Published in Overland Issue 225 Summer 2016 · Uncategorized Judges’ report Editorial team Judges: Emily Bitto, Michelle Law and Melissa Manning We were impressed by the breadth of voices and stories submitted; the body of entries took us around the world before landing us in our own backyard. In runner-up ‘Silver gates’, the authenticity of voice and the portrayal of the simple, domestic aspects of grief was striking. ‘Silver linings’, the other runner-up, gorgeously depicted the quiet tragedy of a disintegrating family against the backdrop of a wild Australia, revealing the power of childhood memory and family disappointments. In ‘Sweeping’, the winning story, we were drawn into and then deftly ejected from a fully formed world. An evocative, lyrical story, ‘Sweeping’ is a beautifully written commentary on the gravity of loss and notions of masculinity. Again and again, it’s the final line that’s a kick in the guts. Read the rest of Overland 225 You can also buy the issue Or subscribe and receive four outstanding issues for a year Editorial team More by Editorial team › 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 21 April 202621 April 2026 · Reviews Pilled to the gills: Ariel Bogle and Cam Wilson’s Conspiracy Nation Cher Tan The question that Conspiracy Nation implicitly raises isn’t why people believe in conspiracy theories but rather why people have stopped trusting official narratives. But what do we do with this knowledge? When we call something a conspiracy theory, what work are we doing? Who benefits from that designation? 17 April 2026 · Friday Fiction These old hands, they are still growing Sam Fisher It was an old house meshed in an unrelenting grid of brick and weatherboard. Its walls still stood stark, red brick. Paint like tender old sagging skin on the timber windows. A bastard of a garden surrounded it, ran up brick wall and concrete path. The lawn, dead that time of year, luminescent in the streetlight. In the center of that void, a sign, Auction.
