Books

It’s hard not to be impressed by Kirsty Baker’s Sight Lines: Women and Art in Aotearoa. With its lofty heftiness and fabric cover, it’s a work of art even before the first page’s turn.

What Baker has compiled is a stunning account of the extraordinary creative genius of women across Aotearoa: those who have come before and those who continue to create in contemporary times. 

Not limited to one genre, Baker offers an almost panoramic view of an art history constructed by women that – though not exhaustive by the author’s own admission – spans mediums and decades, from curators and photographers to sculptors, poets, and writers to name just a few.  

What’s interesting is how Baker has brought the artists’ collective and individual voices to the fore, their words as fluid and engaging as the art they have created. Through images and essays, their storytelling is reflective and impactful. The book covers the influences, history, and connections to time, place, and space that have informed the artists’ work. Political, cultural, societal, and gendered contexts wind, thread, and integrate like branches through both the narrative and the art, sometimes subtle, sometimes profound. 

I found artist Yuki Kihara’s work Quarantine Islands interesting. Much of it focuses on challenging societal norms and concepts. Through a series of lenticular photographs made during the global pandemic, Kihara speaks to the themes of isolation, contagion, and quarantine. It’s like the present meets the past. “The series of work follows a long history of human confinement across the land and ocean that she pictures”, Baker writes.

This collective and collaborative account from Baker and contributing writers is nuanced, interesting, and bold, told through the eyes of women. I thoroughly enjoyed this striking collection and I’m sure it will resonate with many art enthusiasts.

The Anatomy of Sand is an extraordinary poetry collection with an esoteric nature that enhances the already salutary content and tone.

Mikaela Nyman’s grasp and use of English is strikingly confident and erudite. As a poet myself, I do sometimes question, should reading a poem require a dictionary? Does a lack of plain English make a poem inaccessible? Reading The Anatomy of Sand, I frequently needed to check out a mythological reference or the meaning of an unfamiliar word or technological term. Take, for example, The Hybinette process. Impressive! What is a Hybinette!

Imagine a poem in praise of hyperaccumulators: plants that are apparently capable of pulling out high concentrations of certain metals! Ah, but the notes help: we learn that this poem contains found descriptive language about Nyman’s great grandfather, an inventor of – wait for it – extractive metallurgy. “He was a Victor and a Noak, a Noah of the Nordics. Metal was his ark.” “Yet did he ever pause to consider?” asks his great granddaughter. The final lines set the theme of further poems and let us know our poet has her own ark.

I loved Whakapapa in a whalebone church – recognised all four whale types! It’s a heartfelt tribute to both the writer’s Nordic roots and her current dwelling place of Taranaki.

Black swan diaries is easier on the intellect with its notes of familiarity – if an unwelcome one. Recalling the days of COVID and lockdowns, here are some truly memorable poetic vignettes: “Teddy bears pop up in cars and windows”, “sourdough refuses to rise”, “people of Chinese origin are being snubbed”, and “we know how to craft a mask from the armpit of an old T-shirt”.

Examining as it does our relationship with nature and the environment, involving both laments and suggestions, The Anatomy of Sand is unquestionably a book for our times.

Set in the backdrop of a Japan recovering from World War II, Rising Sun Falling Rain is about forbidden love and all the pain that comes with it.

As a child of mixed ancestry, the central story of Mick Mitchell and his lover, and later his wife Emiko, struck me harder than it perhaps would another reader. Like them, my parents came from different worlds, and like them faced opposition in the face of traditional norms. It was not too long ago that even in a country like New Zealand, mixed marriages were almost taboo. This is the situation that Mick and Emiko find themselves in when they fall in love and break tradition by marrying.

Trish Devine’s writing is amazing. She captures the atmosphere of post-war Japan perfectly. Rising Sun Falling Rain never shies away from the harsh realities of war and its devastating effects on the average person. Some of it just rips your heart out, and the fact it’s based on real-world suffering adds to the book’s atmosphere.

Devine provokes heartfelt empathy for the characters and their circumstances. The two main characters feel alive and I loved watching their story unfold. My favourite aspect of the book was Emiko’s arc as she goes from a wide-eyed innocent who had always been sheltered by her father and other guardians to someone who becomes more self-aware. Mick’s journey was equally as satisfying: from small-town farm boy to suddenly being thrust into a world where the customs and adherence to age-old traditions must’ve boggled his mind.

If you love drama then you will love Rising Sun Falling Rain. While it deals with some weighty issues regarding love, acceptance, and pain, there are moments of genuine joy that made me smile – Mick’s fish-out-of-water approach and moments of Kiwi ingenuity often got a knowing chuckle out of me.

This was a lovely read. If you like a good tearjerker with solid characters, then Rising Sun Falling Rain will be the book you are looking for.  

From the mind of actor, comedian, and singer Alexander Armstrong comes Evenfall: The Golden Linnet, a story about Sam, a 13-year-old who finds himself thrust into a world of powerful magic and an adventure that will change his life forever.

If that seems a bit overblown, it is because Sam’s world is crazy, full of secret societies and Bond-style villains who want to control the world. For a book that is not very long, it packs one heck of a punch and leaves me on the edge of my seat wanting more.

Armstrong’s writing is on point, bringing the characters to life and at the same time making me care about them. Their world is fresh and the villains that Sam finds himself up against come across as plausible threats that even frighten me a little. Strangely enough, while I enjoy all the characters, the bad guys grab my attention the most. The two antagonists seem to have a genuine, dare I say loving connection. While I will not spoil anything here, for me, their relationship rises above the stereotypical ones I’ve come to expect. It’s refreshing, unexpected, and fun.

Unlike so many other reads that take an age to get to their juicier plot points, it is not long before Sam is on the run and discovering powers he never knew he had. Evenfall: The Golden Linnet is a thrilling adventure, and the buildup to the final confrontation is well worth the time I invested in the book.

Don’t be put off or fooled by the fact that the novel is aimed at young adults aged from nine to 12: the writing is clever, intelligent, and I suspect will engage audiences of all ages. The bottom line is if you see this and want to enjoy a brand-new adventure, pick it up. For me, Evenfall: The Golden Linnet is the highlight so far of 2025 and I can’t wait for more (if more’s coming).

The earliest evidence of ships is from Egypt during the fourth millennium BCE. Ships have since become an indispensable way of life on a planet that is 70 percent water. From finding new trade routes to meeting (and sometimes conquering) new civilisations, they are at the forefront of human civilisation.

Fifty Ships that Changed the Course of History shows us how important ships were, are, and how they changed our history for the better – or in some cases, the worse. From the German battleship Bismarck that haunted the allies during World War II, to the Mayflower that transported the first pilgrims to the ‘new world’, aka America, in the 17^th century, the book explains it all in great detail and why each one rightfully has a place in maritime history. It is a fascinating read into the past that will undoubtedly give you a better appreciation of these vessels.

While it might be a bit bias, my favourite ship charted in Fifty Ships that Changed the Course of History has to be our very own Rainbow Warrior. I cannot put my finger on it but the idea of a little country thumbing their nose at a greater power just fills me with a certain pride, as I am sure it will for almost every New Zealander who reads this book. Unfortunately, this brings me to the one negative: it might not appeal to everyone simply because of its subject matter. If you think a book about ships is not for you, chances are you will simply give it a miss, which would be an incredible shame as it’s a treasure trove of everything sailing.

I loved my time with this title, where Ian Graham’s passion for his subject shines through. Even a landlubber like me could easily understand the content thanks to the accessibility of the author’s writing and his infectious enthusiasm.

Nafanua Purcell Kersel is of Samoan heritage though raised in Aotearoa. And it is her heritage that she celebrates in this debut collection, as well as giving voice to her impressions and experiences of life in her adopted country.

The title Black Sugarcane is evocative in its juxtaposing of the dark and the sweet: we discover in the eponymous poem that black sugarcane is in fact a remedy for centipede stings. And that’s the metaphor underlying many of the poems here. “Every Sina from Samoa has bitten skin, / welts like visa rejection stamps -  / one for every time she fobs out”.

And in Admissions interview, perhaps predictably, faced with twin sisters Nua and Sina, “The office clerks ask Mum to leave the room”. Then, when unwillingly satisfied: “The clerks look at each other / and shrug, like, / Okay then, I suppose.”

Thankfully, bitterness is often gentled by humour, self-deprecation, or sadness as in baby brother / one love, which recounts the funeral of a four-year-old boy. “Our poem was a cornered thing in my pocket” recalls the writer; and “I spoke our poem, the corners got stuck in my throat”.

Much of my enjoyment of this collection springs from my linguistic leaning. The five sections are each titled with a macroned vowel, and in the ō section we get Vā: Glossary. Here is a lengthy linguistic take on this Samoan word, concluding with Ova “is when you overdo it and don’t know / where to stop with the vā metaphor.”

We work our way through a veritable alphabet of recollection, family stories, and humorous observations. Chief among the recollections are those of the devastating tsunami that struck between two Samoan islands in 2009. Near the end, we read Double crowns, the story of Fuatia who was born with them in her hair. Decades later, the poem’s writer watches her mother graduate, her double crowns having gifted her with academic success and a career.

Black Sugarcane is more than a remedy: it’s an immunity boost!

Whenever a murder is solved, the majority of the praise always seems to go to those who are in the spotlight. Too often, no one thanks the pathologists who work behind the scenes to help bring about justice.

Leading New Zealand pathologist Cynric Temple-Camp attempts to rectify that with his third and final book The Final Diagnosis. This fascinating title helps shed light on work that never seems to ever get enough credit. Right away, readers will be drawn into an unfamiliar world (for some) that deals with the dead and gives those left behind some much-needed closure.

From accidental deaths to sneaky viruses trying to escape a pathologist’s eagle eye, The Final Diagnosis will leave you on the edge of your seat. Temple-Camp’s writing is simple and easy to read, ensuring that almost anyone with even a passing interest in pathology can pick it up and enjoy it. You can tell that the author has a love for pathology, as he imbues his anecdotes with a real sense of adventure. One that stuck out for me was the young man who was so convinced there was something wrong with him that he impersonated a doctor so he could have more tests done on himself.

As well as telling us stories that are sometimes stranger than fiction, Temple-Camp gives his perspective on New Zealand’s high-profile cases, such as the Mark Lundy murders and the disappearance of Ben Smart and Olivia Hope.

The subject matter might put some people off, but I implore you not to pass The Final Diagnosis up. On average it can take 13 years of hard study to become a forensic pathologist, so for many of us, this may be the best chance we get to peek behind the curtain and see how and why they do what they do.

The Royal Free centres on James Ballard, who is freshly reeling from the death of his wife and the responsibilities of being a single dad to baby Fiona. In the background, riots are taking place in the city and the ensuing violence makes it almost seem like World War III could break out.

We follow James as he juggles fatherhood and his job as medical editor at the Royal London Journal of Medicine. We meet the sometimes scary, sometimes eccentric cast of characters he works with daily. For anyone who has ever worked in an office, this is something I bet they can relate to, and as usual, author Carl Shuker uses his medical background to give us an on-the-ground view of what goes on behind the scenes in this kind of workplace.

James is definitely the hero of this story, and I enjoyed his journey as a solo father trying to navigate his way through parenthood. I wish we had focused on him more and less on his job and his colleagues. While I enjoyed reading about his co-workers, who seemed interesting, there were just so many of them that by the end I could not remember who was who. I want to point out that this is more of a ‘me’ problem and not a real critique. I just think there might be too many ‘work’ characters. Fortunately, it is not long before James has a run-in with some of the rioters and things really kick off into high gear (I won’t spoil anything here).

The detail that Shuker puts into his writing is top-notch, and James’ world feels like one that’s alive – not to mention very dangerous. I enjoyed my time with The Royal Free and would thoroughly recommend it. If you are a fan of Carl Shuker’s work, then you will not be disappointed.

Fairytales offer a chance for writers and their readers to enter worlds of enchantment and magic, peopled with mythical or fanciful beings. Kate DiCamillo’s The Hotel Balzaar features all of these, plus a writing style that may seem simplistic but nevertheless carries a serious theme.

The story is set in the eponymous hotel where Marta and her mother have come to live. We do not know where they have come from or why they are here – only that the mother works as a maid in the place, and the child Marta has the day to wander the hotel and occasionally to converse with its eccentric staff members.

Significantly, Marta dreams – and the dreams are of her missing father.

Enter an old woman, a countess, she professes, and on her shoulder perches a large green feathered parrot, a bird it transpires with an extraordinary secret identity. Now the tale gets truly underway with the countess’ invitation to Marta to visit her and the parrot, and to hear what they have to tell her. War is mentioned, and Marta’s sorrow for her missing father acknowledged.

The countess seems to understand, and by way of comfort promises more stories. The parrot, Blitzkoff, seems to understand also, and has his own way of furthering Marta’s mystified sense of knowledge, using his beak and his claws to guide her exploration of the hotel. “Perhaps I am only imagining all this,” Marta says to herself – something we might all be thinking from time to time.

At this stage, adult readers of this tale – or series of tales – will become increasingly engaged as the countess’ information, dressed as fairy story, takes greater hold. Marta has been promised seven stories, but she hears only six before the countess and her feathered friend disappear.

But this is a fairytale, and it cannot have a sad ending. The denouement of The Hotel Balzaar is possibly predictable, but its unravelling is both dramatic and touching.

Illustrations by Julia Sarda enhance a story that has much to say to any reader.

In our bustling, busy world, Hana Tapiata’s Atua Wāhine is a calm and cosy nook. Her book collects the ancient wisdom of Māori goddesses and applies it to the modern world, hoping to help us navigate daily challenges by following in the footsteps of our ancestors.

Tapiata draws on whakataukī (proverbs) and pūrākau (stories) to compile the energy and wisdom of 17 atua wāhine (goddesses). Through these, she eloquently and sensitively gives voice to their teachings, unlocking ancestral lessons. After recounting the stories and whakapapa of each Māori goddess, Tapiata applies the messages intrinsic within each pūrākau to her own life experiences and modern society followed by posing a series of questions and exercises the reader can use to apply this newfound knowledge in their own lifestyle.

Atua Wāhine becomes thus an exploration of self-awareness that fosters an approach to life rooted in tradition by guiding the reader through cycles of change and reframing ancient interpretations of the world to fit our modern systems and practices. This is where Tapiata’s writing is at its strongest. In collecting the story from an abstract place and condensing it down into a much more accessible space, she makes it relatable and applicable. She transforms ancestral knowledge into something not only essential for the future, but necessary for understanding the past and key to making the most of the present.

First and foremost a celebration and a tribute to women, Atua Wāhine is also for tāne (men), irakē (gender queer persons), and whānau. Tapiata makes a point to acknowledge the lack of focus dedicated to goddesses and acknowledges the sometimes demonised perspective through which they are depicted. My favourite passages are those in which she reframes a pūrākau to paint a more positive portrait of a villainised female figure. These moments are thoughtful, powerful, and essential to her goal of applying traditional stories to present practices.

Nuanced and nurturing, sensitive and strong, Atua Wāhine offers us a new perspective through which to perceive the world, while grounding us in the ancient knowledge of our ancestors.

From helping a mother cow give birth, to saving someone’s dog, it’s all in a day’s work for Rory Dean. Since moving to New Zealand from Edinburgh in 2015, he has had one amazing adventure after another as – you guessed it – a country vet.

While veterinary medicine might not be the first thing that comes to mind when you think of adventure, Rory would beg to differ. After almost a decade as a country vet in his adoptive homeland, he has seen it all, including the less fortunate, uglier side of life. One example that comes to mind is a dog that had broken one of its legs and was obviously in a lot of pain. Its owner was having troubles of his own and while Rory does not explicitly spell it out for us, it soon becomes clear there was more going on there than met the eye.

For animal lovers and people thinking about becoming a vet, this might be the book for you. Not only is it a fun read, but it will also give you a preview of what you’ll be getting into if you’re a budding animal doctor. Adventures of a Country Vet tells it like it is, and never sugarcoats the facts. This is not like a TV show where everything is clean and shiny. Sometimes things get messy, and we see what life as a vet is really like. Some people may not like that or be that into animals and will give this book a miss, but that would be a mistake, as it provides a glimpse into a life that not many people get to see.

Rory’s writing is open, honest, and without pretence. Despite everything he has done since arriving in New Zealand, he is downto-earth and humble. If you find Adventures of a Country Vet at your local bookshop, I suggest you pick it up and give it a go.

In Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, Michelle (Mickey) is the girl who never quite fits, who never finds the thing that makes her heart soar – until the day she discovers running. It becomes an obsessive focus – an escape from her everyday reality and a fractured family left adrift by her dad Teddy, who has left to start a new family.

Mickey, the underachiever, labelled lazy by an absent yet controlling Teddy, is now destined for running greatness, setting her sights on winning the nationals. Emboldened by the physicality of running, the power it brings to her body and the exhilaration, it becomes the ultimate vessel by which she can achieve: one that will test her in ways she could never imagine. Her mother Bonnie, at first unsure whether to support her daughter’s new passion, spurs her on with a new pair of shoes.

Running for her life, running for her everything, Mickey sinks into the depths of a gruelling training schedule that leaves her on the brink of starvation and at the mercy of a lecherous coach.

Josie Shapiro writes quickly, boldly conveying the visceral energy that running entails, capturing the blood, sweat, and tears, the sheer commitment and the mental exhaustion, the “gritty residue of pain” that storms through a runner’s “entire body, where nothing felt clean or in its proper place”.

At times, Mickey finds herself flying high, her body transversing the air, all light and lithe and powerful. Here, everything is beautiful. At other times, her rail-thin sinewed body rallies against itself, pushed