Richard Glover from ABC 702 Sydney talks to Jon Doust

ABC 702 Sydney

Rebecca Levinston from ABC Brisbane chats to the author

ABC Brisbane

BRISBANE WRITERS' FESTIVAL

Drusilla Modjeska & Jon Doust
The University of Queensland Library
 
Date: Friday 7th September
Time: 3-4pm
Venue: Event will be held in the Library Conference Room, Level 1, Duhig Building, UQ St Lucia Campus

Topic/Focus: 
Panel discussion between writers Drusilla Modjeska and Jon Doust, Chaired by Professor Joanne Tompkins, School of English, Media Studies and Art History, Faculty of Arts, The University of Queensland. 
The focus will be on issues relating to Papua New Guinea, postcolonial PNG, and national/personal identity

A man talks

Marcel Doust and Vivienne Glance read

An interview with Gillian OShaughnessy on 7.20ABC Afternoon

Jon talks with Gillo: 720ABC

A Barefaced Tale

Went down to Barefaced Stories at The Bird (Perth WA) last night and told the story of the first chapter.
The real story.
The first chapter is, of course, pure fiction.
Here it is:

The man on me moves.
I lie still.
He moves again. Maybe he’s embarrassed to be murdering a sobbing, bleeding, blubbering man who has no power, no strength, no will, no future. He rolls off me. I squeeze my eyes. Lungs suck great chunks of air. I hear him stand and walk away. I don’t know where to but I hope it’s far, so far I can’t see him when I get up off this floor because then I might stumble down the stairs to the kitchen, take one of the houseboy’s long knives, walk up the stairs to his room, open his door, find him lying on his bed exhausted from the attempted murdering and stick him – stick the knife into his musclebound body more than once, maybe as many times as the murder I heard about on Radio Australia last week when one man stabbed another to death because of a sweet potato deal gone sour.
I turn my head to the floor. The crying spreads. I am emptying, pouring out, everything is leaving me. I know that if I cry long enough and hard enough there will be nothing left but a wet patch of tears mixed with blood, and when he comes out of his room to check on me, or someone climbs the stairs, all they will see is a small pool of what was once me.

You can read another coupld of chapters on the Fremantle Press site.