Pick a fruit — pick a book! A selection of books from our shelves. Click through to find out more:
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17 April 2025
Mary and Pete are sorting things out. They are going to make the ‘big move’. Time to downsize, to choose low maintenance over steps one may tumble down. Mary knows Pete’s heart isn’t up to it. Pete knows Mary’s state of mind is tentative. So, no choice really. Or is there? Damien Wilkins’s Delirious is a spotlight on that thing that looms for all of us — old age. A novel on ageing and the problems this conjures, whether practical or philosophical, doesn’t sound very promising. Think again. Wilkins uses his exceptional craft as a writer, a sharp analysis of human behaviour, and an observant eye to bring us a thoughtful novel. One rich in emotion, without being cloying. In these pages are grief and loss: for Mary a phone call triggers a trauma from the past — a trauma which neither she nor Pete have fully resolved. Here is Mary, ex-cop, unsure how to proceed. Here is Pete, ex-librarian, searching for the right words. This is a novel with a heart that beats and not all the beats are the same. Take Pete’s mother. In dementia, Margaret finds an escape, of sorts. An escape from her overbearing husband and from conformity. Her mind’s slippage is both frightening and hilarious.
Mary and Pete are the every-people: people you know and maybe who you are. They are what we might call average. Mary’s a bit more aloof than Pete. Pete’s keen on helping out. The community that revolves around them, friends, family, colleagues and neighbours are all set up a little by Wilkins. Delirious takes a gentle poke at our society, and a less subtle, but delightfully funny, dig at ‘the village’. From Mary’s ex-boss perfecting his bowling, to the snide comments of the narrow-minded, to the heat-pump “we will never have one of those”, to the new but not quite right interior decor, there is something about the retirement village that doesn’t encourage the couple to unpack their boxes. What they don’t say — especially to each other — and don’t do underscores much of the novel. Then something changes. Mary and Pete will make the big move, but not the one you or they expected.
Delirious is by turns sad and funny. It’s profoundly honest about ageing and caring for others in illness, and all the dilemmas this poses, yet cleverly balances this poignancy with sly satire. Up for the big prize — The Acorn* — it’s a worthy contender and in very good company. A village of books waiting for judgement day.
* The Jann Medlicott Acorn Prize for Fiction will be announced May 14th at the Ockham Book Awards. Read the shortlist now!
Capture a moment — capture a book. A selection of books from our shelves. Click through to find out more:
Tara Selter has slipped out of time. Every morning, she wakes up to the 18th of November. She no longer expects to wake up to the 19th of November, and she no longer remembers the 17th of November as if it were yesterday. She comes to know the shape of the day like the back of her hand — the grey morning light in her Paris hotel; the moment a blackbird breaks into song; her husband’s surprise at seeing her return home unannounced. But for everyone around her, this day is lived for the first and only time. They do not remember the other 18ths of November, and they do not believe her when she tries to explain. As Tara approaches her 365th 18th of November, she can’t shake the feeling that somewhere underneath the surface of this day, there’s a way to escape.
“The first volume's gravitational pull — a force inverse to its constriction — has the effect of a strong tranquiliser, but a drug under which your powers of observation only grow sharper and more acute. Give in to the book's logic (its minute movements, its thrilling shifts, its slant wit, its slowing of time) and its spell is utterly intoxicating.”
“On the Calculation of Volume I takes a potentially familiar narrative trope — a protagonist inexplicably stuck in the same day — and transforms it into a profound meditation on love, connectedness and what it means to exist, to want to be alive, to need to share one’s time with others. The sheer quality of the sentences was what struck us most, rendered into English with deft, invisible musicality by the translator. This book presses its mood, its singular time signature and its philosophical depth into the reader. You feel you are in it, which is sometimes unnerving, sometimes soothing, and this effect lingers long after the book is finished.” —International Booker Prize judges’ citation
An essay is at once a wound and an act of piercing. An essay is not only about (‘about’) its subject but also, whether the writer is aware of this or not, about (‘about’) writing about the subject (and also, by extension, about (‘about’) reading about the subject (although Brian Dillon in his excellent and thoughtful book Essayism is interested primarily the writing of essays (or rather in what he terms ‘essayism’: “not the practice of the form but an attitude to the form — to its spirit of adventure and unfinished nature — and towards much else. Essayism is tentative and hypothetical, and yet it is also a habit of thinking, writing and living that has definite boundaries.” (note here, incidentally, the introduction of the subject of this review within (closer to the surface, though, than this observation) two levels of parentheses)))). An essay is a transparent barrier, a means of focus at once providing intimacy with and distance from its subject, or, better metaphor (if any metaphor can be better than another (and better by what criteria, we might ask (though that is another matter))), an essay is a stick at once both joining and separating the writer and the subject, a tool by which the writer can lever weight upon the subject, which, although never able to be wrenched free from its context (what we might call the hypersubject), a context innately amorphous, unwieldable and inconceivable, provides a point of leverage from which the writer may rearrange the disposition of that grab-bag (or “immense aggregate” (William Gass)) of feelings, thoughts and impressions that is, out of convenience and little more, referred to as the self. To write is to continually and simultaneously pull apart and remake the ‘I’ that writes. An essay is, in Dillon’s words, “a combination of exactitude and evasion,” an eschewing of the compulsion for, or the belief in the possibility of, completion or absolutism, an affirming instead of the fragmentary, the transitory, the subjective. The operating principle of the essay is style, the advancing of the text “through the simultaneous struggle and agreement between fragments,” the production of “spines or quills whose owner evades and attacks at the same time.” Style is the application of form to content, or, rather, form results from the application of style to content. Style can be applied to any subject with equivalent results. Essayism is an essay about essays, or a set of essays about essays, about the reading and, more devotedly, the writing of essays, about the approaches to, reasons for and functions of essays. Dillon especially examines the connection, for him at least, between the essay and depression: “Writing had become a matter of distracting myself from the urge to destroy myself” (even though “away from my desk it was possible to suppress or ignore the sense of onrushing disaster” (suggesting perhaps that it was only writing itself that presents the void from which it must then rescue the writer (always at the risk of failure))). Is the essay a cure or palliative for depression, or a contributor to, or ‘styler’ of, depression? “What if the ruinous and rescuing affinity between depression and the essay is what got you into this predicament in the first place? Will a description of how you made your way along the dry riverbeds of prose and self-pity provide any clues as to how to get out of the gulch again? How to connect once more, if in fact you have ever really known it, with the main stream of human experience? Such questions seem too large, too embarrassing even — though they have never been too grand for the essay. Or they may seem too small, too personal. Same answer.” As the best essays do, Essayism provides understanding without answers and leaves the reader with a habit of thinking, writing and living which will help them to ask just the sorts of unanswerable questions about their own experience, so to call it, that will increase both their intimacy with and detachment from it.
These books are all keen to sit on the top of your reading pile. Which will you choose? We can dispatch your books by overnight courier or have them ready to collect from our door.
Phantom Limb by Chris Koehler $45
One evening, Gillis — a young Scottish minister who technically doesn't believe in god — falls into a hole left by a recently dug up elm tree and discovers an ancient disembodied hand in the soil. He's about to rebury it when the hand beckons to him. He spirits it back to his manse and gives it pen and paper, whereupon it begins to doodle scratchy and anarchic visions. Somewhere, in the hand's deep history, there lies a story of the Scottish reformation, of art and violence, and of its owner long since dead. But for Gillis, there lies only opportunity: to reinvent himself as a prophet, proclaim the hand a miracle and use it for reasons both sacred and profane: to impress his ex-girlfriend, and to lead himself and his country out of inertia and into a dynamic, glorious future. [Hardback]
”Thrillingly unfettered. Phantom Limb is its own kind of miraculous relic: disturbing and mesmerising, the work of a writer possessed of a rare power and vision.” —Daily Telegraph
”At once playful and deeply moving, ancient and shockingly new, Phantom Limb is a tremendous read: full of wisdom, madness, kindness and action. You won't read anything quite like it.” —Aidan Cottrell-Boyce
The Ways of Paradise: Notes from a lost manuscript by Peter Cornell (translated from Swedish by Saskia Vogel) $28
A book at the intersection of fiction and essay, on the connections between art, literature, spirituality and the occult through history. In his foreword, Peter Cornell presents this so-called found manuscript as the work of a now-deceased, obscure researcher who spent three decades in the National Library of Sweden working on his magnum opus. Upon his death, no trace of this work remains aside from this set of footnotes notes and fragments which form an enigmatic set of texts. Ranging from the Crusades to Ruskin, Freud to surrealism, cubism, automatic writing, Duchamp, the Manhattan Project, Pollock and Smithson, this cult book, first published in Sweden in 1987, is now translated into English for the first time. [Paperback with French flaps]
”Like a collision between the fantastical libraries of Borges, David Markson’s art obsessed micronarratives and Iain Sinclair’s occult strain of psychogeography. The Ways of Paradise is a labyrinth I never wanted to escape.” —Chris Power
”Who could have imagined that a set of imaginary orphaned footnotes could yield so much pleasure and fascination? More than a study of the labyrinth motif, The Ways of Paradise is itself a labyrinth, an apparently slim volume pulsing with infinite, overlapping worlds, an intricate meditation on the abysses of reality and illusion.” —Joshua Cohen
”The Ways of Paradise is the story of a lost manuscript and the labyrinth of enigmas through which its obscure author wandered, a book that pleasurably situates the reader at the centre of the idea of fiction, a place of everything and nothing from which ever-widening circles of mystery and meaning spread out.” —David Hayden
”Just as any person tracking a spiral or walking a labyrinth will find their sense of space and time collapsed, viewing moments in the past and future of their journey from vividly altered perspectives as they make their way, so the reader of this remarkable ‘manuscript’ will be similarly enlightened. Open, allusive, constantly expanding its appreciation of the covert relations between culture and history, place and belief, The Ways of Paradise embodies its own utopian premise. Assembled with a lightness of touch and a precision in detail, profound in its accumulative insights, it understands that any book aspiring to the fullest incarnation of its potential remains in process more than it offers an arrival. No longer are fragments deployed only formally; rather they serve as waymarkers on a quest passage to the interior, the final labyrinth of human imagination, and the mind’s own mysterious corridors. The spaces between entries are where the doors to this charged site lie. Each traveller will find their own entrance, and each will surely be entranced.’ —Gareth Evans
Mark Adams: A survey — He kohinga whakaahu by Sarah Farrar $80
Photographer Mark Adams is known for his focus on Samoan tatau, Māori–Pākehā interactions in Rotorua, carved meeting houses, locations of significance for Ngāi Tahu in Te Waipounamu, and Captain James Cook’s landing sites reflect his deep engagement with our postcolonial and Pacific histories. This first-ever comprehensive survey of his work honours one of our most distinguished — and continually compelling — photographers. It includes photographs taken across the Pacific, the United Kingdom and Europe that explore the migration of artistic and cultural practices across the globe, and examine the role of museums, and photography itself, in this dynamic and ongoing cross-cultural exchange. [Hardback]
Being, Seeing, Making, Thinking: 50 Years of the Chartwell Project edited by Sue Gardiner and Megan Shaw $50
Since its establishment in 1974, Chartwell has championed the importance of creative visual thinking, shaping an expansive collection of contemporary art and an enduring programme of philanthropic and educational support. Illustrating over 150 images from the Chartwell Collection, the book features new writing on 50 selected artworks from New Zealand, Australia and further afield as well as rarely seen archival images of artists and exhibitions. The book offers unprecedented insight into the art, artists and remarkable story and philosophy of The Chartwell Project. Featuring a preface by Chartwell’s founder, Rob Gardiner, an essay by Chartwell’s chair, Sue Gardiner, a Timeline by co-editor Megan Shaw and 50 accompanying texts on artworks, this landmark book offers unprecedented insight into the art, artists and remarkable story and philosophy of the Chartwell Project. [Flexibound]
Groundwork: The art and writing of Emily Cumming Harris by Michele Leggott and Catherine Field-Dodgson $60
Part inspired creative endeavour and part determined detective work, this long overdue book brings to light one of New Zealand's most significant botanical artists of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Just as Emily Harris's beautiful paintings occupy a liminal space between scientific botanical illustration and art, so this book occupies a shifting ground between biography and imagineered monograph. The result is often moving and always intriguing. Importantly, it restores to Aotearoa art history a figure who had almost disappeared. Emily Harris has been examined alongside her artist peers Sarah Featon and Georgina Hetley, but until this book neither her distinctive voice nor her almost 200 surviving images have been heard or seen in any quantity outside of archival or online spaces. Her life story is remarkable and her diaries, letters, poems and paintings constitute a fascinating legacy. Harris was born in England in 1837 and dies in Nelson in 1925. [Hardback]
Shade and Breeze by Quynh Tran (translated from Swedish by Kira Josefsson) $45
Má dreams of wealth and grandeur, Hieu dreams of Finnish girls. The younger brother, always on the periphery, always an observer, gradually disappears into his schoolwork, mesmerised by his own intellect. The three of them form a solitary world in a small Ostrobothnian town on the west coast of Finland. Má and Hieu, constantly on a collision course with each other and the community’s suffocating social codes. They live among people who want to talk openly about everything, who don’t understand the necessity of sometimes remaining in the shade. In sensitive and transfixing prose that has the effect of a series of tableaux, and with chapter headings reminiscent of the intertitles in a silent film, Tran’s multi-award-winning debut is a moving story about love, the compulsion to create, and the meaning of family. [Paperback]
”A magic voice. Working with the coming-of-age in a smalltown narrative, Quynh Tran creates a world completely of its own kind, a story of belonging and estrangement, and of the refugee experience. In a sensual, dreamy prose, still so very real, with an authority reminiscent of Ocean Vuong’s On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous, Tran has written a first novel that shines like a precious gem.” —Monika Fagerholm
”A perceptive debut, where the significant events are intentionally placed in the background, in line with the family’s wishes. Not everything should be discussed, claims the mother whose anger instead turns into a physical condition — a slap here and there. Nobody is capable of seeing how their actions cause a ripple effect, how human darkness is passed down through generations. In different ways, the family members try to find a mutual place where they can love one another. This makes Shade and Breeze a complex, delicate, and wistful debut. It deserves to be pulled into the light.” —Sydsvenskan
The Jade Cabinet by Rikki Ducornet $33
Made speechless by her eccentric father, the beautiful Etheria is traded for a piece of precious jade. Memory, her sister, tells her story, that of a childhood enlivened by Lewis Carroll and an orangutan named Dr. Johnson and envenomed by the pernicious courtship of Radulph Tubbs, Queen Victoria's own Dragon of Industry. The novel travels from Oxford to Egypt where one million ibis mummies wait to be transformed into fertiliser, where Baconfield the architect will cause a pyramid to collapse, and where a scorned and bloated hunger artist who speaks in tongues will plot a bloody revenge. Jade Cabinet is both a riveting novel and a reflection on the nature of memory and desire, language and power. [Paperback]
The History of Medicine in Twelve Objects by Carol Cooper $45
THE TREPHINE, THE BONE SAW, THE MASK. THE MICROSCOPE. THE STETHOSCOPE. THE ETHER INHALER, THE HYPODERMIC SYRINGE, THE OBSTETRIC FORCEPS, THE X -RAY MACHINE, THE E.C.T. MACHINE, THE HIP PROSTHESIS, THE HEART-LUNG MACHINE. Over the course of centuries, the ways in which doctors have engaged with sickness has changed drastically, and so too have the tools at their disposal. The history of these medical tools is truly astounding, revealing the true extent of human ingenuity, curiosity, and compassion. [Hardback]
The Companion to Volcanology by Brent Kininmont $25
The Companion to Volcanology is not a field guide to volcanoes. But tectonic shifts are present in Brent Kininmont's second book of poetry, and so are companions. The child, for instance, carried up a mountain in the titular opening poem, and companions alive to the brevity of their time together. Kininmont, who grew up in Aotearoa, has lived in Japan for many years, and so these poems are of a life between two places and of the body in anxious or joyful motion. [Paperback]
”Kininmont’s terrific second book has that sense of lived experience finding forms which release thought and feeling. I read it in one go as a kind of interrupted story.” —Damien Wilkins
”Luminous, surprising, inventive, original.” —Paula Green
Umai: Recipes from a Japanese Home Kitchen by Millie Tsukagoshi Lagares $65
In this beautiful book, you have precision alongside the simple and relaxed. Discover unfussy lunch dishes and favorite family meals. Find recipes that are a joy to make together and to share. Millie Tsukagoshi Lagares guides you through her home kitchen and out onto the streets to experience food is both serene and exhilarating. From dumplings to fungi to matcha cookies, you will find accessible recipes that will delight and sooth in the making and the eating. [Hardback]
”A vibrant exploration of Japanese cuisine with beautiful writing and exciting recipes to nourish the soul.” —Ixta Belfrage
Caret by Adam Mars-Jones $30
”We make lazy assumptions about the centre of things and its location. Who's to say that the centre of things isn't in a corner, way over there?”; “People in authority are always saying you should know your rights, though I've noticed they don't much enjoy it when you do.”; “Nobody can be a person twenty-fours hours a day - it just can't be done. At night the sets dissolve and the performance falls away... We're off the books.” That's John Cromer talking, in this fresh instalment of his lifelong saga. For John, embarking on a new stage of life in 1970s Cambridge, charm and wit aren't just assets, they are survival skills. It may be a case of John against the world. If so, don't be in too much of a hurry to bet on the world. Conjuring a remarkable voice and mind, Caret is a feast of a novel, served on a succession of small plates, each portion providing an adult's daily intake of literary nourishment. Reading it is guaranteed to help you work, rest and play. [Paperback]
”Thank god for John Cromer and his creator Adam Mars-Jones, one of the funniest, most self-aware characters in English fiction, whose minute observations on everything from constipation to lust are a source of unexpected delight.” —Linda Grant
”Mars-Jones is building a facsimile of existence; a map with a scale that seems, when you’re reading it, to be closing on 1:1. It’s an inordinately bold technique, but in the end it succeeds: it feels, as we follow the seemingly endless meander of Cromer’s thoughts, that we’re not so much reading a story, as living in one.” —The Guardian
God and the Devil: The life and work of Ingmar Bergman by Peter Cowie $40
A chronicle of the life and career of one of film's defining figures, God and the Devil draws on exclusive extracts from Bergman's diaries, letters and production workbooks. Peter Cowie brings us close to the man and the artist, as he wrestled with themes of love, sex and betrayal — with the figure of Death always hovering overhead. [Now in paperback]
"A commanding portrait: one that consistently ties events in his life to specific scenes, themes and locations in his movies. Having met Bergman in 1969 and corresponded with him until 1995, veteran film author Peter Cowie is able to channel first-hand knowledge of Bergman into a book that's respectful without being overly reverential." —Matt Looker, Total Film
"Indispensable, rich, engaging, thorough." —Sight & Sound
Munichs by David Peace $40
February 6, 1958, British European Airways Flight 609 crashed on take-off at Munich Airport. On board were the young Manchester United team, 'the Busby Babes', and the journalists who followed them. Twenty-one of the passengers died instantly, four were left fighting for their lives while six more were critically injured. Twenty-four hours later, Jimmy Murphy, the assistant manager of Manchester United, faced the press at the Rechts der Isar Hospital: 'What of the future, you ask? It will be a long, hard struggle. It took Matt Busby, Bert Whalley and myself twelve years to produce the 1958 Red Devils. It was long, hard, tiring work, but we succeeded. At the moment, I am so confused, so tired and so sad, I cannot think clearly, but what I do know is that the Red Devils will rise again.' Munichs is the story of how Manchester United rose again, of the crash and its aftermath, of those who survived and those who did not, of how Britain and football changed, and how it did not; a novel of tragedy, but also of hope. [Paperback]
”Peace writes the boldest and most original British fiction of his generation.” —Richard Lloyd Parry, The New York Times
Pearl: A graphic novel by Sherrie Smith and Christine Norrie $21
”We are in Japan in the 1940s with Amy, a 13-year-old Japanese American girl born in Hawaii, sent to visit her ailing great-grandmother. After Pearl Harbour is bombed Amy is stuck in Japan, where she is conscripted by the military to be a Monitor Girl listening in and translating U.S. radio messages. The other story thread is the one her great-grandmother tells her: the Japanese annexation of the Ryukyu Kingdom in Okinawa in 1879. Both are stories of survival and hope, and for Amy, identity, the conflict of being both Japanese and American. Christine Norrie’s illustrations capture the confusion and emotion of the situation, and the sharp singular colour palette has great impact.” —Stella
Crack-Up Capitalism: Market radicals and the dream of a world without democracy by Quinn Slobodian $30
An important book right now, showing how capitalist extremists profit from the collapse of the democratic nation. Look at a map of the world and you'll see a neat patchwork of nation-states. But this is not where power actually resides. From the 1990s onwards, globalisation has shattered the map, leading to an explosion of new legal entities — tax havens, free ports, gated enclaves and special economic zones. These spaces are freed from ordinary forms of regulation, taxation and mutual obligation — and with them, ultracapitalists believe that it is possible to escape the bonds of democratic government altogether. Slobodian follows the most notorious radical libertarians — from Milton Friedman to Peter Thiel — around the globe as they search for the perfect home for their free market fantasy. The hunt leads from Hong Kong in the 1970s to South Africa in the late days of apartheid, from the neo-Confederate South to the medieval City of London, charting the relentless quest for a blank slate where capitalism and democracy can be finally uncoupled. [Paperback]
Moderate to Poor, Occasionally Good by Eley Williams $35
Eley Williams returns with a thrilling collection of short stories exploring the nature of relationships both intimate and transient — from the easy gamesmanship of contagious yawns to the horror of a smile fixed for just a second too long. A courtroom sketch artist delights in committing portraits of their lover to paper but their need to capture likenesses forever is revealed to have darker, more complex intentions. A child's schoolyard crush on a saint marks a confrontation with the reality of a teenage body in flux. Elsewhere, an editor of canned laughter loses their confidence and seeks divine intervention, and an essayist annotates their thoughts on Keats by way of internet-gleaned sex tips. Moderate to Poor, Occasionally Good hums with fossicking language and ingenious experiments in form and considers notions of playfulness, authenticity and care as it holds relationships to account: their sweet misunderstandings, soured reflections, queer wish fulfilments and shared, held breaths. [Paperback]
”Stories that work from the inside out: glancing, intriguing.” —Guardian
”Erudite and audacious.” —Kieran Goddard
”Frequently brilliant and deeply pleasurable.” —Caoilinn Hughes
Windswept: Life, Nature and Deep Time in the Scottish Highlands by Annie Worsley $29
Annie Worsley traded a busy life in academia to take on a small-holding or croft on the west coast of Scotland. It is a land ruled by great elemental forces — light, wind and water — that hold sway over how land forms, where the sea sits and what grows. Windswept explores what it means to live in this rugged, awe-inspiring place of unquenchable spirit and wild weather. Walk with Worsley as she lays quartz stones in the river to reflect the moonlight and attract salmon, as she watches otters play tag across the beach, as she is awoken by the feral bellowing of stags. Travel back in time to the epic story of how Scotland’s valleys were carved by glaciers, rivers scythed paths through mountains, how the earliest people found a way of life in the Highlands — and how she then found a home there millennia later. [Paperback]
”Windswept is a wonderful work, prose-painted in bold, bright strokes like a Scottish Colourist's canvas. It is a story of learning to keep time differently, in one of the most spectacular landscapes in Britain. Annie Worsley has written a gorgeous almanac or year-book in which the minutes, hours and months are marked not by the tick of clock-hands but weather-fronts, bird migrations and plant-patterns of growth and decay.” —Robert Macfarlane
”A shaft of golden stormlight, a blast of pure Highland air, Windswept is an exhilarating account of life lived closer to the elements than most of us will ever have the chance to experience.” —Melissa Harrison
”I have read pages and pages of this wonderful book, swept away by its beauty and understanding, its chromatic brilliance, flickering and surging into colour at every turn, moulded to its mountains and all the subtleties of its winds and skies. Honestly it is a great, great book.” —Adam Nicolson
Fog Island by Tomi Ungerer $35
Two young siblings find themselves cast away on mysterious Fog Island. No one has ever returned from the island's murky shores, but when the children begin to explore, they discover things are not quite as they expected. Ungerer's captivating drawings evoke the eerie beauty and magic surrounding this timeless adventure. [Hardback]
Pop-Up Surrealism by Gérard Lo Monaco $454
In this magical book, pop-up engineer Gérard Lo Monaco brings to life eight works of art by leading surrealists: Salvador Dalí, Victor Brauner, Jean Arp, Man Ray, Joseph Cornell, Dora Maar, René Magritte and André Breton. Short texts introduce each work and its historical context, while hand-painted illustrations bring a new dimension to this revolutionary period in modern art. [Hardback]
Read our latest newsletter. Find out about the International Booker Prize short list; about new cooksbooks; and about some graphic novels for young people. Find out what we’ve been reading and recommending. Take one last ride on the People’s Carousel.
11 April 2025
If you haven’t come across Maira Kalman’s work, you’re in for a treat. These seemingly ‘nice’ paintings are loaded with meanings, and double meanings, with irreverence and wit. They can also be morose or mundane, profound and sorrowful; Kalman’s wry humour keeping the darkest emotions at bay. They capture the full gamut of human life and interactions. And within all these complex emotions that Kalman’s picture and text publications provoke, there is a remarkable lightness which is exhilarating, making her books the ones you want to keep close. In Still Life With Remorse: Family Stories Kalman unpicks her own and other family histories. Here are the famous, mercilessly poked at. The Tolstoys’ disfunction, Chekov’s misery, Kafka and Mahler both bilious driven by regret (and family) to create, and here is Cicero regretting everything. But these are mere interludes, along with the musical intervals, to the stories at the heart of this collection of writings and paintings. Here are the empty chairs, the tablecloths, the people gathered, the hallway, the death bed, the flowers in vases and the fruit in bowls, all triggering a memory, all resting not so quietly. Here are the parents, the uncle, the sister. Here is the aging, the forgetting and the not forgiving. Stepping back to the Holocaust, to Tel Aviv, to those that left and to those that were erased. Here are the choices and the impossible sitting around the room still living. Walking through one door and into another place, remorse following. Despite it all, there is a way to step out of one’s shoes and walk free. Still Life With Remorse is, in spite of itself, life, that is, merriment.
Whether you are looking for new ways to cook with staples like potatoes and cabbage, wanting to expand your pantry with ingredients like dried lime, or ready to travel through food to explore new culinary delights, there will be something here to enliven your taste buds, and warm your Autumn days.
Travel across Eastern Europe with some humble vegetables. In Kapusta, Alissa Timoshkina celebrates five key vegetables — cabbage, beetroot, potato, carrot and mushrooms. This is cooking that has affordability, seasonality, sustainability and, above all, great flavor at its heart. The cabbage that stays in the back of the fridge will come to the fore, and new recipes for potatoes are always popular, while the colour and earthy flavours of beetroot can set off any dish. Add in a chapter on pickles and ferments and a dive into dumplings you’ll be well immersed in culinary joys of Eastern Europe.
Maryam Jillani started a food blog in 2017 to highlight the diverse cuisine of Pakistan. Sharing borders with Afghanistan, China, India, and Iran, and a history of migration and trade has ensured an exciting cuisine — abundant in spices with a variety of ingredients and cooking techniques. From home cooking to restaurants and the pleasure of the street stand, Jillani explores the regions from the coast to the highlands giving us a comprehensive survey of Pakistan’s food as well as wonderful story-telling. Packed with recipes from pantry staples to snacks and breads, vegetable, fish and meat dishes, as well as sweets and drinks, this one will fill a gap on your shelves.
"This is the Pakistani cookbook I've been waiting for! A mouthwatering celebration of a beautiful country. These recipes and stories will warm your heart." —Yasmin Khan, author of Zaitoun, Ripe Figs, and The Saffron Tales
If the name Noor Murad sounds familiar, that’s because she’s been involved with the Ottolenghi kitchen and contributed to the ‘Test Kitchen’ books, as well as Flavour and Falastin. In Lugma she draws on her Bahrani family heritage as well as influences from the wider Levantine cooking pot. Bold in flavours, with innovative recipes Noor blends comfort home cooking with fresh ideas perfectly. Here you will find black limes, elaborate rice dishes, abundant herbs, as well as the delights of sour and sweet.
"I adore this book. It's personal, beautifully written — Noor's voice draws you in and holds you there — and the recipes are absolutely glorious." — Diana Henry
In this new Phaidon classic be immersed in the warmth and beauty of the Balearic Islands. Classic Mediterrean ingredients — olive oil, fish, seafood, garlic, tomatoes — combine with practices and recipes passed down through generations. Koehler delves into the food traditions, local markets, and rich cultural history of Mallorca, Menorca, Ibiza, and Formentera. The result is a cookbook packed with information and over 150 recipes for pleasurable home cooking and eating.
In Pranzo Guy Mirabella delves into his Sicilian heritage. Here you will find the gusto of Italian pastas and sauces, alongside herbs and spices, and ingredients like kolhrabi and prickly pear.
Seasonal and sumptuous, Mirabella conveys his zest for food, art, and life in the pages of Pranzo. Designed with a playful eye, the book is a treat and the recipes infused with nourishment and pleasure.
In Umai: Recipes from a Japanese Home Kitchen you have precision alongside the simple and relaxed. Discover unfussy lunch dishes and favorite family meals. Find recipes that are a joy to make together and to share. Millie Tsukagoshi Lagares guides you through her home kitchen and out onto the streets to experience food is both serene and exhilarating.
From dumplings to fungi to matcha cookies, you will find accessible recipes that will delight and sooth in the making and the eating.
”A vibrant exploration of Japanese cuisine with beautiful writing and exciting recipes to nourish the soul.” —Ixta Belfrage
It got so that he could no longer listen to music. He had used to enjoy listening to music but suddenly or gradually it had become intolerable. He could not bear the repetitions of the small and large segments of music while he was listening to it, and what more was music than repetitions of small and large segments of itself, and he could not bear that the music repeated itself endlessly in his head after had listened to it, or, really, after just hearing it without even listening to it: every snatch became an öhrwurm burrowing into him for days. He could not bear even a few bars of music that he knew, because those few bars, that snatch, that hook, drew up the whole of the intolerable music to torment him, and he could not bear music that he did not know as each new bar struck him as inevitable and he always had the dreadful feeling that he had heard and suffered from this music before, or, rather, that his hearing and suffering from this music, whether he had heard it before or not, was a hearing and suffering that stretched into eternity in both or all directions. Of course, it was not only music that he could no longer tolerate: any kind of stimulation of his senses and any kind of self-replicating thought plunged him into the deepest suffering. He could not decide whether to call this suffering imagery repetition syndrome or dysphoric recognition syndrome, for he always felt compelled to nullify his experiences with words, but these terms, once he had thought of them, just repeated themselves in his mind and became examples of the phenomenon that they were a weak attempt to describe. Desperate and weak. He was almost at the point that he could not bear to perform the necessary but necessarily repetitive actions that allowed him to function in the world, or what passed as functioning in his case; he could not bear this constant daily getting up, moving about and eventually going to bed at last, each day the same or each day the same with pathetic little variations that merely reinforced the inescapability of the repetition of the whole, the rolling inevitability of the day. He had not yet tired of going to bed. All he wanted to do was turn his brain off. If he was an insomniac he would not last a week, he thought. Now, though, he thought, that I have thought that thought I will probably lie in bed tonight thinking about how intolerable my imagery repetition syndrome or dysphoric recognition syndrome would be if I was an insomniac and could not turn my brain off, and I will probably think this insomniac thought over and over until I become an insomniac by this repeated thought; thinking about not being an insomniac will make me into an insomniac, he thought. I will not last the week. In Solvej Balle’s seven-volume novel The Calculation of Volume (five volumes of which have been written and published in Danish and two so far in English translation by Barbara Haveland), the narrator finds herself endlessly repeating the eighteenth of November, or, rather the eighteenth of November endlessly repeats itself and she seems to be the only person not caught up in this repetition. Is time somehow caught in a loop, and if so why is she aware of this loop, both trapped in it and outside it, fractured from the endlessly repeating matrix of stopped time; or are all moments in fact like this, is there nothing but an infinite set of static and unpassing moments through which our consciousness shoots itself like a rocket, breaking through each day into a new day, a new set of moments strung together merely on our awareness of them, in which case why can’t the narrator move on, what is it that brings her back to restart each day as the same eighteenth of November? She returns home (she has been away). She hides in her house in a room that her husband does not go into that day. She observes her husband, she observes her garden and the weather, she soon knows exactly when the house will creak, a bird will sing, a car will pass: it is the same each day; each day is the same day. She observes and observes and the scale of her observation alters: the infraordinary bristles with significance but significance amounts to nothing in the end. Everything is reset. The narrator tries making contact with her husband but eventually tires of explaining the situation anew every day: he cannot remember what she told him on the previous iteration of this one repeating day. Without memory there is no time. There is no companionship in the narrator’s husband. Only the narrator experiences a progression of time, only she is moving on though only she is aware that nothing else moves on so, maybe, actually, she is the only one who does not move on. What the narrator consumes is not replenished. Everything else is replenished. What the narrator does is not undone. Everything else is undone. She wonders, what is a person’s impact on the world? She wonders, how much experience can you squeeze from or into a single day without losing your capacity for experience? We wonder, when is even a single day too much? Even though his imagery repetition syndrome or dysphoric recognition syndrome was beginning to make every aspect of his life intolerable, every aspect that is except the relinquishment of consciousness that presents itself as sleep, for some reason his imagery repetition syndrome or dysphoric recognition syndrome was not aggravated by reading On the Calculation of Volume, in fact it was slightly emolliated, if that is the word, his imagery repetition syndrome or dysphoric recognition syndrome was soothed a little by an account of total repetition, although perhaps it was not an account of total repetition but an account of liberation from and within the context of total repetition, which might, he thought, be helpful to him in his imagery repetition syndrome or dysphoric recognition syndrome and its accelerating terrifying approach to total repetition, an approach that could soon make life intolerable. Too much hangs on this, but he was ready, he thought, to read Volume 2.
Graphic novels are an excellent way not only into books for children, but also into social issues and history. With excellent illustrations and styles of drawing to please a variety of tastes, we are always on the lookout at VOLUME for graphic novels that will engage young people in the world, in narrative, and in the wonder of the written word and art on the page.
Here’s a selection of recent titles to pique your curiosity:
Song of a Blackbird, from Dutch author and illustrator Maria van Lieshout, is a skillfully told story of famlly history, the trials of surviving World War II in Europe, and an emotional journey for a young woman trying to help her Oma. Armed with only a few photographs of buildings in Amsterdam, Annick (in 2011) must unpick the mystery of her Oma’s childhood to save her life. A two-handed story, the other strand of this story is set in wartime Holland. It’s 1943 and everything is changing for Emma as she embarks on a dangerous mission right under the noses of the Nazi soldiers. Song of a Blackbird has striking two-tone illustrations with splashes of colour complemented by black-and-white historic photographs. This is a powerful story of courage, compassion and resistance.
Taking another episode from history is Pearl by Sherri L. Smith and Christine Norrie — another dual-time novel. This time we are in Japan in the 1940s with Amy, a Japanese American girl born in Hawaii, sent to visit her ailing great-grandmother. After Pearl Harbour is bombed Amy is stuck in Japan, where she is conscripted by the military to be a Monitor Girl listening in and translating U.S. radio messages. The other story thread is the one her great-grandmother tells her: the Japanese annexation of the Ryukyu Kingdom in Okinawa in 1879. Both are stories of survival and hope, and for Amy, identity, the conflict of being both Japanese and American. Christine Norrie’s illustrations capture the confusion and emotion of the situation, and the sharp singular colour palette has great impact.
Young Hag is another wonderful publication from the pen and wit of Isabel Greenberg. This delightful coming-of-age story takes us into history, into the drama of Arthurian legend. Here we will encounter tales of tales of Merlin, the Lady of the Lake, King Arthur, Morgan le Fay, and Lancelot. Here there is a changeling that needs returning to the Otherworld. The Ancient Crone has left a door open. The magic is leaking through. Young Hag, one of the last real witches in Britain, must find her magic to reverse a wrong. But can she do it? With glorious illustrations, an irrepressible heroine, and a wonderful feminist retelling of Arthurian legends, who could resist this book?
Pick a book and watch it bloom. A selection of books from our shelves. Click through to find out more:
Florilegium: The Book of Plants.
NORTHBOUND: Four Seasons of Solitude on Te Araroa. Walking from Bluff, at the southern tip of the South Island, to Cape Reinga, at the northern tip of the North Island, award-winning journalist, and author of Southern Nights, Naomi Arnold spent nearly nine months following Te Araroa, fulfilling a 20-year dream. Alone, she traversed mountains, rivers, cities and plains from summer to spring, walking on through days of thick mud, blazing sun, lightning storms, and cold, starlit nights. Along the way she encountered colourful locals and travellers who delight and inspire her. This is an upbeat, fascinating, and inspiring memoir of the joys and pains found in the wilderness, solitude, friendship, and love. Signed copies available while stock lasts.
The International Booker Prize celebrates works of long-form fiction or collections of short stories translated into English. You will find all of these books very well written and translated, deeply interesting, and satisfyingly horizon-broadening.
Read what the judges have to say about each of this year’s short-listed books and then click through to our website to secure your copies. We can dispatch your books by overnight courier or have them ready to collect from our door.
A Leopard-Skin Hat by Anne Serre, translated from French by Mark Hutchinson
What the judges said: ”Anne Serre’s short novel is the deeply romantic telling of a platonic love story between the narrator and his complicated childhood friend, Fanny; a story so beautifully realised — and translated so sensitively by Mark Hutchinson — that the pair become part of the life of the reader. A perfectly balanced book, slender in size but bearing significant weight all the way through, A Leopard-Skin Hat is testament to the ways in which we continue to hold the people we love in our memories, with respect and dignity, after they die.”
On the Calculation of Volume: I by Solvej Balle, translated from Danish by Barbara J. Haveland
What the judges said: “On the Calculation of Volume I takes a potentially familiar narrative trope — a protagonist inexplicably stuck in the same day — and transforms it into a profound meditation on love, connectedness and what it means to exist, to want to be alive, to need to share one’s time with others. The sheer quality of the sentences was what struck us most, rendered into English with deft, invisible musicality by the translator. This book presses its mood, its singular time signature and its philosophical depth into the reader. You feel you are in it, which is sometimes unnerving, sometimes soothing, and this effect lingers long after the book is finished.
Under the Eye of the Big Bird by Hiromi Kawakami, translated from Japanese by Asa Yoneda
What the judges said: “Hiromi Kawakami’s Under the Eye of the Big Bird tells the story of humanity’s evolution on an epic scale that spans as far into the future as the human imagination could possibly allow. In each of its chapters, separated by eons but gracefully unified under the crystalline clarity of Asa Yoneda’s seemingly timeless translation, a variegated cast of posthuman characters each interrogate what it means to be not an individual or a nation but an entire species, that unit of being we currently and urgently struggle so much to grasp, much to the cost to the planet we live on and our own survival.”
Perfection by Vincenzo Latronico, translated from Italian by Sophie Hughes
What the judges said: “An astute, discomfiting, cringe-making and often laugh-out-loud funny portrait of everyday privilege and modern aspirations, following an expat couple in Berlin. Tom and Anna are defined by their material lives, working their way through a tick-list of clichés readers will recognise in themselves and experience as a dig in the ribs. Compassionate as well as cynical, the book – in an exquisite, precise and perfectly executed translation from Italian by Sophie Hughes – holds up a mirror up to the way so many people aspire to and are let down by today’s off-the-shelf measures of success. A startlingly refreshing read.”
Small Boat by Vincent Delecroix, translated from French by Helen Stevenson
What the judges said: “Following the disastrous deaths of 27 people, when a dinghy capsises while crossing the Channel, the book’s narrator — who works for the French authorities and who had refused to send a rescue team — attempts to justify the indefensible and clear her conscience. In a world where heinous actions often have no consequence, where humanity’s moral code appears fragile, where governments can condemn whole swathes of society to poverty or erasure, Small Boat explores the power of the individual and asks us to consider the havoc we may cause others, the extent to which our complacency makes us complicit — and whether we could all do better. A gut-punch of a novel.”
Heart Lamp by Banu Mushtaq, translated from Kannada by Deepa Bhasthi
What the judges said: ”In a dozen stories – written across three decades – Banu Mushtaq, a major voice within progressive Kannada literature – portrays the lives of those often on the periphery of society: girls and women in Muslim communities in southern India. These stories speak truth to power and slice through the fault lines of caste, class, and religion widespread in contemporary society, exposing the rot within: corruption, oppression, injustice, violence. Yet, at its heart, Heart Lamp returns us to the true, great pleasures of reading: solid storytelling, unforgettable characters, vivid dialogue, tensions simmering under the surface, and a surprise at each turn. Deceptively simple, these stories hold immense emotional, moral, and socio-political weight, urging us to dig deeper.”
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4 April 2025
“Art is always an overreaction,” writes Yoko Tawada in her lithe and compact novel Paul Celan and the Trans-Tibetan Angel (translated from German by Susan Bernofsky); this statement being in itself an overstatement, as all statements are overstatements. Did we not learn at school, he pondered, that every overreaction provokes an equal and opposite overreaction, that the impact of each overstatement causes another overstatement to leap out at the end of the line, and so forth back and forth until the Newton’s cradle of the mind is finally still if it ever can be still. Does any movement towards certainty destroy the very certainty towards which it moves? Is that for which we reach inevitably destroyed by the reaching? This is no way to start a review, he thought; in his search for clarity he has produced a wash of vague sensations barely distinguishable from life itself, so to call it, a fractality of precisions more complicated than disorder; what is literature for, after all, if not to make life more wieldable, or our thinking about it more wieldable at least? No such luck. If the words for things can be used as substitutes for things, they are subject to linguistic forces and relations to which the things themselves are not subject. There’s an illness in all of this, a linguistic illness, or an illness of consciousness, that blurs, ultimately, or penultimately, or by something preceding the penultimate by one or several or many steps, the distinctions between words and their objects and between words and other words, a blurring that allows for or entails the febrile reconfiguration of language into new forms, he was going to write new and less useful forms, but the utility of language is no measure of its other functions (its other pathologies, he almost wrote). The narrator of Tawada’s novel refers to himself as ‘the patient’ and refers to himself in the third person (“third person is a form of salvation” (as we know)) and gives an account of the stayings-in and goings-out that are constrained by the vagaries of his illness and the vagaries of the illness of the world at large, if these are not one and the same: “The patient leaves the house as seldom as possible, and every time he is forced to go out, he first checks to see if the coast is clear. The coast is seldom clear, hardly ever.” If he ever does go out. He meets and befriends one Leo-Eric Fu, who shares with Patrik (Patrik is the name attached by others to the one who calls himself the patient; the patient's name as he approaches the collective world (plausibly a kind of healing (“A person who can continue to distance himself from home, one step farther each day, is no longer a patient.”))) a love and knowledge of the work of Paul Celan, a poet who made from German, a language broken by the trauma of hosting the Holocaust, a new language of beauty and possibility made entirely of the marked, traumatised and broken pieces of that language, and with whose work this novel is a form of conversation (please note that it is not necessary to the appreciation of the novel to be familiar with the other pole of that conversation, though the novel may lead a reader towards that pole). For the patient it is, we assume from the deliberately inconclusive evidence, the trauma of the Covid 19 pandemic that has broken language, either because of the collective circumstances in which he finds himself or also because he himself is actually in addition to metaphorically ill. I am not unfamiliar, he thought, as he attempted to continue with what was intended as a review but was suffering from an illness which made it both not really a review and very hard to sustain, with the linguistic deliria induced by fever, with the disintegrative and recombinatory compulsions that reveal something about language and are in fact structurally inherent in language but usually suppressed for reasons of utility or ‘health’. Any illness will remake language, given the chance to spread. In the delirium of the novel, the patient’s illness (“an autoimmune disorder of the mind”) attacks the distinctions between the binaries it posits: isolation/connection, illness/health, internal/external, uncertainty/comprehension, experience/identity; and attacks all borders generally: those between persons individually and those set between groups and nations. There are no contradictions. “People say I'm sick because I can simultaneously leave the house and stay home.” The forms of thought that gave rise to the illness, whatever it is, are broken and remade: “I prefer a not-yet-knowing or a no-longer-knowing to actual knowledge. These are the fields in which I'll find my role.” It is possible, even probable, he thought, that the entire book takes place within the patient’s head, if such a place exists (“What if Leo-Eric isn't really sitting here and this is all just taking place in my imagination?”), although, towards the end, the Patrik-impulse begins to gain a little ground from the patient-impulse, and the possibility that the idea of Patrik and also the ideas of Patrik could exist in the minds of others begins at last to emerge. Language, ravaged by trauma and isolation, begins to adopt new forms. Is this healing? Illness, we begin to see, is entangled in time: “The present is a constant deferment.”
I was beguiled initially by the cover of this book, then the title, then the recommendation by Megan Hunter (author of The End We Start From), and after that the description. Forty women in an underground bunker with no clear understanding of their captivity. Why are they there? What was their life before? And as the years pass, what purpose do the guards, or those who employ the guards, have for them? The narrator of this story is a young woman—captured as a very young child—who knows no past: her life is the bunker. The women she lives with tolerate her but have little to do with her and hardly converse with her. She is not one of them. They have murky memories of being wives, mothers, sisters, workers. They know something catastrophic happened but can not remember what. The Child (nameless) is seen as other, not like them, not from the same place as them. The Child has been passing the days and the years in acceptance, knowing nothing else, but her burgeoning sexuality and her awareness of life beyond the cage (she starts to watch the guards, one young man in particular), limited as it is to this stark underground environment, also triggers an awakeness. She begins to think, to wonder and ask questions. As she counts the time by listening to her heartbeats and wins the trust of a woman in the group, The Child’s observations, not clouded by memories, are pure and exacting. We, as readers, are no closer to understanding the dilemma the women find themselves in, and like them are mystified by the situation. Our view is only that of The Child and what she gleans from the women—their past lives that are words that have little meaning to her, whether that is nature (a flower), culture (music) or social structures (work, relationships)—this world known as Earth is a foreign landscape to her. When the sirens go off one day, the guards abandon their positions and leave. Fortunately for the women, this happens just as they have opened the hatch for food delivery. The young woman climbs through and retrieves a set of keys that have been dropped in the panic. The women are free, but what awaits them is in many ways is another prison. Following the steps to the surface takes them to a barren plain with nothing else in sight. What is this place? Is it Earth? And where are the other people? Will they find their families or partners or other humans? The guards have disappeared within minutes—we never are given any clues to where they have gone—have they vapourised? Have they left in swift and silent aircraft? The women gather supplies, of which there are plenty, and begin to walk. I Who Have Never Known Men is a feminist dystopia in the likes of The Handmaid’s Tale or The Book of the Unnamed Midwife but is more silent, more internal, and both frustrating and compelling. I found myself completely captivated by the mystery of this place and the certainty of the young woman. The exploration of humanity and its ability to hope and love within what we would consider a bleak environment, and the magnitude of one woman to gather these women to her and cherish them as they age is exceedingly tender. The introduction by Sophie MacKintosh, which I recommend reading after rather than before, adds another layer of meaning to the novel. I Who Have Never Known Men is haunting and memorable—a philosophical treatise on what it is to be alone and to be lonely, and what freedom truly is.
Escape into a book! A selection of books from our shelves. Click through to find out more:
What happens when our desires run contrary to our beliefs? What should we do when the failings of revered figures come to light? Who is shamed when the truth is told? A young woman arrives in Melbourne in 1986 to research the work of Virginia Woolf, and finds her life reshaped in unexpected ways both by her studies and by her experiences.
“Michelle de Kretser is a genius — one of the best writers working today. She is startlingly, uncannily good at naming and facing what is most difficult and precious about our lives. Theory & Practice is a wonder, a brilliant book that reinvents itself again and again, stretching the boundaries of the novel to show the ways in which ideas and ideals are folded into our days, as well as the times when our choices fail to meet them. There’s no writer I’d rather read.” —V.V. Ganeshananthan, winner of the Women's Prize for Fiction
"Michelle de Kretser is to my mind one of the finest writers alive and Theory & Practice a lightning strike of a book." —Ali Smith