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Fierceland
How do you mourn your father when you know his secrets?
After many years abroad, Roz and Harun return to Malaysian Borneo for the funeral of their father Yusuf – and to reckon with their inheritance. A renowned palm-oil baron during Malaysia’s economic rise, Yusuf built the family’s immense wealth by destroying huge tracts of rainforest. What his children know is that he was also responsible for the violent disappearance of a man who stood in his way.
Harun has become a successful tech entrepreneur in Los Angeles, Roz is an artist struggling to stay afloat in Sydney. Now they want to return something their father stole from the forests of their homeland. In their quest for redemption they grapple with the legacy of power and corruption, dreamers and exiles, thugs and zealots. Most dangerous of all, they are haunted – by the ghosts of colonialism, the ghosts of family, the ghosts of language, and the ghosts of the forest itself.
A trailblazing journey across the globe, Fierceland weaves the past and the present into an emotionally powerful family saga that plays out at a mythical scale.
After many years abroad, Roz and Harun return to Malaysian Borneo for the funeral of their father Yusuf – and to reckon with their inheritance. A renowned palm-oil baron during Malaysia’s economic rise, Yusuf built the family’s immense wealth by destroying huge tracts of rainforest. What his children know is that he was also responsible for the violent disappearance of a man who stood in his way.
Harun has become a successful tech entrepreneur in Los Angeles, Roz is an artist struggling to stay afloat in Sydney. Now they want to return something their father stole from the forests of their homeland. In their quest for redemption they grapple with the legacy of power and corruption, dreamers and exiles, thugs and zealots. Most dangerous of all, they are haunted – by the ghosts of colonialism, the ghosts of family, the ghosts of language, and the ghosts of the forest itself.
A trailblazing journey across the globe, Fierceland weaves the past and the present into an emotionally powerful family saga that plays out at a mythical scale.
399 pages, Kindle Edition
First published September 2, 2025
About the author
Omar Musa
19 books129 followersOmar Musa is a Malaysian-Australian rapper and poet from Queanbeyan,
Australia. He is the former winner of the Australian Poetry Slam and
the Indian Ocean Poetry Slam. He has released three hip hop albums,
two poetry books (including "Parang"), appeared on ABC's Q&A and
received a standing ovation at TEDx Sydney at the Sydney Opera House.
His debut novel "Here Come the Dogs" was published by Penguin Australia in July 2014.
Australia. He is the former winner of the Australian Poetry Slam and
the Indian Ocean Poetry Slam. He has released three hip hop albums,
two poetry books (including "Parang"), appeared on ABC's Q&A and
received a standing ovation at TEDx Sydney at the Sydney Opera House.
His debut novel "Here Come the Dogs" was published by Penguin Australia in July 2014.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 162 reviews
August 18, 2026
I am forest. I am forest.
Face your fears & name where you find me –North Borneo –
spell it in emeralds & magma.
Now name a year –1998
polish it like black volcanic glass.
Let us dally no more, sayang. Let us name this thing a ghost story –
ya, the games begin here.
Winner of the 2026 Miles Franklin Prize
Winner of the 2026 Victorian Premier Literary Award – Fiction
The author Omar Musa is Australia born (mother of Irish descent, father Malaysian) and describes himself as Sabahan-Australian, with the Malaysian Borneo state of Sabah providing much of the novel’s setting. As well as a novelist he is a poet (including one book which included his own woodcuts), rapper, hip hop artist, playwright and visual artist.
This extensively researched novel – is as a result as experiential as it is experimental.
It involved Musa returning to his paternal family Borneo roots (his debut novel by contrast was in his own native Australia), to explore themes of colonialism (the novel is a direct critique/reaction to Conrad’s The Heart of Darkness), corruption (there is a particular focus on logging and palm oil plantation) but also complicity (the responsibilities of privilege are foundational to the novel).
The book opens brilliantly in the fractured poetry of perhaps its main character – the North Borneo forest, in chapters which recur at intervals (including in the forest’s despoiling and even its use in wooden manufacturing) and are absolutely key to the novel.
The main human characters are Roz and (to a lesser extent) her brother Harun who we first meet in 1998 awaiting their successful businessman father’s return from a trip (from which he brings them back a much coveted copy of “The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time” – Zelda, Link and the Great Deku Tree recur through the novel); before he takes them on a rather impulsive and ultimately fateful hazardous river trip to one of his worksites - where under the pretence of digging for a thermal power plant his men are preparing a mass oil palm plantation (which ultimately forms the foundation of his extreme fortune). There the children witness the violent beating of a guide who they unwittingly have reported as a possible saboteur – the fate of the guide haunting them for much of their life, both mentally and physically in the shape of a Murriana (a beautiful Venetian bead).
In 2018 their father is dead – and both children travel to his funeral: Roz from Sydney where she is a struggling artist, Yusuf from LA where he is a tech entrepreneur building a form of VR/Metaverse wellness/meditation platform (as an aside this is one of the novel’s rare missteps as the rise of AI over VR has already rather overtaken the future vision presented here).
And during that journey they have to come to terms with their fractured relationships with: each other; their deceased father – largely reviled for both his wealth and exploitative ant-environmental practices; their ambitious mother; their “Crazy Auntie” – a one time University lecturer and activist who was a college friend of their father’s, then his voice of conscience and then something of his enemy; culture and cultural appropriation – Yusuf himself has a journey from religious involvement, to post 9-11 persecution to code-switching, an aboriginal friend of Crazy Auntie as a key cameo; their own family wealth and privilege; their family background and roots; and their past – and particularly the incident some 20 years ago.
In other words: the ghosts of family and forest; lineage and language.
The novel is myriad in forms.
Many sections are told from Roz and Harun’s viewpoints, but other characters take on the point of view, and there are some standout sections: such as one when their father visits Benin in 1978 (to find out about how Oil Palms are used there and how it might drive wealth for Malaysia); a section set in 1847 Murano, Venice featuring the real life glassmaker Giacomo Franchini; and a bravura section which reminded me of the highlight of Maggie O’Farrell’s Hamnet, which traces the path of Franchini’s bead through to the beating-victim.
And a particular stand out is a section where, post 2018, Roz translates (and provides woodcuts for) a poem that her Auntie has written “The Song of Wood” into 15 of the 54 Sabahan languages – rather brilliantly the author in the closing notes inviting others to contribute to further extend his project.
And it also mixes more conventional narrative with elements of magic realism, folklore, Zelda and untranslated Malay.
My review has I think only touched the surface of the novel as really it is hard to give enough praise to the ambition and scope and impact of this novel.
As is now commonplace with the Booker (ever since the decision to widen eligibility outside the Commonwealth) this year’s longlist is denuded of any Antipodean literature and in this case despite the blurb from one of this year’s judges that “Omar Musa writes with great energy, a poetic force. Fierceland is a whimsy, time-travelling magical tale, a playful anti-colonial novel for our times . . . Do not sleep on the fierce talents of Omar Musa”.
And to be honest this is exactly the sort of book that the generally excellent longlist is lacking – literary experimentation with real impact (rather than for experimentations sake), and a sweeping and ambitious multi-country, multi-character narrative.
Hugely recommended.
My thanks to Bonnier Books for an ARC via NetGalley
—Some day soon, a moment will come when he asks you to do something, something that makes you complicit. Or tries to buy you. Or maybe there’s something you want, and you’ll think that it’s okay to take his money. Blood money.
—Say no, Roz. Don’t take it. Do not stay silent. Do not be complicit. He’s your father, of course –he pays for your school, your everything –you can’t help that. Already you are a product of privilege. But you can use privilege to challenge the status quo, or to reinforce it. Privilege is a resource. Spend it wisely.
October 25, 2025
This started out really strong for me - the setting and folklore of Malaysian Borneo both drew me in and held me captivated during the first part of the book. But when Roz and Harun were reintroduced as adults at the time of their father's death, in Australia and the USA respectively, I struggled to remain engaged. There were some really interesting ideas (I have heard Omar Musa talking about the real-life project of his wife's, recording the sound of the sap in the trees) and I also enjoyed the device used to pull the reader along through the story - a Venetian glass bead that changes hands many times over several generations. Overall I'm glad I read it, but I thought I would have liked it more.
Narration of the audiobook was entirely competent and suited to the story and characters, but I think I grew a bit weary of listening to the broken English after a while. I may have liked it more if I'd read a text edition.
Narration of the audiobook was entirely competent and suited to the story and characters, but I think I grew a bit weary of listening to the broken English after a while. I may have liked it more if I'd read a text edition.
August 31, 2026
Fierceland opens in Kota Kinabalu with Roz and Harun begging their father for a copy of The Legend of Zelda. They have never played it but are certain it is the best game ever made. Yusuf can buy it without thinking, because he came up from poverty and built a fortune logging the Bornean rainforest. In 1988 he takes his children upriver to watch that work begin. The trip starts as an adventure and ends with them watching a worker get brutally beaten.
Yusuf dies in 2018 as one of the wealthiest men in Malaysia. By then Harun is a technology entrepreneur in Los Angeles and Roz is an artist in Sydney, barely staying afloat. They come home for the funeral to bury him and to return something he took from the forest. Musa announces in the opening pages that this is a ghost story, and he means it literally. Yusuf keeps showing up. The siblings grew up privileged and they know it. They don't know what to do about it, and that tension drives the book.
The book is much larger than this summary. Musa covers roughly 170 years and five geographies: Sabah in the 1880s, the glass workshops of Murano, Nigerian palm oil laboratories in the 1970s, Sydney boarding schools, and present-day Borneo. Joseph Conrad makes a cameo appearance that turns into an argument. More than ten voices narrate, and one of them is the forest.
The centerpiece is Crazy Auntie's poetry collection, Corpse Flower. She wants one poem, "The Song of the Wood," translated into every language spoken in Sabah before the smallest of them disappear, and Musa prints the translations. Most readers will not understand them, but the author is making a point. In his postscript, he invites others to translate the same poem into other languages.
Musa's frame is the hikayat, the Malay folk epic. He uses it to challenge a century of books that treated Borneo as scenery. It is well deserving of winning the 2026 Miles Franklin Award and the 2026 Victorian Premier's Prize for Fiction.
4.5
Yusuf dies in 2018 as one of the wealthiest men in Malaysia. By then Harun is a technology entrepreneur in Los Angeles and Roz is an artist in Sydney, barely staying afloat. They come home for the funeral to bury him and to return something he took from the forest. Musa announces in the opening pages that this is a ghost story, and he means it literally. Yusuf keeps showing up. The siblings grew up privileged and they know it. They don't know what to do about it, and that tension drives the book.
The book is much larger than this summary. Musa covers roughly 170 years and five geographies: Sabah in the 1880s, the glass workshops of Murano, Nigerian palm oil laboratories in the 1970s, Sydney boarding schools, and present-day Borneo. Joseph Conrad makes a cameo appearance that turns into an argument. More than ten voices narrate, and one of them is the forest.
The centerpiece is Crazy Auntie's poetry collection, Corpse Flower. She wants one poem, "The Song of the Wood," translated into every language spoken in Sabah before the smallest of them disappear, and Musa prints the translations. Most readers will not understand them, but the author is making a point. In his postscript, he invites others to translate the same poem into other languages.
Musa's frame is the hikayat, the Malay folk epic. He uses it to challenge a century of books that treated Borneo as scenery. It is well deserving of winning the 2026 Miles Franklin Award and the 2026 Victorian Premier's Prize for Fiction.
4.5
October 19, 2026
4.5★
"We’re not usually allowed in his office, but he once let me sit behind the table. The wood was oiled and old and dark and fragrant. —Belian, he’d told me: Borneo ironwood. The strongest, rarest tree. This table once belonged to William Cowie, who oversaw the building of the Borneo railway. I had it imported from the UK. Cowie made the decisions about our future from a posh dining room in London. Now it’s a Sabahan who makes the decisions."
Rozana is describing her father's office, but it's nothing anyone ever expected hm to have. She and her brother Harun tell us his story and theirs, of how Yusuf, a poor little orphan, who was raised in a house on stilts in the water, grew up to change the forest and his fate.
As children, they both adored their father and loved video games. They begged him, as kids do, to bring back the latest Legend of Zelda Nintendo game from his business trip.
"Abah, skinny and straight-backed, hair brilliant with Brylcreem, six-foot-one – tall for a Malay man – with a head slightly too big for his neck. He looked handsome that day. And knew it.
—Abah, we’ll never ask you for anything again bah, I pleaded, trying to catch his eye.
Harun nodded hard.
—Ya, Abah, pleeease. It’s the best game in the world.
—Astaga! Abah replied in his deep voice, lighting a Davidoff cigarette, not taking his eyes off the bedroom mirror. Kids, you said that about the last one, and the one before that. Can’t you see I’m run ragged? This deal is crucial. 'Beyond crucial.'"
Yusuf survived his childhood in the Malaysian part of Borneo and trained as an engineer. In 1978, he was part of a contingent that made the long trip to Nigeria to learn about oil palms and seek his fortune.
"…he had grown to hate poverty with a passion that most people reserved for other human beings... He spoke unashamedly about his long-term plans…
He’d come to realise that he was less an engineer and more a businessman, he said, although the engineering would come in handy. He would go first into logging, where endless riches awaited, and then put to use the skills he had learned here."
Back in Borneo, he began his business. As youngsters, Roz and Harun loved going up the river with their father, visiting his properties. But on one trip they happened to see a horrific incident involving many men, including Abah. Only the victim saw the children, and that haunted both Roz and Harun forever. They never knew what happened to the man.
Their father had no idea they had witnessed such a thing. Nobody did, and he continued to be loving and cheerful, treating them to holidays and happy family times.
The subsequent heavy logging of Borneo's native forests and the replanting of geometric rows of palms for palm oil is well- known history. This is like reading about all the worst colonial histories of the past, except it's the locals pulling themselves out of the direst poverty by whatever means necessary and using up their most precious resource – the land.
Years later, flying back from America as an adult, Harun realises how ignorant the rest of the world is about what's happening.
" ‘Isn’t it amazing how the jungle grows in such straight lines?’ says an Australian tourist across the aisle from me."
The publisher has written a lengthy summary of the story and plot, which normally I wouldn't appreciate. In this case, it's a way of acknowledging how many readers are like those tourists - unfamiliar with the subject and in need of an introduction.
I like the way the author ties the Malaysian and Australian lives together. As older kids, Roz and Harun go to boarding schools in Australia. But before then, they had country village childhoods. Everyone's language is peppered with Malaysian words and phrases and interjections.
I was glad I had an audio with Australian-Malaysian actor Emina Ashman narrating. She makes it so much easier to get a sense of what the Malaysian phrases might mean, whether they are playful or angry or just sort of filler words, like 'bah' and 'lah'.
And food! I don't know what it all is, but I know they missed it, and I bet I would too. Mind you, they all loved Filet of Fish as well.
There is a side story of a glass bead that has some special power and seems to carry too much weight in the book, but perhaps that's my culture at fault and not theirs. It does move through countries and tie things together, I admit.
Crazy Auntie is a wild relative (and fun character) who is also a poet and teacher and activist. The strongest part of the book for me is the I AM FOREST poetry that introduces the different parts. I listened to some of the audio, and the author reads those poems himself – beautifully. This one, about halfway through the book, is a chilling cry of pain,
I certainly understand why it won Australia's 2026 Miles Franklin Award.
"The Miles Franklin Literary Award is an annual literary prize awarded to 'a novel which is of the highest literary merit and presents Australian life in any of its phases.'
[P.S. Note the lack of quotation marks. Italics are helpful.]
"We’re not usually allowed in his office, but he once let me sit behind the table. The wood was oiled and old and dark and fragrant. —Belian, he’d told me: Borneo ironwood. The strongest, rarest tree. This table once belonged to William Cowie, who oversaw the building of the Borneo railway. I had it imported from the UK. Cowie made the decisions about our future from a posh dining room in London. Now it’s a Sabahan who makes the decisions."
Rozana is describing her father's office, but it's nothing anyone ever expected hm to have. She and her brother Harun tell us his story and theirs, of how Yusuf, a poor little orphan, who was raised in a house on stilts in the water, grew up to change the forest and his fate.
As children, they both adored their father and loved video games. They begged him, as kids do, to bring back the latest Legend of Zelda Nintendo game from his business trip.
"Abah, skinny and straight-backed, hair brilliant with Brylcreem, six-foot-one – tall for a Malay man – with a head slightly too big for his neck. He looked handsome that day. And knew it.
—Abah, we’ll never ask you for anything again bah, I pleaded, trying to catch his eye.
Harun nodded hard.
—Ya, Abah, pleeease. It’s the best game in the world.
—Astaga! Abah replied in his deep voice, lighting a Davidoff cigarette, not taking his eyes off the bedroom mirror. Kids, you said that about the last one, and the one before that. Can’t you see I’m run ragged? This deal is crucial. 'Beyond crucial.'"
Yusuf survived his childhood in the Malaysian part of Borneo and trained as an engineer. In 1978, he was part of a contingent that made the long trip to Nigeria to learn about oil palms and seek his fortune.
"…he had grown to hate poverty with a passion that most people reserved for other human beings... He spoke unashamedly about his long-term plans…
He’d come to realise that he was less an engineer and more a businessman, he said, although the engineering would come in handy. He would go first into logging, where endless riches awaited, and then put to use the skills he had learned here."
Back in Borneo, he began his business. As youngsters, Roz and Harun loved going up the river with their father, visiting his properties. But on one trip they happened to see a horrific incident involving many men, including Abah. Only the victim saw the children, and that haunted both Roz and Harun forever. They never knew what happened to the man.
Their father had no idea they had witnessed such a thing. Nobody did, and he continued to be loving and cheerful, treating them to holidays and happy family times.
The subsequent heavy logging of Borneo's native forests and the replanting of geometric rows of palms for palm oil is well- known history. This is like reading about all the worst colonial histories of the past, except it's the locals pulling themselves out of the direst poverty by whatever means necessary and using up their most precious resource – the land.
Years later, flying back from America as an adult, Harun realises how ignorant the rest of the world is about what's happening.
" ‘Isn’t it amazing how the jungle grows in such straight lines?’ says an Australian tourist across the aisle from me."
The publisher has written a lengthy summary of the story and plot, which normally I wouldn't appreciate. In this case, it's a way of acknowledging how many readers are like those tourists - unfamiliar with the subject and in need of an introduction.
I like the way the author ties the Malaysian and Australian lives together. As older kids, Roz and Harun go to boarding schools in Australia. But before then, they had country village childhoods. Everyone's language is peppered with Malaysian words and phrases and interjections.
I was glad I had an audio with Australian-Malaysian actor Emina Ashman narrating. She makes it so much easier to get a sense of what the Malaysian phrases might mean, whether they are playful or angry or just sort of filler words, like 'bah' and 'lah'.
And food! I don't know what it all is, but I know they missed it, and I bet I would too. Mind you, they all loved Filet of Fish as well.
There is a side story of a glass bead that has some special power and seems to carry too much weight in the book, but perhaps that's my culture at fault and not theirs. It does move through countries and tie things together, I admit.
Crazy Auntie is a wild relative (and fun character) who is also a poet and teacher and activist. The strongest part of the book for me is the I AM FOREST poetry that introduces the different parts. I listened to some of the audio, and the author reads those poems himself – beautifully. This one, about halfway through the book, is a chilling cry of pain,
I AM FOREST —
skinned alive,
shrieked through the mill,
shat out as plank & board, muscled down factory line,
grunted into place, picked & pondered & cleaved, dovetailed & grooved,
chiselled & stained, lathed & lacquered … there I kneel, legs spread,
a procession of
perfectly produced tables,
prostrate on all fours.
I certainly understand why it won Australia's 2026 Miles Franklin Award.
"The Miles Franklin Literary Award is an annual literary prize awarded to 'a novel which is of the highest literary merit and presents Australian life in any of its phases.'
[P.S. Note the lack of quotation marks. Italics are helpful.]
November 1, 2026
Fierceland is a historical fiction set in Malaysian Borneo. When their father Yusuf died, two siblings, Roz and Harun, one living in Sydney and the other in Los Angeles, each had a different agenda for coming home. When Roz and Harun learn their father stole something, they join forces to return it to its rightful place. However, they do not realise the problems they must grapple with to achieve their aim. Will they do it? Readers will continue to follow Roz and Harun to find out.
I had never heard of or read any books by Omar Musa until Fierceland, and I enjoyed his writing style. I engaged with this book and finished it, which I didn't expect. The author described the settings well, which made me feel like I was part of the book's plot. The portrayal of the characters and their interactions allowed me to connect with them.
General rule: don't read this type of book; however, my book club picked it, and at first I worried I wouldn't enjoy it or be able to join the discussion. Still, I enjoyed it, and it made me think about the importance of families. I love the cover of this book; purple and pink are not used very often for book covers.
Fierceland won two of Australia's major literary awards: the Victorian Premier's Literary Awards 2026 and the Miles Franklin Literary Award 2026.
I recommend this book.
I had never heard of or read any books by Omar Musa until Fierceland, and I enjoyed his writing style. I engaged with this book and finished it, which I didn't expect. The author described the settings well, which made me feel like I was part of the book's plot. The portrayal of the characters and their interactions allowed me to connect with them.
General rule: don't read this type of book; however, my book club picked it, and at first I worried I wouldn't enjoy it or be able to join the discussion. Still, I enjoyed it, and it made me think about the importance of families. I love the cover of this book; purple and pink are not used very often for book covers.
Fierceland won two of Australia's major literary awards: the Victorian Premier's Literary Awards 2026 and the Miles Franklin Literary Award 2026.
I recommend this book.
November 6, 2025
The one review I have read of Fierceland thought the book was about something entirely different from what I thought it was about, and that, I think, is testament to how rich, lush, and multilayed this book is. Musa gives us a sprawling family epic, through the lives of two siblings. And through them, we see the towering image of their complex father, a shifting mother, and an over-the-top aunt. And through these characters, we see the stories of migration, of modernisation in Borneo, of living through 9/11 as a muslim, and the painful, tight bonds of family and how we can choose to keep or cut. All this presents like the forest at the heart of the story, a gorgeous tangle, which the closer you explore the more pattern and detail you see.
September 23, 2025
" Fierceland" by Omar Musa isn't just a novel you read; it's a world you step into. The story follows siblings Roz and Harun as they return to their ancestral home in Malaysian Borneo after their father's death, a journey that’s meant to be about settling his affairs but becomes a profound reckoning with their past and identity. Musa’s narrative is a masterclass in weaving the personal with the political, making a powerful statement about family, land, and the devastating cost of progress.
What immediately grabbed me was Musa's poetic and vivid prose. He paints the rainforest not as a backdrop, but as a living, breathing entity, full of secrets and stories. You can almost feel the humid air and hear the buzz of the insects. This rich, sensory detail serves a larger purpose: it underscores the beauty and fragility of a land under siege. Musa doesn't shy away from the harsh realities of palm oil plantations and the destruction of indigenous homes, but he handles these tough subjects with a poetic grace that is both heartbreaking and essential. This book is a gut-wrenching elegy for a disappearing world and a poignant celebration of the resilience of those fighting to save it.
Beyond the environmental themes, the true heart of this novel lies in the raw, honest portrayal of Roz and Harun’s relationship. Their dynamic is so real—full of unspoken resentments, shared grief, and the complicated love that only siblings can understand. Through their journey, Musa explores the lingering trauma of a fragmented family and the weight of a legacy they never asked for. It made me reflect on my own family’s history and the unwritten stories we all carry. Fierceland is a reminder that healing isn't a linear process; it's about confronting the ghosts of the past to find a way forward.
This book is a must-read for anyone who believes in the power of storytelling to connect us to both the world and ourselves. It’s an immersive, moving experience that stays with you, forcing you to think about what we inherit, what we choose to protect, and the deep, profound connection between personal histories and the land we call home.
What immediately grabbed me was Musa's poetic and vivid prose. He paints the rainforest not as a backdrop, but as a living, breathing entity, full of secrets and stories. You can almost feel the humid air and hear the buzz of the insects. This rich, sensory detail serves a larger purpose: it underscores the beauty and fragility of a land under siege. Musa doesn't shy away from the harsh realities of palm oil plantations and the destruction of indigenous homes, but he handles these tough subjects with a poetic grace that is both heartbreaking and essential. This book is a gut-wrenching elegy for a disappearing world and a poignant celebration of the resilience of those fighting to save it.
Beyond the environmental themes, the true heart of this novel lies in the raw, honest portrayal of Roz and Harun’s relationship. Their dynamic is so real—full of unspoken resentments, shared grief, and the complicated love that only siblings can understand. Through their journey, Musa explores the lingering trauma of a fragmented family and the weight of a legacy they never asked for. It made me reflect on my own family’s history and the unwritten stories we all carry. Fierceland is a reminder that healing isn't a linear process; it's about confronting the ghosts of the past to find a way forward.
This book is a must-read for anyone who believes in the power of storytelling to connect us to both the world and ourselves. It’s an immersive, moving experience that stays with you, forcing you to think about what we inherit, what we choose to protect, and the deep, profound connection between personal histories and the land we call home.
September 13, 2026
Winner of the 2026 Miles Franklin Literary Award
And another reminder that Australian fiction continues to produce literary gems that surpass those seemingly on the radar of the Booker judges - the last 3 years for the Miles Frankin (Booker equivalent) and Stella Prize (c.f. Women's Prize) winners have been have Praiseworthy (unsurprisingly won both), Ghost Cities, Theory and Practice and Fierceland alongside Cannon, a graphic novel. As well as books that beat the best of the Goldsmiths for innovation by authors such as Jen Craig and Adam Ouston.
Fierceland is an impressive novel, at heart a family saga set across Indonesia, Australia and California.
He then hears the beat of wings, sees branches shivering. An owl. It twists its head almost fully upside down to watch him. But even knowing the owl could symbolise a ghost or evil, he is not afraid. He sees something in its beak. It opens its mouth to hoot, and an object falls, glittering, to the earth. As Salam examines the bead, just beyond the horizon, on a speed-boat cleaving the water brown and bone, is something far more terrifying than a pontianak – a rich man from the city. A man with the ability to destroy the world. A man who says he is coming to find thermal energy but must cut the forest down to do so. And who has, eccentrically, brought his two children into the jungle with him.
It centres on the forests of Sabah in Borneo, which indeed intercedes in the text as a form of a Greek chorus, and where the flora and fauna, the language (Malay is often included untranslated and interspersed with English as the characters speak it; and one section contains a poem translated into various local language) and the legends of the area (in some cases seen as real-happenings), as well as the economics and politics arising from the post-colonial industrialisation and the resulting explotation caused by extractive processes.
The novel centres around Roz, an upcoming artist in Australia, and her younger brother Harun, now a Californian meta-verse entrepreneur, children of the controversial industrial magnate Yusuf.
As Yusuf flew away, the outskirts of Lagos gave way to oil- palm plantations and forest. He thought of trees, how his fortune would come from them, first by cutting them down and then by planting new ones in the earth he had cleared. He thought of a future waiting beneath the soil, and how it is soil that makes a kingdom. Then he thought of his new friend’s warnings, about ambition and the fallibility of man.
And around two events: Yusuf's death in 2018 which brings the family back together, and an violent incident 20 years earlier, witnessed by the children when their father took them upriver into the heart of the forests and an area where he planned to develop a thermal energy plant, opposed by some of the locals including one in his employ:
Abah and Mak said that, on the day I was born, the fifteen seconds before my first cry felt like fifteen hours. When I finally cried out, they said the same words together at the same time, unrehearsed– sayang, sayang. Joyous, breathless laughter. They ran a sweet segment of mandarin over my gums, then Abah whispered a verse from the Qur’an into my ear. I saw them do this with Harun, too, I swear I remember it. Always filled me with joy to hear them sing the word out. Sayang. After what happened in the forest, once everything had fallen apart, they used the word only rarely. Sayang does not just mean love, but regret.
Roz is a particularly memorable character, at her most confident channelling the pontianak, an angry female spirit:
I am a pontianak, halfway between life and death. I haunt train platforms, airports, empty lots, the no- man’s- land between Aussie and Sabahan, the creepy, crepuscular hours between waking and dreaming. Pontianak, original Malay bad bitch, owl phantom, flying through keyholes like smoke, bloodless, visible only to the haunted. Not the pontianak that Abah and Jibrail described, who once subdued becomes a submissive woman again– no! A laughing, fearsome pontianak, striking fear into the hearts of shitty men, laughing all the while, no phallic nail to subdue me. Being known, being heard, being seen, only when the time is right– on my terms– then disappearing again.
Although I found Harun less successfully drawn.
The novel is a little didactic as characters spell things out for the reader, and personally I found the chapter on the journey of a murrina, a glass bead, made in Venice in 1847 into Roz's possession a misfire, including a rather cliched part on Joseph Conrad's visit to Borneo in the late 19th century:
What will I find if I keep going upriver? You get to the heart.
The Pole’s eyes light up. The heart? The heart of . . . darkness?
This is a novel where the characters are well-balanced, their strengths shown alongside their faults. And when Roz and Harun set out on a mission of redemption for their earlier events, they find that redemption requires more than words and simple gestures:
We have become ghosts, destroying a ghost – laughing very quietly as we feed him piece by piece to the eternal forest, an ancient green song, feed him to the ravenous, gnashing teeth of the land, that fierce thing, fierce as laughter or tears or tears of laughter, fierce as any dying dream whose inheritance is ours and clutches on to its name, fierce because its nature is equal parts generosity & vengeance, fierce because it expels you & then demands your return – you – child, forebear, logger, priest, pirate, vampire, gangster, poet, braiding & binding, dying & dancing on the luminous bones of a forest that once was.
It is silent now.
Truth is undead
Not perfect, but a novel that would have surely graced this year's Booker longlist in place of the far more conventional John of John and/or The Things We Never Say.
And another reminder that Australian fiction continues to produce literary gems that surpass those seemingly on the radar of the Booker judges - the last 3 years for the Miles Frankin (Booker equivalent) and Stella Prize (c.f. Women's Prize) winners have been have Praiseworthy (unsurprisingly won both), Ghost Cities, Theory and Practice and Fierceland alongside Cannon, a graphic novel. As well as books that beat the best of the Goldsmiths for innovation by authors such as Jen Craig and Adam Ouston.
Fierceland is an impressive novel, at heart a family saga set across Indonesia, Australia and California.
He then hears the beat of wings, sees branches shivering. An owl. It twists its head almost fully upside down to watch him. But even knowing the owl could symbolise a ghost or evil, he is not afraid. He sees something in its beak. It opens its mouth to hoot, and an object falls, glittering, to the earth. As Salam examines the bead, just beyond the horizon, on a speed-boat cleaving the water brown and bone, is something far more terrifying than a pontianak – a rich man from the city. A man with the ability to destroy the world. A man who says he is coming to find thermal energy but must cut the forest down to do so. And who has, eccentrically, brought his two children into the jungle with him.
It centres on the forests of Sabah in Borneo, which indeed intercedes in the text as a form of a Greek chorus, and where the flora and fauna, the language (Malay is often included untranslated and interspersed with English as the characters speak it; and one section contains a poem translated into various local language) and the legends of the area (in some cases seen as real-happenings), as well as the economics and politics arising from the post-colonial industrialisation and the resulting explotation caused by extractive processes.
The novel centres around Roz, an upcoming artist in Australia, and her younger brother Harun, now a Californian meta-verse entrepreneur, children of the controversial industrial magnate Yusuf.
As Yusuf flew away, the outskirts of Lagos gave way to oil- palm plantations and forest. He thought of trees, how his fortune would come from them, first by cutting them down and then by planting new ones in the earth he had cleared. He thought of a future waiting beneath the soil, and how it is soil that makes a kingdom. Then he thought of his new friend’s warnings, about ambition and the fallibility of man.
And around two events: Yusuf's death in 2018 which brings the family back together, and an violent incident 20 years earlier, witnessed by the children when their father took them upriver into the heart of the forests and an area where he planned to develop a thermal energy plant, opposed by some of the locals including one in his employ:
Abah and Mak said that, on the day I was born, the fifteen seconds before my first cry felt like fifteen hours. When I finally cried out, they said the same words together at the same time, unrehearsed– sayang, sayang. Joyous, breathless laughter. They ran a sweet segment of mandarin over my gums, then Abah whispered a verse from the Qur’an into my ear. I saw them do this with Harun, too, I swear I remember it. Always filled me with joy to hear them sing the word out. Sayang. After what happened in the forest, once everything had fallen apart, they used the word only rarely. Sayang does not just mean love, but regret.
Roz is a particularly memorable character, at her most confident channelling the pontianak, an angry female spirit:
I am a pontianak, halfway between life and death. I haunt train platforms, airports, empty lots, the no- man’s- land between Aussie and Sabahan, the creepy, crepuscular hours between waking and dreaming. Pontianak, original Malay bad bitch, owl phantom, flying through keyholes like smoke, bloodless, visible only to the haunted. Not the pontianak that Abah and Jibrail described, who once subdued becomes a submissive woman again– no! A laughing, fearsome pontianak, striking fear into the hearts of shitty men, laughing all the while, no phallic nail to subdue me. Being known, being heard, being seen, only when the time is right– on my terms– then disappearing again.
Although I found Harun less successfully drawn.
The novel is a little didactic as characters spell things out for the reader, and personally I found the chapter on the journey of a murrina, a glass bead, made in Venice in 1847 into Roz's possession a misfire, including a rather cliched part on Joseph Conrad's visit to Borneo in the late 19th century:
What will I find if I keep going upriver? You get to the heart.
The Pole’s eyes light up. The heart? The heart of . . . darkness?
This is a novel where the characters are well-balanced, their strengths shown alongside their faults. And when Roz and Harun set out on a mission of redemption for their earlier events, they find that redemption requires more than words and simple gestures:
We have become ghosts, destroying a ghost – laughing very quietly as we feed him piece by piece to the eternal forest, an ancient green song, feed him to the ravenous, gnashing teeth of the land, that fierce thing, fierce as laughter or tears or tears of laughter, fierce as any dying dream whose inheritance is ours and clutches on to its name, fierce because its nature is equal parts generosity & vengeance, fierce because it expels you & then demands your return – you – child, forebear, logger, priest, pirate, vampire, gangster, poet, braiding & binding, dying & dancing on the luminous bones of a forest that once was.
It is silent now.
Truth is undead
Not perfect, but a novel that would have surely graced this year's Booker longlist in place of the far more conventional John of John and/or The Things We Never Say.
August 4, 2026
Update: Winner of the 2026 Miles Franklin Literary Award
Two Malaysian siblings return to Malaysia for their tycoon father's funeral, who had made a fortune from palm oil plantations, which in turn, eradicated so much of the rain forrest.
Roz is a somewhat struggling, liberal artist, living in Australia. Her brother, Harun, is a successful AI and AR developer, who lives in the US. The two live different lives and have diverging beliefs and views.
This award-winning novel has many things going for it: it's a page-turner, it's informative, has well rounded, distinct characters, and it also looks at the complexities in developing countries, inequality and the effects of colonialism and post-colonialism, and blending some poetry and folklore with prose.
We'll have to wait to find out if it'll win the Miles Franklin prize, as it's on the shortlist.
Two Malaysian siblings return to Malaysia for their tycoon father's funeral, who had made a fortune from palm oil plantations, which in turn, eradicated so much of the rain forrest.
Roz is a somewhat struggling, liberal artist, living in Australia. Her brother, Harun, is a successful AI and AR developer, who lives in the US. The two live different lives and have diverging beliefs and views.
This award-winning novel has many things going for it: it's a page-turner, it's informative, has well rounded, distinct characters, and it also looks at the complexities in developing countries, inequality and the effects of colonialism and post-colonialism, and blending some poetry and folklore with prose.
We'll have to wait to find out if it'll win the Miles Franklin prize, as it's on the shortlist.
May 31, 2026
A fierce story of two siblings who grow up with the sins of their father, rooted in power and the exploitation of the forest and the people who's lives are scattered there.
...there's no worse crime than stealing someone's homeland, because a person's homeland is their soul....p189
Omar Musa has been a favourite poet of mine for well over a decade, and I picked up this novel as soon as it came out last year, however it's the longlisting on The 2026 Miles Franklin Prize that gave me incentive to stick with the beautiful and sometimes challenging prose.
The setting of Malaysian cultural dysphoria was new to me but it's also universal to all displaced people in some way.
There is a wonderful crazy Auntie character who provides some light relief particularly with the "Capitalism Carbs" of Maccas... that gave me a chuckle or two.
I would be very happy for this to win the MF and while I listened to the audiobook (highly recommended) I'll be keeping my paperback copy too. It's one that I'd like to read again.
...there's no worse crime than stealing someone's homeland, because a person's homeland is their soul....p189
Omar Musa has been a favourite poet of mine for well over a decade, and I picked up this novel as soon as it came out last year, however it's the longlisting on The 2026 Miles Franklin Prize that gave me incentive to stick with the beautiful and sometimes challenging prose.
The setting of Malaysian cultural dysphoria was new to me but it's also universal to all displaced people in some way.
There is a wonderful crazy Auntie character who provides some light relief particularly with the "Capitalism Carbs" of Maccas... that gave me a chuckle or two.
I would be very happy for this to win the MF and while I listened to the audiobook (highly recommended) I'll be keeping my paperback copy too. It's one that I'd like to read again.
February 8, 2026
Omar Musa is the Trent Dalton of Borneo.
October 10, 2026
Dispossession, disconnection, disappointing family, trauma and lots of use of the word “zoom” in regard to traveling cars.
I quite enjoyed this at times, but having read other Australian books that were NOT longlisted for the Miles Franklin this year, I’m a bit confused yet again with the winning book. I have a system I use to rate a book - 10 points worth one mark each. I was actually surprised that on reflecting, I could not give full marks on any of the points. It felt like it just missed on so much that I look for in a book, especially in something attempting to be an epic. Salman Rushdie came to mind often with the overall styling of this book, but the wonder and grandeur of the writing just wasn’t there.
I did like the different points of view in relation to the same story, and thought this was done well in as far as unraveling the story, but the voice didn’t always change as much as I felt it should have with each new person, just the perspective. Or if it did the traits that were shown in the voice were a bit cringey, uncomfortable in their showing/telling. I wanted more. I felt the potential wasn’t reached and that the writing often verged on simplistic rather than the panoramic prose and clever use of language I was hoping for/expecting. The last book I read was Marlon James “The Disappearers”, an epic of a book and I couldn’t help comparing, feeling that this was attempting something similar in regard to breadth and depth. Ambitious, yes, but basically comes off as run of the mill literary fiction with characters who feel hollow and unreachable and a story that puts its hand up high, but can’t quite reach.
Before I go on, I must write about “Crazy Auntie” and how this nomenclature to me is highly problematic. It’s the name the corrupt father gives his friend, but throughout the book she is still referred to as this (perhaps showing that the father’s influence is strong in the kids’ view of the world). She is the strongest character in the book. She is ethical, intelligent, well read, she has her own mind, yet she is portrayed as “crazy” continually. Is it meant as irony? Possibly/probably, but to me it is patriarchal terminology that diminishes the strong, (probably neurodivergent) woman who doesn’t fit into a neat societal box. For a book that highlights many things that are wrong with the world, this seems to be at odds when she has one of the few voices of reason in the book. Retaining this name throughout casts a shadow on her that left a bad taste. When she is driven to madness it was as if it was all neatly packaged away.
“I’d rather die than be like her” says Roz.
Split up to separate high end boarding schools by the bad actors who are the father and mother, the children live their lives in different types of guilt. The son follows the family tradition of exploiting his homeland for money, just in a different way. The daughter seems to have an unsuccessful art career, living off her father’s money. Neither guilty enough to say no to it. The guilt to me seemed to be about one action of the father rather than the overall destruction he wreaked, which to me somewhat softened what could have been more of a call to action and awareness than what it turned out to be.
Anyway, to get to the point, it is a family saga set over 3 continents. It starts with the narrative voices of the children, to show their innocence - of course soon to be lost! It’s a bad man dad and his two kids’ stories. It says a lot about (stuff we already know) the destruction of the environment and colonisation in relation to greed. I’m tired. I want things I haven’t read before in a different book, or at least a fresher perspective. I felt the pulling together of myth and reality fell a bit flat. The blurred mysticism of the murrina chapter was wonderful, and beautifully written, hypnotic even (although it did almost serve as an excuse for the fate of Salam), but the conclusion of this thread later on was sorely disappointing. Seeing the textural solidity of this section unfold further later in the book would have brought it all together for me differently. The return of a foreign object to where it landed with people who brought about destruction, is not the answer to this plot line in any way shape or form for the overall message intended.
The promise of a “revolutionary” “courageous” “gripping” and “powerful” book was not delivered on. There’s not a lot of originality here. Give me some fresh ideas and interesting voices from authors living on Australian soil. You only need read a few local anthologies to know that we have so many fresh voices (writing amazing things) who never quite seem to get a look in.
I quite enjoyed this at times, but having read other Australian books that were NOT longlisted for the Miles Franklin this year, I’m a bit confused yet again with the winning book. I have a system I use to rate a book - 10 points worth one mark each. I was actually surprised that on reflecting, I could not give full marks on any of the points. It felt like it just missed on so much that I look for in a book, especially in something attempting to be an epic. Salman Rushdie came to mind often with the overall styling of this book, but the wonder and grandeur of the writing just wasn’t there.
I did like the different points of view in relation to the same story, and thought this was done well in as far as unraveling the story, but the voice didn’t always change as much as I felt it should have with each new person, just the perspective. Or if it did the traits that were shown in the voice were a bit cringey, uncomfortable in their showing/telling. I wanted more. I felt the potential wasn’t reached and that the writing often verged on simplistic rather than the panoramic prose and clever use of language I was hoping for/expecting. The last book I read was Marlon James “The Disappearers”, an epic of a book and I couldn’t help comparing, feeling that this was attempting something similar in regard to breadth and depth. Ambitious, yes, but basically comes off as run of the mill literary fiction with characters who feel hollow and unreachable and a story that puts its hand up high, but can’t quite reach.
Before I go on, I must write about “Crazy Auntie” and how this nomenclature to me is highly problematic. It’s the name the corrupt father gives his friend, but throughout the book she is still referred to as this (perhaps showing that the father’s influence is strong in the kids’ view of the world). She is the strongest character in the book. She is ethical, intelligent, well read, she has her own mind, yet she is portrayed as “crazy” continually. Is it meant as irony? Possibly/probably, but to me it is patriarchal terminology that diminishes the strong, (probably neurodivergent) woman who doesn’t fit into a neat societal box. For a book that highlights many things that are wrong with the world, this seems to be at odds when she has one of the few voices of reason in the book. Retaining this name throughout casts a shadow on her that left a bad taste. When she is driven to madness it was as if it was all neatly packaged away.
“I’d rather die than be like her” says Roz.
Split up to separate high end boarding schools by the bad actors who are the father and mother, the children live their lives in different types of guilt. The son follows the family tradition of exploiting his homeland for money, just in a different way. The daughter seems to have an unsuccessful art career, living off her father’s money. Neither guilty enough to say no to it. The guilt to me seemed to be about one action of the father rather than the overall destruction he wreaked, which to me somewhat softened what could have been more of a call to action and awareness than what it turned out to be.
Anyway, to get to the point, it is a family saga set over 3 continents. It starts with the narrative voices of the children, to show their innocence - of course soon to be lost! It’s a bad man dad and his two kids’ stories. It says a lot about (stuff we already know) the destruction of the environment and colonisation in relation to greed. I’m tired. I want things I haven’t read before in a different book, or at least a fresher perspective. I felt the pulling together of myth and reality fell a bit flat. The blurred mysticism of the murrina chapter was wonderful, and beautifully written, hypnotic even (although it did almost serve as an excuse for the fate of Salam), but the conclusion of this thread later on was sorely disappointing. Seeing the textural solidity of this section unfold further later in the book would have brought it all together for me differently. The return of a foreign object to where it landed with people who brought about destruction, is not the answer to this plot line in any way shape or form for the overall message intended.
The promise of a “revolutionary” “courageous” “gripping” and “powerful” book was not delivered on. There’s not a lot of originality here. Give me some fresh ideas and interesting voices from authors living on Australian soil. You only need read a few local anthologies to know that we have so many fresh voices (writing amazing things) who never quite seem to get a look in.
October 23, 2025
In the opening poem which frames this beautiful and luminous novel Musa tells us exactly what this tale is to be about, “Let us dally no more, sayang. Let us name this thing a ghost story-“ yet I didn’t quite believe him. However, with each chapter, the ghostly revealed itself further and further, as Musa explores that which haunts us and what we are haunted by, which are not the same thing at all.
There’s such a love of language and literature found at all points in Fierceland, with Musa blending prose and poetry perfectly to create a story just sings.
I loved the references to Le Guin, digs at Conrad and Crazy Auntie’s name checking of countless artists There’s so many perfect moments in the book, too many to list, but Musa’s thoughts on fractals and humans as the embodiment of these, everyone a microcosm of some larger power struggle, and Rozana’s artwork of carnivorous plants, have to be up there.
I also love the balance this creates with Here Come The Dogs, Musa’s first novel, which was so aggressively masculine. From from the very start of Fierceland, the voice is distinctly feminine, with femininity an ongoing undercurrent. Masculine traded for Feminine. The physical exertion of sports versus the pixels of videogames and coding, concrete for forest. A perfect compliment of novels.
Best paired with the laughter of a Pontianak, a bite of a Macca’s Fillet-O-Fish and a palm oil plantation with fruit ready to be harvested.
There’s such a love of language and literature found at all points in Fierceland, with Musa blending prose and poetry perfectly to create a story just sings.
I loved the references to Le Guin, digs at Conrad and Crazy Auntie’s name checking of countless artists There’s so many perfect moments in the book, too many to list, but Musa’s thoughts on fractals and humans as the embodiment of these, everyone a microcosm of some larger power struggle, and Rozana’s artwork of carnivorous plants, have to be up there.
I also love the balance this creates with Here Come The Dogs, Musa’s first novel, which was so aggressively masculine. From from the very start of Fierceland, the voice is distinctly feminine, with femininity an ongoing undercurrent. Masculine traded for Feminine. The physical exertion of sports versus the pixels of videogames and coding, concrete for forest. A perfect compliment of novels.
Best paired with the laughter of a Pontianak, a bite of a Macca’s Fillet-O-Fish and a palm oil plantation with fruit ready to be harvested.
October 5, 2025
Brilliant!!!! Love this book so much. It’s beautifully written, and more than engaging. It’s truly captivating with its changing literary and artistic styles, challenging and evolving through strong multidimensional characters and layers of history. This book exceeded my expectations!
November 1, 2026
I had an instant connection with this book because I lived in mainland Malaysia in 1999-2000 (around when part of this story takes place) and I have visited some of the locations in Sabah. I loved reading the Malay language embedded in this story and I vividly remember the politics and racism that circulated around this time. The premise of the novel was also enticing, a parent who has betrayed his children’s trust, his integrity and goodness. I could picture exactly how these children went “off the rails” and the lasting impact this had on their young adult lives. The description of the jungle and the magical realism fitted this environmentally sensitive story. I am probably a biased reader because of all these personal connections to the location but this story does appear to have resonated with a broad audience and has received deserved critical acclaim.
November 29, 2025
4.5 🌟
This is a rating born of both emotion and appreciation. A novel set in contemporary (pre covid) kota kinabalu! And post 9/11 muslim existence in the western world!
The descriptions of borneo evoke familiarity and electric aliveness in their precision. The family story was heartbreaking - the relationship between the siblings so choked and full of love and contempt.
Sometimes the prose felt a bit too expository, but i think that is a difficult line to tread. I appreciated the untranslated melayu. Some of the characters remained mysteries - Susan/Jenab, crazy auntie.
Epic in scope, much to chew on - the cursed murrina? The literal hauntings? The 🦉 feathers and abah? - and much to laugh out loud at - the artist manifestos (!!!)
What a novel.
This is a rating born of both emotion and appreciation. A novel set in contemporary (pre covid) kota kinabalu! And post 9/11 muslim existence in the western world!
The descriptions of borneo evoke familiarity and electric aliveness in their precision. The family story was heartbreaking - the relationship between the siblings so choked and full of love and contempt.
Sometimes the prose felt a bit too expository, but i think that is a difficult line to tread. I appreciated the untranslated melayu. Some of the characters remained mysteries - Susan/Jenab, crazy auntie.
Epic in scope, much to chew on - the cursed murrina? The literal hauntings? The 🦉 feathers and abah? - and much to laugh out loud at - the artist manifestos (!!!)
What a novel.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
October 27, 2026
4.75 / I’m not surprised that I thoroughly enjoyed Fierceland. Immediately intrigued by the blurb, and with no other knowledge going into it, I could already sense this Bookclub choice would be right up my alley.
Starting with the poetic voice of the hutan (forest), then flowing up river with each orang (person) telling parts of their story with their own unique voices and perspectives. I particularly enjoyed the juxtaposition of Rozana and Harun’s early chapters, which helped reveal their personalities and age gap, and then the nostalgia in their school years.
I was hooked, from the vivid imagery conjured of the forest to the drug-induced rambling chapters and then short succinct sentences, random formatting and grammatical anomalies, all of which really need to be read in book form not my usual audio.
Releasing my urge to translate everything I was reading was easy, as I felt that Omar gave us enough context that we could grasp the tone of conversations without needing to know exactly what was said, which is a feat.
There is so much in this book to learn, feel and breathe in; family legacy, poverty, greed and corruption spanning multiple countries, devastating environmental elements, and harm to the vulnerable, with the historical twist of the Murina glass artist bringing in religious and cultural ghostly beliefs.
Almost 5 ⭐️ but, I felt that the ending could have been sharper for me, trying to bring the ghost and virtual world back into focus and tie it all together, just felt a bit rushed and loose for me.
As I’m writing this review, peat fires have been burning in Borneo and blanketing the surrounding areas in smoke since late August, so it’s a very timely novel indeed.
Worthy winner of the 2026 Miles Franklin Literary Award, this is one to read again and recommend.
Below are some of my favourites
“He stood up, drew the curtains open, wiped condensation from the window, looked out into the night, and immediately a multitude of stars lanced their way in, impossibly brazen, dancing over him with an ecstatic zeal. As he stood in the starlight, he swore to himself, to the jinn, and to Allah himself, that he would stave off death as long as he could by sheer tyranny of will. He had too much to achieve.”
“The torturous truth - it’s possible, in a single life, to be a hero and a villain, fraud and truth-teller, executioner and liberator, success and abject failure.”
“- the fever dreams of poetry - even further beyond, a scrim of stars - the tempestuous universe and God, hovering unbearably luminescent at the beginning and end of the cosmos - all this is present in the air that flows around me - the elastic and murderous ballet of nature distilled into a single moment, concen-trated, balanced here on my antennae as I look down into the water of a pitcher plant.”
“I drop in.”
4.75 ⭐️ Book
Starting with the poetic voice of the hutan (forest), then flowing up river with each orang (person) telling parts of their story with their own unique voices and perspectives. I particularly enjoyed the juxtaposition of Rozana and Harun’s early chapters, which helped reveal their personalities and age gap, and then the nostalgia in their school years.
I was hooked, from the vivid imagery conjured of the forest to the drug-induced rambling chapters and then short succinct sentences, random formatting and grammatical anomalies, all of which really need to be read in book form not my usual audio.
Releasing my urge to translate everything I was reading was easy, as I felt that Omar gave us enough context that we could grasp the tone of conversations without needing to know exactly what was said, which is a feat.
There is so much in this book to learn, feel and breathe in; family legacy, poverty, greed and corruption spanning multiple countries, devastating environmental elements, and harm to the vulnerable, with the historical twist of the Murina glass artist bringing in religious and cultural ghostly beliefs.
Almost 5 ⭐️ but, I felt that the ending could have been sharper for me, trying to bring the ghost and virtual world back into focus and tie it all together, just felt a bit rushed and loose for me.
As I’m writing this review, peat fires have been burning in Borneo and blanketing the surrounding areas in smoke since late August, so it’s a very timely novel indeed.
Worthy winner of the 2026 Miles Franklin Literary Award, this is one to read again and recommend.
Below are some of my favourites
“He stood up, drew the curtains open, wiped condensation from the window, looked out into the night, and immediately a multitude of stars lanced their way in, impossibly brazen, dancing over him with an ecstatic zeal. As he stood in the starlight, he swore to himself, to the jinn, and to Allah himself, that he would stave off death as long as he could by sheer tyranny of will. He had too much to achieve.”
“The torturous truth - it’s possible, in a single life, to be a hero and a villain, fraud and truth-teller, executioner and liberator, success and abject failure.”
“- the fever dreams of poetry - even further beyond, a scrim of stars - the tempestuous universe and God, hovering unbearably luminescent at the beginning and end of the cosmos - all this is present in the air that flows around me - the elastic and murderous ballet of nature distilled into a single moment, concen-trated, balanced here on my antennae as I look down into the water of a pitcher plant.”
“I drop in.”
4.75 ⭐️ Book
October 7, 2026
"Shaking with amok"
"My whole body humming with lava"
My Oma used to tell me I was bringing amok, shaking with amok, being amok, running amok. She would dip in and out of Malay, Bahasa, Dutch, English, and Mandarin. I loved to listen to her fill our time together with these sayings; terms of endearment, I suppose.
Reading this book was like being a little boy, sitting with my grandparents, their house filled with the smells of offal fermenting in some delicious pastes, full of spices and pickles and ghee. Full of flavour, and joy. Mangoes, green and fluffy on my tongue, like soap, like lavender, like refrigerator.
That feeling of fizzing with energy, it bubbling over, was what it was like to live in my house with my Opa; always described as outrageous and eccentric, he was manic depressive in equal parts and without really knowing what would happen next. And he was always the most exciting person to know, to hear stories of the jungle, the rainforest, the plantations, the archipelago. Transporting and troppo.
I thought a lot about inheritance while reading this. The story follows siblings grappling with the inheritance of a palm oil plantation, the profits garnered through unforgivable acts of their father. It's not a complicated premise, and the writer treats it as extraordinary - he bounces us back and forth between perspectives and times playing with structure and style. This would be fine, but the story peaks and plateaus a little too early and the characters are ok, but they could be so much more.
I thought about inheritance, what it has meant to inherit genetic traits and dispositions, to be eccentric and outrageous, manic and depressed, unwell and well. I thought about inheriting stories of a place my family is from but where I have never been. I thought about what it is to escape, to leave a place, to leave a story, and for it to follow you everywhere, anyway. Wherever you go, there you are.
"My whole body humming with lava"
My Oma used to tell me I was bringing amok, shaking with amok, being amok, running amok. She would dip in and out of Malay, Bahasa, Dutch, English, and Mandarin. I loved to listen to her fill our time together with these sayings; terms of endearment, I suppose.
Reading this book was like being a little boy, sitting with my grandparents, their house filled with the smells of offal fermenting in some delicious pastes, full of spices and pickles and ghee. Full of flavour, and joy. Mangoes, green and fluffy on my tongue, like soap, like lavender, like refrigerator.
That feeling of fizzing with energy, it bubbling over, was what it was like to live in my house with my Opa; always described as outrageous and eccentric, he was manic depressive in equal parts and without really knowing what would happen next. And he was always the most exciting person to know, to hear stories of the jungle, the rainforest, the plantations, the archipelago. Transporting and troppo.
I thought a lot about inheritance while reading this. The story follows siblings grappling with the inheritance of a palm oil plantation, the profits garnered through unforgivable acts of their father. It's not a complicated premise, and the writer treats it as extraordinary - he bounces us back and forth between perspectives and times playing with structure and style. This would be fine, but the story peaks and plateaus a little too early and the characters are ok, but they could be so much more.
I thought about inheritance, what it has meant to inherit genetic traits and dispositions, to be eccentric and outrageous, manic and depressed, unwell and well. I thought about inheriting stories of a place my family is from but where I have never been. I thought about what it is to escape, to leave a place, to leave a story, and for it to follow you everywhere, anyway. Wherever you go, there you are.
October 22, 2026
This book was quite a difficult read for me. I listened via audiobook - the changing timelines , countries & characters . It was really challenging in a good way though to think through the big topics like colonialism, family relationships, money & greed, privilege , environmental issues & responsibility. I liked the way the jungle was portrayed and personified. It was so good to also read a book based in south East Asia- so many relatable stories and experiences that are all so familiar. I also enjoyed the Malay woven into the story.
August 8, 2026
i sobbed for a full minute when i turned the first page of part 4. i knew this book would be good when my auntie gave me the rough plot. i knew it would be great when i read the poem of the first chapter. i knew it would be would be brilliant whenever musa let his vivid magic realism seep in, blending skies and vulnerability with lava, apartments and hurt with sea forests. and from that first page in part 4 it became phenomenal. no wonder this won the Miles Franklin award. i am now an Omar Musa devotee - thank you so much for introducing me to the people of this pocket of the world
also what are the chances that this orang putih has started learning bahasa so could understand a bit of the parts in language!!
also what are the chances that this orang putih has started learning bahasa so could understand a bit of the parts in language!!
September 22, 2026
I was intrigued to read this novel as I have been to Borneo and learned about the destruction wrought by the palm oil plantations. The writing in this novel is poetic and evokes place beautifully, We did stay in a jungle retreat and this novel captures it and I found myself back in the jungle of Borneo. I did find reading it a bit challenging with its changes in time and place, but definitely worth reading.
October 10, 2026
Finished on holiday in Tassie. Another case of I’m glad I read it, would I recommend it…I’m unsure. I think I’m definitely in a period of reading some books that sit differently to ones that have come before. The way he writes about the forest is beautiful. Reading about the environmental corruption and devastation is a lot and then to see it on the television in the weeks after I finished Fierceland. It’s busy reading - dense I guess.
July 21, 2026
4.5 ⭐️
Predominantly follows the lives of two children from Borneo who witnessed an incident in the forest. Brilliant on so many levels - messages about climate change, living in another culture, missing the motherland, loss of language, capitalism and power.
Aside from poems scattered throughout the books, this story is very poetical in parts. There is also unique formatting for each perspective of the story.
Overall, I thoroughly enjoyed this book.
Predominantly follows the lives of two children from Borneo who witnessed an incident in the forest. Brilliant on so many levels - messages about climate change, living in another culture, missing the motherland, loss of language, capitalism and power.
Aside from poems scattered throughout the books, this story is very poetical in parts. There is also unique formatting for each perspective of the story.
Overall, I thoroughly enjoyed this book.
October 13, 2026
Loved this. Strong story with a beautiful combination of human, nature, folklore and superstition. A lot of the writing is very poetic but not boring. Very captivating. Makes me want to be in a forest and immerse myself in nature.
February 10, 2026
I loved this book. It's a really important facet of Malaysian history — Borneo — that is broadly overlooked by mainland politics; also overlooked by Malay-Australian diasporic cultural relating. In Fierceland, Omar Musa takes a strong look at the impact of palm oil production in Borneo and a somewhat intersectional view of power as it plays out in Malaysia. There are several complex, unlikeable characters, which is refreshing when we think about the way the Australian cultural sphere understands and projects Malayness. It's not just "hey we eat and make lots of delicious multicultural food like rendang and ayam masak merah," it's also that there's many ultra wealthy Malay oil-palm tycoons and politicians that subjugate the land and resources of this country for profit and paternalistic "national prosperity", as is demonstrated in Fierceland.
My own family is from mainland peninsular Malaysia (with its own distinct history and politics) across Selangor and Negeri Sembilan, said to descend from the Minangkabau in the 7th century (though highly debated). I grew up in canning vale, western australia (suburbs of perth), which stands second to melbourne in highest population of Malaysian expats to a suburb within so-called australia (according to the ABS 2021 census). Both of my neighbours growing up were Malaysian families, Chinese and Malay respectively.
To much of my family, both extended and immediate, speaking to the conditions of First Nations land and people across peninsular east Malaysia and archipelagic west Malaysia is a low priority. For many reasons, accessing culture and history through familial means is only possible when it’s possible to stop working long enough to care (ie. when your family has middle class mobility, or is wealthy) - it's otherwise a long, unromantic and isolating learning that comes in drips and drabs through European frameworks of understanding, or in the small moments of energy that family and kin have to share their stories.
So with this in mind it's clear that Fierceland is a culmination of this slow recollection and research. A lot of which I see myself in, or see all of my own research in, as a Malay artist and writer that grew up in australia.
My only major critique of this book is that the question of Harun's identity is criminally underwritten. It's hard to tell why this choice was made — to leave the story of his queerness so blank — when everything else in the book felt so intentional and lovingly complex. It does make me wonder if the author, among all the people who reviewed his manuscript, had sought consultation from any queer Malay writers. Maybe he did, maybe it's possible this was an intentional choice. But as a queer, trans person who has complex relationships with relating to and visiting Malaysia, I found myself really let down by how Harun was presented. At best, the choice to characterise him as gay feels tokenistic, lacking any depth. At worst, it feels like a covertly homophobic caricature of cis gay campness rather than any complex view of turmoil that gay men, women and queers in the diaspora may experience distinctly from people like Nurhafizah (Auntie), Rozana, Abah and Mak. All other characters in the book are written complexly and intersectionally, but I wanted a lot more from Harun, because I know there's a story there that many have lived. Ultimately, I feel like it would have been better for him to have been presumably straight (like everyone else was?) than to have been written in the stereotypically “gay” way that he was.
Overall though, this books feels like a really, really important contribution to the cultural storytelling of Malaysian history in australia. I’m glad that it now exists as a touchstone to return to both in the practice of writing and in the livelihood of being Malay in australia.
My own family is from mainland peninsular Malaysia (with its own distinct history and politics) across Selangor and Negeri Sembilan, said to descend from the Minangkabau in the 7th century (though highly debated). I grew up in canning vale, western australia (suburbs of perth), which stands second to melbourne in highest population of Malaysian expats to a suburb within so-called australia (according to the ABS 2021 census). Both of my neighbours growing up were Malaysian families, Chinese and Malay respectively.
To much of my family, both extended and immediate, speaking to the conditions of First Nations land and people across peninsular east Malaysia and archipelagic west Malaysia is a low priority. For many reasons, accessing culture and history through familial means is only possible when it’s possible to stop working long enough to care (ie. when your family has middle class mobility, or is wealthy) - it's otherwise a long, unromantic and isolating learning that comes in drips and drabs through European frameworks of understanding, or in the small moments of energy that family and kin have to share their stories.
So with this in mind it's clear that Fierceland is a culmination of this slow recollection and research. A lot of which I see myself in, or see all of my own research in, as a Malay artist and writer that grew up in australia.
My only major critique of this book is that the question of Harun's identity is criminally underwritten. It's hard to tell why this choice was made — to leave the story of his queerness so blank — when everything else in the book felt so intentional and lovingly complex. It does make me wonder if the author, among all the people who reviewed his manuscript, had sought consultation from any queer Malay writers. Maybe he did, maybe it's possible this was an intentional choice. But as a queer, trans person who has complex relationships with relating to and visiting Malaysia, I found myself really let down by how Harun was presented. At best, the choice to characterise him as gay feels tokenistic, lacking any depth. At worst, it feels like a covertly homophobic caricature of cis gay campness rather than any complex view of turmoil that gay men, women and queers in the diaspora may experience distinctly from people like Nurhafizah (Auntie), Rozana, Abah and Mak. All other characters in the book are written complexly and intersectionally, but I wanted a lot more from Harun, because I know there's a story there that many have lived. Ultimately, I feel like it would have been better for him to have been presumably straight (like everyone else was?) than to have been written in the stereotypically “gay” way that he was.
Overall though, this books feels like a really, really important contribution to the cultural storytelling of Malaysian history in australia. I’m glad that it now exists as a touchstone to return to both in the practice of writing and in the livelihood of being Malay in australia.
Read
December 25, 2025Two years ago, I had the luxury to read this book in its draft form, but since then Omar Musa has polished the book to its ultimate sheen and sharpness, like a meteorite kris folded and forged over and over into perfection.
Telling the story of siblings Roz and Harun, this is at the same time a family epic, a ghost story, and a magical realism tale. At times, the themes of childhood memories and haunting trauma also reminded me of The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy.
However, reading this book in 2025 was an entirely different experience. In 2025, this book was an easy read, but tough at the same time.
On one hand, the subject matters are very close to me: as an Indonesian who went to Australia for higher education and work, this Southeast Asian family epic with an Australian perspective simply hit home. With beautiful, flowing prose, this is simply a gorgeous book. The streets of Sydney, where Roz and Harun spent their teenage year, were familiar and vibrant. Even my recent visit to KL resonated a lot with the KL section in this book.
On the other hand, it was an especially tough read because it also hit so close to home. At the moment I was reading this book, my fellow Indonesians in Sumatra were paying the devastating economic and environmental costs thanks to decades of massive deforestation for oil palm plantations and logging. I saw the looming figures of Yusuf bin Mansur from the book on local TVs and news: unapologetic patriarchs, driven by unadulterated greed and bald-faced shamelessness, claimed that everything they had done was done only for the best for the country.
And yet, Fierceland is also a tale of perseverance, how nature as a living force is working for its own vengeance. Drawing a lot of parallels from old school Indonesian horror flicks, Omar Musa played with the ideas of family curse and the spectral figure of pontianak (also known as kuntilanak in Indonesia). Typical of great classic literature, there were recurring imageries, strong, repeating, and almost haunting throughout the book. From the murrina, owls, orchids, to the corpse flower, there is a section of Bornean forest living vividly in my head. Green, eternal, humid, rich, noisy, full of life, unforgiving, remembering, enduring.
Telling the story of siblings Roz and Harun, this is at the same time a family epic, a ghost story, and a magical realism tale. At times, the themes of childhood memories and haunting trauma also reminded me of The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy.
However, reading this book in 2025 was an entirely different experience. In 2025, this book was an easy read, but tough at the same time.
On one hand, the subject matters are very close to me: as an Indonesian who went to Australia for higher education and work, this Southeast Asian family epic with an Australian perspective simply hit home. With beautiful, flowing prose, this is simply a gorgeous book. The streets of Sydney, where Roz and Harun spent their teenage year, were familiar and vibrant. Even my recent visit to KL resonated a lot with the KL section in this book.
On the other hand, it was an especially tough read because it also hit so close to home. At the moment I was reading this book, my fellow Indonesians in Sumatra were paying the devastating economic and environmental costs thanks to decades of massive deforestation for oil palm plantations and logging. I saw the looming figures of Yusuf bin Mansur from the book on local TVs and news: unapologetic patriarchs, driven by unadulterated greed and bald-faced shamelessness, claimed that everything they had done was done only for the best for the country.
And yet, Fierceland is also a tale of perseverance, how nature as a living force is working for its own vengeance. Drawing a lot of parallels from old school Indonesian horror flicks, Omar Musa played with the ideas of family curse and the spectral figure of pontianak (also known as kuntilanak in Indonesia). Typical of great classic literature, there were recurring imageries, strong, repeating, and almost haunting throughout the book. From the murrina, owls, orchids, to the corpse flower, there is a section of Bornean forest living vividly in my head. Green, eternal, humid, rich, noisy, full of life, unforgiving, remembering, enduring.
January 28, 2026
3.75 Stars ----
This wasn't bad, I just unfortunately struggled to connect with the characters and the story. I think it may be trying to do too much character-wise. Not only are there many different characters' perspectives, they jump back and forth between the 1800s and modern day, and whilst I understand what Musa was trying to do here, I only found a few of these perspectives really impactful in regards to the overall message. I found pockets of the book to be really really strong, but then it would meander and lose me :(
This book hits on some really important ideas though, mainly who benefits and who doesn't from the exploitation and destruction of developing countries - and why it's never actually the residents who benefit. It also touches on losing a parent who was objectively a horrible person, but who also set you up with a really good life. The kids having to reckon with the destruction of both their ancestral home and the community that raised them, perpetrated by their father. The character 'Crazy Aunty' is a queen! I loved the rich description of Borneo and the rain forest, absolutely beautiful, how anyone can sleep at night knowing their the reason it is being destroyed, I will never know. The poetry throughout is also a highlight, stunning, and I loved how Musa made an effort to translate it into as many Indigenous Malay languages as he possible could!
There was a really powerful quote (but I didn't highlight it at the time UGH) that stuck with me, it went along the lines of 'it's not just the plants or the animals that die alongside the forest, it's the hidden knowledge, languages and cultures' ... More of this message needs to be put out into the world!
This wasn't bad, I just unfortunately struggled to connect with the characters and the story. I think it may be trying to do too much character-wise. Not only are there many different characters' perspectives, they jump back and forth between the 1800s and modern day, and whilst I understand what Musa was trying to do here, I only found a few of these perspectives really impactful in regards to the overall message. I found pockets of the book to be really really strong, but then it would meander and lose me :(
This book hits on some really important ideas though, mainly who benefits and who doesn't from the exploitation and destruction of developing countries - and why it's never actually the residents who benefit. It also touches on losing a parent who was objectively a horrible person, but who also set you up with a really good life. The kids having to reckon with the destruction of both their ancestral home and the community that raised them, perpetrated by their father. The character 'Crazy Aunty' is a queen! I loved the rich description of Borneo and the rain forest, absolutely beautiful, how anyone can sleep at night knowing their the reason it is being destroyed, I will never know. The poetry throughout is also a highlight, stunning, and I loved how Musa made an effort to translate it into as many Indigenous Malay languages as he possible could!
There was a really powerful quote (but I didn't highlight it at the time UGH) that stuck with me, it went along the lines of 'it's not just the plants or the animals that die alongside the forest, it's the hidden knowledge, languages and cultures' ... More of this message needs to be put out into the world!
September 22, 2025
This book screams in volumes your ears may not hear, but your heart will catch!!! Such thoughtful, embedded words are scripted into these pages, pulling you into the lives of Rozana and Harun. A rainforest that stands with patience, witnessing everything. The forest was immersive showcasing mythical creatures, floklores and hidden stories whispering in the air.
Two innocent souls lost their essence to a bead or shall I say, the bead showed them their way. If you’re in the mood for a heart-wrenching read, this one might just tear you apart.
The visuals are cryptic, horrific, yet slanderous. Their POVs feel like diary entries bleeding hearts, confused thoughts, wandering years where they lost touch with themselves.
It touches on such sensitive themes as childhood trauma how it lingers within us, with unresolved emotions creeping like branches, trapping you in the world of owls. Their journey of redemption and breaking silence felt powerful and revolting.
The depth within just a few lines, the emotions they leave you pondering both sides of the coin. Although we never got Joseph’s side, it left me intrigued, wondering what he thought throughout his lifetime.
A meal is perfect when you can distinguish each herb and spice separately. Fierceland felt exactly like that, leaving the essence of each character lingering in your thoughts.
A thought-provoking read, with different sides, different voices, all seeking a soul to flourish within.
Two innocent souls lost their essence to a bead or shall I say, the bead showed them their way. If you’re in the mood for a heart-wrenching read, this one might just tear you apart.
The visuals are cryptic, horrific, yet slanderous. Their POVs feel like diary entries bleeding hearts, confused thoughts, wandering years where they lost touch with themselves.
It touches on such sensitive themes as childhood trauma how it lingers within us, with unresolved emotions creeping like branches, trapping you in the world of owls. Their journey of redemption and breaking silence felt powerful and revolting.
The depth within just a few lines, the emotions they leave you pondering both sides of the coin. Although we never got Joseph’s side, it left me intrigued, wondering what he thought throughout his lifetime.
A meal is perfect when you can distinguish each herb and spice separately. Fierceland felt exactly like that, leaving the essence of each character lingering in your thoughts.
A thought-provoking read, with different sides, different voices, all seeking a soul to flourish within.
March 2, 2026
I'm so grateful I was able to read this book, because it feels like someone took a good look into my soul and put it onto paper.
Fierceland is a story about man and nature, about belonging and family, and what it means to strive for a better life for yourself at the cost of the things you hold dear. It took up the question I find myself asking now: is it acceptable to work for the oppressor, or to the person who causes the harm, to put food on your table? Is being able to ask this a form of privilege? And where do you draw the line; what is an intangible thing against your family's security?
Musa uses characters I am familiar with and intertwines them meaningfully, skillfully: the father who will stop at nothing in the name of progress, the son who finds solace in masks and religion and playing the long game; the daughter set adrift, aware of her role in causing harm and unable to do anything to stop it (or so she believes) at the same time; the wise aunt turned pariah. The writing is thoughtful and made this a fleshy, living experience. I will be dwelling on this for a While.
Thank you to NetGalley, the author and publisher for the ARC. All opinions are my own.
Fierceland is a story about man and nature, about belonging and family, and what it means to strive for a better life for yourself at the cost of the things you hold dear. It took up the question I find myself asking now: is it acceptable to work for the oppressor, or to the person who causes the harm, to put food on your table? Is being able to ask this a form of privilege? And where do you draw the line; what is an intangible thing against your family's security?
Musa uses characters I am familiar with and intertwines them meaningfully, skillfully: the father who will stop at nothing in the name of progress, the son who finds solace in masks and religion and playing the long game; the daughter set adrift, aware of her role in causing harm and unable to do anything to stop it (or so she believes) at the same time; the wise aunt turned pariah. The writing is thoughtful and made this a fleshy, living experience. I will be dwelling on this for a While.
Thank you to NetGalley, the author and publisher for the ARC. All opinions are my own.
June 3, 2026
Wow, wow. I finished this on the flight back from Malaysia, having started reading it in Borneo. Borneo is a magical place, suffering from deep devastation inflicted upon it and its forests and people, which continues today at an unrelenting pace to satiate a ferocious appetite for cheap goods.
This book captures the magic of Borneo. The history, and the ongoing devastation. Omar Musa’s poetry seeps the pages, dancing the story along.
It was surreal to have had the privilege of travelling through some of the places in the book; to have experienced the same gorging mosquitoes, sweltering heat, delicious food and devastating poverty. I’m in awe with Borneo. An island so beautiful has been hollowed out for palm oil. It was confronting to see swathes of unending palm oil plantations on our drive to our river cruise to see the Borneo Five… endemic animals pushed to the edge of the forest and onto the river. At some points, the palm oil plantations came as far as to kiss the riverbank itself. It confronted my own privilege to see the Bajau people and other indigenous groups live lives of statelessness and sanctioned poverty. The irony of visiting some of the world’s most beautiful dive sites and nature spots and to see the horror of people’s every day, the rubbish, the smell, the sheer lacking.
Anyway, back to the book, I would recommend this read. Though sometimes the magical realism felt clunky in Roz and Harun’s everyday lives. Otherwise this book manages to capture within its ~330 pages a wide plethora of stories and information. It covers Borneo’s colonial history, the importance of living memory, connection to land and diasporic experiences (lol at the Sydney shade). I feel devastated for the Crazy Aunties we have lost at the hands of corrupt rich men, the Pacicks who are left behind, and the Salams who suffer the indignities of loss of homeland and livelihood.
At times, the book suffers from being too overreaching as we don’t get to appreciate characters and certain moments as more than one dimensional. I would have loved to know Mak’s backstory more, I love an iconic chess genius (hello pinkpanthress) but why does she not get along with Crazy Aunt? Let’s pass the Bechdel test a bit more. But seriously, the book suffers also from juxtaposing characters to make a point Crazy Aunty vs conforming, Islam convert Mak who gives up her engineering degree, and then Silicon Valley tech millionaire Harun vs struggling artist greasy hair and pimpled Roz.
I wish Musa explored the tension and struggle of the siblings confronting their dad’s legacy a bit more, that felt lacking after a lot of build up. I went into this book thinking it was more memoir based and from that probably expected more commentary from the siblings as adults. We could have done without the side commentary on good old Down Under racism, obviously this is drawn from Musa’s experiences living her but this came at the expense of focusing more on Borneo.
Still 4 stars bc the novelty of reading a book after travelling the same places was great! I have a photo with the referenced ancient 100 year old Dipterocarp tree that features in Musa’s wife! I appreciate Musa’s commitment to the various art that has come out of this book, particularly the song of the wood and the translations into the different 54 languages of Sabah!
This book captures the magic of Borneo. The history, and the ongoing devastation. Omar Musa’s poetry seeps the pages, dancing the story along.
It was surreal to have had the privilege of travelling through some of the places in the book; to have experienced the same gorging mosquitoes, sweltering heat, delicious food and devastating poverty. I’m in awe with Borneo. An island so beautiful has been hollowed out for palm oil. It was confronting to see swathes of unending palm oil plantations on our drive to our river cruise to see the Borneo Five… endemic animals pushed to the edge of the forest and onto the river. At some points, the palm oil plantations came as far as to kiss the riverbank itself. It confronted my own privilege to see the Bajau people and other indigenous groups live lives of statelessness and sanctioned poverty. The irony of visiting some of the world’s most beautiful dive sites and nature spots and to see the horror of people’s every day, the rubbish, the smell, the sheer lacking.
Anyway, back to the book, I would recommend this read. Though sometimes the magical realism felt clunky in Roz and Harun’s everyday lives. Otherwise this book manages to capture within its ~330 pages a wide plethora of stories and information. It covers Borneo’s colonial history, the importance of living memory, connection to land and diasporic experiences (lol at the Sydney shade). I feel devastated for the Crazy Aunties we have lost at the hands of corrupt rich men, the Pacicks who are left behind, and the Salams who suffer the indignities of loss of homeland and livelihood.
At times, the book suffers from being too overreaching as we don’t get to appreciate characters and certain moments as more than one dimensional. I would have loved to know Mak’s backstory more, I love an iconic chess genius (hello pinkpanthress) but why does she not get along with Crazy Aunt? Let’s pass the Bechdel test a bit more. But seriously, the book suffers also from juxtaposing characters to make a point Crazy Aunty vs conforming, Islam convert Mak who gives up her engineering degree, and then Silicon Valley tech millionaire Harun vs struggling artist greasy hair and pimpled Roz.
I wish Musa explored the tension and struggle of the siblings confronting their dad’s legacy a bit more, that felt lacking after a lot of build up. I went into this book thinking it was more memoir based and from that probably expected more commentary from the siblings as adults. We could have done without the side commentary on good old Down Under racism, obviously this is drawn from Musa’s experiences living her but this came at the expense of focusing more on Borneo.
Still 4 stars bc the novelty of reading a book after travelling the same places was great! I have a photo with the referenced ancient 100 year old Dipterocarp tree that features in Musa’s wife! I appreciate Musa’s commitment to the various art that has come out of this book, particularly the song of the wood and the translations into the different 54 languages of Sabah!
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