I, the Self that Holds Me in Review

Ouyang writes back to Yu

When the editor's request came for a self-review, I checked with Yu and learnt that he had written a number of things along those lines–two self-reviews and a poem, all unpublished. With his permission, I took the liberty of presenting them below: first with the poem, followed by the self-reviews in order of length. I won't explain. You can see what is what yourself. ① Interestingly, this happened on the same day on which I gave a lecture, a sort of spoken self-review, over WeChat in mixed Chinese and English to a class of postgraduate students of cultural studies and Australian literature in a China-based university, talking about my translation of The Female Eunuch (1991), my first book of English poetry, Moon over Melbourne and Other Poems (1995), and my first novel, The Eastern Slope Chronicle (2004).


✷

A. The need for self-reviews

I have written a lot of books that have never been reviewed, not when they were first published nor years after. This is what happens whether books are published by others or self-published. ② Self-publishing used to be treated as vanity publishing. Because no one wants to publish you, you have to publish yourself. That's twenty or thirty years ago. Back then, nothing much was accepted unless officially. Think of gay marriage. Now, almost everything is publishable and on an infinite number of platforms. You can publish yourself on IG or X or FB or Weibo or WeChat or Official Accounts on WeChat, with no shame associated with it. What they used to do is to put you to shame with non-publication. Just remember this question: Do I have to have anyone's approval to be born, and to be still living as I am? Please see my prose poem, 'Self Publishing': https://overland.org.au/poem-ouyang-yu/ It’s like you’ve done a surrogate suicide. Instead of taking your own life, you take the life of your own book by publishing it yourself. You trust it to no reviewers and are convinced that no reviewers will come your way anyway because they are rarely paid (or adequately for their time). No newspaper or magazine will ever publish reviews of self-published books, not even publications like the Australian Book Review—many of my books were never reviewed there for as long as its editor-in-chief was there, until he left in April 2025. Once, when someone reviewed a number of books in Overland, including my Songs of the Last Chinese Poet, a Richard refused to review it. In its place was a blank space.

Hence the need for self-reviews, one of which I did today on my first collection of short stories published 33 years after my first arrival in this country in 1991, and after multiple rejections.

Hold your breath. There will be more down the track.


✷


B. On The White Cockatoo Flowers, a self-review

1.

‘The Wolves from the North’ is the first story which saw publication in English in Australia. It was published in Australian Short Stories, no. 52, 1995, pp. 29-35.

2.

‘The White Cockatoo Flowers’ was my second story published in English, included in the anthology Influence: Australian Voices, edited by Peter Skrzynecki and published by Transworld Publishing, 1997, pp. 171-9.


3.

Even though they were both published in English, they were in fact originally written much earlier in Chinese, my native tongue. I then self-translated them into English. ③ I've written much about the subject of self-translation. Interested readers can refer to my article, 'Self-translated-and-transformed, to a Higher Level of Failure', at https://westerlymag.com.au/self-translated-and-transformed-to-a-higher-level-of-failure/", as well as another article, ‘Self-translation and bilingual writing as a transnational writer in the age of machine translation,’ published in Overland (online):

4.

The two stories, ‘Bai yingwuhua’ (‘The White Cockatoo Flower’) [《白鹦鹉花》] and ‘Beifang de lang’ (‘Wolves from the North’) [《北方的狼》], had originally been published in a Shanghai-based literary magazine, 《小说界》 (Fiction World), both in 1994, the first one in issue no. 2, and the second in no. 5.

5.

The rest of the collection, except the novella at the end, was written in English—my father tongue if the Chinese is my mother tongue—and written across a span of some two decades before they were submitted and finally accepted and published by Transit Lounge Publishing, one of my publishers who had previously published my poetry collection, Self Translation (2012), my novel The English Class (2010) and another novel, Billy Sing (2017).


6.

Island, the novella, was originally written in Chinese in the late 1980s in Shanghai, where I was studying for my MA degree in Australian literature. It was not till I arrived in Australia in the early 1990s and began my PhD studies at La Trobe University that I embarked on self-translating it into English. This self-translation had gone into many drafts over the years, and the original Chinese manuscript had also been submitted to magazines and journals in the Chinese-speaking world.


7.

It was not till 2016 that Island was published in China.

One novella, ‘Dao’ (Island)［岛］, published in The Triangular Mainsail ([Sanjiao Fan] 《三角帆》), winter 2016, pp. 59-85.


8.

Thanks to Barry's kindness, the self-translated version was included in the end, so that this collection could be said to be a semi-self-translated fictional counterpart of Self Translation, except that the two short stories were written in Australia.


9.

These three self-translations remind me of Samuel Beckett's trilogy, Molloy, Malone Dies and The Unnameable—they were first written in French and were later self-translated by Beckett himself into English.


10.

There are a number of short stories which had been published in Australia and elsewhere. They are ‘She’ll be right’, ‘A Christmas Gift’, ‘The Red Packets’ and ‘The Australian Way’ (Westerly, No. 53, 2008, pp. 157-160).

Oops, the last one seems to have somehow not been included in this collection. You can read it here if you wish. Perhaps an oversight on my part that I shall make up for in my next collection if ever there is a chance.


11.

Let me get to my point now: short stories are a dying form. But I can only use myself as a gauge. I don't like stories to be too long. If they go into a length of some 60 or 70 pages, they must be necessarily bad, horrible. A number of names come to mind. But they are not worth mentioning.


12.

Kate Chopin, Raymond Carver and Lydia Davis are good short story writers, worth reading for the brevity, and a lot of other things, of their stories.


13.

Think of those ‘shorts’ on YouTube. ⑦ And things like TikTok or its Chinese counterpart Douyin (抖音）and Xiaohongshu (Little Red Book). That's the spirit of the time. If you persist in crafting stories much longer than my patience, you are doing the form or the genre a disservice by turning me away.

14.

No amount of ‘award-winning’ would win my attention back to the story unless adherence there is to the word ‘short’.


15.

Something else. I have always wanted to write stories that do not resemble stories but that resemble poetry, like a person who resembles a wind or a tree or just a passing feeling. Hence the stories ‘Present Tense’ and ‘Moments’.


16.

Again, a personal opinion. When literary journals or magazines arrive in my hands these days, I skip the stories and only read the poems, reviews or interviews as I don't have much patience for the long-winded stuff whoever has written. ⑧ I can think of quite a lot of names. But I don't want to mention them. I censor myself.

17.

Give the form some vitality by reforming it! ⑨ I have written one-word stories. But conventional western minds are scared. They dare not publish them. I move on, and forget them. Why waste time with the small minds? Fill it with life! Make it happen as shortly as possible.

18.

This story now has 827 words. I don't have anything more to say. I either shut myself up, or you shut me up by not reading it, and that's exactly how I treat those long short stories.

✷


C. Author-initiated and self-sought Reviews, and another self-review


How can you be not at least bilingual, living in a country of so many tongues?

—OYU, 1/5/2023


1.

Perhaps there is nothing more shameful than when a writer engages in an act of shame or self-shame by inviting a review from another writer, a magazine editor or an academic? Which is exactly what this writer recently experienced.

The question immediately follows: why does he have to subject himself to this shame by doing that? Can't he endure the silence of non-response? Can't he allow it to go on indefinitely, without bothering about it?

But the odd absence of reviews, despite review copies sent six months after the date of his novel’s publication, prompts him to do two things: checking with his publisher about what to do and approaching various people for a possible review.

An academic in the US declined the offer. An academic in India did the same. An academic in Russia did the same. Two magazine editors in Australia ignored his query. ⑩ All names redacted to protect their identity. More passed. The good thing, despite the bad thing, is that an academic in Italy agreed to write a review. ⑪ A promise made that was never honoured by the second round of editing./span> Then an academic in China agreed. An academic in Denmark agreed. An academic in UK agreed. ⑫ A promise made that was never honoured by the second round of editing. Later a poet in Naarm agreed.

2.

After writing for over 50 years since 1973, one realises that there is nothing more shameful than the very act of writing. One can publish a million books and manage to earn only a few peanuts. Compared with that, it's infinitely preferable to approach someone for a review, even though that goes against the so-called institutional practice, i.e. sending review copies to a decent newspaper or magazine to get the editor to commission someone decent to write a decent review. When there is so little decency in writing, what is there that is actually decent?


3.

Many of this writer's books go unreviewed, a recent example being Thought is Free (2023, Ginninderra Press), Foreign Matter and Other Poems (2023, Ginninderra Press) and Flag of Permanent Defeat (2019, Puncher & Wattmann). In the background an accusing voice says: but there are too many books published! And only a few can ever get reviewed.

Let's ignore that silly excuse.


4.

With Flag of Permanent Defeat, a collection of bilingual poetry in Chinese and English, it is understandable and natural that it remains ignored and unreviewed in a country where there are only 130 Australians of non-Chinese heritage who can speak Mandarin proficiently. ⑬ 'Are there only 130 Australians of non-Chinese heritage who can speak Mandarin proficiently?', posted 24/6/2019: https://www.abc.net.au/news/2019-06-24/fact-checka-are-there-only-130-people-who-can-speak-mandarin/11235484 To get it reviewed, I had to take the initiative by approaching a number of China-based academics and poets. This resulted in three longform reviews: one by Dr Liu Yujie, one by Associate Professor Wang Rui and the third by Professor Lu Ye, a well-known Chinese poet. ⑭ See the three reviews here, including two in Chinese: https://puncherandwattmann.com/product/flag-of-permanent-defeat/

If you can’t read the ones in Chinese, that's your problem, not mine; I can't help you.

I did not approach any Australians for two reasons: lack of Chinese on their part, and their possible reluctance because the invitations were author-initiated. If that is a review, is that a review? Is that a proper review?


5.

Even though someone I know agreed (and I emailed him an electronic copy afterwards), I have not heard from him since. I remember what I said to him was interesting, particularly the SC, which the writer of All the Rivers Run South practices on a massive basis.


6.

SC is short for self-censorship. In All the Rivers Run South, the main protagonist, a creative writing PhD student from China, completes his novel and commits suicide. In order to publish his novel, his supervisor Stacey Ahsin has to edit it by cutting large swathes of the text in order to produce a sanitised—and saleable—manuscript for submission to the publishers.


7.

Another interesting part of that novel is the discovery of the Lanfang Republic, which was founded by Luo Fangbo in 1777 until it was ended by Dutch occupation in 1884. Near the end of the book, Ah Sin, the erstwhile goldfields storyteller, goes with his two pregnant wives and his daughter of a dead Irish mother, to take up the post of the cultural minister. ⑮ Questioned about the connection of the Lanfang Republic to the birth of Singapore, AI reports thus, 'The Lanfang Republic, a Hakka Chinese-founded republic in Borneo, significantly impacted the founding of Singapore, particularly through its role in the Chinese diaspora and trade networks. Lanfang's influence extended to Singapore through its trade with the British, helping to bypass Dutch monopolies. Additionally, Lanfang's Hakka population, some of whom later migrated to Singapore, played a role in the development of the city-state, with some even suggesting a connection between Lanfang and the family of Singapore's first prime minister, Lee Kuan Yew.’

8.

Structurally speaking, that novel deliberately disrupts the flow of the story as it is constantly interrupted by poetry, occasional thought bursts and haphazard diary entries.


9.

The naming of the characters was also important as it lays the foundation of the novel as a solid shadow of the past. Ziya, Na Za and Daa Seinn evoke images of a bedrock of classicism and philosophical ponderance.


10.

If self-praise is to be skipped, it will be skipped. Meanwhile, I am waiting for the reviews to arrive. One is already here, from Wuhan, China. ⑯ Published here:

11.

Let me see what I've said in that email seeking a review.


Dear N—,

Would you be interested to review my new novel please? I'll go underground by disseminating it across the social media.

And, of course, you are welcome to say no.


When the no came, I said:


You are right about institutional recognition or acceptance. I guess I am being creative, trying something new, with an author-initiated and self-sought approach. Perhaps a commentary or 读后感 (post-reading impressions) is a more appropriate description. I'm not particularly impatient for anything in the way of reviews. If there is none, that is fine. I am happy to wait until the end of the day for zeroes. On the other hand, if there is something, it would be good to know. Already, I have a few that is coming. It might be an act of shame or self-shame to do this but I don't have long to live, so why not try something new?


12.

There was a yes, though, from an academic in Europe, and my email to him went:


Thank you, L—, really appreciated.


Perhaps not a blurb as it already carries a couple of them. More an author-initiated review, something new that I’m trying to do after I wrote a self-review of my translation books in the past. There are books that will never be reviewed, so while the author is alive why can’t he allow himself to write a review on his own work if the new exclusion is the new order of the day? Why can’t he invite others to write reviews on his new book instead of waiting in vain for the institutions that will always shut him out no matter what and for whatever mysterious reasons? What is there to be ashamed of? These are the questions I’m asking myself. Then, when there are reviews, I can disseminate them across the social media platforms such as Weibo, WeChat, IG, FB and X. I mean why not? When all the big platforms are pay-walled, the free social media platforms are probably the best places for this kind of thing. I’m not sure what you think but I’m trying to do it new.

Please find the e-version of the novel attached. I’ll send you the covers shortly.


13.

In a review by Li Xinxin and Huang Zhong, it is said that,

14.

An update: Someone remains unresponsive to my query. Someone said no to my query citing retirement and the leisure season in Europe. And I have grown tired of seeking the thing from anyone. As I tell myself to stop bothering about it, an idea came to me that the self-review could be elevated to another level—an imaginary review by my son, my dead father, my dead mother, my wife, and even my shadow as I am all of these people, in a way. If, for an individual writer, literature is bound to die on its own, that surely is the way for it to die its own death, no?

15.

This thought or suggestion was followed by another: that I can actually write an uninvited review of a book that I have recently read despite the realisation that no institution has invited me to do so, and a paid one at that. Why do they value institutions so much if the word is synonymous with, well, institutions? Who's there to ban me from writing a review I want to write and won't submit for publication except over social media, including my own blog and website? Is there anything to be ashamed of? Is the importance of that diminished simply because it's not an act of institutional invitation and institutional institution? How important is the idea of fair go, egalitarianism, equality, equity and fairness when it comes to literature and its reviews in Australia? If one chooses to write a review about something he has read without being invited or paid, is that necessarily of no importance if compared with something that is institutionalised? Are we really a democracy in which every person is as important as every person else and the opinion of each equally worthwhile? You think I believe that? You think you believe that? If not, why not? What's wrong with all that?

16.

Part of an imaginary review by Ouyang Binyu goes,


[Undone]


17.

It was not till 18 July 2024 that the first official review by Lisa Hill was published, eight months and seventeen days after the novel’s publication in Australia on 1/11/2023, its first sentence going thus:


All the Rivers Run South is one of the most interesting books I’ve read in a while.


18.

Interestingly, none of the people who had agreed to write a review has gotten back to me: one in Melbourne, one in Denmark, and one in Italy. Did I write an email reminding them of the need to provide it? No.


19.

Without too much thought, I grabbed hold of a review from out of the skies. It runs thus:

Ouyang Yu's novel All the Rivers Run South is a compelling narrative that delves into themes of migration, identity, and the complexities of cultural assimilation. Set against the backdrop of Australia, the novel explores the experiences of Chinese immigrants and their descendants, weaving together personal stories with broader socio-political commentary.

The novel stands out for its poetic prose, reflecting Ouyang Yu's background as a poet. His vivid descriptions and lyrical language bring to life the emotional landscapes of his characters, capturing their struggles, hopes, and resilience. The narrative structure is non-linear, often moving back and forth in time, which mirrors the fragmented nature of memory and identity that many immigrants experience.

One of the key strengths of All the Rivers Run South is its exploration of the tension between maintaining one's cultural heritage and adapting to a new environment. The characters grapple with issues of belonging and exclusion, often feeling caught between two worlds. This tension is poignantly depicted through their relationships, careers, and personal aspirations.

Ouyang Yu also addresses the theme of language as both a barrier and a bridge. The novel frequently highlights the challenges faced by non-native speakers in navigating a new linguistic landscape, while also celebrating the richness that bilingualism and multiculturalism bring to individual and collective identities.

Overall, All the Rivers Run South is a thought-provoking and beautifully crafted novel that offers deep insights into the immigrant experience. It resonates with readers who have experienced displacement and those interested in the interplay between culture, identity, and belonging. ⑱ This is a ChatGPT review.

20.

Was I desperate? No. But I did something I wanted to do after someone in my Smashing Poetry Forum posted a ChatGPT review of a book by Kathy Acker.

So I thought: Why not?


21.

Eventually, I could not withstand it any longer as the desire to reach out got the better of me. I put what I wrote in the subject of an email and sent to the aforementioned three who had agreed:


How did you go with the review please?


It didn't take them—at least the two of the three—long to answer. One had a good excuse for not doing it promptly: he was in the middle of moving house. The second one also had a good excuse: he was travelling in Europe. But he came back the following week with another reply:

What is novel about novels if they are conditioned by confining structures? What is the relationship between novelists and their ideas and the professional idea mongering of academics? How does one account for China's apparently endless history, story telling and ideas and by comparison, Australia's shallow, materialist and hence meagre history. Apart, of course, from its Indigenous history that lives and tells its story outside? ⑲ The rest of the review, by Lars Jensen from Denmark, is found on my blog: https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/5598825691840202650/3432676979491051799

22.

As the third person in Italy has not replied, I have nothing more to report except that I want to put an end to this process. At my invitation, I asked ChatGPT for a review in Chinese of the novel:

欧阳昱的英文长篇小说《条条河水向南流》(The Eastern Slope Chronicle） 是一部具有深刻文化内涵和社会意义的作品。 这部小说通过多重视角描绘了中国移民在澳大利亚的生活、 奋斗和身份认同问题，反映了当代社会中跨文化交流的复杂性。 ⑳ The rest of the ChatGPT text is here:
《事风格》

欧阳昱以其独特的语言风格和多重视角来叙述故事，展现了他作为一位多语作家的叙事能力。这种多层次的叙事使得小说的结构更加复杂和富有挑战性，同时也增加了其文学价值。

文学价值

欧阳昱通过《条条河水向南流》成功地将东方与西方文化进行对话，探索了文化迁移与融合的主题。这部小说不仅在文学上具有独特的风格和创新性，同时也反映了当代社会中的重要议题，如移民问题、跨文化交流与身份认同等。

总的来说，《条条河水向南流》是一部值得深入阅读和探讨的小说，它不仅展现了欧阳昱的文学才能，还为读者提供了一个理解跨文化经验和全球化背景下个体命运的视角。

Oh dear, oh dear ... I shook my head at this absurd result, a new absurdity more absurd than the theatre of the absurd, and once again realised the pointlessness of writing and getting any writing reviewed by both humans and non-humans. ㉑ ChatGPT made a big mistake of taking 《条条河水向南流》（All the Rivers Run South）as The Eastern Slope Chronicle（《东坡纪事》） and I didn't bother correcting it or IT.
P.S. It would be even more absurd if I include another ChatGPT comment on my latest novel. ㉒ Published in March 2025.

But if I want to do it, I will. Here you go:

Ouyang Yu's The Sun at Eight or Nine is a significant work that captures the essence of cultural dislocation and identity crisis faced by immigrants. The novel delves deeply into the experiences of Chinese immigrants in Australia, exploring themes such as alienation, cultural clash, and the struggle to reconcile one's past with a new present.

Ouyang Yu uses a unique narrative style that blends poetic language with prose, reflecting the fragmented nature of the immigrant experience. His portrayal of characters is nuanced, often highlighting the internal conflicts and external challenges they face in adapting to a new environment while trying to maintain their cultural heritage.

The novel is also notable for its exploration of language. Ouyang Yu, a bilingual writer, often plays with the duality of language, demonstrating how it can both connect and separate individuals from their roots. This linguistic interplay adds a layer of depth to the narrative, emphasizing the complexities of communication in a multicultural setting.

Overall, The Sun at Eight or Nine is a powerful commentary on the immigrant experience, enriched by Ouyang Yu's lyrical prose and insightful observations. It resonates with anyone who has grappled with issues of identity, belonging, and the often-painful process of adapting to a new cultural landscape. ㉓ This is a ChatGPT review.

✷

D. A dialogue between Ouyang and Yu:

O: Do you remember why someone refused to review one of your books in ABR years ago?

Y: Yes. I forgot his name but because this guy hated the guts of my Songs of the Last Chinese Poet (2002) he refused to review it.

O: How did you feel about that?

Y: I didn't feel anything. I had a laugh.

O: Did your book of nonfiction, Thought is Free (2023), get reviewed?

Y: No.

O: Did your book of criticism, Memories and Voices: A Book of Criticism (2024), get reviewed?

Y: No.

O: Did your book of poetry, The Kingsbury Tales: A Complete Collection (2008), get reviewed?

Y: No.

O: Did any of your scores of translations of Australian books, published in China, get reviewed in this country?

Y: No.

O: How did you feel about that?

Y: It's their problem, not mine. It's their loss, not mine.

O: Do you really care one way or another?

Y: Not really.

O: Why?

Y: One has such absolute autonomy in this day and age that one can do reviews of one's own work or commission interested parties for reviews or invite AI to do the free job or put together bits and pieces of commentary scattered over the internet instead of hanging on to the thing from the official channel that never comes.

O: Why?

Y: Don't interrupt me.

O: I'm sorry.

Y: I'm sorry, too, because I forgot what I was going to say.

O: You were meaning to say that writing has become so self-centred and self-organised that the self can actually do everything—

Y: From self-comments, my own invention, through self-analysis, self-promotion, self-decolonisation to self-strengthening by self-reviewing.

O: Self-strengthening?

Y: Of course. Otherwise, you are reduced to a slave held waiting for their cash-like comments that are never forthcoming.

O: You mean to say: ditch them and don't give a fuck?

Y: Exactly.

O: Thank you so much for this.

Y: No need.

O: Any advice to our young writers?

Y: I don't have any advice for anyone. I only have advice for myself, or for you. The literary world is not one of fair go; instead it resembles a maximum security prison run by gatekeepers of all kinds. Some books get more reviews than others. Some never get any. But self-reliance is the key to solving the problem. In being a writer, you constantly break the prison. You publish your own books and you write your own reviews. Let the self be the king, and liberate yourself from the slavery of being a writer dependent upon others’ review breaths for a living. If Walt Whitman could sing ‘Song of Myself’ in his day, it is even more appropriate, and urgent, today for me, for us—you and I, to sing our own ‘Song of Self’, in achieving our independence.

O: Why so pessimistic?

Y: That’s the reality and you can’t pretend that it’s otherwise. You know better than me, don’t you?

O: Do you read reviews to read books?

Y: No. I’m not a cow to be led by the reviewers’ nose.

O: Why not, if it's for your own good?

Y: A reviewer is not a doctor, nor am I a patient.

O: Is that right?

Y: If I want to find a partner, do I need people to tell me who I should like or not?

O: True but you still need to be told what’s best, no?

Y: No. Self-search matters more than anything else. If you lose your head in following the so-called authority, you are the stupid one. In nearly all the books I’ve decided to read and reread, I follow my own instincts and my own judgements. If I judged wrong, that’s fine; there’s no need to send myself to death for that—I keep making mistakes and I learn from them. Sometimes a book is remembered for a single remark that lasts for decades. Years ago, I rejected a novel in Chinese while editing Otherland, but I remember one remark in it that goes: 六四前是动乱，六四后是乱动。This defies translation, so I’ll invite ChatGPT to do it. But I don’t like its translation, it’s not good enough. I’ll use mine instead: Before June 4th, it is dongluan. After June 4th, it’s luandong. It’s a play on words wherein the same word（动乱dongluan）to（乱动luandong）is turned around to create two contrary meanings. This is impossible to understand in English, and I won’t explain either.

Back to the point. I never read a book because of a review. In fact, I don’t read a book because of a praising review; it turns me off. I want to make my own discoveries, and I never regret my decisions. In my opinion, there need to be pre-book reviews and post-book reviews. I prefer the latter, because it's years after the book was published that I bumped into it and I liked it enough to say that I liked it. One author I self-discovered is E. M. Cioran, and apart from all his other books that I bought and read, the one book that I continue to love is Cahiers: 1957-1972, whose 999 pages in French I read nonstop and daily with the aid of machine translation. I didn't need a review to buy it and read it. It's that simple. The stupidity of having to rely on a review, ugh.

O: Did you realise that this actually is a self-interview?

✷✷✷

 

Ouyang Yu is an award-winning poet and novelist. His first novel, The Eastern Slope Chronicle, won the 2004 South Australian Festival Award for Innovation in Writing. His third novel, The English Class, won the 2011 NSW Premier’s Award, and his fourteenth collection of poetry, Terminally Poetic (2020), won the Judith Wright Calanthe Award in the 2021 Queensland Literary Awards.

He was shortlisted for the Writer’s Prize in the 2021 Melbourne Prize for Literature and he won the Fellowship from Creative Australia in 2021.

His ninth novel, The Sun at Eight or Nine, was published in March 2025.

 
Leah McIntosh