Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Benjamin D. Muir, Casual Academic, School of Humanities and Communication Arts, Western Sydney University

Emily Brontë died of tuberculosis 177 years ago, yet this adaptation is still the worst thing that has ever happened to her.

This is how one Letterbox’d user described writer-director Emerald Fennell’s film adaptation of Brontë’s classic tale.

Reviews for the film are mixed at best. While some critics have praised the visuals, detractors return to the same argument: it is not a good adaptation.

Good adaptations take advantage of the affordances the cinematic medium provides, so some changes are permissible. Fennell goes well beyond this, altering essential characters, relationships and themes to the point that the film feels like erotic fan-fiction with a Hollywood budget.

To synopsise, Brontë’s story is a tragedy of intergenerational trauma. It follows Heathcliff, an abused serial abuser, and Catherine, an intergenerational manipulator. The pair’s toxic relationship – and mutual revenge on everyone they knew (beyond the grave in Catherine’s case) – wreaks havoc.

Visually loud, emotionally mute

Given its tagline “the greatest love story ever told”, Fennell’s film was destined to make some changes.

The frame narrative of the novel is missing. The novel is told through housekeeper Nelly Dean, who is recounting it to Heathcliff’s tenant, Lockwood. The film, meanwhile, starts in Catherine’s childhood and ends at her death.

This also means Fennell stops short of the final act of the novel. In doing so, she omits an entire generation of important characters on whom the original Catherine and Heathcliff – two traumatised, irredeemable wrecking balls – foist their damage.

The interpersonal dynamics that underpin Brontë’s story are warped into a vacuous caricature, missing the point with virtuosic flair. And make no mistake: there is flair. The visual design is bombastic, pointedly anachronistic, and utterly at odds with the novel’s gloomy Gothic countenance.

Brontë’s perpetually grey and haunted moors are swapped for technicolour highlights, elaborate outfits and, at times, saturated tangerine sunsets. It watches like Sofia Coppola attempting Edgar Allan Poe – or a Charli XCX clip (guess who wrote the original soundtrack). This is an odd liberty for a film named after the story’s original setting – the stormy Wuthering Heights estate.

As pioneering Gothic theorists Sanda Gilbert and Susan Gubar write, the Heights in the novel are blanketed by “a general air of sour hatred” that manifests as “continual, aimless violence”.

In the Gothic, setting functions as a haunted presence that reflects the characters’ aberrant psychological states. The past haunts, even when there are no ghosts.

Fennell’s version retains the melodrama, but not the foreboding, hate and malice. And despite the explicit sexuality (none of which appears in the novel beyond euphemism), her take on the story feels oddly toothless. Neutered, even. It trades Gothic for vaudeville.

The erasure of Hindley and Heathcliff

To say the film lacks the novel’s social commentary is an understatement.

From the opening scene, the changes to the source material are clear. We see a young Catherine witnessing a hanged man with an erection – and this tone remains for the entire runtime.

Hindley – Catherine’s brother who forces Heathcliff into servitude, and is arguably the lynchpin of Heathcliff’s revenge – is also entirely absent from the film.

Literary critic Terry Eagleton notes how it is Hindley’s inherited status that enables his abuse of Heathcliff. It is Heathcliff’s lack of wealth, status and property that sees Catherine wed the wealthy Edgar Linton; and, as theorist Arnold Kettle argues, it is Heathcliff’s weaponisation of wealth and inheritance that finally serves as his vehicle for revenge.

To remove these factors is to remove the novel’s entire moral framework.

In the film, Heathcliff’s grievances shrink to Catherine choosing to marry Edgar Linton. This is as close as the film comes to the novel’s treatment of classism, racism and intergenerational trauma.

Likewise, ending on Catherine’s death erases the consequences of the deuteragonists’ manipulations – namely the suffering of their respective children and servants.

The casting of Jacob Elordi as Heathcliff has its own controversy. In the novel, Heathcliff’s ambiguous racial identity, within the context of Georgian England, shapes almost every interaction he has.

Even though it’s not clear what his racial identity is (some scholars point to hints that suggest he may have escaped from slavery), his character is defined by “othering”. This is something Elordi’s Heathcliff is at no risk of believably experiencing.

The film flattens the novel’s broader account of how trauma replicates across generations, and how systemic marginalisation can both attract and beget abuse.

On abuse – perhaps Fennell’s strangest departure from the source material is reframing Heathcliff’s treatment of Isabella (Edgar Linton’s sister and later Heathcliff’s wife) as a consensual BDSM dynamic.

Brontë’s Heathcliff terrorises Isabella physically and emotionally, and implicitly sexually, until she flees with their son.

The switch from repressed, complex desire in the novel to explicit sex scenes (absent from the book), and the rewriting of abuse as kink, seems to cater to audiences raised on post-50 Shades Of Grey erotica rather than Victorian Gothic.

Literary classics for a Tiktok generation

Like 2020’s colourful Austen adaptation, Emma (well received as a film, but criticised as an adaptation), Fennell’s Wuthering Heights signals a trend towards the “tiktokification” of literary adaptations.

Hollywood has long taken liberties with books, but this recent wave feels engineered for clips, reels and virality, rather than the necessary sacrifices of adaptation.

We know it’s possible to have adaptations with both flair and substance. Consider Baz Luhrmann. The Oscar-nominated Romeo + Juliet (1996) is just as visually bombastic, yet the extent of verbatim Shakespeare retains a dedication to the source that Fennell’s film lacks.

So what does it have to offer? Virality. Even this article contributes to the internet firestorm that will ensure Wuthering Heights’ commercial success. It will ragebait critics far longer than such a limp effort deserves – and we are all its victims.

– ref. Wuthering Heights looks lush – but it’s a bad film and a worse adaptation – https://theconversation.com/wuthering-heights-looks-lush-but-its-a-bad-film-and-a-worse-adaptation-276179

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Lauren Swain, Associate Lecturer in Theatre, The University of Melbourne

This story oscillates and swells around a glass outdoor table, on the porch of a family home on Larrakia land. A table almost identical to the one on my porch back home. I point this out to my sis as the bubbling opening night crowd pours into the Merlyn Theatre, in the Malthouse on the unceded lands of the Kulin Nation.

I am a proud Dabee Wiradjuri person and theatre maker. My family’s table is held by cold Ngarigo Country, in the alpine plains where I grew up. A far cry from the salty humid air of Larrakia land where this table and this story are set. I do not know Larrakia Country well, only faint memories of glowing sky, crocs and giant mystical trees from when I visited family as a child.

But this table, I do know.

I wonder who else in this auditorium knows this table? Or what is their version of this table? Where do they and their people gather?

My table back home has held more cups of tea with my family than I can possibly count, summer storm watching, rain bird listening, laughter, tears and silence. If my understanding of this table is even somewhat similar to that of Larrakia mother, writer, director Jada Alberts, then my heart is in for a ride.

Around the Black Light table, we are met by four inimitable First Nations women and actors: Trisha Morton-Thomas (Nan), Rachael Maza (Aunty), Lisa Maza (Mum) and Tahlee Fereday (Bub).

Each of these women is holding the strength of the people and places that have come before and after them. The audience is also there with a lineage that has led us all to this very moment. I wonder how many people will go home and think of all the people and places that have come together in them?

Love and magic

Four women across three generations come together in the wake of an unnamed national crisis. There are allusions to climate disaster with regular power outages, unrest in the city and storms scoring the play. There are resonances of lockdowns from a not-so-distant past, or the possibility this is a crisis in a not-so-distant future.

Following a relationship breakdown, Bub has returned home from the bustle of the city with their children in tow. Nan’s memory is declining; Mum is always working; Aunty, Nan’s main carer, is lonely.

This is the first time in a long time they have all been together – and possibly the first time they have been forced to speak the unspeakable.

Morton-Thomas as Nan has us in the palm of her hand. When she giggles, we giggle. When she cries, we weep. She so beautifully carries us between worlds, dipping in and out of lucidity, the liminal, the here, the past and into a dreamscape of a beyond. We follow her as our guide through both the surreal and domestic non-linear form this play traversed.

“This is magic and magic is love,” Nan says. Tonight, there is a whole lot of love and undeniable magic.

On the topic of magic, the Maza sisters are a force to be reckoned with. Returning to the stage together for the first time in 17 years, the synergy of these real-life sisters playing fictional sisters is truly palpable. As they began to bicker for the first time, you can feel an energy spill across the audience: a collective strapping in.

The head-to-head, sarcastic side eyes from Aunty and deathly glares from Mum have the audience cackling. The comedy lulls us into a false sense of security, momentarily forgetting the ecological and familial crisis on the horizon.

Tahlee Fereday’s Bub embodies the state of being on the precipice of crisis. Bub is lost and needs to find their way back home. Nan repeats, “Just reach out bub” – Country is waiting.

I have the immense privilege of calling Tahlee a friend and colleague. In the real world, she is a laugh a minute. Here as Bub, Tahlee is grounded, authentic and captivating. Her delivery of the final monologue flaws me in its vulnerability.

Country speaks loudly

I cried before, during and after the show.

Before, reading Albert’s writer and director’s note honouring their grandmothers and generously inviting us to listen to Nan’s words:

I hope her words remind you of your own humanity, your interconnectedness, to every living thing and the Country that holds you.

During, between the laughs, as I experienced the brave truth telling and poetic reclamation of grief, trauma, love, loss and survival in the colonial project. Country speaks loudly: no words, but we heard her.

After, remembering – just like Albert’s – my own grandmother turns 90 this year. The staunch matriarch and pillar of my family. So much of her is in me, her love, her magic (which Nan says is the same thing).

I can’t wait to call my grandma and tell her all about this play.

As I write this now, I still feel as though my heart is on the outside of my body – “good ways”.

Thank you Jada, for sharing the story of your motherhood and the mothers who came before you. Thank you Malthouse for programming this work to open the 2026 season.

I know this will be one of those plays that stays with us another 17 years from now.

Black Light is at Malthouse Theatre, Melbourne, until March 7.

– ref. A love letter to Country: grief, motherhood and loss in Jada Alberts’ Black Light – https://theconversation.com/a-love-letter-to-country-grief-motherhood-and-loss-in-jada-alberts-black-light-275802

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Alex Simpson, Associate Professor in Criminology, Macquarie University

Australian policing has been in the spotlight in the past few weeks.

There were concerning scenes in New South Wales during protests against Israeli President Isaac Herzog’s visit, while Queensland Police’s commitment to curtailing domestic and family violence was queried when a specialist unit was scrapped.

These issues might appear to be separate, but they both highlight a masculinity problem within Australian policing.

It may be time for an Australian version of the United Kingdom’s 2023 Baroness Casey Review, which exposed worrying behaviour and cultural issues inside the UK’s Metropolitan Police Service.

Violence and a lack of support

In Sydney, the policing of protesters against the visit of Herzog led to serious questions about the use of force.

Protesters were pepper sprayed and forcibly penned in by police, leaving a 69-year-old woman with four broken vertebrae.

Despite NSW Premier Chris Minns defending the actions of police in Sydney, the Law Enforcement Conduct Commission announced last week its plans to investigate the violent clashes.

Meanwhile in Queensland, a tribunal revealed this month that the Queensland Police Service (QPS) had refused to discipline an officer accused of serious domestic violence against his heavily pregnant partner, citing “no tangible benefit” to doing so.

Less than a month earlier, the QPS scrapped its specialist domestic and family violence command unit.

This comes at a time when domestic and family violence incidents reported to police in Queensland increased by more than 220% between 2012 and 2024, with many victims left waiting hours or days for help.

Each of these events is of significant concern in its own right.

But put together, they present a far more troubling picture and raise the question of whether Australian policing has a problem with gender.

Not simply in how it responds to violence against women but in how an increasingly masculine institutional culture shapes what policing looks like, what it prioritises and ultimately who is protected.

Worrying cultures

Following the 2020 murder of Hannah Clarke and her three children by her former partner, and the 2021 Women’s Safety and Justice Taskforce’s “Hear Her Voice” report, the Queensland government established a Commission of Inquiry into policing responses to domestic and family violence.

Its report found a culture of “sexism, misogyny and racism” across the service, with “negative attitudes towards women” that “inhibits the policing of domestic and family violence”.

In NSW, a 2023 Law Enforcement Conduct Commission review of police responses to domestic and family violence found such incidents account for 40% of all police work. That is around 500 incidents every day.

Yet, the review found basic failures in recording, training and victim support. It also found 60 officers were involved in domestic and family violence incidents. Some were investigated more than once.

In more than three quarters of cases, those officers were investigated by colleagues from their own command. In most, there was no record of whether their firearms had been removed.

In Victoria, 683 Victoria Police staff were investigated for alleged sex crimes and family violence offences between 2019 and 2024 – the majority of whom were uniformed officers. Chief Commissioner Shane Patton called the figure “alarming”.

This follows the Victorian Equal Opportunity and Human Rights Commission’s 2015 Independent Review which found an “entrenched culture of everyday sexism” and a “high tolerance for sexual harassment” across the force.

These reports all identify cultures of misogyny, sexism and basic operational failures in responding to violence against women.

But what none of them quite names is what sits behind all of it: men, and a deeply entrenched culture of masculinity.

As Amanda Keddie – a Deakin University professor who has researched gender equality in police forces – argues, the hierarchical and masculinised cultures within policing have been “taken for granted and unquestioned”.

They remain unnamed in report after report, even as they shape every failing those reports describe.

The UK’s problems were exposed

The UK’s Baroness Casey Review gets closer to naming it.

Commissioned after the 2021 abduction, rape and murder of Sarah Everard by a serving Metropolitan Police officer, Casey found a rampant “boys’ club culture” that privileged white male officers while sidelining women, Black and gay colleagues.

She found “some of the worst cultures, behaviours and practices” were in the Met’s specialist firearms units, where “normal rules do not seem to apply”.

At the same time, services for violence against women and girls were hollowed out, with rape kits stored in broken freezers held shut with bungee cords.

Casey called it “symbolic of an organisation that has lost its way”.

The Met had been shaped by men, for men.

What can be done?

Australia is not the UK. But the patterns are unmistakable.

A culture of masculinity isn’t an abstract concept.

It is visible in the tactical, coercive and militarised policing of protesters in Sydney.

It is visible in the decision to scrap a specialist domestic violence command in Queensland while demand surges.

And it is visible every time an officer who perpetrates violence against women is investigated by his own colleagues.

As Keddie writes:

gender inequality will not be addressed without transforming the hierarchical and masculinised cultures of policing organisations.

The Casey Review offers a blueprint: specialist units for violence against women, independent oversight of police-perpetrated abuse and mandatory standards on vetting and misconduct.

In Australia, this means working to systemically change police cultures that were built by, and for, a narrow demographic which does not reflect the diversity of the communities they are meant to serve.

It means resourcing specialist domestic violence commands rather than dismantling them, holding officers who perpetrate violence to account, and recruiting and promoting in ways that genuinely reshape who polices and how.

– ref. Australia’s masculine policing culture is failing women and children – https://theconversation.com/australias-masculine-policing-culture-is-failing-women-and-children-276176

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Emma Shortis, Adjunct Senior Fellow, School of Global, Urban and Social Studies, RMIT University

The stunning arrest of Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor by UK police on suspicion of misconduct in public office must have chilled many powerful American men to the bone. They may now wonder: could something like this now happen in the US?

The former prince’s arrest is related to his association with dead sex offender Jeffrey Epstein and allegations he shared confidential material. Andrew has consistently denied wrongdoing and has been released under investigation.

To see UK police making arrests over allegations relating to Epstein contrasts strongly with the US where, so far, little has happened to further investigate those linked to the disgraced financier.

So, will we now see stronger Epstein-related investigative efforts and possibly even arrests in the US? And why haven’t we seen anything like that, so far?

Will this actually prompt stronger action in the US now?

It’s possible. The whole situation is fairly unpredictable, and there has been mounting pressure on people named in the Epstein files to resign or step aside, particularly in higher education.

In Congress, US lawmakers are pushing hard for accountability.

It’s important to remember the collapse of the rule of law in the US is far from inevitable.

The Epstein story still has a long way to play out yet, if only because of the weight of the documentary evidence that needs to be sorted through.

It’s also possible the arrest and potential prosecution of Mountbatten-Windsor (and others outside the UK) may end up revealing more from the Epstein story than has come out of the Department of Justice (DOJ) releases, which have been selective.

If the Mountbatten-Windsor case goes to trial – which is still far from certain – and as the scandal reverberates across Europe, that may end up circumventing efforts we have seen so far from the DOJ to slow-walk the release of Epstein-related documents and information.

Why haven’t big arrests like this happened in the US so far?

The most obvious reason is the stranglehold the Trump administration has on the DOJ.

The performance of the attorney-general, Pam Bondi, in the recent judiciary committee hearing is a fair indication of that.

To have the attorney-general – instead of being accountable and answering legitimate questions about the Epstein files – waxing lyrical about US President Donald Trump being the greatest president in American history tells you a lot about the political capture of that department.

Another extremely unsubtle sign of that capture is the large banner featuring Trump’s face that has just been slung across the Justice Department building.

All this tells you the DOJ is not an independent government department anymore. It has been captured and weaponised by the Trump administration.

It’s the same story at the FBI; instead of taking strong action over revelations appearing the Epstein files, the agency appears to be focused on investigating Trump’s claims about 2020 election “fraud” in Georgia.

That shouldn’t exactly be a surprise, given FBI Director Kash Patel wrote a series of children’s books depicting Trump as an unjustly wronged “king”.

The unfortunate truth is there’s no satisfactory answer as to why no significant arrests have been made in the US in relation to the Epstein files.

It’s partly the Trump administration’s capture of these agencies and departments.

But it’s also that the Epstein scandal implicates so many of the powerful in the US. These are enormous networks that span political divides, including some of the richest people in the world. And, of course, they’re very good at protecting themselves.

It’s also a marker of Trump’s capture of his political base. Viewed from the outside, it defies logic. You’d think a movement that coalesced around conspiracy theories there was a powerful cabal of paedophiles at work in the US would be loudly calling for arrests after the Epstein revelations.

The fact they’re not shows how ingrained their loyalty is, and the depth of the personality cult that has developed around Trump.

This base is far from a majority of the American people, but it is one that has – for now at least – largely captured the major levers of power in the US.

So following Andrew’s arrest, will anything happen in the US? It’s possible, but don’t hold your breath.

The other major news is it now looks increasingly likely Trump is about to start a war in Iran.

It’s common for people to say he does things like that to distract from the Epstein story.

But I see his efforts in Iran (and Venezuela, and elsewhere) as part of a concerted effort to radically reshape American society and the United States’ role in the world. It’s about the reassertion of American power – which Trump understands to mean his own power.

The president unilaterally declaring a war on Iran without the ascent of Congress would defy the law. This is all part of a broader pattern of the Trump administration’s attacks on rule of law and the institutions charged with implementing it.

Overall, Mountbatten-Windsor’s arrest throws into stark relief the state of the US compared to other democracies like the UK.

What’s happened in the UK shows the collapse of the rule of law is not inevitable. Institutions can hold, even if they they are slow and deeply flawed.

Perhaps we will one day see institutions in the US working as they are supposed to, too.

– ref. Andrew’s arrest: will anything like this now happen in the US? Why hasn’t it so far? – https://theconversation.com/andrews-arrest-will-anything-like-this-now-happen-in-the-us-why-hasnt-it-so-far-276512

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Julian Novitz, Senior Lecturer, Writing, Department of Media and Communication, Swinburne University of Technology

What do our reading choices say about us? When teaching creative writing and literature classes, I always ask my students about their favourite genres and current reading in the first week. It is a good way to get a sense of their interests, gauge how they will respond to set texts, and get them thinking about the kinds of projects they want to work on.

There are always a few students who will sheepishly admit to not reading any fiction at all, and I’ll happily talk to them about comic books, television shows and video games. This exercise often leads to some interesting conversations across the class, where students start to connect over their favourite authors and share recommendations.

Very occasionally, however, someone will mention a book or an author that will give me pause. I still remember a moment from my second year of teaching when a student causally mentioned that they were reading The Turner Diaries, an infamous work of white nationalist speculative fiction (recently referenced in the 2024 film The Order), because they were “just curious” about it.

I didn’t press them further and the student never expressed any extremist views in class or in their writing. In fact, they were unfailingly thoughtful and respectful. I couldn’t see any evidence that this uncomfortable reading choice reflected anything about them as a person, and there are valid reasons to be curious about a book like the Turner Diaries and the warped viewpoint it presents. But it still made me feel a little cautious, in a way that I couldn’t entirely shake.

Reading as a public activity

The idea that reading – and reading fiction in particular – has a formative effect on character is generally well accepted. The books we choose to read are assumed to shape our outlook and identity, or at least reflect our values in some way. Many of us have probably slid over to a host’s bookshelves at a party and attempted to discern something about their personality and interests from the titles.

But what was once a deeply personal activity has stated to feel a lot more public. Online subcultures like Bookstagram and Booktok encourage readers to circulate and share their preferences and opinions. Platforms like Goodreads and The Storygraph allow us to follow the reading goals and experiences of friends and strangers. The once unremarkable habit of pulling out a book in a café or on public transport has now been dubbed “performative reading”, leading to a host of call-out and parody videos.

What and where we individually choose to read now seems subject to greater scrutiny. As reading becomes an increasing public act and reading identities are more extensively and visibly “performed”, we may become reasonably concerned about what our reading expresses about ourselves.

Are there books that we are proud to display and identify with? Or books that we dread being caught with in public?

Lists of supposedly “red flag” books, have been circulating for a while now, the idea being that someone’s bookshelf may reflect something problematic in their personality. These might range from very obvious red flags (e.g. Mein Kampf or the aforementioned Turner Diaries) to works that might indicate incompatible values or outlooks (most often particular genres of self-help, finance, religious or diet books, or contentious authors like Jordan Peterson and Ayn Rand). Some familiar classics and contemporary literary titles can also be taken as a warning of a particularly “toxic” reader.

This last category is invariably the most interesting. It is usually associated with male readers, in particular, and certain titles and authors get frequent mentions. Audiences are jokingly (and not so jokingly) advised to block, ghost or run from men with too many Ernest Hemingway or Charles Bukowski titles on their shelves, which may be an indicator of a particularly noxious brand of hypermasculinity. An interest in Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita often shows up as a red flag (though this tends to assume that a reader will be sympathetic to the perspective of the narrator Humbert Humbert, rather than horrified by it).

Fans of Fyodor Dostoevsky often get stereotyped as humourless and self-serious, which, while possibly true, unfairly overlooks just how funny Dostoevsky can be. Anyone who lists David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest as their favourite novel may be dull or pretentious, or just unlikely to ever shut up about having read Infinite Jest.

Dude-bros and hippie-chicks

Perhaps unsurprisingly, warnings about “red flag” books come up frequently in discussions around dating and relationship advice. Dating and social media profiles are common spaces where stated reading interests are used to convey or project one’s personality or values. Just having read or had a passing interest in particular book or author might not in itself be problematic. But the kinds of books that are listed as favourites, or even presented as a component of one’s identity, may be worth scrutinising.

In some cases, these observations may be pertinent, or at least entertaining. People who reference overly familiar titles like Animal Farm, The Catcher in the Rye or The Great Gatsby may not have advanced much in their reading since high school, while nonetheless wanting to appear literary.

Book blogger Ashley Holstrom cautions against what she characterises as “dude-bro and hippie-chick” books, such as The Bro Code by Barney Stinson or Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. Holstrom is also suspicious of classic and popular philosophy (“I’m not saying an interest in philosophy sucks or is a major red flag, but listing one of these boring-ass books as your all-time fave is”) and anyone whose personality revolves around their fandom for a massively popular series, such as Stephenie Meyers’ Twilight novels or Sarah J. Maas’ A Court of Thrones and Roses.

In all these cases, there is a suggestion that the content of these books may appeal to uninteresting, difficult or problematic people; the red flag suggests it is reader who should be avoided. But what about situations where the author’s actions or behaviour may create a red flag around reading their work?

Renouncing fandom

Just as our reading habits have become more public, authors are, in some respects, much less remote than they were previously. Rather than only expressing themselves through published books or articles, they are now encouraged to maintain a strong social media presence, with a regular stream of content.

While this certainly has its benefits, it does mean that authors – in all their virtues and flaws – are now more accessible as people than they have been in the past. Their histories and biographies are readily traceable. This may make it much harder to avoiding conflating problematic authors with their fiction.

In recent years, due to either private behaviour or public statements, a range of authors have been arguably tagged as “red flags” – in ways that may make reading or enjoying their work feel dubious or questionable. My feeds have been full of friends and acquaintances renouncing their fandom of J.K. Rowling and Neil Gaiman, among others (though the sexual assault charges against Gaiman have now been dropped, his documented behaviour remains problematic for many former readers).

As a result, there has been some extensive discussion of how we read and relate to authors whose personal views or actions we find objectionable. We may reasonably decline to support them financially through book sales, or enhance their visibility by discussing or promoting their work.

But what about public or private reading and enjoyment? One commentator suggests the best response is to sequester books by red flag author in a “corner of shame” if we are unable to discard them. Continuing to read and enjoy them is acceptable privately, but should be avoided in public. Other commentators have discussed their inability to separate the author from their work at all and have banished certain red flag authors from their shelves.

Insisting on a kind of cultural or political purity may result in overly cautious or antiseptic art. Closing ourselves off from authors or writers we disagree with may limit our perspective and frame of reference. I find David Mamet’s politics deeply disagreeable, but he remains an unmistakably great playwright and screenwriter.

At another level, continuing to read an author while aware of reprehensible actions or behaviour can be challenging. I would now find it impossible to read or recommend childhood favourite fantasy authors David and Leigh Eddings, knowing that they were tried and convicted for child abuse in the 1970s. Returning to the works of Marion Zimmer Bradley and Alice Munro, or the films of Woody Allen, now feels similarly impossible, in the light of the allegations against them.

But the cultural artefacts they created still have value, and may have meaning and resonance for new audiences who discover them.

Authors behaving badly

Our awareness of an author’s actions and biography may feel entirely at odds with the values that are expressed in their best work. It can become harder, for example, to accept Pablo Neruda as one of history’s greatest love poets after reading about his callous abandonment of his first wife and their disabled daughter.

How we understand and appreciate particular books may also shift when we learn more about the circumstances surrounding their creation. Recently, Saul Bellow’s biographers have given more attention to the collapse of his second marriage, which he loosely fictionalised in his novel Herzog.

Herzog focuses on the protagonist’s discussion of his suffering and humiliation in a series of unsent letters to public figures and dead philosophers. The letters are written after he discovers his wife has been having an affair with a close friend and wants a divorce.

Highly acclaimed at the time of its publication, Herzog cemented Bellow’s reputation as the preeminent American literary novelist of his generation. He would subsequently be awarded the Nobel Prize. But, as Louis Menand observes, Herzog is unmistakably a revenge novel. It aims to settle scores by slandering Bellow’s ex-wife Sondra, who is recognisable as Herzog’s cruel and unfaithful wife Madeleline. The protracted and repeated physical abuse that Bellow inflicted upon Sondra throughout their marriage is not mentioned.

Herzog is justly understood as Bellow’s masterwork. But an awareness of the motivations behind it, and the real stories that have manipulated or omitted through its composition, may complicate how it is read and received in 2026.

How we respond to these questions and choices is extremely personal. Authors are often as complex, human and multifaceted as their characters. It is reasonable to at least try to separate their fiction from the aspects of their personal lives and beliefs we may find unpalatable. But we may, individually, find lines we cannot cross, fictional worlds that we can never visit or return to.

It is important to emphasise that the question of what we choose to read is not the same as what we choose to buy. There may be authors and creators that we rightly feel that we can never support by purchasing their work. Consistently unimpeachable behaviour may be too high of a demand, but it is always possible to find an equally great writer who has not done awful things. Maybe buy their book instead.

But I am not comfortable with discarding red flag books and authors entirely, or confining them to some hidden “corner of shame”. The idea that our reading lists should be carefully curated to avoid projecting a particular persona also seems limiting.

Everyone reads and understands books differently, at different times in their lives. It can be fine – or even brave – to be a little curious about terrible people and unconscionable worldviews. We can have unique or different takes on particular red flags. Our knowledge of what is problematic about particular texts and authors may enhance our reading and make new understandings possible. Despite all evidence to the contrary, we should not close ourselves off to the possibility that a fun, charismatic David Foster Wallace fan may theoretically exist, somewhere in the world.

Reading is ultimately a social as well as a solitary activity. The publishing industry depends on crucial “word of mouth” discussions and personal recommendations. Sharing our reading interests, impressions and experiences – no matter how problematic or “performative” they may be – is important in keeping literacy alive. Our reading is a part of us, but it does not simply define us. We can all probably afford and accept a few “red flags” on our bookshelves.

– ref. Friday essay: ‘red flags’ and ‘performative reading’ – what do our reading choices say about us? – https://theconversation.com/friday-essay-red-flags-and-performative-reading-what-do-our-reading-choices-say-about-us-268388

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Adrian Beaumont, Election Analyst (Psephologist) at The Conversation; and Honorary Associate, School of Mathematics and Statistics, The University of Melbourne

A South Australian Newspoll has given the Liberals just 14% of the primary vote, four weeks before the state election.

And in a Victoria Morgan poll, One Nation has topped both Labor and the Coalition on primary votes, with 26.5%, compared to 25.5% for Labor and 21.5% for the Coalition. Labor leads both One Nation and the Coalition after preferences in the poll.

A separate Victoria Resolve poll has One Nation at only 11%.

South Australian election polls

The SA state election is on March 21. A Newspoll, conducted February 11–17 from a sample of 1,057 people, gave Labor 44% of the primary vote, One Nation 24%, the Liberals just 14%, the Greens 12% and all others 6%.

With One Nation second on primary votes, no Labor vs Liberal two-party estimate was provided.

After the previous SA Fox & Hedgehog poll that had primary votes of 40% Labor, 20% One Nation and 19% Liberals, I said there was some chance of the Liberals winning zero of 47 lower house seats.

If the Newspoll figures are correct, it’s likely the Liberals will be wiped out of the SA lower house at the election, with One Nation winning the very few conservative seats.

Labor Premier Peter Malinauskas had a +40 net approval rating, with 67% of respondents satisfied with his job performance and 27% dissatisfied. Liberal leader Ashton Hurn was at +4 net approval (39% satisfied, 35% dissatisfied). Malinauskas led Hurn as better premier by 67–19%.

A SA YouGov poll for The Advertiser, conducted February 6–17 from a sample of 1,217 people, gave Labor 37% of the primary vote, One Nation 22%, the Liberals 20%, the Greens 13% and all others 8%.

On respondent preferences, Labor led One Nation by 60–40% and the Liberals by 59–41%.

Malinauskas’ net approval was +36 (64% satisfied, 28% dissatisfied). Hurn’s net approval was +7 (40% satisfied, 33% dissatisfied). Malinauskas led Hurn as better premier by 64–20%.

And 52% of respondents thought the Malinauskas government deserved to be re-elected, compared to 24% who didn’t.

Victorian Morgan poll: One Nation first on primary votes

The Victorian election is in late November. A Morgan SMS poll, conducted February 13–16 from a sample of 2,462 people, gave One Nation 26.5% of the primary vote, Labor 25.5%, the Coalition 21.5%, the Greens 13.5% and all others 13%.

On a “three-party preferred”, which distributes respondent preferences from Greens and Others between Labor, One Nation and the Coalition, Labor had 44.5%, One Nation 29.5% and the Coalition 26%. Labor led the Coalition by 52–48 and One Nation by 52.5–47.5 in two-party head to head matchups.

Even though One Nation is first on primary votes in this poll, Labor leads both right-wing parties after preferences. If the election reflected the overall votes and preferences in this poll, Labor would probably be returned to government. But there’s still over nine months until the election.

SMS polls may be prone to attracting too many motivated voters. Other methods of polling are not so prone to this. Many people just don’t care about politics.

An early February DemosAU poll had the Coalition leading Labor by 53–47 from primary votes of 29% Coalition, 23% Labor, 21% One Nation and 15% Greens. However, the Resolve poll below gave One Nation just 11%, although this poll was taken in two waves (January and February).

Labor Premier Jacinta Allan’s net approval in the Morgan poll was -37, with 67.5% disapproving and 30.5% approving. Liberal leader Jess Wilson’s net approval was +10.5. Wilson led Allan as preferred premier by 51–42.5.

Victorian Resolve poll far worse for One Nation

A Victorian state Resolve poll for The Age, conducted with the federal January and February Resolve polls from a sample of 1,100, gave the Coalition 30% of the primary vote (down nine since the December Resolve poll), Labor 28% (steady), the Greens 12% (steady), One Nation 11% (not asked for previously), independents 7% (down two) and others 11% (steady).

No two-party estimate was reported, but The Poll Bludger estimated a 51–49 Labor lead over the Coalition. This poll is much worse for One Nation than the Morgan or DemosAU polls,

Despite relatively good voting intentions for Labor, Allan’s net likeability slumped 20 points to -37, only four points higher than Donald Trump’s net likeability in Australia. Wilson’s net likeability was steady at +14. Wilson led Allan as preferred premier by 39–20 (41–24 previously).

All three recent Victorian polls agree that Allan’s ratings are dismal. As voters focus on state issues in the lead-up to the election, Allan’s unpopularity is likely to drag Labor’s vote down.

Queensland Resolve poll: One Nation up and Labor down

A Queensland state Resolve poll for The Brisbane Times, conducted with the federal January and February Resolve polls from a sample of 868, gave the Liberal National Party (LNP) 34% of the primary vote (up one since December), Labor 26% (down four), One Nation 16% (up seven), the Greens 10% (down one), independents 9% (up one) and others 5% (down five).

After the LNP won the October 2024 election, Labor had been competitive in this poll from August until December 2025. However, the LNP has regained a big lead, with analyst Kevin Bonham estimating a 54.6–45.4 LNP lead over Labor after preferences.

LNP Premier David Crisafulli’s net likeability surged five points to a new high of +21, while Labor leader Steven Miles was down eight points to -3. Crisafulli led Miles as preferred premier by 44–23 (35–34 previously).

Small-sample post-spill federal Morgan poll

A national Morgan poll, conducted February 13–16 (in the days following the federal Liberal leadership spill) from a sample of just 526, gave Labor 32% of the primary vote (up 1.5 since the February 9–13 pre-spill Morgan poll), the Coalition 23.5% (up 3.5), One Nation 21.5% (down 3.5), the Greens 12.5% (down 0.5) and all Others 10.5% (down one).

Labor led the Coalition by 55–45 on respondent preferences, a 3.5-point gain for the Coalition from an unusually strong flow to Labor in the pre-spill poll. By 2025 election flows, Labor would have led by about 54.5–45.5, a 0.5-point gain for the Coalition.

Resolve poll on tax reform

I previously covered the national Resolve poll for Nine newspapers. In further questions, by 50–11 respondents supported income tax cuts.

Asked about ways to fund the tax cuts, by 66–8 respondents agreed with reducing spending, by 58–12 increasing taxation on banks, by 57–13 increasing taxation on mining companies, by 46–17 reducing negative gearing tax concessions, by 40–17 reducing capital gains tax concessions and by 36–24 reducing superannuation tax concessions. The one unpopular proposal was increasing the GST (54–18 disagreed).

Asked to pick up to three areas for spending cuts, 53% said foreign aid should be targeted, followed by 29% for renewable energy projects and 21% unemployment benefits. Foreign aid makes up just 0.5% of the total budget, renewable energy 0.6% and unemployment benefits 2.2%.

– ref. SA Newspoll shows Liberal wipeout likely; Victorian Morgan poll puts One Nation first on primaries – https://theconversation.com/sa-newspoll-shows-liberal-wipeout-likely-victorian-morgan-poll-puts-one-nation-first-on-primaries-276152

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Eduardo B. Sandoval, Scientia Researcher, Social Robotics, UNSW Sydney

Last year, Norwegian-US tech company 1X announced a strange new product: “the world’s first consumer-ready humanoid robot designed to transform life at home”.

Standing 168 centimetres tall and weighing in at 30 kilograms, the US$20,000 Neo bot promises to automate common household chores such as folding laundry and loading the dishwasher.

Neo has a built-in artificial intelligence (AI) system, but for tricky tasks it requires a 1X employee wearing a virtual reality helmet to remotely take over the robot. The operator can see whatever the bot does inside your house, and the process is recorded for future learning.

Other household androids are expected to hit the market this year. But Neo shows the issues at play, which will be familiar to anyone who has watched the AI boom of the past few years: products launched with great fanfare and limited capabilities, concealed privacy risks, and invisible remote workers behind the scenes.

The dream of human-like robots

Machines made in the human likeness have figured in mythology and history for millennia.

But the idea they might realistically be practical consumer products is more recent. Yet it’s a popular one: more than 50 companies around the world are developing this type of robot.

Why now? The past few years have seen improvements in hardware such as batteries, motors and sensors – many thanks to the burgeoning electric vehicle industry. At the same time, the AI systems to control the hardware have also become far more capable.

Hurdles remain

Despite huge technical progress, these robots are still clumsy at handling everyday tasks in homes or hospitals or other uncontrolled environments. While specialised bots such as vacuum cleaners have become a familiar sight, the fact remains that human homes aren’t designed for robots.

And for many fiddly tasks, such as folding laundry, more specialised machines do a better job.

To improve performance, the robots will need a lot of real-world data. The best way to gather that data is by putting these mechanical servants to work in actual homes. And the data in question will include a lot of intimate detail about the lives of specific people – which raises big questions about privacy.

And behind the scenes, at least for now, will be humans. Remote online labour in the tech industry is a growing phenomenon that can increase socioeconomic inequality and have a negative impact on people in developing countries working long hours for low pay, often exposed to disturbing scenes and content.

Other uses for humanoid bots

According to the International Federation of Robotics, useful and widely accepted home androids may still be 20 years away.

But there are other reasons we might want to make artificial humanoids. Japanese researcher Hiroshi Ishiguro has been making human-like “geminoids” for decades with quite different motivations.

My motivation for making humanoid robots stems from an interest in understanding what makes us human, and what it means to be human.

From this perspective, humanoid robots can serve the philosophical exploration of human identity, rather than making life more convenient or generating profits.

What’s ahead

Autonomous humanoid robots will undoubtedly improve as products with the integration of large language models and other generative AI systems.

In the long term, dexterity, navigation, learning and autonomy will get better – but that will require years of research and investment. Humanoid robots will not be immediately available as convincing and useful commercial products.

Concerns around remote work may fade, too. Just last week, 1X announced a software update for its robots that it says will mean less human involvement behind the scenes.

Privacy concerns seem an inherent risk of the technology. An incredibly sophisticated robot in your home will inevitably collect intimate data about your life, opening a new frontier for data exploitation and potential breaches.

Despite these issues, humanoid robots will keep inspiring scientists, engineers and designers. By all means let them inspire us – but we should think twice before letting them stack our dishwashers.

– ref. Humanoid home robots are on the market – but do we really want them? – https://theconversation.com/humanoid-home-robots-are-on-the-market-but-do-we-really-want-them-270370

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Priscilla Dunk-West, Professor of Social Work, Victoria University

Should we do couples counselling? Are we happy? Are we both pulling in the same direction? How can we get our spark back?

These kinds of questions are normal in a society that places such importance on coupledom, despite there being no handbook or one-size-fits all approach.

Many people seek out couples counselling when going through a rough patch, or wondering how to improve their relationship. And no doubt the hit show Couples Therapy has boosted public interest in this type of counselling.

So, how do you decide if it’s right for you – and what should you expect?

Should we get couples counselling?

Relationship satisfaction changes over time. Research shows even knowing this can help couples navigate the usual ups and downs of life together.

Some research also shows couples therapy can help lower relationship distress (which might include things such as frequent arguments or feeling dissatisfied in your relationship).

It may be suitable for some couples who want to work through infidelity or stressors such as caregiving responsibilities.

Others may seek out preventative couples counselling, which is focused on finding ways to improve communications before your relationship reaches crisis point.

Does it work? Well, some research has found certain types of counselling did help cut the divorce rate among newlyweds – but so too did getting couples to simply watch romance movies together and discuss the themes with their partner.

Overall, much depends on your motivation for seeking counselling and the mindset you’re bringing to it. Ask yourself: what do I want to work on, and what do I hope to achieve?

If your goal is to get someone to “take your side”, counselling may not help. A good couples counsellor should remain neutral, and they’re not there to take sides.

Many who seek couples counselling do so because they’re arguing and disagreeing a lot with their partner. If that’s you, it might help to let go of notions about who is “right” and move beyond anger. Instead, the focus in counselling may be on finding new conflict resolution skills.

Counselling may help with:

• improving communication skills

• making better connections with each other

• exploring the couples’ hopes for the future

• identifying what’s blocking them from achieving these goals.

Couples counselling isn’t always about staying together. Some use it to explore how to separate in a way that centres the needs of children.

Others may have specific issues with intimacy or sex. In that case, a sexual health counsellor or sex therapist may be more suitable than a standard couples counsellor. You can find one via professional organisations.

With a sex therapist, you and your partner might talk about things such as:

• mismatched libidos

• bodily changes, for example, to do with ageing

• expectations around sex

• communication around sex

• making adjustments to the way you interact to resolve these issues.

Importantly, though, not everyone needs therapy, or would benefit from it.

It’s no silver bullet.

Not for everyone

The problems or harms in some relationships will not be resolved through talking therapy. The most obvious is where violence and/or coercive control is used: safety planning, not couples counselling, is more appropriate.

And it’s important to remember the problems that lead people to conflict or counselling sometimes have structural causes that can’t be “fixed” by a few therapy sessions. For instance, perhaps your relationship is suffering because you’re experiencing stress at work, financial pressures, or you’re supporting a partner with depression. These are complex structural issues.

It’s also unclear how long the benefits of couples counselling last. One study noted “many distressed couples benefit during relationship education courses but that these benefits decline when the program ends.”

How do people choose a counsellor?

There’s a wide range of therapeutic techniques.

One famous approach is called the Gottman method, where couples focus on things such as creating “love maps” recording what you know about your partner, nurturing fondness, turning toward each other instead of away and solving problems. Famously, the Gottman approach also identifies the “four horsemen” of a relationship apocalypse: criticism, contempt, defensiveness and stonewalling.

Other couples counsellors will take more of a psychological or psychoanalytical approach, informed by techniques such as cognitive behavioural therapy.

Relationships Australia provides a range of services including relationship counselling.

At the end of the day what matters most is that you and your couples counsellor “click”; if you don’t gel with yours, it’s OK to find a new one.

Love is about doing

It can be helpful to use American author bell hooks’ idea of love as a practice of “doing” rather than a passive “being”. In other words, love is about doing things (for each other, together, or for yourself to fuel your relationship) rather than just about “being in love”.

Couples in long-term, contented relationships engage in day-to-day love practices, such as making a coffee for your partner, or watching a show together.

So, consider snuggling up on the couch with your partner to watch something together. Perhaps even Couples Therapy can provide a healthy prompt to reflect on and appreciate one another in a new light.

– ref. Is couples counselling right for me and will the therapist take sides? An expert explains – https://theconversation.com/is-couples-counselling-right-for-me-and-will-the-therapist-take-sides-an-expert-explains-275431