What is language doing?
How does it enlist us into its project? What does it presume to fix for all time?
What is it constantly unsettling?
What is literary about oral culture? Does oral culture only become literature once it’s written down? Is literature reading, or writing, or learning?
Is the arbiter of spelling the printing press, the dictionary, the style guide, the spelling bee, or the legislature? Do typefaces have intention?
How does transliteration undermine the authority of the word? How does it make visible what language strives to hide?
What is private about language? What is public?
What makes a place public? Does that make it ours? Or everybody’s? Or nobody’s?
Has Meanjin helped normalise a place name spelling that was never intended to become authoritative?
What is this place called? Why did this place need a name? What gives someone the right to name something? Where in Magandjin does Meanjin exist? Who held the digging stick, what is the spike, and where are the tulipwood trees?
What is cast up into the air the moment a sentence has formed itself into a question? How does your breath change? What does anticipation feel like?
How does your accent belie your politics? Or someone else’s politics? «Τα ελληνικά σας είναι τέλεια», they say to me. «Πού τα μάθατε;»
What escapes—and what is exhausted by—the constraints of this language I never chose? Can’t I play with it … just a little?
Are the tools of the writer too hidden (in plain sight) for their work to be recognised as a profession? How do we champion the writers of the future?
Who writes the future? Who wrote the past? What happens when we try to write the present?
Ἐν ἀρχῇ ἦν ὁ Λόγος, so how have we come instead to privilege the Word? How does the Dreaming dissolve any question of beginnings? How does Country speak today? Who should we ask to tell it to us? ‘Wirrepi’: In returning, in giving back, how might we create something new?
What does writing perform? What does it co-opt? What does it colonise?
Is it possible to be heard without a voice?