I am grateful this book exists, but I couldn’t help feel disconnected from the people or the love between some of them within these stories. Giving this book the benefit of the doubt, this very easily could’ve been me in a mood however, these short stories are legends of love passed down generations, yet they feel so… cold. I don’t necessarily think it’s the stories themselves, but rather the way they’re written.
The importance of aesthetic in putting sketches and art in here, (sometimes) without any relevance to the actual stories at hand was almost as strange as some of the translations void of context or the addition of an s at the end of Māori kupu, where they have no place being.
Some really lovely stories in this book and nearly all of them are true stories too. Some are very well known, and others not so well known, but all of them are told lovingly.