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The Cunninghams
David Ballantyne's first and best novel, The Cunninghams is the story of a family living in a small New Zealand town in the 1930s. Eric McCormick called this "a masterly study of working-class family life."
240 pages, Paperback
First published April 2, 1987
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October 16, 2022
Such a strong portrait of small town New Zealand of the 1920s-1930s (or the 1950s that i experienced for that matter). A small excerpt conveys the "small town bitchiness" and probably gives the wrong impression, as the story is much deeper, more convincing and moving than this, but it illustrates the nuance of the writing:
One of the kids ran along beside the house. It was Gilbert, tall and thin with a big head, big nose, big ears, and freckled face, and wearing his usual silly grin. You'd like to be closer to your eldest son, but the kid was so awkward; he was eleven, entering the gawky period. Watching him walk up to Marjorie, you felt scornful.
"Good afternoon, Gilbert," said Marjorie. "So you did get up?"
"It's Saturday morning."
"Oh, of course you studied so hard during the week."
Gilbert blushed.
Gil stubbed his cigarette irritably.
Helen came out and yelled to Gilbert to hurry to the butcher's before everybody else bought the best meat, he was probably too late as it was. The kid ran off.
"Postman not been yet Marj" called Helen.
"Not yet" Marjorie said. "Thought I heard his whistle, but I must have been mistaken."
Helen looked at Gil. She said she supposed Mr. Simmons would probably be turning up soon.
"Something to look forward to," Gil said.
He couldn't decide whether there was any jealousy in his attitude towards George Simmons, but he did know he was narked that the night watchman at Gladstone freeing works should cut his hair, not that it would matter if Simmons were a garbage collector, but he was such a bloody loudmouth. So was his old woman. A beaut pair of gossips.
"I suppose its decent of Mr. Simmons to think of sick people" Helen said.
"The money he gets for it probably makes it easier" he said.
One of the kids ran along beside the house. It was Gilbert, tall and thin with a big head, big nose, big ears, and freckled face, and wearing his usual silly grin. You'd like to be closer to your eldest son, but the kid was so awkward; he was eleven, entering the gawky period. Watching him walk up to Marjorie, you felt scornful.
"Good afternoon, Gilbert," said Marjorie. "So you did get up?"
"It's Saturday morning."
"Oh, of course you studied so hard during the week."
Gilbert blushed.
Gil stubbed his cigarette irritably.
Helen came out and yelled to Gilbert to hurry to the butcher's before everybody else bought the best meat, he was probably too late as it was. The kid ran off.
"Postman not been yet Marj" called Helen.
"Not yet" Marjorie said. "Thought I heard his whistle, but I must have been mistaken."
Helen looked at Gil. She said she supposed Mr. Simmons would probably be turning up soon.
"Something to look forward to," Gil said.
He couldn't decide whether there was any jealousy in his attitude towards George Simmons, but he did know he was narked that the night watchman at Gladstone freeing works should cut his hair, not that it would matter if Simmons were a garbage collector, but he was such a bloody loudmouth. So was his old woman. A beaut pair of gossips.
"I suppose its decent of Mr. Simmons to think of sick people" Helen said.
"The money he gets for it probably makes it easier" he said.
Displaying 1 of 1 review