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AbstractHistoryArchive Description
'A breathtaking Tasmanian tale of ancient forests; of art and science; of love and, above all, of friendship.
'In the 1930s, in an isolated and beautiful corner of southern Tasmania, a new young wife arrives at her husband's secluded property - Arcadia. Stella, an artist, falls in love with Arcadia's wild, ancient forest. And when an unknown predator strikes, she is saved by an unusual protector...
'Two generations later, Stella's granddaughter, Sally, and her best friend, Jessica, stumble over Stella's secret life in the forest and find themselves threatened in turn.
'What starts as a girls' adventurous road trip becomes a hunt for the story of the past, to solve the present, and save their future...'
Source: Publisher's blurb.
Publication Details of Only Known VersionEarliest 2 Known Versions of
Other Formats
- Also dyslexic edition
- Also large print.
- Sound recording.
Works about this Work
-
An Irrelevant State
2020
single work
essay
— Appears in: Meanjin , Autumn vol. 79 no. 1 2020;'Here we are, in a freezing valley covered in grass and edged by snow-bothered mountains, sitting nearer to the bottom of the world than just about everyone. It’s a still winter day—fog blocks the morning and the air is nearly tactile. We’re not far from Hobart, but every hill between us is another door opening to chilled air; just like the airport, to come home is to step outside. We’re that much closer to the wet and windy south-west, where muddy buttongrass plains give way to tangles of green scrub and an audience of endless peaks. We’re a long way from the major urban centres, and glad to be. The air is worth breathing, the high places worth climbing and the world is worth touching with our hands. But what does this mean for our writing?' (Introduction)
-
An Irrelevant State
2020
single work
essay
— Appears in: Meanjin , Autumn vol. 79 no. 1 2020;'Here we are, in a freezing valley covered in grass and edged by snow-bothered mountains, sitting nearer to the bottom of the world than just about everyone. It’s a still winter day—fog blocks the morning and the air is nearly tactile. We’re not far from Hobart, but every hill between us is another door opening to chilled air; just like the airport, to come home is to step outside. We’re that much closer to the wet and windy south-west, where muddy buttongrass plains give way to tangles of green scrub and an audience of endless peaks. We’re a long way from the major urban centres, and glad to be. The air is worth breathing, the high places worth climbing and the world is worth touching with our hands. But what does this mean for our writing?' (Introduction)
- Tasmania,
- 1930s
- 2010s
