When a poet dares to confront the unspoken horrors of our time, it’s not just literature—it’s a mirror held up to society. Evelyn Araluen’s nomination for the Stella Prize with her second collection, The Rot, is more than a literary achievement; it’s a cultural reckoning. Four years after becoming the first poet to win this prestigious award for Australian women and non-binary writers, Araluen is back, and her work feels more urgent than ever. But what makes this particularly fascinating is how The Rot isn’t just poetry—it’s a document of our collective guilt, a snapshot of a world drowning in doomscrolling and moral apathy.
Personally, I think Araluen’s ability to weave personal grief with global atrocities is what sets her apart. The collection was inspired by her experience at Adelaide Writers’ Week in 2024, where she was heckled for calling Israel’s actions in Gaza a genocide. This isn’t just a poetic footnote; it’s a testament to the courage it takes to speak truth in a polarized world. What many people don’t realize is that poetry like this doesn’t just reflect the moment—it challenges it. Araluen’s hope that The Rot will one day feel ‘naive’ is both heartbreaking and hopeful. It’s a plea for a future where such horrors are unthinkable, but it’s also a warning: if we don’t act, this book will be a haunting record of our silence.
What’s striking about this year’s Stella Prize shortlist is its diversity of voices and themes. From Geraldine Brooks’ memoir Memorial Days to Tasma Walton’s I Am Nannertgarrook, each work grapples with pain, identity, and resilience in its own way. But if you take a step back and think about it, Araluen’s work stands out because it’s not just personal—it’s political. While Brooks explores grief through the lens of personal loss and Walton reimagines a historical tragedy, Araluen forces us to confront the present. Her poetry isn’t just about what’s happening in Gaza; it’s about what’s happening to us as we watch it unfold.
One thing that immediately stands out is the broader trend of literature becoming a battleground for social justice. Lee Lai’s graphic novel Cannon, for instance, delves into the suppression of queer emotions, while Marika Sosnowski’s 58 Facets examines the complexities of history and victimhood. These works aren’t just stories—they’re acts of resistance. In my opinion, this shortlist reflects a literary landscape that’s increasingly unwilling to stay silent. But what this really suggests is that writers like Araluen are pushing the boundaries of what literature can do. It’s not just about beautiful language; it’s about sparking conversations that matter.
A detail that I find especially interesting is how Araluen’s work intersects with the digital age. Doomscrolling—the endless consumption of bad news—isn’t just a modern habit; it’s a psychological state. The Rot captures this perfectly, blending the personal and the political in a way that feels almost claustrophobic. This raises a deeper question: Can literature save us from ourselves? Personally, I think it can’t—but it can wake us up. And in a world where attention spans are shrinking and outrage is commodified, that’s no small feat.
If the Stella Prize is a barometer of Australian women’s and non-binary writing, then this year’s shortlist is a call to action. From my perspective, Araluen’s nomination isn’t just about her talent—it’s about the responsibility of art in times of crisis. Whether she wins or not, The Rot has already done its job: it’s made us uncomfortable. And in a world that often prefers comfort to truth, that’s a victory in itself.
