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Sweet As
After 20 years away, Garth Cartwright returns to home and roadtrips from one end of the country to the other to see what's changed - and what hasn't.
'I come from Mt Roskill. Somebody has to.' So says Garth Cartwright of growing up in New Zealand's largest suburb. It had acres of rugby fields and more churches than anywhere else in the country - but there were no cinemas, music venues or pubs. In search of a little more culture, a young Garth up and moved to London. Twenty years after leaving he returned to revel in a Kiwi summer.
That summer was spent travelling the country from top to bottom and observing New Zealand and its citizens in all their eccentric glory. Taking to State Highway 1, he met old friends, cult rockers, aspiring politicians, potters, bikers, visionary artists, hunters, undercover cops and all manner of other Kiwi characters. Surfing, hitching, driving, sailing and tramping across New Zealand allowed him to reflect on how much New Zealand has changed in the last twenty years - and how much it hasn't.
'I come from Mt Roskill. Somebody has to.' So says Garth Cartwright of growing up in New Zealand's largest suburb. It had acres of rugby fields and more churches than anywhere else in the country - but there were no cinemas, music venues or pubs. In search of a little more culture, a young Garth up and moved to London. Twenty years after leaving he returned to revel in a Kiwi summer.
That summer was spent travelling the country from top to bottom and observing New Zealand and its citizens in all their eccentric glory. Taking to State Highway 1, he met old friends, cult rockers, aspiring politicians, potters, bikers, visionary artists, hunters, undercover cops and all manner of other Kiwi characters. Surfing, hitching, driving, sailing and tramping across New Zealand allowed him to reflect on how much New Zealand has changed in the last twenty years - and how much it hasn't.
- GenresNonfiction
312 pages, Paperback
First published October 3, 2011
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Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews
October 24, 2011
There is no “summer” in New Zealand, not as we understand it the season here in Australia. Then again, Garth Cartwright has been an expat Kiwi ensconced in the ambient climes of Peckham South London for many a year now and thus his lack of serious exposure to UV is understandable.
Yes, where to begin on yet another tramp down memory lane penned by a son or daughter long since having fled their birth land. I suppose once you have read Janet Frame’s sharp-as-a-tack look back in anger recollections, anything else on the subject of why New Zealand is this or that, pales in comparison. Cartwright’s attempt at recapturing his youth captures plenty of Kiwi euphemisms and outtakes, although many have been well-mined previously. In-between finding his mojo and studying the mokos on trackie-dacked psychopaths loitering on K-Road, Cartwright fails to turn up a new slant on a nation constantly buggered by these never ending offshore pot-shots.
“My friend reckons . . .” seems to plague these memoir cum travelogues to the point of madness, again, no exception here, and while on occasions it almost works, it is not a Theroux boilerplate ride through homespun antiquity and cloying modernisation. Too often Cartwright’s take on what has become a stereo-typified New Zealand odyssey falls listlessly into the same crab bake. Perhaps the truth is that what can be written about a trip around the land of the long white cloud, has already been written – from how expensive it is to how it became an adventure capital to how cold, desolate and Scottish the deep south is – to Christchurch’s Wizard and serial killer capital tag. Yes, not a lot has changed since I last perused one of these homely tomes – and like many, having lived in New Zealand, I can’t help but think that there is far more to this strange and eclectic nation than 4-Squares, Pavlova and the ubiquitous “Sweet As” clarion call.
Yes, where to begin on yet another tramp down memory lane penned by a son or daughter long since having fled their birth land. I suppose once you have read Janet Frame’s sharp-as-a-tack look back in anger recollections, anything else on the subject of why New Zealand is this or that, pales in comparison. Cartwright’s attempt at recapturing his youth captures plenty of Kiwi euphemisms and outtakes, although many have been well-mined previously. In-between finding his mojo and studying the mokos on trackie-dacked psychopaths loitering on K-Road, Cartwright fails to turn up a new slant on a nation constantly buggered by these never ending offshore pot-shots.
“My friend reckons . . .” seems to plague these memoir cum travelogues to the point of madness, again, no exception here, and while on occasions it almost works, it is not a Theroux boilerplate ride through homespun antiquity and cloying modernisation. Too often Cartwright’s take on what has become a stereo-typified New Zealand odyssey falls listlessly into the same crab bake. Perhaps the truth is that what can be written about a trip around the land of the long white cloud, has already been written – from how expensive it is to how it became an adventure capital to how cold, desolate and Scottish the deep south is – to Christchurch’s Wizard and serial killer capital tag. Yes, not a lot has changed since I last perused one of these homely tomes – and like many, having lived in New Zealand, I can’t help but think that there is far more to this strange and eclectic nation than 4-Squares, Pavlova and the ubiquitous “Sweet As” clarion call.
July 6, 2022
New Zealand is still waiting for a great travel book to be written about it. This seemed promising at first but, man, in the end it felt unpleasant. The author was funny at times, but more often it read like a journal of visiting lots of nice places and complaining about them. I love New Zealand, and have spent years of my life there, but I liked it a bit less after reading this.
April 26, 2025
An interesting read especially for someone like myself who moved to New Zealand 20+ years ago and missed out on what things were like here in the 70s and 80s. Garth is a kiwi who lives in London, but comes back to visit friends, old haunts and childhood memories years later to see how things have changed.
February 12, 2018
Such a good writer but so so negative. I like people to be a bit satirical and see things as they really are but my goodness, London is welcome to him. He pretty much hates every band and town in the country and the constant carping about everything got on my nerves.
December 22, 2018
It is always interesting reading about your country as seen through the eyes of someone else, their insights and observations can make for amusing reading. This was an enjoyable read.
June 19, 2024
Recognise a lot of this - my journey was 1989 leaving - 2014 trip - guess it’s a more common thing than I thought - this account seemed a bit bitter
August 10, 2016
I'm torn with this book. On the one hand I enjoyed parts of it, found it easy to read and at times felt he captured aspects of NZ - the land and the people quite well. On the other hand his whinging negativity was irritating (but then perhaps I am being a defensive Kiwi as he suggests in the epilogue). I had no problem with his critique of many famous New Zealanders such as Colin McMahon and Peter Jackson but his continual references to violence does not match my own experiences of New Zealand. I am not suggesting it is a perfect peaceful place but Cartwright seems to take the extreme examples as the norm. From the missing tourists in Coromandel to the Aramoana slaughter - all were mentioned!
I am not a huge music fan nor much of an art critic and so found some of the long passages on different musicians and artists a little tedious as there were obvious connections and name dropping that I didn't get.
I am not a huge music fan nor much of an art critic and so found some of the long passages on different musicians and artists a little tedious as there were obvious connections and name dropping that I didn't get.
April 30, 2013
Meh. Picked it up thinking it would be interesting to read a book written by someone who grew up in the same suburb as me, went to two of the same schools as me albeit a few years ahead. A rambling account with no apparent point, fixated on every possible violent episode in New Zealand history. Yeah... Nah.
Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews