Showing results by narrator "Ailsa Piper" in All Categories

A woman abandons her city life and marriage to return to the place she grew up, finding solace in a small religious community hidden away on the stark plains of the Monaro. She does not believe in God, doesn't know what prayer is, and finds herself living this strange, reclusive life almost by accident. As she gradually adjusts to the rhythms of monastic life, she ruminates on her childhood in the nearby town. She finds herself turning again and again to thoughts of her mother, whose early death she can't forget.

Two women awaken from a drugged sleep to find themselves imprisoned in an abandoned property in the middle of a desert. The Natural Way of Things is a gripping, starkly imaginative exploration of contemporary misogyny and corporate control, and of what it means to hunt and be hunted. But most of all, it is the story of two friends, their sisterly love and courage.

In this perceptive, compelling essay, Katharine Murphy offers a profile of Anthony Albanese in motion – a piece about character, the balance of forces, and the mood of the nation. Are Albanese and his party up for change? Are Australians up for it? What does the new prime minister embody, if anything? Has the centre of the polity shifted, with the success of the Teals and the Greens? Where could – and should – the new government be ambitious?

I landed in this place six years ago in a welter of panic, pain and instinct. I'd been in fight-or-flight mode for twelve months, wanting only to keep on flying—or fleeing. I brought almost nothing of my previous life. Grief had made me ruthless; I threw and threw. (And yes, I knew how appalled you'd have been, Pete.) My father implored me to stay with the familiar. Constants, he said, would give me scaffolding. Decades ago, when his second wife, my stepmother, died suddenly, habits were his protection and rituals his comfort—along with a packet or two of cigarettes a day.

Pilgrim seeks sinners for mutually beneficial arrangement. Tireless. Result-oriented. Reliable. Seven Deadlies a specialty. On her 1,300 kilometre pilgrimage from Granada to Galicia, Ailsa Piper carried an unusual cargo. Walking in the tradition of medieval believers who paid others to carry their sins, Ailsa lugged a swag of confessions from friends, colleagues and strangers.

Charlotte Wood’s The Writer's Room is essential for writers at all stages of their careers, and also pure pleasure for booklovers everywhere. Charlotte's interviews with a wide variety of well-known writers, range in topic from the subject matter of the writers' work to intricate - and intimate - revelations about the ways in which they work. Frank about the failures and successes, the struggles and triumphs of the writing life, this is a must for writers.

It all began when Tony Doherty, an 80-year-old priest, emailed writer Ailsa Piper to say how much he enjoyed her latest book. Soon emails were flying back and forth as these two inquisitive minds shared stories, experiences, questions and ideas over the course of many seasons. And through this exchange grew an unexpected but deep friendship.

It is the winter of 1985. Hope Farm sticks out of the ragged landscape like a decaying tooth, its weatherboard walls sagging into the undergrowth. Silver's mother, Ishtar, has fallen for the charismatic Miller, and the three of them have moved to the rural hippie commune to make a new start. But here, at just 13, she is thrust into an unrelenting adult world, and the walls begin to come tumbling down, with deadly consequences.

Bridget and Simone aren't friends. But their daughters are in the same dance troupe, so they're flying to Los Angeles for the girls to perform at Disneyland. Simone's daughter Zahra is indisputably a leader in the group, but Bridget's daughter Becky is a talent on the rise. Simone and her husband are accustomed to business class, but Bridget is less comfortable there. Both lonely women are surprised to find something in common, until Bridget discovers images of Zahra and other dancers that shock her. Are they exploitative or art?