Interview with Eileen Chong

Eileen Chong is a familiar name for many English teachers since a suite of poetry from her collection Burning Rice was included in the NSW Year 12 Prescribed Texts list. One of these poems is also featured in the syllabus as part of a study on Contemporary Asian-Australian Poets, however, Chong is so much more than this. With her poetry spanning the remote corners of the human condition - from highly personal journeys into the inner psyche to sharply-observed forays into broader discourse - it's always fascinating to get an insight into her processes and methods. Beyond Burning Rice, Chong's poetry collections also include Peony, Painting Red Orchids, Rainforest, Dark Matter, A Thousand Crimson Blooms, and her upcoming 2025 release We Speak of Flowers.

I was lucky enough to have an opportunity to ask Eileen Chong some questions about her work and she was very generous with her time and answers!

What first led you to poetry?

I've always enjoyed reading poetry, even from before I realised what poetry was. My first poetry, I suppose, was from the Bible. I attended Methodist and Anglican schools as a child in Singapore, and had always been drawn to Psalms and Proverbs as well as the Song of Songs. I remember asking a teacher why parts of the Bible were written in sentences and others in 'parts'--even at a very young age part of me discerned the difference in language between prose and poetry.

I studied Literatures in English and Linguistics as an undergraduate at university, and was a high school teacher for a number of years. I'd always loved reading and teaching poetry, but my tastes were quite conservative and tied to the canon. It wasn't until I started a Master of Letters at Sydney University and studied the craft of poetry under the tutelage of Judith Beveridge that I started to read more contemporary poetry across different cultures and also in translation. I started writing poetry around 2010, and had my first book of poems published in 2012 with Australian Poetry. 2025 will see my sixth collection of poems (and my tenth book in total), We Speak of Flowers, to be published with UQP.

 

Do you feel like your poetry has changed over those 6 collections?

Absolutely—my poems have changed across the 6 collections because I have changed as a person over the past 14 years. Of course my work must have retained some defining aspects of a poetic voice, but my concerns, interests and obsessions have evolved, doubled back, overlapped, expanded and/or changed, and the poems reflect that in themes and form. 

For example: my next collection, We Speak of Flowers, is a book-length poem in 101 numbered fragments to be read in any order (including sequentially). The book demanded to be written in this manner—the usual poetry collection of 50 poems or so was not the right container for this work.

I teach the poems from my first collection, Burning Rice, a fair bit in schools, and as the years pass, I gain more and more distance from those poems, to the point where I often wonder: who wrote them? I’m actually consistently surprised by the craft of those poems, by the density of and the compression of language, and feel like I could not write poems like those now, simply because I am not longer the same person and poet as then. 

At the same time, there are words and phrases I used in poems in my previous collections that I would no longer be comfortable using as my sociopolitical consciousness has grown over time and with age. Some of the ideas that gripped me so intensely at different times have also faded out of focus as I have moved on to different stages in life, and others have come to take their place.

I love that my work remains dynamic and in flux even after more than 14 years as a writer.  I would be bored if I were to do the same thing day in, day out, and that applies to my poetry as well. 

You mentioned Burning Rice as an ongoing bridge into schools; how does it feel having your poetry listed as one of the options for NSW students to study? Does it change your relationship with the text?

I don't write for any specific audience, but I am beyond thrilled that students are studying the poems in Burning Rice. I think it's a wonderful recognition to have my poems studied in schools. I was previously a high school teacher of English in Singapore, and know first hand how transformative literary texts in schools can be for students and what a great impact it can have on young minds, sometimes long after their schooling years.

To the best of my knowledge, Burning Rice is also the first single-author collection of poetry by an Asian Australian to be on the HSC syllabus. That is a great honour, and I certainly hope I won't be the last. Having my book on the syllabus has also helped me greatly in a financial sense as I am able to go to schools to speak on my work, which has provided an alternate source of income as I continue to try to make a living through my writing.

I think it is also important for students to be able to read contemporary poetry and to encounter the poet in the flesh, and to understand that creativity is a process that is constantly in-flux. I have absolutely loved being able to be back in classroom to speak on the craft of poetry and to teach my poems to students. I hope that the poems form an entryway into students thinking about migration, identity, multiculturalism, liminality and ultimately leads them to reading more contemporary poetry.

I like what you say about creativity being constantly in-flux. Do you find that the ongoing interaction between students and your poetry challenges the idea of the author being in control of the text?

Absolutely. I’ve often spoken about the creative process and how sometimes even the poet isn’t fully aware of what might be in the poem. I’ve always thought that the final stage in a poem’s creation takes place in the mind of a reader. It’s also refreshing to be in the classroom and have students respond to a work in ways that surprise me, but which are completely valid.

Most of all, I really love watching the expressions and responses to my poems when I read them aloud in classrooms, before I explain any of the literary devices used, or even speak about possible interpretations. To witness a poem’s emotional effect on students is a true gift. To paraphrase Eliot, poetry can communicate meaning even before or beyond conscious understanding.

I have also written poems in response to being in the classroom—a kind of metatext about the creative process to try and articulate this interesting circularity. One such poem, ‘Making Sense’, from my last collection A Thousand Crimson Blooms, begins this way:

I tell my students:

poetry is a way to make sense

of what you fear.

And it ends with:

A girl at her desk begins a poem:

I dreamed everyone, even my own

mother, had forgotten my name—

Which comes first, the poet, the poem, or the reader? Perhaps they are all one and the same. 

I love that. I think we get too rigid sometimes about separating the author from the text and their audience. Why do you think poetry became your primary medium for expression?

As far back as I can recall, I have loved language—the science of it, the sounds of it, the craft of it. I majored in both Linguistics and Literatures in English as an undergraduate, but I had to choose one of the two for my Honours year. I very nearly chose Linguistics over Literature—I was particularly interested in neurolinguistics, pragmatics, and lexicography. But Literature won out and, though unknown to me at the time, it set me on a path that would eventually lead me to poetry as a profession.

Simply put, to me, poetry is the highest form of linguistic expression possible. It is the most varied, the most compressed, and the most encompassing of forms. What I love most of all about poetry is its capacity to move the spirit, its neverending mystery, and how a poem can renew and reinvent language in the smallest space imaginable. (Dove: ‘Poetry is language at its most distilled and most powerful.’) 

I also love how poetry is a broad church, and how it aligns itself with every human experience and emotion in ways that other art forms might not be able to. As I grow older, not much surprises me, but poetry retains the power to astonish and revise my experience and existence. (Dickinson: ‘If I feel physically like the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.’)

I often joke about how if I had a choice I would never have chosen to be a poet. It is likely one of the hardest careers to make a living from, because our capitalist society values it so little. (Wordsworth: ‘Poetry has never brought me enough money to buy shoestrings.’) Yet I feel like poetry has been a blessing to me and a calling I could not refuse. Many of my friends from childhood are at the stage of life where they are preoccupied with their careers and life paths, but very few can say that they have spent most of their time pursuing their passion. (Graves: ‘There’s no money in poetry, but there’s no poetry in money, either.’) I can, hand on heart, say that I have, and I’m grateful for that, at the very least. 

It might seem that ‘poetry makes nothing happen’ (Auden), but I believe that ‘a good poem helps to change the shape of the universe’ (Thomas). Above all, it reminds us of what it means to be human, and that there is power in it, that ‘poetry is a political act because it involves telling the truth’ (Jordan), even if you ‘tell it slant’ (Dickinson again). Joy Harjo tells us that when you begin to listen to poetry, ‘you begin to learn to listen to the soul, the soul of yourself in here, which is also the soul of everyone else.’ What other vocation allows you this? Only poetry does. 

You mention some great classic poets from years gone by. If you had to choose 3 great poets from the 19th, 20^th and 21^st centuries, who would you pick?

An impossible task, I’m going to cheat and pick two each. John Keats, Emily Dickinson, Elizabeth Bishop, Adrienne Rich, Li-Young Lee, Joy Harjo. I’m sure I’ll regret these choices in one way or another. There are so many poets worthy of reading, and not enough time in the world to do so. 

Thanks Eileen. Final question - what advice would you give to anyone wanting to write poetry?

Read poetry. Read non-fiction. Read fiction. Read widely and without prejudice. Read poetry aloud. Listen to its sounds, rhythms, cadences. Study the history of poetry, of forms, across cultures. Read poetry in translation. Read ancient poetry. Read contemporary poetry. Read craft books written by poets. Read interviews with poets. Keep reading, listening, feeling, thinking. See art. Watch plays and performances, attend music events. Walk, swim, sleep in nature. Travel, in person or on the page. Fall in and out of love. Connect with community. Live your life to its fullest. Fill your well, nourish your imagination, and feed your soul. That which spills over? That which cannot be contained? That is the beginning of your own poetry.

 

Visit Eileen Chong's website here.

Class Novel: Ella Minnow Pea

Text: On the fictitious and independent island of Nollop, off the coast of South Carolina, a quaint society takes pride in their historical ancestor, Nevin Nollop. His claim to fame? Inventing the sentence "The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog", which is represented by a monument in the town square. One day a letter falls from the memorial statue, leading the island's ruling council to interpret this as a sign from Nollop that they should discontinue the use of that letter. At first this this seems easy enough to follow but as subsequent letters begin to tumble from the statue the council begins to exercise more and more power over the island's citizens.

Context: The debut novel of playwright Mark Dunn, Ella Minnow Pea is a 2001 novel that combines the epistolary genre with dystopian themes and elaborate wordplay. Released in October, the novel reflects a gentler approach to the typically-harsh dystopian genre, as befitting a pre-9/11 American context. The novel itself is structured as a series of letters between characters, and through the use of this conceit the author is able to reflect the shrinking alphabet of Nollopian society as the island council bans more and more letters.

Suggested Class: I think this would work fantastically as a Year 11 Advanced English text. Its themes mean it could fit quite easily into the Narratives That Shape the World module. The use of pangrams (sentences that include every letter of the alphabet) and lipograms (restricted writing rules based on the removal of a letter) also mean it could be a fun text to explore in the Reading to Write module. In either case, the novel also works well as an introductory point to the dystopian ideas explored in the Year 12 text Nineteen Eighty-Four. Alternatively, the novel would also work well with a strong Year 10 English class.

Ideas:

• Explore the epistolary genre. What does this mean in terms of the writer and reader? What are the cons and pros of a writer using this genre to tell their story? Why would Mark Dunn choose this genre in particular for his story? How does the island-setting and fictitious context of Nollop lend itself to this genre to make the use of letters seem like a natural fit? Why can Ella Minnow Pea only function as a novel and not as a film, television series, or even a play?
• Explore the dystopian genre. What is a dystopia? How do writers use dystopias to explore ideas of freedom, control, thought, action, government, and citizenship? How does Ella Minnow Pea's use of the dystopian genre suggest certain things about the aforementioned ideas? Think of examples of dystopian fiction and the elements of each society therein that have been tweaked... what would you change to create your own fictitious dystopian society? 
• Word games. As you read the text as a class, ask students to write summaries of each section using the rules of the book at each point. For example, after one letter disappears, students may not use this letter in their summary. Ask students to also experiment with lipograms, pangrams, and other constrained writing games:
• Reverse-lipograms, where every word must contain a certain letter or letters.
• Poetry that uses only one vowel.
• Aleotoric text: creating a piece of writing using elements selected by chance (EG. Ruling dice to determine what letters can't be used, pulling certain words out of a hat that must act as the theme of a piece of writing, etc.)
• Map: Map the town and its characters. This might seem rather basic but I think the complex rules of Dunn's text would require some visuals (showing who's who and where they're situated in relation to each other) in order to help students keep up.

Disclaimer: I haven't taught this text - I only read it a couple of weeks ago - but I totally would teach it if I had the opportunity!

Credit: Thanks to my friend Keira for recommending and lending me this book to read.

The Best Films I Watched in 2023

I got into a bit of a routine in 2023 where I would watch a film most nights before bed. I didn't read as much as I normally do but I hit a real stride with movies and ended up watching 180 films. Here are the 25 best ones I watched.

Can You Ever Forgive Me directed by Marielle Heller (2018)
I love seeing actors play against type, or do work that accentuates their talents in such a way as to surprise the viewer. This describes both Melissa McCarthy and Richard E. Grant in this film, which is based on a really interesting true story about a writing hoax. Both actors are known for quirky or humorous roles and, whilst they bring this to these characters, they also add a certain dramatic weight to an unlikely partnership. Grant in particular has been an undervalued character actor for decades, so it's wonderful to see him given such a perfect part here - he went viral in early 2019 for his excited reaction video to getting nominated for an Oscar for this film. 

Decision to Leave directed by Park Chan-wook (2022). 
A Korean psychological thriller with compelling characters and heart-stopping twists. The meticulous narrative pulls you in and doesn't let go, not even after the film is done. An outstanding, beautiful crime-romance from the director of Old Boy.  

Diary of a Country Priest directed by Robert Bresson (1951). 

A young priest is assigned to a hostile village and finds himself caught between his beliefs and the nature of the job. Bresson's films don't usually gel with me but this one resonated as a haunting and thoughtful character study with a powerful ending. 

Lady Bird directed by Greta Gerwig (2017)
Gerwig's directorial debut is a coming-of-age tale buoyed by a powerful lead performance from Saoirse Ronan and a strong, witty script. Acid-sharp and a great addition to the bildungsroman genre.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem directed by Jeff Rowe (2023)
I grew up loving TMNT and I think this new animated feature has done a brilliant job of capturing and reimagining the more anarchic qualities of the original comics. As many critics have noted, the turtles actually seem like real teenagers in this - and the rapport of the young actors successfully translates from their voicework to the film's distinctive animation style. Very entertaining and lots of fun. 

An Actor's Revenge directed by Kon Ichikawa (1963)

I'm a sucker for older Japanese cinema and stories of revenge. As a 1960s film focused on a sympathetic transgender hero in Edo period Japan, Ichikawa's film is such an unusual outlier that it demands to be seen. The unusual style memorably blends minimalist Kabuki theatre aesthetics with the more realistic staging of a film. A really interesting film that isn't like anything else in terms of its look or content. 

The Square directed by Ruben Ostlund (2017)

A razor-sharp satire of the modern art world. Subtle and clever, The Square has a dangerous edge to it and takes no prisoners. Between this and his more recent film, Triangle of Sadness, Ostlund is a filmmaker that I'm keen to see more of. 

Killers of the Flower Moon directed by Martin Scorsese (2023)
What a film. It's heartening to see that Scorsese, now 81 years old, still has such sharp and complex things to say through his chosen art form. Killers of the Flower Moon shines a light on a shameful facet of American history and features a compelling scene-stealing performance from Lily Gladstone.  

The Enigma of Kasper Hauser directed by Werner Herzog (1974)

The Enigma of Kasper Hauser was inspired by the real life mystery of a person who appeared in a 19th century German village and claimed to have grown up in isolation. Herzog's early film remains an intense and equally mysterious piece of cinema. At its centre is a bizarrely magnetic, hilarious, and downright unsettling performance by non-actor Bruno S., who breathes memorable life into the confused creature of the film's title.

Biutiful directed by Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu (2010)

Javier Bardem truly is one of the greatest living actors in the world - in Biutiful he gives an effortlessly moving and understatedly humane performance as a flawed man struggling to survive and do the right thing. A film of feelings and senses, Inarritu beautifully photographs and brings to life Barcelona's underside. 

Where is the Friends Home? directed by Abbas Kiarostami (1987)

An eight-year-old boy undertakes a journey to a nearby village so that he can save a classmate from punishment. At heart it's quite simple and straightforward but the appeal of this film remains difficult to explain in words. I've read others describe it as 'poetic and gentle' and I think that's rather apt.

Barbie directed by Greta Gerwig (2023)

There's not much to say about Barbie that hasn't been said elsewhere. Barbie was a zeitgeist-defining moment for 2023 and, as far as I'm concerned, it was the film of the year. It did new things, had great and hilarious performances, and managed to be hugely popular and astoundingly weird for a mainstream film. 

Dogtooth directed by Yorgos Lanthimos (2009)

Dogtooth... where do I begin? This film carefully constructs a world of mesmerising family dynamics and strange rituals; it's left a lot of people scratching their heads but it's also very difficult to look away from. Lanthimos is now more famous for films like The Favourite, Lobster, and the recently released Poor Things. This Greek film, Dogtooth, was his breakthrough moment and it has the same frightening absurdism that has since made Lanthimos such a creative and unique voice in cinema. 

The Exterminating Angel directed by Luis Bunuel (1966)

A dinner party turns into a nightmare when the guests realise that they inexplicably can't leave the room. I'd seen a few early Bunuel films several years ago but The Exterminating Angel was something else - dark, twistedly funny, and thoughtfully subversive. I think what I enjoyed most about this film is the way that it starts quite normally and then very gradually becomes more and more insane. 

Past Lives directed by Celine Song (2023)

A modern fairy tale of unrequited love that deserves to sit on the shelf alongside other romance classics like Brief Encounter and In the Mood for Love. This film slyly suggests that our increased connectivity (created by social media) is having a profound impact on humanity in ways that we might not have considered. For example, the 'ones that got away' in our past are now forever within reach thanks to the internet. Past Lives ponders the question of whether that's a good thing or not. Greta Lee is wonderful in the lead role and deserves an Oscar nomination. 

Bottoms directed by Emma Seligman (2023)

Teen comedies are such well-trodden territory now that you'd be forgiven for thinking it's all been done. Bottoms successfully challenges this with a fresh new perspective from the creative team of director-writer Emma Seligman and actress-writer Rachel Sennott. Hilarious, subversive, and darkly-absurd. 

L'Avventura directed by Michael Antonioni (1960)

A woman goes missing on a day trip to a barren Mediterranean island and her partner falls in love with her friend while they search. Beautifully shot, tragically enigmatic, and bold in its rejection of traditional narratives. Like a lot of the films on this list, this one stayed with me for a long time after I watched it. If you've seen the second season of the TV series White Lotus, you'll recognise this as the inspiration for the creepy scene in which Aubrey Plaza realises all the men in the town are staring at her. 

Nope directed by Jordan Peele (2022)

I can't stop thinking about this film and everything it says. Nope combines themes related to filmmaking, exploitation, historical erasure, and the relationship between humans and animals. It also packs a few shocks and some unique imagery. Of Peele's three films so far (Get Out, Us, Nope) this is my favourite.

A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood directed by Marielle Heller (2019)

I wept like a baby from start to finish. Tom Hanks is absolutely beautiful as Mr Rogers. Such a powerful and genuine film that challenged the way I think about things.  

Babylon directed by Damien Chazelle (2022)

This film was majorly snubbed at the Oscars last year so I thought it must have been a swing-and-a-miss. I was very much mistaken; Babylon creates a rich tapestry of the final hedonistic days of the silent film era, with memorable performances from Margot Robbie, Brad Pitt, and yes, even Tobey Maguire. Chazelle stages some really big, complicated scenes in Babylon that get the viewer inside the scope and chaos of 1920s Hollywood. A brilliant piece of cinema about cinema - the more I reflect on it, the more great moments I remember.  

Incendies directed by Denis Villeneuve (2010)

Someone put up an image from Incendies on Twitter in response to a thread that talked about film twists. It thankfully didn't give away what the twist was but the high number of positive responses piqued my interest. Incendies plays like a cross between a quest and journalistic procedural, and packs a powerful punch in its traumatic investigation of a family's past.

Dungeons and Dragons: Honor Among Thieves directed by Jonathan Goldstein and John Francis Daley (2023)

I went into this with zero expectations. The last time they tried to make a cinema-released Dungeons and Dragons film it was awful; probably one of the worst films I've ever seen. Thanks to a hilarious ensemble cast with great chemistry, Dungeons and Dragons: Honor Among Thieves is actually an absolute hoot. 

Asteroid City directed by Wes Anderson (2023)

Possibly my favourite Anderson film. Asteroid City has been described as an 'elaborate cinematic diorama' and I've never heard a more apt metaphor... I'd love to watch this a few times so I can better appreciate each of its moving parts and the recursive interaction between the plotlines. Love him or hate him, Anderson's style is completely and utterly his own. There's something to be admired about that. Obviously, I love him. 

Booksmart directed by Olivia Wilde (2019)

Much like Bottoms, this teen comedy manages to breathe life into the genre by offering a different perspective of familiar material. The two leads, Feldstein and Dever, have a great chemistry and I think it's fair to say that the entire film lives on the strength of their rapport. I laughed a lot.

Silence directed by Martin Scorsese (2016)

This is a historical film about the challenges faced by Jesuit priests proselytizing in the religiously-hostile environment of feudal Japan. It's brutal and finely observed and Scorsese, as befitting his talent, presents a mature meditation on deeper themes of faith rather than just presenting an interesting historical period. I wasn't sure about this film at first but two scenes (the final one and the moment when Andrew Garfield meets Liam Neeson) really drove it home for me. 

Reflecting on 2023 - Books and Things

As I sit down to write this, I'm looking back on this blog and how long I've had it. Next year will be the 10th year of The Amber of the Moment but it really doesn't feel like it's been that long. When I started this blog I was continuing a neverending compulsion to write... I've been blogging online since 1999 with various different (now defunct) blogs, but this current blog is now the longest-running one I've ever had. Unbelievably, I've managed to keep it (mostly!) focused on just one or two things (predominantly, the teaching of English and History) with only a few digressions here and there.  

So here we are and 2023 is now coming to a close. I've just finished my first full year working as a Learning and Support Teacher, and it's honestly been one of my most rewarding years as an educator. I didn't get to read as much this year (just over 40 books I think) but I did watch a whole bunch of great films. I've kept my film list mostly to my Instagram and I might put together a top films list on here in a bit. Depends how much time I get over the Summer. 

Below are my 11 favourite books that I read this year, in no particular order. 

1. Cinema Speculation by Quentin Tarantino

With Tarantino's announcement that his next film will be his last, it's nice to know that he still plans to stay immersed in the world of the cinema, albeit as a critic. This collection of essays mixes memoir with recommendations of the director's favourite 1970s films. The combination of Tarantino's cinematic knowledge and his behind-the-scenes connections means that he can offer a unique perspective on film analysis that few can rival. Case in point, Tarantino writes about Steve McQueen (pictured on the cover) whilst offering up information about the screen legend gleaned from his personal conversations with those who knew him. Tarantino's direct access to actual film legends means that his expertise has that edge over many other film fans, making this a must-read for anyone who's a fan of cinema. It also introduced me to some films I'd never seen that I've since watched and loved.

2. The Promise by Damon Galgut

This sprawling epic of a post-Apartheid South Africa presents four decades in the life of an Afrikaner family. As members of the family navigate a shifting socio-political landscape from 1986 to 2018, they fail by varying degrees to make the moral leap into 21st century South Africa. Haunting and hypnotic, Galgut's prose hovers just above the characters' perspectives and effortlessly pulls the reader across a literary landscape both large and intimate. I found myself particularly fascinated by Anton, a truly memorable and oddly charismatic character who sits at the centre of the narrative like a repellent magnet. 

3. Sombrero Fallout by Richard Brautigan

I only discovered Brautigan about 3 years ago, and I'm grateful that this has happened later in my life as I'm almost finished reading all of Kurt Vonnegut's books and needed someone else hilarious and crazy to replace him. It's difficult to describe what makes Brautigan so brilliant, I think you really just have to experience his work firsthand. I read this one in a single walk - it presents two (very loosely) connected narratives; one about a writer who has just lost his girlfriend, the other about a sombrero that randomly falls out of the sky and causes a chain reaction of exponential chaos in a border town. A bizarre and one-of-a-kind book.

4. The Lost Man by Jane Harper

This is my fourth foray into Harper's crime fiction. I think The Lost Man rivals her popular debut The Dry in terms of being tightly constructed, surprising, and unputdownable. Harper is able to evoke the bone-dry hell of the remote outback whilst dipping in and out of several interconnected plotlines. The characters are finely-observed and ring true, and the thematic core of the book resonates beyond the trappings of the murder mystery genre.

5. Around the World in 80 Trees by Jonathan Drori

I picked this up after finishing the magnificent Pulitzer-prize winning tree-themed novel The Overstory. I simply hadn't had enough trees. I wanted more trees, and this delivered on that front. I don't know how you'd even classify this book - it's not quite scientific, though it is written by a scientist, and it's not quite mythology, though it is replete with fascinating sociological and folkloric miscellanea. I read this while walking underneath beautiful trees in the Blue Mountains, and I learned lots about amazing trees from around our planet. 

6. The Narrow Road to the Deep North by Richard Flanagan

I'm hesitant to put this in my list because it left me feeling depressed and experiencing an existential crisis of sorts. I have included it on my list because the quote on the front, 'Devastatingly beautiful', is such an apt description for this powerful WWII novel. Dorrigo Evans, a womanising doctor from remote Tasmania, wrestles with the twin demons of a pre-war affair and his time as a POW on Japan's ill-fated Burma-Siam railway project. Flanagan's novel is kaleidoscopic and incisive, funny and tragic, and relentlessly brutal. It's a book that has sat heavy in my consciousness in the months since I finished it. 

7. Yellowface by R.F. Kuang

Kuang takes a hot topic - cultural appropriation - and skewers it in the biggest possible way with an outrageous racial satire for our times. I won't say too much about Yellowface as it would spoil its many twists and unexpected developments. I'll just say that I read this super quickly and was both highly amused and more than occasionally shocked. My only quibble is that I think the ending could have gone further!

8. Ocean Pools by Chris Chen

I saw this at the start of the year while in a Kiama bookstore, flicked through it, and then put it back down again. It's a coffee table book filled with magnificent photographs of ocean pools, and in the following weeks after I let it go I couldn't get the idea of it out of my head. It became a romantic dream that obsessed me, and I began checking bookstores everywhere back in Western Sydney. Eventually I found it in a Big W in Richmond and I took it home to digest slowly, staring at one or two pools a night. I'm not even that much of a swimmer, there's just something idyllic and old world about these semi-wild pools that sit on the edge of the continent, facing the elements and holding little fragments of history from their coastal communities. I found 'reading' this book to be weirdly therapeutic. 

9. The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry by Rachel Joyce

I read a non-fiction book called The Bookshop Book where its author visited amazing bookstores all over the world. In the course of her travels, various people recommend to her The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry, a charming and arresting tale about a retiree who does exactly what the title says. The endorsements intrigued me so I sought the novel out. In it, hapless Harold goes to mail a letter to a long-lost friend and decides on a whim to hand-deliver it instead, walking over 600 miles from one end of England to the other. It's a journey that takes the reader along too, and its hard not to fall in love with poor Harold as he begins to transform and heal. 

10. Before the Coffee Gets Cold by Toshikazu Kawaguchi

I can't quite put my finger on why I liked this. It's been a smash-hit all over the world and it's such a quirky, strange, disjointed novel. Imagine if you could visit a cafe that allowed you to time travel but, and this is a big 'but', there are several rules in place that heavily restrict the parameters of this travel. I won't tell you what these rules are as part of the joy of this book is the revelation of each of the ridiculous strictures and the ways in which they shape the individual stories of those who would time travel. As I said, it's all a bit strange. 

11. Acting Class by Nick Drnaso

Drnaso's highly-anticipated follow-up to the astonishing Booker Prize-nominated Sabrina is an equally mesmerising look at modern disaffection. Enigmatic and unsettling, Acting Class is Drnaso's most ambitious graphic novel yet, pulling together multiple characters as they're taken through a series of amateur acting lessons. The way this text builds tension through its exploration of the lost and the lonely leads to a burbling sense of terror that's both visceral and thought-provoking. Don't be fooled by Drnaso's deliberately bland drawing style - it fosters a sense of disorientation in the reader that's hard to shake and helps to create a strikingly memorable tone that feels like our feared tomorrows are already here.