To explain the great arc of human experience is daunting. In Guns, Germs and Steel: The fates of human societies (1997), Jared Diamond argued that environment and geography shape culture and technology, allowing some societies to prosper while others fail. In Sapiens: A brief history of humankind (2011), Yuval Noah Harari described successive revolutions that saw one variety of humans transform the planet. Harari lamented the decision to leave the hunter-gatherer life for agriculture; populations grew in number but became victims of regular famine, war, and disease.

Today, women’s sports are undergoing a major transformation. The change is dramatic, especially in cricket and football, sports previously seen as non-traditional for women. These sports are experiencing a surge in player numbers, an increase in revenue, sustained sponsorship, record crowds, improved recognition, media and television coverage, and advances in governance. This has led to a greater thirst for and curiosity about the players’ stories. In turn, this has resulted in the timely commercialisation of their histories.

Ita Buttrose is someone Australians know; she’s someone that Australians trust’, said Scott Morrison, when he announced Ita Buttrose’s appointment as Chair of the Australian Broadcasting Corporation (ABC). For once, Morrison was saying something likely true. Buttrose’s long career in the media, especially in leadership positions, had afforded her a visibility, familiarity, and goodwill enjoyed by few in Australia.

A curious feature of the creamy new edition of Helen Garner’s diaries: it carries only one blurb, and it is not by some literary heavyweight but by Nigella Lawson. At first, I found this confounding, but I soon began to see parallels between the two. Both are funny, spontaneous sensualists; both have been subjected to harsh public scrutiny and experienced a certain degree of messiness in their personal lives; and both are magnificent women. In the words of Anne Enright, they are, in their various ways, ‘acclaimed celebrator[s] of the poetic quotidian’.

Aboriginal poetry has the ability to hold love and rage simultaneously. Luke Patterson’s début A Savage Turn does this masterfully, constructing pieces full of fire and defiance ‘amongst the love / poems’. In this collection, Patterson - a Gamilaroi poet, educator, and musician – unpacks colonial myth and legacy, subverts reader expectations, and teases out a tenderness that nourishes this collection.

Arts highlights

This issue we present the best arts productions of 2025, as nominated by our critics. Across film, theatre, music, visual art, opera, dance, and television, ABR Arts continues to publish erudite, long-form, professionally edited, and independent arts reviews at a time when space for such work is diminishing across the sector. Thank you to all our critics in 2025 and to our arts readers, an enthusiastic cohort who enliven us with letters, comments, emails, and a staggering number of website hits. There is an appetite for arts criticism in this country. Our critics show that, despite the pressures facing the arts sector, and the controversies that dominated arts journalism in 2025, there remains an appetite for well-constructed and elevating productions.

Troy Bramston is fast becoming the Peter FitzSimons of Australian political biography. Every few years a door-stopping volume on a prime minister appears, brandishing the same formula of ‘never before seen’ documents and ‘fresh revelations’. In the Acknowledgements to this latest biography of Gough Whitlam, Bramston virtually pleads with readers to render homage to the ‘hundreds’ of interviews he conducted, the ‘thousands’ of pages turned in archives, the miles clocked in libraries visited. There is a diligent busyness to the enterprise. But Bramston’s relentless emphasis on the quantitative smothers his underlying inability to master the material. The result, sadly, is an incomplete picture of Whitlam: a workman-like chronicle of the life, but not a deep exploration of the political and intellectual dimensions of the man.

As someone with no background in ecology, I felt uneasy at the prospect of reading the latest work of Darryl Jones, an expert in the field. Partly, my fear was that Jones’s lessons would be too technical for me to understand. Partly, it was a murkier fear: I pictured the Professor of Ecology despairing and exhausted because nobody was heeding his warnings, and readied myself to be scolded, or at least left feeling vaguely guilty. 

I learnt about the Erin Patterson verdict from Allen & Unwin. They broke the news with a PR blast for Greg Haddrick’s The Mushroom Murders: ‘A family lunch. Three deaths. What really happened?’ (a tagline designed to fit any outcome). I checked the timestamps. The jury had been discharged from the Morwell courthouse at 2:28 pm; the marketing email landed in my inbox at 3:28 pm. It takes longer to wrap and roast a beef wellington.

Now eighty-eight years old, the famously private Thomas Pynchon has produced his first book since the publication of Bleeding Edge in 2013. Shadow Ticket – appearing sixty-two years after his first novel, V. – is immediately recognisable within Pynchon’s distinctive, postmodern oeuvre. The plot swerves between real and alternative worlds, various literary and cinematic genres are parodied, and established conventions of narrative representation are undermined.