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ABC News
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- ABC News
All the snubs, surprises and favourites from the 2025 Miles Franklin Literary Award shortlist
The shortlist for the 2025 Miles Franklin Literary Award — Australia's most prestigious literary prize — features a dual winner (Michelle de Kretser), two repeat shortlistees (Brian Castro and Fiona McFarlane), and three writers shortlisted for the first time (Julie Janson, Siang Lu and debut author Winnie Dunn). Tim Winton, longlisted for his dystopian cli-fi thriller Juice, missed out on the shortlist and his chance to bag a fifth Miles Franklin award. The shortlist has grown increasingly diverse in recent years, and 2025 is no exception, with five writers of colour in the running for the $60,000 award. Female writers have also dominated the prize in the past decade. If Castro or Lu win, it will be the first time a male author has taken out the award since 2016, when AS Patrić won for his debut novel, Black Rock White City. Last year, Waanyi writer Alexis Wright won for Praiseworthy, an epic novel set in northern Australia that also took out the Stella Prize. This year's winner will be announced on July 24. To take a closer look at the shortlist, we've brought together The Book Show's Claire Nichols and Sarah L'Estrange, The Bookshelf's Kate Evans, and writer and critic Declan Fry. Sarah L'Estrange: Each of the six books investigates race, class and gender in contemporary Australia but in different ways. It's very hard to compare books like Ghost Cities and Dirt Poor Islanders because they're written in such distinct ways, but they both encourage us to think about narrative and who owns stories. Declan Fry: I was surprised to see Highway 13 on the list — it's a short story collection. That's a first, and it could be the most radical thing the Miles Franklin has ever done. I'm here for it — I love to see the definition of the novel always expanding. Claire Nichols: We're getting a novel competition that is moving further from the traditional novel form. DF: Many of these novels are also quite formless. Kate Evans: I like the fact that they're not afraid to include things that are a bit difficult. I thought this shortlist was more interesting than some of the shortlists we've seen recently because they're not all conventional narratives. CN: The list leaves me a little cold. I wanted to see Tim Winton make it. We know he doesn't need another Miles Franklin — he already has four — but I thought Juice was an exciting novel. It was Winton outside his comfort zone, writing a speculative fiction story. There was a great urgency to the writing and a thrilling plot there, too. It felt like a big moment in his writing career. I also wanted to see The Burrow make it. This tiny, perfect novel by Melanie Cheng, did so much with so little: one family, a rabbit, COVID and grief. I thought it was a gorgeous piece of traditional novel writing. SL: Perhaps not a traditional Miles Franklin novel, Woo Woo by Ella Baxter is about a woman on the edge and I found it enjoyable and vital. Catherine McKinnon's To Sing of War is another one that didn't even make the longlist — I thought that was a wonderful book. CN: There's been an explosion of own-voices fiction in Australia in the last five to 10 years, and I think Dirt Poor Islanders is up there with the best examples of the genre. SL: It was a pleasure to read. It felt like Ruth Park's Harp in the South for our times, an entrée for most of Australia into this small Tongan Australian community. It's charming, it doesn't pull its punches and, while it might seem like a simple story because it presents as semi-autobiographical, I appreciated the layers as well. DF: It's a very honest book; it has a lot of integrity. One thing I loved was the self-deprecating and ironic humour. There's pathos in it too. Meadow's dreams are limited by the structural constraints on her family's lives. CN: It's a fascinating study of motherhood. The narrator, Meadow, just like Winnie Dunn, lost her mother very young, but in Tongan culture everyone is a mother, so the grandmother and all the aunties are her mother as well. I admired the liveliness of the writing, and I love how tactile it is — you can smell the food, and you can feel the sweat and how crowded that house is in Mount Druitt, full of all those aunties. KE: Theory & Practice starts as one thing, which is an archetypal Australian outsider narrative, and then it ditches that and becomes something else, which is the story of a young woman in the 1980s, immersed in the Melbourne academic world of both theory and practice. This is one I've read twice, and I read it differently the second time. The first time I was struck by the deftness and the humour of it. When I re-read it, I felt like I was reading into other layers of the work. The more you look at it, the more it offers you. SL: I feel like it wore its seriousness heavily, Kate! KE: Oh, you didn't find it funny? SL: I read it as a sad-girl novel — it has all the elements. This one, though, is set in 1980s Melbourne. A woman disaffected is looking back over her life, finding it hard to find her place, having relationships with the wrong men, knowing that she shouldn't be, but still doing it. DF: I didn't care for the interrupted narrative at the beginning, but I did think it was cool that de Kretser has an 'I' who says, 'My novel was failing, so I decided to do something different.' That makes it sound like de Kretser is speaking to us but of course, it's not her, it's an authorial persona. I thought that was clever. CN: And she's put her own picture on the cover of the book! She's playing with the expectations of what we look for in fiction, which I find so fascinating when you compare it to something like Winnie Dunn's book, which is just straight-up autobiography. There's no veil there for Dunn, but de Kretser is hiding herself in the book. KE: The main character of Chinese Postman lives in the Adelaide Hills. He's alienated people, he loves his dogs, he's telling stories, he's surrounded by piles of books. You could easily make the case that what Castro is doing here is telling stories from his own life and playing around with his identity — he was a postman and he's also Chinese, Portuguese and Jewish, but unlike female writers, male writers aren't generally labelled as autobiographical novelists. DF: I like his debut, Birds of Passage, a lot. It felt the freest of his books. This one is perhaps the most diaristic and fragmented, even though many of them have mixed theory, fiction and biographical elements. KE: That's a warning we should make to readers — this is not a plot-driven novel. It's a novel of ideas. It's one of those books in which nothing happens and everything happens, which I like, but you have to be in the right mode to read it. You can read it like reading James Joyce: start in the middle, read fragments, read it back and forwards. A novel can be hard work and still be worth reading. CN: I'm Team Ghost Cities. I love Australian fiction that surprises you and I like Australian authors who take a big swing, and Siang Lu did that with his first novel, The Whitewash. It was hysterically funny and weird and had something important to say about race in Australia. Ghost Cities is just as experimental and wild, just as silly yet serious. Any book that has a guy who has been fired from his job as a translator because he was using Google Translate and then gets picked up by a film director called Baby Bao to work on a film in a place called Port Man Tou — that is all funny, weird stuff that excites me. There's also this gorgeous romance at the centre of it, which feels very true. There's another section about an ancient Chinese dynasty exploring ideas around art and creation. It's told in this mythic style, and I loved that too. Siang Lu is doing things that no other author in Australia is doing. DF: I have problems with the ending; I don't think he quite sticks the landing. It just ends rather than concluding satisfyingly. SL: It's not an easy read if you don't connect with the fable-like narrative style. You can be left flailing — but there are enough anchors to take you through, and the elements come together like a good puzzle. KE: I love the fact that a competition about showing Australian life in all its aspects includes Chinese cities and multiple identities. DF: I second what Kate says — I want to see more Chinese language in Australian fiction. For many people in the big cities, you hear Mandarin as much as English, and this book is filled with Mandarin. DF: It's lovely to see a small publisher, Magabala Books in particular, on the shortlist. SL: Compassion is a sequel to Julie Janson's 2020 novel, Benevolence, which was about a young Darug woman named Muraging, also called Mary James, growing up in the NSW colony in the 1800s. This book is about her daughter Duringah, or Nellie James, and she's based on Janson's great-great grandmother who showed up in court records over the years for stealing cattle and sheep. CN: Nellie has been a fighter since she was a kid. She's fighting against these men who inflict violence on her and enslave her. What I appreciated about this character was her utter fury and rage about the injustice of the life that she lives. She never settles and she never accepts it, and I found that appealing in a book that is quite confrontational. DF: I think this is the big talking point — how did a short story collection get onto the shortlist? KE: I read it as a novel. Each story addresses the same subject in an interestingly lateral way — this serial killer based on Ivan Milat, but McFarlane gives him a different name, Paul Biga. I like the way it explores the repercussions of a terrible event without just focusing on the families of victims or the cops, although they're in there as well. She also manages to slide in questions about the ethics of crime and true crime, which is so problematic. SL: I appreciated her agility as a writer to go from one set of characters and leap to another to create this portrait around a central figure who's never present. Like with Ghost Cities, you're trying to put the puzzle together. In each of the stories, you're primed as a reader: you're thinking, 'How does this relate to the crime? What are the connections?' And you have to stick with it to get the reward of working out what the connection is, even if it's very tenuous. DF: Fiona McFarlane's a lovely stylist. The prose is consistently very strong and I like how she plays with form. SL: I'd be happy if Highway 13 or Dirt Poor Islanders won. DF: My favourite was Theory & Practice, but Dirt Poor Islanders would be my left-field pick. CN: Michelle de Kretser has already won the Stella Prize this year — I don't think we want to see another calendar year where we have the same winner of both the Stella and the Miles Franklin. I'd love to see the wealth spread around. I'm going for Ghost Cities — I don't think it's a perfect book, but I love its ambition and that it's different and fun on what is a somewhat stodgy list. KE: I'll say Highway 13 for the win. It's a book that throws the form up in the air.
The Advertiser
3 days ago
- Business
- The Advertiser
Here's something absolutely cooked about books in Australia
It's a big week for Australian culture, with announcement of the shortlist for the Miles Franklin Literary Award, one of the country's top writing prizes. Past winners of the award include legendary writers such as Tim Winton, Thomas Keneally, Alexis Wright, Thea Astley and Peter Carey. And because it's Australian culture, you can place a bet with a bookmaker on which title on the shortlist will win the award. The winner of the Miles Franklin can expect prize money of $60,000. Many will then pay around $20,000 of that back in income tax. But if you picked the winner of the Miles Franklin with the bookies, your winnings are tax-free. Isn't that weird? Winning authors pay tax. Mug punters, no tax. It gets weirder. If you win the lottery, Who wants to be a Millionaire or The Block, you don't pay tax on your prize money. Win the Stella Prize for writing by Australian women - pay tax. Win the Archibald prize for painting - pay tax. How about the Prime Minister's Literary Awards? Well in that case, "All prizes are tax-free" is in bold on the website. This shows that whether prizes are taxed is completely arbitrary. It is a decision for Australian governments to make. And should the Australian government choose to axe the taxes on arts prizes, they would be making a sound investment in Australian culture. The loss of revenue would be unnoticed by a government that just gave away $215 billion dollars' worth of natural gas for free. It would barely register given the $10 billion in subsidies the government handed over in the form of the fuel tax credit to mining companies. By contrast, an extra few thousand dollars in the pockets of writers really makes a difference. According to the Australian Tax Office, the median income for Australian authors is $32,760, which is below the poverty line. Creative Australia ran a survey in 2022 finding the average writer's annual income is $18,200. Average or median, either way, most Australian authors have incomes below the poverty line. For writers on a small income, a prize can mean the difference between taking a year off work to write their next book and trying to fit writing in between other jobs. In the case of a Miles Franklin or Stella Prize win, a tax-free prize could mean the difference between $60,000 and $40,000 in their bank account. Stella Prize winner Dr Charlotte Wood AM says, "for those few writers who win, it would mean that a year's income could easily stretch to keep them going for an extra year or even two or three, without the extraordinary financial and attendant psychological strain most artists live beneath. Imagine if we were a society generous enough to allow this tiny gift." Easing the pressure on an author from finding other sources of income so they can develop their next book can mean the difference between building a career and getting stuck in short-term and poorly paid stop-gap work. Prize money doesn't simply affect an individual artist but, in some cases, their community as well. Miles Franklin winner and Bundjalung author Melissa Lucashenko said she paid $15,000 tax on her win in 2019. She says: "I'm very happy to pay tax - to contribute to a decent society - but at the same time, I belong to an extremely impoverished community. I am regularly called on to give money to people who buy their food on credit. Who can't bury their dead, or who need petrol to get to funerals, or who can't get out of jail to attend the funeral of a parent because that means paying the prison system the astronomical cost of guards to accompany them. $15,000 fills a lot of grocery carts, and a lot of petrol tanks." For an author such as Lucashenko, who is a central figure, regularly supporting those in her community, means that the effects on the increase in prize money move out through networks and benefit more than a handful of prize-winners themselves. READ MORE: This measure is not just important for writers; taxing prize money applies to playwrights, painters, musicians and artists from all disciplines. The National Association for Visual Arts has been an advocate for tax-free prizes for many years. Making prize money tax free is not charity. It is a way to foster our best artists, the people who help Australia understand and see itself clearly. Australia gives away extraordinary amounts of gas and offers massive subsidies in the form of fuel tax credits - why do we accept these enormous subsidies and not ask for better support of our artists? With pressure on artists from cost of living and culture wars, and on publishers whose margins have shrunk thanks to increasing paper prices and spikes in the costs of logistics, the effects of making prizes tax free could mean we see the next Tim Winton have the time and resources to write their novel, rather than working three casual jobs to make ends meet and trying to squeeze writing in between. It is time for governments to take a serious punt on Australian artists. It's a big week for Australian culture, with announcement of the shortlist for the Miles Franklin Literary Award, one of the country's top writing prizes. Past winners of the award include legendary writers such as Tim Winton, Thomas Keneally, Alexis Wright, Thea Astley and Peter Carey. And because it's Australian culture, you can place a bet with a bookmaker on which title on the shortlist will win the award. The winner of the Miles Franklin can expect prize money of $60,000. Many will then pay around $20,000 of that back in income tax. But if you picked the winner of the Miles Franklin with the bookies, your winnings are tax-free. Isn't that weird? Winning authors pay tax. Mug punters, no tax. It gets weirder. If you win the lottery, Who wants to be a Millionaire or The Block, you don't pay tax on your prize money. Win the Stella Prize for writing by Australian women - pay tax. Win the Archibald prize for painting - pay tax. How about the Prime Minister's Literary Awards? Well in that case, "All prizes are tax-free" is in bold on the website. This shows that whether prizes are taxed is completely arbitrary. It is a decision for Australian governments to make. And should the Australian government choose to axe the taxes on arts prizes, they would be making a sound investment in Australian culture. The loss of revenue would be unnoticed by a government that just gave away $215 billion dollars' worth of natural gas for free. It would barely register given the $10 billion in subsidies the government handed over in the form of the fuel tax credit to mining companies. By contrast, an extra few thousand dollars in the pockets of writers really makes a difference. According to the Australian Tax Office, the median income for Australian authors is $32,760, which is below the poverty line. Creative Australia ran a survey in 2022 finding the average writer's annual income is $18,200. Average or median, either way, most Australian authors have incomes below the poverty line. For writers on a small income, a prize can mean the difference between taking a year off work to write their next book and trying to fit writing in between other jobs. In the case of a Miles Franklin or Stella Prize win, a tax-free prize could mean the difference between $60,000 and $40,000 in their bank account. Stella Prize winner Dr Charlotte Wood AM says, "for those few writers who win, it would mean that a year's income could easily stretch to keep them going for an extra year or even two or three, without the extraordinary financial and attendant psychological strain most artists live beneath. Imagine if we were a society generous enough to allow this tiny gift." Easing the pressure on an author from finding other sources of income so they can develop their next book can mean the difference between building a career and getting stuck in short-term and poorly paid stop-gap work. Prize money doesn't simply affect an individual artist but, in some cases, their community as well. Miles Franklin winner and Bundjalung author Melissa Lucashenko said she paid $15,000 tax on her win in 2019. She says: "I'm very happy to pay tax - to contribute to a decent society - but at the same time, I belong to an extremely impoverished community. I am regularly called on to give money to people who buy their food on credit. Who can't bury their dead, or who need petrol to get to funerals, or who can't get out of jail to attend the funeral of a parent because that means paying the prison system the astronomical cost of guards to accompany them. $15,000 fills a lot of grocery carts, and a lot of petrol tanks." For an author such as Lucashenko, who is a central figure, regularly supporting those in her community, means that the effects on the increase in prize money move out through networks and benefit more than a handful of prize-winners themselves. READ MORE: This measure is not just important for writers; taxing prize money applies to playwrights, painters, musicians and artists from all disciplines. The National Association for Visual Arts has been an advocate for tax-free prizes for many years. Making prize money tax free is not charity. It is a way to foster our best artists, the people who help Australia understand and see itself clearly. Australia gives away extraordinary amounts of gas and offers massive subsidies in the form of fuel tax credits - why do we accept these enormous subsidies and not ask for better support of our artists? With pressure on artists from cost of living and culture wars, and on publishers whose margins have shrunk thanks to increasing paper prices and spikes in the costs of logistics, the effects of making prizes tax free could mean we see the next Tim Winton have the time and resources to write their novel, rather than working three casual jobs to make ends meet and trying to squeeze writing in between. It is time for governments to take a serious punt on Australian artists. It's a big week for Australian culture, with announcement of the shortlist for the Miles Franklin Literary Award, one of the country's top writing prizes. Past winners of the award include legendary writers such as Tim Winton, Thomas Keneally, Alexis Wright, Thea Astley and Peter Carey. And because it's Australian culture, you can place a bet with a bookmaker on which title on the shortlist will win the award. The winner of the Miles Franklin can expect prize money of $60,000. Many will then pay around $20,000 of that back in income tax. But if you picked the winner of the Miles Franklin with the bookies, your winnings are tax-free. Isn't that weird? Winning authors pay tax. Mug punters, no tax. It gets weirder. If you win the lottery, Who wants to be a Millionaire or The Block, you don't pay tax on your prize money. Win the Stella Prize for writing by Australian women - pay tax. Win the Archibald prize for painting - pay tax. How about the Prime Minister's Literary Awards? Well in that case, "All prizes are tax-free" is in bold on the website. This shows that whether prizes are taxed is completely arbitrary. It is a decision for Australian governments to make. And should the Australian government choose to axe the taxes on arts prizes, they would be making a sound investment in Australian culture. The loss of revenue would be unnoticed by a government that just gave away $215 billion dollars' worth of natural gas for free. It would barely register given the $10 billion in subsidies the government handed over in the form of the fuel tax credit to mining companies. By contrast, an extra few thousand dollars in the pockets of writers really makes a difference. According to the Australian Tax Office, the median income for Australian authors is $32,760, which is below the poverty line. Creative Australia ran a survey in 2022 finding the average writer's annual income is $18,200. Average or median, either way, most Australian authors have incomes below the poverty line. For writers on a small income, a prize can mean the difference between taking a year off work to write their next book and trying to fit writing in between other jobs. In the case of a Miles Franklin or Stella Prize win, a tax-free prize could mean the difference between $60,000 and $40,000 in their bank account. Stella Prize winner Dr Charlotte Wood AM says, "for those few writers who win, it would mean that a year's income could easily stretch to keep them going for an extra year or even two or three, without the extraordinary financial and attendant psychological strain most artists live beneath. Imagine if we were a society generous enough to allow this tiny gift." Easing the pressure on an author from finding other sources of income so they can develop their next book can mean the difference between building a career and getting stuck in short-term and poorly paid stop-gap work. Prize money doesn't simply affect an individual artist but, in some cases, their community as well. Miles Franklin winner and Bundjalung author Melissa Lucashenko said she paid $15,000 tax on her win in 2019. She says: "I'm very happy to pay tax - to contribute to a decent society - but at the same time, I belong to an extremely impoverished community. I am regularly called on to give money to people who buy their food on credit. Who can't bury their dead, or who need petrol to get to funerals, or who can't get out of jail to attend the funeral of a parent because that means paying the prison system the astronomical cost of guards to accompany them. $15,000 fills a lot of grocery carts, and a lot of petrol tanks." For an author such as Lucashenko, who is a central figure, regularly supporting those in her community, means that the effects on the increase in prize money move out through networks and benefit more than a handful of prize-winners themselves. READ MORE: This measure is not just important for writers; taxing prize money applies to playwrights, painters, musicians and artists from all disciplines. The National Association for Visual Arts has been an advocate for tax-free prizes for many years. Making prize money tax free is not charity. It is a way to foster our best artists, the people who help Australia understand and see itself clearly. Australia gives away extraordinary amounts of gas and offers massive subsidies in the form of fuel tax credits - why do we accept these enormous subsidies and not ask for better support of our artists? With pressure on artists from cost of living and culture wars, and on publishers whose margins have shrunk thanks to increasing paper prices and spikes in the costs of logistics, the effects of making prizes tax free could mean we see the next Tim Winton have the time and resources to write their novel, rather than working three casual jobs to make ends meet and trying to squeeze writing in between. It is time for governments to take a serious punt on Australian artists. It's a big week for Australian culture, with announcement of the shortlist for the Miles Franklin Literary Award, one of the country's top writing prizes. Past winners of the award include legendary writers such as Tim Winton, Thomas Keneally, Alexis Wright, Thea Astley and Peter Carey. And because it's Australian culture, you can place a bet with a bookmaker on which title on the shortlist will win the award. The winner of the Miles Franklin can expect prize money of $60,000. Many will then pay around $20,000 of that back in income tax. But if you picked the winner of the Miles Franklin with the bookies, your winnings are tax-free. Isn't that weird? Winning authors pay tax. Mug punters, no tax. It gets weirder. If you win the lottery, Who wants to be a Millionaire or The Block, you don't pay tax on your prize money. Win the Stella Prize for writing by Australian women - pay tax. Win the Archibald prize for painting - pay tax. How about the Prime Minister's Literary Awards? Well in that case, "All prizes are tax-free" is in bold on the website. This shows that whether prizes are taxed is completely arbitrary. It is a decision for Australian governments to make. And should the Australian government choose to axe the taxes on arts prizes, they would be making a sound investment in Australian culture. The loss of revenue would be unnoticed by a government that just gave away $215 billion dollars' worth of natural gas for free. It would barely register given the $10 billion in subsidies the government handed over in the form of the fuel tax credit to mining companies. By contrast, an extra few thousand dollars in the pockets of writers really makes a difference. According to the Australian Tax Office, the median income for Australian authors is $32,760, which is below the poverty line. Creative Australia ran a survey in 2022 finding the average writer's annual income is $18,200. Average or median, either way, most Australian authors have incomes below the poverty line. For writers on a small income, a prize can mean the difference between taking a year off work to write their next book and trying to fit writing in between other jobs. In the case of a Miles Franklin or Stella Prize win, a tax-free prize could mean the difference between $60,000 and $40,000 in their bank account. Stella Prize winner Dr Charlotte Wood AM says, "for those few writers who win, it would mean that a year's income could easily stretch to keep them going for an extra year or even two or three, without the extraordinary financial and attendant psychological strain most artists live beneath. Imagine if we were a society generous enough to allow this tiny gift." Easing the pressure on an author from finding other sources of income so they can develop their next book can mean the difference between building a career and getting stuck in short-term and poorly paid stop-gap work. Prize money doesn't simply affect an individual artist but, in some cases, their community as well. Miles Franklin winner and Bundjalung author Melissa Lucashenko said she paid $15,000 tax on her win in 2019. She says: "I'm very happy to pay tax - to contribute to a decent society - but at the same time, I belong to an extremely impoverished community. I am regularly called on to give money to people who buy their food on credit. Who can't bury their dead, or who need petrol to get to funerals, or who can't get out of jail to attend the funeral of a parent because that means paying the prison system the astronomical cost of guards to accompany them. $15,000 fills a lot of grocery carts, and a lot of petrol tanks." For an author such as Lucashenko, who is a central figure, regularly supporting those in her community, means that the effects on the increase in prize money move out through networks and benefit more than a handful of prize-winners themselves. READ MORE: This measure is not just important for writers; taxing prize money applies to playwrights, painters, musicians and artists from all disciplines. The National Association for Visual Arts has been an advocate for tax-free prizes for many years. Making prize money tax free is not charity. It is a way to foster our best artists, the people who help Australia understand and see itself clearly. Australia gives away extraordinary amounts of gas and offers massive subsidies in the form of fuel tax credits - why do we accept these enormous subsidies and not ask for better support of our artists? With pressure on artists from cost of living and culture wars, and on publishers whose margins have shrunk thanks to increasing paper prices and spikes in the costs of logistics, the effects of making prizes tax free could mean we see the next Tim Winton have the time and resources to write their novel, rather than working three casual jobs to make ends meet and trying to squeeze writing in between. It is time for governments to take a serious punt on Australian artists.
Sydney Morning Herald
31-05-2025
- Sydney Morning Herald
No time to do ‘the Big Lap' of Australia? Do this road trip instead
This article is part of Traveller's Holiday Guide to Australian road trips. See all stories. As a concept, the Big Lap, that circumnavigation of Australia in which families pack up and head off to explore the Wide Brown Land, all 40,000 kilometres by road, sounds idyllic. An endless, relaxed summer of homeschooled, free-range kids discovering their big and diverse backyard untethered from screens. Parents relieved off the hamster wheel of work and life admin, free to plan the next day's adventure at leisure. We are not that family. That much is obvious on our (far less ambitious) motorhome trip on Australia's Coral Coast, when we line up next to the fully committed with their big rigs towing caravans, bikes, boats and other toys into those unforgettable sunsets reserved for out bush. For starters, our two kids have morphed into young adults and, as it should be, are making their own life plans that don't include a year on the road sleeping next to their parents. What's more, allowing less than a week to follow those 1200 kilometres from Perth to Exmouth seems perfunctory, superficial even, especially when the route ends at Nyinggulu/Ningaloo, one of the world's largest fringing coral reefs, which abuts the rugged Cape Range and has been described by author Tim Winton as one of the last intact wild places on the planet. But we know our days travelling as a unit are numbered (although they may well boomerang back to bank of mum and dad-funded holidays). So we find time to try for a short trip, more 'little line' than the Big Lap, in the hope that some red dust of the outback and saltwater will rub off on our kids. Or at the very least damage their phones – and in truth, ours. Escape from the city: Perth to Kalbarri, distance 574 kilometres, six hours In the spirit of all things big in a state the size of Western Europe, we pull out from the Perth depot onto the busy freeway in a Star RV Polaris 6. It's like taking a newborn home from the hospital, only this baby is bigger. Aside from the engine, it's quiet inside; even the smart alecs down the back know to zip it as we get to grips with our home away from home. This third baby, it turns out, is a dream. At 2.3 metres it's no wider than a RAM ute, and on the wide open road its 3.6-metre height is not an issue. We're taking the advice of locals all the way, starting with the Indian Ocean Drive for the picturesque route and one restricted to light vehicles and tourist uses. We'll rejoin Highway 1 further north. It purrs along the freeway, and soon we're cruising past saltbush and wild ocean to the left, pavlova-like sand dunes to our right. At sunset we're still driving, despite knowing better given wildlife like this time of night, but we take it slow and are rewarded with a big-sky sunset that starts at Hutt Lagoon (Pink Lake) and carries us all the way to Kalbarri, 55 kilometres down the highway. In the pitch black, caravan park manager Emily welcomes us like long-lost family and guides us to a drive-through site. There will be no reversing into awkward spaces, just plugging into power and settling in for the night. Just like that other cultural icon, the mullet (and son's current hairstyle), the RV is all business up the front and party down the back in a bubble of self-sufficiency. We have all the creature comforts; a bathroom, kitchen and sink with gold tapware, air-con, mood lighting and an electric step to exit the tiny home. In the dining nook we toast the day with drinks that have been chilling in a fridge big enough for food and liquid refreshments. At night, we retire to our comfortable double beds. Parents are up the back, son at the front up a ladder into an elevated man cave with privacy curtain and daughter in the dining booth that easily converts to a bed. My tent days might be over. Sheeting rain the next morning doesn't stop us from hanging on the edge of the world at the Kalbarri Skywalk, where one of the two platforms is longer (at 25 metres) than the US Grand Canyon equivalent and overhangs a 100-metre drop above the Murchison River and Gorge. The tidal layers of rippled sandstone formed over 40 million years, today wet and glistening, are more vertiginous and thrilling than any confected theme park. We're 'floating' in Nanda country, all 17,000 kilometres of it. The last fluent speaker of the Nanda language, Lucy Ryder, died in 2003, and while the language is not spoken day to day, it was recorded and is being kept alive by its people. The other lookout Nature's Window, five minutes down the road is just as photogenic but without the all-access skywalk platform. Unlike so many blockbuster views around the globe, we have the views of the river, framed by Tumblagooda Sandstone, all to ourselves. Tasman Holiday Parks Kalbarri, powered sites from $75 a night. See The smooth bitumen of Highway 1 gives way to a bone-rattling entrance over corrugated road to Wooramel's 144,000-hectare working cattle and goat station and its outback nirvana for campers. Campsites stretch along the riverbank lined with giant gums and across green lawn, overlooking an 'upside down' river that only runs on the surface a few times a year, the remainder flowing through sandy aquifers. Guests can do a 70-kilometre self-drive 4WD station tour, taking in 60 kilometres of coastline fronting the Shark Bay heritage area. We soak away the day in the mineral-rich artesian baths of 30-plus degrees that have originated from the Birdrong aquifer 240 metres below the surface. And this is how we come to find ourselves, BYO plates and cutlery in hand, and now at the back of the dinner queue now spilling from an undercover area to a grassy patch festooned by lights. But there's still plenty left by the time we get to sample Swiss-French chef Pierre's Guinness pie and Englishman and sous chef Alfie's damper and mashed potatoes in what is genuine, super-sized hospitality under the stars. Retiring to the RV early, it's card games instead of Netflix for the first time in an age before lights out. 'Get off ya phone,' yells the eldest from his man-cave. He's mimicking me of course, so I do what I'm told. Wooramel River Retreat campsites from $70 a night. See Whale watch: Wooramel to Coral Bay, distance 350 kilometres, 3½ hours Early nights give way to early starts, even for the youth who are happy to be on the road. Like so many, we've come to Coral Bay hoping to spot whale sharks and maybe even swim alongside these biggest fish in the world, weighing in at 19,000 kilograms each, during a day on the water exploring Ningaloo/ Nyinggulu Reef. But as nature has intended, they've left the area. 'They go where the food is, and we think they've headed to Indonesia,' says guide and crew member Hannah as we motor over crystalline waters. Their absence matters little when our captain spots a school of manta rays, and we jump off the back of the boat to watch these creatures, with a wingspan of four metres, tumble over and over. In between snorkels we spot pods of humpback whales that have just arrived in the area; dugongs, turtles and dolphins and further out to sea, a pod of humpback whales just arrived to this area. We don't see a whale shark but bigger is not always better. For once, the kids appear to agree with their parents. Bill's Bar for pub meals including local snapper and prawns. The jolt of a 6am pick-up in Exmouth is assuaged with breakfast and coffee that our guide, Rob, has brought for our early morning drive, sun rising over the other wordly stone country into Cape Range National Park. Hiking atop Yardie Creek, sheer rock walls dropping to the creek below, younger sets of eyes are the first to spot the perfectly still and rare black-footed wallaby and the raptor osprey taking flight from cliffside nests. The lime karst system underneath was itself once an ancient reef and middens, fish traps and burial grounds mark the occupation of the traditional owners, Baiyungu, Thalanyji and Yinigurdira people. Discovered here in a rock shelter and at 32,000 years old, the Mandu Mandu beads, shells with delicately drilled holes for stringing and adornment, is some of the oldest jewellery in the world. Aerial shots of the range meeting the ocean, an unreal landscape of saturated colour, blinding white sand, turquoise ocean and broad sweeps of coral, always seemed an illusion. Now, up close and just metres from the beach as we 'drift' snorkel Turquoise Bay, the detail is enchanting. 'The best way it's been described to me is that these places are living, breathing kingdoms,' Rob says of the reef which suffered serious coral bleaching in February. The current takes us over coral gardens and past boulders of bommie coral rising from the seabed. We float past giant clams and my husband, who has just spotted a loggerhead turtle, is as skittish as the clown fish darting about. Before we reach the sandbar and the stronger currents caused by a build-up of water in the lagoon we exit, together. When you don't have months to spare, just take the days. Exmouth RACV Powered site from $53 a night. See Ningaloo in a Day tour. From $245, $220 (child) . See Whale Bone Brewing The details Loading Drive The Polaris 6 motorhome is the largest in the fleet and accommodates up to six people. From $120 a day. There are nine motorhome branches across Australia, including a seasonal branch in Darwin, and vehicles can be collected at one point and dropped at another. Drivers must be aged above 21 and hold a full licence in English. P2 licence holders are also eligible. International travellers require a home-country licence, plus an International Driver's Permit (IDP) or a translation. See Tour Book campsites and accommodation well ahead, keeping in mind differing school holidays between states. National Parks Pass allows entry to all parks in WA. See and Watch Tim Winton's documentary Ningaloo Nyinggulu. See Five more great Australian adventures Loading Water therapy Togs are compulsory in Kakadu, Litchfield and Nitmiluk and its gorges, swimming and waterholes. See Fresh daily Get your fill of oysters, lobster and other seafood on South Australia's Eyre Peninsula. Surrounded by the pristine waters of Spencer Gulf and the Great Australian Bight, the region delivers about 70 per cent of South Australia's seafood. See Dinosaur hunt Remote Queensland towns Hughenden, Richmond and Winton are home to some of the world's best-preserved fossils and evidence of dinosaur stampede. See Get high Take your time on north-east Victoria's Great Alpine Road for some of the state's best food and wine in Bright, Milawa and Beechworth. See
The Age
31-05-2025
- The Age
No time to do ‘the Big Lap' of Australia? Do this road trip instead
This article is part of Traveller's Holiday Guide to Australian road trips. See all stories. As a concept, the Big Lap, that circumnavigation of Australia in which families pack up and head off to explore the Wide Brown Land, all 40,000 kilometres by road, sounds idyllic. An endless, relaxed summer of homeschooled, free-range kids discovering their big and diverse backyard untethered from screens. Parents relieved off the hamster wheel of work and life admin, free to plan the next day's adventure at leisure. We are not that family. That much is obvious on our (far less ambitious) motorhome trip on Australia's Coral Coast, when we line up next to the fully committed with their big rigs towing caravans, bikes, boats and other toys into those unforgettable sunsets reserved for out bush. For starters, our two kids have morphed into young adults and, as it should be, are making their own life plans that don't include a year on the road sleeping next to their parents. What's more, allowing less than a week to follow those 1200 kilometres from Perth to Exmouth seems perfunctory, superficial even, especially when the route ends at Nyinggulu/Ningaloo, one of the world's largest fringing coral reefs, which abuts the rugged Cape Range and has been described by author Tim Winton as one of the last intact wild places on the planet. But we know our days travelling as a unit are numbered (although they may well boomerang back to bank of mum and dad-funded holidays). So we find time to try for a short trip, more 'little line' than the Big Lap, in the hope that some red dust of the outback and saltwater will rub off on our kids. Or at the very least damage their phones – and in truth, ours. Escape from the city: Perth to Kalbarri, distance 574 kilometres, six hours In the spirit of all things big in a state the size of Western Europe, we pull out from the Perth depot onto the busy freeway in a Star RV Polaris 6. It's like taking a newborn home from the hospital, only this baby is bigger. Aside from the engine, it's quiet inside; even the smart alecs down the back know to zip it as we get to grips with our home away from home. This third baby, it turns out, is a dream. At 2.3 metres it's no wider than a RAM ute, and on the wide open road its 3.6-metre height is not an issue. We're taking the advice of locals all the way, starting with the Indian Ocean Drive for the picturesque route and one restricted to light vehicles and tourist uses. We'll rejoin Highway 1 further north. It purrs along the freeway, and soon we're cruising past saltbush and wild ocean to the left, pavlova-like sand dunes to our right. At sunset we're still driving, despite knowing better given wildlife like this time of night, but we take it slow and are rewarded with a big-sky sunset that starts at Hutt Lagoon (Pink Lake) and carries us all the way to Kalbarri, 55 kilometres down the highway. In the pitch black, caravan park manager Emily welcomes us like long-lost family and guides us to a drive-through site. There will be no reversing into awkward spaces, just plugging into power and settling in for the night. Just like that other cultural icon, the mullet (and son's current hairstyle), the RV is all business up the front and party down the back in a bubble of self-sufficiency. We have all the creature comforts; a bathroom, kitchen and sink with gold tapware, air-con, mood lighting and an electric step to exit the tiny home. In the dining nook we toast the day with drinks that have been chilling in a fridge big enough for food and liquid refreshments. At night, we retire to our comfortable double beds. Parents are up the back, son at the front up a ladder into an elevated man cave with privacy curtain and daughter in the dining booth that easily converts to a bed. My tent days might be over. Sheeting rain the next morning doesn't stop us from hanging on the edge of the world at the Kalbarri Skywalk, where one of the two platforms is longer (at 25 metres) than the US Grand Canyon equivalent and overhangs a 100-metre drop above the Murchison River and Gorge. The tidal layers of rippled sandstone formed over 40 million years, today wet and glistening, are more vertiginous and thrilling than any confected theme park. We're 'floating' in Nanda country, all 17,000 kilometres of it. The last fluent speaker of the Nanda language, Lucy Ryder, died in 2003, and while the language is not spoken day to day, it was recorded and is being kept alive by its people. The other lookout Nature's Window, five minutes down the road is just as photogenic but without the all-access skywalk platform. Unlike so many blockbuster views around the globe, we have the views of the river, framed by Tumblagooda Sandstone, all to ourselves. Tasman Holiday Parks Kalbarri, powered sites from $75 a night. See The smooth bitumen of Highway 1 gives way to a bone-rattling entrance over corrugated road to Wooramel's 144,000-hectare working cattle and goat station and its outback nirvana for campers. Campsites stretch along the riverbank lined with giant gums and across green lawn, overlooking an 'upside down' river that only runs on the surface a few times a year, the remainder flowing through sandy aquifers. Guests can do a 70-kilometre self-drive 4WD station tour, taking in 60 kilometres of coastline fronting the Shark Bay heritage area. We soak away the day in the mineral-rich artesian baths of 30-plus degrees that have originated from the Birdrong aquifer 240 metres below the surface. And this is how we come to find ourselves, BYO plates and cutlery in hand, and now at the back of the dinner queue now spilling from an undercover area to a grassy patch festooned by lights. But there's still plenty left by the time we get to sample Swiss-French chef Pierre's Guinness pie and Englishman and sous chef Alfie's damper and mashed potatoes in what is genuine, super-sized hospitality under the stars. Retiring to the RV early, it's card games instead of Netflix for the first time in an age before lights out. 'Get off ya phone,' yells the eldest from his man-cave. He's mimicking me of course, so I do what I'm told. Wooramel River Retreat campsites from $70 a night. See Whale watch: Wooramel to Coral Bay, distance 350 kilometres, 3½ hours Early nights give way to early starts, even for the youth who are happy to be on the road. Like so many, we've come to Coral Bay hoping to spot whale sharks and maybe even swim alongside these biggest fish in the world, weighing in at 19,000 kilograms each, during a day on the water exploring Ningaloo/ Nyinggulu Reef. But as nature has intended, they've left the area. 'They go where the food is, and we think they've headed to Indonesia,' says guide and crew member Hannah as we motor over crystalline waters. Their absence matters little when our captain spots a school of manta rays, and we jump off the back of the boat to watch these creatures, with a wingspan of four metres, tumble over and over. In between snorkels we spot pods of humpback whales that have just arrived in the area; dugongs, turtles and dolphins and further out to sea, a pod of humpback whales just arrived to this area. We don't see a whale shark but bigger is not always better. For once, the kids appear to agree with their parents. Bill's Bar for pub meals including local snapper and prawns. The jolt of a 6am pick-up in Exmouth is assuaged with breakfast and coffee that our guide, Rob, has brought for our early morning drive, sun rising over the other wordly stone country into Cape Range National Park. Hiking atop Yardie Creek, sheer rock walls dropping to the creek below, younger sets of eyes are the first to spot the perfectly still and rare black-footed wallaby and the raptor osprey taking flight from cliffside nests. The lime karst system underneath was itself once an ancient reef and middens, fish traps and burial grounds mark the occupation of the traditional owners, Baiyungu, Thalanyji and Yinigurdira people. Discovered here in a rock shelter and at 32,000 years old, the Mandu Mandu beads, shells with delicately drilled holes for stringing and adornment, is some of the oldest jewellery in the world. Aerial shots of the range meeting the ocean, an unreal landscape of saturated colour, blinding white sand, turquoise ocean and broad sweeps of coral, always seemed an illusion. Now, up close and just metres from the beach as we 'drift' snorkel Turquoise Bay, the detail is enchanting. 'The best way it's been described to me is that these places are living, breathing kingdoms,' Rob says of the reef which suffered serious coral bleaching in February. The current takes us over coral gardens and past boulders of bommie coral rising from the seabed. We float past giant clams and my husband, who has just spotted a loggerhead turtle, is as skittish as the clown fish darting about. Before we reach the sandbar and the stronger currents caused by a build-up of water in the lagoon we exit, together. When you don't have months to spare, just take the days. Exmouth RACV Powered site from $53 a night. See Ningaloo in a Day tour. From $245, $220 (child) . See Whale Bone Brewing The details Loading Drive The Polaris 6 motorhome is the largest in the fleet and accommodates up to six people. From $120 a day. There are nine motorhome branches across Australia, including a seasonal branch in Darwin, and vehicles can be collected at one point and dropped at another. Drivers must be aged above 21 and hold a full licence in English. P2 licence holders are also eligible. International travellers require a home-country licence, plus an International Driver's Permit (IDP) or a translation. See Tour Book campsites and accommodation well ahead, keeping in mind differing school holidays between states. National Parks Pass allows entry to all parks in WA. See and Watch Tim Winton's documentary Ningaloo Nyinggulu. See Five more great Australian adventures Loading Water therapy Togs are compulsory in Kakadu, Litchfield and Nitmiluk and its gorges, swimming and waterholes. See Fresh daily Get your fill of oysters, lobster and other seafood on South Australia's Eyre Peninsula. Surrounded by the pristine waters of Spencer Gulf and the Great Australian Bight, the region delivers about 70 per cent of South Australia's seafood. See Dinosaur hunt Remote Queensland towns Hughenden, Richmond and Winton are home to some of the world's best-preserved fossils and evidence of dinosaur stampede. See Get high Take your time on north-east Victoria's Great Alpine Road for some of the state's best food and wine in Bright, Milawa and Beechworth. See
The Guardian
18-05-2025
- Politics
- The Guardian
Gina episode 7: What does she want?
At 13 years old, a young Gina Rinehart read a book that would help shape her worldview – Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged, which is having a moment around the world. The novel's capitalist underpinnings promote the idea that people should strive to be their best industrial selves. In this episode, we explore how these values are playing out in Rinehart's life today, including her proposal to build a coalmine in Canada's Rocky Mountains. And we hear how author and environmental campaigner Tim Winton views her efforts to prevent an overhaul of Australia's environmental laws
