I ordered Claire G. Coleman’s Terra Nullius damn near at random, when I realized that I’d spent all year reading books by women of color and hadn’t managed to find one from Australia yet. A quick Google search for Aboriginal authors and fifteen bucks later and this was on its way. And this book is another great example of why I do stuff like this– if I wasn’t specifically looking for a book by someone like Claire Coleman, I don’t know how this would have crossed my radar otherwise, and I’m damn glad I read it.
You may have noticed that this post isn’t called a “review,” which is usually the way I title– hashtagged, even– most of my posts about books I’ve read. I’m doing that for a reason: I went into this book about as blind as I possibly could have, and as a result certain events in the text absolutely floored me; this is one of those books where you think you’re reading one thing and then pow bang what suddenly you’re reading something completely different and you have to reevaluate everything you’ve read in light of your new knowledge. And therefore my approach to telling people about this book is as follows: most of y’all have been around for a minute, and whether you agree with me or not, if you’re a book person and you follow my blog you probably have a pretty damn good idea how well my taste aligns with yours by now.
Well … trust me on this one. I’m not telling you a damn thing other than that you will enjoy the time you spend with this book. If my word on books has been useful to you in the past, listen to me on this one. I’m not quite in “if you buy this on my say-so and don’t like the book, I’ll send you your money back” territory, but I’m closer than you might think.