Commonwealth Short Story Prize
2019The 2019 prize winner
‘I feel honoured and happy to win this amazing prize; it feels like a reward for all the hard work I have been doing over the last eight years, writing about the perspectives of women on the political and historical events of Cyprus. This prize is a recognition for giving voice to those who did not have the chance to be heard before; those who were left behind to pick up the mess of the war. I grew up seeing the faces of the mothers and the wives of the missing people; those were the real victims of the war. Women should not be victims of any war. Women are the continuation of life. I wrote this story to salute their strength.’
‘ “Death Customs” is a remarkable short story that manages to be both personal – following, as it does, the painful narrative of a woman who has lost her son – and deeply political, in that it charts the division of a land as it topples into civil war. We are encouraged to view the descent into bloodshed and mayhem as a domestic squabble between two brothers who can only be reconciled in death. The voices employed are beautifully resonant, and the story shifts gears, and ranges across time, with eloquence. ‘Death Customs’ is poetically intense and complex in form and subject-matter, yet the story remains admirably lucid and moving, and deservedly wins the 2019 Commonwealth Short Story Prize.’
Regional winners
2019’s international judging panel selected five regional winners from 5,081 entries, and a shortlist of 21 stories, for the 2019 Commonwealth Short Story Prize.
Caryl Phillips, Chair of the Judges, said: ‘The regional winners of the Commonwealth Short Story Prize explore a remarkably diverse range of subject-matter, including stories about war, love, abuse and neglect. What unites the stories is a common thread of narrative excellence and dramatic intensity. The voices of a truly global cast of characters enable us to engage with, and recognise, universal emotions of pain and loss.’
Luke Neima, Granta’s Digital Director and Online Editor, said: ‘This year’s Commonwealth Short Story Prize winning stories showcase the short story in a range of guises, innovations of form that stretch but never exhaust the potential of the short story to address the regional and universal questions this gifted crop of authors seeks to address. These outstanding stories capture the breadth of talent writing today across the Commonwealth.’
- Canada & Europe 'Death Customs' Constantia Soteriou (Cyprus)
- Caribbean 'Granma’s Porch' Alexia Tolas (Bahamas)
- Africa 'Madam's Sister' Mbozi Haimbe (Zambia)
- Asia 'My Mother Pattu' Saraswathy M. Manickam (Malaysia)
- Pacific 'Screaming' Harley Hern (New Zealand)
This is a story about the women of Cyprus, mothers or wives who were left to believe that their beloved persons were missing after the 1974 war, while the state had clear evidence about their death. It is a story of death customs, memories, bitterness and justice.
”Death Customs’ is a remarkable short story that manages to be both personal – following, as it does, the painful narrative of a woman who has lost her son – and deeply political, in that it charts the division of a land as it topples into civil war. We are encouraged to view the descent into bloodshed and mayhem as a domestic squabble between two brothers who can only be reconciled in death. The voices employed are beautifully resonant, and the story shifts gears, and ranges across time, with eloquence. ‘Death Customs’ is poetically intense and complex in form and subject-matter, yet the story remains admirably lucid and moving, and deservedly wins the 2019 Commonwealth Short Story Prize.’
Caryl Phillips, Chair of Judges
Abandoned by her father on her grandmother’s porch, Helena fumbles along the delicate border between adolescence and adulthood, guided by the past traumas of her friends and family and her troubled first love.
The arrival of madam’s sister from London causes upheaval within the household, but has an unexpected bonus for the guard, Cephas.
‘My Mother Pattu’ explores a mother’s violent jealousy and envy towards her daughter who finds no one can protect her from the abuse except herself.
A visit to a New Zealand rest home and a kapa haka performance force two friends to confront deceit, identity and endings.
The Shortlist
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'Bluey' , Maria SamuelaNew Zealand
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'Death Customs' , Constantia SoteriouCyprus
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'Deserted' , Erato IoannouCyprus
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'Extinction' , Alex LatimerSouth Africa
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'Granma’s Porch' , Alexia TolasBahamas
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'How to Marry an African President' , Erica Sugo AnyadikeTanzania
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'Love-life' , Nuzha NuseibehUnited Kingdom
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'Madam's Sister' , Mbozi HaimbeZambia
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'Miss Coelho, English Teacher' , Kiran DoshiIndia
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'My Mother Pattu' , Saraswathy M. ManickamMalaysia
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'Nightfall' , Emma AshmereAustralia
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'Oats' , Rawiya HoseinTrinidad and Tobago
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'Pengap' , Lokman HakimMalaysia
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'Resurrection' , Hilary DeanCanada
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'Screaming' , Harley HernNew Zealand
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'The Blessing of Kali' , Irene Muchemi-NdirituKenya
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'The Bride' , Adorah NworahNigeria
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'The Night of Hungry Ghosts' , Sarah EvansUnited Kingdom
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'The Ol’ Higue on Market Street' , Kevin GarbaranGuyana
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'A Hurricane & the Price of Fish' , Shakirah BourneBarbados
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'Amid the Winds and Snow' , Tyler KeevilCanada
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BlueyMaria SamuelaNew Zealand
When Rosie meets her dad’s mate Bluey, she’s swept up in a journey that exposes some past truths. Bluey makes sense of the adult world through the innocence of a child’s eye and their ever-inquiring mind.
‘My cousin told me that house is a tinny house. That’s a stupid name for a house made of wood, I said. And she said I was stupid and now we ain’t cousins no more. I reckon she meant roof—tinny roof—cos that’s the only tin on that wooden house that I can see.
“Lock the doors, bub. Keep them locked, remember. Don’t open the doors for no one, k? Stranger danger, don’t forget.”
Dad wouldn’t leave me alone until I locked the doors so I leaned over and pushed down the button on his side of the car. All the locks went click at once and then I watched Dad walk up the drive towards the tinny roof.’ -
Death CustomsConstantia SoteriouCyprus
This is a story about the women of Cyprus, mothers or wives who were left to believe that their beloved persons were missing after the 1974 war, while the state had clear evidence about their death. It is a story of death customs, memories, bitterness and justice.
‘I met Spasoula in one of the gatherings, one of those occasions. September. When we gathered at the railings and held photographs to the prisoners coming from Adana. For them to look at and tell us whether they had seen our loved ones. Whether they recognised them. Lies. It was at no gathering. It was at the photo studio.’
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DesertedErato IoannouCyprus
When war strikes, eighty-year-old Anna stays in her deserted town to defend her home. Soon, she will be possessed by superhuman youth and being alive takes a whole new meaning.
‘Even though there was no official call for evacuation, Varosi was draining. Dusty saloons with pyramids, made of suitcases and bundles, fastened on their roofs, jammed the city’s roads. Sweaty armpits, hands, heads, and elbows hang from their windows. Fitful honking pierced the hot air—thick with hasty breathing and whispers. They all drove off reassuring themselves they’d be back soon. Door keys were slipped under flower pots, back doors were left cracked open, lights on the front verandas were forgotten switched on.’
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ExtinctionAlex LatimerSouth Africa
Soon after his mother’s death, a boy meets and befriends Marjorie Courtenay-Latimer, discoverer of the coelacanth. Bonded by a shared surname, they help each other to come to terms with love and loss.
‘The phone rang – a wooden mallard with eyes that pulsed red with each ring. I watched it for a long time before I picked it up.
“Hello,” I said.
“Hello.”
It was a woman, her voice accented and thin. “I’m looking for Marjorie,” she said.
The duck was hot against my ear.
“She’s dead,” I said.’ -
Granma’s PorchAlexia TolasBahamas
Abandoned by her father on her grandmother’s porch, Helena fumbles along the delicate border between adolescence and adulthood, guided by the past traumas of her friends and family and her troubled first love.
‘I feel safe out here on the porch. Granpa did love the sea so much, he build the porch right over the sound. This porch done seen me grow. When I was little, Granma did plait ribbons into my curls here every morning. Mummy would sneak up behind me and tickle me till I pee, then toss me into the sound to bathe. Me and Sade done skin enough knee tripping on the splintered wood. Everyone feel at home on Granma porch. Rico and Glenn just bout raise on it. I done seen every inch of they scrawny selves, more than I ever wan’ see.’
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How to Marry an African PresidentErica Sugo AnyadikeTanzania
How To Marry an African President is a story about an ambitious First Lady who is vilified by society, when she attempts to take over the reigns of power from her ageing husband, after he murders her lover.
‘The truth is, when you meet, he will be neatly dressed. Shirt collar starched just so, shoes like shiny copper coins, fingernails trimmed and clean, hair clipped and precise as his speech. He will start by hanging around you a little too long. Your conversations will peter out and he will end them reluctantly. The other secretaries will stare. You’ll pretend not to notice. Play it cool and coy. He will ask you out. Appear taken aback, smooth your skirt and shift your weight onto your other foot. He will look paternal and concerned. Explain that you are married, and he is too.’
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Love-lifeNuzha NuseibehUnited Kingdom
A half-love story for the millennial generation.
‘How’s your love-life? my father asks. He is drunk. We are in a Chinese restaurant in London, and my brother and his wife are too sleep-deprived and hungover to be partaking in the bottle of wine that they ordered. So my father has finished it off too quickly and is now asking me this question as I laugh too loudly and look at the menu. How do you think her love-life is? he asks my brother, who takes pity on me, for once, and changes the subject.’
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Madam's SisterMbozi HaimbeZambia
The arrival of madam’s sister from London causes upheaval within the household, but has an unexpected bonus for the guard, Cephas.
‘The sister has a headful of fine hair down to the small of her back. The golden colour of maize silk, her weave is not stiff and waxy like Chipo’s, but moves in the breeze.’
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Miss Coelho, English TeacherKiran DoshiIndia
A story of an indomitable teacher running into unexpected difficulties after retirement—and overcoming them her way.
‘A few days after Miss Coelho received the Best Teacher award, the following letter appeared in the Times of India, Mumbai.
Dear editor,
Better late than never, I suppose. But the government could have given Miss Coelho the award twenty, thirty or even forty years ago, in fact the day she became a teacher and joined St Patrick’s School for Girls. For even then she knew better English than anybody else – and knew how to teach it, whether to a class of forty or to a single lost child like me. She mesmerised us with her talk, her walk, her stories, her sudden questions, her praise . . .’ -
My Mother PattuSaraswathy M. ManickamMalaysia
‘My Mother Pattu’ explores a mother’s violent jealousy and envy towards her daughter who finds no one can protect her from the abuse except herself.
‘My mother Pattu, graced our lives largely with her absence; for which my father and I, and to a lesser extent, grandma, were profoundly grateful. She descended upon us once a month to collect her allowance from grandma, loot the pantry, curse my father, and cuff me on the ear. It was a collective sigh of relief we breathed, when she went away except for grandma who wept in secret for the daughter she could not live with.’
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NightfallEmma AshmereAustralia
An abandoned Irish immigrant living in the Adelaide Women’s Destitute Asylum refuses to answer questions about the disappearance of a music hall dancer.
‘Irish Iris is what they call me here. They say I have eyes everywhere. That’s why Miss Upfield is here. She thinks I’ve seen Octavia.
I’m looking at Miss Upfield dressed in her widow’s weeds, black feathers, black lace, black hat, crepe scratching at her neck. I stare at the curled paper face of Octavia staring up from Miss Upfield’s glove. It’s a fair likeness. Perhaps Miss Upfield really is Octavia’s sister. Her face is shaped the same. The shape of a heart. Miss Upfield smiles. She’s kept all her teeth except for that gold one at the front.’ -
OatsRawiya HoseinTrinidad and Tobago
Fearing for his life, Forceripe Frederick obeys the blind obeah man after breaking his window. His request: read to him. This is a story about an old man who keeps oats in his pocket and a troubled teen who learns why.
‘People is always tell me I mad because I does keep oats in my shirt pocket, but I is tell them to mind they own business because they don’t know the things I know and they never see the things I see.
Look. I know I’s only nineteen so I don’t have no plenty plenty life experience to talk bout, I ent know much and I ent see much, but is take a man nine months to born and a second to die. What I saying is thing is happen and is happen fast and when that change come it does come and you can’t go back.’ -
PengapLokman HakimMalaysia
The story reflects the definition of ‘stuffy’ (pengap) from the characters’ views who refuse to migrate to a stuffy city before the definition overwhelms the whole structure of the story.
‘The stall was so desolate, I had to make my own coffee. Fortunately, they had net crepes and chicken curry, served by an older lady with the head of rabbit, who asked everyone to call her Big Sister Tina. Whenever she saw me at the stall, she would sit next to me and tell stories about the shop owner who had been cloistered in his room for so long. ‘Stuffy as my room is, the city out there is stuffier.”
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ResurrectionHilary DeanCanada
The eighth-graders at St. Joseph’s School are putting on a Passion Play. But can they trust the class clown with the role of Jesus?
‘When we met Gianni Amodeo in Miss Thompson’s class, he had failed grade eight twice already and didn’t even care.
‘Rocky Balboa flunked school too,’ he said. ‘I’m just like him. An Italian stallion.’
He was fifteen. We turned thirteen one at a time that year and he remained a head taller than the tallest boy. He had real muscles and he shaved. When we learned about The Voyage of Puberty in Health class, he looked like the drawing on the pamphlet’s last page.’ -
ScreamingHarley HernNew Zealand
A visit to a New Zealand rest home and a kapa haka performance force two friends to confront deceit, identity and endings.
‘Mere huffs air from her nose. She is terrible at waiting. Nowadays though, she doesn’t twitch her legs and roll her eyes. Her feet are rooted on the carpet, flat-shoed and sensible. I can’t get used to how still she can be. I was always the cautious pukeko, gawky and slow. Mere was the little piwakawaka – the fantail – restless and bold. Now only Mere’s fingers quiver, a slight flutter, a residual urge for flight. What was daintiness has turned to fragility. What was beauty has melted and painted her bones with blotted, wax papered skin. She still has her teeth; mine were moulded last year by a young technician with halitosis.’
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The Blessing of KaliIrene Muchemi-NdirituKenya
An unforeseen tragedy strikes a young family bringing with it a tumultuous upheaval of spirituality and faith. For the nonbeliever, death awakens the possibility that perhaps, God is real.
‘My granddaughter was born on a leap year, the year of confusion, mwaka mrefu.
She was born in a bathtub filled with warm water. I had never seen that even though at 65 I thought I had seen everything. I was told that the new way to give birth is in water. I was told that it’s soothing both for mother and child. I was told a quiet atmosphere is important. I was given a chair and asked to please stay in the corner and not speak, and I did as I was told.’ -
The BrideAdorah NworahNigeria
A Nigerian bride panics when a stranger poses as her groom. Her loved ones insist that the wedding must go on, and it does.
‘The man in the backseat of the powder blue Toyota RAV4 is not Dumeje Nwokeocha, the groom.
But you are the bride.
Your name is Somadina, Adina for short.
Sometimes, your name is baby, or Din Din, or the black girl, or the quiet girl, or her, or the chubby one, or bitch, depending on the mouth, or the mood.
Today, your name is the bride, but the man in the powder blue Toyota RAV4 is not the groom.’
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The Night of Hungry GhostsSarah EvansUnited Kingdom
It is the fifteenth day of the seventh month as Li Wei steps out onto the muddy sandflats of Morecambe Bay. Invisible amidst the happy chatter of those who belong here, surrounded by quicksand and at risk of swift-turning tides, Wei is tormented by ghosts from his past.
‘He is the last to leave the station. The afternoon has barely started and he proceeds at a leisurely pace, turning right along the narrow pavement, reaching a car park which sits on the corner where the river Kent spills out into the sea. The train, its two carriages, is just now reaching the far end of the viaduct and he stops and watches until it vanishes from view. He presses on, the walkway following the curve of the estuary and broadening into a seaside promenade. The arc of the bay opens out. The tide has receded, leaving behind glistening sands, the surface sculpted by the undulations of the waves. On the horizon, the grey sky presses down to meet the dull roll of the ocean.’
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The Ol’ Higue on Market StreetKevin GarbaranGuyana
Folktales and Jumbie stories take a dark turn after young Devika decides to investigate the rumours of an Ol’ Higue living in her village.
”Jumbie is not real’ is what nine year old Devika had come to believe after her teacher interjected the idea into a conversation she was having with two of her friends during lunch break. Ms. Beverly explained that those were only stories and folktales from a time long ago, meant to frighten lil children. Devika clung to this notion partially because she had never seen a Jumbie in real life. But mostly because the thought of any Jumbie being real terrified her. Her two friends Javid and Celina were not convinced.’
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A Hurricane & the Price of FishShakirah BourneBarbados
The unlikely romance between a no-nonsense market vendor and a retired swindler has dire consequences on the price of fish during hurricane season.
‘Chattel Lane is a small, fishing community in the North of Barbados, but unlike its name, things in Chattel Lane seldom moved. If you left Chattel Lane in 1960 to go drive bus in London, and come back to visit your now middle-aged children and show off your polished British accent, you would find that on entering the village, the piece of wood with ‘Chattel Lane’ slashed on with white paint, was still hammered onto the telephone pole.’
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Amid the Winds and SnowTyler KeevilCanada
A story told through fragments of consciousness and memory, ‘Amid The Winds and Snow’ pieces together the puzzle of a tragic accident in one of the most beautiful and desolate places on Earth.
‘The throb seemed to spread through her. A tom-tom thrum. Signalling alarm. Signalling all was not well. All was not well. Moving, then. Trying to roll onto her side, free that arm. Thinking she had been attacked or had an accident. Ended up in a hospital bed, an operating theatre. Raising her torso with her good arm, favouring the other. Feeling brittle pain in the bone, crackling outwards. Peeling open her eyes. Catching glimpses of rock, an azure expanse. Space so vast and fathomless she could’ve been on a distant planet.’
This year’s judging panel
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Caryl Phillips
ChairCaryl Phillips was born in Saint Kitts and brought up in England. He is the author of numerous books of non-fiction and fiction. Dancing in the Dark won the 2006 PEN Open Book Award, and A Distant Shore won the 2004 Commonwealth Writers Prize. His other awards include the Martin Luther King Memorial Prize, a Lannan Literary Award, a Guggenheim Fellowship, and the James Tait Black Memorial Prize for Crossing the River, which was also short-listed for the Booker Prize. He has written for the stage, television, and film, and is a contributor to newspapers and magazines on both sides of the Atlantic. He is a fellow of the Royal Society of Literature, and holds honorary doctorates from a number of universities. He has taught at universities in Britain, Singapore, Ghana, Sweden and Barbados and is currently Professor of English at Yale University. His latest novel, A View of the Empire at Sunset was published in 2018. -
Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi
JudgeJennifer Nansubuga Makumbi, a Ugandan novelist and short story writer, has a PhD from Lancaster University. Her first novel, Kintu, won the Kwani? Manuscript Project in 2013 and was longlisted for the Etisalat Prize in 2014. Her short story Let’s Tell This Story Properly won the 2014 Commonwealth Short Story Prize, and will be included in her first collection of stories, Manchester Happened, to be published by Oneworld in 2019. In 2018, Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi was awarded the prestigious Windham-Campbell Prize for Fiction to support her writing. She lives in Manchester with her husband, Damian, and her son, Jordan, and teaches creative writing at Manchester Metropolitan University. -
Mohammed Hanif
JudgeMohammed Hanif was born in Okara, Pakistan. He Graduated from Pakistan Air Force Academy as Pilot Officer but subsequently left to pursue a career in journalism. His first novel, A Case of Exploding Mangoes, was longlisted for the Man Booker Prize, shortlisted for The Guardian First Book Award and won the Commonwealth Writers’ Prize for Best first novel. His second novel, Our Lady of Alice Bhatti, was shortlisted for the 2012 Wellcome Prize. He has written the libretto for a new opera, Bhutto. He writes regularly for The New York Times, BBC Urdu, and BBC Punjabi.
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Chris Power
JudgeChris Power’s short story collection Mothers was published in 2018. His column, A Brief Survey of the Short Story, has appeared in The Guardian since 2007. He has written for the BBC, The New York Times, and the New Statesman. His fiction has been published in Granta, The Stinging Fly, The Dublin Review, and The White Review, and broadcast on BBC Radio 4. He has acted as a judge for the Frank O’Connor International Short Story Award and the Edge Hill Short Story Prize. He lives with his family in London.
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Karen Lord
JudgeBarbadian author and research consultant Karen Lord is known for her debut novel Redemption in Indigo, which won the 2008 Frank Collymore Literary Award, the 2010 Carl Brandon Parallax Award, the 2011 William L. Crawford Award, the 2011 Mythopoeic Fantasy Award for Adult Literature and the 2012 Kitschies Golden Tentacle (Best Debut), and was nominated for the 2011 World Fantasy Award for Best Novel. She is the author of the science fiction duology The Best of All Possible Worlds and The Galaxy Game, and the editor of the anthology New Worlds, Old Ways: Speculative Tales from the Caribbean.
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Courtney Sina Meredith
JudgeCourtney Sina Meredith is a poet, playwright, fiction writer and musician. She is also the Director of Tautai, New Zealand’s contemporary Pacific arts trust. Courtney describes her writing as an ‘ongoing discussion of contemporary urban life with an underlying Pacific politique.’ She launched her first book of poetry, Brown Girls in Bright Red Lipstick (Beatnik), at the 2012 Frankfurt Book Fair, and has since published a short story collection, Tail of the Taniwha (Beatnik 2016) to critical acclaim. Her play Rushing Dolls (2010) won a number of awards and was published by Playmarket in 2012. She has been selected for a number of international writers’ residencies including the prestigious Fall Residency at the University of Iowa where she is an Honorary Fellow in Writing, the Island Institute Residency in Sitka, Alaska, and the Bleibtreu Berlin Writers’ Residency in Charlottenburg, Berlin. In 2018 Courtney launched her first children’s book Secret World of Butterflies with Allen & Unwin and Auckland Museum. She has forthcoming titles for 2019. Courtney is of Samoan, Mangaian and Irish descent.
Frequently asked questions
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The prize is open to all Commonwealth citizens aged 18 and over – please see the full list of Commonwealth countries here.
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The regional winners receive £2,500 and the overall winner receives a total of £5,000. The winning stories are published online by Granta and in a special print collection by Paper + Ink. The shortlisted stories are published in adda, the online literary magazine of the Commonwealth Foundation.
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The story must be between 2,000 and 5,000 words.
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