Karachi Vice is not some cops and robbers jaunt. It’s a really interesting collection of stories about real people (some names are changed) who live in Karachi, and the different roles they play in their communities and struggles they encounter in doing their jobs. Plus the fragility of life that is a given. 

First-time author Samira Shackle is a journalist who was born in Pakistan but lives in London. She goes back at various times to report on events and see her family. At the start of the book is a very handy guide of the nine political groups, including five political parties. There’s a timeline of events spanning from 1992-2018 that includes terrorism, flooding, and political party activity. This was very useful as all I know about Pakistan is that the Black Cap cricket games to be held in Pakistan are constantly cancelled due to terrorist threats. And Imran Khan is their current Prime Minister and he was the captain of the Pakistan national cricket team in the 1980s, when I was lucky enough to get his autograph at the Basin Reserve. 

The central character is Safdar, an ambulance driver who was working during the 2009 bomb blast that killed 30 people. He earns his weight in gold during that upsetting event. His wedding is funny and I guess typical of that culture? There are huge cultural differences that may never sadly change – a 10-year-old girl marrying a man 25 years older.

The local newspaper has columns called Shootings and raids and Mishaps and bodies. Safdar’s father said “Getting a Pashtun [local] to follow instructions is like getting a camel to sit in a rickshaw.” This and “Grief enveloped Parveen’s mother like a shroud” are some examples of the colourful text I loved. The description of the places, people, culture, and food made me eager to visit one day if we can in a more peaceful time and post-COVID. Karachi Vice is a cracking read, and I highly recommend it.

During an interview about his debut poetry book All Tito’s Children, which is about Yugoslav Marshal, then Prime Minister, then President Josip Broz Tito, Tim Grgec was asked, “Would you have a drink with him?” Grgec’s response was intriguingly equivocal – which can only mean that his research of Marshal Tito, whose shadow looms large over the book, must have revealed more than most of us know.

Grgec’s paternal grandparents arrived here in the 1950s having fled communist Yugoslavia. He has woven some of their memories of two siblings in similar circumstances into a verse biography of Tito. Despite, or perhaps because of, the poet’s research, his poetic creation is only loosely based on fact.

That said, the verbatim quote from Tito to Stalin is startlingly actual. “Stop sending people to kill me!” is a command more audacious than most of the Russian leader’s contemporaries would have essayed. Other sides of the former president are displayed in both historical quotes and poetic imagery. For example, we get him “offering spare cigarettes from my military jacket to Belgraders walking leisurely in the parliamentary gardens”.

The idea of Tito being or having a body double offers a dialogue – involving a cosmetic surgeon, Prime Minister Tito, and Marshal Tito body double – that’s redolent with intrigue and possibility. No wonder his people were entranced, an emotion, though, that was eventually to turn to disillusionment.

Whether Grgec is relating the strangeness and savagery of this peculiar leader, or relating some domestic detail, his imagery is evocative. He describes his mother thus: “Majka pinched her fingers to thread the eye of a needle, patching and repatching her hopes over our trousers”.

The Company we Keep was a section that resonated especially with me, beginning as it does with a historical sequence of Tito’s life – useful to the woefully ignorant reader such as myself. Also useful are the scrupulously added notes and references that backend the book.

This is a scholarly work albeit with exquisitely expressed whimsy and nostalgia that lift it into the poetic realm.

Who knew there was so much more to Sharon Stone than her acting career? She had acted in 18 movies before Basic Instinct shot her to fame. All I remember about Basic Instinct is that scene. I forgot she was a psychopathic killer so I must watch it again. I learned a lot about Ms Stone. The first page captured me – a handsome doctor stroking her hair who said, “You’re bleeding into your brain.” On the next page she tells her best friend, “There is a very good-looking doctor here, and sadly I might not be able to flirt with him.” I thought this was funny and apt. Good for her in those horrible circumstances trying to cheer herself up.

She was expected to do chores from a young age – paint the barn annually, and at 10 years mow the two-acre lawn on a ride-on mower. Kids these days won’t empty the dishwasher! Her mother brought her up to stand on her own two feet. And she did and then some.

Stone’s done a lot of charity work, under the radar, including personally handing out sleeping bags to the homeless in the worst parts of town. She tells me this statistic: 10,000 children live on the streets in Los Angeles. Staggering. Stone helps them by giving the children a camp to go to and then getting their mothers off the streets too. She fundraises and gets her family involved in her charity work and is quite a remarkable woman who is extremely positive and grateful about everything she has.

The Beauty of Living Twice has given me a newfound respect for Stone and the way she lives her life by helping others. She gets more spiritual and becomes a mother at a late age, and that is the best thing that happens to her. There are men and marriages, but her giving back seems to be the best thing she can do to make herself feel good. That and loving her three boys.

I had at first thought the Meat-Free Kitchen looked and felt like one of the many cookbooks I have at home, and in some ways it certainly is. What stood out though was that each of the recipes within are relatively easy, most ingredients are already staples in my pantry, and for the odd anomaly, i.e. farro, a quick Google search was the only thing between me and a new untried and unheard of grain. Apparently farro is an ancient and complicated wholegrain wheat.

My hands-down favourite fare was the Spinach and Mushroom Pesto Breakfast Bowls. The delectable veggies and move away from my bog standard cereals that shall remain unnamed reminded me of our long-gone Japanese student and how he used to regale us with tales of his fish and vegetable breakfasts. From a healthy perspective and a ‘try something’ new perspective, I certainly can’t argue. Getting up and eating veggies was something new, but I liked it!

As I worked my way through the book, by no means cooking everything I must add, the goalpost for ‘favourite’ deftly moved. The Nut Burger was to me the holy grail. Simple, delicious, and full of nuts, it was in no way lacking from an absence of meat. Many of the Meat-Free Kitchen recipes feature nutritional yeast, another thing I found appealing. The Pepperoni Pizza Burgers were a winner with the youngest family member who thought it a hoot that a pizza was masquerading as a burger – not only that, they tasted great too. It forced me to rethink my definition of a pizza and a burger all at once.

The Meat-Free Kitchen has a whole section on sauces and there’s even The Better Mac, which I’m yet to try. What I love about cooking is that it challenges you to try different things, there’s always a bit of artistic licence, and if something doesn’t work, substituting ingredients and experimenting only adds to the creative process.

After escaping New Zealand via questionable means and surviving a harrowing experience in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, Maia and her new companion Lucas find themselves in the soaking ruins of what used to be called California. While they’re a few steps closer to reaching their goal of the Old Arctic Circle, it isn’t long before they find new dangers trying to stop them.

In her latest entry of The Forgotten Ones saga, The Burn of a Thousand Suns, Webster has managed to ratchet up the tension by introducing newer and far deadlier threats than Maia ever faced in Aotearoa. Everything from the harsh deserts of California to marauding gangs in Los Angeles bring a new intensity that I didn’t feel in the first book. Everything in this broken new setting seems to want to harm or kill them by design.

Just like the first book, The Weight of a Thousand Oceans, the world is extraordinary and comes alive off the page. With the dangers ramped up this time, it’s nail-biting stuff. Every time Maia and Lucas found themselves in hot water, I was literally on the edge of my seat eager to see how they would find a way out. 

Maia herself has grown since the first book, and far from being the wide-eyed innocent she was in Webster’s first entry, she has evolved into a confident, strong character who takes on everything thrown at her. Her bond with Lucas (whom she met in the first book) continues to grow. They make something of a dynamic duo who complement each other nicely. I cannot wait to find out if their relationship develops even further than it already has in (hopefully) the next book. 

Reading The Burn of a Thousand Suns was a real treat and once again I find myself in that strange position of not having anything to complain about. All I can do now is sit back and patiently wait for the next instalment of The Forgotten Ones saga.

Anthony Doerr won the Pulitzer Prize in 2015 for his desperately moving wartime story All the Light We Cannot See. The novel remains one of my favourites of the last decade. And now, we have Cloud Cuckoo Land, an epic of 600 pages, beginning and ending with a Greek myth and, in between, five stories which cover wonderful journeys of fantasy and reality. All are linked quite simply by books, ancient and modern.

We meet Konstance, with her parents in a spaceship Argos already having travelled 65 years from a ravished Earth, much of her time spent in the ship’s library exploring legends and what may or may not be truth. Anna lives in Constantinople in the 15th century awaiting the Muslim Sultan’s attack while secretly learning to read. Omeir has been living in a farm with his family and his oxen but has now been dragooned to help the Sultan, as this young boy is a master at controlling Moonlight and Tree, his adorable oxen. Zeno is introduced first in his eighties at the local library in modern day Lakeport Ohio, where he is rehearsing with a group of young children a play called Cloud Cuckoo Land. Seymour, a young ecoterrorist, has a bomb on the premises and is preparing to target local estate developments.

Each of these characters may survive and relate, but what is certain is their common belief in humanity. All the stories are brought together in a triumph of textual brilliance by an author at the top of his achievements. Doerr uses the Greek and English languages with challenges to the reader that will, by turns, exhilarate and demand absolute attention. But books and their survival are central to this extraordinary accomplishment.

“For the librarians then, now, and in the years to come”, is Doerr’s dedication.

And, of course, the last acknowledgment is to his dear readers.

“Without you I’d be all alone, adrift atop a dark sea, with no home to return to.”

Get aboard.

Antarctica is a heartbeat. Once a year it doubles its size, and then retracts. For millennia. One heartbeat.

Set in the 1980s, HOLE follows Greenpeace activist Bonny (Stevie Hancox-Monk), US Navy SEAL Ioane (Sepelini Mua’au), and Kiwi ozone scientist Stella (Elle Wootton) as they navigate not only a complex love triangle but also a clash of perspectives. Though vastly different in their ideologies, motivations, sexual orientations, and cultures, they learn that they all have one thing in common: their reverence and yearning to protect that which cannot protect itself; Antarctica.

A powerful call to action, HOLE is very clear in its intentions. Lynda Chanwai-Earle calls upon each and every one of us to recognise our impact and responsibility towards our climate crisis. By likening the continent to a heartbeat, Antarctica is rendered human, and suddenly we become intrinsically connected to what seemed like an abstract social phenomenon. By placing the climate crisis alongside other social issues such as racism, sexism, LQBTQIA+ rights, reparative justice, and global politics, climate change suddenly becomes a more pressing, urgent, even vital issue.

It is not only what HOLE says however but what HOLE does that is most commendable and inspiring. HOLE is eco-powered off-grid. Powered by Ice Floe Productions Tapui Ltd through solar and wind, the specially designed LED lights (lighting design by Isadora Lao) and sound production (sound design by Phil Brownlee, compositions by Gareth Farr ONZM, and AV design by Rachel Neser) aim to draw off only one-tenth of the power of normal theatre productions. On top of that the beautiful set, collaboratively designed by Jason O’Hara alongside directors Kerryn Palmer and Sally Richards, is made from recycled and repurposed materials, along with the props and costumes. Even the wind turbine and solar panels that were originally donated have been repurposed from Chanwai-Earle’s past show HEAT.

HOLE is not only a story underscoring the climate crisis and urging us to make change; HOLE goes one step further and enacts that change. This production goes sustainably on tour across Aotearoa New Zealand in 2022 and everyone should see it.

Off the back of her short but loud third studio album Grey Area, Sometimes I Might Be Introvert sees Little Simz return to her roots with her most finely tuned effort to date. Balancing cinematic instrumentation, precisely placed samples, and a raw talent for storytelling, the rapper has come to claim her crown.

Simz is a British-Nigerian rapper hailing from London. She released a string of mixtapes and EPs in the early 2010s in the lead-up to her debut LP, A Curious Tale of Trials + Persons, which arrived in 2015. The success of 2019’s Mercury Prize-nominated Grey Area brought her mainstream recognition, with critics calling the release “a new peak” for the artist.

Sonically, Sometimes I Might Be Introvert harkens back to the exuberant, horn-driven Stillness in Wonderland (2016), though Simz brings an undoubtedly fresh and mature approach to her songwriting. As the title suggests, Simz is looking inward, vividly portraying feelings of self-doubt, mental and emotional stability, love, and frustration in her verses. However, the album is also an unabashed celebration of Blackness, specifically Black women and Black art on tracks like Woman. Standing Ovation is a selfless round of applause to the culture that has so influenced her: “We built the pyramids, can’t you see what we are blessed with? From the hieroglyphics to the hood lyricist… Spiritual teachers, doers, and the doulas. The protectors and the rulers. The kids of the future.”

The mellow instrumentation is a welcome change for the rapper. After proving her worth as a spitter on Grey Area, here Simz sounds unpressured, leading to meticulous, well-structured songs that groove hard and speak honestly. Highlights include the epic opener Introvert, the percussion-led Fear No Man, the climactic How Did You Get Here, the soft and sweet Little Q Pt. 2, and the album’s prime head-bopper, Point and Kill, which contains an excellent chorus by Nigerian artist Obongjayar. However, the ever-smooth flow of the album is interrupted by several interludes, and although they don’t mar the experience overall, they feel less meaty than the primary tracklist and could have been left off.

Sometimes I Might Be Introvert sounds like a spiritual successor to Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp A Butterfly, told from an internal perspective. While it doesn’t quite soar to that level, its messages and musicality ring true and certainly set a high bar for Simz’s future releases. For those who haven’t yet discovered her, this is the perfect place to start.

JPEGMAFIA brings a wonderfully weird flavour to hip-hop, and on LP!, his willingness to stir the pot, experiment, and take risks has never been more appreciated. The album contains grime and chaos, grandeur and tranquillity, and no matter how many times I listen, I never stop making discoveries.

JPEGMAFIA (born Barrington Hendricks) broke onto the scene in 2016 with his self-released debut LP Black Ben Carson. He followed it up two years later with Veteran, which wound up on many a best-of-the-year list. While collaborators do rear their heads occasionally, he is known to write, perform, produce, mix, and master his music solo. LP! is his fourth full-length album.

Hendricks’ tendency to go it alone lends his music an atmosphere of introversion unrivalled by most hip-hop releases. While many artists speak from a personal perspective, hitting play on a JPEGMAFIA album is like following the white rabbit into Wonderland; what sounds, textures, and moods we may encounter is anybody’s guess. In this sense, LP! ranks as his most exciting work to date.

Now, that isn’t to say this album is merely a set of wacky ideas put through a meat grinder and slapped together. On the contrary, perhaps Hendricks’ greatest gift is his ability to incorporate structure and groove into his songs – while LP! finds him at his freest musically, it also happens to contain some of his catchiest work to date. ARE U HAPPY? has a dragged bassline that sounds like the cousin of an early Outkast jam, obscured by distorted, driving verses, luscious vocal samples, and strange glitches and beeps. The horns on REBOUND! sound as though they were recorded in a grand concert hall, over which JPEGMAFIA lays down his most cold and striking delivery ever, passionately screaming, “Why would I pray for your health? Baby, I pray for myself!”. DAM! DAM! DAM! opens with a heavenly synth solo, and THOT’S PRAYER! is built on an incredibly creative interpolation of Britney Spears’ …Baby One More Time, which in this context plays like a melancholic expression of insecurity. Sick, Nervous & Broke! Is perhaps the most aggressive cut of the bunch, with Hendricks demanding an enemy buy “a ticket to get beat up at my show”.

JPEGMAFIA is an artist that commands your attention, but not all will connect with his music from day dot. On first listen, LP! may strike newcomers as too left-field, and some will be quick to pass it off as inaccessible to the average listener. However, once you roam around in JPEGMAFIA’s world, whatever you hear next will sound a little less colourful by comparison.

The Little Mermaid – The Pantomime is loosely based on Hans Christian Andersen’s classic tale and by loosely I mean hardly at all. We have our Little Mermaid (here named Coral, played by Natasha McAllister), her handsome love interest Lyall (Jake McKay), and her crustacean friend Crabby (Trae Te Wiki), plus her voice-stealing, leg-bestowing aunty Bermuda (Kathleen Burns) and overbearing parent, the all-powerful Neptuna (Jthan Morgan). On the other hand, Morgan also plays a shag, assistant to the Land King Lando (Simon Leary), and Leary also plays a stingray. Then of course we have Gavin Rutherford, 12 years a Dame, as one Ms Shelly Bay. And did I mention the year is 3021?

If you can’t tell from my intro, The Little Mermaid – The Pantomime is an absolute hoot.

The cast gives 110 percent, with Morgan’s overenunciation as Neptuna a show highlight. McAllister is every bit the Disney princess while fizzing with feminist energy, and as her ‘prince’ Lyall, McKay is suitably clueless and wholesome… but never mean, which Disney sometimes forgets matters! Burns’ villainous turn as Bermuda prompts many a hearty boo, which she hilariously relishes. Leary plays a king under her spell and it’s so believable I’m quickly under his. As the energetic Crabby, Te Wiki’s quest for a home is both adorable and exploited – by our Dame, whose attempt to cook the hermit crab is one of my favourite scenes. Actually, every scene Rutherford’s in is my favourite!

The absolute fabulousness of Sheila Horton’s costume design is accentuated by Marcus McShane’s radiant lighting, which establishes whether the action is underwater or on land. Music director Michael Nicholas Williams’ brilliant arrangements are show stealing, especially thanks to McAllister and Morgan’s flashy choreography. With production design by Anna Lineham Robinson, it’s all tied together in the biggest, brightest bow by the all-knowing hand of director Susan Wilson.

Overflowing with puns and incorporating an inspired use of Sign Language, The Little Mermaid – The Pantomime is a whirlwind of colour and joy, sparkles and pure, blissful escape. Boy did I need that!

Even if you’re not old enough to remember the TANDY-12 handheld arcade game from the early 1980s featuring “12 challenging games of skill” from electronic baseball to mole-catching and roulette, there is still much to love about this quirky physical theatre production in the intimate Studio space at BATS Theatre.

Tandy Dandy concerns a painfully agoraphobic young woman (Laura Gaudin) for whom the very thought of opening the front door of her house causes uncontrollable anxiety. Then, one day in the shower, she finds a comically long piece of string in the drain, on the end of which is a chirpy TANDY-12. Through its friendship and gentle encouragement, the young woman eventually finds the courage to face her fears and venture into the outside world.

With its flat cardboard set, paper cut-out props, and sliding shower curtain rails for scene changes (also Gaudin), Tandy Dandy has a charmingly homespun and wonderfully creative quality. Gaudin is also responsible for the music, much of which sounds like it has been generated from the electric beeps and trills of the TANDY-12’s Song Writer game (“Record a song of up to 44 notes!”).

As well as her creative talents, Gaudin is a gifted physical theatre performer whose delicate hands and feet, glimpsed through windows in her cardboard world, provide much of the wordless narrative. She anthropomorphises the visiting TANDY-12 into its own living, loving character that peeps round corners, performs a sexy dance with a towel, and creeps outside to pick a flower for its new human friend. Why it has mysteriously appeared from her shower drain is entirely unimportant.

Gaudin is ably supported on the lighting and sound desk by director Hamish Gaudin. He has done a fine job of presenting a well-developed story in a very limited space that is super cute and leaves a smile on the face. At just 25 minutes long, this is a tiny bundle of theatrical joy.

Written by the man responsible for Seven Psychopaths and Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, I knew Hangmen would be dark. But I certainly wasn’t expecting the side-splitting humour, nor the pathos lurking beneath shades of grey in this disturbingly entertaining rollercoaster ride executed to perfection by Stagecraft Theatre. ‘Scuse the pun.

Harry (Chris O’Grady) is a hangman in the UK, second only to his arch nemesis Pierrepoint (Marty Pilott). When hanging is abolished in 1965, barflies hover at Harry’s pub. We have journalist Clegg (Rob Scott) seeking comment, Arthur (Barry Mawer) wanting clarification and Charlie (Steve Bell) providing it, Harry’s wife Alice (Simone Kennedy) watering Bill (Felicity Cozens) with pints, Inspector Fry (Lee Dowsett) on a very long lunch break, and Harry’s daughter Shirley (Maddy Johnston) just looking for a place to mope. At least according to her parents, anyway.

When mysterious stranger Mooney (Bruno Hart) arrives, immediately unsettling both characters and audiences alike, the plot thickens like rancid Guinness. More complications come with Syd (George Kenward Parker), Harry’s former assistant who helped hang the (maybe) innocent Hennessy (Robbie O’Hara).

I can’t begin to express how talented this cast is, with Hart in particular hitting every single beat while crafting his own with the help of formidable director Andrew Cross. Hart has the best sense of timing for black comedy that I’ve ever seen. O’Grady leans into the narcissistic elements of Harry beautifully, creating a protagonist I sometimes dislike more than Mooney. The snivelling Kenward Parker is another standout, eliciting sympathy for Syd that turns out to be quite unwarranted. I’ll have that sympathy back, thanks. And as our punters, Cozens, Bell, and Mawer bring out the heartiest laughs of them all.

Special mention to the elaborate set (Amy Whiterod) and Tanya Piejus’ sound design, which amplifies the tension with transitional music we all hum along to before being smacked in the face by the next scene.

Wow. Just wow. I’ve got no other words except… Go. See. This. Production.

Much like Eloise (Thomasin McKenzie), we too enter a neon-lit fever dream watching Last Night in Soho, a film that turns our nostalgia for the past into an inescapable nightmare. Edgar Wright’s directorial touch shines more than ever as he modernises and romanticises the classic thriller with assured awareness, propelling an intriguing mystery that has us waiting with bated breath for answers.

Eloise Turner is a young fashion student who lives for the Swinging Sixties. Though she’s excited to trade her rural surrounds for London, she quickly feels alienated by the big city and seeks refuge in a shabby Soho apartment, which she rents from one Mrs Collins (Dame Diana Rigg). Her new home comes with history, and when she falls asleep, Eloise is whisked away to the 60s she’s always dreamed of, where she is tethered to aspiring club singer Sandie (Anya Taylor-Joy).

With films like Hot Fuzz (2007) and Baby Driver (2017) under his belt, Wright’s meticulous direction is well established, but never has he been more inventive than in Last Night in Soho. Like a kid in a candy store, he constantly finds fun ways to meld Eloise’s present with Sandy’s past; an early dance sequence that combines clever camera movement and precise choreography stands out as a moment of pure cinematic delight. From the costumes and the production design to the noirish lighting, soundtrack, and underbelly atmosphere, the 60s burst to life under Wright’s tutelage.

Wellington actress McKenzie fits beautifully into the world Wright creates and delivers a star-making performance. Tortured, mystified, and alone, she is the square peg trying to fit into the round hole, beautifully offset by the film’s well-cast ensemble. Taylor-Joy is a perfect counterpoint, but this is, without a doubt, McKenzie’s movie. In her final performance before her death last year, Rigg is as poised as ever, and Last Night in Soho serves as a worthy swan song for this screen legend.

Last Night in Soho harkens back to the type of dread felt in psychological thrillers like Alfred Hitchcock’s Rebecca (1940) and Michael Powell’s Peeping Tom (1960). I implore you to go in cold and experience Last Night in Soho spoiler-free; discovering its secrets is just too damn fun.

There are times when my background in plain English gets in the way of my task as a poetry reviewer. Plain English – you know, words we all understand, some kind of discernible narrative line, conventional use of punctuation – that sort of thing. But when reviewing poetry, such a constricted approach has got to go out the window. This is decidedly the case with Sam Duckor-Jones’ new collection Party Legend.

What’s he on? I wondered as I blundered into his seven-pages-long first poem Party Legend. A few verses in, I wondered what’s he on about? And the answer is a blast of admiration for a piece of satire as amusing as it is devastating. Does its title give it away? Only if you’ve got an eye for puns.

Otherwise, do these lines help? “Vote for me. I’m from a very distinguished flame...I have a very relatable familiar regular story”. Party Legend is a sustained rant of contemporary relevance decorated with unlikely metaphors, tall stories, and shameless exaggerations – all of which enhance its satirical intent.

I’m not so full of praise for another long piece. The Embryo Repeats contains all the latest cleverness. Its featured character is a God scorned: “God is one of these creatives who gets bored quickly”. It also features invented words, esoteric abbreviations such as pbu (peace be upon), ampersands, slashes, and mystifying spaces in the text. It gallops along with a great deal of quirkiness and energy – and it’s unintelligible. That’s fashionable too though – and it’s the sort of thing publishers love.

There are explanatory notes to this collection – and it’s just as well. How else would I have known that Allemande in G by J.S. Bach uses “the lettered notes of the western octatonic scale in the order found in Bach’s Cello Suites”?

I’m tempted to accuse Duckor-Jones of showing off. But then I’m just a good old-fashioned fan of plain English and consideration for the general reader.

It’s been a long time since I was able to settle into a rich juicy novel, and Jillian Webster’s The Weight of a Thousand Oceans has helped scratch that itch. The story focuses on a young woman named Maia growing up in a dystopian New Zealand.

Having been raised solely by her grandfather in isolation, Maia grows up restless and eagerly wants to see the world and live her own life. When she hears something about the Old Arctic Circle, she decides to set off and see it for herself.

This book really impressed me. In a richly detailed world that has been knocked back to the literal stone age, everyone is just trying their best to survive. They all have their own motivations that make sense, and not all will have Maia’s best interests at heart. 

Webster has managed to capture the humanity of each character – their desperation, their pain, and their joy – wonderfully. Her writing makes them literally spring to life. They feel real and relatable, which added to my overall immersion when reading the book. The story is a real treat that had me on the edge of my seat, with Maia’s escape being one of my favourite moments (don’t worry, no spoilers here).

The standout is Maia herself. During the course of The Weight of a Thousand Oceans she goes from naïve and starry-eyed to a genuinely tough heroine. I liked her transformation, and in my opinion, it was natural and organic. 

Normally at this point I would list some of the things I didn’t like about the book, but here I got nothing. The entire story is so amazing, the characters are so deep, and the world they live in is well put together. With luck Webster can use the momentum she’s generated in this book and carry it over to the sequel The Burn of a Thousand Suns. Fingers crossed she can pull it off.

The striking cover of Tōku Pāpā, featuring author Ruby Solly and (one may only guess) her father in full traditional dress, lends itself to the depth and drama you will find beneath. Strong and powerful, Solly writes of her journey and her connection to her whakapapa then, now, and forever. Her poetry collection is loosly connected by themes, firstly awe (the strength and power of the soul) and secondly, kura (feathers; a glow; the colour red).

Tōku Pāpā is Solly’s first book – a multi-talented creative, musician, and writer, she is also the composer of the album Pōneke, featuring the soundscapes of Wellington. I could easily imagine this as a backdrop to her orated poems. Her words, beautifully crafted yet hauntingly stark, harness the fragility yet strength of parenting, and the relationships that hold for a lifetime. Woven effortlessly throughout is the presence of Solly’s father.

Through her poems I considered the elements of nature and nurture and what it means to grow up outside your culture and feel alienated or disconnected from it; or instead, to grow up surrounded by your culture, embedded in all that you are and all that you will be.

There’s a sense of the latter throughout Solly’s poems where her connection to her whakapapa and knowledge of where she came from was ever-present, despite growing up away from her marae. There is pain and sorrow around this. Enveloped in her voice is a longing, at times heartbreaking.

The beauty of her poetry is that the inane and the ordinary becomes startling, unique and imbued with wisdom and the passing of time. Solly’s lyrics immerse you, as if crossing generations.

“You buried my whenua at a motel”.

“When my brother is born you bury his on someone else’s mountains”.

Tōku Pāpā is a sweeping collection of poems that convey a sense of the ties that bind us, and of Solly’s connection and identity, nurtured by her father who showed up for her past, present, and future.

Lynda La Plante (CBE no less), aka ‘The Queen of Crime Drama’, has written her 45th book – Judas Horse. It’s about a gang of professional burglars in the scenic Cotswolds countryside who haven’t been caught in their very successful three years on the job. Enter Detective Sergeant Jack Warr to right the wrongs. Maybe I missed the description of Jack but I have no idea what he looks like. You know when you have a really strong image of how a character looks and then you watch the film and your vision is shattered? Won’t be happening here… but I digress. 

Judas Horse has the usual English PC plods trying to keep up with the big boys from the big smoke. The burglars’ crimes are set in the equestrian world with horse floats making excellent getaway vehicles full of stolen items. Hiding in plain sight as it were. There are wacky locals to work with and lots of egos in the police force that Jack has to deal with, including his own.

Some aspects of the storyline were implausible – like the burglars getting a horse to trample its owner. As an experienced equestrian, this would be difficult to achieve without a lot of training. Other examples are unarmed police taking on a professional and armed gang of burglars in the big sting. The police leaving the door open to make it easier for the burglars… thoughtful! The gang made mistakes by using another form of horsepower, driving expensive, go-faster red Ducati Streetfighter V4 motorbikes that should have stood out to locals and police alike. There is a James Bond-style helicopter chase which sounded fun, if not hair-raising.

I could put this book down easily, and felt deflated as I was looking forward to a gripping page-turner. La Plante’s Prime Suspect books, which became a highly watched BBC TV series, were great. But maybe because Helen Mirren was the star? Perhaps after writing 44 books the author is jaded? Or I am? The jury’s out.

Despite Charlotte Rampling’s mesmerising performance, Juniper often feels like a self-aggrandising hodgepodge, so in awe of its star that it loses sight of what the story is trying to achieve. Though it touches on suicide, isolation, mortality, and familial disconnect, the film’s primary message seems to be, ‘can you believe it? We got Charlotte Rampling!’

Juniper introduces George Ferrier as Sam, a self-destructive 17-year-old who begrudgingly returns home from boarding school for the weekend with his dad Robert (Márton Csókás), with whom he barely speaks. There he meets his wheelchair-bound grandmother Ruth (Rampling), a viciously demanding former war photographer with a love for the bottle who has returned to New Zealand from England, and a battle of wills begins.

From that brief synopsis, you might assume Sam is our lead, and I think he is, but the filmmakers don’t. While the opening sequences paint a vivid (if not slightly ham-fisted) portrait of teen angst, the second Ruth is introduced, all that falls by the wayside. To utilise Rampling’s talents sparingly would have been a brave and effective creative decision, but writer-director Matthew Saville loses his nerve early, and Juniper quickly becomes a novelty vehicle for Rampling that follows a trajectory we’ve explored on screen time and time again.

The temptation to give Rampling as much screen time as possible is understandable; she is undeniably magnetic. Poised and charming despite the vile nature of her character, it’s hard to imagine the film would have sustained my gaze had it not been for her ability to add pathos to every line. Ruth, however – like much of the ensemble – is severely underwritten, particularly apparent when the script attempts to break silence with humour; in other words, she says “f**k” a lot, which as we all know, is a very naughty word for an old woman to use.

Sarcasm aside, many people will still find ways to connect with Juniper. Its characters, though somewhat synthetic, are inherently relatable and its story tried and true. In a year of red-hot Kiwi releases, Juniper just isn’t the standout it should be.

Tessa Redman is already onstage dancing energetically to pop music when the BATS audience files in. The pink light (Elekis Poblete Teirney), small bed of potted flowers, and hanging window frame (design by Trantham Gordon) behind which she gyrates are reminiscent of the Amsterdam Red Light District, an appropriate place to start this “solo exploration into female performativity, lust, and uncontrollable desire”.

The aptly described “dance theatre explosion” starts with stylised, kapa haka-like movements, no music, and a declaration from Redman that “I like dancing”. She then states she doesn’t care for the title of the show but hasn’t renamed it because she doesn’t know what it’s about. Clearly, this is the lie, as for the next 60 minutes she performs an energetic, expansive, partly spoken, mostly danced narrative about growing up, meeting an exciting new partner and having sex with them, heartbreak, and learning to love being alone.

Her only companion on this journey is the suspended white window frame that variously becomes a seat, a swing, a confidante, and her first-time lover in a highly entertaining sequence of boring, bad sex performed to Madonna’s Crazy For You.

Redman’s unequivocal talent as a contemporary dancer shines strongest in a manic segment filled with writhing anger and lust, red light, and haunting music (sound design by LANCE). She’s not afraid to get naked on stage, expose her inner desires, and confide her experiences.

The lighting, music, and set design admirably support Redman’s story and choreography, allowing her to be intimate or to break out across the whole, wide stage of the Dome as it suits her need. A gorgeous pink dress and lustier red slip and bikini provide enough costuming to mirror the stages of her sexual and emotional development.

I’m Not Going To Lie To You is brave and sensual, funny and moving, showing us with raw drama what it is to be a young woman navigating the world.

Charlotte Day Wilson, a name we’ve heard murmurings of via standout guest appearances with BADBADNOTGOOD and Daniel Caesar, comes into her own with her debut LP ALPHA. Across the board, her songs are written and composed with conviction accompanied by delicate instrumentation and Wilson’s sorrowful voice, which sounds more confident than ever.

Charlotte Day Wilson is a contemporary R&B singer-songwriter, pianist, and saxophonist hailing from Toronto, Canada. She slowly made her presence known throughout the 2010s, popping up on other well-received records by up-and-coming Canadians (often as a performer and writer) and releasing a string of her own EPs.

Right from the album’s introductory track, Strangers, something sounds and feels different. Wilson has always had a soft, soulful inflection that she channels through her uniquely low range, and while that continues here, her voice connects in a way it hasn’t before. Yet, this newfound vocal power never outshines her established songwriting ability. Wilson has a talent for laying her words bare on the page, short and sweet. No song, verse, or hook on ALPHA outstays its welcome, but each one makes its point clearly and concisely.

Breaking out of the constraints of an EP, Wilson finds time to explore new ground. There’s a consistent style to her musicianship, but songs detour through fields of gospel, folk, and jazz from time to time, particularly when she lets a sax seep through such as on Changes. Unsurprisingly, the most soulful joint is I Can Only Whisper, which sees her reteam with old pals BADBADNOTGOOD. Her subject matter remains personal, but less brooding. In fact, Keep Moving might be Wilson’s first pop bop.

As a gifted songwriter and multi-instrumentalist, I’m sure Wilson could whip up a fresh batch of Stax-inspired soul tunes in no time, but with ALPHA, she refuses to let herself off that easy. Instead she strives for precision, in every word, note, sound, or structure, from the first splodge of ink on the page to the pristine final mix. Put simply, ALPHA is an auditory treat front to back.