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Auē #1
Auē
Taukiri was born into sorrow. Auē can be heard in the sound of the sea he loves and hates, and in the music he draws out of the guitar that was his father’s. It spills out of the gang violence that killed his father and sent his mother into hiding, and the shame he feels about abandoning his eight-year-old brother to a violent home.
But Ārama is braver than he looks, and he has a friend and his friend has a dog, and the three of them together might just be strong enough to turn back the tide of sorrow. As long as there’s aroha to give and stories to tell and a good supply of plasters.
Here is a novel that is both raw and sublime, a compelling new voice in New Zealand fiction. Haere mai, Becky Manawatu.
But Ārama is braver than he looks, and he has a friend and his friend has a dog, and the three of them together might just be strong enough to turn back the tide of sorrow. As long as there’s aroha to give and stories to tell and a good supply of plasters.
Here is a novel that is both raw and sublime, a compelling new voice in New Zealand fiction. Haere mai, Becky Manawatu.
328 pages, Paperback
First published September 1, 2019
372 people are currently reading
10257 people want to read
About the author
Becky Manawatu
3 books208 followersBecky Manawatu (Ngāi Tahu) was born in Nelson in 1982, raised in Waimangaroa and has returned there to live with her family. She worked as a reporter for The News in Westport.
Becky’s short story ‘Abalone’ was long-listed for the 2018 Commonwealth Short Story Prize, her essay ‘Mothers Day’ has been selected for the Landfall anthology Strong Words.
Auē is her first novel & it won both the Jann Medlicott Acorn Prize for Fiction and the Hubert Church Prize for best first book of fiction at the 2020 Ockham Book Awards.
Becky’s short story ‘Abalone’ was long-listed for the 2018 Commonwealth Short Story Prize, her essay ‘Mothers Day’ has been selected for the Landfall anthology Strong Words.
Auē is her first novel & it won both the Jann Medlicott Acorn Prize for Fiction and the Hubert Church Prize for best first book of fiction at the 2020 Ockham Book Awards.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 951 reviews
January 9, 2020
This book has created an ache in my chest that I’ll carry with me for a long time. It is awful in such a way that it is brilliant, sentences so visceral my breath would stop.
It is triumphant too - the spades of sorrow matched by spades of hope.
I have thought long and hard and deeply about my family and my culture and my country and whether it’s possible for people to be right or wrong if they are just doing the best with the tools and the lives they were given.
I have written down lines that made me pause my reading because they were so real or beautiful or accurate or funny or heartbreaking.
How grateful I am for my life and how grateful I am to have read this.
It is triumphant too - the spades of sorrow matched by spades of hope.
I have thought long and hard and deeply about my family and my culture and my country and whether it’s possible for people to be right or wrong if they are just doing the best with the tools and the lives they were given.
I have written down lines that made me pause my reading because they were so real or beautiful or accurate or funny or heartbreaking.
How grateful I am for my life and how grateful I am to have read this.
April 28, 2020
* 4.5 *
Admittedly, I don't read a substantial amount of New Zealand literature but I do try to take a sampling from whatever shows up on the annual Ockham longlist for fiction. I nearly always find something to love here, last year it was Anne Kennedy's undervalued Wellington romp, The Ice Shelf and this year it is Auē, an astounding effort from debut novelist - Becky Manawatu.
Plenty of reviews have drawn parallels with Alan Duff's Once Were Warriors, and with good reason, both novels take a close look at poverty, gang violence, domestic abuse and both are told at least in part through the eyes of a child. Both novels are also informed by the authors experiences ( have a gander at Manawatu's personal essay as an adjunct to reading this novel https://www.newsroom.co.nz/2019/11/13... ).
Where Once Were Warriors is a bleak portrayal of family/gang violence set in early 90s South Auckland, Auē focuses on small town life in the South Island. It is refreshing to see places like Kaikoura, Cheviot, and Stewart Island/Rakiura get a mention in NZ literature. And while it is hard to stomach the violence in parts of this book, it still manages to leave room for redemption and best of all hope. In short, I thought this book had enormous heart and really captures something that feels authentic to my own experiences of life in the South Island.
It’s not perfect but it’s a very good debut and I am full of admiration for what this book set out to do. I am here for whatever Manawatu writes next.
Admittedly, I don't read a substantial amount of New Zealand literature but I do try to take a sampling from whatever shows up on the annual Ockham longlist for fiction. I nearly always find something to love here, last year it was Anne Kennedy's undervalued Wellington romp, The Ice Shelf and this year it is Auē, an astounding effort from debut novelist - Becky Manawatu.
Plenty of reviews have drawn parallels with Alan Duff's Once Were Warriors, and with good reason, both novels take a close look at poverty, gang violence, domestic abuse and both are told at least in part through the eyes of a child. Both novels are also informed by the authors experiences ( have a gander at Manawatu's personal essay as an adjunct to reading this novel https://www.newsroom.co.nz/2019/11/13... ).
Where Once Were Warriors is a bleak portrayal of family/gang violence set in early 90s South Auckland, Auē focuses on small town life in the South Island. It is refreshing to see places like Kaikoura, Cheviot, and Stewart Island/Rakiura get a mention in NZ literature. And while it is hard to stomach the violence in parts of this book, it still manages to leave room for redemption and best of all hope. In short, I thought this book had enormous heart and really captures something that feels authentic to my own experiences of life in the South Island.
It’s not perfect but it’s a very good debut and I am full of admiration for what this book set out to do. I am here for whatever Manawatu writes next.
September 26, 2023
5★
“Only the other boys my age could do dumb sh*t fearlessly. They knew there was a bottom to their fall. That if they really messed up, someone would probably notice and stop them. The bottomlessness to my life was dizzying. The choices were as overwhelming as that terrible sea was.
Taukiri, ‘Tauk’, older brother of Arama, ‘Ari’, is a lost and overwhelmed seventeen-year-old who has taken Ari to live with Aunty Kat and Uncle Stu.
First, though, the word “Auē- to cry, wail, howl; interjection showing distress“. I heard the author say it, and it sounds sort of like OH-way, which I liken to Oh Woe, as in Woe is me, or Alas! Actually, it sounds a lot like the Yiddish Oy vey! It seems to be used in those circumstances and is an excellent title for this book.
Ari is not pleased about being dropped off and deserted in Kaikoura
“Taukiri said that – ‘Home now, buddy’ – but he wouldn’t look at me. He looked around me, at the toaster, at a dead fly on the windowsill, at the door handle. He said something dumb, ‘You’ll love it, there are cows.’
You’re an orphan. I’m leaving. But cows.
He carried boxes into my new bedroom and pretended not to notice I hadn’t said a word since he’d packed up our house in Cheviot and driven me here. To Kaikōura. To Aunty Kat. To a place we sometimes visited but never stopped the night.”
Taukiri reckons he’s taking his old car and his guitar and going busking, so his little brother can’t come. Pity.
“Uncle Stu slammed the phone down, came back to the table and sat. His chair squeaked and the table shook. Every time Uncle Stu moved or spoke, he made noises that made my heart lurch around like a scared frog stuck in hot mashed spuds.”
Uncle Stu’s simmering temper underscores everything in this home. Ari and Aunty Kat can relax really only when Uncle Stu is milking in the dairy. But, like all of us, there are reasons Uncle Stu is the way he is. The ghost tells us:
“Toko introduced Kat to Stu. The farm boy, who always came to school with blue rings around his eyes and looked at Toko’s lunch with envy. Looked at Toko’s life with envy.”
Ari learns quickly to keep quiet, and when he’s upset, he mends himself with plasters (sticking plasters, band-aids).
“I turned off my light, then had to find my way to the bed. I hit my shin on the corner and reached under the mattress for my emergency box of plasters. I plastered my shin and some bruises on my knees and elbows. They weren’t bleeding, but still – they felt better plastered.”
I once had an elderly neighbour who remarked (as I was bandaging a minor ‘wound’ at the request of a crying child) that band-aids are today’s “Mother’s kiss”. I remember when we used to ask our mothers to “kiss it and make it better”. In Ari’s case, I think my neighbour was right.
The story is of a few generations and a few groups, and fortunately for me, chapters are titled with the name of the character whose story is being told. In between, there are italicised sections several pages long, and I knew it was a ghost narrating, but I wasn’t sure who it was or exactly what happened.
There is a lot of language, by which I mean “te reo”, which translates literally as “the language”, referring to Maori words. There is a great glossary at the end, which I enjoyed but which isn’t necessary to understand the story.
There is also the other kind of ‘language’ amongst the gangs and druggies and people you really don’t want to mess with. There is drug use, graphic violence, and the absolute degradation of some women.
“But the one-mores were piling up. One more beating, one more toke, one more drink, one more shot. It was something of a dying.”
. . .
“Fury then remorse and forgiveness. And she hoped [he] knew how far his fury should go to create a perfect equation of those things. An equilibrium they could measure love by. A trinity. Love, as she’d learned it. No questions asked.”
The characters are wonderful (and awful): Kat, Jade, Aroha, Sav, Beth and Toko, Taukiri, Ari, Tom, Stu, Coon. I can’t remember them all. The author balances the caring against the brutality well. I imagine it’s this balancing act that reminds me a bit of Hanya Yanagihara’s outstanding A Little Life.
For me, the main story is Ari’s. His friendship with Beth, who is his age and an adventurous kid, makes for bright, often funny spots. He wishes he could live with her and Tom, her father who is kind to him. (Of course, Uncle Stu hates them.)
I think the author does a good job of showing what happens to people who feel dispossessed and overlooked, whether it’s one small boy or an entire part of society. The fact that they are mostly First Nations people makes it even more poignant to me.
The Maoris of old were respected, feared warriors. Colonisation and so-called civilisation have a lot to answer for.
At the end of the book, the author says that it was written in memory or her young cousin who lived with her family for a couple of years, so I did a bit of a google and found some of his story here.
https://www.stuff.co.nz/the-press/new...
This is the latest addition to my favourite books, and I suspect Ari and Tauk and the others will pop into my thoughts often.
Thanks to NetGalley and Scribe Publishing for the copy for review.
“Only the other boys my age could do dumb sh*t fearlessly. They knew there was a bottom to their fall. That if they really messed up, someone would probably notice and stop them. The bottomlessness to my life was dizzying. The choices were as overwhelming as that terrible sea was.
Taukiri, ‘Tauk’, older brother of Arama, ‘Ari’, is a lost and overwhelmed seventeen-year-old who has taken Ari to live with Aunty Kat and Uncle Stu.
First, though, the word “Auē- to cry, wail, howl; interjection showing distress“. I heard the author say it, and it sounds sort of like OH-way, which I liken to Oh Woe, as in Woe is me, or Alas! Actually, it sounds a lot like the Yiddish Oy vey! It seems to be used in those circumstances and is an excellent title for this book.
Ari is not pleased about being dropped off and deserted in Kaikoura
“Taukiri said that – ‘Home now, buddy’ – but he wouldn’t look at me. He looked around me, at the toaster, at a dead fly on the windowsill, at the door handle. He said something dumb, ‘You’ll love it, there are cows.’
You’re an orphan. I’m leaving. But cows.
He carried boxes into my new bedroom and pretended not to notice I hadn’t said a word since he’d packed up our house in Cheviot and driven me here. To Kaikōura. To Aunty Kat. To a place we sometimes visited but never stopped the night.”
Taukiri reckons he’s taking his old car and his guitar and going busking, so his little brother can’t come. Pity.
“Uncle Stu slammed the phone down, came back to the table and sat. His chair squeaked and the table shook. Every time Uncle Stu moved or spoke, he made noises that made my heart lurch around like a scared frog stuck in hot mashed spuds.”
Uncle Stu’s simmering temper underscores everything in this home. Ari and Aunty Kat can relax really only when Uncle Stu is milking in the dairy. But, like all of us, there are reasons Uncle Stu is the way he is. The ghost tells us:
“Toko introduced Kat to Stu. The farm boy, who always came to school with blue rings around his eyes and looked at Toko’s lunch with envy. Looked at Toko’s life with envy.”
Ari learns quickly to keep quiet, and when he’s upset, he mends himself with plasters (sticking plasters, band-aids).
“I turned off my light, then had to find my way to the bed. I hit my shin on the corner and reached under the mattress for my emergency box of plasters. I plastered my shin and some bruises on my knees and elbows. They weren’t bleeding, but still – they felt better plastered.”
I once had an elderly neighbour who remarked (as I was bandaging a minor ‘wound’ at the request of a crying child) that band-aids are today’s “Mother’s kiss”. I remember when we used to ask our mothers to “kiss it and make it better”. In Ari’s case, I think my neighbour was right.
The story is of a few generations and a few groups, and fortunately for me, chapters are titled with the name of the character whose story is being told. In between, there are italicised sections several pages long, and I knew it was a ghost narrating, but I wasn’t sure who it was or exactly what happened.
There is a lot of language, by which I mean “te reo”, which translates literally as “the language”, referring to Maori words. There is a great glossary at the end, which I enjoyed but which isn’t necessary to understand the story.
There is also the other kind of ‘language’ amongst the gangs and druggies and people you really don’t want to mess with. There is drug use, graphic violence, and the absolute degradation of some women.
“But the one-mores were piling up. One more beating, one more toke, one more drink, one more shot. It was something of a dying.”
. . .
“Fury then remorse and forgiveness. And she hoped [he] knew how far his fury should go to create a perfect equation of those things. An equilibrium they could measure love by. A trinity. Love, as she’d learned it. No questions asked.”
The characters are wonderful (and awful): Kat, Jade, Aroha, Sav, Beth and Toko, Taukiri, Ari, Tom, Stu, Coon. I can’t remember them all. The author balances the caring against the brutality well. I imagine it’s this balancing act that reminds me a bit of Hanya Yanagihara’s outstanding A Little Life.
For me, the main story is Ari’s. His friendship with Beth, who is his age and an adventurous kid, makes for bright, often funny spots. He wishes he could live with her and Tom, her father who is kind to him. (Of course, Uncle Stu hates them.)
I think the author does a good job of showing what happens to people who feel dispossessed and overlooked, whether it’s one small boy or an entire part of society. The fact that they are mostly First Nations people makes it even more poignant to me.
The Maoris of old were respected, feared warriors. Colonisation and so-called civilisation have a lot to answer for.
At the end of the book, the author says that it was written in memory or her young cousin who lived with her family for a couple of years, so I did a bit of a google and found some of his story here.
https://www.stuff.co.nz/the-press/new...
This is the latest addition to my favourite books, and I suspect Ari and Tauk and the others will pop into my thoughts often.
Thanks to NetGalley and Scribe Publishing for the copy for review.
June 6, 2021
I thought I had thought of a wildly original opening for my review - a dictionary definition of Auē.
But a few other reviewers have also had the same thought. It is both an expression of both astonishment or distress.
I finished this book last night - & I couldn't sleep, the story is so powerful & heartbreaking to read. This is the story of two young brothers, trying to make their way in this world as best they can.
This book is 5★ for me because of it's pure, emotional impact. But this reader doesn't like multiple POV or ping-pong timelines. & I will say I think there is a fault in these timelines. But flawed or not, nothing literary has hit me as hard as this book in a very long time, so 5★ it is.
I don't do trigger warnings in my reviews, but I will say if you need them this book won't be the book for you. So you have been warned.
Further reading. https://www.newsroom.co.nz/the-noveli...
https://www.newsroom.co.nz/profile-be...
https://www.stuff.co.nz/national/face...
https://wordpress.com/view/carolshess...
But a few other reviewers have also had the same thought. It is both an expression of both astonishment or distress.
I finished this book last night - & I couldn't sleep, the story is so powerful & heartbreaking to read. This is the story of two young brothers, trying to make their way in this world as best they can.
This book is 5★ for me because of it's pure, emotional impact. But this reader doesn't like multiple POV or ping-pong timelines. & I will say I think there is a fault in these timelines. But flawed or not, nothing literary has hit me as hard as this book in a very long time, so 5★ it is.
I don't do trigger warnings in my reviews, but I will say if you need them this book won't be the book for you. So you have been warned.
Further reading. https://www.newsroom.co.nz/the-noveli...
https://www.newsroom.co.nz/profile-be...
https://www.stuff.co.nz/national/face...
https://wordpress.com/view/carolshess...
March 17, 2021
auē
1. (verb) to cry, howl, groan, wail, bawl.
2. (interjection) expression of astonishment or distress.
Auē—evoking anguish, sorrow, surprise, affection—is a word that encapsulates this beautiful, devastating novel so well. Essentially a family drama about two recently orphaned Māori boys who have had more than their share of loss and grief, the book radiates warmth and heart in defiance of gut-wrenching tragedy.
There is a lot of violence here: domestic violence, gang violence, even senseless accidents, but it is tempered by love and kindness and small joyful moments too. Little Ari and Beth are the most adorable besties ever! In fact, most of the characters are so easy to love, that at times I wanted to stop reading just so nothing bad could ever happen to them.
Except I couldn’t because Auē is also a page turner. Through a deceptively simple structure of alternating POVs and timelines, the novel hooks the reader: what happened to Ari and Taukiri’s parents? It’s not a ‘mystery’ exactly—most of the characters know but the reader does not—Manawatu’s clever trick is deploying foreshadowing to create pace and propulsion that you wouldn’t expect from a story spanning 20 years.
There are nits that can be picked—the bad guys are one dimensional, the final confluence of events involves one coincidence too many, and the ensuing violent confrontation sacrifices the novel’s hard-won realism in favour of a splashy showdown—but nothing can put a dent in Auē’s emotional power. A brilliant book that won several awards in New Zealand and deserves a much wider readership.
1. (verb) to cry, howl, groan, wail, bawl.
2. (interjection) expression of astonishment or distress.
Auē—evoking anguish, sorrow, surprise, affection—is a word that encapsulates this beautiful, devastating novel so well. Essentially a family drama about two recently orphaned Māori boys who have had more than their share of loss and grief, the book radiates warmth and heart in defiance of gut-wrenching tragedy.
There is a lot of violence here: domestic violence, gang violence, even senseless accidents, but it is tempered by love and kindness and small joyful moments too. Little Ari and Beth are the most adorable besties ever! In fact, most of the characters are so easy to love, that at times I wanted to stop reading just so nothing bad could ever happen to them.
Except I couldn’t because Auē is also a page turner. Through a deceptively simple structure of alternating POVs and timelines, the novel hooks the reader: what happened to Ari and Taukiri’s parents? It’s not a ‘mystery’ exactly—most of the characters know but the reader does not—Manawatu’s clever trick is deploying foreshadowing to create pace and propulsion that you wouldn’t expect from a story spanning 20 years.
There are nits that can be picked—the bad guys are one dimensional, the final confluence of events involves one coincidence too many, and the ensuing violent confrontation sacrifices the novel’s hard-won realism in favour of a splashy showdown—but nothing can put a dent in Auē’s emotional power. A brilliant book that won several awards in New Zealand and deserves a much wider readership.
November 29, 2020
Broke my heart that did. I don’t expect I’ll read a better book this year. Read this if you'd like to explore a full catalogue of sadness and trauma.
January 18, 2021
This book just busted my heart open.
May 30, 2020
I read this with a feeling of mild apprehension throughout, which grew by the end and had me staying up late to finish it, to move beyond that feeling that something bad was going to happen.
Auē has just won the NZ Annual Book Award
for fiction. I read last year's winner Fiona Kidman's This Mortal Boy, inspired by the true story of a young Northern Irish man who travelled to NZ in the 1950's seeking employment opportunities and a future only to meet a tragic, unjust end.
I saw that Becky Manawatu had written a personal essay on her sister who had married a gang member, so I read The novelist whose sister married into the Mongrel Mob. I remembered the dark television series created by Jane Campion, Top of the Lake, which like Auē is set in the South Island, a land of extreme beauty and not so many humans.
Despite the current of fear created by the essay and that series, the novel looked unique and having just read another book with it's Irish vernacular, I was interested to read something that had a connection to the Maori language and culture, a language and culture I learned and loved from the age of 5 until 12.
The story is told from three narrative perspectives, with chapters highlighting either Arama (an 8 year old boy Ari), Taukiri (his older brother) and Jade & Toko (a couple).
It begins with Ari being dropped off at his Aunty Kat's home by his brother, who departs and drives north, seeming to want to severe contact with everyone as he crosses the channel on the ferry to the North Island throwing his telephone into the water. Sitting on his own on a beach on Christmas day, eating Marmite sandwiches Taukiri thinks about his little brother. It's the first time he's been close to the sea since Bones Bay. A place whose story has not yet been told.
It becomes clear that the narratives of the two boys are set in the present and that of the couple in the past. The novel moves forward fleshing out its main characters, building tension and slowly revealing the connection between them all. Despite Taukiri's desperation to forget or remove the past, it continues to haunt him, memories mix with things he sees and hears, a kaleidoscope of confused images.
Occasionally there is an italicized voice of someone not present, a lyrical incantation of the wind, or the presence of a spirit, observing - familiar and yet just outside of reach, pushing the reader on towards clarification.
Ari befriends the neighbours daughter Beth, she lives with her Dad and Ari prefers the atmosphere over there, even though some of the things Beth likes scare him.
Jade is the child who grew up in a House like the one from Top of the Lake. A scary place. Her parents are no longer there, but she was reclaimed by the new inhabitants. Reading her chapters is unsettling, she seems not to possess a mind of her own.
It's a compelling, riveting story that feels likes riding the waves, moments of joy at the heights and the threat of doom as it crashes. And the poetry of the in-between, the goodness inherent within the young and those who have been loved, the healing that can happen when families reconnect.
If you're interested in reading this book, it's currently available as an ebook direct from the indie publisher Makaro Press
Auē has just won the NZ Annual Book Award
for fiction. I read last year's winner Fiona Kidman's This Mortal Boy, inspired by the true story of a young Northern Irish man who travelled to NZ in the 1950's seeking employment opportunities and a future only to meet a tragic, unjust end.
I saw that Becky Manawatu had written a personal essay on her sister who had married a gang member, so I read The novelist whose sister married into the Mongrel Mob. I remembered the dark television series created by Jane Campion, Top of the Lake, which like Auē is set in the South Island, a land of extreme beauty and not so many humans.
Despite the current of fear created by the essay and that series, the novel looked unique and having just read another book with it's Irish vernacular, I was interested to read something that had a connection to the Maori language and culture, a language and culture I learned and loved from the age of 5 until 12.
Auē - to cry, howl, groan, wail, bawl
The story is told from three narrative perspectives, with chapters highlighting either Arama (an 8 year old boy Ari), Taukiri (his older brother) and Jade & Toko (a couple).
It begins with Ari being dropped off at his Aunty Kat's home by his brother, who departs and drives north, seeming to want to severe contact with everyone as he crosses the channel on the ferry to the North Island throwing his telephone into the water. Sitting on his own on a beach on Christmas day, eating Marmite sandwiches Taukiri thinks about his little brother. It's the first time he's been close to the sea since Bones Bay. A place whose story has not yet been told.
One year Ari got a box of chocolates, and when the box was empty, he cut out photos of me and him, pictures of waves and surfboards and a guitar and glued them to the box to give to me for my birthday. That empty chocolate box was the best present I'd ever been given.
It becomes clear that the narratives of the two boys are set in the present and that of the couple in the past. The novel moves forward fleshing out its main characters, building tension and slowly revealing the connection between them all. Despite Taukiri's desperation to forget or remove the past, it continues to haunt him, memories mix with things he sees and hears, a kaleidoscope of confused images.
I guessed it would be this way for me and Ari. We would look for pieces of everyone we'd lost, in mirrors and crowds.
That's how Ari would come to feel about me - that he'd lost me and had to search for me in places where I wasn't.
He'd get over that though. It'd get easier.
Occasionally there is an italicized voice of someone not present, a lyrical incantation of the wind, or the presence of a spirit, observing - familiar and yet just outside of reach, pushing the reader on towards clarification.
Ari befriends the neighbours daughter Beth, she lives with her Dad and Ari prefers the atmosphere over there, even though some of the things Beth likes scare him.
'Let's go to my place and watch Django.'
'Why do you like that movie so much?'
'It's a dog-eat-dog world and we gotta stay ahead of the game.'
'That's not how the world really is.'
'Isn't it? Like I said that rabbit was probably an orphan, like you are. Like I sort of am.'
Jade is the child who grew up in a House like the one from Top of the Lake. A scary place. Her parents are no longer there, but she was reclaimed by the new inhabitants. Reading her chapters is unsettling, she seems not to possess a mind of her own.
his soft hand as he spoke of the violence that ended her father's life reminded her of something. The only type of love she she knew. Fury then remorse and forgiveness.
It's a compelling, riveting story that feels likes riding the waves, moments of joy at the heights and the threat of doom as it crashes. And the poetry of the in-between, the goodness inherent within the young and those who have been loved, the healing that can happen when families reconnect.
If you're interested in reading this book, it's currently available as an ebook direct from the indie publisher Makaro Press
January 10, 2025
4.5 Stars!
A reread!!
Just found out that the follow up to this wonderful novel is coming out in May 2025. :-)
“You’ll love it there are cows.” This is what Taukiri says to his brother about where he will be living now their parents have died. Yet while saying it he cannot look him in the eye, barely hiding the guilt in his voice. Taukiri tells Arama he will be back as soon as he can. Arama cannot help but feel his brother is escaping as he drives away, and escaping he is.
Arama’s perspective is one of three that support the narrative. He now lives with his Uncle Stu and Aunty Kat on their farm. Uncle Stu makes life unbearable for Arama, regularly attacking Aunt Kat physically and mentally. Arama struggles to keep out of his way. Beth, who lives a couple of houses away is Arama’s savoir. The two eight-year-olds declare themselves brother and sister and will promote themselves to husband and wife when they get older. The relationship and bond that grows between these two characters a highlight of the book for me.
Taukiri’s chapters are the second perspective as he struggles to survive on his own with no money or job. Inevitably he is drawn to the lawless world of the gangs.
As you read on you realise this is a dark novel. A novel wrapped in a cloud of violence. Domestic violence, gang violence, cultures and generations of abuse that pass down to the next. It is this previous generation that is told from the third perspective, that of Jade. Jade lives in this world, the dark side of the Maori gang culture. Jade’s story is connected to the brothers and set in the past.
There is also a ghost, or a spirit, who hovers through the chapters. A spirit who is desperately trying to help. It’s a nice touch adding a spiritual feel to the story.
The chapters will alternate between these characters and as the story gets closer to the end Manawatu shortens them and changes perspective more rapidly. This creates the tension and fear that are leading to the climax. The novel almost mirrors an intensifying occurrence of domestic violence.
Some readers may be put off by the violence, but I believe it is necessary to emphasize the brutality these characters live with and ultimately the message that Manawatu is conveying.
It is easy to see how this novel won such a swath of awards when it was released in New Zealand. A stellar debut.
A reread!!
Just found out that the follow up to this wonderful novel is coming out in May 2025. :-)
“You’ll love it there are cows.” This is what Taukiri says to his brother about where he will be living now their parents have died. Yet while saying it he cannot look him in the eye, barely hiding the guilt in his voice. Taukiri tells Arama he will be back as soon as he can. Arama cannot help but feel his brother is escaping as he drives away, and escaping he is.
Arama’s perspective is one of three that support the narrative. He now lives with his Uncle Stu and Aunty Kat on their farm. Uncle Stu makes life unbearable for Arama, regularly attacking Aunt Kat physically and mentally. Arama struggles to keep out of his way. Beth, who lives a couple of houses away is Arama’s savoir. The two eight-year-olds declare themselves brother and sister and will promote themselves to husband and wife when they get older. The relationship and bond that grows between these two characters a highlight of the book for me.
Taukiri’s chapters are the second perspective as he struggles to survive on his own with no money or job. Inevitably he is drawn to the lawless world of the gangs.
As you read on you realise this is a dark novel. A novel wrapped in a cloud of violence. Domestic violence, gang violence, cultures and generations of abuse that pass down to the next. It is this previous generation that is told from the third perspective, that of Jade. Jade lives in this world, the dark side of the Maori gang culture. Jade’s story is connected to the brothers and set in the past.
There is also a ghost, or a spirit, who hovers through the chapters. A spirit who is desperately trying to help. It’s a nice touch adding a spiritual feel to the story.
The chapters will alternate between these characters and as the story gets closer to the end Manawatu shortens them and changes perspective more rapidly. This creates the tension and fear that are leading to the climax. The novel almost mirrors an intensifying occurrence of domestic violence.
Some readers may be put off by the violence, but I believe it is necessary to emphasize the brutality these characters live with and ultimately the message that Manawatu is conveying.
It is easy to see how this novel won such a swath of awards when it was released in New Zealand. A stellar debut.
February 20, 2023
I loved this compelling and completely immersive Maori family saga. It is the kind of book you can give to all your friends and family no matter their taste or how much they read. There is an enormous cast of characters, most of them somehow related. There are loads of broken families, accidents, murders, scores to be settled and slowly but certainly all is revealed. The characters are so lively, all quite extreme, and some will stay with me for a long time. The Maori setting makes it extra interesting.
It is tender and rough at the same time. It doesn't get melodramatic at all. And very important: it is very well written and the intricate plot is very well crafted - it must have been quite a puzzle.
Very highly recommended, 4,5
It is tender and rough at the same time. It doesn't get melodramatic at all. And very important: it is very well written and the intricate plot is very well crafted - it must have been quite a puzzle.
Very highly recommended, 4,5
February 18, 2020
4.5 stars
”All those years ago, it is still beautiful to see two creatures under the spell of lovely things. Lovely thoughts, lovely wishes. Their own loveliness. But they’re fools in love. Tangata whenua, we have myth and legend, not fairy tales. Have they forgotten who they are?”
Where do I even start with this book?! How good! TLDR: read it!
I don’t know how to write about how it made me feel, how much it has stayed on my mind since. It’s brutal, no doubt about that, but also beautiful, and this is solely due to the storytelling skills of the author Becky Manawatu, and her beautiful writing. Somehow understated and to the point, yet also lyrical and delicate; a perfect filter, especially for the more difficult portions of the novel. The subject matter is a tough one but the way she wrote it meant it never felt gratuitous to me.
Auē is a visceral word; an expression for emotions that come from your being. Surprise, annoyance, lamentation, love - the whole gamut can be covered with this one expression. Reading about the lives of the characters in this book, it is an apt title and now I couldn’t think of a better one to take its place that would give it the same depth of feeling.
(TW) this book deals with domestic violence, addiction, and perceived gang culture. There are also guns and scenes of animal cruelty. From ephemeral kehua to flawed, damaged characters that felt so real it was like they lived, I was invested. I felt like I knew them, and it hurt when awful things would happen because everything seemed so senseless, even as you can trace the systematic problems to a legacy of generations-old trauma. I had to remind myself this was fiction, even though it felt so real; the way the best books are. And yet it could be someone’s truth, so even though your emotions are taken for a ride, I wouldn’t say it felt manipulative either.
Coincidentally, a friend texted to say she was reading this just as I finished, so I was thankful to have a pal to debrief with. It’s not one either of us will be forgetting in a hurry!
”All those years ago, it is still beautiful to see two creatures under the spell of lovely things. Lovely thoughts, lovely wishes. Their own loveliness. But they’re fools in love. Tangata whenua, we have myth and legend, not fairy tales. Have they forgotten who they are?”
Where do I even start with this book?! How good! TLDR: read it!
I don’t know how to write about how it made me feel, how much it has stayed on my mind since. It’s brutal, no doubt about that, but also beautiful, and this is solely due to the storytelling skills of the author Becky Manawatu, and her beautiful writing. Somehow understated and to the point, yet also lyrical and delicate; a perfect filter, especially for the more difficult portions of the novel. The subject matter is a tough one but the way she wrote it meant it never felt gratuitous to me.
Auē is a visceral word; an expression for emotions that come from your being. Surprise, annoyance, lamentation, love - the whole gamut can be covered with this one expression. Reading about the lives of the characters in this book, it is an apt title and now I couldn’t think of a better one to take its place that would give it the same depth of feeling.
(TW) this book deals with domestic violence, addiction, and perceived gang culture. There are also guns and scenes of animal cruelty. From ephemeral kehua to flawed, damaged characters that felt so real it was like they lived, I was invested. I felt like I knew them, and it hurt when awful things would happen because everything seemed so senseless, even as you can trace the systematic problems to a legacy of generations-old trauma. I had to remind myself this was fiction, even though it felt so real; the way the best books are. And yet it could be someone’s truth, so even though your emotions are taken for a ride, I wouldn’t say it felt manipulative either.
Coincidentally, a friend texted to say she was reading this just as I finished, so I was thankful to have a pal to debrief with. It’s not one either of us will be forgetting in a hurry!
March 26, 2020
I published Auē because it is a deeply powerful, very real and beautifully written book about New Zealanders living hard-scrabble lives. Māori who carry generations of trauma in their bones that spills out here in one family in a small town.
The characters are compelling and the story holds the reader tightly as it winds through the interconnected lives of Ārama and Beth, Taukiri, Toko and Jade, and another who watches and weeps — these are lives rent by violence and loss, but there is still fun to be had in ordinary things like eel hunting and going to the pub. There’s humour, joy.
Did I mention the dog, Lupo? Now there’s a character. And the children are some of the best ever in literature. They climb inside your heart forever.
There is darkness, yes, but there is elation too in the beauty of the writing, and in the telling of the story at the micro level with the two children, and in the incredible moment when the tide turns ... I’ve read the climax of the book so many times because it is so damned good. So good.
As with all good books Auē flays your heart and leaves it pumping stronger than it was before, and grateful to have read something that does what fiction does best — sends you crashing into other people’s lives, inside their skin, allows you to live with them awhile, feel their pain and their happiness ... and their hope as you leave them and close the book for the last time, something of you still there.
I am grateful to rangatira Renée, novelist and playwright, who supported our work on this book; my friends Leo and Laura, who supported the cost of the first print run; Paul, who works with me at Mākaro Press, who proofread and typeset the book and still supports the publicity and distribution; and Becky, who is a writer to her bones — such a talent, such a heart. Everyone who has supported Auē out in the world too, I thank you, especially the readers who read it and spread the word.
The characters are compelling and the story holds the reader tightly as it winds through the interconnected lives of Ārama and Beth, Taukiri, Toko and Jade, and another who watches and weeps — these are lives rent by violence and loss, but there is still fun to be had in ordinary things like eel hunting and going to the pub. There’s humour, joy.
Did I mention the dog, Lupo? Now there’s a character. And the children are some of the best ever in literature. They climb inside your heart forever.
There is darkness, yes, but there is elation too in the beauty of the writing, and in the telling of the story at the micro level with the two children, and in the incredible moment when the tide turns ... I’ve read the climax of the book so many times because it is so damned good. So good.
As with all good books Auē flays your heart and leaves it pumping stronger than it was before, and grateful to have read something that does what fiction does best — sends you crashing into other people’s lives, inside their skin, allows you to live with them awhile, feel their pain and their happiness ... and their hope as you leave them and close the book for the last time, something of you still there.
I am grateful to rangatira Renée, novelist and playwright, who supported our work on this book; my friends Leo and Laura, who supported the cost of the first print run; Paul, who works with me at Mākaro Press, who proofread and typeset the book and still supports the publicity and distribution; and Becky, who is a writer to her bones — such a talent, such a heart. Everyone who has supported Auē out in the world too, I thank you, especially the readers who read it and spread the word.
July 20, 2020
I don't really have words for this one. Beautiful and heartbreaking and raw and hard and awful and stunning, with so much warmth to balance the whakamā and mamae. The title says it all - auē.
I loved the shifting between characters, the shifting between voices and tones (from the blunt to the poetic and back in an instant), the way the story unravels and unfolds. The only part that really jolted me out of the story was a little surreality in the sped-up-pace ending, a little throwaway quoted line by a character at a pivotal moment that made me think "but... really?"
But then Ārama (and his plasters, and his big heart full of brave) might be one of the most wonderful characters I've read, so it all balanced out
I loved the shifting between characters, the shifting between voices and tones (from the blunt to the poetic and back in an instant), the way the story unravels and unfolds. The only part that really jolted me out of the story was a little surreality in the sped-up-pace ending, a little throwaway quoted line by a character at a pivotal moment that made me think "but... really?"
But then Ārama (and his plasters, and his big heart full of brave) might be one of the most wonderful characters I've read, so it all balanced out
January 1, 2023
This book might knock the wind out of you. It’s a stunning novel and that it’s a debut is awe-inspiring.
It’s a powerful force of beauty, telling the story of a family consumed by, and trying to escape, violence. The violence grows from racism, drug addiction, sexism, abuse, and helplessness. All the horrors are truly horrible and any moments of levity, usually centered around children, are radiant. Truly good books stretch me out in every which way, and I am exhausted by my experience reading this book. An excellent way to start the new year: with a five star read. I was so engrossed in it last night I missed midnight.
It’s a powerful force of beauty, telling the story of a family consumed by, and trying to escape, violence. The violence grows from racism, drug addiction, sexism, abuse, and helplessness. All the horrors are truly horrible and any moments of levity, usually centered around children, are radiant. Truly good books stretch me out in every which way, and I am exhausted by my experience reading this book. An excellent way to start the new year: with a five star read. I was so engrossed in it last night I missed midnight.
August 9, 2025
I will use words.
Forgive me if I am too vague. Too blunt. Too honest.
All those years ago, it is still beautiful to see two creatures under the spell of lovely things. Lovely thoughts, lovely wishes. Their own loveliness. But they're fools in love...Wombs can blind. Love can blind. Kicks to the face can blind.
We roar, we shake at the world, we weep, but most of the time roaring and shaking and weeping only makes everything much worse
This is a beautifully written novel, but it's very bleak. Maybe the truth hurts too much. It started off as a 5 star read, went to 3 because it felt like driving through a dark tunnel with no light at the end. But ended up being 4 stars because there is a character called Beth who is so fabulous that you just wanted to keep her and introduce her to all your friends.
Forgive me if I am too vague. Too blunt. Too honest.
All those years ago, it is still beautiful to see two creatures under the spell of lovely things. Lovely thoughts, lovely wishes. Their own loveliness. But they're fools in love...Wombs can blind. Love can blind. Kicks to the face can blind.
We roar, we shake at the world, we weep, but most of the time roaring and shaking and weeping only makes everything much worse
This is a beautifully written novel, but it's very bleak. Maybe the truth hurts too much. It started off as a 5 star read, went to 3 because it felt like driving through a dark tunnel with no light at the end. But ended up being 4 stars because there is a character called Beth who is so fabulous that you just wanted to keep her and introduce her to all your friends.
October 23, 2019
I bought this book at the launch in Cape Foulwind on a Saturday evening and devoured it in 30 hours. I finished reading after midnight on a school night, in tears.
The book tells some hard tales. Violence. Domestic abuse. Intergenerational trauma. Entrapment in gangs. Orphaned children. But it deals with them sensitively and with an overall message of hope and the belief that people can forgive others and themselves given the right circumstances.
The story is told from the perspectives of two brothers who are separated after the sudden death of their parents. The author skillfully captures the spirit of childhood and the way that children try to make sense of the adult world. There are moments of humour as well as moments of grief and sadness.
At times, the style reminds me of Charlotte Grimshaw's universe of connected characters in her novels and short stories. But mostly, Becky Manawatu's voice is new and fresh and entirely her own.
Highly recommended.
The book tells some hard tales. Violence. Domestic abuse. Intergenerational trauma. Entrapment in gangs. Orphaned children. But it deals with them sensitively and with an overall message of hope and the belief that people can forgive others and themselves given the right circumstances.
The story is told from the perspectives of two brothers who are separated after the sudden death of their parents. The author skillfully captures the spirit of childhood and the way that children try to make sense of the adult world. There are moments of humour as well as moments of grief and sadness.
At times, the style reminds me of Charlotte Grimshaw's universe of connected characters in her novels and short stories. But mostly, Becky Manawatu's voice is new and fresh and entirely her own.
Highly recommended.
May 24, 2020
I bought this book prior to lockdown as there was a lot of buzz around it's release and I wanted to dive deep into a world I have little knowledge of. I have to admit to starting it and then losing enthusiasm when we went into lockdown, needing some "easier" reads. So I pushed myself to pick this back up and I devoured it. It's the type of book you want to pick up and read a big chunk of so you can follow the parallel story lines both in current day, and in history.
It took Manawatu over 6 years to write and drew influence from her 10-year old cousin, Glen Bo Duggan, who was murdered by his mother's boyfriend over a missing $5 bill over a horrific 2 day ordeal [https://www.stuff.co.nz/national/face...]. Manawatu also had (has?) a sister who married into the Mongrel Mob, and whom she hasn't seen in over a decade. Both of these personal stories blend into her rich storytelling.
Most of the story is told through two "boys" both who have experienced more than their fair share of trauma. Both were entertaining but the youngest one (Arama) is a beautiful soul who puts plasters obsessively over his hurts, cries for his loved ones, makes friends with neighbour Beth, and is a river warrior. People have compared this to The Bone People and Once Were Warriors, but I think it was deeper, more humane, and held more innocence at the heart of characters. It expertly weaved together generational stories to the conclusion and it struck me HARD how little changes through generations - the cycle of violence, whanau, poverty, racism, hatred, toxic masculinity, and power.
I recommend you purchase this for $35 from your local independent book story and support New Zealand, indigenous, female writers at a time when these stories need to be told. Winner of 2020 Ockham NZ Book Award Jann Medlicott Acorn Prize for Fiction.
https://www.newsroom.co.nz/2020/05/14...
It took Manawatu over 6 years to write and drew influence from her 10-year old cousin, Glen Bo Duggan, who was murdered by his mother's boyfriend over a missing $5 bill over a horrific 2 day ordeal [https://www.stuff.co.nz/national/face...]. Manawatu also had (has?) a sister who married into the Mongrel Mob, and whom she hasn't seen in over a decade. Both of these personal stories blend into her rich storytelling.
Most of the story is told through two "boys" both who have experienced more than their fair share of trauma. Both were entertaining but the youngest one (Arama) is a beautiful soul who puts plasters obsessively over his hurts, cries for his loved ones, makes friends with neighbour Beth, and is a river warrior. People have compared this to The Bone People and Once Were Warriors, but I think it was deeper, more humane, and held more innocence at the heart of characters. It expertly weaved together generational stories to the conclusion and it struck me HARD how little changes through generations - the cycle of violence, whanau, poverty, racism, hatred, toxic masculinity, and power.
I recommend you purchase this for $35 from your local independent book story and support New Zealand, indigenous, female writers at a time when these stories need to be told. Winner of 2020 Ockham NZ Book Award Jann Medlicott Acorn Prize for Fiction.
https://www.newsroom.co.nz/2020/05/14...
March 3, 2024
On the plus side, I fully appreciate the opportunity this novel gave me to learn more about Maori culture and heritage, which I find so interesting and know too little about. I also mostly liked the propulsive, graphic story it tells. The melodramatic way in which it is told, however, was often off-putting and did not work nearly as well for me as it did for most of my friends.
2.5 stars
2.5 stars
May 24, 2022
Unfortunately, this one didn’t seem to be for me. I appreciated the themes and the discussion about intergenerational trauma, drug abuse and gangs in NZ. However, the story itself was just very hard to follow for me for a few reasons.
First, the choice to divide the story line into 3 POVs was a good choice, however, it was never mentioned that one of the POVs was occurring in the past and made me feel very uninterested in it as I couldn’t piece together how it fitted with the rest of the narrative nor did I figure out it was in the past for quite a bit.
Second, the use of Māori language was just too much for me. I did not see the added value to throw in whole sentences that I had to go and check in the glossary and that just took me out of the story every time. Made me feel very detached from the characters and the narrative.
Third, although violence and abuse was to be expected, some of it was just too much for me personally. The addition of animal abuse and cruelty didn’t add to the situation, story or characterisation. I found the character responsible for animal abuse, despicable from previous acts and adding animal cruelty towards the end just felt gratuitous.
My favourite part must have been Ari’s POV. A child dealing with abandonment, abuse, pain and grief, Ari was very well fleshed out and made sense in the story line. He was the only one that I managed to feel for and be interested in his development and fate. However that’s only a third of the book that I did enjoy and couldn’t bring myself to give any more than 2 stars for the book overall even if Ari’s part was amazing!
Overall, very hard topics, dealt in a very raw manner. Not quite sure that choice was the best one for the narrative but as I seem to be in the minority of those who didn’t enjoy the book, maybe this is due to personal preference. Wouldn’t recommend just based on the amount of graphic abuse and violence.
First, the choice to divide the story line into 3 POVs was a good choice, however, it was never mentioned that one of the POVs was occurring in the past and made me feel very uninterested in it as I couldn’t piece together how it fitted with the rest of the narrative nor did I figure out it was in the past for quite a bit.
Second, the use of Māori language was just too much for me. I did not see the added value to throw in whole sentences that I had to go and check in the glossary and that just took me out of the story every time. Made me feel very detached from the characters and the narrative.
Third, although violence and abuse was to be expected, some of it was just too much for me personally. The addition of animal abuse and cruelty didn’t add to the situation, story or characterisation. I found the character responsible for animal abuse, despicable from previous acts and adding animal cruelty towards the end just felt gratuitous.
My favourite part must have been Ari’s POV. A child dealing with abandonment, abuse, pain and grief, Ari was very well fleshed out and made sense in the story line. He was the only one that I managed to feel for and be interested in his development and fate. However that’s only a third of the book that I did enjoy and couldn’t bring myself to give any more than 2 stars for the book overall even if Ari’s part was amazing!
Overall, very hard topics, dealt in a very raw manner. Not quite sure that choice was the best one for the narrative but as I seem to be in the minority of those who didn’t enjoy the book, maybe this is due to personal preference. Wouldn’t recommend just based on the amount of graphic abuse and violence.
May 21, 2020
4.5* rounded up.
November 14, 2020
I adored this book. It was hard, gritty, depicting a part of New Zealand society that is difficult to read about, life in the gangs. This is from the point of view of two kids, now orphaned as their mum has disappeared, presumed dead and their father was killed, in a road incident. You get their story, their young lives disrupted by this tragedy and the younger boy, Ārama, has just been dropped off to live with an aunt and her awful husband, the older brother, Taukiri, headed off to live his young life riddled with guilt and fear. We meet these two beautiful boys, we become instantly attached to them and then we begin to understand the past.
We meet a young couple from the past, Jade and Toko, a girl who is living in a gang situation, treated very badly, used and abused and the young man who offers her hope, a way out and a new life, but this love comes with terrible risk of retribution. A debt that must be paid. We witness their love for each other and the child they create. There is beauty and there is fear.
The two stories, their connectedness, the relationships between the brothers and the lovers is beautifully written, the guilt that Tau feels for leaving his little brother moved me. The gentle goodnaturedness of Ārama, his easy friendship the Beth, the fear and confrontation with his uncle which is so hard to read, this kid stole my heart.
This book is beautiful and wonderful, and sad beyond measure, but also with sprinklings of humour. It is thoroughly a book of New Zealand. It deservedly won the top prize for fiction in this year's book awards. I'm so pleased I read it, and I'm looking forward to the next book by this author.
We meet a young couple from the past, Jade and Toko, a girl who is living in a gang situation, treated very badly, used and abused and the young man who offers her hope, a way out and a new life, but this love comes with terrible risk of retribution. A debt that must be paid. We witness their love for each other and the child they create. There is beauty and there is fear.
The two stories, their connectedness, the relationships between the brothers and the lovers is beautifully written, the guilt that Tau feels for leaving his little brother moved me. The gentle goodnaturedness of Ārama, his easy friendship the Beth, the fear and confrontation with his uncle which is so hard to read, this kid stole my heart.
This book is beautiful and wonderful, and sad beyond measure, but also with sprinklings of humour. It is thoroughly a book of New Zealand. It deservedly won the top prize for fiction in this year's book awards. I'm so pleased I read it, and I'm looking forward to the next book by this author.
January 10, 2023
Very well written, traumatic story. Beautifully written with humour amongst the violence. I’ll be thinking of them all, Beth and Ari particularly for a long time but if they turn it into a movie I won’t be seeing it.
Auf wiedersehen.
Auf wiedersehen.
February 5, 2021
Becky Manawatu's Auē is deeply affecting, propulsive, and troubling, every bit as good and better than several Booker long listed novels over the years that purport to speak in the voices of teens and younger children. Slightly confusing in places: readers who either need to know the meaning of every Maori word or phrase or who become annoyed by relying occasionally on the Maori Dictionary may sometimes lose patience. But for me, a solid 4.5 star read, and many thanks to my GR friends Trudie, Nicky, and Claire for bringing this excellent novel to my attention: I hope that it receives the wider international attention that it deserves.
January 23, 2023
Utterly devastating and brilliant. This is an amazing novel because despite the horrific violence there is also the most beautiful compassion. When violence is fuelled by drugs and poverty and perpetrated by those that you should be able to trust (the most) it is hard to imagine where you would turn to get help.
The characters in this novel are complex and the structure simultaneously builds a background and present day which connects at a point when you can grasp the complexity of the situation.
The embedded traditions and language of the indigenous NZ are also included in a way that added so much significance to this story and did not feel gratuitous or unnecessary.
Highly recommended.
The characters in this novel are complex and the structure simultaneously builds a background and present day which connects at a point when you can grasp the complexity of the situation.
The embedded traditions and language of the indigenous NZ are also included in a way that added so much significance to this story and did not feel gratuitous or unnecessary.
Highly recommended.
August 24, 2021
If you can read and you are a kiwi you should read this book
November 14, 2025
Amazing but so sad. Made me feel quite homesick tbh
September 25, 2024
Auē indeed. Spent a lot of time crying on the bus today. Looks like I picked it up just in time for Kataraina’s release :) Becky Manawatu was another real standout at writers fest this year, truly heart wrenching stuff
August 11, 2020
You thought Once Were Warriors was a harrowing and disturbing read, too close to the truth for many New Zealanders to read. Well, people, try this one for size. Recent winner of the NZ Ockham Book Awards, this is Becky Manawatu's first novel, and what a power house it is. Maori gang violence, Maori domestic abuse, Maori poverty - once again we are having this very dark side of NZ society shoved in our faces. There is a factual basis to this too, the author having family members who have suffered themselves, resulting in a novel of passion, anger, plenty of love, and above all hope.
This is the story of a family with two brothers at its centre - 8 year old Arama and late teens brother Taukiri, both tragically orphans following the recent deaths of their parents. In the first few pages, Taukiri has dropped off/abandoned Arama to the care of his aunt Kat and her abusive husband Stu who live on a farm near Kaikoura. Taukiri, in his enormous grief and as the only survivor of the accident that killed their parents drives off, making his way to Wellington, to the underbelly life there. Arama is just a little boy, with all the innocence, wonder, imagination and beauty that young children have. This is a most uncertain and lonely life for him, so to find that next door lives a girl his own age - Beth - and a dog is the most marvellous thing to be happening to him. Beth is also living with trauma and grief, her mother having died, leaving her with her dad Tom.
Arama's chapters are told alternately with those of Taukiri, surviving and living on his wits in Wellington, and the stories of their parents - Jade and Toko, Aroha and Jack. So all pretty heart breaking and disturbing, but what a story teller this woman is. And how beautifully and sensitively she enters the hearts and souls of the two children desperately trying to make sense of the awful world they find themselves living in. We are also confronted with the terrible things drugs - P/meth - do to people, and how their best intentions at trying to live a healthy and good life are too often ripped away from under them.
This is a book not to be read lightly, but to be thought about, and savoured. Because aside from the subject matter, from beginning to finish the writing is magnificent. Her descriptions of people, their emotions, navigating of relationships, the drama of the east coast landscape and the farm where the children live, the escalating tensions, the grief for lives once full of promise and certainty. It is stunning, powerful, a real page turner, and a novel of contemporary New Zealand.
This is the story of a family with two brothers at its centre - 8 year old Arama and late teens brother Taukiri, both tragically orphans following the recent deaths of their parents. In the first few pages, Taukiri has dropped off/abandoned Arama to the care of his aunt Kat and her abusive husband Stu who live on a farm near Kaikoura. Taukiri, in his enormous grief and as the only survivor of the accident that killed their parents drives off, making his way to Wellington, to the underbelly life there. Arama is just a little boy, with all the innocence, wonder, imagination and beauty that young children have. This is a most uncertain and lonely life for him, so to find that next door lives a girl his own age - Beth - and a dog is the most marvellous thing to be happening to him. Beth is also living with trauma and grief, her mother having died, leaving her with her dad Tom.
Arama's chapters are told alternately with those of Taukiri, surviving and living on his wits in Wellington, and the stories of their parents - Jade and Toko, Aroha and Jack. So all pretty heart breaking and disturbing, but what a story teller this woman is. And how beautifully and sensitively she enters the hearts and souls of the two children desperately trying to make sense of the awful world they find themselves living in. We are also confronted with the terrible things drugs - P/meth - do to people, and how their best intentions at trying to live a healthy and good life are too often ripped away from under them.
This is a book not to be read lightly, but to be thought about, and savoured. Because aside from the subject matter, from beginning to finish the writing is magnificent. Her descriptions of people, their emotions, navigating of relationships, the drama of the east coast landscape and the farm where the children live, the escalating tensions, the grief for lives once full of promise and certainty. It is stunning, powerful, a real page turner, and a novel of contemporary New Zealand.
December 18, 2024
Auē es la expresión maorí que transmite un grito de desesperación, un pedido angustiante de ayuda. Es la representación de la desesperanza, del dolor que brota desde lo más profundo del alma. La novela explora estos sentimientos a través de la tumultuosa vida de los hermanos Taukiri y Arama, junto a la de sus progenitores. Son protagonistas que, en su búsqueda de identidad, saben que la tragedia está por llegar.
También es una violenta novela de amor y misterio. Hay violencia de género, de bandas urbanas, de accidentes; pero toda esa oscuridad tiene una contraparte en las interacciones humanas de cariño, de deseo, de compañía hasta el final, en busca de la luz.
Más allá de la historia en sí, el libro es fresco, su traducción es una ganancia para el lector rioplatense ya que el bello trabajo de Rosario Lázaro Igoa como traductora nos ofrece un relato alejado del español neutro. La obra está poblada de uruguayismos. Aparecen los “váyanse a la mierda”, los vení, vení”, los “estás cagado de miedo”, los “ta” que junto a las expresiones maoríes que se mantienen, ofrecen una obra única.
De esta forma, nos apropiamos de un relato que se aleja de lo convencional. Es un gesto osado por parte de la editorial Forastera, que se merece nuestro reconocimiento. Y para quienes no lo aprecian, siempre pueden optar por las traducciones de Alfaguara, o mejor aún, dedicarse a “pelar papas”.
También es una violenta novela de amor y misterio. Hay violencia de género, de bandas urbanas, de accidentes; pero toda esa oscuridad tiene una contraparte en las interacciones humanas de cariño, de deseo, de compañía hasta el final, en busca de la luz.
Más allá de la historia en sí, el libro es fresco, su traducción es una ganancia para el lector rioplatense ya que el bello trabajo de Rosario Lázaro Igoa como traductora nos ofrece un relato alejado del español neutro. La obra está poblada de uruguayismos. Aparecen los “váyanse a la mierda”, los vení, vení”, los “estás cagado de miedo”, los “ta” que junto a las expresiones maoríes que se mantienen, ofrecen una obra única.
De esta forma, nos apropiamos de un relato que se aleja de lo convencional. Es un gesto osado por parte de la editorial Forastera, que se merece nuestro reconocimiento. Y para quienes no lo aprecian, siempre pueden optar por las traducciones de Alfaguara, o mejor aún, dedicarse a “pelar papas”.
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