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On a current affairs segment devoted to the events in Rwanda an Israeli doctor spoke with a great sense of purpose about the work he wad doing to save lives, especially those of Rwandan children. I feel so proud to be here, he told the interviewer, pointing out how the water he was providing to the patients could make all the difference between life and death. There was no denying his commitment, but there was something in his answers which subtly conflicted with his humanitarianism. Another interview followed with an African woman, an army nurse, who was forced to attend to the Rwandan refugees by virtue of her employment. When asked how she felt about the situation, she replied, with admirable precision, that it was horrible. This response clearly perplexed the interviewer. Of course, the crisis itself was ‘horrible’, but surely her role in it partook of the heroic. He tried again: Yes, but how do you feel? A long pause, and then her angry reply: I don’t want to talk about my personal feelings.

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For some time now literary criticism has been fascinated by the role of naming, and the inscription of the name, in relation to the identity of the self. There are rich pickings to be had from examining autobiography for the way the writer reveals and hides behind the words with which a life is described. And in this era of autobiographical and biographical tumescence, it is most important that the analysis of such writing is done by those with the ability to do so. Think of the recent debates over biographies and autobiographies in Australia and you will quickly recognise how unsophisticated is our general understanding of what is going on when a life is inscribed, and yet how different the living is from the writing.

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Sometimes I long for beauty – in a book I want beautiful writing and even some beauty illuminated in everyday experience. Fiona McGregor’s short story collection does little to ease my longing.

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When I discovered that a novel set in my native Newfoundland had won the 1993 Irish Times International Fiction Prize, I was a little surprised. Newfoundland, isolated and little known outside Canada, seemed an unlikely setting for an acclaimed novel.

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Bryce Fraser takes a break from his inner city flat and moves to the ideal writer’s retreat: a waterfront cottage amongst the trees – and only twenty minutes from the centre of Sydney. He goes fishing and spears, in a most unsportsmanlike fashion, what turns out to be Lennie, the neighbours’ pet leatherjacket who lived beneath the jetty. Oddly enough, these same neighbours entrust him with the job of becoming minder to Rummy, the dingo.

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When reviewing Matthew Rubinstein,
One is tempted to revert to rhyme.
This opus he has undertaken
Has left me somewhat pale and shaken
At the audacity of his task.
What possessed him, one well may ask
To undertake this mammoth effort?
To play with all that he’s been taught
From Seth, Shakespeare and Tolkien too
It’s really quite a thing to do.
But does it work? Now there’s the rub …
What future for this gifted cub?

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The Phoenix by Abdul K. Sabawi

by
October 1994, no. 165

Youness, a Bedouin from the Ananza tribe, comes in from the desert with his slaves and a thousand she-camels. His wish is to buy an olive valley on the outskirts of Gaza, the place where his mother is buried. Youness buys the olive valley and marries Fatima, daughter of the chief of Tuffa (a district of Gaza).

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Cowrie by Cathie Dunsford

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October 1994, no. 165

Cowrie makes a pilgrimage from New Zealand to Punalu’u, a Hawai’ian island where her grandfather once lived. She is welcomed by her extended family who live very simply and well on this bountiful island. Cowrie, who is a lesbian, revels in her family’s harmonious way of life, and begins to fall in love with Koana, a heterosexual woman.

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Mary Bates, a young Australian living in London in the 1930s, is advised by Dr Gerald Somerset where to do her nursing training: ‘The London for hard work. St Mary’s for sport. Guy’s for flirts … and St Thomas’s for ladies,’ he says. Mary thinks Gerald would be as cold in bed as a dozen frozen eggs, but nevertheless she takes his advice and applies to St Thomas’s Hospital.

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In 1960, Dr William McBride drew the world’s attention to the dangers of thalidomide. This drug had been found to cause multiple severe abnormalities in babies born to women who has taken it during early pregnancy. In 1961, thalidomide was withdrawn from sale in Australia, and McBride’s reputation grew as an authority on drug-induced birth defects. In 1971 he was awarded the inaugural BP Prize of the Institut de la Vie for his discovery. He used the prize money to establish Foundation 41, where he continued his research.

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