'Set in the near future, Ghost Species depicts a frighteningly familiar world. Seasons come early and stay late, to the deep confusion of plants and animals. There are constant forest fires and relentless extinctions. Far from being the stuff of dystopian fantasy, these are the conditions in which we now live our lives. Last summer, choking on smoke under orange-grey skies, many of us in eastern Australia experienced every day the feeling described here, that ‘something is deeply awry’. James Bradley has been one of our country’s most outspoken and prolific commentators on the climate crisis, and his warnings about the environmental devastation that is already locked into the future have started to bite in ways that can no longer be ignored. Now, with coronavirus so quickly following the bushfires, we recognise even more clearly the state of constant, underlying dread portrayed in this novel, with its ‘sense of hastening, a dislocation deep in the fabric of things’.' (Introduction)
'An essay is both diagnosis and symptom. When placed in a collection, removed from its original context, an essay shifts its weight from the first category – describing the world – to the second – now elevated by its new companions, contributing to the apparition of some grand pattern. Along with the enlargement of the author’s name, from by-line to organising principle, so must the ideas enlarge to justify the new arrangement of material.' (Introduction)
'‘What’s in a name?’ Juliet asks herself while mooning around on her balcony, and the answer she comes up with could be roughly summarised thus: a name probably shouldn’t matter that much, but actually it does. Quite a bit.' (Introduction)
'In late 2011, I had a meeting with the founders of the nonfictionLab at RMIT University, David Carlin and Francesca Rendle-Short. I was a new employee at the university, and they were asking me what I might contribute to the fledgling ‘Lab’. Without much thought, I proposed that the literary publication Rabbit, which I had begun as an experimental venture midway through the year, become ‘a journal for nonfiction poetry’. David and Francesca looked at me excitedly. ‘What’s nonfiction poetry?’, they asked. ‘I don’t know,’ I said, and we all laughed at how swiftly an authoritative statement was revealed to be a mere spontaneous proposition. When the mood resumed to focus on serious business, I told them that we would find out.' (Introduction)
'ASMR. Personal brand. Hope this email finds you well. Selfie. Drop a pin on it. Livestreaming. Co-working space. I’m baby. Haul gals. Mukbang. Shall we take it to Zoom? Foodstagram. Scrolling through the feed. Geotagging. Doctor influencer. The cloud. Let me Google that for you. Finsta. I don’t have the bandwidth to do this. 10,000 followers. Chaotic energy. Airspace. Tag yourself. Is this idea futureproof? Legacy contact. #GIRLBOSS. You’re cancelled!' (Introduction)
