From Flicks to Fables: Marina Warner’s Big Bet on Storytelling
Back in the ’50s, Marina Warner watched a terrified bloke bang on a cathedral door yelling “Sanctuary!” like he was auditioning for a medieval episode of Neighbours. Decades later, Warner’s still fascinated by that moment—but now she’s less interested in knights and more focused on how storytelling might be the last form of real refuge in a world where millions are forced to flee.
In her latest book, Sanctuary: Ways of Telling, Ways of Dwelling (William Collins, £22), the veteran cultural historian argues that tales—fairy tales, fables, even playground rhymes—aren’t just bedtime fluff. They’re tools for survival. Especially for the millions of arrivants (her preferred term over “migrants”) displaced by war, climate change and geopolitics more tangled than a Bunnings garden hose.
“Sanctuary isn’t always four walls and a roof,” Warner writes. “Sometimes, it’s a story someone lets you tell.”
Sanctuary by the Numbers: A Book With Global Grit
| Stat | Data |
|---|---|
| Author | Marina Warner |
| Published | June 2025 |
| Pages | ~320 (depending on your latte-drinking speed) |
| Refugees worldwide (2024 UNHCR) | 117 million+ |
| Project funded by Warner | Stories in Transit (£380,000 Holberg Prize funds) |
| Years Warner’s been writing | 50+ |
| Times “One Thousand and One Nights” is referenced | 3 (but spiritually, about 1000) |
What Warner’s Really On About
Instead of another dreary stats-and-policy migration analysis, Warner comes armed with tales, poetry, and puppets—literally. Her book builds from her Stories in Transit project in Sicily, where she brought together displaced youth from Guinea, Gambia, Pakistan, and the Middle East to share traditional stories. From that mash-up emerged a kind of cultural mixtape: full of humour, sorrow, enchanted deer and political subtext.
One Guinean participant retold a classic fable, “The Huntsman, the King’s Son and the Enchanted Deer”, which echoed across Arab, African and even Aesop’s traditions. Soon, another migrant spun that tale into a new version: “One for You and One for Me”—part-parable, part-musical, all magic.
Warner’s big thesis? If borders divide, stories unite.
So What’s the Aussie Angle?
Australians know a thing or two about contested narratives and fortress borders. Warner’s take would likely resonate in the middle of our national migration debate, from Manus Island to Maribyrnong. But she doesn’t get bogged down in politics—she’s more interested in how displaced people are forced to tell their stories in a neat, bureaucratic arc to survive. You stuff up the “why did you leave?” question? You risk deportation.
Warner says: Bugger that. Let’s give people room to rewrite, reshape, and reimagine—just like Aussie folk stories do, from bushranger ballads to Kath & Kim reruns.
Literary but Larrikin Take
You might be thinking: “Righto, Marina, but I can’t pay rent with a fairy tale.” Fair point. Warner’s not arguing stories replace food or visas, but they restore dignity and identity—things you can’t download from Centrelink.
And while some critics reckon Warner’s “commons of wonder” sounds more Woodstock than Wagga, she rebuts with anthropological force. Borrowing from Alfred Gell’s idea of “art as agency,” she argues that tales aren’t fluff—they’re weapons of survival.
Final Take: Would We Recommend It?
Verdict: If you’re into border politics, cultural studies, or just love a tale with teeth—this is your book.
Aussie humour rating: 3 out of 5 gum leaves (dense in parts, but worth the trek).
Good for: Readers of Behrouz Boochani, Zadie Smith, or anyone who’s ever felt the power of a yarn to bring people together.
“It’s not about where a story came from,” Warner says, “but where it’s going.” And in a world stuck on pause, that’s a powerful thing to believe in.
