The Free-Range Bookclub
Bookclubbers without boundaries in Nelson, New Zealand
What We Can Know – Ian McEwan
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Chosen by Sally
In 2014 a great poem is read aloud and never heard again. For generations, people speculate about its message, but no copy has yet been found. In 2119 the lowlands of the UK have been submerged by rising seas. Those who survive are haunted by the richness of the world that has been lost. Academic Tom Metcalfe pores over archives of the early twenty-first century, captivated by the freedoms and possibilities of human life at its zenith.
I’d like to shout down through a hole in the ceiling of time and advise the people of a hundred years ago: If you want your secrets kept, whisper them into the ear of your dearest, most trusted friend. Do not trust the keyboard and screen. If you do, we’ll know everything.
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SALLY: cleverly constructed, dystopian world — a hefty feminist current — about nostalgia and memory and how both are imperfect sciences 4⭐️
I ordered this book at the beginning of the year and read it when it arrived, which meant I had to re-read it for book group. I have to say, I enjoyed it more the second time through. I am a fan of his work, my favourite being Atonement, but I would say it is common for me to finish his books feeling like I have missed something. So it was here. First time around, I was absolutely consumed by the plot and probably raced through the text hoping for a miraculous ending. The ending is kind of miraculous, but it is not what I was expecting.
At the second reading, I spent much more time appreciating the cleverly constructed, dystopian world McEwan has constructed. Set in a post-apocalyptic world 100 years from now, sea levels have risen and most of the UK is flooded. Society as we know it has disintegrated. Food is scarce and restricted, technology limited, world trade has collapsed, global warming is in full flight. Details such as The Bodleian having been relocated to the top of Snowdon, having to drink acorn coffee and swimming with sea turtles in an area of England that would be miles from the sea on a current map painted a rich and quite plausible picture.
The main protagonist, Thomas Metcalfe is a lecturer in English Literature, obsessed with one specific poem written before the apocalypse. The other major character is Vivien, for whom the poem was written. A whole other cast of characters swirls around the missing poem and Thomas’s hunt for it. For me this novel is about nostalgia and memory and how both are imperfect sciences. All the characters around at the time of the poem’s creation have different views and feelings regarding the so-called masterpiece. We as readers have much more insight than Thomas who, 100 years on, yearns to find the missing manuscript and share it with the present day. The title of the book What We Can Know should be followed by the subtitle “Is Not Very Much” as the passage of time, inaccurate reporting and rose-tinted spectacles all have a part in this story.
There is a hefty feminist current in this book with two wonderfully intelligent women wreaking exquisite, bloodless revenge on their egotistical husbands. The more I consider this book, the more layers I find, and my recommendation would be to savour it, think about it, do not rush it. A basic knowledge of British geography would make a difference to your appreciation of the world McEwan has created.
RACHEL: compelling plot, important message — gave me a lot to think about — respects the reader’s intelligence 4⭐️
I’ve read everything Ian McEwan has written, he’s been one of my favourite writers for a long time, and I really value how his fiction has developed. Every one of his books has a compelling plot, but also an important message. From the unsettling and psychological to humanity to civilisations, McEwan always has an astute response to the world that challenges me to ponder and Google and keep reading without making me feel like I’m completely out of my academic depth. I really appreciate how he respects the reader’s intelligence but still teaches us stuff.
The most affecting moment for me in What We Can Know is when Tom Metcalfe and his contemporaries look back on 2014 as the peak of human civilisation, a time of freedom, abundance, biodiversity, easy travel and material comfort, before climate change, political instability, pandemics, wars and rising seas. A time before “the Derangement”, when people understood the climate threat but collectively failed to respond. This message really hit home and gave me a lot to think about in terms of preserving history and protecting what we have while we have it.
McEwan wraps these ideas in a story full of murder, lovers, affairs and all the indecencies of any good plot. To be honest I found it a little slow to get going, but once the pieces are in place the narrative gathers momentum and it held my attention throughout. I think this is another of McEwan’s works that will endure and stay in the history books.
BRIDGET: McEwan’s future world very plausible — Vivien [was] weak and difficult to root for — intricate character study and literary mystery 3.5⭐️
Ian McEwan masterfully weaves two contrasting storylines: one set at the dawn of the 21st century, and the other 100 years in the future where a climate-ravaged world is surviving but with out the luxuries we currently enjoy, some food sources have been wiped out and the world has been flooded by a rising tide. I enjoyed reading McEwan’s future world, he made it sound very plausible.
The narrative revolves around a missing corona that Francis, a brilliant poet, famously read to a tight-knit circle of friends at a 2014 dinner party. The poem vanished after that night. One hundred years into the future Thomas Metcalfe, a literary scholar, romanticises about the 21st century as a “golden age”. His ultimate obsession is recovering that missing poem, A Corona for Vivien. This fixation alienates him from his pragmatic colleague and former partner, Rose who constantly challenges his idealised view of history. Thomas’s character is a mix of engaging and pitiful, more pitiful though as he obsesses over century-old emails that Vivian Blundy wrote and sometimes talks to the idea of her.
The past timeline introduces us to Vivien and her complex life. She is a deeply flawed character; who McEwan has done a great job of developing. She balances being a caretaker for her first husband, Percy (a gentle violin maker suffering from early-onset Alzheimer’s), with her turbulent second marriage to Francis. Vivien handles her chaotic life by engaging in numerous affairs. Personally, I didn’t gel with her; I found her weak and difficult to root for, though the sheer number of affairs definitely hints at a deeper thematic meaning about human connection.
If you love intricate character studies and literary mysteries, this is well worth the read.
TESSA: appreciated thoughtful exploration — struggled to connect emotionally — gave me plenty to think about 3.5⭐️
This is the first Ian McEwan novel I have read and I enjoyed it overall, however it wasn’t a perfect read for me. I found the writing beautiful, and appreciated the thoughtful exploration of memory, truth and how we make sense of the past. The mystery kept me interested, but fell a bit flat with the pacing slow at times.
What I liked least was the amount of infidelity in the story. It felt more prominent then I expected, and I found it distracting and frustrating rather then adding much to the novel. I also struggled to connect emotionally with some of the characters. Even so, the book gave me plenty to think about, and I’d recommend it to readers who enjoy literacy fiction with big ideas.
JODIE: shows how history can be highly speculative — powerful metaphor — thoughtful and thought-provoking 3.5⭐️
What We Can Know is a cleverly written dystopian novel that explores climate change, memory, and the fragility of history. The significance of the missing poem and what Tom tried to discover shows how history can be highly speculative, often based on educated guesses rather than anything truly concrete.
The novel unfolds gradually, and I liked how the first part, which initially felt quite speculative, became much clearer after reading the second part. Once the real story emerged, it gave the earlier sections much more meaning.
One of the ideas that stayed with me was the question of what would happen if a major global event occurred today. Would we lose much of our history, especially when so much of our lives exists only in digital form? The disappearance of the poem serves as a powerful metaphor for how difficult it can be to preserve cultural artefacts in our data-heavy world.
By the end of the novel, I was left reflecting on our planet’s future and the possibility of losing not only the environment but also the stories, knowledge, and history that define us. It is a thoughtful and thought-provoking read.
Published 2025
Knopf
303 pages
All Our Yesterdays – Natalia Ginzburg
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Chosen by Jodie
Published in 1952 and set against the rise of fascism and the Second World War in Italy, All Our Yesterdays explores how history unfolds through ordinary lives rather than extraordinary events. Natalia Ginzburg examines family, love, duty and the compromises people make as the world around them drastically changes.
He told her that up till that day she had lived like an insect. An insect that knows nothing beyond the leaf upon which it hangs.
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JODIE: Beneath straightforward language is an enormous amount of emotional depth — stayed with me long after I finished it — during tragic or difficult moments, there is often a subtle comedic edge 3.5⭐️
Natalia Ginzburg’s All Our Yesterdays is a novel that stayed with me long after I finished it. What I enjoyed most was her style of writing. It’s plain, direct, and completely free of unnecessary drama, yet it manages to convey so much emotion. I also loved her dry humour. Even during tragic or difficult moments, there is often a subtle comedic edge that feels very human and true to life.
Ginzburg’s writing is simple and understated, which is something I really appreciate. Rather than focusing on heroic events or larger-than-life characters, she writes about ordinary family life, relationships, and the small decisions that shape people’s lives. The story unfolds against the backdrop of wartime Italy, but the focus remains firmly on the everyday experiences of her characters.
Some readers may find her style too simple, but I think that’s where her strength lies. Beneath the straightforward language is an enormous amount of emotional depth. She captures loneliness, love, disappointment, and resilience with remarkable honesty. The emotions are never overstated, which somehow makes them even more powerful.
For me, All Our Yesterdays was a thoughtful and deeply moving novel that demonstrates how much can be said with seemingly simple prose.
RACHEL: Initially … I felt one step removed from the action — authentic portrayal of Italian war life — particularly liked the last section where the pace heightens 3.5⭐️
As a fan of Ginzburg’s novellas I was keen to read one of her full length novels. All Our Yesterdays has the same rolling, off-hand, over-the-fence style narrative that feels like someone recounting gossip. In a novella it adds to the snappy, fragmentary style revelations that keep the pace and intrigue up. Initially, I wasn’t convinced it worked as well in a full length novel. I felt one step removed from the action, like I wasn’t in the midst of it observing everything first hand.
But as the war setting intensified and people’s lives became a series of hurried conversations exchanged on street corners, I began to appreciate how well suited this style was. Life, especially in wartime, changes in an instant and there is little time to ponder, dramatise and eulogise over individual events when your community is under siege. The more I read, the more the book and vast cast of characters grew on me and in the end I felt that All Our Yesterdays was an authentic portrayal of Italian war life. As Ginzburg lived through this time herself it’s no surprise the plot and characters seem so realistic. I particularly liked the last section where the pace heightens and all the hearsay comes to shocking fruition.
BRIDGET: took me a while to start enjoying this one — life-changing events delivered in an almost matter-of-fact way — truly came alive for me once I learned more about the author 3.5⭐️
It took me a while, about halfway through, to start enjoying this one. Natalia Ginzburg’s literal style was initially quite hard to read, mostly because none of her characters actually speak. Instead, the book is written as if someone is telling the story in a gossipy way, a style I have never come across before! On reflection, though, it perfectly suits the feel of the novel. The story is set across several small Italian villages and towns, the exact kinds of places where everyone makes it their business to know what everyone else is doing.
The plot strolls along at a semi-slow pace, introducing the dynamics of the primary family and the family next door. Interestingly, neither family is given a surname; they clearly have them, but Ginzburg chooses not to use them. She also avoids using first names for certain characters, like Anna’s father, who is simply called “the old man,” or Anna’s daughter, who is referred to as “the little girl.” By omitting these names, I never actually formed a picture in my mind of what the characters looked like, which was a unique experience for me as a reader. Despite the slow pace, several life-changing events are delivered in an almost matter-of-fact way. These were the parts I had to re-read just to process the full impact of what was happening. Ultimately, Ginzburg’s vocabulary offers a deeply personal, human viewpoint of this historical era one in which she lived through.
While I enjoyed the book on its own, it truly came alive for me once I learned more about the author herself.
SALLY: felt authentic in that it reflected small-town relationships — whole tapestry of stories, each intertwining with the others — would make a great film 3⭐️
This classic war novel follows two families who live opposite each other in a small town. The cast of characters includes all the family members, their servants, their friends, village luminaries such as the police sergeant and the chemist, the local Marchesa, peasant farmers, refugee Jews and the village cripple. We even have an insight into the thoughts of a disillusioned young German soldier. In short, we see the situation through the eyes of every level of society and political persuasion. Despite many reviews leaning towards the youngest daughter, Anna, as the main protagonist, I didn’t feel there was a main protagonist but rather a whole tapestry of stories, each intertwining with the others and affecting them differently.
As the story progresses, we learn who amongst the characters can rise above the pressures, depravations and loss of war and who crumbles. Perhaps even more moving though, are the characters who neither rise nor crumble but just grind a way through the hell of the occupation and survive.
Ginzberg’s style was off-putting to me at first. She often uses very long sentences, lots of comma breaks and repetition within the same sentence. It’s not that these long sentences are hard to follow, the opposite. The word that came to mind for me was that she was prattling, almost gossiping. A lot of the text sounded to me as if it was being recited over the fence by one nosy neighbour to another. Once I had packaged it like that, it felt authentic in that it reflected the small-town relationships, mentalities and events that are the fibre of the whole novel. Because it was such a rapid-fire style, I did feel she lost the impact that one of the more serious events should have had on me as a reader.
This book would make a great film, and as an aside, my copy of the novel has a fabulous photo on the front by the great American photographer Ruth Orkin. It will be a serious runner for our “Book Cover the Year” award. Titled “Jinx and Justin – Florence 1951”, do yourself a favour and go down a rabbit hole looking up both Orkin and Jinx (real name Ninalee Craig).
TESSA: strength lies in its intimate portrayal of ordinary people — experiences of war do not simply end when peace arrives — felt as though I had lived alongside these families 5⭐️
I absolutely loved All Our Yesterdays and could not put it down. The novel follows the lives of two interconnected families as they navigate love, loss, family tensions, and the gradual intrusion of history into their everyday lives. While the book is undoubtedly shaped by war, fascism, politics, and the major historical events of the period, for me it’s true strength lies in its intimate portrayal of ordinary people.
Ginzburg writes with remarkable sensitivity, capturing the small moments and relationships that define her characters just as much as the larger events unfolding around them. The novel feels deeply human, showing how history is experienced not through headlines and military campaigns, but through families, friendships, marriages, and personal struggles.
The second half of the novel contains some incredibly heartbreaking events as the realities of war arrive on the characters’ doorstep. These moments are handled with emotional honesty and restraint, making them all the more powerful. In particular, Anna emerges as a memorable protagonist. Faced with profound tragedy and disappointment, she demonstrates quiet strength and resilience, adapting to circumstances beyond her control.
What stayed with me most was the way experiences of war do not simply end when peace arrives; they become woven into the characters’ identities and relationships, influencing the lives they build afterwards.
‘And they laughed a little and were friendly together, the three of them, Anna,
Emanuele and Giustino; and they were pleased to be together, the three of them, thinking of the dead, and of the long war and the sorrow and noise and confusion, and of the long difficult life which they saw in front of them now, full of all the things they did not know how to do’.
By the final page, I felt as though I had lived alongside these families and witnessed a significant chapter of their lives. A beautifully written novel which I highly recommend and give a 10 out of 10.
First published in 1952 in Italian
Translated in 1956 by Angus Davidson
Giulio Einaudi Editore
300 pages
2026: NZ Book Awards
RACHEL:
● The Ockham New Zealand Book Awards shortlist was a mixed bag for me this year. The shortlist ranges from the diva of NZ fiction Catherine Chidgey to debut novelists, a poet and memoirist, and a visual artist. The subject matter is equally diverse: an alternative reality set in Britian in 1979, a Kiwi family navigating love and loss, nine linked stories about successful women from NZ and abroad, to a book about, well, the author himself.
Before getting to the four that did make the shortlist, I want to acknowledge a few that didn’t. 1985 by Dominic Hoey is a fabulous read and I’m unsure why it missed out. It is nostalgic, very Kiwi in its vernacular, highlights the plight of the under privileged, and is uniquely warm and wholesome.
I also really enjoyed The Last Living Cannibal, which explores Māori and societal history, and Before The Winter Ends with its focus on the immigrant experience in New Zealand. All three felt distinctly rooted in Aotearoa. And, to be honest, I struggle to understand how a book about its own author, a privileged white artist who is frequently disparaging about others especially women, was considered to have a more compelling or important story to tell than any of the aforementioned.
Of the four that were shortlisted, my clear favourite is The Book of Guilt. Chidgey is a master of pace, reveals and lurking sinister undertones. She respects her readers’ intelligence and paints a thought-provoking picture of society’s past and possible future. If the award is for the best-written novel, I can’t see how anything but this could win. The issue I can see is that The Book of Guilt isn’t set in New Zealand and isn’t about Kiwis or our history and I can see it being pipped at the post that feels more representative of us.
If this is the case I’d be happy to see either All Her Lives or Hoods Landing recognised. Both are distinctly Kiwi and impressive debuts.
1985 – Dominic Hoey
READ FOR BOOKCLUB
Chosen by Tessa
Set in 1985 Auckland, this novel follows an 11 year old boy named Obi who is on the cusp of teenagehood but has a maturity shaped by poverty, dysfunctional family dynamics, (dis)organised crime and violence. His dad’s delusional, his mum’s sick, the Rainbow Warrior just exploded, and Obi is looking for a way to make quick money. An electric novel about life in a multi-cultural, counter-cultural part of Auckland pre-gentrification.
The smell of graffiti and sunburn, empty stomachs and pockets stuffed with other people’s treasure. Sewage when it rained, of fear, of knowing that reality hates its job, and that being a child is like being stupid on acid.
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TESSA: blends gritty realism with moments of tenderness — a strong sense of nostalgia — I really loved this book 4⭐️
I chose 1985 for our April book club as I wanted to include a New Zealand author, and the novel’s nomination for the Dublin Literary Awards caught my attention. I also hadn’t come across Dominic Hoey before, and the synopsis on the back cover intrigued me. I wasn’t disappointed—in fact, I really loved this book. For me, it carried a strong sense of nostalgia. Having grown up in Auckland, I found the setting and time period incredibly familiar, which made the story feel even more vivid and personal.
Hoey’s writing style is highly descriptive, and the short, fast-paced chapters made it an engaging and easy read. Each chapter left me wanting to continue, creating a strong sense of momentum throughout the book.
One of the novel’s strengths lies in its characters. They are deeply flawed—particularly the adults—but Hoey writes them with empathy and, at times, a surprising amount of warmth. Obi’s father, for example, is largely unreliable and constantly scheming for ways to make money without working. Yet he is not without redeeming qualities. Moments like when he teaches Obi to cook add depth to his character and show a different side to their relationship. These small glimpses of care make the characters feel real rather than one-dimensional. Despite the difficult circumstances depicted throughout the novel, I feel it remains inherently hopeful. It strikes a compelling balance between social commentary and a coming-of-age story, exploring hardship while still allowing space for growth, connection, and resilience.
That said, this isn’t a book I would recommend to everyone. The frequent use of strong language is a defining feature of the narrative voice and may not appeal to all readers. However, for those who don’t mind this, it adds authenticity to the story and its setting.
Overall, I found 1985 to be a compelling and evocative novel that blends gritty realism with moments of tenderness. It’s a powerful portrayal of place, family, and growing up, and one that resonated with me long after I finished.
RACHEL: darkly funny yet deeply empathetic — characters balanced between strengths, flaws and misguided morals — should have been shortlisted for the NZ Book Awards 4⭐️
There’s a real satisfaction in reading a novel deeply rooted in New Zealand history, society and culture. The settings, language and behavioural idiosyncrasies in this book offered a large dose of nostalgic sentiment. (I too played Spaceys in the fish & chip shop in 1985!) Even the darkly funny yet deeply empathetic narrative voice felt unmistakably Kiwi.
Within that cocoon of familiarity is a cast of characters balanced between strengths, flaws and misguided morals. I bonded quickly with Obi, his best mate Al and his sister Summer as well as some of the minor characters. I was conflicted about the parents as it felt like Hoey wanted us to forgive them too easily, despite the father’s poor role modelling and the mother’s indifference. But the fact I am spending so much time dissecting them means there has clearly been a lot of thought in how they were developed.
There is a simple plot, of Obi trying to save the family home via Spacey competitions and treasure maps, but ultimately this is a character study, and a very good one at that. I think 1985 should have been shortlisted for the NZ Book Awards.
BRIDGET: bringing a wide range of characters to life — a layer of innocence that slowly peels away — Hoey’s writing style is a total pleaure to read 4⭐️
What a great read! Hoey does a fantastic job of bringing a wide range of characters to life in this book. They all sit comfortably within the narrative, and even though some only make brief appearances, you get a real sense of who they are. They all share one thing in common: a desire to improve their lives.
The scale of these ambitions is wide-ranging, from petty theft and shifts at the bacon factory to dreams of directing movies or becoming the best Space Invaders player in town. Every character is looking for something more than what they currently have.
While there isn’t a traditional “action” plot, the story beautifully captures an eleven-year-old boy at the age of exploration and self-discovery. Seeing the world through his eyes gives the story a layer of innocence that slowly peels away. It’s a poignant journey as he eventually realises his father isn’t quite the hero he imagined him to be.
Hoey’s writing style is a total pleasure to read, I absolutely loved this book.
SALLY: a hopeful book about the warmth of communities — handled with insight and poignancy — I genuinely loved every character 4⭐️
1985 is a heart-warming, tragi-comic biography in the same vein as Taika Waititi’s film Boy.
The central character Obi is navigating a childhood in poverty, with a father who is a petty criminal, frustrated poet and recidivist alcoholic. His mother’s life has been blighted by chronic illness (secondary to drug use) and despite a university education, she has seriously failed to achieve her potential. Despite their issues, both parents genuinely worship each other and love Obi and his sister Summer. It was painful to read about the constant lack of good food, the crime and gang violence all around them, the constant mold and dampness in their home, the pain of disappointment when Obi’s father disappoints him repeatedly. I also felt incredible tension related to Summer who is clearly disillusioned with her family but is seeking solace down all the wrong avenues.
One of the main themes in this book is having a dream or being a dreamer. For some it is a superpower and for others it is their downfall. Obi’s dream is to find buried treasure and save the family from losing their home.
I genuinely loved every character in this book. Despite their flaws, I forgave them because they each show a vulnerable side and are principled in their own misguided ways. Stand out for me is Al, Obi’s Samoan friend who is full of wise-cracks and cheek despite having been abandoned by both his parents to the care of an aunty and a large, extended family of cousins. The warmth and care that comes from within that home for both Al and Obi gave me warm fuzzies. I love that Al has the seemingly impossible dream of becoming a filmmaker.
This is a seriously New Zealand read, anchored as it is in Grey Lynn, Auckland in 1985. It references key political events in New Zealand such as the Springboks Tour, the Dawn Raids and the sinking of the Rainbow Warrier.
The theme of children trying to navigate the chaos and neglect inflicted on them by their carers is not a new one and is handled with insight and poignancy. I was filled with a sense of dread when the boys were stranded on the far side of the city late at night and yet they are taken in by some other wonderful characters. This is ultimately a hopeful book about the warmth of communities and the kindness of strangers, tempered by the gritty reality of crime, violence, substance abuse and hopeless poverty
I thank the author for leaving us with the sense that the boys ultimately do escape their childhoods, not altogether unscathed, but in some ways the stronger for it.
JODIE: told with humour and a sharp comedic style that made it feel realistic — loved the sense of community — poetry and politics woven into the story 4⭐️
I really enjoyed reading 1985, mainly because the characters felt so authentic. Obi’s life was deeply flawed and dysfunctional, but Dominic Hoey writes him with so much honesty that I found him relatable and easy to care for. Even though I have never lived in Auckland or experienced the situations Obi has, being around a similar age to him in 1985 gave the novel a sense of nostalgia for me.
The book deals with sad and heavy themes, but it’s often told with humour and a sharp comedic style that made it feel realistic rather than overly dark. That balance between sadness and comedy worked well and made the story engaging the whole way through.
I also loved the sense of community throughout the novel. Even though the neighbourhood and people were rough around the edges, there was a feeling that everyone looked out for each other, which gave the story a lot of warmth.
Another highlight for me was the poetry and politics woven into the story. They added depth without ever feeling forced or preachy. Overall, I found 1985 to be funny, emotional, nostalgic, and very real. It’s the kind of novel where the characters and atmosphere stay with you long after finishing it.
Published 2025
Penguin Random House
288 pages
How To Paint A Nude – Sam Mahon
A local artist and a Belaruisan refugee meet regularly at a Christchurch cafe to discuss life, art and politics.
A priest once told me that we fall in love with people with whom we have wounds in common, that in caring for them we’re really nurturing ourselves […] I have often wondered if my respect for Gregor was this narcissistically simple. I like to think it was the other way round, that he saw the gaps in me and sought to fill them with his excess of optimism.
RACHEL
● To truly form an opinion on this book I feel it is important to know a bit about the author. Sam Mahon is a sculptor and visual artist who has been creating works for more than 50 years. This is his fourth book, one in which he has centred on himself.
Set in pre-earthquake Christchurch, the novel follows an artist named Sambo (Mahon) who meets regularly with a new acquaintance at a café to exchange snippets of their life stories. The companion is fellow artist Gregor Kerensky, a Belarusian refugee who has relocated to New Zealand. Sambo says that these meetings “helped me rediscover to some extent my purpose and intent.”
The book is illustrated with Mahon’s own pencil portraits, and the cover artwork is attributed to the fictional Gregor Kerensky.
The narratives primarily explore the role of art and its place in everyday life, moving into discussions of art as political and its potential for activism. There are recognisable moments from Mahon’s own life, including sculpting a Government Minister with his pants down out of cow dung, suggesting many/all of Sambo’s actions and thoughts are autobiographical. Though many artists, works, movements and moments of significance are referenced it doesn’t feel like a universal view of the New Zealand art scene, rather a distinct and individual perspective.
While the book is well-written I found it a bit pretentious, deviating away from fiction and into a catalogue of the author’s artistic achievements and political interventions. Rather than inviting me into the story, it left me feeling like I was being asked to admire Mahon’s legacy. I also did not like his disparaging comments about women. Imo 1985 by Dominic Hoey would have been a more deserving shortlistee.
Published 2025
Ugly Hill Press
All Her Lives – Ingrid Horrocks
READ FOR NZ BOOK AWARDS
All Her Lives is a collection of nine linked stories about women throughout the ages who have battled, persevered and instigated change, and whom are finding their place in society.
Did homecoming have to be this, too? Being outside, the sky turning velvet above the brims of the mountains, nothing moving but the water and the night birds, a couple of bleating sheep – and a sudden noise conjuring fragments of flesh, shattered faces. Mud. Stench. Homecoming was remembering a man with a bullet in his chest and his eyes on your face. It was pulling a wound closed, stitching two layers together and hoping it would hold, new skin growing into old.
RACHEL:
● All Her Lives begins in 1919, post war and post the flu epidemic, with Evie, a nurse returning from war to resettle in rural New Zealand. And it ends with a story set in the “now” post the Covid epidemic and amid climate change reaction. Inbetween we meet many interesting women such as Truby King, the founder of Plunket, and author Mary Shelley’s mother, as well as everyday, ordinary women living their lives in New Zealand and internationally.
The stories are human, but also political, historical and environmental. Many include factual elements and Horrocks provides an extensive afterward about the real events that influenced her stories. These include the flu epidemic, Plunket, the Karitane Hospital, women’s suffragettes movement, bombing of the Rainbow Warrior, 1981 Springbok Tour and the influence of NZ women on local architecture.
The links between the stories are not overt but enough to feel that they belong together. I liked that they were lengthy (for short stories) so weren’t over in a flash and gave me more time to get to know everyone and feel connected to them.
Published 2025
Te Herenga Waka University Press
272 pages
Hoods Landing – Laura Vincent
READ FOR NZ BOOK AWARDS
In the rural reaches of Auckland, the women of the eclectic Gordon family gather for Christmas. Rita, the 50-year-old baby of the family, is planning to tell them she has cancer. Drifting between past and present, she considers the lives of women in their community and reckons with what it all means for her future and her family.
RACHEL:
● Hood’s Landing centres on Rita Gordon and her sprawling family over a celebration near Christmas for their matriarch’s birthday. Rita plans to reveal her cancer diagnosis but keeps delaying while the day’s events, arguments and memories get in the way. The whanau discuss the present and remember other influential women in their family and community, many of whom have also had cancer. It can be a bit sad reading about many deaths, but the large family and their ongoing love/gossip/bickering/laughter adds much life. Reading the book felt like sitting in a lazy boy in the corner of the room watching the conversations take place and observing the reactions at surprise events.
There is a strong focus on females as the support networks of families with male characters relegated to the periphery. Whakapapa, belonging, Māori identity, spirituality and inherited grief influence the group’s discourse.
This is Laura Vincent’s (Ngāti Māhanga, Ngāpuhi) debut, which makes me look forward to anything else she might write.
Published 2025
Āporo Press
256 pages
Girls Against God – Jenny Hval
READ FOR BOOKCLUB
Chosen by Rachel
Described as a radical fusion of feminist theory and experimental horror, Girls Against God is a stream of consciousness narrative on censorship, magic, gender, art and rebellion against power systems.
I don’t know why I feel I have to be able to justify my actions … maybe it’s because it’s important to me that what we do should mean something, that language should be able to find different strategies and be something other than a machine for shame and denial … that we have to find society’s boundaries and transgress them in as many ways as possible, that we must highlight, study, analyse them, all the way down to the even the most low-minded crap.
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RACHEL: provocative new way of looking at the female coming of age experience — philosophical, political, grotesque and radically feminist — enjoyed the way conventional thinking was challenged 3.5⭐️
Girls Against God follows an unnamed narrator who grows up in 1990s Norway amongst strict Christian conservatism. She feels alienated and angry, and is drawn to black metal, gothicism and taboo ideas as a way to rebel and define herself. It is an abstract, stream-of-consciousness novel and I found it a provocative new way of looking at the female coming of age experience. It moves between topics like art, language and religion and more visceral ones like menstruation, pornography and bodily functions as the narrator and her friends replace religion with ritual, music and “witchcraft” ie collective identity. As the book progresses the boundaries between imagination, art and reality become increasingly surreal, with women imagined and real violently confronting the forces that seek to control women.
The multi genre book is philosophical, political, grotesque and radically feminist. Everything is vividly portrayed and deliberately provocative to make a point. I found parts uncomfortable or baffling to read but ultimately was happy to ride the wave of the main character’s meandering mind. I enjoyed the way conventional thinking was challenged and stopped often to underline beautifully written prose or to ponder the author’s controversial ideas and metaphorical intentions. I guess the book felt like a study project as well as a unique reading experience and I was okay with that.
JODIE: interesting in concept — deliberately trying to shock or unsettle the reader — ended up DNFing 1⭐️
I picked up Girls Against God but ended up DNFing it because I found it really hard to follow. The stream-of-consciousness style made it feel quite scattered, and I struggled to stay grounded in what was actually happening. That said, once I realised that was the intention, I could at least appreciate what the author was trying to do on a stylistic level. The book leans heavily into a very direct, almost confrontational feminist perspective. At times it felt a bit hard-nosed, like it was deliberately trying to shock or unsettle the reader rather than ease them into its ideas. I can see how that approach might resonate with some people, especially if you enjoy experimental writing, but for me it made the reading experience more frustrating than engaging. Interesting in concept, but not one I connected with.
SALLY: a bleating form of feminism — controversy does not equal quality — neither enjoyed nor understood 0⭐️
I neither enjoyed nor understood this book. I put it down halfway through with the intention of not finishing it. I ended up skim reading the second half only because it was a bookclub book and I had the guilts. As a stream of consciousness novel, there is no plot to follow. The main character is a particularly angry young woman, although from what I could see she is doesn’t have much to be angry about. The text is heavy with descriptions of bodily fluids, functions and orifices, sometimes surreal, sometimes real. There was so much of this content that it began to lose its impact or significance (although I’m still not sure what half of it was meant to signify anyway).
It has been suggested that this book is a feminist manifesto. Seriously? Well, it missed the mark with 4 out of 5 feminists in our book group. If this is feminism, it is a bleating form of feminism to which I do not subscribe. Complaining that female nudes in classical art are subjugated is just ridiculous. In the book, Munch’s painting “Puberty” is a particular problem for the protagonist. I’ve had a look at that painting and it does feel awkward. That’s how puberty feels. Munch got his message across perfectly if you ask me. Nudes of both genders have traditionally been the bedrock studies of artists in all metiers from the dawn of time, and that’s because the human form is to be celebrated.
You can probably tell I got really irritated with the character (and by extension the author) at this point. Apparently, Hval knew she risked incomprehensibility and controversy with this book. For me, controversy does not equal quality and what’s the point of a book no-one understands? I would not recommend this book to anyone.
BRIDGET: no real story line — distorted, overly exposed or pixelated and never fully developed — did not enjoy 1⭐️
Personally, I had mixed feelings with this one. I enjoyed some of the writing but not the narrative. I did not understand most of this book or pick up on any of the symbolism of which I am sure there was a lot. There was no real story line, instead it jumped about and always went off on some weird path that inevitably produced some sort of virginal orifice that would ooze out some form of black substance or excrement would be smeared somewhere. The location is the same as the narrative, distorted, overly exposed or pixelated and never fully developed. The only thing that did surprise me was that labia was only mentioned once! I did not enjoy this read.
TESSA: Hval aiming for something bold and confrontational — book’s tone felt intensely angry — more draining than rewarding 1⭐️
I found Girls Against God a very difficult novel to get through. Despite pushing myself to finish it, the experience never became any easier or more engaging as I went along. Several times I came close to giving up altogether. I struggled to connect with the narrative, the characters, or the ideas in a meaningful way. The book’s tone felt intensely angry throughout, which, rather than drawing me in, made it hard to stay invested. While I can see that Jenny Hval is aiming for something bold and confrontational, it simply didn’t work for me. In the end, I didn’t enjoy the novel at all and found it more draining than rewarding.
Published in Norwegian in 2018
Translated into English by Marjam Idriss in 2020
Verso
240 pages
The Last Living Cannibal – Airana Ngarewa
READ FOR NZ BOOK AWARDS
Set in the 1940s Taranaki, The Last Living Cannibal is narrated by an old man, Koko, from both the present and afterlife. It examines muru or the restoration of balance within an iwi or community, and is put to the test when a group arrive at Koko’s tangi to claim both the body and a grandchild.
We came from a long tradition of warriors. Righteous and covetous … Back in my day we had a clear enemy. Someone we could point to. Swing the thick end of a taiaha at. No-one nowhere in this country had warred as we warred against the Queen and her soldiers.
RACHEL:
In The Last Living Cannibal Ngarewa (Ngāti Ruanui, Ngā Rauru, Ngāruahine) investigates muru, a process of restorative justice undertaken traditionally on a Marae. The book informs us that “muru is not revenge. Muru is about balance. You put your hands on one of theirs and they had every right to take from you and yours whatever they meant to take, short of a life.”
Via lengthy family conversations, interactions and complex dynamics it examines topics of incarceration, trauma and survival by exploring how people carry inherited pain. The characters have lived through Parihaka, land wars, wrongful imprisonment and family trauma and it stays with them even into the afterlife.
Ngarewa builds a world that draws on both myth and history, grounding it in a distinct sense of place. Descriptions of the natural environment reinforce the NZ setting. The writing is empathic as it confronts the brutalities of history and the choices that keep repeating through generations. It was an emotional and educational read.
Published 2025
Moa Press
290 pages
Before The Winter Ends – Khadro Mohamed
READ FOR NZ BOOK AWARDS
Set during a cold Wellington winter, Before The Winter Ends explores the immigrant experience via Omar, a teen whose grades are slipping and is losing connection with his best friend, and his mother who recalls her life two decades earlier in Mogadishu, trying to build a life amidst political conflict.
His mother didn’t think he looked good at all. She thought the afro was too outdated – that it drew too much attention to them whenever they went out. It was problematic, Omar thought, especially since his hair was just naturally like this. He didn’t style it or anything … Omar had to stop himself asking why she admired his father’s afro in the blurry photo she kept in the corner of her mirror.
RACHEL:
The main character in this novel is Omar, a young man who is stuck between worlds in identity, appearance and language. He never feels completely at ease as he studies at university, cares for his struggling mother and relies heavily on his friend Nick. After familiarising ourselves with Omar and his struggles to fit in in Wellington, the novel then heads back to the ‘90s to understand his mother’s young adulthood set in the midst of conflict. The final chapters return to the present where each character tries to find redemption and hope after some tough life choices.
There is a lot grief, for people lost and experiences not realised. As a Somali New Zealander, Mohamed writes with sensitivity about how displacement and the immigrant experience affect parent-child relationships, regrets, traditions and faith, and details how important language and communication are. This was a emotional read and I really felt for all the characters.
The locations featured, Wellington, Cairo and Mogadishu, mimic Mohamed’s own travels, and it’s clear she is intimate with all three cities. I felt there was a strong sense of place in the descriptions of Wellington with its well-known neighbourhoods and atmosphere at the centre of the storytelling.
Published 2025
Tender Press
288 pages
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