Red! is a modern operatic retelling of Little Red Riding Hood. The heart of the production is a 400-strong children’s chorus. The children dominate the stage, and their singing, gestures, sound effects, and contributions as part of the creative team bring dynamism to the production.

Clearly an effort has been made to modernise and sanitise the story. The classic red hood becomes a red hoodie, the picnic basket is a backpack, and Red’s mother texts Granny to let her know that Red is on her way. The principles, Natasha Te Rupe Wilson (soprano), Robert Tucker (baritone), and Catrin Johnsson (mezzo soprano), wear jeans and sneakers. Presumably the intention is to make the story more relatable, but in the process we lose the fantasy and opulence of traditional opera.

The strongest section comes when Robert Tucker’s suave and unnerving Wolfie intercepts Red (Wilson), overcomes her initial reluctance to talk with him, and persuades her to linger in the bush. Wilson and Tucker are marvellous together, and Red’s intuitive fear of Wolfie is perfectly expressed in the score. The compelling and modern message here is that children should listen to their own intuition when dealing with abusive and manipulative characters.

But the show becomes more panto than opera once Wolfie arrives at Granny’s house, where Granny (Johnsson) challenges him to a boxing match. Both the children’s chorus and the audience enjoy the chaos, booing at Wolfie and cheering for Granny. Red sees through Wolfie’s grandmother disguise immediately, and we sadly miss out on the disquieting moment in the traditional version “oh Grandmama, what big ears you have”. Instead of eating people, Wolfie is reduced to being simply ridiculous. At the end he wags his tail and asks for carrot cake. 

Narrative choices aside, the score is wonderful and moves deftly between playful and serious. The accompaniment by Orchestra Wellington is superb. Parts of a section workshopped by the children falter but contain interesting ideas. Each of the principles give strong performances, with Wilson demonstrating particularly impressive vocal agility. Most importantly of course, children both on stage and in the audience are completely engrossed.

This book could be anyone’s story if they followed their passion as Emma Outteridge did. After seeing the harrowing movie Hotel Rwanda, Outteridge’s eyes were well and truly opened and that movie, in effect, changed her life for good. When she told her late Gramps that she wanted to do good works, he said get on with it. So she did.

In her early 20s, Outteridge left New Zealand with a fellow Kiwi as volunteers for St Paul KAASO Primary School in Uganda. Not your usual OE choice, but the author did have a unique childhood growing up on sailing boats.

Seeing the need of orphaned children with no future, they fundraised to build a bunkroom that would be named Kiwi House. The project grew to sponsor many children to attend secondary school. Some secured scholarships!

The six-month trip of a lifetime for Outteridge became a life-long commitment. The juxtaposition of her glamorous life organising Louis Vuitton America’s Cup events versus living in a mud house, bathing with a flannel and muddy water, was not lost on the author. She suffered volunteer guilt; that she wasn’t doing enough. Rose, the woman who set up the school, reminded her, “You can’t do everything, but you can do something.” That became her mantra. The village, community, and ambience sounded magical: “As the sky slowly filled with the streaky red of sunset, we sang and played until night stole the light away.”

Some of the descriptions of the scenes, and certainly the photos, made me cry. It’s a wonderful tale of someone who had conviction and was prepared to work hard and act with integrity to make something happen. Nelson Mandela is quoted: “What counts in life is not the mere fact that we have lived. It is what difference we have made to the lives of others that will determine the significance of the life we lead.” Between Two Worlds sums up the author’s spirit and generosity in life. A joyous read.

In the first of three books about the Gallaghers of Ardmore, Nora Roberts awakens our imaginations with Jewels of the Sun.

Jude F. Murray was a level-headed, stable, and predictable psychology college professor who was stuck in routine life until she abruptly quit her job and decided to take a trip to Ireland, where her roots are. Jude’s husband – oh, correction – ex-husband, had asked for a divorce just eight months after getting married. When she made the life-changing decision to quit her job and travel to a country she’d never been, she felt like she had finally lost her mind.

Jude decided to work on a paper that combined her work and her roots, while taking the time to clear her mind and maybe even find herself.

“You didn’t tell me the cottage was haunted.” Gran had told Jude about Lady Gwen and her Faerie lover Garrick over a set of tapes and letters and shared more Irish folklore that had been passed down from generation to generation. Being logical, Jude brushed it off as just another old story, but thought it might be interesting to follow up on some of the stories from the locals.

One local, Aidan Gallagher, had offered to tell her as many stories as she wanted. Aidan was the owner of Gallagher’s pub, passed down to him from his parents. Little did she know what fate had in store for her and how truly magical the Faerie Hill was.

Jude thought she had it all and had a good life – until she really started living.

Roberts’ book is full of magic, passion, love, friendship, culture, and courage. I fell in love with the magical folklore and the power that it held amongst the locals, as well as the courage of one woman who gave it all up and found herself and true happiness for the very first time. Prepare to be enchanted!

Tears of the Moon is the second book in Nora Roberts’ Gallaghers of Ardmore trilogy. The magic continues when the first of three spells has been broken for Carrick and Lady Gwen to finally be together. Is this an opportunity for the second part of the spell to be broken? “His heart’s in his song.”

I felt like I had been placed under a spell myself when I read this book and instantly got transported to the wonderful countryside of Ireland. Nora’s writing style is easy on the eyes and flows as if she is telling you the story herself. Her descriptions of scenes in the story are so vivid that you can see the vision of Lady Gwen, smell the delicious mulligan stew that Shawn is cooking in the pub, and feel the burning desire of two souls that want to be together. She had me lapping up every word that I read, and I didn’t feel the need to skim a page in case I missed something.

Compared to the first book Jewels of the Sun, Tears of the Moon is a little less dreamy romance and more battle of the wits between Brenna and Shawn, neither of whom want to admit their romantic feelings for the other. The stubbornness of these two characters makes you want to jump into the book and slap some sense into them, however, it is quite amusing to read how they quarrel with each other when jealousy creeps up. There are family matters that also come into play and personally I was rooting for their success in their potential business venture. Having everyone in town involved and keeping family close really got me deeper into the story as it felt close to home for me.

I could not put the book down and found myself smiling and laughing out loud. Magic, wit, and romance next to a warm fire on a cold rainy day was just what the doctor ordered.

Lyrical, eloquent, and impressionistic, Fancy Dancing is a word collage of memories and moments. Bernadette Hall’s life, and the many lives she seems to have lived, find a voice in her poems, this collection acting as a sort of memoir.

At times abstract and labyrinthine, Hall’s poems are very intimate. More than once I felt as though I was looking in on a private moment of remembrance, not unwelcome but certainly an outsider to the personal memory unfolding behind the curtain of allegory, metaphor, and simile. Poetic imagery intentionally lures the reader into the poem, but also renders it more intricate and impenetrable.

The poems in Fancy Dancing walk a narrow line between withholding and exposing moments of Hall’s life. Incongruous images lay side by side, juxtaposed in such a manner that their association is often startling and unpredictable, just like the inner workings of the mind, the fabric of dreams, or the twists and turns of life. In The Holy Ground, a monk’s sandals “flap flap flap,” until they unexpectedly and seamlessly transfigure into a salmon hauled onto dry land, gasping for air. Hall continuously plays with the margins, boundaries, and confines of poetic language and imagery. Perhaps through the incongruity of her images, Hall is able to make sense of the natural disorder of life.

Despite the highly complex imagery however, Hall’s poems are not weighty. In fact they seem lighthearted, sprightly, and even playful. Ironic and rather level-headed, Hall doesn’t seem to take life too seriously. She captures a moment frozen in time. The poems accept what life gives them, no matter how disjointed or unexpected, and make a memory worth remembering, whether good, bad, or somewhere in between. Nothing seems inherently good or bad in the realms of Hall’s poems. Fancy Dancing as a whole is neither optimistic nor pessimistic. The poems are realistic tableaus of life that though complex and perhaps a little convoluted, are also evocative, transient, and inherently beautiful.

In How Do You Live, author Genzaburo Yoshino captures the human spirit and it is both beautiful and confronting. How Do You Live is the poignant story of a 15-year-old boy growing up in 1930s Japan, a boy whose father’s last wish was for him to be a great example of a human being.

Copper is a boy intrigued by the world around him and begins to wonder increasingly about all the human intricacies and life’s unknowns that surround him, all while navigating the friendships and adventures of youth. How Do You Live offers an insight into Copper’s world and the heart-warming relationship he has with his uncle, who stives to mentor him after his father dies.

His uncle writes to Copper in a notebook with words that gently speak to what he knows and feels about life. He wants to explain the complexities of the human condition and what it means to truly live. He speaks as if to Copper’s soul, to encourage him to see all possibilities.

His words are pragmatic and philosophical and implore Copper to view humanity and all it entails with a great sense of pride and connection. Copper begins to consider everyone and everything, from the people who make his clothes, to the farmer who provides his milk. Copper in his wonder learns to see the bigger picture.

His uncle sees the promise in Copper, his greatness and his failings. “It’s hard to admit our mistakes. But in the pain of our mistakes there is also human greatness,” he writes.

Copper takes his uncle’s guidance to heart. When he fails his friends Kitami and Uragawa, he realises he can rise above his mistakes: “still I can become a good person. I can become a good person and create one good person for the world.”

In How Do You Live, the human spirit prevails. There’s a great lesson here: how we treat people will ultimately prove our character.

Hands up, who had no idea that micronutrients (vitamins and minerals) are just as important to the overall health of our brains as macronutrients (proteins, carbohydrates, and fats)? In their new book The Better Brain, Julia Rucklidge PhD and Bonnie Kaplan PhD explain how these tiny nutrients help the brain function properly and can treat anxiety, ADHD, and a host of other mental illnesses.

Much like the last book I reviewed titled Mental Fitness, I found The Better Brain quite an easy read. Nothing went over
my head, and I felt both Rucklidge and Kaplan cared about the subject matter they were talking about, as well as the people reading the book.

Their writing is simple to understand and down to Earth, with no technobabble or complicated jargon that gets in the way of the ideas explained in the book. Because of that, I came away with a greater understanding of my brain and how micronutrients play a key role in its wellbeing.

What I most loved about The Better Brain was that it helps to empower readers to take charge of their mental and physical health. Think of it as a guidebook giving you helpful advice on what you need to keep on top. Imagine your brain as an engine, and nutrients act as the fuel that keeps it running properly. What kind of fuel we choose can dramatically change our lives for the better.

While I was surprised that these nutrients could have such an effect on us mentally, what shocked me the most was that a lot of psychiatrists seem to have no idea about the positive contribution they play. Even more shocking was that a majority of medical schools glaze over them in favour of powerful pharmaceuticals. For that reason, I think people owe it to themselves to give this a read. Seriously a must have in any home.

Margaret Atwood’s collection of poems Dearly is unsurprisingly a work of art. Every word is elegant, significant, and intentional, all working together to craft the ethereal world of memory, age, and finality, but also new beginnings. Each poem confronts inevitable finality, whether in death or heartbreak or even just a moment, yet in some way each poem is seeped with the beauty of memory and the life that once belonged to the ineluctable end.

Atwood juxtaposes reality against illusion, playing with both abstractions. In some poems dreams and fantasy are more real than reality. Blizzard for example is a heavy-hearted poem about the unwillingness to let go of a mother, more alive in dream-world than in the material one. In other instances, illusion is ridiculed in its attempts to ward off inevitable and unpleasant reality. In Princess Clothing humans, like silkworms, adorn themselves in decorative things, hoping to become metaphorical butterflies. Atwood wafts away our delusions however, for much like the silkworms we destroy to turn into adornments, our fate is not to become butterflies.

Oh Children mourns the decay and death of nature, the world, and life if human carelessness and destruction continues, but it does so by inquiring as to whether future generations will be forced to grow up (if they grow up) without all the things we take for granted. The poem ends with a final question: “oh children will you grow up?” Foreboding, final, fatal, but beautiful in its glimmer of hope.

Though each poem verges on hopelessness and often cynicism, it is crafted in such a way as to underscore loveliness that shall be lost, in this way imbuing Dearly with a sense of melancholic nostalgia. These endings are often cathartic, and in each one there is the potential for a new beginning. Though inevitable and fatal, beauty in Dearly is in fact found in finality; everything is beautiful precisely because it is doomed, to be reborn some other way.

What I like best about Harry Ricketts’ Selected Poems is the picture they present of the man. The collection is comprehensive, spanning 40 years of experiences and observations garnered from a life of travel, cultural reaction, and scholarship – not to mention personal life. “The unexamined life is not worth living”, noted James Baldwin. Ricketts is a fine example of how such an attitude might demonstrate itself in writing.

He’s warm, he’s generous, he’s able to admit faults, and he thankfully lacks the tendency towards cold intellectualism and obscure referencing that plagues some contemporary poetry writing.

A Peking History Lesson and Tales of Old Hong Kong will satisfy the student of the East, redolent with such images as “Mao’s portrait synthetically benign” and the subalterns who “giggled at the size of their hostess’s feet”. And do look out for The Elephant’s Nest Shuffle!

I could easily have missed the author’s note in which Ricketts confesses to the inclusion in his early poet’s training of limericks composition. Such verses are often sneered at for being lowbrow, so I was delighted that our erudite poet found an exploration of that as well as other literary forms “enormously liberating”. His collection includes several examples, and they provide the added pleasure of having fellow poets as targets. Elsewhere, references to writers Lauris Edmond and Frank Sargeson will be recognised by the general reader.

In more serious vein, we get a metaphor for marriage in Nothing to Declare, a salutary dissertation in The Necessity of Failure, and are invited to share the wistfulness of The unmade bed.

Amongst his new poems, I was especially struck by the starkness of Last day, evoking as it does a sad reality. And Arguments for religion, which aligns old religion with the new, aptly listing “social media, imperial nostalgia, dark money and fake news” as responsible for the questionable morality of the day.

Read Selected Poems and be reminded, admonished, touched, and entertained by this most human of poets.

Words like ‘suspenseful’ and ‘nail-biter’ are often thrown around casually, but when was the last time a thriller truly sent a tidal wave of terror washing over you? Coming Home in the Dark is an ever-building symphony of dread informed by strong characters, a gripping story, and an intimate camera.

High school teacher Alan ‘Hoaggie’ Hoaganraad (Erik Thomson) and his wife Jill (Miriama McDowell) are enjoying a picnic with their two boys when they are interrupted by a pair of drifters, Mandrake (Daniel Gillies) and Tubs (Matthias Luafutu). Soon their idyllic day turns into a nightmare road trip, and what Hoaggie at first believes to be a random encounter may actually be rooted in the sins of his long-buried past.

In his feature debut, director and co-writer James Ashcroft shows he is perfectly willing to test an audience’s limits. At times he and co-writer Eli Kent play the game as you’d expect, but other moments will send unexpected shockwaves through the crowd, including a particularly ballsy beat that sets a brutal tone early on. With hints of stylistic prowess from the book of De Palma and sensibilities reminiscent of the Coens’ darker entries, this is as confident a debut as any director has made in recent memory and an invigorating addition to Aotearoa’s feature filmmaking roster.

Much of the movie takes place inside a car, but thanks to Ashcroft’s gift for visual suspense and committed performances all-round, it never stalls. Thomson screams everyman, and his grounded portrayal of the frightened, guilt-stricken family man contrasts magnificently with Gillies’ sinister turn. He makes the villainous Mandrake a ghostly figure, one who seems to move with the wind and commit excruciatingly unpredictable acts, much in the vein of Anton Chigurh (No Country for Old Men). Despite this, we can’t help but admire his intelligence, wit, and charm.

Coming Home in the Dark is filled with risks, which makes it stand out as an assuredly fresh thriller. Who is right and who is wrong is up for debate, but what isn’t is the hold this film will undoubtedly have on those who see it.

As Ginette McDonald pointed out to me at halftime, I (a 20-something) am not quite the target demographic for Winding Up, the latest play from Sir Roger Hall about 70-somethings Barry (Peter Hayden) and Gen (McDonald herself). Seeing as the two-hander picks up on the lives of the central couple from Conjugal Rites, which Hall wrote before I was born, I’m inclined to agree. But I didn’t need context to root for Barry and Gen in this tender and touching chapter of their 50-year marriage.

Winding Up is set in the retired couple’s upmarket apartment while other happenings – like family dramas and flirtations with nosy neighbours – occur offstage. Barry and Gen often bicker and tease each other but their love shines through above all else, accentuated by a script that jumps from sharp to sassy to sweet in a heartbeat. Moments that make me fall in love with them in turn include a hilariously awkward (attempted) love-making scene and a gentle slow dance in which the full gamut of emotions runs across McDonald’s face, beautifully lit by Marcus McShane.

Hayden’s portrayal of a kind man with lots of zest (and patience!) is wonderfully offset by McDonald’s nuanced but no-nonsense Gen. Both veteran actors, their chemistry sparkles and sizzles as five decades of marriage are expressed in the touch of a hand, an exasperated eye roll, the tucking in of a blanket.

With the couple contemplating going on a cruise, I initially hope the setting will shift from the apartment to a boat but end up enjoying the slice-of-life perspective from their living room. Plus, seeing the pictures of their holiday afterwards (set and AV design by Lisa Maule) is a lovely touch. Together, Maule’s sleek set, Sheila Horton’s sophisticated costume design, and Michael Nicholas Williams’ gorgeous classical music design (particularly effective during the transitions, some of which are a tad too long) show a well-off couple in years made golden not just by age but by love.  

I expect you, like me, have never wondered what happens when a wallpaper realises it is being watched. However, this fascinating “three-course meal” of domestic history, spoken word, and sensory dance experience seeks to answer that very question.

On arrival at Katherine Mansfield House, audience members have 15 minutes to enjoy the hors d’oeuvres, the lovingly recreated rooms of the home of one of New Zealand’s most famous writers. We’re told that rooms in the house have been reclad in facsimiles of the original wallpaper that neatly sets the scene for what’s to come and helps make this venue an inspired choice.

Once settled in an upstairs room, the petite audience of 10 is treated to the sumptuous main course, a reading from Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s 19^th-century short story, The Yellow Wallpaper. This is the tale of an unnamed narrator who is prescribed bed rest in an old country estate and eventually grows fond of her cage-like room and its garish wallpaper. The lush and poetic descriptions of the patterns and shapes on the walls that surround the narrator are beautifully read by Liz Butler, who wears a suitably yellow dress, and conjure unexpectedly creative imagery from something as mundane as a wall covering.

Dessert is taken in a different room and, like all good sweet treats, it tickles the senses with its scent of spicy incense, hypnotic music (Aaron Dupuis), and soft, yellow light (Matilde Vadseth Furholm). Two dancers (Abi Sucsy and Ellen Butler) employ sensuous and sinuous movement – often in harmony, occasionally in conflict, sometimes together, sometimes apart – to bring the spirit of the yellow wallpaper alive.

With creative direction from Butler and Andrew Ford, Yellow Cat Collective have pulled off the seemingly impossible – making wallpaper interesting. Having sampled their tasting plate of creativity, I’m left hungry for the full buffet of storytelling they presented at this year’s Fringe Festival to describe “the sprawling waves of optic horror” that so enthralled the unnamed narrator.

The Adventures of Tom Sawyer is based on the beloved 1876 novel by Mark Twain – which, ashamedly, I haven’t read! I do however know of Huckleberry Finn (Alfie Byrne), who gets up to all sorts of mischief (I mean adventures) with his good friend Tom Sawyer (Thomas Neville).

Set in the 1840s, this play focuses on Tom’s perspective and upbringing in a small town in Missouri, where director Lynn Coory notes “children’s currency was a dead rat and a brass doorknob and where children roamed free from breakfast to supper”. From grave robbing to buried treasure to miraculous resurrections, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer certainly is one great big adventure.

This Khandallah Arts Theatre production stars a number of youngsters and seasoned actors working as one. Neville, Byrne, and Josh Harford as Joe Harper share a wonderful chemistry, especially when bellowing around a campfire together. All of the kids do very well, with Ira Crampton deserving a hearty clap for his energy and enthusiasm as Ben. In the grownup category, Hayden Rogers makes an excellent villain of Buckshot Joe and as his would-be victim Widow Douglas, Marj Lawson’s lively performance is a favourite of mine.

The world building on display here is fantastic, with audiences transported to simpler times thanks to clever costuming (wardrobe collator Theresa Donnelly), a charming old-world suburbia set (Stephanie Woodman), and scene-setting music from talented guitarist Jack Dryden. Idyllic projections by designer Brian Scurfield work in harmony with the lighting design of chief technician Chris Collie-Holmes to establish different locales – from a cemetery to a cave to a haunted house – so the audience never loses their place. The thundering rain outside certainly added mystique to the spooky scenes!

Overall this Khandallah Arts Theatre production has great heart. I’d recommend more music through some of the transitions, as the energy does dip while the audience waits for the next scene to start in silence. A bit more pace and we’ll have a firecracker on our hands!

The Justice of Bunny King is not always mesmerising, but its characters certainly are. Though its story loses steam, saved by a left-field surprise of a third act, its messages ring true, and I wager most will leave the theatre with a slightly altered perspective. 

Bunny King (Essie Davis) is a squeegee bandit with a goal: to save enough money to regain custody and house her two kids. After promising her youngest a birthday party during a visit, Bunny will do anything to keep her word, despite having no job, no home, and no help from social services. Things are only complicated further when her niece Tonyah (Thomasin McKenzie) reaches out for help.

The film rides or dies on the shoulders of Bunny, an undoubtedly demanding role. She must at once be warm and compassionate, frustrated and cool, but Davis refuses to let her become superficial. Bunny is imperfect, with shades of light and dark. She makes mistakes, often lashing out at those who wrong her in immature ways. But these elements boil down to a supremely human character, one who we’ve all encountered and maybe now feel we can relate to a little more.

Front to back, the cast make the story feel visceral. Even minor characters, such as Government Family Services caseworker Trish (Tanea Heke), make an impact. This is largely aided by Gaysorn Thavat’s focused direction and Sophie Henderson’s concise screenplay.

It’s clear that the collaborators felt a kinship towards Bunny, but at times the story she is in runs out of gas. The film takes an unexpected turn in the final act, which will work for some and alienate others. For me, it worked, bringing scope, suspense, and surprise to a tale I thought had tapped out.

Bunny and Tonyah struggle to be heard, supported, and empathised with, feelings we’ve all had. The film’s anti-patriarchy message is one many will raise a fist to, but I foresee The Justice of Bunny King being a love-it-or-hate-it experience for most.

Julia Millen’s favourite childhood song was On the Road to Anywhere. It was a ditty that became the theme for a lifetime. Beginning with New Zealand and venturing later to Europe and South America, Millen clearly revels in her many and varied hitchhiking experiences.

There is much to be learned from this lengthy saga of her travels: not least survival tips for the tricky and challenging situations faced by those who choose to stick their thumbs out. I was relieved that Millen usually opted to hitchhike with two female companions – free spiritedness even of the 60s variety has risks attached.

There are tips of other kinds too and I found these entertaining. We learn where the Impressionists are hidden away in Paris, that the Swedes don’t go in for garden taps, and that in Greece you may get your hands rinsed with retsina. And I felt amusement mixed with memory-driven horror at our writer’s discovery that the Greek word for ‘yes’ is ‘nai’, pronounced confusingly like the English word ‘no’. Leads to all kinds of trouble.

Millen’s narrative is peppered with literary and classical references, due perhaps to her background in library work, though I suspect that many of them would be missed by millennials. The Hound of the Baskervilles? An Enid Blyton Mr. Plod?

Readers are also treated to the personal journey to, through, and eventually out of a first marriage – though quite why it was entered into in the first place is a bit of a mystery. Or is that the 60s again? And being married doesn’t seem to preclude hitchhiking adventures.

It’s only when back in New Zealand, after 20 years of thumbing her way around the world and a historic trip to Antarctica, that Millen finds her man – on the beach at Pukerua Bay. Should we be surprised that after following myriad “roads to anywhere”, her early inspiration to a heady, hedonistic life morphs into an acknowledgement that “There’s no place like home”?

Joanna Grochowicz has made quite a name for herself as a writer of what is sometimes called the golden age of Antarctic exploration. Her books give us a closer look into that time, when men risked it all to explore what is still one of the most desolate continents on Earth.

Shackleton’s Endurance tells the story of Sir Ernest Shackleton’s ill-fated voyage to the Antarctic in 1914. When disaster strikes, though, and his ship becomes stuck in the ice, his journey soon becomes a matter of life and death with the odds stacked against him and his crew.

It’s a harrowing tale, and one made even more compelling by the fact that it all actually happened. Grochowicz, who has made the genre of ‘fictional history’ her forte, has really outdone herself and her skills are on full display here.

I say fictional history because while Shackleton’s adventures were completely factual, his and his men’s interactions would have to be based on second-hand accounts from various sources, such as crew journal entries that survived their adventures.

I loved the characters and how well fleshed out they were; thus, they felt real to me, and I found myself feeling for them as they struggled to find their way out of what must have seemed like hell on Earth.

One of the best parts of the book is Shackleton himself. Unlike Roald Amundsen (the star of her previous book, Amundsen’s Way), who seemed stern and domineering, Sir Ernest comes off as a kind and compassionate man who always put the welfare of his crew first. This makes him a more relatable protagonist than Amundsen ever was.

History can sometimes feel boring, and because it happened some 107 years ago, many people find themselves disassociated from it. Grochowicz makes it all come alive on the page, and the results are spectacular. Shackleton’s Endurance is a thrilling ride and one I highly recommend picking up.

The Runaway Girls is a heart-warming story about the warmth of friendship and the lengths two girls go through to protect theirs. It is set in Victorian England and written by Jacqueline Wilson. In this story, Lucy Locket, the protagonist, runs away from home for multiple reasons relating to her home life. Lucy meets Kitty on her escape, and the two instantly become best friends. 

My favourite part of this book is the natural and normal friendship Kitty and Lucy share. They argue and make up, tease and joke like any best friends you might find now. The only disparity is the fact that they lived a hundred years ago, which does tend to make a difference. For example, when Lucy loses Kitty in the park, she has no way of communicating with her and is understandably distraught. Whereas nowadays we can just send our friends a text or call them. Also, the poor are better cared for today, which is a contrast in Lucy’s world where they are ignored if they are lucky, or beaten and shooed away.

Additionally, I love how compatible Lucy and Kitty are. They make a fantastic team when facing foes. Kitty is generally more knowledgeable and fierce, but Lucy makes excellent use of her sweet demeanour and discovers some hidden talents, like lying on the spot well and melting adult’s hearts. Her parents would have a heart attack if they ever saw her, smiling like an angel while spinning devilish lies, but it serves them well on the streets!

I also enjoyed the ending in which Jacqueline subtly brought in an easter egg from another book, though it doesn't hinder your understanding if you haven’t read it yet. Still, for someone who does understand, it was nice to see. I liked the fact that it was a happy ending, perfectly suited for the characters.

All in all, The Runaway Girls is an excellent book that has everything a good read requires: wonderful characters, an awesome story, and an interesting setting. I definitely recommend this book.

Tikanga, the book, belongs to Francis and Kaiora Tipene. It is written from their perspective, their knowledge, their traditions; but it belongs too, to their whakapapa and those who have come before them.

Driving past the opening of the brand-new branch of Tipene Funerals in Porirua, curiosity got the better of me. Many had gathered, eating, conversing, and listening to music. I could see Francis and Kaiora speaking with visitors. I made the hasty decision to pull over with my son. Perhaps it would be a great conversation starter about life and death and everything in between.

I was also curious to see if Kaiora and Francis, the humble narrators of such a powerful book, whose words, so genuine, are like I imagined. I felt welcomed and got to witness manaakitanga (hospitality, kindness, generosity, support), which “must be ingrained and extended everywhere you go”, Francis says.

In Tikanga, Francis and Kaiora express the traditional Māori values that ground and guide them in their funeral work and everyday lives. The regard, respect, and agency they give to those that will one day pass through their doors, living or otherwise, Māori and non-Māori, illustrates how they live the concepts of te ao Māori.

“Everyone with a business thinks their business is different from other businesses, but I think ours is ‘more different’ than most. It is especially different because it is so dependant on its culture and being able to live Tikanga every day, no matter what is going on,” Francis says

Tikanga is about what is important and valuable to Māori, but it translates to all. In Tikanga there is a candid nod to all cultures; both Francis and Kaiora are pragmatic and able to incorporate values and traditions different to their own.

Both are keen to convey that they don’t know everything. They are not a mouthpiece for all Māori, but acknowledge the platform they now have to champion Māori culture everywhere, every time with the aim to do better, be better, and encourage those around them to do the same.

Appreciation of poetry closely resembles appreciation of painting – it’s highly subjective. So in commenting on Ian Wedde’s latest collection, I find I must put aside my preference for poems that rhyme and ones that address contemporary themes.

A dictionary definition of poetry runs: “a literary composition that is given intensity by attention to diction (choice and use of words), sometimes involving rhyme, rhythm and imagery.”

Note that this definition makes no mention of content. And it’s content, for my two cents’ worth, where Wedde scores most points. For his exhaustive collection (76 poems) largely charts his family history back to the 1700s: “stalking the family ghosts of German ancestors and obscure relatives and associates”, as he puts it.

A Creative New Zealand Berlin Writer’s Residency 2013-14 provided the opportunity for keeping a diary, and it’s from that diary Wedde draws his material.

His forebears merit such a poetic celebration. Some of them witnessed a great deal of what they probably didn’t want to witness, giving rise to serious themes. And a relative-of-a-relative of some kind published a mostly unread panegyric to the Paris Commune martyrs – now you can’t get more esoteric than that.

The chief enjoyment for me was on the linguistic side – the words and imagery Wedde uses. I loved the pigeon named Werther “fastidiously poking feathers into an improbable nest”, enjoyed the extended metaphor of the bowl of pea soup, and accurately pictured “the narcissist of small differences” encountered at the library when Wedde is enquiring after a relative’s book. On a grimmer note, there’s the watering can in the Stasi Museum, and “the implacable conduit where Arendt disciplined her bafflement into thought”. The little ache of the title merits a poem of its own.

It’s a scholarly read, but there’s much deserving of reflectiveness for the general reader – and a bonus for those who are familiar with German in the form of a generous smattering of words and phrases in the original tongue.

At the age of 18, Paul Wood was convicted of murder and served 11 years behind bars. While there, he managed to turn his life around by becoming the first person in New Zealand history to complete an undergraduate and master’s degree while in prison.

In his latest book, Dr Wood explains the term ‘mental fitness’ and why it is so important to strengthen it to help deal with the challenges we face every day. At the heart of the matter is the idea that mental fitness can be strengthened, just as a bodybuilder lifts weights to enhance physical fitness.   

One of the biggest problems I have with most self-help books is that I’m always sceptical about the author’s motives and how much they really know about the topic they are writing about. But not this time; I mean, here is a man that was sent to prison, served time with some of the worst offenders in the country, and came out the other side a better, wiser person. In the case of Mental Fitness, there was no doubt in my mind that what I was reading was 100 percent genuine and that Wood was the real deal.

His writing too impressed me with what is sometimes called the ‘common touch’, that ability to connect with just about everyone and to make them understand the message you are trying to send. Mental Fitness is incredibly simple to understand and, as a result, an easy read. Nothing is too difficult to grasp, and nothing feels undoable for those who pick this up to improve themselves. There are really no downsides that I could find here, and I think this is something everyone should read at least once.

I really loved this book and will definitely be putting some of Dr Wood’s ideas into practise to increase my own mental fitness.