The motif of the body is central to Garisch's work – like relationships it breaks/is breaking, it can be dismembered, and mistrusted; it changes – it can leave. It is also a place of sustenance, and offers at least the possibility of transcending grief. It is the images that stay with me: the pungent eroticism in the poem 'The proper use of flowers', or love encountered as a "trout that breathes polluted water".

"Don’t come!" Kate is told by her only child. Jess is keeping her mother at a distance on the day that her own children, conjoined twins, are to be separated during high-risk surgery in London. Kate wakes on her farm in the Eastern Cape, torn between respecting Jess’s wishes and a longing to rush to her estranged daughter’s side.

A former geneticist disillusioned by the pressing ethical questions posed by her job, Kate is now an award-winning maker of organic cheese. She relies on the farm’s routine and the people and animals in her life to hold steady as her day teeters on a knife’s edge. Meanwhile, her employee Nosisi’s son is undergoing initiation. Forbidden to have contact with him during this traditional passage into the world of manhood, his mother anxiously awaits his return.

Breaking Milk, Dawn Garisch’s seventh novel, is an evocative exploration of the divisions and connections between humans, animals and the environment.

Populated by bizarre and eccentric characters, this charming novel tells the story of Gulai, a young girl who comes of age on an isolated island some distance south of Africa. When Gulai's mother dies giving birth to her, her father--Dr. Orion Prosper, the only medical doctor on the island--blames himself. For days afterward, he locks himself in his room, leaving Gulai's aunt no other option but to seek advice from Dr. Prosper's archenemy, Sophia, the island's midwife. Young Gulai allows herself to be comforted by Sophia, and thus begins Gulai's life, in which she betrays her father merely 10 days after her birth. Gulai's story explores these relationships, processes, and conflicts with warmth and humor in a way that appeals to the imagination.

We are mere players in a pantomime, performing parts which must stay true to narrative alone; right now, this means weeping salt into a chilli stew to the sound of the sea - that enormous story, consistent and unfathomed, repeating outside in the dark, endlessly.

I write into questions of discomfort, tracking an image until the poem reveals a partial answer.

Carol Trehorne’s only child, Max, is in ICU with severe burns. Max, a performance artist, has set himself alight. He recovers but it becomes clear that he is planning further performances that will put him at risk of serious injury or death. Carol, a single parent and a GP in a busy suburban practice, is worried that her son is not the genius his friends think he is, but might be on drugs or going psychotic. As she discusses her concerns with her son’s psychiatrist, she wonders if her past behaviour, in particular her relationship with the adventurous and anti-social Jack, has influenced Max’s determination to use his body as a site of violent art in the pursuit of revelation. Carol cannot accept that Max’s self-harm will have any effect other than to add to the meaningless violence in the world. The novel Accident raises questions about what kind of life is worth living and what death is worth dying. It explores the different responses artists and scientists can have to violence and self-destructive behaviour, and throws into sharp relief the difficulties parents face when their children make decisions that appear incomprehensible.

As both a medical doctor and a writer, Dawn Garisch has lived a split life for many years. Finally, Eloquent Body allows the two streams of her life to converge.

Through exploring both the science and poetry of the body, she investigates how we can determine what to trust. She suggests ways of developing a partnership with oneself, which includes not abusing the very ground we live off and stand on. In an engaging manner, Eloquent Body offers a circumspect and quiet wisdom in response to the instinctual need to find out who we are and why we are.