Ripiro Beach–book review

Ripiro Beach, by Caroline Barron

There is so much to enjoy in this book. I felt immediately I was in good hands, with a writer who had the confidence to take her time describing scenes to bring me into her space and letting me settle into the surroundings before moving on to the action. We could be in a park by an Auckland motorway, in a nightclub, or at Ripiro beach, and each scene is painted with a keen sense of observational detail. Here’s a paragraph that really is worth reading twice, just for the pleasure of the writing:

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Home Truths – book review

Home Truths, by Charity Norman

Home Truths is everything I expect from a Charity Norman thriller. It’s compelling and chilling. Also, and this is the frightening thing about many of Charity’s stories, it’s very close to home. It could happen to any of my friends. It could happen to me. And yes, it could happen to you.

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The Bookshop Dectectives, Dead Girl Gone – Book Review

The bookshop Detectives, Dead Girl Gone, by Gareth and Louise Ward

A disclosure before I write this review. I know these guys. They are good friends and their bookshop is my local. I love the shop, I love the staff, and I love them. They are terrifically supportive of local writers. That makes writing an honest review of The Bookshop Detectives either very difficult or absolutely lovely and, (well, you can guess what is coming as I don’t review books I don’t like) this is one hundred percent the latter. It’s terrific.

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Ōkiwi Brown

Ōkiwi Brown, by Cristina Sanders

*Currently on the Longlist for the Ngaio Awards!*
The Burke and Hare anatomy murders terrified Edinburgh in the 1830s – innocents smothered and packed fresh for the anatomist’s knife. Burke was publicly hanged before a crowd of thousands. William Hare, after turning king’s evidence against his erstwhile partner, was released. Somewhere south of Dumfries near the small river port of Annan, he was set down from a cart and told to walk on to England and never return. There, he disappears from history.

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The Girl From London – book review

The Girl From London, by Olivia Spooner

I started this on a Tuesday night and ended up crying in a café on Thursday morning. I can’t remember when I’ve been so moved by the ending of a story. There is a book within the book. When the former ended a bit too neatly I was a slightly disbelieving, until I realised that actually, well, I’m giving no spoilers, but it’s a war story, after all. I’m not usually known for my tears.

The whole story ties in well with my current interest in stories of those who immigrated to New Zealand down the years, and why they came. Children evacuees from London bombings? I had no idea. Can you imagine sending your children out of a bomb zone, and not to the close countryside, which would be wrenching enough, but through a war-infested sea to an unknown land at the far ends of the earth? And yet people did.

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Gracehopper – book review

Gracehopper, by Mandy Hager

I think Gracehopper is a lovely title for this book. Grace was born during an earthquake in Taiwan and her kiwi mother is rescued by the New Zealand authorities and brings her home. The mother has some serious issues and is reluctant to discuss the past. Grace, with obvious Asian parentage, hops around her, wanting to know her own history but reluctant to send her mother over the edge (again). She breathes. Jeet Kun Do is her stability. Energy in. Hold. Spread the peace. Energy in. Hold. Spread the peace. It is a graceful martial art.

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The Grimmelings–book review

The Grimmelings, by Rachel King

Undersong: the sounds of a landscape

Chapters in The Grimmelings begin with a curious word or two, just to set the scene. ‘Undersong‘, one of the words to introduce Chapter Four, describes the background noise we live with, all the time. Can you hear it? I’ve got traffic drone at the moment. I’d rather the undersong of the lake, which I’ll call ‘Flitsplish’, as I have a bit of the Scottish in me. Rachel King’s book itself has an undersong: it’s the rhythm and poetry of the best children’s stories. I was mesmerised from the first line.

The same evening Josh Underhill went missing, the black horse appeared on the hill above the house.

Classic.

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The Night She Fell–book review

The Night She Fell, by Eileen Merriman

Eileen Merriman is delightful. I shared accommodation with her at a book festival last year and we sat by the fire in the evenings drinking wine and chatting about writing, YA books, families, life. I should have locked my door.

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Bird Life–book review

Bird Life, by Anna Smaill

This is a book set in Tokyo. The descriptions of the city are detailed and fabulous, from the vending machines to the ritual greetings and the culture of shopping for therapy, the tingling sounds and twinkling sights of Shinjuku, Ikebukuro, Asakura; all totally immersive. The plot (though there isn’t much of a plot, this is more psychological exploration) follows a few months in the lives of two women, Dinah and Yasuko: both of whom have fairly alarming psychosis. The narration alternates between these women, and although we are told they are very different – one is Japanese, middle-aged, charismatic; the other a dowdy kiwi not much older than the other’s son (and hold that thought) – their disconnected mental states and inability to offer any rational opinion do make them feel a bit like they speak with the same voice. They both teach English to Japanese students at the same language school and quickly become intimate friends.

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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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