y separately published work icon Sydney Review of Books periodical issue  
Issue Details: First known date: 2021... May 2021 of Sydney Review of Books est. 2013 Sydney Review of Books
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Contents

* Contents derived from the , 2021 version. Please note that other versions/publications may contain different contents. See the Publication Details.
The Ten Thousand Things, Suneeta Peres da Costa , single work essay

'The bag of drugs is sitting untouched on the kitchen bench beside the cans of diced tomatoes and chickpeas I’d earlier quarantined. They – cans not drugs – may be useful, I think, although in less apocalyptic times, I might prefer to soak dried chickpeas to make hummus or chana masala. The chickpea glut follows a 9pm masked assault of Harris Farm Leichhardt and the fact the ex has recently turned up unannounced with a care package of more canned pulses, organic brown rice and greens than I have room to store. An Amma devotee never known to hug spontaneously, he’d stood at the mandated distance of one Kylie Minogue on the other side of my gate (less gateless gate than gate that never shuts properly, the broken latch, I observed as he handed me the box, one of the ten thousand things now unlikely to be repaired…).' (Introduction)

The Boy from Wang, John Encarnação , single work review
— Review of Boy on Fire : The Young Nick Cave Mark Mordue , 2020 single work biography ;

'A friend and I are fans of Nick Cave’s iconoclastic band of the early 1980s The Birthday Party. Part of our enjoyment is that we find Cave’s vocal and lyrical posturing hilarious at times. In songs like ‘Release The Bats’ and ‘Hamlet (Pow Pow Pow)’ his shrieks are both terrifying and absurd. At such moments, my friend will occasionally address the stereo with something like, ‘you’re not fooling anyone Nick, we know you’re a good private schoolboy!’' (Introduction)

A Glassy Sort of Rainbow, Brigid Magner , single work essay
Outside the Lines, Tamryn Bennett , single work essay

'Before we’d finished scattering the ashes of trees after the bushfires, a pandemic folded us inside with our grief and confusion and sourdough. Soon enough, poetry started to float out through the windows, across our screens and social media, as if a salve for isolation. Inevitably, when the world is too difficult to describe we turn to poetry, arguably our oldest form of literature, ‘to explain the unexplainable’, as Bruce Pascoe says in Extinction Elegies. Poems speak to us through panic and fences, closed doors, forests, rivers and distanced days. Their atoms lodge somewhere within us and we carry them close, hoping that, in the inferno of loss and uncertainty, the intensity and ambiguity of poetry can salvage something. Whether it’s a memory, a way of undoing the world, the remnants of a life, a new relationship, a forest or community, poems connect us by distilling the personal and universal. So what’s the social impact of poetry in the midst of a pandemic?' (Introduction)

A Conversation, In Speculation, Rose Michael (interviewer), Catherine McKinnon (interviewer), single work interview

'This conversation took place over the summer of 2020/21. We were looking for a new way to discuss, to essay about, speculative fiction. Should we write each other letters? Emails? We talked on the phone and started writing/overwriting a shared googledoc, extending our edits into a conversation that teased out ideas – asking and answering, testing and challenging each other. Wow, we thought, is that what you think. Okay…' (Introduction)

The Gift, Jessica White , single work review
— Review of The Shape of Sound Fiona Murphy , 2021 single work autobiography ;
'‘The body is a disjointed poem of mixed metaphors and similes,’ writes Deaf author Fiona Murphy in the prelude to her memoir, The Shape of Sound. ‘The spinal cord lashes out in a wild tangle – cauda equina – the horse’s tail. Blood flows through the heart’s atrium, the communal space in ancient Roman houses where the hearth burned hot and bright.’ Meanwhile the ear ‘cradles the smallest bones in the human body – the malleus, incus and stapes – all three can sit together on your fingertip like a speck of dust.’ Their common names – hammer, anvil and stirrup – follow their shapes. When vibrated by sound, they ‘beat and thump the eardrum. In stillness their story continues, nevertheless.’ In her attention to the names of body parts, Murphy draws on her training as a physiotherapist. It is an introduction to her careful attention to the ways that bodies – and particularly her Deaf body – navigate the world, and manifest in the English language.' (Introduction)
Other Homes Are Possible, Sophiya Sharma , single work review
— Review of Like a Bird Fariha Róisín , 2020 single work novel ;

'As an immigrant who came to this country from rural Punjab at the age of ten, I have never quite understood the need to feel Australian. I wince at the assimilationist rhetoric of this settler-colony. I am at home in my language – its untranslatability delights me – which gives weight to my being in the world. My mentor, the anthropologist Kalpana Ram, once recalled saying to the radical feminists at the University of Sydney in the 70s, ‘going home feels like taking off a tight shoe, it’s the only place where I can speak my own language, eat my own food.’ Ram’s words made me wonder, what would the abolition of the nuclear family mean for us women of colour? Those of us who find refuge only in those heterosexual spaces of reproduction. I have always been suspicious of liberal white feminism and its appropriation of the language of intersectionality, with its myriad challenges to the linear teleology of equality that posits a project with a culmination – a tidy ending.' (Introduction)

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