The Bone Tree – book review

The Bone Tree, by Airana Ngarewa

I met Airana at a book festival. He’s a presence – full of youth and energy and a willingness to be in the moment. He speaks the reo in a voice that carries across an audience and compels you to listen. No wonder his debut book is so gripping. I reckon when this guy has a story, you’ll want to sit up and listen.

The Bone Tree is, yes, another story of a dysfunctional Māori family living on the edge. In this case, they’re toppling over. There is little relief and no laughs; it’s the story of the misery of a good kid – I was going to say ‘who deserves better’, but of course all kids deserve better than this. The Bone Tree is narrated by Kauri, also called Cody by fat-tongued white folk, the implication being that his name is never written down. He lives in a totally dilapidated house on a bit of land in the ‘wopwops’. When his mum dies, dad carries her body out to bury her somewhere on the land, and later the kids do the same for the dad. Kauri’s dad, a violent alcoholic, has left him with a bad shoulder and a scar under his right eye, and maybe the boy’s life will be better without him. When the little brother, Black, gets sick, Kauri is the sole caregiver with no sense of how to save him. His main focus is to hide the fact the the kids are alone, to prevent CYPS from taking Black into care. This fear of the authorities underlies the whole story and it is malignant and irrational and yet, for this child, is the bedrock of his belief. He eventually walks to the city and is given food and Māori medicine, and his brother continues to decline.

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Americanah – book review

Americanah, by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

What is it, to be an Americanah? That’s the question at the core of this wonderfully rich story, along with other such essential questions, such as what is it to be foreign in America or Britain? What hold does a country have over prospective immigrants, how is it perpetuated? How are different cultures and races valued? And of course, as at the heart of any great novel, how does love work?

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Tom Lake–book review

Tom Lake, by Ann Patchett

Another great read from Ann Patchett. I loved The Dutch House, so was minded to enjoy this new work. And I did, though maybe not quite as much.

Tom Lake is really a tribute to Thornton Wilder, who is a bit out of my frame, not being a big reader of Americana, but no matter. The story centres around his play, Our Town, that feels very pancakes-on-the-griddle homely and probably doesn’t have the connotations for non-Americans that those folksy folk enjoy. Our narrator, Lara, finds herself (almost accidentally) type-cast as the fresh faced young woman in Our Town, first in her home town and later at Tom Lake, a theatre company in Michigan. She is Emily, the sweet thing. She can’t seem to pull off anything else.

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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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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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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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Landed – book review

Landed, by Sue McCauley

I went to the launch of Landed. I took a couple of friends to the Dannevirke Library at 6pm last Friday and the place was heaving. Sue McCauley has a strong local fan base and she can count me in. It felt like the whole town was there and they were all buying her book. Made my heart sing. And then Sue took the chair (kind of perched, she’s little), and entertained us. The microphone was unnecessary, she has a good story-telling voice and she told us some anecdotes, gave out thanks, made some self-deprecating jokes and read from her book. She sort of tried to put us off buying the book, saying there’s no real story, it doesn’t follow proper book rules in terms of structure. Nothing happens. Course she didn’t put anyone off.

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Poor People with Money–book review

Poor People with Money, by Dominic Hoey

I really wanted not to like this book. The too-cool-for-school, attention seeking badass author didn’t sound promising, with his snarly comments about moving to Detroit or LA (wooo) because he’s been left out of the NZ lit club. He has a lovely line in his poetry where he is:
…condescended to by people
who have never been punched in the fac
e
which is a brilliant way to categorise people, but a $40k grant? Just saying. When he didn’t make the longlist for the Ockhams this year he said ‘Man there’s dogs they would give that award to over me!’ Thanks. (I’m on the shortlist). What a charmer.

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Iris and Me – book review

Iris and Me, by Philippa Werry

This is a terrific story about a tenacious woman who, in the 1930s, leaves New Zealand with no support and very little cash and reports on a war in China. It’s intelligent young adult fiction (though I don’t qualify as either and I loved it). Despite speaking no Chinese language, having no official capacity, being slightly lame and needing a walking stick, Iris gets right to the front-line and writes on the conditions she finds there. This is Iris Wilkinson, pen name Robin Hyde, who was a New Zealand poet, journalist and novelist. I knew her from her books; I read The Godwits Fly recently, but I had no idea she was such an audacious traveller as well.

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