Review: The Eldest Girl by Olivia Aroha Giles

Olivia Aroha Giles’ The Eldest Girl is a poignant multigenerational family drama that explores love, loss, and redemption. Spanning from the 1960s to 2013, the novel captures the fragile yet enduring bonds of whānau, demonstrating that while family ties may fracture, they can also heal in profound ways. Giles, a contemporary Māori writer and artist of Kahungunu, Raukawa, Te Āti Awa, Te Whānau-a-Apanui, Scottish, and Irish descent, draws on her own family history and extensive research into Māori urban migration to enrich the narrative. She has previously written children’s books, short stories, and a trilogy of novels.

The story centres on Tom, an English immigrant, and Ngahere, a Māori woman who sacrifices her university ambitions to raise a family. This decision shapes the life of their son, Cassius, who later grapples with grief following the death of his wife, Mere. His emotional distance from his children, Kiri and Tama, reflects the lingering trauma within the family. The return of Mere’s twin sister, Miriama, to New Zealand from LA stirs old tensions, while her husband Karl’s long-seated alcoholism rears its head again. Buried secrets emerge, forcing the characters to confront their pasts or risk tearing the whole family apart.

Kiri and Karl emerge as key contrasting figures. Kiri, the eldest daughter, becomes the emotional anchor of her family after her mother’s death. The weight of this responsibility is evident in her reflection: "Sometimes she believed she burnt herself out the week her mother died, and just stayed exhausted for the next four years. She would give anything to wake up in a tidy house with no demanding children, no teenage brother yelling abuse, and a father who didn’t treat her like an invisible unpaid servant." Struggling to balance family obligations with the pull for independence, Kiri wrestles with her sense of identity. Karl, however, embodies neglect and self-destruction. His alcoholism and infidelity have devastated his family, and his self-loathing is captured in the line: "He wasn’t on the road to becoming a drunk; he was a drunk."

His downward spiral forces Miriama and the family to confront their pain and reckon with past mistakes, while Karl’s destructive behaviour, such as showing up to the family home in the middle of the night drunk and aggressive, threatens to unravel the family’s bonds. Kiri’s resilience, always helping the family despite not always wanting to, holds them together. The juxtaposition of Kiri’s sacrifice and Karl’s neglect underscores the novel’s exploration of responsibility and abandonment, and the enduring hope for reconciliation.

Set in Wellington, Porirua, and England, the novel offers evocative descriptions that enhance the story. For example, Kiri’s well-organised, aesthetic room stands in stark contrast to the neglect of the rest of the home: "Her room was an oasis of beauty and light in the bleakness of their shabby house." While such descriptions are powerful, the setting could have been used more consistently as an emotional tool.

Giles skillfully employs a dual timeline structure, weaving past and present to illuminate the choices and regrets that shape her characters’ lives. Chapters ending on pivotal moments keep readers engaged, and italicised memory segments provide powerful insights into motivations and psychological scars, revealing how previous decisions reverberate through generations.

Despite the novel’s heavy themes, moments of humour offer relief. For instance, after Karl begins recovering from alcohol withdrawal, Miriama observes his dishevelled appearance: "Karl stood in the doorframe, looking shaggy… his jaw and chin were carpeted with a week’s worth of whiskers. His bloodshot eyes widened." She quips: "You look like a sack of arseholes… You used to be so vain everyone thought you were gay and I was your beard." These light-hearted moments add complexity to the characters and provide a reprieve from the novel’s emotional weight.

Olivia Aroha Giles’ previous works also delve into similar themes. In short stories like 'The Needle' and 'Chinese Gooseberry', Giles uses humour and poignancy to examine interpersonal struggles and reconciliation. In 'The Needle', the protagonist, Tipu, finds solace in darning his late wife’s socks, symbolising his desire to preserve the past. Meanwhile, 'Chinese Gooseberry' humorously captures the emotional journey of a widower trying to re-engage with life. These earlier works, much like The Eldest Girl, explore the enduring impact of family relationships and the complexities of memory and resilience.

The Eldest Girl is a testament to Giles’ storytelling prowess, grounding her characters in contemporary mixed cultural experiences while crafting a tale that is both deeply personal and universally resonant. Through its multifaceted characters and sensitive portrayal of family trauma, the novel affirms the enduring possibility of reconciliation, even when burdened by the scars of the past.