By Steve RE Pereira
For those of us who are East African Asians and of a certain generation, Hafsa Zayyan’s novel We Are All Birds of Uganda is far too disturbingly familiar. Published by #Merky Books, a British imprint founded in a collaboration by the British rapper Stormzy with Penguin Random House UK to publish stories ‘far too often underrepresented’, the novel is a timely reminder of a watershed moment in the history of the South Asian diaspora.
A review of Andrew Kwong’s One Bright Moon
By Devika Brendon
Andrew Kwong’s voice in One Bright Moon, is both rational and compassionate, and the fusion of the two enables and generates restorative harmony. Reading this memoir is a healing experience. I’m sure that writing it must have been cathartic for the writer, but rarely have I read a life story that has given me not only admiration for the author but hope for myself, as a fellow human being, as his reader.
In March 2019, Sydney-based Nautanki Theatre Company invited the world-renowned theatre artist, Danish Husain, to perform live at Riverside Theatre, and to conduct an interactive masterclass at Macquarie University, Sydney. Roanna Gonsalves interviewed Danish Husain, via email, about his chosen artform and his practice as a performer within the broader context of global performance practice.
By Rashida Murphy
These days I write the word ‘writer’ on forms that ask me what I do. I know I’ve earned it. I am that person – a published novelist. Publication has changed the way I view my profession. The secret is out. I can own it. Even when I’m questioned and occasionally challenged. ‘What do you write?’ is the inevitable question and these days I have an answer. Sometimes that answer – fiction, is followed by another question – what sort? This leads to conversations, which in most part are educational, entertaining or informative. I may hear the idea of a story I really ought to write or I may be asked to read 500 pages of this story they wrote when their dad was a lad during the war. Of course, everyone knows someone who writes and surely, as a writer I must know them too. Occasionally the conversation turns to my ability to speak English so well, the colour of my skin and my good fortune that Australia allows me to do whatever I want to. Because in Sri Lanka, Afghanistan, Fiji or wherever I come from, opportunities for women are so limited, you know, because they don’t even let women drive there.
By Rashida Murphy
I read a lot of books. For research mainly, or so I tell others and myself but also for pleasure, for comfort and to know myself better. I read fabulous books and ordinary ones, heartbreaking books and healing ones, smart books and hilarious ones, and I have a system of shelving these in idiosyncratic ways. I give away a lot of books too, sometimes because I can’t stand to have them in my house and sometimes because I realise guiltily I have multiple copies I don’t need. And I rarely loan them out. I’m sure the ones that I do loan to very special friends burn in their hands until they return them. The bibliotaph’s burden. We all have something to carry, do we not?