Whenever I mention to people that I am looking at violence against women, the frequent response is along the lines of ‘Yes, how horrible is what is going on in India?’ or ‘I was just reading about honour killings in Jordan!’ Often, they mention Jill Meagher and wonder at the ‘psychopathy’ of Adrian Bayley.

March in March – a stream of protests demonstrating a ‘vote of no confidence’ in government policies – has taken place across Australia over the past three days.

While Spielberg’s tale will have viewers exiting the cinema in a complete and total patriotic coma, Tarantino’s will have audiences walking out dripping in the blood, gore and guts of American history.

The Red Shed was a unique, extremely successful, politically grounded theatre project based in Adelaide; in Overland 209, Carlin writes about his experiences collectively running the company and the ways they influenced his approach to creative work.

In 2010, lawyer Elizabeth O’Shea started work on her firm’s case representing Mohammed Sagar and Muhammad Faisal. The two men had received adverse security assessments from ASIO, the consequences of which were indefinite detention on Nauru.

Rebecca Giggs is one of those writers unafraid of experimenting with form. She writes fiction, poetry and creative nonfiction. Here, Bec Zajac talks to her about women writing nonfiction and her new Overland essay, ‘Imaging Women’.

In Overland 208, Michael Green investigates a co-operative response to unemployment. Bec Zajak spoke to him about what he found.

In our latest CAL Connections essay, ‘The name and the face’, writer and performance poet Juliana Qian writes about her experience growing up as an Australian from a non-English-speaking-background in suburban Melbourne.

The ‘Left’ is never happier than when they’re explaining the way things really are. It’s a strikingly un-self-conscious interpretation of false consciousness. But pedantry isn’t attractive; you can be as correct or complex as you want on Twitter and no one will necessarily have to pretend to care.

I walk into the historic Supper Room on the third floor of the Melbourne Town Hall. Period timber paneling lines the room, an opulent nineteenth-century sideboard stands in the corner; gold chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Around me are life-sized portraits of Melbourne’s mayors past with names like Godfrey Downes Carter (Mayor 1804–1885) and Alderman James Cooper Stewart (Mayor 1885–1886).