Hand me down your Kiwi book picks

A couple of weeks ago, I was back in En Zed and my Mum was kind enough to lend me her copy of NZ author Lloyd Jones’ latest novel Hand Me Down World.  It’s told by all the different people who encounter an illegal immigrant on her way through a variety of European countries (so each, ummm, you know, hands the story on to the next). It’s a fairly good book, I enjoyed it while I was reading it. It’s got a few flaws (I’m not sure whether it’s admirable or misguided to persist in writing novels about young black women when it’s so very far off the mark from your own reality) and some of the voices felt a bit similar, but overall worth a look.

It got me thinking about all the choice as kiwi books I’ve read in the past. From the tales of Donaldson’s Dairy’s canine scamp Hairy Maclary to Elizabeth Knox’s The Vintner’s Luck. So I’ve created a dubious rating system based on a beloved kiwi fruit (not the kiwi fruit) and dropped a few kiwi authored books that rang my bell in below.  Right then, grab a slice of Vogel’s, wash it back with that world famous in New Zealand beverage and feast your eyes on these little beauties.

And if you’ve got kiwi leanings, go on then, tell me your favourites. Or should I say… hand me down your Kiwi book picks.

The book: The Shag Incident; Stephanie Johnson

The case: A Comedy of Errors Auckland styles. A reclusive All Black, a case of mistaken identity, a Waiheke funeral and a poorly behaved dog. Laugh-out-loud satire.

Four out of five feijoas

The book: My Name was Judas; C.K Stead

The case: When your best mate is a bit of a narcissist, not to mention the self proclaimed Son of God what’s a bloke to do? C.K Stead’s calm, measured take on the Jesus story is a brilliant retelling from Judas’ perspective.
Four and a half out of five feijoas

The book: The Ten PM Question; Kate De Goldi

The case: A kids’ book that definitely crosses the children’s/adult fiction divide. Frankie’s got a lot to worry about: the end of the world, the strange shaped spot on his chest, where his bus fare’s going to come from and his agoraphobic, cake-baking Ma... 

Four out of five feijoas

The book: Tarzan Presely; Nigel Cox

The case: Sadly Nigel Cox passed away in 2006. Sadly, the Tarzan people decided to enforce their copyright and the book is no longer available (though you can get it second hand). It’s a fantastic read (in both senses). Brought up in the jungles of New Zealand (yeah, right), Tarzan Presley battles giant wetas (yeah right), saves Jane  (maybe) and moves to Memphis to record some of the world’s most popular rock n’ roll (yeah, right). Sounds like an ad for an average tasting beer? Nope. Totally unbelievable? Yes. But brilliantly executed.
Five out of five feijoas

And the smallest of all the stars in the Milky Way screamed out ‘Now Peter’...

I’ve just re-read my best book. It’s Peter Pan and it begins ‘All children, except one, grow up...’

I haven’t read it properly, cover to cover, since I was seven. So I’m relieved to report it’s still wonderful – packed with the things I loved as a child: adventure, pirates, Indians, mermaids, fairy-dust induced flight and, of course, a tick-tocking croc.

It’s also packed with some stuff I now love as a grown up (I flinch a little as I type the ‘g’ word Peter loves to hate). It’s bursting with a charming, wistful sort of humour. The villainous Hook – and only a truly black-hearted sort of person could wish to smoke two cigars at once – went to public school. There’s a kiss in the corner of Mrs Darling’s mouth that none of her children, or even Mr Darling , can quite reach. Tiger Lily, doesn’t want to be Peter’s mother but something else – who can say quite what – heartless boy.

Suffice to say J.M Barrie is fabulous and after years of refusing my Dad’s entreaties to read Barrie’s biography of his mother Margaret Ogilvy, I think I’ll graciously give in and do it. Even Hook would have to agree that’s only good form.

And if I ever have children I most certainly will be getting a Newfoundland dog to look after them.

I also have to say I felt a little teary as I read the final sentence and put my sellotape bound copy of the book down.  Not just because it was over but because I’m grown up. I’ll admit that I’ve never been able to fly (no really, never) but I did have lots of Neverlandish (Michael Jackson has ruined that name for us all) dreams about flying. I haven’t had a single one in what suddenly seems a long time.

But ooooh it was a good book.