Josephine Rowe’s third novel, Little World, is a little novel, at least in terms of its length, which resembles that of a novella. Little World is also about a little person, specifically a child, or rather, the preserved corpse of a child, said to be a saint. There is nothing small, though, about the novel’s impact, which is grandly and enduringly enigmatic.

When I think of Peter Rose’s legacy and his immense contributions to Australian letters as Editor of Australian Book Review, there are manifold achievements I might highlight. Peter has wholly transformed the magazine’s ambitions and horizons over his tenure, elevating ABR into an indispensable, world-class publication offering outstanding commentary, criticism, creative work, and coverage of the performing arts. He has shaped the national conversation in infinite ways, offering our best minds scope to debate the pressing issues of our times in complex, nuanced exchanges that are vanishingly rare elsewhere. He has served as a distinguished and tireless public advocate for the value of criticism, the arts, and the humanities, and has done so much to advocate for writers and writing, building prizes, fellowships, and other initiatives that continue to create vital opportunities and recognition for writers today. More quietly but no less diligently, he has also worked tirelessly to protect and preserve ABR as a jewel of Australian literature for generations to come.

The New York Review Classics series has done much to keep canonical writers in print, having already published in smart paperback editions three lesser-known novels by Henry James: The Other House, The Outcry, and The Ivory Tower. These two new additions to the series, a selection of James’s essays ‘on writers and writing’, edited by eminent James scholar Michael Gorra, and a critical discussion of James’s The American Scene by Yale emeritus professor Peter Brooks, make further valuable contributions to the NYRB library.

The three-volume History of the Book in Australia is now complete. Scholars of Australian book history would be aware that an earlier volume, covering 1891–1945, appeared in 2001 (A National Culture in a Colonised Market, edited by Martyn Lyons and John Arnold) and that in 2006 a second volume brought the story up to 2005 (Paper Empires, edited by Craig Munro and Robyn Sheahan-Bright). Both titles were published by the University of Queensland Press. The end of that publisher’s capacity to support the project, with Australian Research Council funds long gone, is one challenge among others cited by co-editor Wallace Kirsop that sheds light on the long gestation of this final volume. The last to be published, it is in fact the first in the History’s series, covering the period 1788 to 1890.  

Rising seas, mega fires, drought, melting glaciers, and animal extinctions are not exactly the stuff of fiction in 2025. But these themes are also precisely the domain of fiction that speaks of the climate at this moment in the planet’s history, as Susie Greenhill’s début novel, The Clinking, demonstrates with its tender yet insistent call for us to pay attention to this fragile world.

Lying and half-truths. Raging ambition. In the lead-up to another Australian federal election, these traits too often define our political class. But they are also germane to I Want Everything – no, not the autobiography of Elon Musk, but an entertaining début novel from Dominic Amerena, which also happens to be the first title under a new Simon & Schuster imprint, Summit Books Australia.

There is no shortage of statistics pointing to the prevalence of misogyny and violence against women, not least the oft-cited figure that one woman is murdered each week in Australia. But sometimes anecdotes reveal the systemic nature of a problem in a way that figures cannot. In her memoir, Groomed, Sonia Orchard recalls attending a social gathering in St Kilda thirty years after she was abused as a fifteen-year-old high school student. At the party, she recognises a male teacher from her school, who, when he sees her, exclaims loudly in front of other guests: ‘I remember you! You used to think you were so hot, didn’t you? Strutting around in your little school dress.’

‘The last word on The Ring will never be written,’ writes Michael Downes in the Prologue to his new book outlining the creative history of Richard Wagner’s tetralogy. As with everything else in Story of the Century: Wagner and the creation of The Ring, Downes makes good sense, for a seemingly infinite number of interpretations of Wagner’s magnum opus are possible. Wagner believed in the power of myth, and the Ring is timeless – about more than the giants, gods, dwarves, and humans it portrays. While on one hand it seems to be a warning against the abuse and retention of power in which love ultimately triumphs, on the other it has been taken as a manifesto for German nationalism and unsavoury racial views. The Ring has also been viewed as a comment on the industrialisation of Wagner’s era, a warning against ecological disaster, as a socialist allegory, even in terms of Jungian psychology – to mention just a few examples, all of which testify to the hold it has over people.

The Divine Comedy (1308-21) is an iconic narrative poem widely studied in schools and universities all over the world. At a time obsessed with the ‘here and now’, one may wonder, as a student of mine did in their anonymous evaluation of one of my units, why ‘we should still study a poet who died one thousand years ago’. By taking on the job of mapping the reception of the Divine Comedy, Joseph Luzzi’s book powerfully answers my student’s perplexed query.

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.