| >> Read all Stella's reviews. | |
Kurangaituku by Whiti Hereaka {Reviewed by STELLA} This absorbing and powerful novel draws on the pūrākau of Hatupatu and the Birdwoman. In the hands of Whiti Hereaka, the story of Kurangaituku is retold, repositioned and empowered — this is a feminist perspective — wahine strong. It’s also an appreciation of storytelling and the power of words, of language to shape us and contain or conversely to free us. Picking up this attractive Huia publication you are immediately struck by Rowan Heap’s artwork on the covers — (front and front, as this is a book you can start at either end and which overlaps in its telling in the middle) — claw and hand — beaked and unmasked. It would make little difference where you start (I happened to begin on the dark side) as Hereaka avoids linear construction or strict time constraints, and instead weaves the words and actions of Kurangaituku’s travels through time, the underworld and in the forest in moments that circle each other, intersect and mesmerise as only the best storytelling can. It feels both ancient and relevant, and in this it reminded me of the fascinating yet uncomfortable character Papa Toothwort and the world he inhabits in Max Porter’s Lanny — an entity from some hidden depths, always there, watching, listening and learning. In Rarohenga, the underworld, Hereaka creates a dreamlike poetic landscape which moves between nightmare and bliss. Kurangaituku’s travels here bring her both love (with Hinenuitepo) and the desire to be beautiful. Yet it also instils the lust for revenge. It shows her the undoing of man and her own appetite for power. It’s a compelling world to witness through Kurangaituku’s eyes, through her anger and naivety and her awareness of her otherness. In parts beautiful, in parts gruesome, yet also liberating — a place to walk towards the Void, a letting go. Yet what does this mean for Kurangaituku? A creature who is a bird, a woman, both, neither? Dead, not dead? And where can this lead but back to the beginning again? The world is new, and Kurangaituku is of and by the birds. The forest is her home and the birds are her companions. They are drawn to her and they draw her. This timeless expansive moment is interrupted only by the violent murmurings of the earth. When she comes to, the world has changed and the Song Makers have arrived. She watches them, but she can not communicate — she has no voice. Yet they grow to know of her and make her a new version of herself — the story builds, as stories do, with embellishments that become truths, creating a monstrous birdwoman. She is a story and cannot control her outcome — or can she? And in this world, she meets the young warrior, or trickster, Hatupatu for the first time. Her fascination with him, and his ultimate betrayal, is Kurangaituku’s tragedy. Whiti Hereaka’s novel sits comfortably with other feminist myth retellings (Atwood’s Penelopiad or Angela Carter’s The Bloody Chamber) which give voice to those poorly served by their traditional tellings, with the bonus that is situated here, in Aotearoa. For a novel which is structurally and thematically complex, Kurangaituku is surprisingly agile and wonderfully alluring. |
| >> Read all Thomas's reviews. | |
Suppose a Sentence by Brian Dillon {Reviewed by THOMAS} Could he even write a review of a book he had read about someone writing about sentences that he in turn had read which were written by yet other people, some of whom, or, rather, some of which, he himself had read directly, if that is the word, that is to say not just in the book about sentences in which these sentences also appear and which he has also read? The question mark, when it finally arrived, seemed somehow out of place, so far did it trail the part of the sentence he had just written in which the matter of the question appeared early, all those clauses shoving the question mark to an awkward distance, already the thought that the sentence described was changing direction, as thoughts do, but the sentence was still obliged to display the mark that would make the first part of the sentence, and indeed the whole sentence thereby into a question, there was a debt to be paid after all, he was lucky to get off without interest. The separation of the question mark from the quested matter was not the only reservation he had about the sentence he had just written, he had other reservations, both about its structure and its content, in other words both about its grammar and its import, if that is the right word. One reservation was that he had chosen to write the sentence in the third person, a habit he had acquired, or an affectation that he had adopted, that depersonalised his reviews and made them easier to write and, he hoped, more enjoyable to read, certainly, he thought, less embarrassing for himself to read, or should that be re-read, not that he was particularly inclined to do such a thing. These reviews were also written in the past tense, for goodness sake. Could he write in the first person and in the present tense, he wondered, or was that a mode he contrarily reserved for fiction? Can I even write a review of a book I have read, he wrote as an experiment, about someone writing about sentences that he has read which were written by yet other people, some of whom, or, rather, some of which, I have read directly, if that is the word, that is to say not just in the book about sentences in which these sentences also appear and which I have also read?, he wrote, though I must say, he thought, that question mark is more problematic than ever. Also, would it not be ludicrous, he thought, to even attempt to write a review about a book about fine sentences, or exceptional sentences, or exemplary sentences or whatever, from William Shakespeare to Anne Boyer, including sentences from several of my favourite writers, though not perhaps the sentences of theirs that I would choose if I had been choosing, he thought, when my own sentences churn on, when in my own repertoire I have only commas and full stops, a continuation mark and a stopping mark, when those two marks for him are already too much for him to handle, accustomed as he had once made himself to the austerity of the full stop alone, you could write a whole book using only full stops, he thought, or he had once thought. He had wandered, and tried to return to the task in hand, or the book in hand, or to the thought in head, so to speak. Because the book was about sentences he found himself unable to write any sentences about it. If he wrote a review, he thought, he had no doubt that at least some of the readers of that review, if not all of the readers of that review, if there were any such readers, which seemed unlikely, would find his sentences fell short of their subject, or if they did not fall short they would quaver under their scrutiny, weaken and collapse, which is another sort of falling. His sentences would rather point than be pointed at. Thinking of writing would have to suffice. I would like to write, he thought of writing, that this book, Suppose a Sentence by Brian Dillon, is the sort of book that anyone interested in reading better, or, indeed, in writing better, which goes without saying, as writing is a subset of reading, if that goes without saying, though not everyone’s subset, he thought, and would have said had he been saying instead of thinking and writing, or, rather thinking and thinking of writing, Brian Dillon is good company in working out how text works when it works well, but, although he thought of writing this, as he had said, see, he does say though he said he was not saying, he did not write this as, by this time, his comma-infested sentences were almost unable to move in any direction even if not in a straight line, bring on the full stops, he thought. "Every writing worthy of its name wrestles with the Angel and, at best, comes out limping.” —Jean-François Lyotard |
>>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).
>>Everything was fine.
>>How much sharing is too much sharing?
>>Read Stella's review of Rat King Landlord.
>>Some words for living locally.
>>How do we stop repeating ourselves?
>>How to open a bookshop.
"Both remarkable and irresistible." —Scottish Review of Books
>>Metre readings.
>>A word in your ear.
Long before Rome fell to the Ostrogoths in AD 476, a new city had risen to take its place as the beating heart of a late antique empire, the glittering Constantinople: New Rome. In this magisterial work, Stephenson charts the centuries surrounding this epic shift of power. He traces the cultural, social and political forces that led to the empire being ruled from a city straddling Europe and Asia, placing all into a rich natural and environmental context informed by the latest scientific research.
>>What not to say to someone who's grieving.
>>Read Thomas's review.
| >> 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. |
>>The apocalypse is always now.
>>Stepping into her own multiverse.
>>Marquee moon.
>>The autofiction element.
>>Sars Twelve.
>>A moment of beauty.
>>Some essays by E.St.J.M.
>>Read Station Eleven.
>>Read Stella's review of The Glass Hotel.
>>Your copy of Sea of Tranquility.
NEW RELEASES

In Catching Fire, the translation of Diamela Eltit's Never Did the Fire unfolds in real time as a conversation between works of art, illuminating both in the process. The problems and pleasures of conveying literature into another language — what happens when you meet a pun? a double entendre? — are met by translator Daniel Hahn's humour, deftness, a deep appreciation for what sets Eltit's work apart, and his evolving understanding of what this particular novel is trying to do. The book offers superb insight into the process of translation.
Stuart won the 2020 Booker Prize for Shuggie Bain, and the new book is said to be even better. Set in an area of 1990s Glasgow knocked hard by unemployment, alcohol, Margaret Thatcher and violence, Young Mungo is a story of a family under stress but also of love and of romantic and sexual awakening.
>>"Stuart is a genius."Sea of Tranquility by Emily St. John Mandel $38
>>Remembering and forgetting difficult histories.
>>The desire to always go bigger.
Cain's Jawbone by 'Torquemada' [Edward Powys Mathers] $23
>>"I will probably live to see the end of the world."
Nistisima: The secret to delicious vegan cooking from the Mediterranean and beyond by Georgina Hayden $55
| >> 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. | ||
|
>>A project by wāhine, for wāhine.
>>100 podcasts!
>>An interview with Qiane Matata-Sipu.
>>"This is exactly what I need right now."
>>Your copy is waiting for you (or we can send one to a friend).
>>Other books short-listed for the 2022 Ockham New Zealand Book Awards.
>>Vote for the book on the VOLUME Ockhameter.
NEW RELEASES
Long-listed for the 2022 International Booker Prize.
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.
In A Good Winter, Gigi Fenster takes us inside the head of the obsessive and judgmental Olga, whose helpfulness towards her neighbour, her neighbour's daughter and her child leads them all down a path to tragedy. Highly accomplished, the book is both sympathetic and cutting, both bleak and darkly funny, both insightful and unnerving. Olga's voice is pitch-perfect and unforgettable.
| >> 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>>Charles Causley, poet.









































































































