{"id":2557,"date":"2018-04-11T17:43:33","date_gmt":"2018-04-11T07:13:33","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.wakefieldpress.com.au\/blog\/?p=2557"},"modified":"2018-04-11T17:43:33","modified_gmt":"2018-04-11T07:13:33","slug":"book-extract-big-rough-stones","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.wakefieldpress.com.au\/blog\/2018\/04\/book-extract-big-rough-stones\/","title":{"rendered":"Book Extract: Big Rough Stones"},"content":{"rendered":"

Big Rough Stones<\/h1>\n
\"front<\/a>

Cover of the book<\/p><\/div>\n

They surged across King William Street, around and up onto the bronze Boer War horseman at the corner of North Terrace. Ro linked arms with the woman next to her. ‘Take the toys from the boys’, they sang. The hero almost disappeared under a festoon of women, but clung valiantly to his rifle, bronze upper lip stiff. It was his horse who looked most horrified.<\/em><\/p>\n

Meet Ro at thirty-something. She is committed to cures for every ill from monogamy to orange armpit fungus. Her ambitions are passionate, her energy boundless, her intentions generally good …<\/p>\n

Thirty years later, are the edges any smoother?<\/p>\n

‘You thought feminism would stop violence against women,’ said Julia. ‘And that would stop war. And stop people trashing the Earth. You tried.’<\/em><\/p>\n

‘Not alone,’ said Ro modestly. ‘I had help.’<\/p>\n

This is a story of community, friendship, sisterhood, and the coming of age that continues all our lives.<\/p>\n

Read an extract\u00a0of\u00a0Big Rough Stones<\/em> below.<\/p>\n

<\/h3>\n

The Farm<\/h3>\n

The road was narrower now and soon began to twist. Trees\u00a0met overhead. Valleys, green with tree ferns, fell away beside the car.\u00a0They turned off onto a dirt road that became little more than a track\u00a0through a gap in the towering forest. Gerry stopped the ute in front\u00a0of a battered wooden gate.<\/p>\n

\u2018I\u2019ll do it,\u2019 said Ro, reaching for the door handle.<\/p>\n

\u2018I\u2019d better. It\u2019s a bit temperamental.\u2019 Gerry jumped out and Ro\u00a0watched as she unlatched the gate and lifted it slightly so that it\u00a0could swing. The gate posts stuck out at odd angles. Ro wound down\u00a0her window and breathed in the late afternoon air, eucalypt, a touch\u00a0of smoke and a dark coolness that would be mist in the hollows by\u00a0nightfall.<\/p>\n

\u2018I\u2019ll have to go straight over to Steve\u2019s and see what\u2019s happening\u00a0with Lark. Might have to borrow Steve\u2019s float to bring her back.\u2019\u00a0Gerry looked up at the sky, gauging the angle of the sun. \u2018Or maybe\u00a0wait till morning for that. But I have to go and see. Thought you\u00a0could stay here and get the fire going. It\u2019ll be cold tonight.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Okay.\u2019<\/p>\n

The track wound round the side of a steep hill through orchard\u00a0trees, bright green against the dark background of the forest. They\u00a0passed a clutter of sheds and curved round to a cup-shaped hollow\u00a0in the hillside.<\/p>\n

\u2018Here we are,\u2019 Gerry said, voice nervous. \u2018I\u2019m still working on it.\u2019<\/p>\n

It was a small fibro shack with a chimney pipe sticking out\u00a0the top. Nothing was square or symmetrical. On one side a lean-to\u00a0slid down into an apple tree. On the other side a smaller shack was\u00a0connected by a roofed-in walkway. All three structures were propped\u00a0up by tanks. The overall effect was fungal, a strange grey mushroom\u00a0that had sprung from the hillside and was now subsiding back into\u00a0it again.<\/p>\n

But this was not an abandoned ruin. When Ro looked more\u00a0closely she could see evidence of loving attention. One side of the\u00a0main shack had been opened out, the wall replaced with stained\u00a0glass windows at various heights. In front of the house one of the\u00a0few flat areas had been paved with old bricks. Garden table and\u00a0chairs had been painted a neat green.<\/p>\n

\u2018It\u2019s beautiful,\u2019 Ro said, moved by the signs of careful work,\u00a0prepared to embrace any amount of rustic charm.<\/p>\n

Gerry eased the tarp off the back of the ute and lifted their\u00a0packs out.<\/p>\n

\u2018Dot and Maria live the other side of the hill. There a track to\u00a0their place further along the road. You\u2019ll see tomorrow.\u2019<\/p>\n

The house was not locked. Gerry pointed out a basket of\u00a0kindling, chopped wood and the old Metters stove.<\/p>\n

\u2018What say you light the stove? I won\u2019t be long,\u2019 she said. \u2018Oh, and\u00a0I\u2019ll bring Hester back. Okay?\u2019<\/p>\n

\n

Without waiting for an answer she backed out. Ro heard the\u00a0engine cough into life and the ute recede up the track. She sank\u00a0into the one armchair. Hester? She, Ro, must have made a mistake.\u00a0This wasn\u2019t a seduction scene at all, not with someone called Hester\u00a0staying here as well. The space was tiny.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

Surely she hadn\u2019t made the live-in girlfriend mistake? One of\u00a0the worst in the available range of seduction mistakes, most of which\u00a0Ro had made. The very worst was to come on to a woman, assuming\u00a0she was a dyke, and find she was straight. The discovery of a live-in\u00a0girlfriend wasn\u2019t as bad as that, but disappointing enough.<\/p>\n

Her radar couldn\u2019t be that faulty. She and Gerry hadn\u2019t actually\u00a0discussed it, but none of the signs pointed to a live-in lover. And\u00a0everyone she\u2019d asked had spoken of Gerry as if she was single.<\/p>\n

Now that she came to think about it, Ro wasn\u2019t sure that she\u00a0herself had mentioned Sascha. That would have to be dealt with. She\u00a0dismissed the idea quickly. Tomorrow.<\/p>\n

Another thought struck her. Could Hester be a daughter? Ro\u2019s\u00a0heart sank. That would be worse than anything. Gerry looked an\u00a0unlikely sort for a mother, but who could tell?<\/p>\n

Ro jumped to her feet and pushed open the door of the lean-to.\u00a0Bathroom. And a window in the right place so that you could sit in\u00a0the bath and look out into the branches of a tree. A chip heater, but\u00a0no toilet. Must be outside.<\/p>\n

She crossed the main room to the walkway and passed through\u00a0into the one bedroom. The bed was a chipboard platform on milk\u00a0crates with a mattress on top. No sign of toys or kids\u2019 clothes. Oh\u00a0well. She\u2019d find out soon enough.<\/p>\n

\n

Big Rough Stones\u00a0<\/em>is Margaret’s third book with Wakefield Press. Margaret’s previous novel,\u00a0The First Week<\/em>\u00a0<\/a>(2013) won the Unpublished Manuscript Award at Adelaide Writers’ Week, and then was shortlisted for the Barbara Jefferis Award, the NSW Premier’s Award and the Onkaparinga People’s Choice Award. In 2014, Wakefield Press published her\u00a0Fables Queer and Familiar<\/em><\/a>, illustrated by Chia Moan. The ‘Fables’ started out as an online serial and they have also been broadcast around the country as a radio serial.<\/p>\n

Join us for the launch of\u00a0Big Rough Stones<\/em> by Chia Moan at The Joinery<\/a> on Friday 13 April from 6pm. If you are unable to attend the launch, but would like a copy of the book, visit us at our Rose street bookshop or find it online<\/a>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Big Rough Stones They surged across King William Street, around and up onto the bronze Boer War horseman at the corner of North Terrace. Ro linked arms with the woman next to her. ‘Take the toys from the boys’, they … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"advanced_seo_description":"","jetpack_seo_html_title":"","jetpack_seo_noindex":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[553,107,80,5,8],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2557","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-adelaide","category-extract","category-for-fun","category-wordpress-defaults","category-we-love-books"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p4v1Of-Ff","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack-related-posts":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.wakefieldpress.com.au\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2557","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.wakefieldpress.com.au\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.wakefieldpress.com.au\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.wakefieldpress.com.au\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.wakefieldpress.com.au\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2557"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/www.wakefieldpress.com.au\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2557\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2572,"href":"https:\/\/www.wakefieldpress.com.au\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2557\/revisions\/2572"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.wakefieldpress.com.au\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2557"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.wakefieldpress.com.au\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2557"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.wakefieldpress.com.au\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2557"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}