What do you think?
Fierceland
‘An impressive, urgent novel by a talented and courageous writer.’ – Mohsin Hamid, author of Exit West
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.
‘Exhilarating, melodious, smart, resonant about the fragility of our times . . . A revolutionary novel of consciousness with Borneo at its core. This is the novel I’ve been waiting for.’ — Ellen Van Neerven
'Potent and powerful, Fierceland is a shapeshifting novel of great reckoning; a brutal, beautiful study of wilderness within and without, of the ghosts that afflict and follow in the wake of family, legacy and complicity.' — Hannah Kent
'Surprising, surreal, and written with gripping poetic prose, Omar Musa reminds us why he is a virtuoso storyteller.' — Sara M. Saleh
'If ever there has been a Great Bornean Novel, Omar Musa's Fierceland is it. Borneo writes back in these pages, offering up a breathtaking, heartbreaking, headspinning reply to decades of Malayan supremacy and erasure. But Fierceland is more than simple it is a wild, poetic, ride, both lyrical and pyrotechnical, through the light and the darkness of a family and all its histories. Vehemently, furiously, it asks the great timeless what does it mean to belong to a place? What do we owe our homelands? What do they owe us? Who gets to take, and who must give?' — Preeta Samasaran
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.
‘Exhilarating, melodious, smart, resonant about the fragility of our times . . . A revolutionary novel of consciousness with Borneo at its core. This is the novel I’ve been waiting for.’ — Ellen Van Neerven
'Potent and powerful, Fierceland is a shapeshifting novel of great reckoning; a brutal, beautiful study of wilderness within and without, of the ghosts that afflict and follow in the wake of family, legacy and complicity.' — Hannah Kent
'Surprising, surreal, and written with gripping poetic prose, Omar Musa reminds us why he is a virtuoso storyteller.' — Sara M. Saleh
'If ever there has been a Great Bornean Novel, Omar Musa's Fierceland is it. Borneo writes back in these pages, offering up a breathtaking, heartbreaking, headspinning reply to decades of Malayan supremacy and erasure. But Fierceland is more than simple it is a wild, poetic, ride, both lyrical and pyrotechnical, through the light and the darkness of a family and all its histories. Vehemently, furiously, it asks the great timeless what does it mean to belong to a place? What do we owe our homelands? What do they owe us? Who gets to take, and who must give?' — Preeta Samasaran
375 pages, Paperback
First published September 2, 2025
About the author
Omar Musa
18 books113 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.
Ratings & Reviews
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 123 reviews
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.
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.
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
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.
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 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!
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!!
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.
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.
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!
August 28, 2026
Thanks Footnote Press and NetGalley for my advanced reader copy!
Perhaps it’s because I picked this up immediately after returning from Malaysia, but Fierceland struck me powerfully. This immersive, lush novel is set in Malaysian Borneo but also takes you across the globe in a weaving family saga. It begins with Roz and Harun’s childhood and some beautiful scene-setting in the rainforest, interspersed with The Legend of Zelda parallels and an adoring appreciation for Ursula K. Le Guin’s work, which I adored. Then, after many years abroad, Roz and Harun return home for the funeral of their father Yusef, a palm oil baron who built their family’s wealth by destroying large swathes of said rainforest… and a violent disappearance of a man that stood in his way.
Switching between past and present, we follow the siblings as they each reckon with their complicated relationships with their father; Yusef indelibly took something from the ancient rainforest. I loved the stark contrast between Roz and Harun’s languid childhood and the brutal truth of adulthood, as well as the way Musa seamlessly knits languages together. I also loved how this isn’t a neatly packaged family saga. It goes all over the place – something I briefly had an issue with towards the first third of the book – but, doesn’t real life do that too? With this, Musa creates a beautiful, often jarring, impression of Malaysian Borneo, and one that’ll stay with me for a while.
Perhaps it’s because I picked this up immediately after returning from Malaysia, but Fierceland struck me powerfully. This immersive, lush novel is set in Malaysian Borneo but also takes you across the globe in a weaving family saga. It begins with Roz and Harun’s childhood and some beautiful scene-setting in the rainforest, interspersed with The Legend of Zelda parallels and an adoring appreciation for Ursula K. Le Guin’s work, which I adored. Then, after many years abroad, Roz and Harun return home for the funeral of their father Yusef, a palm oil baron who built their family’s wealth by destroying large swathes of said rainforest… and a violent disappearance of a man that stood in his way.
Switching between past and present, we follow the siblings as they each reckon with their complicated relationships with their father; Yusef indelibly took something from the ancient rainforest. I loved the stark contrast between Roz and Harun’s languid childhood and the brutal truth of adulthood, as well as the way Musa seamlessly knits languages together. I also loved how this isn’t a neatly packaged family saga. It goes all over the place – something I briefly had an issue with towards the first third of the book – but, doesn’t real life do that too? With this, Musa creates a beautiful, often jarring, impression of Malaysian Borneo, and one that’ll stay with me for a while.
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.
September 6, 2026
Another dubious ending - but I understand why and how. I don't think it would be sad if Musa wrote another hundred pages - but hey - he is the one producing a Miles Franklin winner - not me... It was so much better than the last winner. I still have concerns over the criteria - but again, I am not really in a position to cast stones. I liked the read - and I was invested. I thought at times it drifted into George Saunders territory - and that was not enjoyable. I understand the Miles Franklin criteria and needing a definitive link to Australian culture and space - so I appreciate our country through the narrative - and I did in some parts, but it's not exactly an Australian novel. I feel Musa's connection is narrated through other worlds. But beautifully written and a worthy winner. It's certainly ambitious.
September 18, 2026
Winner of this 2026 Miles Franklin Award.
This ambitious ecofiction novel explores capitalism, colonialism, and the destruction of the Bornean rainforest, while also examining the loss of Indigenous cultures, languages, and knowledge. Musa gives voice to both the people and the natural world under threat, using poetry, multiple forms of English, and Indigenous languages to make the forest itself feel like a living presence.
It is an imaginative and often beautiful book, though its abundance of ideas and experimental techniques can at times make it feel crowded and didactic. The story is told primarily through two siblings who inherit their father's oil palm empire and respond to that legacy in radically different ways. The forest itself also serves as a narrator, adding to the novel's mythic quality, while ghosts of the past haunt the story.
This ambitious ecofiction novel explores capitalism, colonialism, and the destruction of the Bornean rainforest, while also examining the loss of Indigenous cultures, languages, and knowledge. Musa gives voice to both the people and the natural world under threat, using poetry, multiple forms of English, and Indigenous languages to make the forest itself feel like a living presence.
It is an imaginative and often beautiful book, though its abundance of ideas and experimental techniques can at times make it feel crowded and didactic. The story is told primarily through two siblings who inherit their father's oil palm empire and respond to that legacy in radically different ways. The forest itself also serves as a narrator, adding to the novel's mythic quality, while ghosts of the past haunt the story.
September 13, 2026
Understandable that Omar Musa won the 2026 Miles Franklin Literary Award with this epic story. So much vivid detail brought place and character to life! I could literally smell the forest he took the reader into.
My only disappointment was towards the end of the book, particularly the outcome for the murrina which featured throughout as the mystical link between characters. It seemed anticlimactic.
But overall, an incredibly captivating story. Beautifully written - lyrical and complex. Use of native language added to its originality.
My only disappointment was towards the end of the book, particularly the outcome for the murrina which featured throughout as the mystical link between characters. It seemed anticlimactic.
But overall, an incredibly captivating story. Beautifully written - lyrical and complex. Use of native language added to its originality.
Read
December 31, 2025I think I need to re-read this at some point to absorb it at a more leisurely pace. I read, and listened to this one in combination on a deadline for book club, and should have started much sooner. It’s beautifully written, poetic and thought provoking, with some challenging content around the nature of colonialism, exploitation, and family dynamics.
July 15, 2026
This book was vaguely on my radar but I probably wouldn't have read it if it wasn't shortlisted for the Miles Franklin. I'm so glad it was!
This is a story about growing up in Malaysia, coming of age in Australia, and reflecting on family and your place in the world as an adult. Many parts were extremely relatable to me. The story is moving and the writing is beautiful.
This is a story about growing up in Malaysia, coming of age in Australia, and reflecting on family and your place in the world as an adult. Many parts were extremely relatable to me. The story is moving and the writing is beautiful.
August 25, 2026
Oh, they laughed and laughed.
"You think there's an 'h' in there? Ho ho ho! Ha ha ha!"
All evening long the trivia team taunted me with scornful suggestions of superfluous h's. All evening long I wondered how I could've gone so wrong.
Seeing "Orang. Hutan. Orangutan." emblazoned upon the very first page of this book very almost quelled my pain. Almost.
Also, excellent novel or whatever. Five stars.
"You think there's an 'h' in there? Ho ho ho! Ha ha ha!"
All evening long the trivia team taunted me with scornful suggestions of superfluous h's. All evening long I wondered how I could've gone so wrong.
Seeing "Orang. Hutan. Orangutan." emblazoned upon the very first page of this book very almost quelled my pain. Almost.
Also, excellent novel or whatever. Five stars.
August 17, 2026
I'm completely bowled over by this book. It's cultural, historical, political, racial, poetic & most of all very proudly Sabahan. This is fiction at it's best. The subject matter is a very real issue & very aptly described along with the lives of people in Malaysia & Borneo.
January 30, 2026
I really struggled to follow the story.
May 19, 2026
4.5 stars
Displaying 1 - 30 of 123 reviews