Yellowface–book review

Yellowface, by Rebecca Kuang

I don’t know about this book. I didn’t like it. I feel a bit like I’ve been stuck in one of those one-sided conversations where you agree with the argument but feel you’re being hit about the head with a puppet.

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We Were Liars – book review

We Were Liars, by e lockhart (her l/c)

I read this soon after the fatuous Pineapple Street, confirming that the joy of reading (of course!) is all in the writing rather than the setting. This story, again, features wealthy New Yorkers with more privilege entitled on them than seems fair. This family have their own island on which they spend summer; grandfather and the aunts all in separate houses through which the kids wander. But where Pineapple Street struts the flashy surface of monied lives, We Were Liars goes deep with plot and character and story. It’s a good story, a coming of age and a mystery you don’t realise is a mystery until things stop adding up.  Here, our girl, Cadence, introduces us to her three companions and lets the story rip.

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Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts –book review

Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, by Josie Shapiro

Partly, this book is the story of a woman running the Auckland marathon. There’s a lot of determination, a lot of pain, much questioning and self-doubt. It is a tactical race, and we get the feel early on that our runner, Mickey, knows what she is about and is in it to win it. This race runs alongside the story of how our woman came to be here, next to the ocean, running her heart out. I thought the marathon was superbly written (and run) and I was with Mickey through all the pain and the euphoria.

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This Other Eden – book review

This Other Eden, by Paul Harding

Such an interesting book, such a dive into the lives of people ostensibly at the very bottom of the pile. The story has its roots at the end of the 1700s, when Apple Island is settled by an escaped slave called Benjamin Honey, and his Irish wife. A hundred years later their descendants and a smattering of other (often a bit too closely) related families still shamble through their lives in this place. They’re a stone’s throw from the coast of Maine, close enough that they can forage on the mainland but, in the eyes of the mainlanders, who consider the islanders an inbred, mixed-race of starving, ignorant, degenerate squatters, they’re too close for comfort. The islanders are an amorphous blight, a problem in need of some kind of resolution. We learn that each islander is, of course, an individual, with different wants and needs and talents.

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Pineapple Street – book review

Pineapple Street, by Jenny Jackson

I asked around for a read that was entertaining and not at all intellectually challenging and Pineapple Street delivered, certainly on the second point. I’m not convinced that it is “wryly funny” or “acutely observed” as billed, or why it is recommended by the New York Times, except for the fact that it is very New York, but there are plenty of those books about. Some women in a super rich family have angst, worry about money and class and are fearful of the domineering matriarch.

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Lioness – book review

Lioness, by Emily Perkins

Bypass the weird cover. The book beyond is bright and clever – a story of Wellingtonians not usually open for scrutiny, people with big money and flash houses but still, for all their entitlement, real people with relatable problems: complex families, children, ageing, white-lies that go bad, temptation.

Therese Thorne married money. Trevor was twenty years older, his wife had left him and he swooped in on pretty Theresa, changed her name, got her tooth fixed and folded her into his life with his business empire, his houses, his four children and their accoutrements. He set her up with a homeware business and she built up a chain of Therese Thorne shops selling lovely, darling things to lovely darlings. At their holiday house in the Sounds, a young guest suggests to Therese (as they’re peeling potatoes) they’re like the ‘help’. She’s insulted but it seems a fair comment. “Bunting, strings of lights, fat outdoor candles in glass jars, tick, tick, tick. Booze cabinet housing ancient gin and sweet holiday liqueurs, tick. Beer fridge, crated wine delivery, tick. Kayaks, rowboat, paddleboards, fishing gear, boardgames, tick.” Trevor is in his seventies now and they’re still having good sex. Tick. So far, so PA with benefits.

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Pet – book review

Pet, by Catherine Chidgey

Very creepy, very noir, if domestic New Zealand, circa 1970, can be called noir. The story certainly starts off sweetly enough. Our girl, Justine, is in class, trying to please the new teacher, Mrs Price. Everyone is. Mrs Price is young, new in town, and glamourous. Hot, she’d be called today. She also has a tragic past: a husband and daughter, dead in a car crash. Justine watches as she selects her pets and desperately wants to be the one asked to stay behind to wipe the board, or empty the bins, but these jobs go to the popular kids. Justine, and best friend Amy, are not part of the cool crowd. They go home to each other’s houses, rate the prettiest girls in the class in order: Melissa first, others depending on haircuts and body parts, and then they select each other as fourth. Pretty enough, but not up there. They are kind to each other. They talk about boys, and buying a first bra. There’s nothing creepy here, yet. Just a whiff of foreboding. Chidgey is a clever writer. It’s all good until it isn’t.

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Empire City

Empire City by John E Martin

It would be silly to call this a ‘review’ of Empire City, as it will take me a few years to get through this tome properly, but I am so happy to have it, to drool over it and to put it on my desk as a kind of dual use research/paperweight. I bought it last week from Unity in Wellington on a recommendation from an historian without a second thought and then realised it weighed nearly 1.7kg and I was on a trip around the motu with only carry-on luggage. Worth every lug.

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Polaroid Nights–book review

Polaroid Nights, by Lizzie Harwood

I can rant a day away about the plethora of novels that get their emotional punch by entertaining readers with rape and murder. What sort of twisted society are we that this is offered everywhere we turn? And we justify our enjoyment of it: watched it for the psychological drama, read it for the great writing. You have to say that. You can’t say I loved the excitement of thinking about vulnerable people being tortured.

I read Polaroid Nights over the weekend. Great characters, sparkling writing. But it’s the story of a serial rapist and murderer and the woman he stalks. I asked my publisher (from whose shelves I’d pinched the book) why such a good writer would make up a plot so clichéd. She told me it’s not made up. It’s real.

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Pearl in a Whirl – book review

Pearl in a Whirl, written by Catherine Robertson, illustrated by Fifi Colston

I finally made it to Wardini’s today to pick up a couple of copies of Pearl in a Whirl, the fundraiser for those affected by cyclone Gabrielle. The recent book launch was cancelled because of the threat of new flooding. How very apt.

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