'This special issue of Westerly is a collaboration between the creative writing students of the University of Western Australia (UWA), and those from the International Poetry Studies Institute (IPSI), based at the University of Canberra (UC). It aims to showcase and celebrate the creative and critical work conducted by current or recent postgraduates, and undergraduates, at these two institutions. Reaching across the Nullarbor from west to east, this issue offers a snapshot of some of the best writing from the respective corners of Australia. In curating this material together, we aim to foreground the connections and contrasts in the stories of our students. These short stories, novel excerpts, essays and poems have been commissioned by co-editors who are also completing postgraduate study. It is, then, an issue for students and by students, and aims to give readers an insight into the exceptional standard of work being written in the postgrad study rooms, shared offices and library carrels of UWA and UC.' (Editorial introduction)
Epigraph: “For me, there has been no ‘natural’ or necessary way to be Barkandji, no ‘essentialised past’. I am not a child of the desert, and I do not speak the Barkandji language … But, although I cannot simply be Barkandji, my becoming Barkandji has not rendered me completely isolated from that culture and identity.” - ‘Becoming Barkindji’ Paul Collis
'Many destructive changes in the world of Barkindji people have been, and continue to be, felt whether they live on their traditional lands, or live on other land. The right to Barkindji land—to religious and spiritual freedoms, to the harvesting of food, and to the dreaming places—has long been denied by Australian law, mainly because of private property law, and the effects of other acts of colonisation. Despite all of this, Barkindji lore persists and is passed on and down through the generations of people through storytelling and forms of modern media. ' (Introduction)
'There have been many times I have thought about dying. I have thought about what I will be after the light goes out and I am six feet under ground or burnt to ash. I have thought, what do I want to be when I’m dead, for that is when one grows up. What does heaven look like for me, or rather what is the afterlife I seek. It is not filled with virgins or lambs or saints, or at the other end with beasts and djunnas and disease (though I would not rule it out). To ask what is my afterlife is to ask: where do I fit in history? What is my legacy?' (Introduction)