Six hours, forty-six minutes.     

The pharmacy counter at my neighborhood Walgreens opened at 9 am, a full hour later than the rest of the store. I should have known that. When I was sixteen, I worked behind a Walgreens pharmacy counter just like this one, deciphering physicians’ cryptic shorthand and counting pills and holding on the phone with insurance companies and getting yelled at by sexually frustrated men refilling Viagra scripts. I lived and died by that clock.

There is a popular image of the ‘Hexagon’ (the roughly six-sided shape of France) as a powerful, stable national entity with a confident, even overbearing, cultural identity. Colin Jones instead stresses France’s dynamic history as an ethnic and cultural melting pot and its shifting borders as a crucible of military conflict. The central thread of Jones’s engaging story is the tension between contested meanings of ‘Frenchness’ on the one hand, and France’s constant interactions with the wider world on the other.

For centuries, popes have been remote figures, information about their private lives carefully controlled to safeguard their image and promote the mystique of the office. Jesus Wept, describing the past seven popes, provides a good argument for this traditional strategy; it shows what fallible, flawed men they are when details emerge. They were often unpleasant, sometimes bullies, sometimes cowards, sometimes expedient, always intensely political – though the last is an unavoidable part of the job.

Gerald Glaskin’s 1965 novel No End to the Way is high on melodrama and long out of print, but it had a life-changing effect on Tony Scotland. Published under the pseudonym Neville Jackson, it examines the tangled relations of three gay men living in Australia in the 1960s. Two of them live in a configuration resembling wedlock, until the third (the ex-lover of one of the men), in a spasm of envy, blackmails the couple and dynamites the relationship.

It is hard to explain the special place that orchids occupy in our hearts and imaginations. Their attraction can’t be solely attributed to their strange form, longevity, or apparent scarcity, since there are many other flowers equally blessed that are not treated with the same passionate intensity and reverence. For some reason, orchids have become imbued with some kind of mystery, desire, and exoticism that has less to do with anything intrinsic about their biology or appearance and everything to do with the stories, myths, and legends that have been created around them.

It always surprises me when I encounter someone so well read that they seem to have every obscure literary reference to hand and yet the late Canadian writer Mavis Gallant has managed entirely to escape not just their attention but their knowledge. ‘Who?’ they will ask. ‘How do you spell that?’ Offer them titles of collections and stories and their perplexity only deepens. The Uncollected Stories of Mavis Gallant, edited by American novelist Garth Risk Hallberg and published by New York Review Books, both tries to explain that underappreciation and to ensure that every serious reader knows precisely why one might wish to spend time in Gallant’s idiosyncratic and determinedly realist house of fiction.

That the majority of the sounds and experiences of the early years of radio are lost to us poses considerable challenges for historians. The losses include the expressions of local innovations and experimental broadcasts across global contexts that predate the establishment of organisations, often with ambitions of a national reach, such as the BBC (1922), the ABC (1923), and Radio Bangkok of Phaya Thai (1930).

There has been, for some time, a debate among researchers of Australian history. Should the moral and psychological dimensions of settler experience be examined, or do we know enough already?

Editors tend not to look back – there is simply no time for nostalgia. Many literary editors in Australia work alone, or with one or two part-time assistants. Australian Book Review now has a staff of four (it was three when I began in 2001). This may seem huge, but check out the imprint pages of like publications in London or New York and note the difference. We smile when people ring our office and ask to speak to the advertising manager or the marketing manager. As if!

There are moments in political history when the electoral contest is real, visceral, and there are other times when the governing party is so visibly exhausted and the context so apparently unfavourable that the prudent move is not to try too hard to win. Such was the case at the last British general election, held in July 2024. After four consecutive victories, five changes of prime minister, and a litany of disasters, scandals, and failures, the governing Conservative regime led by the likeable but hapless Rishi Sunak finally keeled over and gave way to Keir Starmer’s Labour Party. Starmer won a majority of 174 seats, with a relatively modest thirty-four per cent of the popular vote.