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An expansion of the 2020 Theodore Sturgeon Memorial Award winning story. Arboreality is a finalist for the Philip K. Dick Award and the winner of the 2023 Ursula K. Le Guin Prize for Fiction.
A professor in pandemic isolation rescues books from the flooded and collapsing McPherson Library. A man plants fireweed on the hillside of his depopulated Vancouver Island suburb. An aspiring luthier poaches the last ancient Sitka spruce to make a violin for a child prodigy. Campbell's astonishing vision pulls the echoing effects of small acts and intimate moments through this multi-generational and interconnected story of how a West coast community survives the ravages of climate change.
A story about life, loss, love... and sexual desire.
Giuliana Cilauro returns to Sydney after a self-imposed nine-year exile, with a Doctorate from Oxford, enviable experience at a London critical-issue advisory firm, and a 3-year-old Jack Russell named Smudge. All Giuliana wants is a fresh start, but there are scents, people, pictures and places that keep pulling her back into a past overshadowed by grief and guilt. So, when she's not speaking at press conferences, or managing the political fallout from a fossil fuel divestment strategy, or handling public relations for a billion-dollar global renewable energy project, she dances and she runs until it hurts to numb a different type of hurt. Proudly adept at keeping herself emotionally detached, Giuliana prefers casual affairs and relationships of convenience over romance and commitment, and she uses such trysts to satisfy her deepest sexual desires. But the barriers she built to protect herself start to slip when she finds herself drawn to Christian Worne, the Managing Director at Worne Group, where she works in Corporate Affairs with his younger brother, Thomas. Can Giuliana overcome Christian's unpredictable behaviour towards her and the miscommunications between them, not to mention the corporate structure, and connect with him? And can she overcome her history, with all its heartache and loss, and trust herself to conquer the insecurities and bad habits that would normally send her running in the opposite direction? About the AuthorRebecca Campbell (she/her) is an amateur cook, non-practising scientist, and inconsistent reader who lives in the New England region of northern New South Wales, Australia, with her husband, two stepsons, two cats, and a dog.
After studying and researching zoology, animal ecology, entomology, myrmecology and climate change for ten years, she realised academia wasn't for her and rediscovered her passion for creative writing.
When she's not feeding people and sharing her love of food or favourite recipes, blogging about homosexual necrophilia in the mallard duck and hyena clitorises, or recounting some of her best late-night, whisky-fuelled arguments with people who were wrong on the Internet, Rebecca writes women's fiction with contemporary romance elements.
Her first novel, Sandalwood, touches on grief, sexual desire, the power of scent, and confronting the past. She is currently working on the three-book Triptych series, which tells the intertwined and concurrent stories of Yolanda, Annika and Imogen-three friends in their mid-40s who find themselves at a crossroads in life.
After recording some very ordinary backing vocals on her husband's album, she now likes to think she's a little bit garage-punk when really she's a little bit more perfume and red lipstick.
She needs you to know that myrmecology is the scientific study of ants, not mermaids.
It's 1916, during the First World War, in an alternate world where resurrection is possible. Anne Markham, the daughter of a celebrated neurologist, is reusing the bodies of the dead, combining them into new forms and sending them back into combat, building creatures so complex, and so enormous, that they can encompass all of the fallen.
It's not life as you or I live it. It's not pain or thought as we know it. It's a different order of existence, and what arises is no longer man. They're all dead, but dead doesn't always mean what it used to. All flesh has an afterlife. And from that perspective, are we not angels, ushering them from one form to the next?
He was made of copper wire and electrical sparks and aethereal fluid and hyphae ... emerging in the mist of dawn.
In collaboration with The Lancaster Museum of Art and History (MOAH), The Potato Eaters is a contemporary reflection on the works of Rebecca Campbell's 2016 exhibition. Campbell's new series of work examines aspects of family and cultural history, memory, documentation and nostalgia. The title is taken from Vincent van Gogh's 1885 masterpiece that portrays Dutch peasants gathered at a meager meal. As in van Gogh's celebrated work that addresses themes of noble human existence and connection to the land, Campbell references her family history and relatives who lived in Idaho during the early and mid-twentieth century.
102 pages; 22 photographs; 26 paintings
