Books

This a charming book with a sweet main character who you’ll want to triumph and be happy by conquering her fears. It’s also desperately sad in places.

Meredith hasn’t left her house in three years after having a panic attack one day as she got ready for work. There are deeper reasons though for Meredith staying within the safety of her four walls, and these are gradually revealed as the plot gently unfolds. We start to understand how Meredith became a recluse as we get glimpses of a tough childhood, a self-absorbed mother, and a strong older sister who was Meredith’s biggest supporter – until she wasn’t.

We are also welcomed into the life she shares with her beloved rescue cat Fred and old school friend Sadie. A life where time goes slowly and is dedicated to working remotely as a writer, baking, jigsaw puzzles, and exercising by running up and down the stairs.

While the plot takes its time, it definitely pulls the reader in and ratchets up the tension and Meredith’s inner conflict at times, as she experiences panic attacks and deep-seated anxiety triggered by a traumatic experience.

It’s the characters that ultimately make this a book you want to keep reading and remember long after you’ve read the final page. All of the key characters are well rounded, and all have their challenges – some aren’t even very likeable. Meredith is beautifully written, and as a result she is the one we really connect with as readers and have great empathy for. We cheer her on as she grows her connections with the outside world, including her new friend Thomas, and want her so badly to take that first courageous step beyond her front door. Thomas is also likeable, as is Sadie and Meredith’s sister Fi – although as a reader, I felt let down by a late plot twist involving Fi.

Overall, this is a moving and uplifting book that will fill you with compassion and understanding for people in Meredith’s situation. It was a bit of a departure from the type of book I would usually go for, but I recommend it.

Dream Girl by Joy Holley is a collection of short stories about women who wear their hearts on their sleeves, who do a tarot spread to deal with life’s burdens, and who twirl under the moonlight with hearts full of desire. The protagonists are haunted by love that slips from their reach as they cling to the details of the moments they had and what those moments could have been. 

The author starts to find her footing a few stories in. When her stories stretch desire away from just the sexual kind is when her writing really shines. Fruit brings a charge of life to the collection. The details of fruit paralleled with something all-consuming alongside a relationship gives a unique depth of insight into the compelling nature of desire. Pets showcases a friendship group’s shared ambition to have the most interesting pet, adding another stroke to what desire can be. 

Moral Delinquency in Children and Adolescents is a beautiful, evocative piece about young love. It follows the loss of an all-consuming friendship as the news story of the young girls from Heavenly Creatures breaks out and has a knock-on effect on society. 

Blood Magic has an eerie undertone that introduces a haunting tone to Dream Girl. The sense that you’re not aware of everything that is happening adds an exciting twist of anticipation to the later end of the collection.

Music is a huge character throughout Holley’s work – the importance of the stories it can tell and the lives it can shape. As a reader, you can picture exactly what sort of parties are being thrown and get inspired to make your crush a playlist.

I would have loved to have seen further exploration of what desire is and can be. Some stories blur together as the repetition of a mysterious love interest who ghosted becomes monotonous. But overall, Dream Girl is a dreamy, hot, and haunting read.

Ruin and Other Stories is a series of short stories about women who are on the edge of ruin and how their lives have been completely rewritten by the actions of a man. Women who will always be looked at for what they did and didn’t do, what they did and didn’t know. “Sabine knew, they didn’t really think of her. They thought about him and the things he did.” 

Power imbalance bleeds through every story and not just in the behaviour of men. There’s the stickiness of friends and sisters, twisted dynamics that unravel and tighten. Love that doesn’t always go the distance. These are stories of women who lose their power again and again and struggle to see their way through. Hislop’s writing makes you feel like you’re slipping into the skin of her characters, that their lives could easily be yours, and the questions they face you may have to one day answer. 

Ruin and Other Stories hones in on the fear of what wasn’t done and asks big questions. What is consent when you’re trying to protect someone? When do you stop trying to help? How do you know that what you did was enough?

It is not a book that can be easily devoured in one sitting. There is rape and paedophilia in almost every story. There is no break. And although not described, the relentless repetition serves as a reminder. Assault doesn’t just sometimes happen to one person,
it is not just one person’s story – it happens a lot and we can’t ignore that.

Some of the stories blur together and some stand out more than others. But Ruin and Other Stories stands as an important reminder that we still have power imbalances and some of us may have forgotten that. These women have hands that are full of nails but no hammer. How do they rebuild from ruin and who will help them?

One Heart One Spade captures the mood of the 70s well, an era with distinctly different attitudes and a different vibe. But despite this, it’s still uniquely Wellington as the story plays out across the streets and suburbs of the capital. Its backdrop is critically local, lending gravitas to the gritty urban feel of the crime story and to the lead characters, who feel sublimely present.

One Heart One Spade centres around the disappearance of Felicity ‘Flick’ Daniels, the missing granddaughter of a retired judge, and Detective Lucas Cole and colleagues as they investigate her disappearance. Interwoven between is the investigation of one of their own when it appears he is connected to the murder of a local drug dealer.

Alistair Luke paints a vivid picture of each character. There’s Felicity’s grandfather McEwan, poised with all the airs and graces you would expect from someone used to having power over others. His disdain for Felicity’s boyfriend Miles Weston is palpable. McEwan derisively describes Miles as a “hippie”, a “bangle-wearer”, and a shoeless one at that. Yes, by McEwan’s accounts, Miles is a wasteful person, much like the “wasters” he has spent his whole life putting away. But McEwan’s fawning preoccupation for his homegrown roses – even after his supposedly beloved granddaughter is missing – and reluctance to open up Felicity’s room in his house makes him stand out in his own right as an oddball when detectives question him about Felicity’s disappearance.

One Heart One Spade sometimes feels a little stunted, with conversations between characters intersecting a little too briefly, too succinctly, running too closely into each other. I found I wanted just a bit more out of the narrative. Regardless, the mysterious, compelling tale of the missing 21-year-old Felicity, her conceited grandfather and ex-judge with secrets to hide, and a dogged detective in the form of Lucas Cole is inviting.

It’s where the detective’s professional and personal life begins and ends that draws you in, as too does his burgeoning relationship with his new colleague Erena Wilkinson.

It’s not often I need a dictionary on hand when writing a review, but I did in the case of The Artist. The dictionary is a Māori-English one, and my knowledge of te reo has increased markedly due to a perusal of Ruby Solly’s verse novel.

It’s a work of fiction, explains the author, and it’s based on the history of the iwi who have shaped her being. Indeed, the word “being” is central to this work, occurring in evocative phrases like “A world is sung into being” at the outset.

The natural world is incorporated here, with rivers, sand, and wind as much characters in the story as humans. The artist of the title emerges as a kind of painter of dreams, somehow connected to “the ache of potential”, another recurring theme.

Predictably perhaps, the advent of Pākehā into the Māori world provokes such stark images as “There is talk of stolen stone / of moko slipping from the face” and “we possess a pile of kūmara / as well as a pile of bodies”.

The story really gets under way when Hana (a Southern woman) meets Matiu (a Southern man). Hana’s subsequent pregnancy and experience of childbirth are dramatically described, and twins are born. But the family, relegated to the back of the pa, fail to gain acceptance from their own people and must forge their own fates.

The second half of this verse novel continues the story with the natural world and that of the dreams, ambitions, and experiences of the characters firmly intertwined. In Carving, Matiu the father introduces stones to Reremai his son. “Reremai cradles the stone – a field of potential, with the form of a wāhine swirling towards them”. And the artist’s signature appears again in Discovery, in the form of a fresh moko on Kiki’s skin.

Reading The Artist resembles walking through a forest: dreaming, wondering, sometimes suffering, touching, and being touched. Its writing is a tribute to its author just as much as to the iwi she celebrates.

What’s your idea of a calamity? “An event causing great damage or distress”, the dictionary says. For Jane Arthur, who has titled her poetry collection thus, a calamity might amount to anything from an anticipated apocalypse, to posing philosophical questions like “Do we live only to the limits of our comprehension?”, to a meditation on dead flies.

Such a range allows the sometimes startling, sometimes amusing observations, reflections, and imaginings that preoccupy the writer. How, All Right begins with “I want to get morbid I want to get morbid” and concludes with “Now, knowing the more one learns, the worse one feels!” That seems to me a self-fulfilling prophecy: how you begin is how you might end.

I’m much more at home with the concreteness and immediacy of Princes and Priests. “The celebrities are having mental / health breakdowns and people / are lining up for tickets.” Ring any bells?

The section titled The Bear – sandwiched between Risk Assessment and Highly Flammable – provides welcome relief from the writer’s existential anxieties. She has chosen the pronouns “they” and “them” to refer to the bear, and I find myself wondering if the animal kingdom is as much concerned about this matter as we humans. In the meantime, I’ll have to grin and bear it.

The lengthiest poem, and my favourite, is Choose Again, in which Arthur liberally employs the poet’s most useful literary device – metaphor – to make her point. The poem is a contemplation on shame – of its causes and effects. Likening shame to “an ulcer on the inside / of your cheek / that you nibble on sometimes” is uncomfortably effective, as is “I am a bird / sticking my beak between / the bars of my cage to see if the air / is purer on the outside.”

Her final poem Imaginary Den summarises the theme of this disturbingly prophetic collection with a plea: “Let me dig my little hole. Let me / settle down into it, feigning safety, let me.”

I had a mother, but I’ve never been one. How does that place me to comment on a poetry collection of this nature? Writer Louise Wallace is asking a question too – about the real nature of pregnancy and motherhood. She’s knocking on a forbidden door perhaps, because we women are supposed to live our lives as if it’s our biological fate to reproduce ourselves.

Pregnancy is biological all right and this aspect of it gets full treatment. “You now contain ten / little-finger-like projections”, you’re “being beaten around the ears with the need for leafy greens”, and confronted by “what does the term ‘women’s clothing’ even mean?”

The psychological and social aspects of being pregnant also come under fire. What about baby names? Some couples do a video, and in sexy springtime feelings, “at twenty five you were special – born for a social calendar / but now you’ve got a face made for furniture.”

I’m not sure how delaying tactics fits into the pregnancy picture with its questions such as “how do you get a book deal?” and “what’s the ideal age to try stripping?” unless it’s a disguised longing for a life without a pregnancy in sight. Indeed, these poems are hardly a recommendation for it.

And we haven’t even got to childbirth! Wallace does not hesitate to expose us to the painful and at times grotesque experiences it may bring. Doctors, midwives, and other professionals become part of the scene with their discussions and instructions. But then there is a sign – finally – that all may be well, captured thus: “you’ll experience a new and phenomenal relationship / with your vagina”.

Does that make up for everything you had to undergo to achieve motherhood? I can only hope so. The search for baby names is referenced in one of the concluding poems, suggesting a resolution, as does the final metaphor.

This is a story about your mother makes for salutary reading. Those considering getting pregnant would be well advised to read it.

Here’s a fish – this is what it looks like, this is what it eats, and this is who eats it. That’s how I thought Secrets of the Sea would go. Surprisingly I found something much more interesting: an almost mini encyclopaedia of the wondrous creatures of the sea, intricately entwined with the history of Aotearoa.

Author Robert Vennell unravels the hidden lives of a vast array of creatures that lie beneath our magnificent waters, from the depths of the ocean to our rivers and sandy shores, giving insight into their biology, etymology, unique characteristics, and cultural significance and importance to Māori. Steeped in history and tradition, Secrets of the Sea is a standout. It’s an evolutionary tale that speaks to the way these unique creatures have had a profound impact on our lives on land despite being largely hidden and sometimes forgotten.

Vennell’s fascinating glimpse into the history of the butterfish reveals they were often linked with nocturnal mischief, just as the whakataukī reads: Ka pō, ka pō, ka kai te rarī (When it is night, the butterfish feed). For Māori, there was a feeling that butterfish or rarī were troublemakers.

Eels or tuna on the other hand were considered by Māori to be one of the single most important food sources found in Aotearoa. On a recent camping trip, I found myself helping to navigate the feeding of eels. Swarming around all slippery, thick and serpent-like, the eels (what variety of, I do not know) took stock of the food, snaking around each other en masse. I was surprised to read that New Zealand longfin eels can grow to be the largest in the world, weighing more than a small child, and can live up to 100 years, effectively giving the humble turtle a run for its money in the longevity stakes.

Gorgeously illustrated, and with stunning photography, Secrets of the Sea is a resplendent unravelling of the mysteries surrounding some of the incredible inhabitants of Aotearoa waters.

Empire City is the most impressive book I think I have ever experienced, and honestly I did not think that I’d be as blown away by it as I was. Everything about it screams pure class, from the handmade drawings to the fold-out maps that show you what Wellington looked like in the mid-19th century.

Every legend started somewhere, and in the case of Wellington, it was with Indigenous Māori and the New Zealand Company (an organisation to help settle the country) first meeting each other. It also tells us about Edward Gibbon Wakefield, whose vison helped settle what we now call Wellington – or Britannia as the then-new settlement was briefly called. Back then there were plenty of dangers to contend with: misunderstandings between Pākehā and local iwi could turn violent, earthquakes, and a lack of supplies made creating a permanent settlement difficult.

It was an amazing read that made me appreciate New Zealand all the more. In fact, I would dare anyone born here to not be impressed by the enormity of what our forefathers went through. It’s not hyperbolic to say that the people living today, including me, really are standing on the backs of giants. We talk about our Kiwi ingenuity all the time – well, now I know where it comes from.

Empire City is a very expansive book that goes into a huge amount of detail and unfortunately, I think that might be its downfall. It’s just so big. That may put some people off reading it, as it will be a bit of an investment of their time. It’s also a niche book, focusing on one specific area at one specific time, so unless you are mad crazy about New Zealand history, this may not appeal to you. 

I suspect that this book is geared toward a particular reader, one who will really get a kick out of reading about this country’s founding. If you are that person I can recommend this wholeheartedly.

One author that I have had the pleasure of reading in recent memory is New Zealand novelist Catherine Chidgey. Her writing style captures the imagination like no one else and really gets the emotive juices flowing. One minute her stories make you cry, and the next you’ll find a little smile sneaking its way onto your face. I felt this way about her last novel Remote Sympathy, and while the story did break my heart, there were also moments of joy sprinkled in.

The Axeman’s Carnival is no exception. This time the protagonist is a young magpie named Tamagotchi (named after the toy from the 80s), or Tama for short. Saved by humans at a young age, Tama finds himself struggling to find his place in a human world.

While he’s undoubtably the star of the show, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention his human parents: Marnie who initially rescued him, and her farmer husband Rob, the titular axeman whose farm is in a precarious situation. While Tama is the window through which readers see the world, and he is the source of much of the book’s humour, it’s Marnie and Rob who provide the tension and keep the plot moving forward.

Tama makes the most refreshing hero I have come across yet. He makes innocent observations about everyday human life – details that seem mundane to us but come across to him as unfamiliar and strange. This adds a real breath of fresh air to the classic fish-out-of-water plotline. His distant relationships with other magpies, especially his original father, create an interesting dynamic where it’s hammered home how alien he now appears to his birth family. I loved this complexity as well as the bird’s unique take on humanity.

There really are no downsides here. It all gels together, there’s no filler or fluff; everything works and comes together to create an incredible read. If you can get a hold of The Axeman’s Carnival,
get it.

With a unique style that is somewhat quaint but spot on, and illustrations that are twee and childlike, yet charmingly endearing, Be Your Best Self covers 10 life-changing ideas to reach your full potential. Be Your Best Self – not your sticky self, your worrying self, or your mind-reading self, but your best self, author Rebekah Ballagh says.

If you’re wondering about the sticky self, I’m referring to sticky thinking. In Be Your Best Self, Ballagh describes the times our minds are most vulnerable to negative thinking. Think hormones, lack of sleep, or a body that’s coffee or alcohol addled.

The author gives limiting behaviours and habits an almost human-like quality of their own – like mind reading, which feels like the anti-hero of constructive thinking. Mind reading is where you decide what others are thinking and it’s the type of quasi-skill that gets us into all sorts of trouble. Ballagh says whenever you find yourself mind reading, “call it out” for what it is. “Oh, I’m mind reading here!” A way to test the validity of unhelpful thoughts instead is to perhaps ask someone if they are irritated by you, instead of deciding they are.

Ballagh talks about creating a life map to pinpoint the origins of our limiting core beliefs, and how negative thoughts about ourselves and our pasts can perpetuate a cycle of such beliefs. Drilling down to the very heart of a core belief can be confronting. Again, she says, call out the belief at play. Question its authority and veracity. “It is not true and it no longer serves me”.

Setting boundaries is actually a form of self-care, Ballagh says. A favourite from the chapter Protect Your Energy: a yes is also a no. Remember, when you say yes to someone else, you are likely saying no to yourself.

Each chapter concludes with a little summary, a succinct reinforcement of the ideas within, with extra little nuggets and reminders to help you Be Your Best Self.

From stories that will shock you to ones that will make you smile and laugh, Te Kaihau: The Windeater from Keri Hulme covers it all. Originally released at the first New Zealand Arts Festival in 1986, it’s a collection of stories you’re sure to remember long after you have put the book down.

While the stories may be small in stature – one at only eight pages long – they more than make up for it with their wealth of suspense and their sometimes-macabre tone. One example that comes to mind is the story of a family that finds themselves staying in a seemingly uninhabited little town, with things going downhill from there. In others, Hulme takes the ordinary and weaves it into something somehow alluring. My favourite has to be One Whale, Singing, which is partly told from a whale’s point of view and asks if animals have genuine intelligence.

What makes this book so special is that from the title page, each story seems to have its own style and prose. I loved that and to me it felt like Hulme’s imaginative toolkit was inexhaustible. They really are amazing stories that kept me wholly invested, with full credit to the author for hooking me in and refusing to let go.

While each story may take a while to get going, the payoff is well worth it. Unfortunately, therein lies the problem: they are slow to start and anyone lacking patience may give up before giving them a chance to really get going. I would recommend that anyone interested in a good book with a wonderful ambience persevere.

If you are a fan of good writing and love your atmospheric books, then Te Kaihau: The Windeater is for you. While I cannot guarantee that all of the stories will be to your liking, I am willing to bet that there’s something in there for everyone, if only they would give it a go.