For a man who was supposed to have a shot memory, Alan Bond has a remarkable power of recall. In the mid1990s, facing fraud charges concerning his dealings in Manet’s painting La Promenade, he – or rather, his barristers – successfully argued in court that a series of minor strokes had left him with brain damage and a memory so defective he couldn’t possibly be expected to answer pros ... (read more)
Craig Sherborne
Craig Sherborne is an Australian poet, playwright and novelist based in Melbourne. His most recent book is The Grass Hotel (2022).
A review of Hannie Rayson’s Two Brothers, first performed by the Melbourne Theatre Company in April 2005. The Sydney Theatre Company is presenting the same production at the Drama Theatre, Sydney Opera House, until July 2. It then moves to Canberra’s Playhouse (July 14 to 23).
Not so long ago, Melbourne theatre-goers would say of Sydney audiences, ‘If it moves, they’ll clap it.’ These d ... (read more)
If Cheryl Kernot writes another book – and if Speaking for Myself Again is anything to go by, you had better hope she doesn’t – her publishers should at the very least make sure the punctuation police do their job. It appears they didn’t even show up to the scene of the accident this time. Exclamation marks are strewn throughout the work. Each time Kernot wants to bitterly labour a point, ... (read more)
Australia has become a cocktail country. Those multicoloured, sorbet-like concoctions that young women drink in twilight-lit bars with techno music for a soundtrack. Liquid lollies for the adult-children of our economic prosperity. It has not, however, become a martini country, as Frank Moorhouse might put it. No matter how many little cocktail bars spring up, often without signage, in the backstr ... (read more)
The Cabinet of Wins
A stable of silverwas our sacred skite.It’s the poor in usmy father said; we are illwith going withouteven when we gaina stable of silver.‘Bring the guests this way, son.’That’s Oreka from his Hothamrout. That’s Ima Martian fromleading all the way.Sliding the glass, the mirror skins
... (read more)
... (read more)
It’s before I got the wandering eye.I daydream I’ve already left:without her each morning I’d be able to wake,stretch in bed-warmth, blink used to light, not liefeigning sleep in case she cradles my back,her lap flexing for my elbow to liftto take her arm onto my chest. I keep stilluntil she shadow-dresses upon the wall.
... (read more)