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Bright is an authentic portrait of a working class community in Thailand, written in a remarkably clean prose style and with profound compassion. Duanwad Pimwana’s bittersweet novel reveals glimpses of the inner life of Thai culture in such an entertaining and jocular manner that one can’t help but absorb its social realist ingredients with pleasure and ease. With Pimwana’s contribution, contemporary Thai literature is stronger, and I believe that this wonderful translation of one of her best works will prove to be seminal for Thailand’s place in the literary world.
— Prabda Yoon, author of Moving Parts
 
Duanwad Pimwana has a knack for finding the gap between who we are and who we’d like to be, and deftly inserting her scalpel there. Across the villages and cities of Thailand, her characters exist in a state of constant anxiety, unable to fit in but having nowhere else to go.
— Jeremy Tiang, author of State of Emergency
 

The first novel by a Thai woman to appear in English outside of Thailand.

A book equal parts melancholic and exuberant, by an author with a knack for finding the gap between who we are and who we’d like to be.

 
 
 
 
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Good God, where did this wise-beyond-his-years 25-year-old critic’s voice come from? His breath of proudly putrefied air is something to behold. Finally, a new Parker Tyler is on the scene. Yep. Mr. Fox is the real thing.
— John Waters, The New York Times
 
Charlie Fox writes about scary and fabulous monsters, but he really writes about culture, which is the monster’s best and only escape. He is a dazzling writer, unbelievably erudite, and this book is a pleasure to read. Fox’s essays spin out across galaxies of knowledge. Domesticating the difficult, he invites us as his readers to become monsters as well.
— Chris Kraus
 
Charlie Fox is a ferociously gifted critic, whose prose, like a punk Walter Pater’s, attains pure flame. Fox’s sentences, never ‘matchy-matchy’, clash with orthodoxy; I love how extravagantly he leaps between different cultural climes, and how intemperately—and with what impressive erudition!—he pledges allegiance to perversity. Take This Young Monster with you to a desert island; his bons mots will supply you with all the protein you need.
— Wayne Koestenbaum
 

A hallucinatory celebration of artists who raise hell, transform their bodies, anger their elders and show their audience dark, disturbing things.

What does it mean to be a freak? Why might we be wise to think of the present as a time of monstrosity? How does the concept of the monster irradiate our thinking about queerness, disability, children and adolescents?

 
 
Everyone is looking for the next Helen Garner, and Maria Tumarkin shares with Garner a gimlet eye for the flaws in official systems, along with a fascination for the narratives nested in everyday lives. Axiomatic’s symphonic structure, however, recalls Svetlana Alexievich, the Belarusian journalist and Nobel Laureate. She is another for whom reality attracts like a magnet, who has made a career out of appropriating and braiding voices and documents, seeing the world as a chorus and a collage. With this remarkable, wild, risk-laden book, Tumarkin has earned the right to be mentioned in the same breath as both of them.
— The Saturday Paper
 
There is a convention, towards the end of a review, to compare the writer with their peers, contemporary or long gone, to situate them in a continuum, to give a curious reader an idea of what they would expect. But to compare this work to anything on the shelves would be a disservice and, besides, the sheer breathtaking ambition of it has humbled and shamed me out of it. ... With Axiomatic, Tumarkin is simply operating on a higher level to the rest of us.
— Liam Pieper
 
Nobody can write like Maria Tumarkin: she charges headlong into the worst and best of us, with an iron refusal to soften or decorate; sentences bare of artifice, stripped back to the bone, to the nerve; fired by raging grief and love.
— Helen Garner
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The past shapes the present – they teach us that in schools and universities. (Shapes?  Infiltrates, more like; imbues, infuses.) This past cannot be visited like an ageing aunt. It doesn’t live in little zoo enclosures. Half the time, this past is nothing less than the present's beating heart. How to speak of its aliveness? Stories are not enough, history and psychology – not enough.

Maybe this is how.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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In bursts of fizzing, staccato and claustrophobic prose, this modern Australian take on the classic hard-boiled novel bounces you between pulverised English, elastic Cantonese and the new dialect of a digitised world.

Tip over into a subterranean noir of the most electronic generation.

 
 
 
 
Pink Mountain on Locust Island is bright, funny, and tender. Jamie Marina Lau’s surreal and self-possessed prose reads like a teenage daydream.
— Briohny Doyle, author of The Island Will Sink and Adult Fantasy
There is iridescence in this splatter artwork of a novel but, like its cover of light pink splotches against a matt black background, there’s also unknowingness and darkness.
— Thuy On, The Australian
Lau’s surreal prose captures the confusion of adolescence in the 21st century. Vivid, inventive descriptions of yum cha, high-school friendships and claustrophobic apartment-living evoke the experience of growing up in a diasporic community and the sensory overload of being surrounded by people, yet still alone. A stylish yet moving glimpse into the loneliness of being a teenage girl, Pink Mountain on Locust Island heralds the arrival of an electric new Australian writer.
— Kelsey Oldham, Books+Publishing
Pink Mountain on Locust Island by Jamie Marina Lau was a surprise delight. It’s a first novel and it’s like nothing else I’ve read.
— Louise Swinn, The Australian
 
 
 

Inspired by horror fiction, myths and fairy tales, Apple and Knife is an unsettling ride that swerves into the supernatural to explore the dangers and power of occupying a female body in today’s world.

 
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"shockingly bold and macabrely funny, powerfully defamiliarising the cultural lore of patriarchy."

The Saturday Paper