

Woo hoo, it’s summer at last, not that we necessarily knew it, given on day 2 Canberra experienced its lowest summer minimum (just below freezing point) since records began. However, this weekend is different and we are seeing proper summer temperatures. Just right for our Southern Hemisphere Christmas parties that are starting to happen. I do hope all of you who celebrate holidays in December have good ones. Now, I will get onto the meme. As always, if you don’t know how it works, please check Kate’s blog – booksaremyfavouriteandbest.

The first rule is that Kate sets our starting book. This month, it’s a Booker Prize nominated novel, Benjamin Wood’s Seascraper, about which I know nothing except what I read while researching it for this meme! GoodReads ends its description by calling it “the story of a young man hemmed in by his circumstances, striving to achieve fulfilment far beyond the world he knows, and sees possibilities when a stranger arrives”.

So that is where I am going, that is, to a young woman hemmed in by circumstances and who sees possibilities in a stranger to comes to stay – at the guesthouse where she works. The novel is Elisa Shua Dusapin’s Winter in Sokcho (my review). It has some other loose links to Seascraper, in that she lives in a coastal town – though this is not a seaside book in the sense that Wood’s book seems to be, and she doesn’t earn her living directly from the sea.

Now I’m moving into a link or theme that will inform the rest of this post, the idea of borders. Dusapin’s unnamed narrator’s town is on the border between North and South Korea. Indeed, when the Korean peninsula was divided into two countries post-World War 2, Sokcho was on the Northern side. It became part of the South after the 1953 Korean War armistice. So, my link is to another novel set in a border region where borders have been changed by war, Olga Tokarczuk’s House of day, house of night (my review). In this book, the border has a strong presence that plays on people’s lives.

For the people in my next book, war and borders are also important, but in a very different way. The book is Hans Bergner’s Between sea and sky (my review). His people are Jewish refugees on a dilapidated boat, searching for a new home, but being accepted by no-one. They are borderless – and desperate. The book has other links with Tokarczuk’s novel – the refugees are Polish, and the war affecting them is World War 2.

Staying with borders, I’m moving to another, well, borderless story, in a way, Thomas King’s Borders (see my review of the short story, and of the graphic novel co-created with Natasha Donovan). This is another story where borders have been drawn up with no consideration of their relevance to the people who live there, in this case, First Nations people. Our protagonist insists – rightly – that she is Blackfoot, not American or Canadian, and gets caught in borderland limbo.

It was not hard to keep on theme, as stories about borders and people abound. We are staying in North America for this one, Yuri Herrera’s Signs preceding the end of the world (my review). Drawing from the USA’s border with Mexico, it tells of a young girl who crosses it – at great risk – to take messages to her brother. Herrera is interested in not only the politics of borders like this, but also their personal, psychological and spiritual implications. I wrote in my post that the novel “works on two levels, the literal Mexican-American border story and something more universal about crossings and transitions”.

My final book moves further into this idea of mental transitions, but is inspired by a war over borders (to put it simply) – the Vietnam or American War. I’m talking Biff Ward’s memoir, The third chopstick (my review). Ward, a pacifist and anti-Vietnam War activist, decided later in life to revisit her actions during those emotional times. So she sought out, met and interviewed some of the soldiers who fought in the war she’d demonstrated against, and learnt a little about national borders but a whole lot more about the borders in our minds!

Three of my six selections this month are by women and three by men (but one is a male-female collaboration, so the women have it, slightly!) Three of the books are translated. We have crossed much of the globe, east-west and north-south, and touched on war too often, with all set over the last century. Will we ever learn to live peacefully with national borders? Dare I say it would be great to have none?

Have you read Seascraper and, regardless, what would you link to?