AustLit

'Everything, all at Once presents fiction and poetry from the ‘thirty writers under thirty’ who won the inaugural Ultimo prize in 2021. This prize asked entrants to explore the theme of ‘identity’—a pertinent choice, considering how central and contested particular identities (and the notion of identity itself) have become in cultural and political conversations. This theme is also apt, of course, for a collection that offers young people a stepping-stone in their journey to ‘come of age’ both as individuals and as professional writers.' (Introduction)

'By recounting one woman's real-time witnessing of a couple's experience of stillbirth, Born Sleeping explores the ambivalence that lies at the heart of human relationships, the difficulty of comprehending others' realities, the voyeurism of being on the outside of trauma and the disturbingly cool, detached eye of the writer.'

Source: Publisher's blurb.

'In the acknowledgements that append her short story collection, A Constant Hum, Alice Bishop states that her book is intended to keep ‘in mind’ the people who died in Black Saturday (199). Though Bishop lost a house in those fires, she says she cannot imagine ‘how it would really feel’ to have lost family, friends, or a partner (199). Her writing, however, derives from a genuine attempt to comprehend these experiences—and results in a book that acts as a memorial for the dead, as a tribute to the survivors, and as a means for others to engage in the motivated and directed acts of imagination that constitute empathy.' (Introduction)

'If the literary technique of ‘defamiliarisation’ is the usual means through which writers jolt people into seeing the world anew, how does a dystopian novelist shock us into seeing the environmental extremities of today, when ‘extremes’ are increasingly the norm? Furthermore, how can such a writer hope to contribute something original to our long tradition of dystopian fiction, and its rapidly growing sub-genre of ‘Cli-Fi’[1]? Jennifer Mills has taken on these challenges with her new novel, Dyschronia. This striking title refers to the novel’s structural and thematic preoccupation with temporal disorder, while cleverly alluding to both the novel’s genre and to the feeling of ‘dysphoria’ experienced by its protagonist, Sam (66) – that deep sense of ‘unease’ which provokes, and should be provoked by, dystopian stories.'  (Introduction)

'Through a multitude of distinct voices, Gildfind’s startling tales explore the absurd, macabre, surreal – and too-real – whilst wrestling with the irrevocable acts, immutable facts, and relentless uncertainties that lie at the dark heart of every life.' (Publication summary)

'Luke crosses his arms against the bluster and stares out across the grey. Even on the hottest days in summer, when dozens of people come here to walk their dogs or jog or fish or set up barbeques with their damn kids screaming everywhere, this bench just stands here empty. It seems to wait for him, as if his own name is gouged across its grain rather than Beck's and Ahmed's and Sol's and Renee's. Luke hugs himself and squints through the gritty spray. A rock wall ties one side of the lake to the other, dividing the water in two. A man sits in the middle of the wall, in the middle of the lake, fishing. Luke watches him, then looks over him to the twisted white gums drowned along the far bank. He studies the gums, studies them hard...' (Publication abstract)