Meet the trio crowned 2026’s Best Young Australian Novelists

Nearly 100 writers, more than 100 books and three decades of Australian storytelling later, The Sydney Morning Herald’s Best Young Australian Novelists prize is marking a milestone year.

“For a long time there was no prize money, just a little ‘glory’,” says the prize’s founder, former Herald literary editor Susan Wyndham.

Wyndham established the prize for Australian fiction writers aged 35 and under – modelled loosely on Granta’s Best of Young British Novelists – after noticing a wave of emerging talent struggling to attract attention.

“I wanted to turn the spotlight on them,” she says.

And so, in 1997, the first Best Young Australian Novelists were announced. There were 10 winners in all: Bernard Cohen, Matthew Condon, Fotini Epanomitis, Catherine Ford, Andrew McGahan, Fiona Kelly McGregor, Gillian Mears, Mandy Sayer, Christos Tsiolkas and Beth Yahp.

They went on to become Miles Franklin winners, critics, academics and teachers, with two writers taken too soon: Gillian Mears and Andrew McGahan.

In the years since, the prize has recognised writers who are now some of Australia’s most loved, including Matthew Reilly, Chloe Hooper, Tara June Winch, Nam Le, Steve Toltz and Hanna Kent. More recent winners include Katerina Gibson, Diana Reid and André Dao.

Winch, who won in 2007 with her debut novel Swallow the Air before receiving the Miles Franklin Award in 2020 for The Yield, says the prize helped others see the value of her literary endeavour.

“Those were naive and giddy years, I was so optimistically happy, I can see it in the photos in the newspaper clipping all these years later,” Winch says.

“I could say it gave me the confidence to continue writing, and it did in many ways, though it’s a slow output, but even a snail needs the confidence to climb Mount Fuji.

“All the wins have always not so much given me a purpose to write, but have signalled to the people around me in my life, people who may not even see the value in the writing life – it nudges them I think. An artist needs people around them that are convinced their work is legitimate and worthwhile, even if not lucrative.”

It’s a slow output, but even a snail needs the confidence to climb Mount Fuji.

Tara June Winch

Three more writers join the list as the prize celebrates its 30th year: Joseph Earp, Zeynab Gamieldien and Lee Lai. The trio were recognised for second books, while Lai’s selection also marks the first time a graphic novelist has won the prize.

Earp, 35, was awarded for Painting Portraits of Everyone I’ve Ever Dated, a funny and sharply observed novel following 30-something painter Ellie Robertson as she attempts to break out of a creative rut by painting portraits of all her exes. The judges praised the work as a hilarious art-world satire that pairs complex emotions and relationships with “fine writing and insightful observations”.

Gamieldien, 35, was recognised for Learned Behaviours, which follows western Sydney lawyer Zaid Saban as the death of a childhood friend forces him to confront questions of identity, violence and the stories people inherit about one another. The judges described the novel as a “compelling, complex and chilling” look into “the murderous cycle of stereotypes, asking Australians how we can unlearn such concrete impressions of each other”.

Lai, 33, who this week also won the $60,000 Stella Prize, was awarded for Cannon. Set in Montreal, the novel follows a quietly overwhelmed woman juggling family obligations, difficult friendships, restaurant work and the creeping sense that she is nearing emotional collapse. The judges described the work as “universal and quietly brilliant”, praising Lai’s “intimate story about the building pressures of family, work and relationships.” “Lee Lai’s fine line drawings carry narrative, emotions and silence, perfectly complementing the spare text,” they said.

Winners still receive a little “glory” – but now also take home $5000 in prize money, thanks to the generosity of the Copyright Agency’s Cultural Fund.

Being noticed can still be hard, and writers must also be performers.

Susan Wyndham

The judges for the milestone year were Wyndham, one of the prize’s 1997 winners Bernard Cohen, and last year’s winner Winnie Dunn.

Wyndham says both writing and publishing have changed dramatically in the three decades since the prize began.

“Back then we read more lush, lyrical prose; magical realism and postmodernism were influences,” she says. “Literary fiction has been overtaken by commercial genres and there’s more young adult fiction. The risk is a sameness.”

She says writers today face both greater opportunity and greater competition. “Being noticed can still be hard, and writers must also be performers,” she says.

“We read novels this year that showed the influence of scriptwriting, video games and social media, with more race and gender diversity, and a lot of sex. A clear voice, original story and believable characters that come alive on the page are still the qualities that stand out.”

And so, 30 years on from the first list, a new trio of writers joins the fold. Meet the 2026 Best Young Australian Novelists.

Joseph Earp

Let’s get the elephant in the room out of the way: it’s a novel, but… did you actually go out and paint portraits of everyone you’ve ever dated?
One of the joys of writing fiction is that you can send characters out to commit the acts of emotional self-immolation that you would never, ever want to do yourself, and still get to find out what happens next. I am very thankful to Ellie, my main character, for being a crash test dummy in that way.

The book is written from the perspective of Ellie, a woman in her 30s who is successful at work but not in love. What drew you to that specific voice?
The book emerged out of two thoughts: firstly, that what makes a good painter is their ability to observe, and secondly, that love usually manifests itself as the act of paying attention. From that came the idea of a character who had fallen out of love with painting and with romance because they’d fallen out of love with the art of looking, which lies at the centre of both. Ellie really popped out from that thought, almost fully formed.

Writing makes me feel like I’m losing my mind pretty much the whole time.

Joseph Earp

As an artist yourself, which medium feels more terrifying: staring at a blank canvas or a blank page?
I find the experience of painting totally joyful, up until the very last moment before the painting is done – that’s when all the self-doubt and anxiety comes rushing in. Before that, I’m having a great time, listening to music and taking tea breaks. By contrast, writing makes me feel like I’m losing my mind pretty much the whole time.

Ellie’s struggle to balance her art with the “real world” is very relatable. In your experience, how difficult is it to survive as a creative in Australia today?
We live in such tremendously difficult times across the board, and in such times, I think there’s an attitude – certainly from the majority of our politicians – that the arts are expendable. That attitude makes it very hard to survive, not only because opportunities are being slashed, day jobs in the arts are drying up, and there’s less money than ever to go around – but also because there’s this ephemeral feeling that what you’re doing as an artist is non-essential.

What is a hidden talent or a niche skill you have - totally unrelated to writing or painting - that would genuinely surprise your readers?
A couple of years ago, feeling painfully unemployable, I went to uni to retrain, and ended up falling into a philosophy degree, which I think if anything only made me more unemployable. I guess the associated skill is that I can (just about) read philosophical papers without my eyes totally glazing over. The biggest value I’ve retained out of the degree is telling my quasi-insomniac partner stories about philosophers in order to help her get to sleep.

If you had to be archived in a gallery for a week as a piece of performance art, what would the exhibit be called and what would your “artist’s statement” say?
I think the exhibit would be me sitting on the couch, sweating, existentially fretting and getting literally nothing done. It’d be called Writer on Deadline.

Finally, the big one: what’s the prize money going toward?
I’ve just finished writing the manuscript for my next book, which will hopefully get released out into the world at some point in the future. But I’m itching to write the next one after that, so the prize money will buy one of the most precious things in the world, as far as I’m concerned: time to write. And also, I have a cat, so I better buy him a toy or something, or else he’ll be offended.

Zeynab Gamieldien

You’ve worked as a lawyer. Can you tell us a bit about how the two worlds of legal precision and creative fiction coexist in your brain?
I’m part of an increasingly common cohort of lawyers - the ex-practising type! But studying and practising law was great for teaching me discipline, respect for precedent and the ability to frantically speed-read without forfeiting a huge degree of accuracy.

Your protagonist, Zaid, is a lawyer on the cusp of becoming a barrister. Where did Learned Behaviours start for you - was it a specific legal mystery, a voice you couldn’t shake, or a particular character stepping into your office?
The genesis of Learned Behaviours was my fascination with class, both in and out of the schoolyard. I wanted to explore how education can both reflect and perpetuate class divides, but I wanted to do it in a way that was page-turning and gripping for the reader. Learned Behaviours is the marriage of those two drivers.

This is your second novel, following the success of The Scope of Permissibility. What is the biggest lesson you “learned” from your first book that you were able to bring into the writing of this one?
I learned that to write a book, you first have to sit down (or stand, or walk) and write, and write a lot, and then write some more. I also learned to somewhat let go of my fears of how my work would be received because, really, no one ever cares as much as you think they will.

I learned that to write a book, you first have to sit down (or stand, or walk) and write, and write a lot, and then write some more.

Zeynab Gamieldien

You finished writing this book while navigating the early days of parenthood. How did that massive shift change your relationship with your craft?
Having a baby in the middle of trying to finish writing a book was both life-affirming and challenging. I felt a rush of thought and emotion which I was able to channel into writing, even if it meant I was often pushing a pram with one hand and typing with the other. Note to all expecting and new parents: voice-to-text is going to be your new best friend when you’re nap-trapped.

When you finally sit down to write, what is your one absolute non-negotiable?
Nothing is non-negotiable for me right now: I write whenever I get the opportunity, whether that’s 2 minutes while my daughter diagnoses her Lego figurines with various ailments, 5 minutes on the train while commuting to work or a precious hour of quiet at the very end of the day.

If you could outsource one part of the publication process to a specialised legal clerk - researching niche laws, fixing plot holes, or just doing the final proofread - what would you hand over?
I live for disappearing into obscure rabbit holes, so that’s something I would never outsource. I could definitely live without the fifty gazillionth line by line edit, but it’s always worth it in the end.

Finally, the big one: what’s the prize money going toward?
This is quite possibly the most Sydney-ish answer ever, but two things immediately come to mind: the ever-increasing housing and grocery costs, and good food and drink always (hello, ceremonial-grade matcha).

Lee Lai

You are the first graphic novelist to be named a Best Young Australian Novelist. Are you surprised it took 30 years?
It’s an honour! Sadly, there isn’t a wealth of options for cartoonists to publish their books in this country, so it’s not a surprise that it’s taken 30 years. Things are slowly changing thanks to the tenacity of the Australian comics community, which thrives in both the quality of work and the organising, in spite of a discouraging industry.

There are maybe still some readers who don’t consider graphic novels “literature”. If you were trapped in an elevator with one of those people, how would you convince them to give a graphic novel a go?
I find it amusing when people tell me, “I’m just not sure how to read graphic novels”, and I want to tell them, “honey, it’s just top to bottom, left to right”. Best not to overthink it. If somebody finds that my book has left them feeling nothing, and they are adamant that this is due to the medium itself, I’d be fascinated to hear their reasons – that’s valuable intel to me improving my chops as a storyteller. Last year Michelle de Kretser, in reference to her experimental novel Theory and Practice said that “it’s good to expand the notion of what a novel can be”. I agree.

Beyond the world of books and comics, what is currently fuelling your imagination? Where do you look when you need to feel inspired?
I look to my brilliant friends, and to the patterns and trends that emerge in the conversations we are constantly having with each other: about justice, transformation, large and small agonies, and about our hearts. I’m very rich in people who dream of better societies, who have excellent senses of humour, and who love to gossip.

When a new story starts brewing in your brain, does it arrive as a sentence or a sketch? In other words: do you think in words or in ink?
The story arrives via the emergence of a character, who is born of a certain feeling or idea. In Cannon, for example, the story developed as I reflected on my own relationship to anger, and that manifested into a stoic, dependable and internally boiling young woman.

What is one thing about queer life or relationships that you felt was missing from the cultural conversation that you really wanted to capture in Cannon?
In Cannon, I wanted to write about the intensity, indispensability and dysfunctional intimacy of long-term queer friendships. Queers are so often looking to create family with one another, and succeeding and failing in beautiful and agonising ways (myself included). I’m hungry to see more stories that explore the queer platonic connections: the ones that are sometimes capable of breaking one’s heart even more profoundly.

You’re currently living in Montreal, where Cannon is set. What does a typical day look like for you over there, and is it the only place on earth where graphic novelists can thrive?
I wouldn’t dare say this city is the only place where cartoonists can thrive, since we seem to be managing to make our work in just about any city in the world. However, the rent, compared to other cities, is low, and therefore I’ve managed to work almost full-time on my craft for the past decade. A typical day here looks like scripting, pencilling, composition work, and then a haze of emails and inking to audiobooks. I hope any aspiring cartoonists reading this really enjoy drawing— you’re in for a lot of it.

Finally, the big one: what’s the prize money going toward?
As with most writers, my biggest expense is time to work on a book. I agree with the artist Steaphan Paton who said in a conversation with Honor Eastley some years back that money shouldn’t be hoarded, it should be used in service of the art (and the community). This money is food and rent and time to politely decline the bill-paying contracts. A luxury and a privilege.

This year’s winners will be in conversation in a free session at the Sydney Writers’ Festival at 3pm at Carriageworks on Saturday, May 23. More details here.

This prize is supported by the Copyright Agency’s Cultural Fund.

The Booklist is a weekly newsletter for book lovers from Jason Steger. Get it delivered every Friday.