Author: Leah
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These four walls
As far as kid-me was concerned, The Three Little Pigs was the fairy tale. Cinderella, nah. Too princessy. Rapunzel—ugh, all that hair. Dashing heroes, terrifying hijinks? Nope, just give me the hero who builds his house out of bricks. This copy of the book is so familiar to me: the trio of worms cutting the…
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I-love-you-and-also-do-you-have-cheese?
So I was going to post this longish essay on J.M. Coetzee, but I thought instead, I’d tell you about my dog. That’s him on the right there. Odie. He’s a seven-year-old rescue beagle who has fans in various places (I’ve come out of shops to find strangers taking selfies with him). And he’s hungry.…
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Tidings of comfort and … pause
Shortly after I had my first child, someone bought me flowers. Let’s say they were irises. For more than a week I shuffled past those flowers, bleary and joyous and confused. We had made a person. With eyes and ears and hair; who had hands that would grasp at cups and spoons and pens and…
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The pen is mightier than the horizon
Pleased to have a post on the Allen & Unwin blog this month, talking about the Faber Academy Writing a Novel course I did with Carrie Tiffany. You can read the full piece here.
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Fanny Price, the necessary ninny
Mention Mansfield Park to a devoted Austen-ite and you get the tell-tale sigh: yes, but Fanny Price! Why does she have to be so … Pious? Humourless? Blessedly, teeth-grindingly annoying? In any situation, you can count on Jane Austen’s heroine (a poor cousin taken to live with rich relatives at age 10) to be terribly proper.…
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Making pretend people matter
When my husband was four, he asked for a clock. Any kind, really. As long he was going to be allowed to pull it into tiny little pieces. Over time, he moved on to old TVs, broken video recorders, radios, cars. Eventually he learned to put things back together—and at some point, he even found…
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Running’s not about, um, running
When I was 14, my foster sisters told me they were going for a run. It’d only be about 1km, they said. Would I like to come? By the time I’d ‘jogged’ down the driveway and onto the road, the two of them were blurry, heat-affected smudges in the distance. My ankles were searing. My…
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Sea Hearts, love … and hair
Really pleased to have a piece on Killings, Kill Your Darlings journal’s blog, today. It’s about Sea Hearts, a novel by Margo Lanagan. Here’s a taste: “There’s a right mess unfolding here, but it’s not moral condemnation we’re being served with. It’s a kind of truth. These are people in all their difficult, mean, loving glory.” You…
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Knock, knock
On Day 14, Kat drew this: On day 10, this: And on Day 3, this: Day 3 is my favourite. Something about that feather-ish headdress, the Big Top-like shape in the backdrop, and the rings radiating from the figure. Every day now, for the past two-and-a-bit weeks, my friend Kat—whom I share housed with back…