>>How to run a bookshop.
>>Pirates, pigs and sex work.
>>A life well lived.
>>There were two...
>>And now there are three!
>>Crammed with adventure.
>>Read an excerpt.
NEW RELEASES
Slow Down, You're Here by Brannavan Gnanalingam $25Seasons by William Direen $20
Bill Direen's poetry diary spans a year on a strath an hour’s drive from Dunedin. It is written with a sharp eye for landscape, and a musician’s ear for the sounds of the Strath region, as it changes dramatically from drought to flood to extreme frosts and snow-bound winter. Begun after Direen returned to New Zealand from France, the poem is in three parts. It runs from autumn to autumn, blending description with personal micronarrative. Each copy of the book has a unique download code, offering the text combined with music by six New Zealand musicians.
Other listening:
>>World of the Winds (2021).
>>Moderation (1983).
| >> Read all Stella's reviews. | |
As Needed, As Possible: Emerging conversations about art, labour and collaboration in Aotearoa edited by Sophie Davis and Simon Gennard {Reviewed by STELLA} As Needed, As Possible is a collection of writing and reflections on and discussions about art, labour and collaboration in Aotearoa. Spearheaded by Enjoy Contemporary Art Space, editors Sophie Davis and Simon Gennard, and invited contributors explore the roles of artist-run spaces, collaboration, community and dialogue between artists and curators to engage readers of this publication in thoughtful writing and ongoing discussion. As often is the case with the best writing, it is questions that lead to the best innovation. Published in conjunction with GLORIA Books, designer Katie Kerr has captured the ‘ready to go’ aesthetic of the print-ready PDF file in a perfectly bound and attractive ‘hand’book retaining the autonomy of the individual pieces while embracing the collective whole — a description that could be used in underpinning the concerns of many of the writers in this publication. As conversations weave through the challenges and rewards of running artist-spaces; balancing, or in the cases of James Tapsell- Kururangi and Zoe Thompson-Moore embracing, the domestic sphere with their art practice; reflecting on the political and economic aspects of art within the wider neoliberal construct; and the role of collaboration for artists, the art sector and the wider community, the reader is aware of a breadth of thinking and research, of reflection, in the small pieces presented in this publication. Written over a number of years, some before the pandemic, others during Lockdown, they are varied in presentation and approach. The email exchange between Sarah Hudson and Zoe Thompson-Moore, artists and mothers of young children, in “The Making of Bread”, is lively and punchy, laced with humour amid the reality of domesticity — when you never have enough time, but ideas spark nevertheless — a bit like a well-made loaf. They discuss bread as the memories it sparks, sustenance which it gives, its necessity, and the words they list to describe it — maintenance, attention, fermentation, transformation etc — are delightfully applicable to the creative process. In his photo essay and reflections, “Gains? Grandmother. Grey Street.” James Tapsell-Kururangi also approaches the domestic as he documents and explores ‘a year of living' as an art project. In the essays “Finding Time to Discuss Nothing” from the Ōtautahi Kōrerotia collective and “Risky Business” a conversation between curators Emma Budgen and Chloe Geoghegan, artist-run spaces are considered from functional and analytical viewpoints providing insight and food for thought. The conversation between Budgen and Geoghegan, reflecting on past and present, their personal experiences in artist-run spaces, alongside political and social constructs (“Funding is never neutral” - EB) and the wider arts sector is particularly engaging in the labour/value/art discussion and the consideration of otherness or the embracing of an ethos of ‘relative autonomy'. In her closing statement, Budgen reveals that the conversation which reads seamlessly has occurred over many months in the moments after everything else, in the ‘gaps’. Another example of the value afforded art practice and conversation. While this necessity to exist in spite of challenges, time constraints, financial risk and the limits of a capitalist system (deftly explored in No nSense by Public Space — so simple, so perfect and so political) can be seen as a positive (it is often a barrier) towards stimulating engaging dialogue and creativity, it is interesting to note the recent acknowledgement of the ‘value’ of art in Ireland’s new Basic Income for artists scheme. A thought-provoking collection of writing for artists and anyone engaged with making space, literally or metaphorically, for art. |
| >> Read all Thomas's reviews. | |
An Attempt at Exhausting a Place in Paris by Georges Perec (translated by Marc Lowenthal) {Reviewed by THOMAS} You’re soaking in it, he thought, not for the first time. Could he quote David Hume, he wondered, and say, All there is is detail and anything else is conjecture, no, he could not quote Hume, at least not accurately, with that particular sequence of words, though of course he could not be certain that Hume did not say or think such a thing. The thought stands though, he thought, or the words that seemed at least to him to convey the thought, not that anyone reading the words would be in a position to judge the distance, if any distance is possible, between the thought and the words he wrote, but this is a whole other story and already he had come unfortunately quite far from that about which he purposed to write, he carefully wrote. All there is is detail, actually, he qualified deliberately, and we use these details to construct the sad narratives of our lives, or happy narratives, why not, though it would be more accurate to say that the narratives choose the details and not the other way round, neurology will back me up on this, he thought, no footnotes forthcoming, the narratives choose the details and not the other way round, he wrote, living and reading are not so different after all, the damage or whatever to the brain is the same whatever other harms may be avoided. Reality is produced by our failure to reach the actual, he wrote, but who he wondered could he pin this quote on. Anybody’s guess. A novel is more or less full of details, if there’s such a thing as more than full, in fact literature is all detail of one sort or another, supposedly all relevant and chosen by the authority, the reader has no business to think that there’s anything more, but also, he thought, no business to think that there isn’t anything more, in any case in the world of detail that we’re soaking in we assume there is more than those morsels of which we are aware, though in fact there may not be and no experiment can relieve us of this possibility, how claustrophobic, but let us assume for the sake of argument, if you want an argument, or for the sake of the opposite of claustrophobia, whatever that is, agoraphobia perhaps, the terrifying infinitude of possibility from which we protect ourselves with stories, to not be overwhelmed, that if we could let down our stories just for a moment we could expose ourselves to other details, unstoried or unstoried-as-yet, which could support quite other stories and all that attaches to those, or whatever. For three days in October in 1974 Georges Perec challenged himself to merely observe whatever passed before him in Saint-Sulpice, recording his observations as fast as he could write, except for when he was ordering coffee or Vichy water or Bourgueil. Observing without presupposing a story gives an equivalence to all details, the ordinary and what Perec calls the infraordinary are full participants in a thoroughly democratic ontology, every detail shines with significance even if it signifies nothing beyond its own existence. Almost it is as hard a discipline to stop a story suggesting itself as it is to suspend the stories we bring, although, I suppose, he thought, any story that suggests itself is in fact a story I have somehow brought with me even if I was unaware that I had it on board, which is interesting, he thought, in itself. No conjectures! Of course Perec cannot write fast enough, time, whatever that is, moves on or whatever it is that it does, the moment is torn away before he can catch much of it, the limits of his capacities affect his ability to observe, he is overwhelmed by his task but not destroyed so not in fact overwhelmed, so many details are suppressed by practicality, there must be some story taking place, the story of the observing I, of the capacities and the limitations that make up Georges Perec perhaps. Why these details and not other details given that we generally assume there to be a limitless amount of details out there, are we to conclude that every attempt at objectivity is autobiography, someone’s story, by necessity, at best. Subjectivity is a product of time, he thought, or produces time, whatever that is, the progression of our attention through a certain set of details, the constraining force that suppresses all but the supporting details, the readable details or at least the ones that we read, in either literature or life, the subjectivity that burdens us with personhood and other what we could call spectres of the temporal. He couldn’t get all the infraordinary down, he wrote, referring to Perec, Perec made an attempt at exhausting a place in Paris but his attempt was doomed to fail, just as it was revealing possibilities which made it a success it failed, due to time, due to the particular set of limitations that passes in this instance for Perec, he couldn’t get more of the infraordinary down without stopping time, without removing himself or at least seeming to, without taking a place, a small place, perhaps of necessity a fictional place but I’m not sure of this, without taking a place and truly exhausting it, stopping time, recording every infraordinary detail and watching them vibrate with the potential for unrealised story, without in other words sitting down and writing, soon after writing this book, his masterwork of detail, Life, A User’s Manual, he wrote. |
NEW RELEASES

| >> Read all Stella's reviews. | |
Eating {Two cookbook reviews by STELLA} This is the season to discover new cuisines or expand your baking repertoire. Here are two very very different cookbooks that I have been dipping into this year: Having a themed Japanese birthday for a family member encouraged me to expand on my limited, predominantly sushi-focused, recipes. Maori Murota's Tokyo Cult Recipes was just the right level, expanding my pantry and knowledge of Japanese cooking. I like the 'Cult Recipes' series of cookbooks for their liveliness, not-too-complicated recipes, and interesting cultural outtakes. The bonuses are the street photography and the clear instructions, sometimes illustrated by photographs. A Japanese omelette was a simple joy to make, rolling the thin crepe-like layers around itself, and the photographic instructions made it perfectly comprehensible. There’s detailed information about ingredients, like different types of miso; and recipes for pantry staples, e.g. dashi. The feast meant many bowls of small dishes and all the elements on the go, but it was worth it! On the menu from this cookbook, Edamame, Agedashi-Dofu, Ebi No Kousai Ae (Prawns with Coriander — delicious!) and some pickles. And an occasion isn’t complete without baking — a cake, of course, and a breakfast treat. The Nordic Baking Book is a standard in our household, and I had looked at this and been a bit overwhelmed by its breadth, thinking the recipes were beyond my baking skill. Mistake! The recipes are wonderful, with many variations on a theme, so you can choose a lesser or more complex style to suit your circumstances or, in many cases, your regional preference. Magnus Nilsson’s knowledge of Nordic baking draws on his professional skills as well as his family knowledge. His lively writing and sometimes very amusing opinions make for fine reading. The recipes, so many of them, are well explained and the results excellent. There’s bread, crackers, pancakes and waffles, sweet pastries, kringles, sweets and cakes, to name just a few of the sections! There are recipes from the whole region, including Norway, Sweden, Iceland, Finland and Denmark, highlighting similarities as well as differences in approach and ingredients. Breakfast’s choice was Solbullar (Sun Buns), a moreish wheaty bun filled with vanilla custard cream with sugared coating — straightforward to make, impressive to behold, and easy to eat. The cake, Ambrosiakaka (Glazed Orange Sponge Cake) — light and delicious — was perfect for the occasion. I added a little extra decoration to give it that birthday lift. Other recipes that I enjoyed making and consuming include the many types of waffles and pancakes, especially the delicate sugared pancakes, which are like an upmarket pikelet but light as air and perfect for a weekend breakfast or snack! |
| >> Read all Thomas's reviews. | ||
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NEW RELEASES
BOOKS@VOLUME #272 (1.4.22)
Read our latest newsletter for all the latest news, books, recommendations, competitions, amusements, and reviews.
Our Book of the Week is one of four excellent novels short-listed for the Jann Medlicott Acorn Prize for Fiction at the 2022 Ockham New Zealand Book Awards.
| >> Read all Stella's reviews. | |
Burning Questions by Margaret Atwood {Reviewed by STELLA} If you need good company, look no further than Margaret Atwood’s Burning Questions. Like a popular guest at a dinner party, Atwood’s collected essays (and occasional pieces) 2004-2021 are articulate, forthright (but never overbearing), thoughtful, and of course, witty — some wryly so. The essays are a collection of reviews, forewords to other authors’ books, speeches, and reflections on her own writing. The topics are diverse, but always topical: feminism, ecology — in particular climate change, democracy, the role of literature and art. This third collection of essays begins in the aftermath of the Twin Towers and ranges over the financial crash of 2008, the Obama years, the advent of Trump, the #metoo movement, and the pandemic. Atwood’s published work of these years includes the 'MaddAddam' trilogy, Payback and The Testaments (on the back of the hugely popular TV series of The Handmaid’s Tale). Also during this time, her partner, Graeme Gibson, was diagnosed with dementia. The foreword she wrote for his Bedside Book of Birds is particularly beautiful and heartfelt (Gibson died in 2019). There are other forewords (such as for Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring) as well as highly observant pieces on authors such as Alice Munro, Ryszard Kapuscinski and Ursula Le Guin. In the area of literature and language, she touches on translation, the roles and responsibilities of the author, the power of language, and the relationship between writer and reader. The essays about her own writing are intriguing, and offer insights into her thinking in retrospect on genre and thematic choices. If, like me, you have read most of her novels, you will find these enlightening. The title Burning Questions reflects the urgency Atwood senses in responding to climate change — we are burning; the need to change the power imbalance towards a more equal society — burn the house down; and her own curiosity — a burning inquisitiveness — as a lover of language and words, people and places. No one essay stands out. As with all collections, some are better or will interest you more than others. This is a collection to wander through and be surprised by a clever turn of phrase, a witty remark, an insightful observation or a forthright call to arms. And you get to be in very good company. |
| >> Read all Thomas's reviews. | |
Proleterka by Fleur Jaeggy (translated by Alastair McEwan) {Reviewed by THOMAS} “Children lose interest in their parents when they are left. They are not sentimental. They are passionate and cold. In a certain sense some people abandon affections, sentiments, as if they were things. With determination, without sorrow. They become strangers. They are no longer creatures that have been abandoned, but those who mentally beat a retreat. Parents are not necessary. Few things are necessary. The heart, incorruptible crystal.” Fleur Jaeggy’s unforgettable short novel, named after the ship upon which the narrator, aged fifteen, and her estranged father (unreachable, “aloof from himself”) spend an unprecedented and unrepeated fourteen day cruise in the Greek Islands with members of the Swiss guild to which the father belongs, is a catalogue of mental retreat, relinquishment, estrangement, loss, and turning away: enervations towards a non-existence either hurried or postponed but inevitable to all. Jaeggy’s short sentences each have the precision of a stiletto: each stabs and surprises, making tiny wounds, each with a drop of glistening blood. When the narrator looks at her father Johannes’s diary, “written by a man precise in his absence,” her description of it could be of her own narration: “It is proof. It is the confirmation of an existence. Brief phrases. Without comment. Like answers to a questionnaire. There are no impressions, feelings. Life is simplified, almost as if it were not there.” Jaeggy writes with absolute, clinical precision but narrow focus, as if viewing the world down a tube, to great effect. Johannes, for example, is described as having “Pale, gelid eyes. Unnatural. Like a fairy tale about ice. Wintry eyes. With a glimmer of romantic caprice. The irises of such a clear, faded green that they made you feel uneasy. It is almost as if they lack the consistency of a gaze. As if they were an anomaly, generations old.” The account of the Greek cruise forms the core of the novel, but it is preceded, intercut and followed by memories of childhood and of subsequent events (mostly the deaths of almost everyone mentioned), all related closely in the present tense, but non-sequential, resulting in a sense of time not dissimilar to that experienced when repeatedly tripping over an unseen obstacle. Most of the book is narrated in the first person but the narrator achieves a degree of detachment from incidents that threaten “the exceedingly fine line between equilibrium and desperation” by relating them in the third person, referring to herself as “Johannes’s daughter”: the death of Orsola (the maternal grandmother with whom she lived after her parents’ divorce, her mother’s effective disappearance, her father’s sudden poverty and his effective exile from her life) and the violent sexual experiences to which she opens herself with two of the sailors: “I don’t like it, I don’t like it, she thinks. But she does it all the same. The Proleterka is the locus of experience. By the time the voyage is over, she must know everything. At the end of the voyage, Johannes’s daughter will be able to say: never again, not ever. No experience ever again.” The narrator writes her memories not so much to remember as to forget, to relinquish. Words turn experience into story, which interposes itself between experience and whoever is oppressed by it. As Jaeggy writes, “people imagine words in order to narrate the world and to substitute it.” |
NEW RELEASES
Joanna Margaret Paul — Imagined in the Context of a Room by Lucy Hammonds et al $65
What are the links between political engagement and our engagement with the natural world? In our Book of the Week, Orwell's Roses, Rebecca Solnit takes a rose garden planted by George Orwell as the starting point for a meandering journey through his life, writings and motivations, and through much else besides, arriving at a more nuanced and somehow hopeful assessment of what it means to care about the state of the world in our own century.
>>Read Stella's review.
>>Rebecca Solnit and Margaret Atwood!
>>A new perspective.
>>Pleasure and flowers.
>>The written political project.
>>The Orwell Foundation.
>>Your copy is ready for you.
>>Other books by Rebecca Solnit.
>>Some books by and about George Orwell.
| >> Read all Stella's reviews. | |
Orwell's Roses by Rebecca Solnit {Reviewed by STELLA} I’ve been dipping into this book for several weeks, savouring the writing and meandering the country tracks of England with Solnit and her revelations of Orwell the writer and the lover of nature. Solnit’s collections of essays are usually directly political, even her more nuanced observations which are often drawn from personal experiences or wry commentary are to a greater or lesser extent ‘serious’. In Orwell’s Roses, one could be forgiven for thinking at the outset, this biography (of a sort) has a different purpose. It meanders. As we walk with Rebecca Solnit on English country paths she talks to us as if we were wandering beside her — it is a conversation about her discoveries, filled with curiosity and at times, surprise, as she reveals a side of George Orwell not usually found in his books (most famously Animal Farm and 1984) and essays, nor in literary references. The roses which inspire Solnit were planted by Orwell in the late 1930s in his garden — a constant source of pleasure — at his Hertfordshire cottage. Knocking on the door of the cottage, the present-day owners take her into the garden and point out what they believe to be those same rose bushes, and so starts a connection to the past and Orwell’s ideas — ideas that resonate just as vividly right now. His passionate defence of freedom and his fight against totalitarianism — both in written word and deed (as a soldier in the Spanish Civil War) — and advocacy for greater equality, in particular for workers' rights, are all relevant in our present world order and are also concerns at the heart of Solnit’s own work. Like Orwell, Solnit is hard-hitting and does not easily succumb to telling what is wanted to be heard. She reveals in many of her essays historical facts and political analysis that may be difficult to confront, and Orwell similarly was going his own way as he felt necessary. While in Spain, Orwell became increasingly uncomfortable with some of his fellow freedom fighters, who continued to follow Stalin even when it was obvious that the communist ideal was failing and falling under the boot of dictatorship. In expressing his love of flowers and gardens, he was accused of having bourgeois interests — an indulgence that seemed frivolous to some — not a serious political left-wing stance. However, he exhorted that workers needed beauty as well as bread. In thinking about Solnit’s own writing, this element of beauty or (more particularly in reference to her) hope, is never far from the political imperative. Orwell’s Roses is a book of many parts: biography, a potted history of Orwell’s time through a particular and precise lens (coal mines, the civil war, his own family’s rise and fall through the class system), his love of nature, roses — their beauty expressed in literature, art and as themselves as flowers — and a comparative history (in one chapter is an overview of Orwell’s writing about the coal-miners and later in the book, Solnit visits a ‘rose factory’ in Columbia where workers are exploited and roses are grown en masse for the American market). It is a wander, but an extremely well-written and a thought-proving one, packed with intriguing anecdotes and considered analysis. Much like a rose coming into bloom it holds your fascination. Solnit cleverly draws together all these aspects and reminds us that through a desire for beauty over hatred, and through language and words, we too, like Orwell, can raise our voices against repression. |