• Books and reading

    New review series: Library Treasures

    What book lover doesn’t also love a library?
    Our public libraries are places of connection and learning and offer the precious gift of books at minimal or no cost to the reader.

    And there is so much to adore about the newer phenomenon of street libraries: sharing, reciprocity and sustainability embodied in a humble cupboard or shelf outside someone’s home, for any and all to borrow from and contribute to.

    I use and love both forms of libraries, so I thought it about time that I occasionally write about the treasures I find there.

    These will usually be older books rather than new releases – though who knows what I’ll find at my local libraries or street cupboards?

    Perhaps someone will be prompted to seek out a book at their local library if it sounds like their cup of tea.

    First book off the shelf:

    ‘The Body: A Guide for Occupants’ by Bill Bryson

    I enjoy Bryson’s writing, his quirky dry humour influenced by his birthplace, America, and also Britain where he spent many of his adult years. His travel writing is especially funny and insightful, though in more recent times he has expanded out into many other areas of non-fiction: history and science writing, for example. The Body is a bit of a blend of both.

    It’s a big volume: 386 pages, not including notes and index. Bryson’s writing style is engaging, so even for someone like me (generally very much not a reader of science-related topics) it doesn’t feel like a slog.

    It’s divided into chapters that traverse the main components of the human body, from our hearts and brains, skeletons, all the chemical wizardry that keeps us ticking along, what and how we eat, speak, see and hear…you get the idea.

    The book is also chock full of amazing tidbits that kept me gasping: I didn’t know that!

    Turns out there is so much about this body we inhabit from birth to death, that most of us are completely in the dark about.

    Just a few examples:

    • We all have more than a metre of DNA packed into every cell, and so many cells that put into a single strand, they would stretch ten billion miles to beyond Pluto. Enough to leave the solar system. You are in the most literal sense cosmic. p5
    • Studies have shown the astounding (and to be honest, rather shocking) ways in which viruses and bacteria can spread from one human to another. One US study showed that a pretend virus spread from a door handle to an entire office building in just four hours, turning up on virtually every surface. p36
      Wash your hands, people!
    • Motion sickness causes nausea because the body thinks it is being poisoned. p88
      As a lifelong travel sickness sufferer, I’m not sure that is reassuring, but still interesting.
    • Our sense of smell is unbelievably complex, involving huge numbers of chemical compounds and various processes in our brains as well as our noses. p90
    • Our kidneys produce a bathtub’s worth of water and salt every day. p155
      Don’t forget to hydrate!

    And many, many more jaw-dropping, humourous or simply wondrous facts…

    Along the way are fascinating stories of how many of these facts were discovered, the personalities (dedicated, obsessive, or sometimes downright weird) of researchers who uncovered them. Some of these made me very glad to be alive now, not in medieaval times or even a century ago.

    The final chapter is, of course, about the process of dying, and illustrates how much we still don’t know abut this normal, common, necessary but mysterious process.

    All in all, The Body: A Guide for Occupants is an engrossing read, an absolute library treasure.
    I’m grateful to my wonderful book group because the reason I borrowed it from my local library is that it is the first book set for our group for 2026. I might not have picked it up, otherwise, but I am very glad I did.

    The Body: A Guide for Occupants was published by Doubleday (an imprint of Penguin Books) in 2019.

    Library photos by Sean Ingram and Rafael Cosquiere at pexels.

  • Books and reading,  History

    Contested stories: ‘Warra Warra Wai’ by Darren Rix & Craig Cormick

    If, like me, you grew up with stories of ‘Captain Cook’ and his heroic voyages around the world, ‘discovering’ ‘claiming’ and ‘naming’ great swathes of the Pacific region including the continent now known as Australia, Warra Warra Wai will be an eye-opening read.

    With its subtitle – one of the best I have ever seen – (How Indigenous Australians discovered Captain Cook and what they tell about the coming of the Ghost People) the authors make clear that this book, while tracing Cook’s voyage up the entire east coast of Australia, will be focused on the stories from the shore: what has been remembered, handed down, and/or written about from the perspectives of the First Peoples encountered by those on board the Endeavour.

    Flipping the usual script allows for a rich exploration of those people, their Countries, languages, lifestyles, law and lore. What did they make of the strange ship and its passengers? What beliefs, customs and protocols dictated the ways in which these newcomers were met by the people on the shore? And what followed this first contact – the years and decades in which more white people arrived and the consequences for the land and its First Peoples.

    The authors (Gunditjmara-GunaiKurnai radio broadcaster and culture sites officer Darren Rix, and author and science communicator Craig Cormick) set out with a seemingly simple goal: visit all of the places on the east coast renamed by James Cook, put back the original names, and ask the First Nations people there what stories they wanted to share. As simple as that. Just ask them. (p1)

    Simple, and profound.

    The result is a stunning ‘travel memoir’ of sorts, meeting people who act as guides to their Country, their Creation stories and cultural practices, the law that has guided their people for thousands of years. They also describe their histories since European contact, most of which is, unsurprisingly, grim: disease; violence; theft; rape; forced removal of family; forced removal from traditional homelands; forced discontinuation of traditional lifestyles, religious practices, language; thinly disguised slavery; to name the more obvious ones.

    There are commonalities, apart from the dreadful violence and mistreatment. For example, all the stories of the first sightings of the English ship include the fact that each of the groups along that shoreline knew about the strange arrival ahead of time, through smoke signals and other communication from the people further south.

    There are multiple interpretations of events and behaviours: those recorded in Cook’s journal, the ship’s logs, or the journals of the two other men on board who write about events as they occured, and those from oral histories of the First People involved. As the authors point out,

    So what does it all mean? Well, it probably means that because most people cherrypick the information that agrees with their biases and opinions, different readers will conclude that the arguments support their own point of view on the matter.

    Warra Warra Wai p299

    There are many ‘what if?’ or sliding door moments, where if one or more of the people involved had chosen a different behaviour, or understood a little more about what they were seeing/hearing, or given events a slightly different interpretation, history could have played out rather differently. I find those moments rather sad to contemplate: missed opportunities, I suppose.

    There are stories of resilience, strength, resistance. Of slowly reclaiming language and culture. Of acts of kindness and reconciliation. Of truth-telling and of people willing to listen.

    The use of the word ‘renaming’ for Cook’s bestowing English names on the places he sailed past reinforces the fact that everywhere he looked was already know, beloved, sometimes sacred Country to its First Peoples. It was not empty land waiting to be discovered and claimed by white people.

    Since the High Court ruling on the Mabo case, the terra nullius fallacy is no longer widely held, but so many others remain. This book is an accessible and enlightening way to learn more about Australian history – from both sides of the shore – and reconsider some of the more contested stories of our national beginning.

    As is often the case, the First People interviewed for this book demonstrate generosity of spirit and a desire to reach out across the cultural divide. When asked what he most wanted Australians to know, one interviewee, Phil Rist (a Nywaigi man living in Cardwell, across from Munamudanamy or Hinchinbrook Island) had a reply that sweeps aside all the complexity of the past:

    It’s not about race, it’s about need. If we agree that this is the oldest living continuing culture in the world, so how do we protect that?

    Warra Warra Wai p229

    If you are going to be travelling through any parts of the eastern coastal country of Australia, I would suggest taking this book with you. It will give you insights, stories and understandings that most travel guides cannot provide.

    Warra Warra Wai was published by Scribner in 2024.

  • Books and reading

    The story of a story: ‘Always Home, Always Homesick’ by Hannah Kent

    Are you fascinated by how stories are created? Where does a writer, filmmaker, or songwriter get that first spark, the idea that grabs them and insists tell this story.

    It’s something I have always been interested in. I love learning about how a movie goes from storyboard to opening night, or how a lick of a guitar riff becomes a hit song.

    I pored over Kate Grenville’s In Search of the Secret River in which she details the research and other preparation that went into the writing of her best-selling historical novel The Secret River. Likewise her more recent Unsettled, a memoir of coming to terms with uncomfortable truths in our personal, family and national history, also relevant to that ground-breaking earlier work.

    So I was delighted to pick up a copy of Hannah Kent’s latest work, Always Home, Always Homesick.

    In a way, it’s the story of how she wrote her best-known story to date, Burial Rites, first published in 2013. This historical novel was based on the tragic real-life character of Agnes Magnusdottir who was tried for her role in the brutal murder of two men on a remote farm in Iceland in the 1800s. Agnes was found guilty and was the last woman to be executed in Iceland.

    Hannah learned of Agnes and her fate while she was a young student in Iceland on a year’s Rotary Exchange program. If the novel’s subject matter had not already interested me, the circumstances of its beginnings certainly did, because decades before Hannah set off on her exchange adventure, I had done likewise – to the USA, not Iceland – but like Hannah, leaving family and home behind for a year to live with several different families in the town to which I was sent.

    I was intrigued that this young woman was so captivated by a story from her host country that after her return to Australia, Agnes’s fate stayed in her mind. Hannah returned to Iceland several times, including to conduct research in Icelandic archives and museums but also in the places Agnes lived, worked and eventually died. All of these experiences went into the book that quickly became a global best-seller and launched the author’s literary career.

    Always Home, Always Homesick is, at its core, a ‘love letter’ to the country that changed her life. She writes about the moment she decided to apply for the Rotary exchange program and why, that This is the thing that will lead me further into life, that will allow me to breathe lung-deep of it. (ebook p54)

    Then the excitement and trepidation of preparing for her year away, trying to learn about Iceland and its language at a time when there was not the ready access to such information as we now have. Donning the rather ghastly Rotary exchange student uniform (the green blazer with its Australiana pins obviously not changed much since my time in the late 1970s…) and hoping that the Rotary contact meeting her at the airport is on time and will recognise her as the exchange student. Getting on that plane takes courage and hope.

    I remember all those feelings!

    Then the confusion of arriving in a foreign land where customs and behaviours can be so different. And for Hannah, trying to quickly pick up an entirely new language from scratch. Starting school almost immediately on arrival – a daunting proposition. Loneliness and feeling isolated to start with, until breaking through with a warm, friendly family who welcome her as one of their own. Again, there were some echoes of my own time on exchange here.

    She experiences the full gamut of Iceland’s seasonal changes and its stark, dramatic beauty, and begins to channel her feelings about it into writing:

    I am falling in love with Iceland, and I need to articulate the hold it has over me. My writing, once a balm for solitude and lonliness, takes on a euphoric urgency. Writing now feels like prayer.

    Always Home, Always Homesick ebook p192

    When her exchange year is over and she returns to Australia, she studies creative writing and works seriously on her craft. But Agnes’s story is always in her mind so it is inevitable that when she returns to the embrace of her new-found family and friends, the research becomes another focus for her time there.

    This was also of great interest to me: having trailed around historic sites in Australia and England in search of places of significance in stories I wanted to tell, I loved reading about this aspect of her writing. The hours spent in Icelandic archives, painstakingly examining census documents for a glimpse of Agnes or her family. Translating old documents into English. Taking hundreds of photos in museums. Reading, listening and watching archival and modern-day accounts of Agnes’s life, crime, trial and execution.

    All the things that go into the story of a story.

    Always Home, Always Homesick was published by Picador in 2025.

  • Books and reading

    Unquenchable spirit: ‘Three Minutes for a Dog…My Life in an Iron Lung’ by Paul R Alexander

    Imagine being six years old, coming in after a day spent playing outside in the heat of a Texan summer’s day. You are hot, much hotter than normal even on a warm day like this. You have a sudden, terrible headache. Then your neck becomes stiff and painful.

    Your mother notices and you see the fear – no, terror – in her face.

    It is 1952 and the childhood disease called polio has been stalking the land, including your neighbourhood, striking down children of all ages without warning. You have become its latest victim.

    The next two years are a blur of agony, misery and confusion in a hospital ward alongside numberless other polio patients. Because of the damage inflicted by the virus on your little body, you are now almost completely paralysed. Your lungs are unable to function on their own and you now exist in a machine known as an ‘iron lung’ which does the breathing for you. The only part of your body that protrudes from this metal cylinder is your head. An emergency tracheostomy has left you unable to speak, so you can’t call for help or to ask for any of your basic needs to be met. Many times a day you nearly choke to death.

    Finally your parents decide to take you home. They do so knowing that you may only have a short time to live, as the doctors have suggested, but they firmly believe that home, with their loving care, is a better place for you. There are too many polio patients in the hospital, too few nursing staff. They worry that you will die there and without their love to surround you, what kind of death would that be?

    This is the beginning of Paul Alexander’s memoir of his extraordinary life, published in 2023. Obviously he did not die, or not for a long while. When he finally passed away in 2024, he was the person who’d spent the longest time in an iron lung in the world.

    In the book, Paul states that one of the main reasons for writing it was to help the public understand the dangers of polio, which has not (as is commonly thought) been eradicated worldwide. Indeed, given the trend in the USA and other parts of the world against childhood and adult vaccinations that protect against these types of devastating illnesses, it’s easy to understand that impulse. Do we really want to see whole communities live in fear of silent killers like polio once again?

    As a six year old Paul did not understand what was happening to him. He could only endure. Gradually he was able to realise that he had to make a plan for his life, to work out what he could control and what he couldn’t.

    A care worker encouraged him to try to learn a breathing technique colloquially called ‘frog breathing’ that would allow him to spend time outside of the iron lung, thus enabling him to taste some aspects of a more normal life. It’s hard to do and requires a lot of instruction and practice. To encourage him, she promised that if he could sustain three minutes of frog-breathing on his own, she would give him a puppy. Eventually, he won that puppy – and it later became the evocative title of his book.

    Polio robbed this little boy of early schooling, but with the support of his parents he was able to be home-schooled and graduated high school – at a time when formal home schooling and adjustments for students with special needs were pretty much unheard of. He then completed studies at university, finishing up with a law degree and utilising his education in a career in law.

    None of this could have happened without the steadfast love and commitment of his remarkable parents. To bring home a child requiring 24-hour care is one thing. However Paul’s medical needs were complex and the machinery that kept him alive even more so. There was a steep learning curve for everyone involved. Paul’s father improvised a communication device using a stick which Paul manipulated in his mouth; later this morphed into a way to write his university work, and later still, he typed his manuscript on a computer with a device that had its origins in his father’s simple idea from decades before.

    The book also pays tribute to the many other caregivers and friends that played vital roles in Paul’s life. There is a lost romance which is a sad tale; possibly something the author never truly recovered from.

    The writing is laboured at times, sometimes repetitive, not always easy to fall into the narrative. But as a heartfelt and passionate plea for understanding of the lives of others, it’s a story worth paying attention to.

    And as an example of an unquenchable human spirit, I can’t think of a better one.

    Three Minutes for a Dog…My Life in an Iron Lung was published in 2023 by FriesenPress.

  • Books and reading,  History

    Weasel words of past & present: ‘Unsettled’ by Kate Grenville

    I had been waiting for this book, from the moment I first heard about it.

    Kate Grenville’s earlier work, The Secret River (published 2005) has become something of an Australian classic. It’s fictionalised account of her ancestor Solomon Wiseman’s life as a convict, then a wealthy settler on the Hawkesbury River sparked discussion of the realities of the interface between white and black histories of this country.

    Since then she has written several other works of historical fiction, and some non-fiction, inspired by or about the lives of her ancestors and their times.

    Now she has turned her sharp analysis to the question of ‘What does it mean to be on land that was taken from other people? Now that we know how the taking was done, what do we do with that knowledge?โ€™

    Subtitled ‘A journey through time and place’, Unsettled is her account of a pilgrimage of sorts, in which she travels through the places of significance in her family stories, passed on to her by her mother. She is searching for the hidden side of those stories, the people deliberately or carelessly written out of history: the First Peoples with whom her ancestors would have interacted.

    In my research and writing about my own family history I have struggled with these questions and the silences of the past. What part did my ancestors play in the dispossession of the First Nations of this land? Were they perpetrators of any of the many acts of violence towards Aboriginal people that took place in colonial and later times? How would I feel if I discovered evidence of this? What would I do with that knowledge?

    Like Ms Grenville, I came to the conclusion that all of my ancestors were, in some capacity, complicit in the long act of dispossession since 1788. Many (like the convicts sent here on the transport ships from England and Ireland) unwillingly so. Others (like Grenville, I have ancestors who ‘took up’ land as squatters, benefiting enormously from what was essentially a free-for-all land grab in the early years of white settlement) did so very willingly indeed. Later generations lived (as I do today) in country that was stolen, unceded land.

    It is a difficult truth to stare in the face and one that, for generations, white Australians preferred not to see.

    Hence the weasel words used to describe the acts of stealing land and the people who stole it (taking up land, opening it up, squatting, land grants, settlers, pioneers, explorers) and ones that were used about the people from whom the land was stolen (blacks, savages, nomads, going walkabout, as examples.) The latter demonstrated a supreme lack of understanding of the subtle and sophisticated worldview and culture of the First Peoples, while the former justified the wholesale robbery of the land and all it contained by the invading colonists.

    This book is all about seeing things differently:

    Now that I think about it. That’s the thing – I’m thinking about things differently now, rather than sliding along on the well-lubricated surface of unremarkable words. Thinking in a way that allows a whole other story to be glimpsed. No, not even a story, just a suggestion of a suspicion, embedded so far below the surface it’s easy to pooh-pooh it as ridiculous.

    Unsettled p35

    This is a very personal journey and a very personal story. But Grenville’s skill as a storyteller weaves a tale that is both individual and general to all Australians. While imparting her unique responses to the places she visits, the experiences she has on her travels and what she finds in her research, the questions she poses are for us all to consider.

    Her comments about the popularity of family history resonate with me, and I think are meaningful on a bigger scale as well:

    we…need to be asking questions about our forebears. Not to reassure ourselves, and not to make any claims for ourselves, but to learn how we really fit – and the ways we don’t fit – into the story of being here.

    Unsettled p206

    I could not agree more.

    Here is Kate Grenville discussing the impulse that set her on the journey of exploration that resulted in Unsettled.

    Unsettled was published by Black Inc Books in 2025

  • Books and reading

    What if kindness? ‘A Different Kind of Power’ by Jacinda Ardern

    Just before Jacinda Ardern was sworn in as New Zealand’s 40th Prime Minister in 2017, she was asked by a journalist what was it she wanted to do in the role: the ‘untethered, big-picture stuff.’ Her response was:
    ‘I want this government to feel different…I want people to feel that it’s open, that it’s listening, and that it’s going to bring kindness back.’

    In her memoir, A Different Kind of Power, she writes that at that moment she recognised that kindness was the word that encompassed everything that had left an imprint on her, from her childhood, her parents, her community and the people she’d worshipped alongside or worked with, ‘always in the service of something better.’

    Some people thought kindness was sentimental, soft. A bit naive, even. I knew this. But I also knew they were wrong. Kindness has a power and strength that almost nothing on this planet has. I’d seen kindness do extraordinary things: I’d seen it give people hope; I’d seen it change minds and transform lives. I wasn’t afraid to say it aloud, and as soon as I did, I was sure: kindness. This would be my guiding principle no matter what lay ahead.
    A Different Kind of Power p202

    I was so pleased to be gifted this book (thank you, Andy!) written by a world leader who showed us all that leadership does not have to be cuthroat, that power does not have to mean ‘power over’ but can mean empowering others, and that kindness can, indeed, be part of the equation.

    The narrative encompasses those early influences: her warm loving family and a childhood in small communities; mostly happy memories despite some challenges along the way. A young political awakening because of the sights and sounds of her first childhood community, and a burgeoning awareness of how poverty and other circumstances can push a community and its people into difficulty. Different grandparents and the various lessons absorbed from each.

    Initial volunteer political work, education, leading to her first paid roles in the world of politics. Becoming a Member of Parliament (I still can’t get my head around New Zealand’s electoral system, but thank goodness for it, as it allowed Jacinda to take on this role, which ultimately – and to her and others, somewhat unexpectedly – culminated in the Prime Ministerial position.)

    She writes about the highlights and lowlights of her time in politics and as PM, which of course you’d expect in a political memoir. If you have followed the news over that period you’d be aware of some of the biggest challenges she faced: the shocking and brutal shootings at a Christchurch mosque in 2019; a volcanic eruption at a major tourist attraction, and of course the Covid global pandemic.

    Because of the very personal style of writing about these events, I found myself wondering ‘what would I have done? How would I have reacted?’ What I took from her memories of these times is that the personal, empathetic component of a leader’s response is just as important, if not more so, than the logistical resources and decisions he or she can implement.

    The scene inside a crisis centre where she met with victims of the Christchurch attack and their loved ones, is vividly portrayed. She had to balance the need for police and forensic procedures at the crime scene, followed by official identification of the victims, with the urgent need for their families for a quick burial as required by their Muslim faith. Understandably there was grief, anger, and confusion in the room. Knowing how important both empathy and clear communication were at this time, she managed to achieve a calm stillness where minutes before had been a cacophony of noise and distress. She writes: ‘Perhaps even bad news can be better than unanswered questions.’ (p248)

    I would agree. I would add: it also depends on how that news is delivered, and by whom.

    I especially loved the personal insights she shares along the way of her story: crying in a bathroom stall after an error which saw her chastised as a new staffer in Parliament; feeling that her sensitivity was her ‘tragic flaw’ that would keep her from staying with the political work she loved. Meeting Clarke, her partner; their journey to parenthood to Neve. (The opening scene of the book has to be the best hook ever. I won’t describe it here for fear of a spoiler, but it’s brilliant.) Juggling family and political life.

    She describes her decision to leave the Prime Minister’s office and politics, and her reasons why, none of which come as a surprise when thinking about the person she is. I was pleased, though, to read that she has continued her advocacy and her work for hope and kindness since leaving office, through establishing a Field Fellowship for empathetic leadership, academic work at Harvard university, climate action work, and support for the Christchurch Call to Action to eliminate terrorist and extremist content online, among other projects.

    At a time when so-called ‘strong men’ seem to hold parts of the global population in their sway, we need more leaders like Jacinda Ardern, not just in politics. It often seems to me that simply increasing the number of women in political or CEO roles does little to change things for the rest of us, if they are operating on the ‘business as usual’ principle. More of the ‘kindness principle’ may help to rectify that.

    A Different Kind of Power is published by Penguin Random House in June 2025

  • Books and reading

    OMG: what a woman! ‘Annette Kellerman: Australian Mermaid’ by Grantlee Kieza

    Have you heard of Annette Kellerman? I knew a few things about her: that in the early 1900s she had broken swimming records, amazed and shocked with her one-piece swimsuits (very risque for the times), and wowed with her high-diving acts.

    But this new biography by Grantlee Kieza introduced me to so much more about this truly astounding Australian woman.

    For example:

    • She began life as a sickly, weak child, with lower limbs deformed by rickets, the horrible disease that ravaged many children then. Swimming was her way out of a life of disability but to begin with, she was terrified of the water! From this dubious start she went on to outswim male record holders and compete with leading swimmers on attempts to cross the English Channel, among other gruelling marathon events.
    • She grew up in a family where entertainment and performance were givens; her mother an accomplished musician of French background who demonstrated ‘chutzpah’ from an early age; her father also a talented musician.
    • These entertainment genes led her into a career in vaudeville, where she showed off her ballet skills along with her diving prowess (diving from heights into glass tanks, for example), later adding juggling diablo, high wire walking and other accomplishments to her repertoire. For a time she was the biggest name on the New York vaudeville scene.
    • As well as her incredible swimming career, she became a star of Hollywood, creating and appearing in sell-out and critically acclaimed silent movies. Through these efforts she became one of the highest paid movie stars in the world, mixing with some of the household names of Hollywood (Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, Mae West, to name just a few).
    • Alongside all of this activity she advocated strongly for women’s health and fitness, promoting excercise and healthy diet as the key to happiness and beauty. Keep in mind that this was at a time when women were discouraged from swimming and taking part in active sport of any kind, and the typical feminine outfit included whalebone corsets and multiple layers of petticoats.

      ‘Swimwear’ consisted of long bloomers, a full dress and other covers that impeded movement. So when Annette adopted what was essentially the same swimsuit as men were wearing (a one piece that covered from shoulders to knee but not much else) which then got shorter and more revealing over the years, you can imagine the amazement it generated! She was absolutely a trailblazer and never stopped in her public advocacy for woman’s participation in physical activity, especially swimming, which she regarded as the ‘perfect exercise’.

    I have a few more OMG facts for you. I know some people who admire modern-day actors who do their own stunts on movie sets. Well, let me tell you – those actors have nothing – NOTHING – on this woman from Australia who, in the early years of movie making, not only did all her own stunts but – given the deplorable lack of safety standards on workplaces then – did so with no regard to her own safety.

    She dived into a pool full of live Jamaican crocodiles. She survived a perilous cascade down a 60 foot waterfall with her hands tied behind her back. She leaped into the ocean from a high wire suspended from a 30 metre structure called the Tower of Kives and Swords over treacherous rocks . All done without a single double, dummy or safety net. Most, if not all, of these hair raising stunts were her own ideas.

    Tom C et al, eat your collective hearts out.

    Another way in which she beat today’s performers at their own game, decades before they’d even been born, is the way in which Annette kept her performances fresh – ‘reinventing’ herself, if you will. As she grew older and long-distance swimming lost its charm, she switched focus to her stage acts. In the 1920s she toured Great Britain and Europe giving lectures on health and fitness – in German, Swedish and Dutch. Later still, her lifelong love of dance and ballet training saw her perform the Dying Swan dance alongside world famous Anna Pavlova.

    Was there nothing this woman couldn’t do?

    I should point out that along with Annette’s own personal drive and quest to learn and achieve, her success was assisted by the unwavering support of her father Fred. Despite his own uncertain health, he accompanied his teenaged daughter to England in 1905 in a bid to launch her international swimming career, and he stayed with her, managing her affairs through thick and thin even as his health failed.

    And her later manager and eventual husband, Jimmie Sullivan, was another stalwart supporter, though her impulsive ideas and fearlessness must have driven him to the edge of a nervous breakdown on many an occasion.

    Annette was often promoted as the ‘Perfect Woman’ (by which was meant her bodily proportions, not her character) and the front and back cover photos of this book do capture the incredible combination of strength, grace and joy which she possessed.

    There is a very funny anecdote concerning an Ohio husband and wife brought before the courts soon after the release of one of Annette’s more famously provocative films involving sheer (invisible or perhaps non-existent) costumes. The husband made the mistake of seeing the film three times in three days and compounded his error by remarking to his wife each night what a ‘pretty form’ Annette Kellerman had.
    The couple ended up in front of the magistrate, he sporting bandages on his head and she explaining why she had wielded a potato masher at her husband!

    After such an active life in the public eye, Annette and Jimmie retired to the Gold Coast in Queensland in the 1960s, then a sleepy coastal backwater. After Jimmie died she continued the fundraising work she had always done, though ‘many of those who attended the events knew her only as the nice little old lady from Labrador, rather than a woman who was once one of the most famous and daring entertainers in the world.’ (p295)

    In a very fitting end to a life that revolved around water, Annette’s ashes were scattered by her beloved sister from a small plane over the waters of the Coral Sea.

    As always with Grantlee Kieza’s books, Annette Kellerman: Australian Mermaid is a thoroughly researched and engagingly written biography about an Australian figure of note. I had so many ‘OMG’ moments reading this book, that by the end I had to admit that what I’d thought I knew about Annette Kellerman had been a drop in the proverbial ocean – or swimming pool.

    Annette Kellerman: Australian Mermaid was published by HarperCollins in April 2025.
    My thanks to the publishers for a review copy.

  • Books and reading

    War, mental health…and poetry: ‘Soldiers Don’t Go Mad’ by Charles Glass

    This is the story of the very beginning of recognition of the condition suffered by so many veterans of war, now known as ‘post traumatic stress disorder’ or PTSD. During and after World War I, it was often colloquially called ‘shell-shock’ – but that was when it was recognised as a medical condition. Too often, it was seen as malingering or cowardice and sufferers ridiculed, abused or even executed for desertion.

    The author describes the particular conditions of this war that led to the high numbers of both officers and enlisted soldiers suffering from this ‘nervous and mental shock’: high explosive artillery, rapid-fire machine guns, modern mortar shells, aerial bombardment, poison gas and flamethrowers, and trench warfare in which soldiers were often forced into a helpless, passive position for hours, days or weeks at a time. In other words, warfare of an industrial nature on an industrial scale.

    Something had to be done to restore soldiers to some semblance of health, when physical wounds had been healed but the mutism, shaking, nightmares, paralysis, or blindness remained with no apparent physical cause. Craiglockhart was a specialist military hospital established in Scotland specifically for the care of shell-shocked British officers. By the end of its first year of operation, it had admitted 556 patients. By the war’s end, it had treated over 1,800.

    Unfortunately, enlisted men received no special care and were either expected to return to active service or invalided out of the army with no treatment available to them.

    The book describes the care provided at Craiglockhart under the direction of the two principal psychiatrists: Dr William Halse Rivers and Dr Arthur Brock; two men whose treatment approaches and general philosophies differed widely but when matched with the ‘right’ patients, they were able to effect great change for the officers involved.

    And this is where the poetry part of the equation comes in.

    Two officers who were perfectly aligned with their therapists’ approaches were the (later to become famous) war poets Wilfred Owen (treated by Dr Brock) and Siegfried Sassoon (treated by Dr Rivers). Poetry was at this time a revered literary form and each of these men found solace and expression of their wartime experiences in writing.

    When Wilfred Owen first came to the hospital he was young, inexperienced and at the very beginning of his literary career. He was thrilled to meet the older, published Sassoon, who became something of a mentor, and Owen’s writing developed as the two men exchanged ideas and discussed their work. All the time they were also engaged with the various therapeutic programs set out for them by their respective doctors.

    Sassoon is an interesting character, because he came to despise what he began to see as the deliberate continuation of the war by the Allied governments: rather than seeking peace he believed they were prolonging the war in order to crush Germany completely. He was so appalled by this that he initially risked court-martial rather than obey orders to return to the front. Again, an example of the difference in treatment of officers (usually from upper and middle class ranks) and enlisted soldiers (usually working class men). Sassoon had also won a Military Cross for bravery early in the war so his stance proved very embarrassing for the War Office at the time.

    When the Armistice was finally declared in November 1918, he described it as: ‘a loathsome ending to the loathsome tragedy of the last four years’ and ‘They mean to skin Germany alive. A peace to end peace.’ Looking at what happened just two decades later, who could argue he was wrong?

    What took Sassoon back to the front was not support for the war but for the soldiers who served under him and concern for their welfare. He felt guilty (as many at Craiglockhart did) for living in relative comfort while his men suffered.

    Owen, too, was discharged and returned to active duty. Unlike Sassoon, he did not see the Armistice declaration. He was killed in northern France at the age of twenty-six, just two weeks before the cease-fire. As Charles Glass notes in this book:
    ‘Owen was a success for Craiglockhart and for ergotherapy [the therapeutic approach of Dr Brock], but for him the outcome was death.’ (p279)

    There are many interesting characters in this book: military people, early figures in the field of psychotherapy, well-known literary and artistic people of the era. For me, the stand-out ‘character’, if you will, is the poetry, snippets of which are quoted throughout, illustrating the state of mind of the two main poets discussed. It is especially enlightening to see the nature of their poetry change as they discarded the patriotic ‘heroic’ themes of the era for more gritty realism as their own war experience began to bite, and in Sassoon’s case at least, his growing pacifist beliefs were reflected in his verse.

    So, here are two samples of poems by these men because they and their work should not be forgotten. Especially now as the world seems to be once again moving towards darkness.



    Wilfred Owen
    Source: Wikipedia
    Anthem for Doomed Youth
    What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
    Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
    Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
    Can patter out their hasty orisons.
    No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
    Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,
    The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
    And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
    What candles may be held to speed them all?
    Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
    Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.
    The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
    Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
    And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

    Wilfred Owen (written 1917, published posthumously 1920)
    Siegfried Sassoon
    Source: Wikipedia
    Aftermath
    Have you forgotten yet?...
    For the world's events have rumbled on since those gagged days,
    Like traffic checked while at the crossing of city-ways:
    And the haunted gap in your mind has filled with thoughts that flow
    Like clouds in the lit heaven of life; and you're a man reprieved to go,
    Taking your peaceful share of Time, with joy to spare.
    But the past is just the same--and War's a bloody game...
    Have you forgotten yet?...
    Look down, and swear by the slain of the War that you'll never forget.

    Do you remember the dark months you held the sector at Mametz--
    The nights you watched and wired and dug and piled sandbags on parapets?
    Do you remember the rats; and the stench
    Of corpses rotting in front of the front-line trench--
    And dawn coming, dirty-white, and chill with a hopeless rain?
    Do you ever stop and ask, 'Is it all going to happen again?'

    Do you remember that hour of din before the attack--
    And the anger, the blind compassion that seized and shook you then
    As you peered at the doomed and haggard faces of your men?
    Do you remember the stretcher-cases lurching back
    With dying eyes and lolling heads--those ashen-grey
    Masks of the lads who once were keen and kind and gay?

    Have you forgotten yet?...
    Look up, and swear by the green of the spring that you'll never forget.

    Siegfried Sassoon (written 1919)

    Soldiers Don’t Go Mad is published by Bedford Square Publishers in March 2025.
    My thanks to the publishers for a review copy.

  • Books and reading

    Nurturing peace: ‘The holy and the broken’ by Ittay Flescher

    Since the Hamas attacks on Israel in October 2023 and the resulting devastation of Gaza by Israeli defence forces since, I have been silenced. How could I put into words my revulsion at the violence, my despair at the apparent intractability of the centuries-old enmity? I knew too little about the history of the conflict, the bewildering tangle of geo-political and religious factors that have contibuted to the bitterness poisoning generations of Israelis and Palestinians.

    Many of my left-leaning friends and contacts were vocal in their criticism of the Israeli government for the brutality of the retribution wreaked on innocents in Gaza, including women, children, the elderly, the sick. I could not disagree with this. Bombing hospitals, denying medical and water supplies to civilians surely can never be justified.

    But the chant at ‘pro-Palestinian’ rallies of from the river to the sea, Palestine will be free – what does that mean? That the Jewish population should be expunged from the land? To go where? And then?

    When I saw Ittay Flescher’s book title and subtitle, I knew I had to read it. The holy and the broken references a line from Leonard Cohen’s beautiful song ‘Hallelujah’, which Flescher argues would be Jerusalem’s anthem if she were a soundtrack rather than a city. As a place of deep and abiding significance for three of the world’s major religions, Jerusalem and the land that surrounds it is certainly holy. But torn apart over centuries by ancient battles, crusades and modern warfare, it would be difficult to argue that it is not also broken.

    And the subtitle: A cry for Israeli-Palestinian peace from a land that must be shared positions both the book and its author from within the land in question, not a book written by an outsider, but by someone intimately familiar with the land and its people. And importantly, someone who believes that the way forward is to imagine a different future for both Palestinians and Israelis.

    The author is someone who has worked as a peace builder and educator for many years, both in Jerusalem as the education director at Kids4Peace, an interfaith youth movement for Israelis and Palestinians, and as a high-school educator in Melbourne.

    His book opens with a personal account of the October 7 Hamas attacks from the perspective of an Israeli man in Jerusalem: hour by hour, then day by day, both absorbed and repelled by what he was seeing and hearing on the news, wanting to turn away but also needing to know. Seeing his country become instantly united by this existential threat; opposition to the government seemingly shut down overnight.

    Then he draws back and begins to reflect and to question.

    In Flescher’s view, the core of the tragedy between the river and the sea is a deep and reciprocal misreading of the other. Here he touches on education, media and journalism, language difference, even religious texts: all can play a part in either cementing difference and stereotypes, or affirming the humanity of everyone who lives there.

    All have suffered historic and ongoing trauma. Palestinian and Israeli families experience daily pain and heartache at the loss of loved ones in senseless acts of violence. Their religious traditions feature deep, historic connections with the same land.

    He emphasises the importance of building grassroots connections across religious and language divides; the kind of connections that occur outside political structures. Take the politics out of it; the people who have the most to gain from peace are youngsters, their parents, friends and neighbours. People who just want to get on with their lives.

    It involves recognising each other’s humanity, and understanding that the love Palestinian and Israeli parents hold for our children is the same, as is the profound grief we experience when they are taken from us.
    It means embracing the notion that injustice anywhere poses a threat to justice everywhere and that security of one side requires security for the other.
    The holy and the broken pp 222-223

    The most moving section of the book for me was found in the two letters the author wrote to future Israeli and Palestinian teenagers, which come towards the end of the book. They beautifully encapsulate his vision for what the land he holds so dear could be like, ‘when there is peace.’

    If, like me, you have been at a loss as to how to think about or discuss the Palestinian/Israeli conflict, or wish there was an alternative to the black-and-white rhetoric of much of the public debate on the issue, I urge you to read this book. It offers another perspective and a welcome glimmer of hope on an otherwise very dark horizon.

    At the time of writing this post, the author has planned a number of book launch dates in Australia. I am going to the Sydney one. Perhaps I will see some of you there.

    For more information about Ittay, his book or his lifelong work for peace, you can visit his website here.

    The holy and the broken is published by HarperCollins in January 2025.
    My thanks to the publishers for a review copy.

  • Books and reading

    2024: My year in books (and what’s in store for 2025)

    In 2024 I participated in three reading challenges again, always a fun way to keep variety in my reading diet. Sometimes the results at the end of a year can be surprising; this is one of those times.

    In the Historical Fiction Reading Challenge I undertook to read 15 books of historical fiction – I came in right on target. It is easily my favourite genre of fiction.
    For 2025, I will choose that same target in this challenge.


    In the Cloak and Dagger Reading Challenge, I chose the ‘Amateur Sleuth’ target of 5-15 books, and hit 14 books, so that’s a giveaway that crime fiction is another favourite of my genres. I’ll go for around that many again this year.

    The surprise result for me this year was the Non-Fiction Reading Challenge, where I chose a conservative target of ‘nibbler’, aiming for 6 books. Instead I read a whopping 16 non-fiction books in 2024! I’m not sure what that means, but perhaps I should choose a higher target for 2025? Well, I’ll probably aim for ‘nibbler’ again and see how I go.

    I have a private challenge of my own, to read more books by First Nations authors, in any genre. In 2024 my reading included 10 works by Aboriginal and/or Torres Strait Islander writers: encompassing fiction, non-fiction, and children’s books. In 2025 I hope to equal or better that number.


    As always, I am indebted to publishers, especially HarperCollins, and to NetGalley, for sending advanced copies of books for review. I also thank authors who have approached me asking if I would read and review their work.

    I know it can be a scary thing to put your writing out into the world and ask for feedback. I never approach the task of reviewing a book lightly. Someone has put months (usually years) of work into research, drafting, rewriting, redrafting, editing, rewriting, editing again, and again, and again…until the finished product is finally put into their hands. For this reason I treat each and every book with the respect it deserves. And I thank each author and publisher for allowing me the opportunity to read and review their work.

    So, on to 2025. I wish all my fellow readers a wonderful bookish year ahead.

    Photo by Sumit Mathur at pexels