Lioness by Emily Perkins

A new Emily Perkins novel is a rare thing (the last being The Forrests in 2012). She’s been writing plays and teaching. And what good things they are. Her take on Ibsen’s A Doll’s House, which played at the Theatre Royal a few years ago, was superb. So lucky us, it’s a Donna Tart moment this year with the Lioness. It’s always nerve-wracking when a favourite author has a new work. Will you still like their style? Can you resist the temptation to compare? And will this grip you as other writings have? So, the book lands. The novel cracks in from the start with our protagonist, Therese having average sex with her older husband, and then discovering, a few pages in, the Viagra tucked away in the suitcase. You sense an unravelling is to begin. Life is too neat. Therese too plastic. Later you realise, malleable. Not by circumstance, rather by choice. A choice to have her ‘dream’ homewares brand, to please everyone even at the loss of her own identity, and to stay quiet when she would rather speak out. You can wear the silk jumpsuit, attend the right events, and host the perfect party, but the girl from the Valley will still appear unexpectedly. There are sneaky tell-tale clues of her other life, of her other self. The drink of choice, rum and coke, the occasional slip in language, and the pulse of something wild just under the surface. This surface will crack open when her developer husband has the spotlight of a fraud enquiry turned on him. Conveniently, in the downstairs apartment is another middle-aged, middle-class (although not quite as privileged or wealthy as Therese) woman, Claire, having an epiphany or crisis — take your pick. While reading this I had the same discomfort as when I read Rachel Cusk’s Second Place. These people — what’s wrong with them? It’s hard to like any of them, even Therese and Claire (the first you have some empathy for, the second yeah, okay, break out if you really need to), especially those adult children who treat Therese (wife number two and not their mother) appallingly. They are universally horrendous. So, what keeps you there, with the Lioness? The writing, as ever, is excellent; Perkin’s observations are squirmingly spot on; the irony and social commentary eviscerating. I loved this more once I closed the pages and left those characters behind. Much like Cusk’s Second Place, it will make you shudder and laugh simultaneously. 

I was beguiled initially by the cover of this book, then the title, then the recommendation by Megan Hunter (author of The Harpy and 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 ( author of The Water Cure and Cursed Bread), 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.   

What is it about cooler months that make puzzling so appealing? I enjoy all sorts of puzzles, of both the word and number variety, but love the challenge of a jigsaw puzzle with its bonus of a visually compelling end result. So it's ideal to have a birthday in March and to receive a fresh jigsaw in the time for autumnal rains and darker nights. I'm loving The World of the Brontës. Before even finding those sides and corners I had to read the little story of the Brontës and get the lowdown on the family, the many characters, the houses and the pets which are dotted throughout the puzzle to find. Centre stage of this puzzle is the great and terrifying fire at Thornfield Hall depicted by lively swirling flames. There's the moody moor for Catherine's ghost in a colour palette of bruised purples and in a surreal sky of pinks and yellows the world of picture books and fantastical land of Gondal. Having read The Tenant of Wildfell Hall last year (aloud), I was pleased to see the inclusion of the long-suffering, but defiant, Helen Huntingdon with her young son included, even if at her feet are her painting materials cast asunder. And of course, there are the Brontës themselves, Maria and Elizabeth, Charlotte, Bramwell, Emily and Anne. The houses are both the real and the imagined, and the piecing together of these similar looking bricks and stonework is a pleasurable exercise with small clues in the window surrounds, roof structure and tile colours. In other words, not obvious, but neither impossible. The illustrator Eleanor Taylor  has included so many wonderful details from the Brontë sisters' ouvres and cleverly melded these many elements into a cohesive image. Great fun and a compelling distraction. 

Chanelle Moriah was diagnosed with autism at 21 and ADHD (Attention Deficit/ Hyperactivity Disorder) at 22. They are the author and Illustrator of I Am Autistic and This Is ADHD. These are practical and informative handbooks for neurodivergent folk and by extension their whanau, friends and colleagues. I’ve just finished reading This is ADHD and I found it extremely useful, as well as interesting. It has helped me start to understand what life is like for someone with ADHD. Why simple tasks become so complicated, what neurodivergence can be, how behaviours can be misinterpreted, and how other disorders (depression and anxiety to name two) can impact the ADHDer. Whether you are (or your loved one is) diagnosed or not, this book will be helpful. In the first reading, it has given me more understanding and knowledge about ADHD, and hopefully prepared me to be a better parent and support person. The book is set out with a bold pattern and colour palette, with passages highlighted, and plenty of lists and tick-boxes. The text is in a hand-written style (not a typed font), which surprised me. Moriah has made this book the way that makes sense to them and sits comfortably for someone with ADHD. I was also surprised at the references that jump you forward and back in the book, but after reading about boredom and ADHD this all made sense. There are plenty of spaces and pages to write on, with only a swirl of colour — no completely blank pages. There are many short chapters on numerous aspects (some which will be relevant to the individual, others not — Moriah stresses that ADHD is diverse), including sleep, mood, anxiety, talking too much, zoning out, dopamine, and learning styles. Moriah tells it as it is: they give plenty of options and tools for dealing with some of the challenges of ADHD, but also celebrate the benefits. This is ADHD is empowering, interactive and an excellent resource for anyone interested in neurodiversity.

• Look inside!

An unexpected knock on the door brings an unwelcome stranger conveying news that Eilis can hardly believe. It’s 1976 and Eilis Lacey lives in Long Island with her husband, Tony, and their two teenage children, surrounded by his Italian family. Eilis has found a way to belong in this forthright family and has even eked out a little independence with a part-time office job. Falling into middle age, her marriage is comfortable and predictable. The news that arrives rocks her world to the core and unsettles her, reviving prejudices and doubts in her code of conduct and her expectations of others. Tony has fathered a child, not hers, and the baby when it is born is going to be deposited on the father and his family. Eilis won’t, unsurprisingly, have a bar of it, and decides she needs to get away. Her mother is turning eighty and this is a good enough reason as any to return to Ireland. As Tony, and particularly his mother, make plans for the forthcoming baby, Eilis finds herself cut out of any discussion or decision-making. Returning to her home village of Enniscorthy is hardly the escape she imagined. Nothing has changed. It is as stultifying as ever. The same preoccupations keep the rumour mill turning and the same prejudices about social class and morality persist. It may be 1970 everywhere else but here it could be the 1950s. Judgement, pettiness, and grudges circle under the everyday pleasantries.  Yet despite this, it is here that Eilis will face her greatest challenge — being true to her feelings. Her love for Jim Farrell has been dormant all those years. When we leave Eilis in Brooklyn, she is running away, and in Long Island she is escaping again. Nothing is straightforward. Tóibín has a gift for capturing intimate relationships — their nuances, inconsistencies, and delusions. Under the seemingly benign runs a thread of tension. There is the obvious complication of Nancy, Eilis's former best friend, and her dreams of a better life out of the chip shop with the willing publican Jim. And then the problem of Tony and the children — can Eilis make a new life for herself in America? As the story progresses Eilis, Jim, and Nancy are on a collision course that can not be avoided. Yet Long Island is not merely driven by the captivating plot, it is a commentary on expectation and illusion, where everyone has their private dream, but no one is honest to each other nor themselves. Where social mores hold behaviour in check even in the most intimate moments. Brilliantly written with a deft touch, it is only at the end that the breath you have been holding will be exhaled, but only briefly.

• Long Island will be published in May. Order now and get a 10% discount by entering the code COLM when checking out. Offer valid until 14 April.

• We will be discussing Long Island in our online book group, Talking Books, on 11 June. Join us!

This book is exquisite. It’s not just the packaging, even though this is a great start: cloth-covered, gilt-edged, and excellent layout make this a pleasure to hold in the hand and eye. The cover is a triptych of patterns, reminiscent of wallpaper, fabric sheets or curtains and the golden edges are just the right touch of tack and glamour. The endpapers are the perfect hotel green. For this is a book about hotels, or rather those who stay in them through, the eyes of a chambermaid. In fact, a not-a-chambermaid. French artist Sophie Calle spent a few months in 1981 employed at a Venetian hotel. Here she conducted a series of observations in photography and text of the rooms she cleaned when the guests were absent. She was a voyeur, an explorer into what is both intimate and anonymous. She cleaned rooms and took photographs, read guests postcards, noted their underwear, the way in which they slept in the beds. She opened suitcases and clicked her camera. She pried. The result was an exhibition and later a book — a book which until now has been available only in French. This new English-language edition of Hotel from Silglo is a welcome addition to Calle’s other artist books. The photographs are a mix of black and white and stunning colour. The elaborate decor (the floral glitz and the formal wooden furniture) of the hotel rooms is lovingly juxtaposed with the personal effects of the visitors: some drab, commonplace; others surprising and cumulatively interesting. Why does this guest have a letter from 16 years ago on holiday with them? What can it be but nostalgia? The two women in Room  26 have near-matching pyjamas, porn magazines and cigarettes — they leave behind the two coke bottles, mostly empty and the magazines in the rubbish. The family in Room 47 have a balloon tied to a drawer handle, towels piled up in the bidet, repetitive postcards, and Calle’s assessment on day one, “On the luggage stand, a second suitcase. It is full. I don’t go through it; I just look. I am bored with these guests already.” And what do they leave behind — a deflated balloon and stale biscuits. Some guests are neat, others unpack everything. Calle notes their nightclothes, whether they use them, the arrangement of their pillows — the different approaches between couples. What medicines and cosmetics do they carry with them? She leaves us to draw our own conclusions as to the why. The photographs are intriguing — the objects, the angles with which Calle captures these fleeting moments, these ‘peepings’ into others’ lives through things and the way in which they interact with their environment — the hotel room. The careful calculations of light that cross these rooms, highlighting a crease in the sheet, or a slight rucking of the carpet, or the shine of new luggage or the wear and tear of old, is testament to Calle's skill behind the lens. And the text adds another dimension. It tells us what Calle does, how she sees the guests and what she does in the rooms. Each episode is recorded by Room, date and time. The best episodes straddle multiple days — with each visit to a room (with the same occupants) Calle seems bolder and more intrigued with the evidence of the guests. This isn’t merely reportage — Calle laces her words with droll humour and a storyteller’s gift, taking us, the readers, into our own imagination as we become voyeurs alongside her. Somehow it never seems that she is stepping over a border, although she trends very closely to the edge. We are briefly submerged in the lives of others while remaining at a distance, remote, despite this most intimate experience.

For the shy, and the brave and the thoughtful. Let’s start with the shy…

Mole has been invited to Rabbit’s Moon Harvest Party. It’s a dilemma. Mole wants to go, but what if they don’t know anyone apart from Rabbit? Mole knows Rabbit likes cream puffs, but what if no one else does? Mole decides they will go. They make the cream puffs, wrap them up and tie the gift box of goodies with a beautiful yellow bow. Mole starts on the journey underground, not very sure they will get there. Maybe it would be better to just go home and try again another time. Mole makes a deal with themself: if they get past sleeping Snake, they will carry on. Snake sleeps and Mole is both pleased and apprehensive all at once. Maybe I should go home, Mole thinks. I wish I had stayed home exclaims Mole as they continue along the tunnels. In spite of the desire to turn back, and the endless deliberation, Mole finds themself popping up from underground at Rabbit’s place. Apprehensively, with the gift clutched in their paws, they venture above ground. But wait, there's someone else there! Hiding in the bushes. A someone just as shy as Mole. This is the cutest picture book I’ve come across recently. It’s sweet, without being saccharine, and delightfully illustrated. The depictions of the characters’ personalities are spot on; from the wonderfully shy Mole, to timid Skunk, clever Rabbit, and the more adventurous animal friends. There’s a charming picture of the walk to Rabbit’s house. Here is Raccoon pushing a cake on a cart, followed by Chipmunk playing a tune, Bear clutching some tasty drink, Fox with a fresh baguette, and rounding off the line, Hedgehog with a bunch of balloons. Below them, you can’t see Mole, but there’s some distinctly Mole-ish mumblings popping up in speech bubbles. And if you look carefully, you might spy Skunk. Maya Tatsukawa’s illustrations are joyful, brimming with humour and delightful detail. Check the books in Mole’s home — Moomins by the bed, the History of Burrows and Tunnels 101 on the reference shelf, to mention just a few. Mole is Not Alone is a lovely story about being unsure, of trying new things, and most of all, about being comfortable with who you are. The illustrations and the text fit together well and work seamlessly to give depth of understanding with subtlety and quiet humour.

And now a complete contrast. Things in the Basement is the latest graphic novel for kids from Ben Hatke. Milo has twin siblings, the household is busy, and the babies are crying. One of them is missing a pink sock and Milo has been sent to the laundry to find it. The laundry is in the basement. The pink sock is there somewhere, along with something else. Or many something elses! In Milo’s search for the pink sock, he will find stairs that keep going down, much further down than in any ordinary house, secret doors, trapdoors, strange cracks in the walls, rooms that open on to other rooms, and a world that is both fascinating and strange, and a little bit terrifying. Milo’s determined to get the sock back, so in spite of his fear he ventures forth. Not all things in the Basement World are foe, there are friends to help as well. Hatke’s murky colour palette adds to the feeling of imminent danger and contrasts nicely with the shining torches, glimpses of pink wool and humorous moments. The curious, if nervous, Milo is our guide through this underworld and don’t worry he’ll get you back to the world above with a pink sock, of sorts. This is aimed at 7 years up, but not for the faint-hearted. It’s wonderfully imaginative and magical, and an excellent graphic novel for those that like their stories with a spooky edge.

And as thinking is a wonderful pastime, here is the latest from the excellent pen of Shinsuke Yoshitake. Here, our protagonist, Akira, wonders about growing up — “When I’m big..,” ; is frustrated by having to rely on others — parents; and imagines themselves being super competent! Well, doesn’t everyone? In I Can Open It For You, we have screwed up faces, too tight jars, packages that won’t release their yummy food contents, tantrums and just plain old frustration. When you’re too little to manage, you have to ask for help. But when you grow up, you’ll be running about in demand: open this, that and everything else. Akira imagines all the things he will be able to open — jars, packets, houses, the earth, purses, suitcases, bottles and animal cages — when he’s bigger. Luckily, while he’s small, there’s always someone to help and show Akira all the wonderful ways to open boxes, packets, windows to views and a box with a new pet. A book about growing up, being open to new experiences and finding out together. Funny, thoughtful and enjoyable for small children who will instantly relate to Akira’s dilemma, and enjoy the experience of opening a book together.

Here’s a gem of a book. Take Two is a project by two sisters about growing up in post-war London which subtly reveals more than you expect. It is published by the excellent CB Editions, the small (one-man) publishing house of the well-regarded Charles Boyle, who in his recent newsletter (in which he breaks down the negative profit of publishing books) stated, “If I’m putting a book into the world — adding to the world’s sheer stuff — I want, obviously, this book to be a decent thing”. Caroline and Vivian Thonger, among other things, are both writers: Caroline of non-fiction and translation; Vivian poetry and short fictions. Caroline lives in Switzerland and Vivian in Aotearoa, as does the illustrator Alan Thomas. The book is a collection of short pieces, of episodes, that cleverly coalesce to build a picture of a sometimes fraught family life, through childhood memories, letters, remembered pieces of music, and household objects. There are micro-stories, poems, and short plays, all working together to reveal the dynamics of family life and familial relationships. For Caroline and Vivian, their parents figure strongly, each a dominating presence in their lives. Their mother, Ursula, seems glamorous and unconventional — she’s continental and fiercely independent, which must have made her unusual in the Britain of the 1950s, while her mother (the German grandmother), the rather daunting Oma, is opinionated and yet wry. When her sister suddenly dies landing face down in her pudding, she announces that it is very inconvenient. Their father, Richard, is a complex individual. Cambridge-educated, but it's difficult to place him in Britain’s society of the time — he seems contradictory to his core. Immersed in his study surrounded by words within a cloud of smoke, he’s obviously an intellectual, but he’s prone to fly off the handle and his temper has little regard for his daughters’ feelings, particularly Caroline, his eldest child. This is what I gather from reading the entries in this volume, and reading between the lines, for it is not spelled out. Both sisters have set aside their adult knowledge to rekindle the child’s viewpoint. It is deliberate and makes this memoir so very captivating. For the reader these impressions, along with our adult perspective and experiences, allow us to join the dots and fit the pieces into the jigsaw puzzle. Whether we do this accurately is beside the point, for memory is not accurate and perspectives are usually varied. There are ordinary childhood accounts followed by traumatic events, evenly told so that the reader does not notice at first and then pauses in shock. Look for the clues in the addresses in London as the family moves and dynamics change between the parents. See the summer holiday entries, hiking in France with their too-ambitious father or the visits to relatives which are laced with snippets of information. Follow as the sisters recount their childhood — their voices melding — and then take their own paths as young adults.  Add in the delightful drawings of Alan Thomas of remembered household objects, which tell their own story of a place and a time. The illustrations have revealing snippets of text. “Item 15: Coat hanger, padded, floral pattern, used to discipline teenage girls.” These fleeting glimpses offer us so much. In the final few pieces, some disquieting revelations come to light, demanding that you read again, much as one revisits one’s life with new-found knowledge. These facts have been sitting there the whole time, subtly in the sub-conscious of Take Two. This two-sister project is innovative, enjoyable, and a wonderfully distinct gem.

• (Take Two is our April book group choice and I'm looking forward to a chat with Vivian and Caroline later this month.)

Ella loves horses. She loves her gran Grizzly and her home in a southern rural town. She’s most at home on her pony Magpie and cantering across the hills, especially at her favourite time of the day — the grimmelings — a time when magic can happen. Yet she’s lonely and wishes for a friend for the summer. Mum’s busy, and grumpy, looking after everyone and running the trekking business; Grizzly’s getting sicker, although she still has time to tell Ella and her little sister Fiona strange tales and wild stories of Scotland; and the locals think they are a bunch of witches. Ella knows there is power in words and when she curses the bully, Josh Underhill, little does she know she will be in a search party the next day. With Josh missing, and a strangely mesmerising black stallion appearing out of nowhere, this is not your average summer. When Ella meets a stranger, she strikes up an unexpected friendship. Has her wish come true? Why does she feel both attracted and wary of this overly confident boy, Gus? With Josh still missing, Mum’s made the lake out of bounds. That’s the last place Dad was seen six years ago. The lake with its strangely calm centre is enticing. What lurks in its depths — danger or the truth? Rachael King’s The Grimmelings is a gripping story of a girl growing up, of secrets unfolded, and a vengeful kelpie. Like her equally excellent previous children’s book, Red Rocks, King cleverly entwines the concerns of a young teen with an adventure story steeped in mythology. In Red Rocks, a selkie plays a central role, here it is the kelpie. King convincingly transports these myths to Aotearoa, in this case, the southern mountains, and in the former novel, the coast of Island Bay. There are nods to the power of language in the idea of curses, but more intriguing, and touching, are the scraps of paper from Grizzly with new words and meanings for Ella — and for us, the readers. Words are powerful and help us navigate our place in the world and ward off dangers when necessary. Yet the beauty of The Grimmelings lies in its adventure and in the courage of a girl and her horse, who together may withstand a powerful being, and maybe even break a curse. Laced with magical words, intriguing mythology, and plenty of horses, it’s a compelling, as well as emotional, ride.

The Writer’s Map: An Atlas of Imaginary Lands by Huw Lewis-Jones

What could be better than opening a new book to find a map of a yet-to-be-discovered world? If you were a child like me, you would have spent as many hours looking at the map and imagining yourself in it as you would have done reading (and re-reading) the book itself. From Milly Molly Mandy’s village — her home, the house that little friend Susan lived in, where they picked berries, the village green where the fete would be — to the land of Narnia through the wardrobe, maps in books were a key that opened a portal to the worlds beyond home, school and the dreariness of the ‘real’ world. Finding a Moomin book in the deaccessioned shelf at the public library was a discovery in itself, but that it included an amazing and delightful world, with a detailed map, was unforgettable. Maps still have that fascination and I never tire of atlases. There’s something about imagining oneself elsewhere. The Writer’s Map is a beautifully illustrated atlas of literary maps, edited by historian Huw Lewis-Jones, with accompanying insightful essays from writers, designers, and illustrators. They talk about the influence of maps on their own work, the importance of map-making in creating plot and place, and the wondrous spaces, emotional and physical, where maps have taken and continue to take them. Philip Pullman, the creator of Northern Lights, opens with an essay entitled 'A Plausible Possible', where he describes creating a map for a book he wrote called The Tin Princess. To create a plausible scenario for his princess, Adelaide, he needed a possible world where the plot could play out. Other authors in the book write about the relationship between map-making and fiction: David Mitchell sketches and draws maps for his books, even though these do not appear in the finished novels. There are examples from his private notebooks showing islands, mountain trails, and fortifications. “Maps of fictitious places are maps of mind. You lose yourself in them and find, if not factual truth, then other kinds.” Brian Selznick, the author/illustrator of several amazing books, remembers his fascination with the anatomy section of his Golden Encyclopedia, with its mapping of the human bodies, and all the pathways of connected systems played out with layered acetate sheets. As a ten-year-old, he had a major operation, one that he recovered slowly from. Drawing was his world and continued to be so. “We all end up drawing the maps to our own futures, though we usually don’t know it at the time.” The book is split into four sections, 'Make Believe', with introductory essays from Huw Lewis-Jones and Brian Sibley; 'Writing Maps', with author contributions; 'Creating Maps', with contributions from illustrators and designers; and Reading Maps. Many of the contributors draw on their childhood memories and their love of books and maps, and how these influenced their own work. References include Treasure Island, Middle-earth, Narnia, and Moomin Valley. They also outline their journeys as map-makers, storytellers, and creators of imaginary worlds. The Writer’s Map is lavishly illustrated and a pleasure to read. It will have you wanting to delve into an imaginary world immediately or to take up your pencil to draw your very own. Highly recommended for lovers of books and maps. 

The Atlas of Unusual Borders by Zoran Nikolic

Here’s one for the curious and for those who love the strange histories of borders. Why are there odd pockets of land surrounded by another country? How did an action a thousand years old, possibly a whim, remain relevant and intact? Why do people with so much in common make life so complicated? And what happens when mistakes are made on paper? What are the stories behind the quirks of territorial demarcation?  In this wonderfully fascinating book, Zoran Nikolic takes us into the world of enclaves and exclaves, the finer points of unusual geography, and the heady politics, as well as arbitrary nature, of borderlines. There are over 40 places, each with tales and maps, alongside snippets about island enclaves in rivers and lakes, ghost towns, border quadripoints, and unusual capitals. Where did I go first? To Cyprus, to discover a little more. While I knew that it is split in two — north and south — and that there was/is a UN buffer zone, and that there were British military bases there, I hadn’t realised the border implications of this beyond the obvious. At 9,250 square kilometres (that’s roughly the same size as Tasman region) the Mediterranean island consists of four political territories and numerous borders. There is a southern enclave in the north — a village mistakenly not occupied in 1974. And there is a Turkish village enclave in the south now with only a small Turkish garrison. The two British military bases are their own territories, with one of them split into two with a communications station in a nearby village connected by a narrow road of sorts — another strip of British territory. There is the ghost town, once luxury resort, of Varosia. The UN Green Line still exists but it is demilitarised and has a population of about 10,000 and a UN force of roughly 1000. It’s a semi-open buffer zone mostly used for farming, but retains elements of abandonment, and still plays a role in keeping the peace. Each place Nikolic takes us to has a story, quirky facts, and sometimes convoluted histories. There is the Bosnian wedding gift village that now sits in Serbia. They pay taxes to Bosnia, but utility bills to Serbia. There is the all-male population of Mt Athos and the man-made Oil Rocks industrial town in the middle of the sea. There is the German Green Belt which belongs to nature, and the Australian Island aptly named Border Island because the line runs right through it. It’s a rock in a windswept sea! Intriguing and endlessly diverting, this is an enjoyable book to lose yourself in, and discover something unusual.

Dinah has arrived in Japan to teach English. Her apartment is dismal, her job mediocre, but here, in this foreign city far from her suburban New Zealand upbringing, she thinks she can escape and forget about her twin brother. Yet everywhere she looks he is there. Dinah is moving through the city streets on the edge of tipping into despair. This city is what she wants but it is unexpectedly strange. She is at odds with it. Sleeping outside in the grim park outside her building, suspecting she is the only person living in the apartment complex (she never sees anyone) and wary of an overly aggressive crow. Is what she senses real? How far is she removed from herself when she is not playing the role of the foreign language teacher? Can she thrive here or will she be subsumed by her grief? Yasuko, a teacher at the same school, is polished and precise. From her elegant wardrobe to her observant eye, she is an enigma to her colleagues. They are wary but captivated by her charm and daring, while she holds herself separate and aloof. For this world is of little importance to her. She hides a secret self. One which she represses for her adult son Jun. When her son disappears Yasuko begins to unravel. She has powers within her that connect her to another world, a natural world. This supernatural world seems drawn to Yasuko, as much as she is drawn to it, and the carefully manicured roles she plays as teacher and parent are tentative. The animals in her past and present are increasingly close, although it is to the strange young foreigner she leans. She is convinced that the girl can help her reconnect with Jun. This unexpected relationship will take them both on a journey. For Yasuko, she is driven on by a desire to be released from her burdens towards a place where the voices can fly free. For Dinah, in the hope she will come home to herself, she will follow, as she has always done, without understanding the peril or the pleasure. Bird Life examines the forces that allow us to slip from one world to another, the relationship between the internal and external, and the tentative membrane that exists between genius and madness. As with Anna Smaill’s acclaimed previous novel, The Chimes, the writing is taut and evocative with subtle symbolism and a rhythmic beauty. The magical realism hints at Murakami and Allende, while the quotidian observations keep the novel in the here and now, creating a satisfying fracture in this absorbing story.

• We will be discussing Bird Life in our next session of TALKING BOOKS, our online book group. >>Find out more.

If you are interested in making up stories, playing games, and looking for an alternative to the screen, you need one of these brilliant myriorama storytelling card games. With their great graphics — there are different illustrators for each set; archetypal characters — there’s a wolf in the woods, a mad scientist experimenting in the lab, and a butler lurking in the hall; and numerous paths to take the possibilities are endless. Your imagination is the only impediment and the key. In The Shadow World, the graphic designer Shan Jiang's two-tone palette of black and yellow with a hint of metallic blue creates an underworld industrial park meets steampunk meets science lab with a hint of mad obsession as a scientist delves into a theory that may have disastrous implications. Anything could happen in this underworld where space and time meet chaos. The Mystery Mansion recalls 1920s glamour with a splash of country gentry and Agatha Christie. Foul play is at hand, the butler is grumpy, revenge is in the air and there are too many accidents. The game is afoot. Lucille Clerc’s illustrations are charming and cleverly detailed leaving a trail of clues. Make your own rules and invent your mystery in this grand country house. If howling at the moon is more your style, then a walk in The Hollow Woods is on the cards. Rohan Daniel Eason’s excellent black and white pen illustrations are apt for these fairytale-inspired storytelling cards. Beware! On your journey, you may encounter a giant, a wolf, or a fire-breathing dragon. Sinister shadows abound, so keep moving and keep to the path. The most beautiful in this series so far is The Endless Odyssey. The stunning drawings are the work of award-winning illustrator Marion Dechars. Inspired by the Greek myth, here the Minotaur will roar, the warrior endure, magical creatures race across the landscape, and gods and goddesses help or hinder your journey. Fire up your imagination and let the telling of tales begin.

Let me introduce you to a wonderful bedtime story. It’s not your usual “goodnight, sleep tight” tale. In fact, it is possible it could you keep awake with thinking or make you dream of elusive blue rhinoceroses. Ludwig and the Rhinoceros: A philosophical bedtime story by Noemi Schneider and Golden Cosmos is an amusing gem of a book. Let’s start with the illustrations. The bold colour palette and drawing style call to mind a combination of 1930s Soviet children’s books and 1960s pop art, but with their own twist the duo who are Golden Cosmos give the book an energetic pulse. Those pinks, yellows, and blues bounce off each other and require action on the part of the characters to search and announce, while the darker blue pages perfectly fit the more reflective nature of the night and the concept at the centre of this book. For this is a story of a rhinoceros who is and isn’t there.  This is a picture book about the philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein and his discussion with Bertrand Russell about the limits of language. There is a nice explainer at the end about their difference of opinion, as well as information about Wittgenstein and a 'What is a philosopher' paragraph. So plenty of room for further discussion. Yet the charm of the book is in the straightforward and lively text. The back and forth of the child Ludwig and his parent as they disagree on whether the rhinoceros is in the room. Enjoyable for children and adults alike. What’s there not to like about a philosophical bedtime story?

How dangerous is a sad man? Sister Perpetue is on the night shift. She is under strict instructions to watch the patient (or is he prisoner shackled to the bed?) — to never let her eyes or mind wander. Yet when he talks, she listens and is caught up in his tale. His horrific story. For is he merely unfortunate or is he a monster? In The Glutton, A.K. Blakemore turns from witches (her previous award-winning novel captured the puritanical fervour of England, 1643) to the infamy of The Great Tarare — The Glutton of Lyon. A man so perverse, so tortured by his insatiable hunger that he will eat anything. The Glutton is a glorious novel. Glorious in its writing: Blakemore paints with her words a world alive with visceral undertakings, both beautiful and appalling. Glorious in its depiction of depravity and desire: the futile attempts to capture love or meaning in a maelstrom of corruption and ignorance. Glorious in its observations of time: this turbulent history of dissatisfaction, desperation, and rebellion. The revolution calls all men to its reckoning, and a boy-man like Tarare turns the heads of more powerful men — men that will command him to perform and then spit him out like gristle that irritates the tooth. And then there are his fellows who will not claim him — who prefer him a spectacle. For what are they, but curious? Hardened and bored by the grind of their days and the poverty of their hearth and heart. In all this, can Tarare be anything other than the monstrous man with his jaws wide open, his throat slack as he ingests mountains of offal, eats small animals alive, and takes in copious buttons, belts, and other fancies as the crowd demands? Grotesque, exhilarating, and strangely beautiful, Blakemore’s The Glutton is a delectable dish. Gobble it up!

Listen to Stella rview three favourite books from 2023 on Radio New Zealand.

Find out more about the books:
Tsunami by Ned Wenlock
The Puppets of Spelhorst by Kate diCamillo and Julie Morstad
Prophet Song by Paul Lynch

If you haven't already looked and purchased a book from our Art and Architecture Summer Specials, you'll need to be quick. Some of my favourites have already gone, but here are a few that I would like on my shelves (you can click on the covers to look inside these books):
Kouldelka: Gypsies, documentary photography by Josef Koudelka, captures the Roma communities of Europe in the 1960s. Amazing images of a time and place long gone, but the desire for recognition remains. 

A photographic project closer to home. In Te Ahi Kā, Danish photographer Martin Toft spent six months alongside Māori by the Whanganui River in 1996 as they were in the process of reversing colonisation and returning to their ancestral lands. This stunning book documents this process.

For the sheer pleasure of looking and learning Vitamin D3: Today's best comtemporary drawing. These Phaidon collections are always excellent, and a great way to be introduced to new artists, as well as inspiration for your future projects.

And from the range of architecture books, my pick would beJulia Watson's  Lo-TEK: Design by radical indigenism. An exploration of indigenous philosophy, natural spaces, and resilient infrastructure. Important and urgent.

• Browse our Art and Architecture Summer Specials now!

Moominsummer Madness by Tove Jansson

Reading aloud is always a pleasure and listening is even better, especially when you are revisiting a favourite book. I first discovered the Moomins in the sale bin of the Stoke Library (when it was housed in the little wooden building). It was a 5-cent book and I thought it was magical. I knew nothing at that time about the Moomin series nor the author Tove Janssen, and didn’t know I would meet someone who had grown up on these Finnish classics, and that then I would discover the rest of the Moomin books. My copy of Moominsummer Madness was a well-read paperback with the usual library markings of a deaccessioned book, some dog ears, a few pages taped in, and the usual library stamps declaring cancelled. The copies we keep in stock at VOLUME are lovely hardbacks with the original illustrations, wonderful Moomin Valley maps, and gorgeous endpapers. In Moominsummer Madness, the family wakes up to a flooded valley and the water keeps rising. They move to the roof and make a getaway in the boat, along with the table and chairs, a supply of tea, and a few provisions. Fortunately, they come across a new home to make into a temporary abode. It’s a rather strange place. One wall is missing. Here hallways come to dead ends and some doors open to nowhere. There are moving curtains and painted scenery that changes unexpectedly and mysterious rooms filled with things that don’t quite work as one would expect. There is a strange sound coming from one corner of the main room and the owner of the mumbling voice won’t show themselves. Despite all this, the Moomin family, along with the irrepressible Little My, her scolding sister the Mymble’s daughter, the lamentable Misabel, and the philosophical Womper, make the best of the situation. All is going along well, until Little My falls through the trapdoor and disappears into the water, Moomintroll and the Snork Maiden are left abandoned in a tree during an overnight camping expedition, and the strange building floats away after the contemptuous stage manager Emma heaves out the ‘anchor’. As the Moomins find out about theatres and acting and plan a play, Moomintroll and the Snork Maiden make their way to land, only to be arrested for a crime they didn’t commit. The culprit of this ‘crime’ has just taken on 24 small woodies and rescued Little My. The culprit being the freewheeling Snufkin. Keep an eye out for glowing Hattifattners, dramas on the water and on the stage, and wonderful characters who will become your best friends. If you haven’t read the Moomin stories yet, you are missing out. And yes, it all works out well for everyone, almost.

When it’s too hot to play outside, to garden, or walk yourself or your dog, what should one do? When a cool room beckons, but you have reached a point in your book where you need a pause, what is a good restful alternative? When the summer evening keeps you awake longer and the cooking and dishes are done for the day, and the relatives have gone home, what’s a relaxing, but also engaging, reward? When all the conversations are had and there is no more news to catch up on, the drinks are made — cool or hot (depending on your preference) — what’s an activity you can do alone or shared? A 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle!* Not any kind, but one that is interesting enough, well illustrated and designed, and one that preferably has a book theme, of course! Our summer evening activity throughout the busy festive season — not quite finished yet — has been In the Bookstore. It’s not too easy, nor frustratingly difficult. (These challenges are for other times in the year). A 1000-piece to me is perfect. The 500 never feel quite enough and are done before you know it; while the 2000 either have tiny pieces or they are too big for the puzzle cardboard which needs to be moved from room to room (i.e. has to fit through doorways) during the construction process due to the nature of small rooms in small houses. This puzzle is a delight. One, because it is a bookshop. Two, it is filled with a vast array of genres (fantasy, cooking, travel, art). Three, it has colour-coordinated bookshelves (something I would never have in reality, but love it in a puzzle). Four, book characters are popping up in their respective areas — a detective in a deerstalker solving a crime, a bard in the poetry section, Tintin and Snowy, as well as wizards and a happy prince — as well as some well-known writers checking the shelves. Five, the comic-style design is visually appealing and the illustrator’s humour peeks through. Six, it’s nicely made — nothing is worse than flimsy bending pieces or too many strange-shaped pieces. (The exception being my round childhood puzzle which I still think is wonderful. This is a themed stamps of the world jigsaw. Horses, of course!). Also available, Paperback Classics and In the Museum. And on the book theme, more amusement can be found in Classic Paperbacks Memory Game and for extra distraction, A Book of Surrealist Games.

*(Unfortunately most dogs can not participate successfully in this activity. Our cat attempts to help by skidding the pieces into place (!) when we are out of the room.)

My reading in any given year will include novels, short stories, and children's books, as well as essays and specific non-fiction, so the pool to select highlights from is wide-ranging. Two standouts in my children's reading were the excellent YA novel Between the Flags by Rachel Fenton and the charming The Puppets of Spelhorst by Kate DiCamillo. It's always hard to whittle down the novels, as there are many worthy contenders, but these three all stood out. Starting from the most recently read, Prophet Song — intense and furious; followed by two brilliant Aotearoa authors, Thomasin Sleigh's The Words for Her — intelligent and gripping, and the beguiling Bird Life by Anna Smaill — a novel of quiet unease like a bird furiously flapping its wings against a glass pane, but you're inside and you can't hear it. And finally, I am always on the lookout for interesting craft theory writing, so was pleased to find (and be able to source) EP3 - Post Craft — specific! 

Did you know we have a category on our shop website (volumebooks.online) called ‘Place’? 

Here you can find books about a particular country, set predominately in that place or written by an author of that country. This section covers various genres from history to art to fiction. Interested in Asia, here you will find the latest novel set in Malaysia from Tan Twan Eng, House of Doors, the excellent Japanese Australian author Jessica Au’s award-winning Cold Enough for Snow, and Aotearoa’s Joanna Cho’s delightful collection People Person, as well as cookbooks (the beautiful Parsi spanning from Persia to Bombay) and one of my favourite woman’s history accounts, Stranger in the Shogun’s City. In The Passenger travel series, we have Japan and India.  Have a wander around some places and discover history, culture, and fiction authors new to you. And possibly, the right gift for someone special.