Fiona Wright

Fiona Wright

is a doctoral candidate with the University of Western Sydney Writing & Society Research Centre. Her poetry collection Knuckled (2011) won the Dame Mary Gilmore Award for a first collection in 2012.

About Fiona Wright

Fiona Wright is a writer from Sydney. Her collection of essays Small Acts of Disappearance was published by Giramondo in 2015, and has been shortlisted for the 2016 Stella Prize and the NSW Premier’s Douglas Stewart Prize for non-fiction, and long-listed for the Kibble Award for Australian Women’s Life Writing. Her poetry collection Knuckled (Giramondo) won the Dame Mary Gilmore Award in 2012.

Fiona has recently completed a PhD at Western Sydney University’s Writing and Society Research Centre, examining the suburban poetry of Gwen Harwood and Dorothy Porter.

Fiona’s criticism and reviews have appeared in The Australian, Australian Book Review, Cordite Poetry Review, The Lifted Brow, Sydney Morning Herald and The Sydney Review of Books. Her poetry and essays are published in Antipodes, HEAT, Island, Going Down Swinging, Overland, Meanjin, Seizure and in publications in the USA, Canada, Hong Kong, Singapore, Sri Lanka and Germany.

Articles about Fiona Wright

Comfortable and Comforted: The World Was Whole by Fiona Wright

This is a book about the complexities of home, about being unhomed, about the body as home, and about the spaces we work to make home, our dwellings and our neighbourhoods. When life is marred by unbelonging and grief, it is the habits and routines of being homed that bring comfort and even joy.

Small Acts of Disappearance by Fiona Wright Cover

The Fleshy Side of the Mind: Small Acts of Disappearance by Fiona Wright

‘Far from imagining hunger as an art of discarnation, Wright seeks to give it body, simultaneously remarking on the physicality, the sensuality of the experience, and objectifying it as something outside of herself, material enough to protect her from the world.’ Alys Moody on Fiona Wright’s Small Acts of Disappearance.

Everyday Intimacies: An interview with Fiona Wright

‘It’s that wonderful mediating effect of writing, its ability to hold things clear that I’ve always been drawn to, and which is very similar to the way in which hunger works.’ Rachel Morley interviews poet, critic, editor and essayist Fiona Wright for the SRB.

Articles by Fiona Wright

An Eerie Sort of Magic: Here Until August by Josephine Rowe

Josephine Rowe’s stories are about time. Time as it is lived and as it is recounted; the way it doesn’t just progress, but speeds and slows, persists and lingers. Her characters are sometimes aware of time passing, almost as if they stand outside it, sometimes aware that the moment they are in is one that they will return to, again and again, across their later lives.’

When The Manuals Fail Us:
Exploded View by Carrie Tiffany

the manual also represents a system of knowledge, an empirical way of looking at the world, or at least one small part of it, that is rational, logical, complete. It’s a diagram and a schemata, everything accounted for and with a purpose, function, and means of repair. And it’s a system of knowledge that falls down entirely when the narrator tries to transfer it to her wider world – because a family is not an engine, where ‘everything is straight. Everything is clean’, all the parts are ‘gilded, all snug up, side by side’. The parts don’t fit together perfectly, and they don’t add up to something that runs smoothly and well.

Little Heart

Sheila Pham
Felicity Castagna
Lachlan Brown

Back to Cronulla

‘Cronulla had changed, and the image of it I still carried was one that had set in amber, and had become as kitsch and heavy as a paperweight – not to mention as obsolete.’

Image credit: Rowen Atkinson, some rights reserved ( This image has been cropped.
Foreign Soil by Maxine Beneba

Listen: Foreign Soil by Maxine
Beneba Clarke

Speaking and writing, in Foreign Soil, are never simple acts. Both are, of course, embedded within the body, and as such are deeply personal and even instinctual; but they are, at the same time, inextricably implicated in wider social circuits of violence, of bodies politic, of privilege and power.

For love and hunger

In the year that I first became ill, I recognised the physicality of Teresa’s hunger, and I carried it with me for years, although the rest of For Love Alone did not stir me – I was nineteen, and probably too callow, too cold and self-obsessed to fully understand it. But in the last two years, I started hearing so many writers talk again about Christina Stead.