Thank you to our 31st Award Judge, Kathryn Aldridge-Morris, for her excellent and detailed comments on her reading process and the winning stories
Judge’s report
Reading this longlist reaffirmed my belief that flash fiction writers are where it’s at in the literary world. The stories in this round popped with pitch-perfect prose and demonstrated a deep understanding of how form impacts story. There was something stand-out in every flash I read, and it was clear why they’d made it through to the longlist. Congratulations to all the writers, thank you for trusting me with your words, and thank you Jude Higgins for inviting me to judge and immerse myself in these story worlds.
There were so many stories in the shortlist which moved me, through gorgeous language, brilliant metaphor and imagery, or made me laugh at human behaviour and the state of the world or portrayed characters and relationships that felt authentic and relatable. It would be impossible to select only a couple for a special mention. I journalled for days. I dreamt about the stories. Ultimately, some started to dominate my notes and my dreams, some whose emotional impact refused to fade and which revealed new meanings on multiple readings.
First place: Two nude night-owls
Wise and understated, this story is a masterclass in how to depict yearning and suadade; an untranslatable Portuguese word which tries to pin down the feeling of nostalgia for a thing—or person— you’ve never had. ‘I miss you, but I haven’t met you yet’ sang Bjork. The narratorial voice lingered and pulled me back over and over. We open and it’s past midnight, literally and metaphorically in the narrator’s life. The unfolding scene is cinematic and dreamy. The story speaks to the peculiarities of our times. We are together but separate. We’ve never been more connected, never seen so much into each other’s lives, yet we’re living through an epidemic of loneliness. ‘We’ve never discussed a fence or planted a screen of shrubs…’ says the narrator who sees his neighbour swim nude every night. This is about the necessity of letting go, reinforced by the casual repetition of ‘whatever’ throughout the piece. Closeness to death is bringing a reckoning with what truly matters and the narrator’s realisation at the end is quietly devastating.
Second place: Vagina First<
The moment I’m conscious a piece is a breathless sentence it can pull me out of the story. In Vagina First the voice is so compelling, the cadence so perfect, the structure doesn’t draw attention to itself until it lands on that perfect beat. Nothing detracts from the tension between a daughter’s palpable excitement at leaving home and her mother’s struggle with letting go. The emotional impact is heightened because the mother’s actions are filtered through the lens of the daughter and with each detail casually relayed we feel in our bones the mother’s fierce, protective love. This writer also understands how to use comedy to help land a gut punch. Not enough that this mother wants to conjure up an image of a bear eating her daughter. She needs to ratchet up the stakes, and the timing of the phrase ‘vagina first’ is exquisite. It makes us laugh because it is unexpected, but also, I think, because it forces a moment of recognition of the crazy things love can make us say and do. This piece not only made me feel, but it made me think – of the man vs bear debate, of how patriarchal fascism comes for women’s rights first. Then, the final, crushingly sad image of the mother opens up a whole new layer of understanding.
Third place: My Husband Watches Henry the Donkey
This story is a skilful snapshot of the complex, divisive and absurd times we’re living though. In the future people will need to read stories like this to understand how it was possible we watched reels of donkeys as a form of solace. But we do. A sick body politic is making the couple in this story sick. With deft use of the rule of three, sentences starting with the verbs ‘Losing…Blocking…Avoiding’ reveal how the politics of division is insidiously seeping into their lives. But we see them doing what they can to resist despair, resist authoritarianism. This is a story about hope and where we go to find it. The light-touch humour in the dialogue imbues the relationship with a gentleness, which itself feels like a form of resistance; an antidote to a world where everyone is screaming at each other. Through great storytelling, (note the perfect mix of sentence lengths to create pace), this writer has created characters I love and I’m rooting for them, as much as for what they represent.
Highly commended: The Menopausal Woman and the Tsunami
This story is a gloriously sassy subversion of the misery-menopause narrative. I love these women, living their best lives on swan floaties getting wasted on gin martinis. This writer pulls off humour and makes it look easy with perfect comic timing and juxtaposition. I love that The Menopausal Woman is never named, neatly conveying the flattening of middle-aged women’s identities. The husband (who is named) remains off-page on the other end of the phone, and with a succinct reference to them as newlyweds, we see how a relationship changes over time. He’s not a bad husband, she’s just kind of outgrown him as she enters her zero-fucks era. These sisters have already faced down the tsunami that is menopause, so, whatever, get another gin and bring it on!
