Kate Macdonell

If I were inclined to draw connections between books and food, Joy Dettman’s first novel would have to be a hamburger: it’s big, it’s juicy, it’s relatively quick to consume and it’s packed with all the generic trimmings of which a good meaty mystery is made. And while certainly Mallawindy’s characters are thus rather stereotypical and the quality of Dettman’s writing a little clumsy at times, this book is worth sampling if you’re ever so slightly addicted to narratives with gusto. It’s the kind of book you could easily enjoy on the plane, on the tram, or, yes, even on the couch and forget where you were – and this is apt given that one of the primary concerns of this book is not so much food (although a portion of it has made its way into Michael Gifkins’ 1994 extravaganza, Tart and Juicy) as memory loss.

When I mentioned to one of my exceptionally brainy friends that I was reviewing Jocelynne Scutt’s recent collection of speeches and papers – most of which were written during the late 1980s and 1990s and which have now been edited for a two volume work entitled The Incredible Woman – I was, strange as it may seem, not surprised to hear her say that the very thought of reading anything by Scutt made her anxious. For while those of us who are familiar with Scutt’s work will be aware of how wonderfully accessible it is, those who are familiar instead with Scutt’s formidable reputation might well presume that her writing will be heavy­going. It’s not. And because Incredible is both accessible and an important contribution to feminist politics, it would be a pity if people shied away from it.