The Runaway Girls is a heart-warming story about the warmth of friendship and the lengths two girls go through to protect theirs. It is set in Victorian England and written by Jacqueline Wilson. In this story, Lucy Locket, the protagonist, runs away from home for multiple reasons relating to her home life. Lucy meets Kitty on her escape, and the two instantly become best friends. 

My favourite part of this book is the natural and normal friendship Kitty and Lucy share. They argue and make up, tease and joke like any best friends you might find now. The only disparity is the fact that they lived a hundred years ago, which does tend to make a difference. For example, when Lucy loses Kitty in the park, she has no way of communicating with her and is understandably distraught. Whereas nowadays we can just send our friends a text or call them. Also, the poor are better cared for today, which is a contrast in Lucy’s world where they are ignored if they are lucky, or beaten and shooed away.

Additionally, I love how compatible Lucy and Kitty are. They make a fantastic team when facing foes. Kitty is generally more knowledgeable and fierce, but Lucy makes excellent use of her sweet demeanour and discovers some hidden talents, like lying on the spot well and melting adult’s hearts. Her parents would have a heart attack if they ever saw her, smiling like an angel while spinning devilish lies, but it serves them well on the streets!

I also enjoyed the ending in which Jacqueline subtly brought in an easter egg from another book, though it doesn't hinder your understanding if you haven’t read it yet. Still, for someone who does understand, it was nice to see. I liked the fact that it was a happy ending, perfectly suited for the characters.

All in all, The Runaway Girls is an excellent book that has everything a good read requires: wonderful characters, an awesome story, and an interesting setting. I definitely recommend this book.

Tikanga, the book, belongs to Francis and Kaiora Tipene. It is written from their perspective, their knowledge, their traditions; but it belongs too, to their whakapapa and those who have come before them.

Driving past the opening of the brand-new branch of Tipene Funerals in Porirua, curiosity got the better of me. Many had gathered, eating, conversing, and listening to music. I could see Francis and Kaiora speaking with visitors. I made the hasty decision to pull over with my son. Perhaps it would be a great conversation starter about life and death and everything in between.

I was also curious to see if Kaiora and Francis, the humble narrators of such a powerful book, whose words, so genuine, are like I imagined. I felt welcomed and got to witness manaakitanga (hospitality, kindness, generosity, support), which “must be ingrained and extended everywhere you go”, Francis says.

In Tikanga, Francis and Kaiora express the traditional Māori values that ground and guide them in their funeral work and everyday lives. The regard, respect, and agency they give to those that will one day pass through their doors, living or otherwise, Māori and non-Māori, illustrates how they live the concepts of te ao Māori.

“Everyone with a business thinks their business is different from other businesses, but I think ours is ‘more different’ than most. It is especially different because it is so dependant on its culture and being able to live Tikanga every day, no matter what is going on,” Francis says

Tikanga is about what is important and valuable to Māori, but it translates to all. In Tikanga there is a candid nod to all cultures; both Francis and Kaiora are pragmatic and able to incorporate values and traditions different to their own.

Both are keen to convey that they don’t know everything. They are not a mouthpiece for all Māori, but acknowledge the platform they now have to champion Māori culture everywhere, every time with the aim to do better, be better, and encourage those around them to do the same.

Appreciation of poetry closely resembles appreciation of painting – it’s highly subjective. So in commenting on Ian Wedde’s latest collection, I find I must put aside my preference for poems that rhyme and ones that address contemporary themes.

A dictionary definition of poetry runs: “a literary composition that is given intensity by attention to diction (choice and use of words), sometimes involving rhyme, rhythm and imagery.”

Note that this definition makes no mention of content. And it’s content, for my two cents’ worth, where Wedde scores most points. For his exhaustive collection (76 poems) largely charts his family history back to the 1700s: “stalking the family ghosts of German ancestors and obscure relatives and associates”, as he puts it.

A Creative New Zealand Berlin Writer’s Residency 2013-14 provided the opportunity for keeping a diary, and it’s from that diary Wedde draws his material.

His forebears merit such a poetic celebration. Some of them witnessed a great deal of what they probably didn’t want to witness, giving rise to serious themes. And a relative-of-a-relative of some kind published a mostly unread panegyric to the Paris Commune martyrs – now you can’t get more esoteric than that.

The chief enjoyment for me was on the linguistic side – the words and imagery Wedde uses. I loved the pigeon named Werther “fastidiously poking feathers into an improbable nest”, enjoyed the extended metaphor of the bowl of pea soup, and accurately pictured “the narcissist of small differences” encountered at the library when Wedde is enquiring after a relative’s book. On a grimmer note, there’s the watering can in the Stasi Museum, and “the implacable conduit where Arendt disciplined her bafflement into thought”. The little ache of the title merits a poem of its own.

It’s a scholarly read, but there’s much deserving of reflectiveness for the general reader – and a bonus for those who are familiar with German in the form of a generous smattering of words and phrases in the original tongue.

At the age of 18, Paul Wood was convicted of murder and served 11 years behind bars. While there, he managed to turn his life around by becoming the first person in New Zealand history to complete an undergraduate and master’s degree while in prison.

In his latest book, Dr Wood explains the term ‘mental fitness’ and why it is so important to strengthen it to help deal with the challenges we face every day. At the heart of the matter is the idea that mental fitness can be strengthened, just as a bodybuilder lifts weights to enhance physical fitness.   

One of the biggest problems I have with most self-help books is that I’m always sceptical about the author’s motives and how much they really know about the topic they are writing about. But not this time; I mean, here is a man that was sent to prison, served time with some of the worst offenders in the country, and came out the other side a better, wiser person. In the case of Mental Fitness, there was no doubt in my mind that what I was reading was 100 percent genuine and that Wood was the real deal.

His writing too impressed me with what is sometimes called the ‘common touch’, that ability to connect with just about everyone and to make them understand the message you are trying to send. Mental Fitness is incredibly simple to understand and, as a result, an easy read. Nothing is too difficult to grasp, and nothing feels undoable for those who pick this up to improve themselves. There are really no downsides that I could find here, and I think this is something everyone should read at least once.

I really loved this book and will definitely be putting some of Dr Wood’s ideas into practise to increase my own mental fitness.

First of all I have to say wow! Some more describing words would be powerful, brutally honest, motivational, heart-wrenching, gosh, I could go on!

Here you find entrepreneur Rebekah Campbell focusing on her career and accomplishing what seems to be the impossible. She’s a powerhouse of a woman successfully creating and selling three profitable companies and making her mark in a man’s world. But in between all the successes, failures, hard work, and planning, she unveils her vulnerable self. As much as Rebekah is hungry for success, she yearns for love. But how is she going to find love while growing her business?

In 138 Dates, Rebekah explores the modern world of dating with the help of online dating apps. Juggling work and play seems effortless as she schedules dates like business meetings. One after the other she goes on 138 dates with some nice guys and some awful guys, gets rejected a couple of times and does some rejecting herself, all while meeting with investors around the world, widening her business network, and growing her business steadily.

I loved Rebekah’s writing style and felt like she was talking to me directly, telling me her story. I felt her discomfort, her stress, her excitement, her pain, her disappointment, and her ambition. This woman is a force to be reckoned with!

I was rooting for her all the way and wished that I could be there to help her put herself back together on days when she felt that she just couldn’t deal with being lonely anymore. I have personally gone through a lot of what she went through, especially the online dating scenario, and didn’t realise how many similarities we had in our criteria, expectations, and desires.

I would recommend this book to any woman who feels like she isn’t enough. It was an honour to read Rebekah’s story and I hope that she reaches more women like me that need to hear that she is perfect in this imperfect world.

How would I describe Unsheltered? Not for the faint-hearted. Extremely tough subject matter. Of its time. Depressing and heart-breaking. With glimpses of joy and humanity. The author Clare Moleta says the book is Australian but not set in Australia. It’s about a mother’s (Li) relentless search for her missing young daughter Matti, after they end up at Makecamp (a refugee-type camp).

Li’s description of killing and eating a rabbit to survive made me feel ill. I guess that’s a good sign if an author makes you feel strong emotions? It put me off reading Unsheltered for a while but then I was hooked again. Would Li find Matti? Was the search worth it for Li? For me? I find these stories stressful, but you need an outcome, good or bad. The harrowing descriptions of what Li went through to find Matti were rough to read. And just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, it did right towards the end. This novel could be based on a real story which is the saddest bit about it. One of the camps is called Transit and Li’s saviour Rich says, “I know they call it Transit but have you noticed no one f***ing goes anywhere?”

I guess the genre is Sci Fi-esque as there were words and expressions I didn’t understand, like XB Force – I still have no idea what this means. “She was good at spotting spoor, too.” Spoor but not used in the usual context, again no idea. It’s a book you must pay attention to but some bits I really wanted to skip. On the other hand, descriptions I really enjoyed include: “Didn’t see the sky fatten like a bruise” and “The children in these stories emerged out of some collective dust and faded back into it again, untouched and untouchable”.

If you watch the news and can handle more reality in your life, then you’ll enjoy Unsheltered. It is a book about human perseverance above everything, and that is admirable.

With Tap Head, comedian Barnie Duncan has achieved what his mum Robyn, to whom this show is dedicated, always claimed was possible – that you can feel more empathy for an inanimate object than a human being.

The inanimate object in this case is a lonely cold tap who works in a public toilet in Waitangi Park, desperately trying to engage with those who pass through his sterile world. By day, he stares at the smooth mound that resides where the hot tap should be and daydreams about taking his non-existent partner in plumbing to the park to play table tennis. By night, he tries out his vaguely crude and pathetic stand-up routine at comedy clubs.

Also plying his trade on the comedy circuit is Barnie Juancan who, with his freshly shaved knees, uses surreal dad jokes to provide multiple excuses for his literal lateness in starting the show, interspersed with salsa dances. Between digs at Jair Bolsonaro and an Uber ride with a German wasp, he brings a whole new meaning to turning on a tap.

Duncan’s greatest of many performance skills is an aptitude for mime and physical comedy that renders Tap Head a fully formed character with deep feelings. He even bares his buttocks in a sad shower scene that provokes an audible “Awww” from the opening night audience. Sharply contrasting this pathos with the arrogance of Juancan, he leaves us in no doubt as to who we’re rooting for.

Aiding Duncan’s performance is a precise and clever combination of lights (Kaitlyn Johnson), sound and music (Daniel Nixon), and animated projections (Caiden Jacobson). BATS’ Co-Pro model that allows more pack-in time clearly worked to this show’s advantage as these technical elements are outstanding.

It’s only since coming home from seven years in Melbourne that Duncan has found a truly appreciative audience for his Monty Python-esque humour. With Tap Head, he has done his mum proud.

A diehard The Lion King fan, I walk into Spark Arena barely containing my excitement, only to have my sky-high expectations met and exceeded by the very first note. Two minutes into Circle of Life and I’m already crying. Those tears flow five more times as I feel The Lion King transport me back to my childhood with stage magic the likes of which I’ve never seen before. The sad scenes aren’t what get me but the sheer spectacle, the unfathomable artistry on display. As I say to my husband Dean after the show, I’ve never cried at how good something is before, and yet here we are.

To even begin to comprehend why The Lion King is so good, we must start with Julie Taymor. Not only the director but the costumer and the co-designer of mask and puppetry with Michael Curry, Taymor’s vision is monumental. From ginormous giraffes to mischievous meerkats, “from the crawling ant to the leaping antelope”, her designs capture the vast scope of the animal kingdom and are brought to life by world-class choreographer Garth Fagan, who emboldens a cast painted by hair and makeup designer Michael Ward to truly embody each animal. The stunning masks of Scar (the standout, terrifically terrible Antony Lawrence) and Mufasa (the gallant Mthokozisi Emkay Khanyile) feel as if they move, even breathe, on their own.

Two highlights for me are moments not on film: a powerful and poignant scene in which Rafiki (the extraordinary Futhi Mhlongo), Young Nala (brilliance from Filia Te), and Sarabi (Lungile Khambule, the picture of mourning) grieve the loss of Mufasa and Simba; and the massive number He Lives in You, which is still stuck in my head!

While I can’t do The Lion King justice with words, and so few words at that, I’ll do my darndest by saying out of the hundreds of shows I’ve been to, I think it’s the best thing I’ve ever seen.

A fascinating programme opened with Chopin, followed by a frenetic and emotionally expressive performance of Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring, the latter accompanied by an intriguing video display.

Michael Houstoun was a very popular choice to play Chopin and possibly the reason for an almost sold-out show. Houstoun charged straight into the first of eight dances, knocking out a crowd-pleasing, rapid, and somewhat heavy-handed polonaise. By and large this was a solid performance. Each dance had a distinct style and character, but it was almost as if Houstoun knew his solo piano could never compete on equal footing with Stravinsky’s most notorious but incredible contribution to 20^th century music.

The Chopin dances were an extraordinary contrast to The Rite of Spring but a direct reference to Les Sylphides, Chopin’s ballet music, which preceded the premiere of Stravinsky’s ballet in 1913. The nod to events of 100 years ago was brought right up to date in the video imagery, a remarkable and sophisticated concept using the pre-recorded movement of a dancer to generate graphic patterns that were further manipulated in real time by the audio feed from the orchestra. Finding ourselves seated next to the grandparents of the video artist, we took a keen interest in the display. Delainy Kennedy’s grandparents were rightly very proud of his work.

A diminutive figure on the rostrum, New’s dynamic, precise but expansive direction kept the orchestra tight through the complex time changes and difficult rhythms. It would be interesting to see the video images her performance might generate.

As always, the musicianship and the superb playing of the NZSO were exceptional. The bassoon solo that opened the piece was impeccable, nothing at all like the ‘strangled oboe’ the audience thought they were hearing in 1913. As well as my new-found love for Stravinsky I am loving the work of the viola section who excelled on the night.