Published in Overland Issue 223 Winter 2016 · Uncategorized And they are angry Fiona Wright and they apologise in all their emails and they remember where they put their keys and they buy vegetables and milk and they’re assumed to be on birth control and they write perhaps and arguably and in a sense and they are sympathetic and they have internal ultrasounds and they carry band-aids in their purses and they break big notes before they go to dinner and they match their underwear and they make pots of tea and they sit narrowly on trains and buses and they pretend to talk on phones when they walk home and they run on treadmills and they don’t interrupt and they don’t ask for exceptions and their disposable razors come only in pink and the doctors ask if they feel anxious and they desire and they are angry. Read the rest of Overland 223 – If you liked this article, please subscribe or donate. Fiona Wright Fiona Wright’s new essay collection is The World Was Whole (Giramondo, 2018). Her first book of essays Small Acts of Disappearance won the 2016 Kibble Award and the Queensland Literary Award for nonfiction, and her poetry collections are Knuckled and Domestic Interior. More by Fiona Wright › Overland is a not-for-profit magazine with a proud history of supporting writers, and publishing ideas and voices often excluded from other places. If you like this piece, or support Overland’s work in general, please subscribe or donate. Related articles & Essays 17 June 2026 · The university Financial power in the public university: the case of ANU Beck Pearse The deeper problem is institutional. Universities have elaborate mechanisms for scrutinising knowledge claims circulating between staff and students. But we have remarkably weak mechanisms for scrutinising the financial assumptions through which executive power is exercised. 1 15 June 202616 June 2026 · Reviews Transubstantiations: Toby Fitch’s Or Grace Roodenrys The final trick of Or is that in the end it stages something utterly universal: the search for a momentary recognition of ourselves in language, the maybe-hopeless pursuit of those “very exceptional circumstances” in which something half-truthful might be said, the unending attempt to build something that feels real with the limited resources one has. This is a very old, a very sacred enterprise. We might call it poetry.