by Maryrose Cuskelly
Publisher: Allen & Unwin, 2025
Review
By Carol Woeltjes
‘It was ridiculous how diverting a little intrigue could be.’
In the half-light of dawn Leah looks out the front window expecting nothing more than the usual quiet suburban cul-de-sac, The Drove, but what confronts her is an otherworldly parade. Is this a performance of some kind, a migraine or hallucination bought on by sleep deprivation? Or are claims of neighbours true? The Drovers – the cringy moniker of those who live on the Drove – group chat, had mentioned something about itinerants camping in “their” park.
Leah, our protagonist, is a middle-class mum juggling all of the usual demands on her time, body and space. From early on I felt Leah’s disconnect. It’s like she found herself married with children and living on the Drove by accident and was leading a life she wasn’t sure she wanted. This unease is quickly confirmed when we meet her family and the Drovers via the group chat.
Maryrose Cuskelly deftly uses the bluntness inherent in text messaging to introduce us to the other characters on the street. Their idiosyncrasies and prejudice became glaringly obvious, and Leah’s silence reinforces her otherness.
The tensions between the neighbours is familiar. Think of that feeling you get when you disagree with someone on a political or social issue but have to continue to interact with them, so hold your tongue or tone down your response. That’s the feeling I often had while reading The Campers. How do you navigate the unease while holding on to your principles and self?
It’s this unease and a creeping tension surrounding the presence of the campers that propels the novel forward. Some on the street find themselves drawn to the campers for varying reasons, but others want them gone and are not shy about it. The Campers forces you to question where your own sympathies lie.
The themes of possible discontent are skilfully woven through the narrative: class and privilege, climate change, housing affordability and racism. But the two binding threads for me were expectation and judgement. What is expected of us in the many roles we play, and the judgements made based on whether we meet these expectations.
The world Cuskelly has created in The Campers is intense, yet familiar. The setting was still easily conjured days after I finished, the people and the feelings still buzzed through my mind and the ways it made me question my own behaviour felt unsettling and necessary. What is it about this ragtag collection of people with so little that has so easily destabilised those who live on the Drove and those who read about them?
Publisher’s blurb
An engrossing and provocative exploration of privilege, hypocrisy and justice by the bestselling author of The Cane.
Leah has a good life. She lives on the Drove, an inner-city cul-de-sac, with her husband, Moses, and their two children. She and her neighbours – the drovers – look out for each other. Theirs is a safe, community-oriented enclave and that’s the way it’s going to stay.
When itinerants set up camp in ‘their’ park, some of the drovers are unsettled, some are outraged, and all of them want the campers to move on. Not even Sholto, the campers’ charismatic leader, can put their fears to rest.
Why is Sholto – handsome, charming and apparently with other options – living in a tent, and why has he chosen to pitch it beside the Drove? And why is Leah tempted to put her family and her comfortable life at risk when Sholto turns his wolf-like gaze towards her?
A compelling and revealing novel, The Campers shows what neighbours will do when anarchy and misrule threaten their cosy community.