Tag Archives: Esther Anatolitis

Journal Catch-up 30: Meanjin Summer 2024

Esther Anatolitis (editor), Meanjin Vol 83 Nº 4 (Summer 2024)
(links are to the Meanjin website: some but not all of them are available to non-subscribers)

I’m usually at least three months behind in my journal reading, so I don’t expect the journals to comment on the day’s headlines. So it was nice serendipity, on the day I read a piece in the Guardian about bulldozers moving in on a tent city in Moreton Bay Council Area, to read ‘The tent village at Musgrave Park‘ by Lillian O’Neill, which addresses a similar fleeting community in south-east Queensland with curiosity, empathy and (this is Meanjin after all) erudition.

Other essays have a more general but no less pointed timeliness:

Meanjin has a number of regular features:

  • Even before the contents page, there’s ‘The Meanjin Paper’, an essay by a First Nations writer: it this issue it’s ‘Sing for the Black: From Act to Treaty‘, in which singer-songwriter Joe Geia talks bout his art, particularly his show From Rations to Wages to Treaty
  • Australia in three books‘: Shakira Hussein discusses three books about Meanjin/Brisbane – by David Malouf, Melissa Lukashenko and Ellen van Neerven
  • Interview: ‘All colour and light’, an interview with Gerald Murnane, eccentric and elusive as ever
  • ‘The Year In…’ This issue has ‘… Poetry‘, not a survey, but discussion of a very few favourites by Graham Akhurst & Shastra Deo.

There are short fictions, memoir, book reviews and poetry. To name just one of each:

  • Your heart sir‘ by Grace Yee is in the poetry section, but to my taste it’s the best short story in the journal, about the sudden death of an old man and the dementia of his widow
  • Seven Snakes‘ by Carrie Tiffany isn’t in the memoir section, but it is a kind of memoir, in which the author, a park ranger, tells of seven encounters with snakes and one, more toxic, with a male manager.
  • How Novel is the Novel Prize?‘ by Maks Sipowicz, a review of It Lasts Forever and Then It’s Over by Anne de Marcken and Tell by Jonathan Buckley, joint winners of the 2022 Novel Prize, includes reflections on the function of prizes and awards in the literary ecosystem – and wonders if perhaps the prize should have gone to books of less obvious appeal
  • @ClanC #overflow‘, a lovely parody of Banjo Paterson written by Ian Simmons, whose bio says he ‘has been writing bad teenage poetry for almost five decades’, introduces some much-appreciated levity.

There’s much more in the journal’s 191 pages. I’ll give the last word to Maks Sipowicz. He was referring to literary prizes. I think the words apply just as well to literary journals:

As readers, we can only collectively benefit from the spotlight falling onto more challenging texts


I wrote this blog post on the cloud-covered, windy land of Gadigal and Wangal of the Eora nation. I acknowledge their Elders past present and emerging, and gratefully acknowledge their care for this land for millennia. I welcome any First Nations readers of this blog.

Journal Catch-up 28: Meanjin Spring 2024

Esther Anatolitis (ediitor), Meanjin Vol 83 Nº 3 (Spring 2024)
(links are to the Meanjin website: some but not all of them are available to non-subscribers)

This Meanjin was published before King Charles visited Australia last year. This means Jenny Hocking’s blistering essay, ‘Remnants of Empire: Racism, Power and Royal Privilege‘, appeared well before Lidia Thorpe’s headline-grabbing outburst. The article, which amply fulfils the promise of its title, made me feel much more sympathy for the outburst.

There’s a lot else in this issue to delight and enlighten. Some pieces that I think of as necessary. Apart from Jenny Hocking’s, three that stand out are:

  • Well, It’s Beautiful Country, Really –‘ by Mike Ross. Each issue of Meanjin these days begins with a ‘Meanjin Paper’ – an essay by a First Nations person. In this one Mike Ross, an Olkola man who has been at the vanguard of land rights for the people of Cape York for three decades, talks about finding meaning in Country, about constantly learning
  • Lucky for Some‘ by Frank Bongiorno on the 60th anniversary of publication of Donald Horne’s The Lucky Country, which I read in tandem with Nick Bryant’s recent piece on the same subject in the Guardian
  • Jews, Antisemitism and Power in Australia‘ by Max Kaiser, which parses the way accusations of antisemitism have been used to silence important points of view. This article may have been published six months ago, but it feels hyper-relevant today as actual vicious antisemitism and and dubious accusations of antisemitism are ramping up.

There are pirces that may not be necessary, but they’re fun and educative all the same:

  • an interview with poet Ellen van Neerven (which I enjoyed even though it focuses on a book of theirs I haven’t read)
  • a scathing annotation of the Australian Constitution from First Nations writer Claire G. Coleman

There is some excellent fiction, including these two:

  • The Feeling Bones‘ by Lucy Nelson, which tells a family’s story in terms of their bone ailments; and incidentally informs me that ‘sits bones’, a term for the backside I had only heard used by my Pilates instructor, actually comes from the world of dance.
  • The Other Doctor‘, in which James Salvius Cheng finds a way to talk about the exhausting business of being a medical practitioner without coming across as a whinger.

A trio of memoirs call out to each other about disability, religion and sexuality:

  • Love Is Worship by Adrian Mouhajer, about finding peace in a Muslim family as a queer person
  • Dirty Things, Precious Things by Anna Hickey-Moody, about Catholicism, disability, family violence
  • Crocodile by Ella Ferris, brilliant, complex piece of writing which includes experiences of Aboriginality and disability

There are some excellent poems. The ones I warm to most (not necessarily the ‘best’) are:

  • ‘Mothertongues’ by Grace Chan, which begins ‘My son is starting to speak / in English’ and later, as she tries to teach him some Chinese, ‘our tongues stumble / in synchrony’
  • ‘The Women’s Shelter’, a rhyming sonnet by Claire Watson, in which a woman creates a knotted rag rug from strips of old bedsheets

There are things that aren’t my cup of tea: a smart-alecky essay on satire, an incomprehensible poem, some ‘experiments’, a review or two that convinced me not to read the books under consideration. But I can imagine each of those finding readers who will delight in them


I wrote this blog post on the land of Gadigal and Wangal of the Eora nation. I acknowledge their Elders past present and emerging, and gratefully acknowledge their care for this land for millennia, as once agin the sun is rising later in the mornings, and spiders are making their presence known in the bushes.

Journal Catch-up 26: Meanjin Winter 2024, and November verse 6

Esther Anatolitis (ediitor), Meanjin Vol 83 Nº 2 (Winter 2024)
(links are to the Meanjin website: some but not all of them are available to non-subscribers)

This Meanjin is incredibly rich and varied. I’ve carried it in my backpack for weeks, mostly reading a single article or story at a time when on public transport, in waiting rooms or queues, or occasionally – as in the days before podcasts – while walking. I have learned about:

Click on any link in that list, and you may find something instructive, challenging, entertaining or all three.

As the child of a farmer in North Queensland, where Mamu land has never been ceded and sugarcane monoculture has not been kind to the land, I was particularly moved by Katherine Wilson’s brief memoir about regenerative farming and collaboration with traditional owners, ‘Our Bog Paddock’s Understory‘.

I also want to mention ‘We, small heroes‘ by Micaela Sahhar, a short reflection on what it means in the current era that Palestinian culture has hospitality as a core value.

Of the four excellent pieces of fiction, Katerina Gibson’s ‘Something Dormant‘ stands out as a complex story of young, unrequited love remembered, with an environmental twist.

One of the joys of this Meanjin is the way its nine poems are spread throughout, so each one comes as a pleasant surprise among the prose. Having just this morning read an editorial on ‘eco-poetry’ in the Guardian (poetry ‘cannot ignore global heating’), I’ll single out Caitlin Maling’s ‘Ordinary Disaster‘, a chillingly affectless account of a mass dying of fish among coral in Western Australia.

It’s my blogging custom to focus on page 77. In November, I try to include a verse stanza in each blog post. Page 77 in this issue is part of a fascinating interview with architecture critic Naomi Stead (link here). The phrase that gives me my opening line comes from this paragraph:

I don’t want to be the schoolmarm, but if people understand more about the built environment – how it’s procured, how it comes into being, how it’s not an accident, how there’s almost nothing in our cities that is not deliberately designed – then they can begin to see the role that they themselves could play. I mean we should expect more, we should demand more of our cities and buildings and built environment, but we can only do that with a degree of knowledge and education about how this came to be, and what could be.

Rather than enlarge on Professor Stead’s point, my little verse follows where the phrase takes it. That and the plane that flew over our flat as I typed the first full stop.

November verse 6: We should demand more of our cities
We should demand more of our cities.
Not more aircraft overhead.
No more oh-dears, what-a-pities –
Packer's Pecker, Jeff's Shed.
Perhaps less civil inattention,
less of what's too gross to mention,
neighbours partying till four,
Mormons knocking on the door.

Demand more? Let me try. O Sydney,
Demand more? Let me try.
O Sydney,
give me silence, show me stars,
let me breathe air free from tars.
So many things I'd have you give me.
Make your waters clear again,
and some day soon please change your name

I wrote this blog post on Gade / Wane, not far from Warrane, which some people want to give its name to the whole of Sydney. I acknowledge the Gadigal and Wangal Elders past present and emerging, and gratrefully acknowldge their care for this land for millennia.

Journal Catch-up 24

As I have mentioned before, I once had a substantial collection of Meanjins. I parted company with them in the course of moving house, probably forty years ago or so, and I haven’t kept up with Meanjin‘s changing identity since. In 2021 I toyed with the idea of resubscribing, but I may have been daunted by the sheer size of each issue. I have now bitten the bullet.


Esther Anatolitis (ediitor), Meanjin Vol 83 Nº 1 (Autumn 2024)
(links are to the Meanjin website: some but not all of them are available to non-subscribers)

This issue is a doozie!

It’s as engaged with current social and political issues as Overland. There are a number of essays on aspects of the Israeli invasion of Gaza, including Sarah M Saleh’s brilliant argument for the importance of Palestinian solidarity movements to the political wellbeing of Australia as a whole. There’s a concise summary article by father and daughter team Stephen Charles and Lucy Hamilton on the role of lies and disinformation in the Voice referendum. There’s a portrait by Jack Nicholls of eco-warrior CoCo Violet. There’s Amy Remeikis on the significance of the (first) Bruce Lehrmann rape case. And more.

It’s as culturally diverse as Heat in its heyday. Editor Esther Anatolitis (Σταθία Ανατολίτη) interviews Peter Polites. André Dao gives the 2023 State of the (Writing) Nation Oration. And more.

It’s as academically challenging as Southerly. See Dan Disney’s esoteric discussion of a Korean verse form and the fraughtness (impossibility?) of translating it, or imitating it, without subsuming it into the linguistic dominance of the English language; or Ianto Ware’s account of the challenges he fac ed in writing about his mother’s life and death.

First Nations writing has a strong presence. Among other things, ‘Ilkakelheme akngakelheme—resisting assimilation‘, a powerful essay by Theresa Penangke Alice, has pride of place before the contents page, and the new poetry editor is Wiradjuri woman Janine Leane.

I learned a lot – from Renata Grossi about the law concerning wills and what happens when they are contested; from Tom Doig about the long shadow of the 2014 Hazelwood disaster; from Marcus Westbury about the possibilities of something like a Universal Basic Income.

There are memoirs, including a brief snippet by Clare Wright, which starts out from an elaborate piece of costumery in the Powerhouse Museum and takes the reader to an unexpected ugly teenage encounter.

There are book reviews, and poetry. I was delighted to read, ‘Thread‘ a new poem by Eileen Chong. Two very different poems, ‘Oomarri—coming home‘ by Traudl Tan with Kwini Elder Ambrose Mungala Chalarimeri, and ‘Dreaming in Bourke‘ Paul Magee, talk to each other across the pages about the importance of country for First Nations people.

I picked up a couple of new words. My favourite is::

  • pipikism, a term coined by Philip Roth, who defined it as ‘the antitragic force that deconsequentalises everything – farcicalises everything, trivialises everything, superficialises everything’. Naomi Klein revisits the term in Doppelganger, her book reviewed in this Meanjin by Sam Elkin.

I’ll give the last word of this post to Peter Polities, whose words on page 77* in some ways speak to the journal as a whole:

I remember when I was in art school … this guy said to me: ‘I’m not political.’ And I was like: What did you say?!?’ I was just so shocked the first time I heard it, but then by the second time, I was so sarcastic: I said, ‘Yeah, what’s political about making goods for a luxury market?’ So this is what these kids wanted to be: to create work that you hang above a fucking couch for rich people. My interest in art is as a site for intervention, a site for politics, and culture is one of the most political things that we have.


I finished writing this blog post in stunningly beautiful Kuku Yalanji country, to the tune of parrots, curlews and the calls of other birds I don’t recognise.


* My blogging practice for some time has been to focus arbitrarily on the page of a book or journal that coincides with my age.