Review: Huia Short Stories 16

Huia Short Stories 16 marks the 30th anniversary of the Pikihuia Awards, the biennial celebration of Māori literature run by Te Waka Taki Kōrero, the Māori Literature Trust. This milestone collection demonstrates what three decades of nurturing Māori voices has achieved - a dynamic, evolving literary tradition that rejects singular definitions of what it means to write as Māori. From students to established authors, from experimental prose to traditional storytelling, from te reo Māori to English, these stories and poems explore identity, loss, connection, and resistance, with remarkable range and depth.

Director of Huia Publishers Eboni Waitere wrote in the foreword, 'These awards and this series are not just competitions or collections – they are a movement. They stand for foresight, determination and collaboration.' She highlights that 'These examples remind us that opportunities like Pikihuia are not fleeting moments, but stepping stones on a poutama, a pathway of growth and achievement.'

The collection's most urgent voices address the fraught question of Māori identity in Aotearoa today. Maia Waldegrave's 'White Māori', written when the author was just 13 years old, confronts identity gatekeeping with raw honesty. Navigating spaces between stereotypical Pākehā groups and stereotypical Māori groups, she addresses being called 'plastic' and not a 'real Māori' due to pale skin. Her conclusion is fierce and uncompromising, 'no matter what, you're Māori.' This assertion resonates through the collection, echoed in 'Ko Tōku Tuakana Hou,' where DNA testing reveals previously unknown Māori whakapapa, forcing a renegotiation of identity and belonging. These stories refuse to let others define who counts as Māori, insisting instead on mana motuhake/self-determination and the complexity of mixed heritage.

Several pieces explore loneliness, not just physical isolation but the particular ache of being surrounded by people yet fundamentally alone. Toni Pivac-Hohaia's 'Paradise Duck' uses birds as a devastating metaphor. Paradise ducks mate for life, and if one is killed, the other will mourn itself to death. The protagonist, a 39-year-old woman venturing into online dating, exchanges messages with 25-year-old Sean. When she hesitates about their age gap, he responds simply, 'I don't care.' Her daughter's sceptical reaction triggers doubt, 'Are you sure about him, Mum?'

The story's genius lies in its dual narrative. Outside, paradise ducks swim in lazy circles, Sean explains that 'They only have eyes for each other, forever' and that hunters must kill both, 'out of mercy.' When Sean reveals he's reconciling with his ex 'for the kids,' the parallel completes. A solitary duck is shot, left 'without knowing why, then settles again in wait for her love to return.' Pivac-Hohaia captures middle-aged vulnerability and how easily hope becomes weaponised.

Mark Horsefield's winning story 'The Sea Within' achieves its power through the multiple meanings embedded in the protagonist's name. Hone is both the Māori form of John and translates as 'ocean's swell.' The narrative follows Jono/Hone as he races towards the coast, convinced someone is pursuing him. Through fragmented memories we learn of his compulsive patterns, always 'Running to get the ball. Running to avoid the old man. Running to get away from the ram. Running to keep ahead.' As he drives at dangerous speeds, he describes the 'sea outside and the sea within me, looking for an escape.' When his supposed pursuer casually collects fish and chips and enters his home, Jono/Hone realises he wasn't being chased by someone at all, but rather himself. Returning home, his partner's confused 'Where've you been, Jono?' reveals the truth. His insistent correction, 'Hone, it's Hone,' attempts to explain that the ocean's swell, that elemental force his name represents, has overtaken him.

The collection's poetry explores intergenerational bonds and environmental connection. Marama Salsano's highly commended 'Calabashes in My Mouth' uses hue seeds as both literal and metaphorical inheritance, exploring how indigenous knowledge passes through generations. Jessica Hinerangi Thompson-Carr's 'Tipuna Go Fishing to Catch Another Mokopuna' captures the patience of intergenerational connection through fishing metaphors, depicting ancestors actively reaching across time to maintain bonds with descendants. Boyd Kahu Archibald's 'Woman of the Water' mourns Nanny Wai through water imagery and references to Tangaroa, demonstrating how te ao Māori frameworks shape expressions of grief.

The poetry collected here offers meditations on inheritance, loss, and the responsibilities of carrying forward ancestral knowledge. Tamihana Simmonds's tauira-winning piece 'The Price of War' demonstrates that defending land comes at a great cost. Set during a foreign 'peacekeeping operation' the narrative follows seventeen-year-old Tama and his friend Hēmi as they defend their whenua. Simmonds captures the warriors' determination through vivid action sequences, but the story's power lies in its emotional truth. When Hēmi is fatally wounded, his dying words to Tama are 'Mō te iwi. Mō te whenua,' meaning 'For the people. For the land.' Grief-stricken, Tama becomes a berserker, killing over 100 enemy soldiers, but the victory is hollow. The conclusion reveals the devastating cost, a lesson 'burned within his heart, and his soul, a lesson taught not by his ancestors, but by the blood of his friend, spilled in the dirt of their whenua.' As Tama chants karakia over Hēmi's body, Simmonds makes clear that violence, even in defence of land and people, fundamentally alters those who survive it. The intergenerational knowledge that should have been passed through stories is instead done so through trauma and loss.

Thirty years of Pikihuia Awards has created space for voices that might otherwise go unheard. Teenage writers confront identity gatekeeping, established authors explore mental health, emerging poets experiment with form. This collection refuses to define what 'Māori literature' should be, offering instead a vibrant, evolving tradition that honours the past whilst embracing the contemporary. Huia Short Stories 16 is essential reading for anyone interested in New Zealand literature's past, present, and future.