First Nations writers are reduced to moral objects, to be emptily liked or disliked in a white culture war we never asked for
We’re in the midst of a renaissance in First Nations literature. I should be elated. Alexis Wright won the 2018 Stella for the unrivalled Tracker, and in 2019 Melissa Lucashenko is shortlisted for the relentless Too Much Lip. Claire Coleman’s got another highly anticipated book, The Old Lie, coming out this year, Tony Birch has The White Girl in the works, and Kirli Saunders will maker her debut soon with Kindred. Four out of 10 of The Next Chapter fellows are Indigenous. Others are energetically honing releases into next year and beyond.
So why do I feel this restlessness?