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Buying excellent books makes excellent books possible.
Book of the Week. Bordering on Miraculous, a collaboration or conversation between poet Lynley Edmeades and painter Saskia Leek, leads the reader to find depth in small things and wonder in the everyday. By restricting the range of their concerns to the most familiar but often least-considered aspects of our lives, both writer and artist touch on crucial aspects of their disciplines and uncover a philosophical depth to the most quotidian of situations. Another volume in Massey University Press's beautiful and thoughtful 'Kōrero Series' of pairings, edited by Lloyd Jones.
>> Read all Stella's reviews. | |
Down from Upland by Murdoch Stephens {Reviewed by STELLA} It’s Wellington — Upland Road to be precise. It’s the civil service with all its quirks, and it’s a magnifying glass on a millennial couple. Yes, this will make you squirm, especially if you are on the cusp of forty, a public servant with a teen at Wellington High, feeling a bit like a cog in the wheel, looking for a little excitement but not too much drama. The geographic parameters may be set, but the relationship map is all over the place in Murdoch Stephens’s satire about a millennial couple, Jacqui and Scott, with a teenage son. Said teenage son, Axle, has recently transferred from Wellington Boys to High after a miserable couple of years and is hoping for a kinder reception. Happily, he strikes up a friendship with Pete which gets him a foot in the door of that much-wanted teen accessory — a group. And the group’s okay — the kids are fine — some drinking, a science experiment with low-alcohol beer (hilariously supplied by Dad, Scott), budding relationships (wonderfully innocent), a scrap, and a general shrugging off of their various parents and adult authority — especially the heart-to-hearts and the morality tales. So far, so normal. But watch out for his ever-so-liberal parents. They are having a spell of relationship dullness, and when Jacqui’s friend gifts her a ‘hot’ young Brazilian, Joāo, it’s all on for a try at an 'open relationship'. Scott is keen — he’s got a slight wandering eye and tends to the obsessive in his infatuations. There’s a colleague at work who he’s keen on. His instrument is blunt though, and it is with a cringing inevitability that his attempt at striking up a relationship with this young woman will be a disaster and a tad creepy. Stephens handles this harassment with the right balance — such an awkward encounter at the bar, it's blackly funny — yet Scott’s not off the hook with his inappropriate behaviour. HR has something to say about it, and it’s not what you might expect. The satire keeps rolling and the new guy on the scene is keeping Scott occupied. He’s not the only one being bedded. Jacqui’s quite pleased with her Brazilian lover, although you get the impression that there’s not too much else that interests her. Asking no questions of the lovely Joāo will deliver her no lies. And why is she looking at Rothman, her boss, in that way? As things heat up in the bedroom and at work, both Jacqui and Scott find themselves in various pickles — some of their own making. Axle takes the various visits from his parents’ love interests in his stride — he’s got better things to fixate on. Down from Upland is excellent satire, it clips along at a fine pace. You will like the teens, but you might find the adults a little empty-headed. Uncomfortably microscopic and very funny. |
>> Read all Thomas's reviews. | |
The Weak Spot by Lucie Elven {Reviewed by THOMAS} “Even on a blue day you could tell this sky had a knack for breaking into storms,” she writes, she someone, she the pharmacist-to-be, as she arrives in the Alpine town, a town anyway that seems like an Alpine town, high up, reached only by funicular railway, there’s a certain steepness involved, the town is depopulating, certainly you have the feeling that the only people living there are those you are aware of at any given time and that soon they too may be gone. When the narrator arrives she remembers visiting the town as a child in the company of her uncle and her mother at a time when her mother was ill but her uncle did not yet know that she was ill. From what has she run away to come here this time, or what has she otherwise left if it is not the case that she has run away? She takes a job as a pharmacist at the pharmacy owned by a Mr Malone, it seems she was a pharmacy student before she came here, though the main tasks of a pharmacist, at least in Mr Malone’s pharmacy, are not the main tasks of a pharmacist as we know them although certainly allied to those tasks. Mr Malone “believed that a pharmacist’s role was to enhance the locals’ potential by listening carefully,” to allow others to tell their stories, to reduce one’s presence to that of a listener only, to abnegate oneself, “the more absent I seemed, the more they talked,” she says, having a natural talent for the work of disappearing, a natural talent for undoing what we ordinarily think of as existing. “It occurred to me,” she says, “that there was something reassuring about the obviously dangerous Mr Malone to someone like me who worried all the time.” He is corrosive to her idea of herself; she wants to be corroded. Mr Malone eventually leaves the pharmacy to her and stands for mayor, though he hardly leaves, she supports his campaign, there hardly seems to be another candidate, Mr Malone becomes mayor, still he is the centre of his coterie of occupationally defined men, he is the centre of some void sucking at her always. Was there really a wolf-beast once in the town that ate little girls? Somehow it’s a fable but not exactly a fable, more a dream, everything is described with the same degree of portentious detail and the same lack of overall shape as an account of a dream, a dream in this case from which the dreamer, the young pharmacist, cannot awaken, from which waking will never be possible. Within this dream that the dreamer does not realise is a dream, the dreamer struggles to differentiate the actual from her reveries, the stories get away from her, “I was easy to derail,” she says. “I derailed myself on my own. Unless I was busy I was distracted by daydreams,” though she and we struggle and fail to tell what is actually the case and what is dreamed, the same residue remains in either case, the same damage done. “After I articulated this sort of reverie I felt a sense of revulsion,” she says. “I had started to feel as though I wouldn’t wake up, was scared I would disappear.” All stories are told stories, but the compounding of detail here erodes knowledge rather than constructs it, all detail is a subtraction, a relinquishment, written and rid of, the shape of things is lost, the self annulled. “I experimented with how little I could let pass over my face,” she says. All memory and identity are stripped away by iteration, vacancy expands, pushing everything out of sight and into non-existence, if there is such a place to be pushed. Even the descriptions eventually become descriptions primarily of absence: “The room had no decoration, nothing personal, no photographs of strict-looking characters standing in front of wrought-iron gates,” the narrator nothing more than a mirror: “I also was a reflective surface,” no longer sure even how to present herself before the customers of the pharmacy, “walking around in a long pause, an ellipsis,” her escape from herself complete, she has become the phantom she has unconsciously always sought to become. “All feelings would pass if I didn’t engage with them,” she says. “I have a weak spot, I had taken to telling people, a magic phrase that I used to trick my way out of an emotional hole,” out of existing, now ready to leave even this, the town of her attenuation. When her uncle comes to collect her he remembers nothing, he is a stranger to the town, he too has lost his history, he too has become nothing more than a label on an absence. And we are left with nothing, nothing that is except an oddly-shaped void, mountain air, sublime sentences, surprising details, words, phrases, oddness coming at us like something beautiful, sharp and cold. On the iterative level, Elven’s book has something of the disconcerting clarity of the work of Fleur Jaeggy, but more as if a work of brilliance had been translated a little awkwardly and inaccurately and somehow enhanced by the process no matter what was lost, though if this is a translated work, and perhaps all works are translated works in the way in which this work is a translated work, it is not a work translated between languages but between minds if there are such things as minds. Elven describes a new employee at the pharmacy as “perching his opinions at the end of pointed lips,” and how, during a storm, the storm promised perhaps by blue skies mentioned earlier, “we saw slanted people walking along the grass, trees gesticulating like conjurors, the wind throwing water off the river.” We may forget the sentences but we are left with the strange effect upon us of these sentences, just as we may forget a dream but still be left strangely affected. |
NEW RELEASES
When I Sing, Mountains Dance by Irene Solà (translated by Mara Faye Lethem) $33
When Domenec — mountain-dweller, father, poet, dreamer — dies suddenly, struck by lightning, he leaves behind two small children, Mia and Hilari, to grow up wild among the looming summits of the Pyrenees and the ghosts of the Spanish civil war. But then Hilari dies too, and his sister is forced to face life's struggles and joys alone. As the years tumble by, the inhabitants of the mountain — human, animal and other — come together in a chorus of voices to bear witness to the sorrows of one family, and to the savage beauty of the landscape. This remarkable book is lyrical, mythical, elemental, and ferociously imaginative.
"When I Sing, Mountains Dance made me swoon. Translated with great musicality and wit, it is rich and ranging, shimmering with human and non-human life, the living and the dead, in our time and deep time; a fable that is utterly universal, deadly funny and profoundly moving." —Max Porter
"This novel about, well, everything, is fine-tuned to a kind of astonished and astonishing connectivity that's an act of revolutionary revitalisation up against the odds of any despairing." —Ali Smith
>>The first crack in the eggshell.
>>Witches, mushrooms, collective voices.
Our Book of the Week is Jennifer Egan's sharp and compelling new novel The Candy House. in which a new digital technology, Own Your Unconscious, gives users access to every memory and experience they've ever had, and to share access to those memories and experiences with others. Told in a wide array of styles, and by different characters and in different times, the novel takes us on a wide-eyed roller-coaster ride through the not-too-distant future—and through the age-old 'problems' of consciousness, memory and identity that we are now facing with new urgency as we consider the possibility of digital minds.
>> Read all Stella's reviews. | |
The Candy House by Jennifer Egan {Reviewed by STELLA} Be careful what you wish for. A catch-cry of our present time is a desire to find meaningful connection, to be part of a community within which we are specific and individual. Yet in reality we are more likely to find ourselves awash in a social media sea. In Jennifer Egan’s The Candy House, the desire for authenticity and connection is high and the clever Bix Bouton has the key. Bix is rich and successful. A fast-thinker graduate, his start-up, Mandala, took off, but now he’s out of ideas and craving something of the magic of his younger self. Infiltrating an academic discussion group where they are prying open the social anthropologist Miranda Kline’s theory Patterns of Affinity, kicks off the lightbulb for Bix. And the beautiful cube, Own Your Unconscious, is born. Get yourself a beautiful cube and download your memory — your every moment and feeling: either just for yourself so you can revisit childhood or recall a moment; or upload for the wider community — to The Collective Consciousness — so memories can be shared and information found (sound familiar?). Now Bix is richer, more successful, a celebrity who’s a regular at The White House and loved by many. Life is good. Yet at the edges there is doubt. And not everyone is a believer. There are eluders, those that wipe themselves to escape — pretty much losing their identity for freedom from the technological behemoth. There is Mondrian, an organisation that sees ethical problems within this set-up and offers a way out for those who feel trapped. This novel has connections to her Pultizer Prize-winning A Visit from the Goon Squad. There are characters who exist in both, and actions that are revisited by the curious, in particular the next generation who live with the consequences. There’s the anonymity of the urban and the claustrophobia of suburban landscapes, alongside the openness of the desert and the endless possibilities of the sea. All these landscapes play their role in the interior landscapes (the minds) of the diverse array of characters. This is a novel that does not stay still. There is no straight line in The Candy House. Egan writes explosive short pieces, chapters which connect, disconnect and reconnect (sometimes) in surprising ways. Characters are related in familial and relationship lines, or by deed, or the outsourced memory of deeds. Some we meet once, others on several occasions — they are in turn in all their guises: adults, children, parents, siblings. This may sound disjointed, and at times the narrative may lead you astray, but the thematic pulse runs continuously through. As in her earlier Goon Squad, Egan plays with structure and different narrative styles. There is the 'Lulu the Spy' chapter told in bite-sized dispatch commands — a tensely addictive reading experience; there is a brilliantly cutting e-mail conversation chapter where the narcissistic desires of the correspondents will make you wince; and there is the mathematically genius 'i, Protaganist' in which a man tries to realise his crush through obsessive statistical analysis. Knitted seamlessly into this wonderland of ideas are the concrete desires, fears and concerns of various humans, all achingly searching for authenticity within an illusionary world. An energetically clever novelist, Jennifer Egan’s The Candy House gives you sweet treats, as well as a whirlwind of sugary highs and lows. Put down the cube and pick up The Candy House. |
>> Read all Thomas's reviews. | |
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NEW RELEASES
Otherlands: A world in the making by Thomas Halliday $40
An exhilarating journey into deep time, showing us the Earth as it used to exist, and the worlds that were here before ours. Travelling back in time to the dawn of complex life, and across all seven continents, Halliday gives us a mesmerizing up close encounter with eras that are normally unimaginably distant. Halliday immerses us in a series of ancient landscapes, from the mammoth steppe in Ice Age Alaska to the lush rainforests of Eocene Antarctica, with its colonies of giant penguins, to Ediacaran Australia, where the moon is far brighter than ours today. We visit the birthplace of humanity; we hear the crashing of the highest waterfall the Earth has ever known; and we watch as life emerges again after the asteroid hits, and the age of the mammal dawns. These lost worlds seem fantastical and yet every description—whether the colour of a beetle's shell, the rhythm of pterosaurs in flight or the lingering smell of sulphur in the air—is grounded in the fossil record. Otherlands is an imaginative feat: an emotional narrative that underscores the tenacity of life—yet also the fragility of seemingly permanent ecosystems, including our own. To read it is to see the last 500 million years not as an endless expanse of unfathomable time, but as a series of worlds, simultaneously fabulous and familiar.
>>Also available as a nice hardback, $54.
>> Read all Stella's reviews. | |
The Dangers of Smoking in Bed by Mariana Enriquez (translated from the Spanish by Megan McDowell) {Reviewed by STELLA} Let the title of this short story collection be a warning. In the second of Mariana Enriquez's collections to be translated into English, the macabre and disorderly rise to the surface. There are ghosts in these pages, phantoms and hauntings. Some reside just under the surface in superstition, some make their presence known by their unsettled, revenge-seeking wanderings, while others are phantoms that walk in broad daylight, bold and violent. Enriquez’s tales resist the easy condition of horror or the gothic, creeping under our skin — making us uneasy yet fascinated. We can not turn away, as our curiosity gets the better of us. The stories meld the mundane, the daily chores, and the familiar with unresolved crimes, passions and jealousies, and the uneasy moments when you know that the truth lies in a shallow grave just under a veneer of lies. As the characters, predominantly women, navigate their way through the stories, Enriquez spins a web of deceit, dark magic and fantastical scenarios to point a finger at the horror of a place imbued with violence, hypocrisy, fear and grief. Her themes do not rest easy, but the tales and the worlds she builds through metaphor and fantasy are hypnotic, taking us in, sometimes gently, often not. Teenage jealousy in 'Our Lady of The Quarry' conjures up a pack of raving dogs. In 'The Well', a young girl unwittingly becomes the vehicle, body and soul, for her mother, aunt and siblings fear of a malign spirit. So imbued with this malign force, madness is the only solution. 'The Lookout' sends a shiver down your spine — trapped in her frightening form, The Lady Upstairs is looking for a victim — someone to set her free. Each story draws you into a situation that has no easy answers, where friends are bonded by shared crises and sanity is a breath away from collapse. Yet Enriquez’s writing is succinct, beguiling and fizzes with energy — with a force that points a finger at death, at violence and corruption, and says I am not afraid. |
>> Read all Thomas's reviews. | |
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Book of the Week. A PASSAGE NORTH by Anuk Arudpragasam is a subtly written and thoughtful novel exploring the deep psychological and social impacts of the long civil war in Sri Lanka, and the struggle for agency for young people overwhelmed by societal trauma.
NEW RELEASES
Mister N by Najwa Bakarat (translated by Luke Leafgren) $35
>> Read all Stella's reviews. | |
A Passage North by Anuk Arudpragasam {Reviewed by STELLA} Anuk Arudpragasam’s second novel takes us back to the civil war in Sri Lanka. It is a reflective, philosophical view through the eyes of Krishan — a young Tamil man recently returned to Colombo and confronting his country’s violence, as well as contemplating his relationships with his family and the woman he thinks he still loves. On a long train trip to attend a funeral, he has time to think and Arudpragsam uses this tool of the journey to take us across the northern landscape scarred by war and destruction, as well as the internal landscape of Krishan’s thoughts: both lively memories and contemplative existentialism. Here, on the page, we travel between the present and the past, rich in descriptive language and cultural references. Away studying in India when the worst atrocities occurred in Sri Lanka, Krishan is riven with guilt and obsesses about certain activists, documentaries and news items, as well as others’ personal experiences. His guilt is also balanced by his interest in Tamil literature and cultural practices, making his response in the post-war years less stifling than it could have been. Arudpragasam, while never flinching from the devastation wrought, physically and mentally, by war, gives us room to breathe. It is quietly affecting rather than aggressive in its intent. Many of the scenes — and it does feel like a series of windows and doors opening into the different worlds of Krishan (the train heading north, his days with his lover Anjum, his relationship with his grandmother) — are domestic and relatable. Told gracefully, walking the streets in the early evening, remembering a confrontation on a train, lighting a cigarette, these observances are precise, detailed and nuanced, providing more than their supposed simplicity of action. The watchful eye of Krishan tells us much about the impact of a violent past and the ongoing endeavour to come to terms with the emotional chaos that rises from this past, from whichever place you stand. Either directly affected, as in the case of Rani (the woman who has recently died), tormented by the death of two sons and her own subsequent mental anguish, or indirectly, like Krishan, knowing and witnessing second-hand but unsure how to assimilate this history. It is also a novel about connections, and how human relationships change us, as well as challenge our preconceptions. A Passage North, intelligent and meditative, is quietly confronting. |
>> Read all Thomas's reviews. | |
(Aside: my own copy of Finnegans Wake is of an edition that has 28 pages of ‘Corrections of Misprints’, which make enjoyable Joycean reading in themselves (too bad the misprints were corrected in later editions and this addendum not reproduced)). |
NEW RELEASES
Thread Ripper by Amalie Smith (translated from the Danish by Jennifer Russell) $38