The Bedside Bookstack – Summer 2025 & 2026

The Wedding People by Alison Espach, Phoenix, 2024

Phoebe goes to a heritage oceanside hotel in Rhode Island to kill herself. She’s been enduring life for the past two years but has nothing left to keep her going. The hotel however, has been completely booked out for the next week for Lila and Gary’s wedding.

I don’t know how she does it but depression and suicide sit respectfully next to drama and romance without either losing their shape in this book which I feel is flying way too far below the radar in Australia.

This was my read of the summer. I just loved it. It’s one of those books where again and again you think ‘Yes, that’s exactly how it is. That’s exactly what we’d say, how it feels.’ I loved it. The depth and the humour were just perfect.

Notes on Your Sudden Disappearance by Alison Espach, Phoenix, 2022

Loving The Wedding People so much, I immediately looked up Alison Espach’s back catalogue and got my hands on this one lickety split.…..it was also great. I loved it as much as The Wedding People. They’re very different books but also incredibly similar in that she’s done it again, managed to very seamlessly and respectfully blend humour and hope with the darker themes of grief and loss.

Sally’s sister Kathy dies suddenly in a car crash at 16. The novel is written in second person (not easy to pull off) with Sally telling Kathy about everything that has happened since her death.

The Book of Alchemy by Suleika Jaouad, Square Peg (Vintage) , 2025

A new book to add to my Top 5 for writers – although this one is actually for anyone. I’m always needing a reset with my relationship to writing and looking for a low stakes way back in to creating a regular habit. This book feels biblical to me at the moment, also in its achievability. I have very little free time and it only demands about 15 minutes (that’s a minimum – you could write for as long as you need/want).

This was born out of the pandemic when Suleika Jaouad needed something to tether her to the timeless days. For 100 days she got different friends/writers/creatives to post a short essay with a journalling prompt related to it. And that’s what this is, 100 mini essays divided into 10 themes with something to think about and write at the end of each one. Sitting down with this book is one of the highlights of my day. An absolute read (and write) recommendation for anyone who believes in the magic that can happen when you journal.

We Need Your Art by Amie McNee, Penguin, 2025

Another creativity call-to-action. I know that over the summer I’m never going to get much time to work on any of my writing projects, so I like to read craft and creativity books. This one was also timely for me. If you’ve been reading the Bookstack for a while, you’ll know that I lost my mum last year. There was not a lot of writing that happened and once you’re in that vortex, it can be hard to find a way back to the page.

Amie McNee’s book was written for someone like me, who is unlikely to see hours of uninterrupted writing time for years maybe. Her manifesto is simple. Firstly, give yourself permission to create. Don’t wait for gatekeepers to grant it and don’t not do it because of possibly shit outcomes. Secondly, don’t set aside precious tracts of time for it that are then so laden with expectation that anything less than perfection is possible, because of course perfection freezes things up and is a great way to not do anything. All of this was sounding very familiar to me. Her suggestion is to create daily/regularly for short amounts of time. It’s low-stakes and high output/practice and we all know that the process and doing is where the real sustenance is.

Stinkbug by Sinead Stubbins, Affirm Press, 2025

Edith and her ad agency colleagues are sent to a remote corporate team building retreat for a few days. They’re being bought by a Swedish company and no one knows if this is a way to choose who stays after the deal. This is a dark satire on workplace dynamics, corporate expectations and the intense relationships you can have with people you don’t have that much in common with.

For me, Edith was an interesting exercise in reading an unlikeable female character. She drove me mad for the first half of the book and then she started accessing more of her rage/power/sense of self which was a relief. Has made me think about our expectations of what an author is offering us in their characters and why I seem to think they shouldn’t be uncomfortable to read. I was surprised by how much she riled me up.

The Illuminations by Andrew O’Hagan, Faber & Faber, 2015

I think Andrew O’Hagan is an absolute master, so it was interesting that this book took me ages to read. I’m still trying to figure out if my late December back-to-back romance binge changed my reading ability so that I was used to quicker returns on my reading or if it’s still too soon for me to be reading an Alzheimer’s narrative when I so recently lived through one.

Anne Quirk used to be a photographer. She’s now in independent living recalling the old days of Harry, her love, and their time in Blackpool together. This is beautifully written in snippets which nicely mirror not only Anne’s memories coming and going but also the photos she took when she was younger. I like this structure, bouncing around and not beholden to strict linear progression.

There’s a parallel narrative with Anne’s grandson, Luke, who serves over in Afghanistan. As he grapples with the present, she conjures up her past and in the middle is her daughter, who knows that often memories are what you want them to be.

The Transit of Venus by Shirley Hazzard, Penguin (with intro by Lauren Groff), 2021

This one feels like a rerun of my experience with The Illuminations. I’m loving it but it’s taking me ages to read. The writing is so rich and gorgeous and clever but I feel like I’ve wrecked my brain a bit for ‘hard’ books, so when I’m tired at night, I just don’t reach for it. If I wake early and can snatch a few quiet minutes, I read it and have to re-read whole passages for how clever they are.

This is about two Australian sisters who have moved to post-war England. I’m only at Chapter 4 but especially love reading about how an antipodean experiences the northern hemisphere. It may have been written decades ago but it feels the same to live through the distinct seasons of a continental climate (with its extremes of green and the long loss of it) when you’ve only ever read about them.

Not usually big on reading introductions to books but this edition has one by Lauren Groff, so happily changed my habit.

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The bedside bookstack –March 2025

The Night Watchman by Louise Erdrich, Corsair, 2020

This book is loosely based on Louise Erdrich’s grandfather who rallied the Turtle Mountain Reservation Chippewa Council and surrounding communities to stand against the US government’s 1953 ‘Emancipation Bill’.

The story is told along parallel lines following Thomas Wazhushk, the Night Watchman and his niece Pixie Paranteau who is searching for her sister who has left for the city but hasn’t been heard from. It’s Louise Erdrich, and a good story is always safe in her hands, so it’s a rich read in both form and content.

Bunny by Mona Awad, Head of Zeus, 2019

Hmmm. This one starts off whip-smart with our narrator’s arch observations of her teachers and fellow classmates at a prestigious arts college hitting just the right notes. But as things continued it felt like one of those movies where the preview is better than the movie.

It’s dark, satirical and subversive but after 200 hundred odd pages of Stepford-wifesque sorority girls creating perfect men from fluffy rabbits, it was just too OTT. I know, probably the point.

The End and Everything Before It by Finegan Kruckemeyer, Text, 2024

This debut reads like fable with its magic realist jumps in time and its looping in on itself as we revisit the same hill and stretch of coastline again and again seeing how the people slot into place before and after each other.

There is a building on the hill which was a prison and then a hospital, an orphanage and then knocked down and reforested. We meet an occupant from each iteration and see how their heart and hope changed things a little for those who came next.

You don’t have to have a dream by Tim Minchin, Penguin 2024

This very readable little number is an illustrated collection of three speeches Tim Minchin gave at various institutions and an introduction to each. He has so much heart and it’s all out on his sleeve here. These are words to reassure and guide creatives and I’d have to say that some of them came at just the right time for me.

Following the Moon by James Norbury, Michael Joseph, 2024

This is another book for conflicted creatives. It carries the message of ‘keep going’ and ‘it’s the journey not the destination’ through the simple illustrated story of a little lost puppy and the wolf who tries to lead her back to her parents by following the moon.

James Norbury also wrote Big Panda and Tiny Dragon, which has apparently sold millions of copies. I’m glad he’s found his audience because he also has a lot of heart and in our loud world it’s nice to see that there’s still room for quiet reassurances.

The Dangers of Smoking in Bed by Mariana Enriquez, Granta, 2021

These short stories are a walk on the dark side – hauntings, madness, missing children, abject desires and base behaviour. From Buenos Aires to Madrid, they’re always in the shadows where motives are suspect and it’s hard to find the light. A little heavy for my head at the time though, alas.

Out of Sheer Rage by Geoff Dyer, Canongate, 1997

I ended up in a state of sheer rage that I picked this book up for 5 hours worth of train trip. Geoff Dyer wants to write a book about D.H. Laurence, not just yet, maybe he’ll write a novel first. No. He’s definitely going to start the D.H. Laurence book. But he might do some notes for the novel before that.

On it goes, page after page, procrastinating through European cities and Mediterranean islands. I’m too busy dealing with my own indecisiveness and anxiety to relish reading about someone else’s in such forensic detail. It drove me mad and I jumped ship. Funny how some things can be such a miss. It came recommended with such high praise from a festival interview.

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Emotional Excavation or why my anger about a late yoga class isn’t really about standing in a wind tunnel

I love a bit of emotional excavation. Curiosity about events which seem to disproportionately trigger can yield some very interesting results. I feel like I’m an archaeologist on a Stone Age dig. I get out a little brush, because we want to be delicate, right? And then I start working backwards slowly scratching and scraping and asking Why does that annoy me?.  A little something is revealed, so I scratch and scrape and ask it again. Keep scratching and scraping and you arrive at some surprising points of origin.

The doors to my yoga studio are supposed to open 15 minutes before the next class. Then there’s time for a bit of bustle in the foyer. People say quick hellos, stash shoes and put phones on silent before heading in to the studio and setting up.

My yoga teacher, really nice guy, loves a chat. This means that often his classes run over time and the doors to the foyer don’t open until five or ten minutes before the class is supposed to start. The class usually still starts on time-ish but it’s the waiting outside which really gets to me.

We wait in a line along the side of the building. In winter it’s a wind tunnel and absolutely freezing. In summer, there’s no where to hide from the sun. There isn’t much talking either because we all know how the sound travels and that there’s a class currently running.

I get colder and crankier waiting for the doors to open and by the time they do, I can barely smile at our teacher as he opens it up. In the scheme of things, none of this is a big deal. Why so seething over something so small?

Yoga class is a contemplative place and last week while I was lying supine and cranky, I did a little emotional excavation on why waiting for a few minutes was such a trigger for me.

Scratch. Scrape.

Being made to wait feels like you’re not ranked as important enough for the other person to make the effort to be on time.

Scratch. Scrape.

The class before ours is the Advanced Class, so it feels like they are favoured and given more time than those of us waiting outside in a lower class.

Scratch. Scrape.

I’ve been doing yoga on and off now for about six years but I still feel like a beginner. I can’t get to classes more than once a week. Sometimes, because of work and family and life, three weeks or a month passes between classes. When I go again, it feels like I’m back at the beginning and so there’s a general feeling of time passing and me showing up, albeit intermittently, but still being in the same spot.

Scratch. Scrape.

This rather embarrassingly mirrors frustrations in my creative life. Time is passing. I’m showing up, albeit intermittently, things move forward and then things stagnate and it feels like I’m back at the beginning or not moving anywhere.

Scratch. Scrape.

So, when I’m waiting in the wind tunnel for my yoga class, I’m not really annoyed about the advanced class running over time, I’m annoyed about time passing in the real world while my creative life stays in the same place.

Scratch. Scrape.

No, that’s pretty much it. It doesn’t feel great when you don’t feel like you’re getting anywhere.

Fair enough.

And wear a warmer jacket for the wind tunnel.  

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