'You know that feeling of gentle contentment, that calm and present energy that comes when every miraculous cell in your body knows exactly who you are, what you’re doing and where you’re going? Well, Sinéad Stubbins has not had that feeling once in her entire, life.
'Sinéad has always known that there was a better version of herself lying just outside of her grasp. That if she listened to the right song or won the right (any) award or knew about whisky or followed the right Instagram psychologist or drank kombucha, ever, or enacted the correct 70-step Korean skincare regime, she would become her ‘best self’.
'In My Defence, I Have No Defence raises the white flag on trying to live up to impossible standards. Wild and funny and wickedly relatable, it is one woman’s reckoning with her complete inability to self-improve and a hilarious reprieve for anyone who has ever struggled to be better. This is the comfort read of the year from Australia’s most exciting new comedy writer.' (Publication summary)
'Life's imperfections and absurdities with a dash of self-deprecation.'
'Sinéad Stubbins writes paragraphs the way some people write entire short stories. In the space of three or four lines she has sketched out a narrative, led you to believe you know where it’s going, and then, right near the end, turned off in another direction. From there she carries on talking about the bigger idea she’s dissecting as though nothing has happened. It’s remarkable how effortless she makes it seem. An anecdote about watching Jurassic Park morphs into a brief comment on hypocrisy. A description of trying to figure out what a cocktail dress is suddenly becomes a high-stakes reference to Icarus flying too close to the sun. The movie Point Break somehow becomes the perfect analogy for gastrointestinal upset.' (Introduction)
'Sinéad Stubbins writes paragraphs the way some people write entire short stories. In the space of three or four lines she has sketched out a narrative, led you to believe you know where it’s going, and then, right near the end, turned off in another direction. From there she carries on talking about the bigger idea she’s dissecting as though nothing has happened. It’s remarkable how effortless she makes it seem. An anecdote about watching Jurassic Park morphs into a brief comment on hypocrisy. A description of trying to figure out what a cocktail dress is suddenly becomes a high-stakes reference to Icarus flying too close to the sun. The movie Point Break somehow becomes the perfect analogy for gastrointestinal upset.' (Introduction)
'Life's imperfections and absurdities with a dash of self-deprecation.'
