What inspired you to write Days of Innocence and Wonder?

In one way, Days of Innocence and Wonder began with a photograph of an old railway station in the middle of a dry South Australian landscape. Immediately I pictured a young woman finding sanctuary there, in a dying town. But what was she fleeing from, and what would life be like in this town? A version of a novel involving a child escaping a kindergarten had been in my mind for years, since something like it happened locally. I wondered about the child left behind. These two elements formed the basis for Days of Innocence and Wonder.

Only recently, it occurred to me that I was also tapping into the grief I felt when my dearest friend at age five or six moved to New Zealand. I was bereft. But ‘sensitive child misses best friend’ is not much of a hook to hold a book together. An abduction opens up so many possibilities. The story unfolded like this from a series of ‘what ifs’.

What were the most challenging and enlightening aspects of writing your book?

Trying to write the story of Till and E while acknowledging broader issues of structural colonial violence in this part of Australia was an issue. I very much wanted to decolonise this landscape, to look at what its surface concealed.

Lockdowns in Melbourne created problems from the novel’s inception. Research trips were postponed and interrupted for two years. A lovely thing when I got to South Australia’s Mid North — the novel’s setting — was that there were so few travellers. It was a Wittgenstein’s Mistress world, and as if I was the only survivor. It was strange and beautiful driving through this empty landscape. I don’t think of myself as a writer of cities, but it was so interesting experiencing and writing a Melbourne grown strange through Covid times.

The major highlight was working with Ngadjuri elder Angelena Rigney on the creation of the character Tundra. This was a collaborative process throughout. We talked about representations of First Nations people and issues, with Angelena having final approval on all these matters in the book. It would be one of the richest writing experiences I’ve had.

In what ways do you think Till might be an empowering figure for women and young girls?

The trajectory I had in mind for Till was of her being able to face her fear, to acknowledge and face her childhood trauma and its ongoing effects without it defining her identity or her future. The past is always an undercurrent to the present — resolution or ‘closure’ is not always possible — but Till nonetheless eventually is able to live life fully and with hope. Part of this novel is about Till’s agency and the steps towards self-reliance that she takes. Being prepared and trained to defend herself physically and turning towards danger to resolve it and save others are key here. Trauma is not necessarily the end of a story. I don’t write to offer advice, but I hope there is something that women and young girls can take from Till’s experience of overcoming trauma and reclaiming power.

How do you think literature helps to shape our understanding of ourselves and others?

I love literature that encourages speculation about ideas and possibilities as this is so much part of my interior life. I wonder what that life would be like. What might I do in such circumstances? I think from the particular (this person, this situation) to the general (the ‘big idea’), and this is one of the great capacities of novels.

What was the most recent book you’ve read about women or girls that moved you?

Lia Hills’ 2024 wonderful novel The Desert Knows Her Name (Affirm) is about a ‘desert girl’ who walks out of the Wimmera desert into the life of a regenerative farmer, Beth. It is on Beth’s farm that the girl, who is silent, finds sanctuary. Intensely atmospheric, filled with longing, silences and mystery, this novel is also about the connections between women and community. I loved it.