is a lovely review of Black Juice
in The Hindu
. I particularly like:
It is evident that Margo Lanagan has sponged in a great deal not just about the magicks, stories, spells and geographies of Australia, but also about the witchery of words and the landscapes of word-making for she treks through language with a sure compass, a strong pair of well-clad feet and an ungiving rope.
And this is pretty spot-on, too:
Lanagan's stories are like earlier-time stories, when all stories were one story, and if you travelled in them, you never knew where you were going, or how: you could, suddenly, fall through a hole in the earth to a world down below or turn a corner and enter an enchanted field, you could be taken to see real men and women at work or you could be called upon to work magic yourself. And it is this sort of world that Margo Lanagan's stories inhabit.
Also, the way the review just ends mid-sentence is refreshing.