Books

Vendela Vida has developed a relatable and fallible character in Eulabee, a young girl stepping out of childhood and into adolescence with her best friend Maria Fabiola.

Eulabee feels a sense of belonging and ownership over her neighbourhood of Sea Cliff. “We are thirteen, almost fourteen, and these streets of Sea Cliff are ours.” She has always belonged there, roaming the hills between her home, her school, and the beach. Eulabee and Maria Fabiola count the waves as they crash on the rocks and at just the right moment, they sprint through the sand past the point to the next beach. It is dangerous but exhilarating and in these moments, they run the tides.

Vida delves into the themes of friendship and how it intertwines with personal growth. I had the impression of a cushioned, insular world expanding before these girls who stand on the brink of their lives, deciding who they will be. A minor disagreement about what the girls see on the way to school one morning turns into an enormous betrayal, and Eulabee finds herself ostracised for speaking the truth. Suddenly an outsider, she sees her closest and oldest friend in a new light.

Maria Fabiola is admired from every angle by everyone, it seems. Yet she craves more attention, manipulates, fabricates. Being cast out from Maria Fabiola’s inner circle gives Eulabee unexpected freedom – through her loneliness she befriends new people, discovers new things about herself. Eulabee connects with a boy, Keith, and they bond in a dreamy night of crashing music and synced heartbeats. Driving home from her first concert, “as we cruise smoothly and steadily through the night, it feels like we’re on a boulevard built only for us”.

Misunderstanding leads Eulabee to believe she has caused something terrible to happen, and in a strange twist of fate, Eulabee finds herself with Maria Fabiola as her only confidant, struggling to keep up with the web Maria Fabiola is weaving around them.

I highly recommend this book to anyone who enjoys astute fiction with a tender crux.

The Big Bike Trip is based on the true story of four kiwis who cycled from New Zealand to London: author Freddie Gillies, Arthur, Sean, and Timmy. My hatred for bikes has always been a topic of amusement amongst my friends. However, I love adventure and travel, so I was very excited to read this book!

Freddie starts off by setting the scene for the extensive mental and physical preparation that was needed and quicky delves into the adventure. For the first few chapters I found myself commenting my thoughts out loud to my husband; “It’s so frustrating they are not enjoying themselves, they are missing their partners!” Arthur and Sean leave behind their girlfriends and are devastated. Why did they not plan to meet their girlfriends somewhere on the trip? Or why didn’t their girlfriends go with them? I didn’t understand what the drama was and none of this was made clear. However, this gave the reader a deep understanding of Freddie. He showed incredible resilience and empathy. Clearly something I would lack in that situation!

By the time the boys arrive in Malaysia they are well in their stride and begin to enjoy themselves. The theme of friendship takes heart and centre as they support each other through every challenge imaginable. The most relatable of all being falling ill from something they ate. The boys seemed to be playing Russian roulette with their guts every day, dropping like flies with regular trips to the hospital. Despite their sickness and exhaustion, they managed to keep trucking along and their determination just blew my mind!

Our home lives are often automated and predictable. Travelling is one of those rare moments in life where you are forced to abandon hygiene protocols, try different foods, and put your trust in total strangers. I have been longing for that sense of freedom and adventure again, so it was incredibly satisfying to read Freddie’s beautifully written personal experience, the kind that changed something within him forever.

Well what a journey! I felt exhausted but also slightly exhilarated when I finished this book. Faith Jones, the author of Sex Cult Nun, is quite a woman. At two, she was performing on stage with her siblings, at three washing the dishes for 50 people, at four being shown a sex act by her parents, and then at the tender age of seven simulating sex with a friend. Faith says you can skip the history of the Children of God cult at the start and just read her story but I found the history fascinating and wondered throughout the book where all the money came from? And how these cults begin? And who believes someone’s grandfather is a prophet?

Faithy, as she’s known in the book, tells the story of her life as a missionary tripping around the world with her large family. At its peak, The Family as it’s known, reaches 10,000 members in over 100 countries. Grandpa, who is The Prophet, doesn’t believe in birth control so the families are large and therefore there are more people like them in the world to spread the word – and not ‘Sheep’ or ‘System’ people (non-believers) like me.

Sex (they call it sharing) is prominent and the women are supposed to keep their figures trim, be attractive and submissive and available for sex from any men, married or not. Faithy endures multiple rapes, even from men she thought she trusted. So she stops trusting anyone. It’s quite hard to read. I gave up on Chapter Two: Watch Out For Snakes as the title gives the game away and this is the chapter where she gets sex education lessons from her parents. I felt sick and distressed reading it and was going to stop reading the book, but instead skipped the rest of the chapter. It got better.

I won’t give the game away so read this book to find out what she becomes after a huge amount of effort and sacrifice.

Cat World is an ode, a love letter to the companions that enter and accompany our lives briefly but with such joy and love. There are few that cannot relate to the poems in Margaret Jeune’s collection detailing the lives of cats alongside our own.

The free-form poems, 14 in total, are all told from Jeune’s perspective. They are simple and concise. Their simplicity however is what makes them so tender. Jeune often talks to a particular cat, recounting both the antics of the little beast (such as dropping presents in the form of dead animals on the doorstep in Murderous Hobby and Gifts), or describing her cat acquaintance’s various moods and humorous attitudes as in Storm Clouds Brewing and Sheba.

Though cats are the subject of Jeune’s poems, she also critiques people’s consumeristic attitudes towards a living creature as well as their lack of compassion. In for Gus, Gus is treated more like an object than an animal: “Consoling a rejected cat / returned after eight months in a new home / because he wasn’t smoochy enough… Here Gus is back on the shelf… Is there an owner out there / who won’t count smooches?” Similarly in Skid Row at the SPCA, Jeune depicts the cats as inmates or orphans and muses at the best characteristics to have to escape the SPCA. “Be a kitten”, she says, or “if you are a black cat / for heaven’s sake / try for a white paw or nose”. Finally, Juene adds that since “prospective owners are very particular / they come along with exact / specifications in mind”, the best way to escape Skid Row is to “ooze on the charm”. Jeune simply yet powerfully comments on humans’ often inhumane behavior.

Charming and heartwarming, Jeune pays tribute to the furry friends that have brought her comfort and company. Cat World is a wonderful read for anyone who has ever shared a part of their life with a cat.

Middle Distance takes works from a total of 14 New Zealand writers and puts together a collection of short stories that are as diverse as the people writing them. Each story grabbed my attention and hooked me until the end, something not a lot of authors can do. The fact that this book does it not once but several times over is a testament to the depth of literacy skill on display here.

Each story is small, but they all pack a sizeable punch, and a few even had me thinking about them hours after I was finished reading. Despite the brevity of short stories, characters are well developed and come across as fully functioning people living in good old Aotearoa. The world they inhabit is equally as fleshed out and there were times I could almost recognise some of the places in the book.

One story in particular caught my attention the most, titled The Promotion by Maria Samuela. It’s the tale of a young man trying to reconnect with his absentee father and his family. Like all good stories, it has its fair share of ups and downs and then ends on a sweet, sombre note leaving me wanting more. For me, that is the mark of a good story: one that leaves you on the edge of your seat and has you asking the question, what happens next?

My only real concern is the book may come off as something of a mixed bag to some readers. While this is understandable considering the variety of literacy talent involved, it also means readers might be turned off by one story before finding another they really like. It’s a risk but in my humble opinion one worth taking. 

For those who are willing to plunge in and stick it out, Middle Distance delivers a real treat, as I am sure the amount of content here will impress the majority of people who give it a go.

In her second novel, Bright Burning Things, Lisa Harding enthralls us in the chaotic spiral of Sonya Moriarty.

Once a lauded stage performer, Sonya is now careening through motherhood and filled with overwhelming love for her four-year-old son, Tommy. Together, they can conquer the world, as long as no one interferes or looks at her funny. Unfortunately, Sonya is haunted by an imp that won’t leave her alone; an evil fairy who drives her to soothe the only way she knows. “Every part of me is jangling. Feel myself crashing, falling into the pit. Should’ve known when I first saw her there on the beach, shimmering, irresistible, that this was the way it would go. Grab the bottle, turn my back, undo the screw top with my teeth. Tell myself that what Tommy doesn’t see can’t hurt him.”

Harding does not hold her punches in this novel. With raw honesty, we journey with Sonya through her denial of her addiction, juxtaposed against her loss of self-control, sense of self, and steadily growing chunks of memory. Inevitably, in what feels like an enormous betrayal, Sonya is torn from her son and forced into a rehab stint. Harding explores the reality of the stages of sobriety and the immense loss of power over one’s life one must face when put into such a position. Being involuntarily away from her closest loved one with no means of contact causes her to resist the programme intended to help her.

Once ‘out the other side’ and faced with maintaining her sobriety alone, we see the desperate need for a caring support system. As family and friends are pushed away, one may become isolated and vulnerable. Sonya struggles to regain the trust of her son, whose mother disappeared unexpectedly for three months. “A whole-body lovesickness burrows inside me, biting and scraping... This is it, the moment of unconscious surrender, but there is some other part of me watching: angels, good and evil, battling it out.”

Ultimately a profound tale of fear, love, and redemption, Bright Burning Things held me in its grasp to the last page.

When I found out that Kerry Greenwood’s latest book The Lady with the Gun Asks the Questions was a series of short stories rather than a full-length novel, I have to admit I was sceptical that she could pack in the same atmosphere and the sharp wit that I normally associate with her titles. 

Thankfully I was wrong because each story has the same smart, tight writing that I have come to expect from an author of her pedigree. The stories revolve around heroine Phryne Fisher as she solves a series of mysteries with her usual aplomb. 

Despite only being bite-sized in length, I was blown away by how well written each one is. The world she’s created, while small, is still rich in detail, and the characters, despite the brevity of the book, are well fleshed out and come across as ‘real’. But standing above all of them is unsurprisingly the star of the show herself.

Like many of Greenwood’s other books, Phryne comes across as an extremely polished individual. Poised and refined with a razor-sharp mind, it isn’t long before she inevitably finds herself in hot water. I just love how she’s written; not only does she give readers a glimpse into life in the Roaring 20s, she shows us how things ought to have been. Rather than being the typical damsel in distress that you might see in other books, Phryne instead takes charge of many of the situations she finds herself in and is equal to the majority of her male contemporaries.

The stories themselves also deserve a shout out. Sometimes funny and light-hearted and other times dark and serious, but always entertaining, The Lady with the Gun Asks the Questions is something I think everyone can enjoy. If you are new to reading or are looking for your next whodunnit, then I cannot recommend this enough. With Christmas on the way, this might be something to look out for as your next stocking stuffer.

The Discomfort of Evening is a disconcerting read.

Marieke Rijneveld sets the tone in her opening chapter with a blunt discussion of death, which continues to be a running theme throughout the book, captured through the chaotic train-of-thought style of a child. Jas, our young narrator, offers us the briefest of glimpses of Matthies, her eldest brother, before Jas casually offers a bargain to God: take Matthies instead of her pet rabbit, who she suspects her father is planning to kill for their Christmas dinner. Later that same day, Jas overhears her mother receiving the terrible news of Matthies’ accidental death. The idea of guilt and accountability, or payment for sin, in the eyes of a child is a complex one, which Rijneveld explores in the context of a deeply religious family and community, where open grief and conversations about mental health are not encouraged.

Through the lens of Jas’ perspective, we see a family unravelling after tragedy. While the grieving parents struggle to maintain structure for their remaining children, the siblings left behind begin their own explorations into the subject of death and how to avoid it or meet it on their own terms. The sudden and accidental nature of Matthies’ death leads Jas, Hanna, and Obbe to attempt to exert control over their surroundings and the course of their own lives.

Trauma manifests in strange ways, such as Jas constantly wearing her red coat and obsessively holding in her poo, as she struggles to gain power over her own body and life. Some of the rules that Jas implements seem to be a sort of bargaining with God; Jas becomes fixed on the idea that a sacrifice of some kind must be made to save her parents, who she feels slipping away from her. Meanwhile, natural childish curiosity about sexuality becomes tangled with disturbing acts of violence and abuse.

The Discomfort of Evening is a dark exploration of the creative superstitions of children as they fight to make sense of the world around them, with a slow aura of dread building to an unforgettable finality.

Margaret Jeune’s Selected Poems is written memory of a life; this compilation is particularly poignant and intriguing as it follows Jeune from her earliest poems as a naive starry-eyed youth to a girl in love with life and lovers, heartbroken and bitter at times, angry at the world’s injustice, but also her hopefulness and admiration of simple beauty and pleasures as she transitions into the later stages of life. Her life is laid out bare, vulnerable and exposed.

Jeune is fiercely political and socially conscious. Lawn Cemetery criticises bureaucracy: “such a tidy, circumspect piece of dirt … souls confined rows of unwilling neighbors all duly labelled and processed.” Sexism, consumerism, and climate change are similarly critiqued in other poems. Jeune recognises and embodies a sense of responsibility and duty each of us should have for our own world, but also for the future generations. In her poem Legacy, she writes: “your legacy is meaningful and in the course of time will be seen to be hugely significant.”

In her own words, Jeune’s poetry is “about waking up to yet another day… about dashed hopes and unmet expectations… it’s a reality check and it’s about being human” (The Suburban Bubble 175).

Her poetry is humble, sometimes playful, often abrupt, incredibly self-aware, and most importantly, mundane. But mundane in the most positive sense of the word. Her poems are the poems of the everyday; they capture little moments in time. Selected Poems is a diary of a life, with chapters and footnotes, regrets and celebrations; and though the diary is specifically Jeune’s, with each poem you feel as though you are reading from a page of your own life.

Whether she writes of heartbreak or McDonald’s, death or waitressing, broad social commentary or the loneliness and surreality of our 2020 lockdown, Jeune simply and succinctly captures life. Her own of course, but also yours, or mine, or theirs, rendering all lives ours; uniting us all through the beautiful, mundane, extraordinary, human condition.

“Everyone has heard about refugees, but hardly anyone has ever met or got to know one personally. It’s time they did.” Thus writes Abbas Nazari in the prologue of his story After the Tampa.

You won’t be able to claim ignorance after you’ve read this extraordinary account of a young boy’s escape from Afghanistan and the Taliban, and his journey to Aotearoa.

The tale unfolds like a drama. Settings range from Sungjoy, a tiny rural spot in Afghanistan, to the unseaworthy Palapa, then the giant rescue container ship the Tampa, to a new home in Aotearoa. Characters in the drama include Nazari’s family, chiefly his magnificent dad, defiant Tampa sea captain Rinnan, Australian pre-election PM John Howard (regrettably), and just halfway through the narrative our own Helen Clark, with her offer to take 150 of the refugees stranded offshore of a country that refuses responsibility for them.

But the script of this drama is the most astonishing thing. By script I mean the tone and voice of the narrative. Nazari’s writing is powerful, and its power derives from its simplicity. I do not mean that as criticism. It is the absence of any overlay of bitterness, negativity, or complaint that makes this narrative so compelling.

Facts speak for themselves, and if we are aghast at the acts of the Taliban, the unsanitary conditions endured by seven-year-old Nazari and his siblings, and the appalling attitude and behaviour of the Australian government of the time, our reactions are mitigated by Nazari’s practicality and sense of reality.

Once settled in Christchurch, Nazari’s aptitude for learning recalls an early incident in Afghanistan, when, following his elder brother to school, he corrects the teacher’s pronunciation. Should it come as a surprise then, that this boy should go on to university honours and a Fulbright scholarship, spend time in Washington DC, and write this book.

“Opportunity is a charging bull,” he wrote, while still at school, “and it was up to us to wrestle it by the horns”.

Well wrestled, Abbas Nazari!

I’m not familiar with other books by Kirsten McDougall, so I don’t know if she specialises in main characters who are generally unadmirable. Alice, the female protagonist of McDougall’s newest book She’s a Killer, is among other things sexually aggressive, a liar, rude, and has never volunteered in her life. Then why is she so compelling?

Despite being identified as near genius, this 30-something woman uses Morse code to communicate with her mother, can’t cook, is a poor housekeeper, and makes do with a job as administrative assistant to enrolments at a university. That’s how she meets an unlikely new friend in the form of Pablo. He’s Asian, a fan of Russian literature, well dressed, and sexy. He also happens to be one of the “wealthugees” pouring into New Zealand to escape the ravages of climate change, and incidentally to help pay off debt incurred by a pandemic.

A compelling main character merits a compelling story. This gets well under way when Pablo wangles a stay for his teenage daughter, “a rich Chinese girl with a nice English accent”, for which he is prepared to pay host Alice the sort of money that will cover a few Botox shots. So she agrees to the arrangement.

A true nemesis, Erika’s youthful confidence and self-assertiveness send Alice’s head into a spin. Their relationship – combative to say the least – provides the rest of the story with an irresistible momentum, the outcome of which is impossible to guess. Well, it’s a thriller, isn’t it?

She’s a Killer is much more than a thriller. It’s a vehicle for social commentary on our New Zealand ways – from our eating preferences to our laconic attitudes. Iwi, hīkoi, and stolen land are in the mix as well. And even more importantly, the book is a protracted and confrontative moral trajectory. Alice is faced with a dilemma – but it’s also ours.

At this book’s outset, Pablo declares of the Russians that “he likes their big novels”. She’s a Killer isn’t just a big novel: it’s huge.

There comes a time in your day, in your week, in your year, or in your life in which everything gets a bit harder, a bit less manageable, a bit tougher to face. These moments are inevitable, and they serve a purpose, especially if dealt with knowledgeably and productively. Rebekah Ballagh’s Note to Self Journal: Tools to Transform Your World is for those more difficult moments and can help you turn negative or unproductive habits and thoughts into positive ones by retraining your mindset and providing useful tools to overcome the rough patches.

Through various exercises, affirmations, and prompts, Ballagh creates an engaging, dynamic, and interactive system in Note to Self Journal that shifts your perspective towards balance and acceptance. The journal contains the building blocks to overcome stress, anxiety, insecurity, and self-doubt by offering concrete solutions such as breathing exercises, writing prompts, wellbeing trackers, and scientific explanations for our emotional reactions. The journal guides you down a path of self-acceptance by reinterpreting concrete ways to approach an often-abstract problem. Ballagh confronts the problem head on to find a way to fix it; as long as you’re willing to put in some time, dedication, and mindfulness.

Note to Self Journal is framed by tender and colourful illustrations and characters, adding a layer of exceptional aestheticism. With these guides and companions along for your journey, just flipping through the pages brightens your day and motivates you to become your best self.

Ballagh proposes ways in which to “respond rather than react,” encouraging us to be gentle, understanding, and forgiving with ourselves. The journal prompts us to practice the same compassion we would with others towards ourselves, and reminds us that we not only “deserve to be here and take up space”, but also that “[our] voice and [our] needs matter.” Note to Self Journal is calming, it is forgiving, and it provides a safe space for anyone who needs a moment of self-care or encouragement, because as Ballagh reminds us: “[we are] worthy of a beautiful life.”