''The only Sundays I looked forward to were spent with my beloved Australian nanna Kathleen Mary McCarthy. I would sit with Nanna McC — listening to her stories unwind — and watch her pickle onions and brew ginger beer for Sister Kate's fete. She always cared for unloved and unwanted orphans. She would send me out to play with them. I didn't understand that I was playing with stolen children. I used to think Nanna McC was a kind of saint. I knew she was sent into service as a domestic slave, but it was not until that moment I understood that she was a Bush Mary.' — Teena McCarthy' (Publication summary)
'When Teena McCarthy told me she had constructed this book from poems, lines, phrases and images that she had written on odd-sized pieces of paper and had gathered them until they formed a manuscript, I immediately thought of Emily Dickinson, who also wrote many of her poems on the backs of envelopes and scraps that had been used as shopping lists. The connection is not far-fetched: McCarthy connects startling images to form intense visions that vibrate with arresting music.' (Introduction)
'When Teena McCarthy told me she had constructed this book from poems, lines, phrases and images that she had written on odd-sized pieces of paper and had gathered them until they formed a manuscript, I immediately thought of Emily Dickinson, who also wrote many of her poems on the backs of envelopes and scraps that had been used as shopping lists. The connection is not far-fetched: McCarthy connects startling images to form intense visions that vibrate with arresting music.' (Introduction)
