Books like The Forest of Dead Children — picked by fans

Few short stories collection come with a pairing in illustrated poetry. Aussie Steve Simpson’s The Purpose of Reality: Solar has a poetic cousin in The Purpose of Reality: Lunar, both illustrated with his own evolutionary art, full of pattern, texture, and a dreamy luminescence. The stories are phantastic and philosophical in their metaphor and silhouette that perfectly weds with the illustrations. The blurring of reality and reverie in The Purpose of Reality: Solar is almost psychedelic and metafictional, gliding into slipstream fiction that makes it a rare work for the inquisitive reader. 

No easy way describes Kaaron Warren’s darkest mind full of mischief and intensity. She’s a global legend, no worries, with her distinctive Australian tongue. Find wicked excitement in Warren’s horror, disturbing in its nature, leaving nothing untouched. Even babies are not safe. This primer is a quick introduction to ominous storytelling, that may pave way to curiosity into award-winning works, including Tide of Stone or Into Bones Like Oil. Starting here, with illustrations and an exegetical analysis by Michael Arnzen, is perhaps the soundest way to dip a toe into the humour, surreally, and darkness of this author’s alluring text. 

The quality and production of this phenomenal hardcover of imposing size are mesmeric. Its metaphoric text on mental illness and accompanying artwork are visually appealing and poignantly immersive. Transformative text transports the reader, any reader—child, young adult, adult—to beauty and hurt, evolution and transformation. The perfect book for anyone living with psychosis or other illness, and for everyone else to understand the fragility of debilitating conditions.  

Not many novellas punch their weight this hard as Matthew R. Davis’ The Dark Matter of Natasha. Addressing almost with levity matters of suicide, this tiny book is entrapping with the disquieting dread yet morbid curiosity it rouses in you. It’s an intelligent story oozing with the sexual urgency of young adulthood. An orgasmic psychological thriller amalgamated with deep haunting, The Dark Matter of Natasha is a compelling conversation on the topic of teen self-harm. Macabre, intimate and beautiful all at once. 

Andrew Hook is a European slipstream author proficient in the literary weird. He certainly does not disappoint in his new collection of Hollywood’s living dead. Candescent Blooms rouses legends of the silver screen right there in your living room, and they are broken, unbroken, full of many secrets. And you know, you know—because history says so—that the actors and actresses are dead, yet living, right there on your page. Imbued with levity wrapped in anguish. Thimble-sized, you will not find a literary collection this superb in a long time.   

Australian women won the right to vote decades before their British and American sisters. In 1893 the colony of South Australia was the second place to grant it, after New Zealand the year before, and the first to give women the right to stand for parliament. Many Australian women joined the international suffrage crusade as activists, agitators, and intellectuals. This is their story, as they marched, organised, lectured, and staged amazing stunts, like dropping handbills from a dirigible on the procession of King Edward to open the winter session of the British parliament in 1909. 

One of the best ways to explore the fabulous, vast country of Australia is with a caravan or RV. I know, because we have a 26-year-old caravan and that has allowed us to see parts of Australia that have blown our socks off. When we discovered this book, it opened up a treasure trove of opportunities that made my mouth water. We put it to the test and have never looked back.

Every caravan park is listed and verified with contact details, amenties, and other essential information. We travel with our dog so we need to know which sites are pet-friendly. I really do recommend this book as a must-have travelling companion.

There’s a genre of music books, in which I plead guilty to form, that is almost scrapbook-like, that mixes and matches elements to make, at best, a seamless blend of words and images, the sort of book that is a work of art in its own right like you used to find buried down the back of the aisles at counter-culture bookstores. Wild About You is the concept writ large, perhaps not least because editors Iain McIntyre and Ian D. Marks went through a couple of other similar-styled books before getting it quite so right with this one. As a portrait of the post-Beatles beat boom in Australasia in the 60s, it is definitive, written with vibrancy and beautiful and evocative for its illustrations and design. I’m still waiting for this dynamic duo to move onto the 70s!

This is a memoir of life in the Riverina district in early colonial rural Australia written by the wonderfully insightful Mary Gilmore. It’s full of fascinating detail about domestic life and class consciousness, where poor families had to make do with wooden needles and cutlery and women were so used to sitting on blocks that they felt unsafe on a chair; whereas the better-off had standards to maintain so women’s skirts had to be weighted at the hem for fear of showing an ankle while horse-riding. How a line was drawn across the floor at the Wagga Wagga Club Ball ‘to separate the “grandees” from the “commonage”’. She is also fascinated by Aboriginal culture and how they so naturally looked after the land and preserved the fruit, animals, and fish, evidence that ‘the aborigines as a nation were as naturally intellectual as we ourselves.’  

Ken Inglis, an Australian who began as a scholar of religion in Victorian Britain, discovered in the 1980s that he wanted to understand the way war (which had been neglected by Australians more interested in organised labour or ‘the Bush’) had shaped the nation in the twentieth century. He found that war memorials, a pervasive feature of the Australian landscape, provided a key to that question. Based on a huge national survey and the labour of willing volunteers, in 1998 he, at last, published his magisterial Sacred Places, a study of ‘war memorials in the Australian landscape’. Rightly revered by those fortunate to have known him as a wise and humane scholar, Ken’s book – successively revised as anniversaries and war memorials proliferated – appeared in three prize-winning editions. Ken died in 2017, mourned as a key pioneer in understanding how war has permeated Australia’s modern history.