Review: A Kind of Shelter Whakaruru-taha: An anthology of new writing for a changed world
Reviewed by TK Roxborogh
Editors:
Witi Ihimaera and Michelle Elvy
Publisher:
Massey University Press
ISBN:
9781991016225
Date published:
11 May 2023
Pages:
360
Format:
Paperback
RRP:
$39.99
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Slender blue post-it tags sprout from my copy of A Kind of Shelter Whakaruru-taha, evidence of my interaction with the pieces; of my reaction to the poetry, stories, kōrerorero, and mātauranga from here and other lands. A reminder this phrase, a gut-punch of recognition; that part I read out to my husband, and this bit I shared with my Year 12s and 13s: ‘Names matter,’ writes Alison Wong in her piece A Long Walk: ‘Words, stories matter…Let us embrace our diversity. Listen to each other; see with renewed eyes. Let us work together with respect…’
Stopping to peel off a tag and fixing it to a line or word or image is not the normal way I interact with a text; but then, this is not a “normal” anthology. Indeed, it is an extraordinary book and exactly what I needed to read right now.
A Kind of Shelter is a remarkable anthology that is not a collection of one form of writing but a storehouse of creative expression. Ihimaera describes it as ‘…the first of its kind. It incorporates all types of writing, positions Aotearoa New Zealand as a marae for the future and empowers so many voices from so many places to speak out to the world with strong and vigorous kōrero. It has built for itself a truly unique and innovative marae from which to hui from.’
I won’t try to explain it any other way because the editors sum up precisely what I found as I made my way through the book. This anthology represents the nation I long to see. It is how I hope New Zealand’s artistic landscape will look when the kids I teach are teaching their own kids – that the voices of all are given equal status and that the reo of Tāngata Whenua and Tāngata Tiriti fit easily alongside one another, making room respectfully for each to speak and share as if we all sit on a type of paepae, or around a large dining room table.
Every reader will take something different from the entries but what follows are some highlights for me, a 57-year-old Pākehā/Māori English teacher with a desire to find out where I belong and to make the world a better place for those who come after.
Ben Brown’s What the river said to me connected to my delight with the ambiguity of words and the cleverness of language. It also pressed gently that tender place of uncertainty around my whakapapa:
‘Ko wai koe, taku tama?
Who are you, my son?’ I
could tell the river wasn’t
asking me a question. It was
the assertive intonation that gave
it away. ‘You are Water, my son!’ said
the river.
Ami Rogé and Brannavan Gnanalingam’s kōrero This river of life discusses the healing power of music and words. Like many of the statements found in this anthology, I see myself reflected in the thoughts of writers and creatives I only “know” through their work. Gnanalingam says, ‘For me, the creative process is how I make sense of the world.’ Me too, Brannavan. That’s how I do it, too!
There’s lots of quietness in this collection which is timely given the scrappy, noisy and argumentative nature of much of the interactions on social media and news outlets. Wendy Parkins’ lovely short story, At the Kauri Museum, resonated with me because it could have been describing my life, the reason for ‘the length of brown hair still held by elastic, the neatly cut edge like the fine bristles of an artist’s paintbrush’ which horrified the couple’s teenage daughter; the description of Grace’s thirty-seven years’ married life. That’s me. That is me.
Often I felt like I was in a room, around a table or attending an intimate lecture or panel presentation with two or three great thinkers, incredible and generous writers and researchers listening in to their conversations as they brought their experiences and knowledge to the space: Ashley Johnson and Pip Adam riff off the idea (and symbolism) of mangroves; Aparecida Vilaça, Dame Anne Salmond and Witi Ihimaera talk about whakapapa and later the importance of key people in our lives; Ru Freeman and Paula Morris offer a frank discussion on the connection between humanity and storytelling, around the meaning of truth and fiction. Freeman concludes the conversation with, ‘Caring for the Earth, in very precise ways, requires understanding of our roots and the places that shape our hearts and therefore, for us writers, our words and their intent.’
So much fine thinking and beautiful writing curated expertly by the master editors, who write: ‘This is not an inward-gazing project but one that sees shared energies as the most powerful part of our creative potential. We hope readers will step inside and feel welcomed, and also carry their own new ideas, inspired by the pages here, as they walk their paths around/into/with the world.’
Yes! It’s exactly how I experienced the anthology.
We need to read this book to see how we got to where we are in Aotearoa New Zealand and what kind of community we can become. As Alison Wong so eloquently states, ‘As we share our diverse cultures, experiences and viewpoints, this could be a path not only to inclusiveness and justice, but to innovative solutions.’
The structure of the collection reminds me of eating degustation style where each course compliments the previous and enhances the next. The reader of this “feast” moves between poetry and short fiction to essay then poetry again, before settling into myriad conversations.
Thank you, Michelle and Witi for arranging such an incredible guest list for your hākere. I look forward to going back for seconds.
Reviewed by TK Roxborogh
