There is always someone watching someone else in Belinda Castles’ Vogel Award-winning novel, The River Baptists. Most of its characters choose to live on the Hawkesbury because of the peace and seclusion, but the river setting allows a variety of vantage points and approaches to the scattered houses and rickety jellies that line the banks. It is a tranquil and picturesque setting, but Rose’s friend Ben sees it in a rather different light: ‘Subzero temperatures, mud, a pub full of guys who look like Cousin It.’

The River Baptists is a thriller that exploits tensions that exist in small communities. Rose has come to the Hawkesbury to escape. She has hidden herself away in a small waterside house belonging to her sister’s suave boyfriend, who also happens to be the father of Rose’s unborn child. She is living alone, awaiting the birth of her baby. and has her own secrets and past sadness, including a deep sense of grief for her recently deceased father. Her old life has been scaled off: ties have been cut with friends, and she has only occasional contact with neighbours. The neighbours keep a close eye on her, as they do with all newcomers, speculating about the nature of her solitary pregnancy. This collective accrual of facts and assumptions about Rose, many of which are false, feeds the novel’s voyeuristic atmosphere, particularly appropriate in a place where many of the characters have settled to start their lives anew. In this quiet environment, it is easier to eavesdrop.