I found Going West to be captivating, in a sense, for the way in which it investigates people, and the way in which we may attempt to perceive, know, and grasp others. The rhyme and rhythms relationships are conducted by—and the inevitable chaos that underlies them. The haphazard yet beautiful connections that we make both with others, and how we try to understand, whether amateurishly or profoundly, that other person’s life. More akin to Maurice Gee’s metaphors, the songs and melodies that are woven in our shared experiences, our lives, our relationships, and their accompanying absurdity or simplicity.
There’s something deeper in there as well to do with art, the act of creation. The disconnect between the reader and poet, observer and painter, listener and musician. Both the extraordinary and plain experiences that lead to the composure of art. That it is never an easy task to truly comprehend what that composer was attempting to convey. That intimate and personal act.
What really drew me in—beneath all that I think Maurice Gee might be trying to convey—was the way in which he captured the cities of Auckland and Wellington. I’m always a sucker for seeing these places I have spent to much time in retread through another’s eyes and ears.