Posts from — December 2016
December 20, 2016
Oh, 2016. You were….something.
We have been putting our heads together (not literally, we live in different hemispheres) for the last few weeks wondering how we should end this eventful year, how we could possibly sum it up. For us, now neck-deep in our mid to late thirties, the days feel very full. Bustling, joy-peppered and chaotic at times. The personal tightly interwoven with the political, domestic with global, beautiful with difficult. Our lives all-of-a-sudden deeply rooted in communities – families, neighbourhoods, workplaces and the web of fine friends spread around the globe. Between the two of us we have mortgages, multiple kids, marriages and meals to get onto the table. We have work and worries. Love and obligation. A thousand things we want to be doing, a thousand less desirable chores to match. Barely a minute to send each other an email yet an instagram / pinterest addiction we really should ditch. It’s both meta and minutiae, you know? Both of us up at our respective 4ams wondering if we are parenting properly. Wondering when “parenting” became such a loaded verb. Wondering about our latest manuscripts, the books we should be reading and if we are any good at writing at all. Wondering about climate change and the dire state of world politics. Feeling about as competent to look after a marriage, a manuscript, a family, a career and the state of the planet as a anxious pre-teen with a major acne problem. And yet looking in the mirror and seeing a grown-up. We’re in charge now? Seriously?!
So, we decided that the only way to sum it all up, this baffling, surprising year, was to give ourselves very few words to do so. Those of you who have followed us for some time will remember that we used to play a similar game every week called Sweet Little Something. Each of us would post a photo and write an accompanying haiku to go with it. So that is what we are doing with 2016 : selecting a couple of photographs from the year and writing haiku to tell its story…some part of its story.
December 14, 2016
You might not know it but we are currently neck deep in Jolabokaflod. This is the word to describe the book-buying phenomenon that occurs in Iceland between September and December, gearing up for their book-giving tradition on Christmas Eve. It translates as “Christmas Book Flood” and it, combined with the estimate that as many as one in ten Icelanders will write a book, almost inspires me to switch nationalities. At least visit.
In the meantime, while I baulk (sob) at the costs of flights to Iceland, Jolabokaflod / Christmas seems like the perfect time to introduce you to my local, independent, owner-operated bookstore – Paradox Books – and it’s owners, Rachel and Matthew. Paradox Books hosted my last two NZ book launches and Rachel and Matthew are hugely supportive of the work of local authors. They even have a special shelf! Paradox is a business that is firmly entrenched in the community here in Devonport – they celebrate local festivals and events, support local schools, allow customers to sit and read within the store and always give spot-on book-buying advice.
The store itself is often cluttered with boxes, the shelves filled to busting and card racks stuffed with the best, funniest (cheapest! Bonus.) cards around. There is a couch and coffee table in the centre which serves as meeting place, office, breastfeeding zone and general hangout. The kids section is stocked just as generously as the adults, with a rainbow boat kite hung from the ceiling, turning languidly in the breeze. Rachel has a cover of a favourite Haruki Murakami novel framed by the front door and posters about local events behind the counter. She stocks a selection of mugs with cynical messages, classic novels with gold-edged pages, all the latest literary prize winners and even a children’s book about Trump. Maybe not really for children.
Rachel is the kind of bookseller who is always happy to see you (even when she really just wants a coffee), is calm and considered and able to handle the most difficult of book-buying challenges. I am constantly giving her ridiculous missions like “I’m buying for a good friend…he likes campervans….and sunsets!…politics….probably not New Zealand politics…”* and she simply pauses, ponders, and casually plucks out ten perfect options. I wanted you to meet Rachel too, and experience her superior book gift guide skills in action, just in time for Christmas:
Rachel, can you give us a quick overview of your background and how you became a bookseller…
I started volunteering in the small bookshop owned by Broadsheet (the feminist magazine) when I was 18, and I’ve never escaped the book trade! I’ve had a few jobs outside but I always managed a bit of casual or part-time bookshop work).
So in the last thirty years I’ve worked for several bookshops, including the Women’s Bookshop, Unity and Dymocks, and three publishers, Scholastic, Penguin and Random House.
What has been the most surprising / unexpected aspect of the job?
Sometimes I feel a bit like a bartender! People tell booksellers quite personal stories and it’s always a privilege to be trusted,
What is your least favourite aspect of the job?
Returning unsold books is always a wrench.
Best bookseller moment?
Booksellers joke about customers saying “It was blue” (when describing the book they want to find) but secretly we love that! There’s a real buzz from finding the right book from a minimum of information.
Give us some thoughts on the publishing and bookselling industry? Pet peeves? Forecasts?
One of pet peeves is that so much of the warehousing and distribution has shifted to Australia over the last ten years. There’s been a loss of thousands of jobs, which the media has never covered. It also makes life tricky ordering stock when it has to come from Melbourne or Sydney. The exciting thing these days is the number of new New Zealand publishers. There are a lot of little firms, and they’re doing some really innovative and interesting publishing.
Your personal favourite Christmas read?
I love the Christmas Miracle of Jonathan Toomey which is a beautiful picture book (and picture books are about all I can cope with after a busy Christmas)
I am going to have to buy that one for our picture book advent calender! Okay, now here’s the difficult part. I am going to profile several tricky characters. They may or may not resemble an actual friend / family member (ahem). Your mission is to quickly suggest titles they might enjoy. Ready? Here we go. Which book/s would you suggest for the following maybe-not-ficitious characters:
Rangy, shy, younger brother who likes bikes, Irvine Welsh, spear fishing and craft beers?
Brewed: A Guide to the Craft Beers of NZ is not just informative, but also beautiful.
Elegant, eloquent friend who adores Kate Bush and Nick Cave, flowers and the latest literary talk-of-the-town?
Either the poetry of Hera Lindsay Bird – THE buzzy new NZ poet everyone is talking about, or the Wish Child by Catherine Chidgey – uniformly rave reviews made the paperback sell out in about three weeks, but there’s a gorgeous gift hardback available.
Spunky eleven year old niece who is all about performing?
Rooftoppers by Katherine Rundell is an amazing novel that we’ve all loved – part fairytale, part fantasy, part historical fiction, all marvellous. Otherwise Charlotte, our teenage helper, highly recommends the Land of Stories series by Chris Colfer, about two children who fall into the fairytale world through the pages of a book.
Discerning Father-in-law who requires something legal / criminal, possibly Scandinavian and not too slow-paced?
He might enjoy Red Herring, a debut NZ thriller set around the Watersider’s stike of 1951. Filled with lots of
local colour, it combines kiwi history with a pacey thriller.
Ridiculously adorable ten month baby girl who answers to ‘Bonnie’.
Bonnie needs all the books! Where is the Green Sheep, Ten Little Fingers and Ten Little Toes, Each Peach Pear Plum, Hairy Maclary, we could go on and on!
Those suggestions are brilliant! Thank you Rachel. While I wish there were more bookstores like Paradox – warm, inclusive and community-minded – I’m pretty chuffed Paradox is my local bookstore. It’s a delight to wander down to see you in the store, interrupt your morning coffee, bug you for advice and buy too many books. There surely isn’t a better way to spend a morning.
Here’s hoping this may have assisted you with your Christmas gift buying. If in doubt, buy a book, we say. Even better if it’s from a local bookstore and by a local author. May your Jolabokaflod go swimmingly (wink) and we will see you next week for our final blog post of 2016! After that Ria and I will be taking a break until 2017 to tackle the teetering stacks of books piled high on our side tables…
*Yes, that is a real person. Love ya, BJC 😉
December 8, 2016
You know when you see a sunset so smackingly gorgeous you can help smiling? Or the smell of summer flowers that takes you to three different places–or just the exact right one–in a single exhale? The ticklefest with a toddler that turns into an exhausted bear hug? The combination of spicy basil, acidic tomato and rich, luscious mozzarella with a dash of earthy balsamic vinegar? I don’t believe in perfect partners or jobs or books. My idea of perfection is just a moment that lives larger than itself. It’s a kind of perfection that’s fleeting and immeasurable.
Cue segue to butter.
These cookies with a cup of tea and rain sluicing down the windows, or late afternoon sun hitting your shoulders–these cookies are a moment. Simple, crisp, buttery and nostalgic.
They’re also my go-to for cutting out shapes for any occasion–Easter, birthdays, Halloween, Christmas–you can dress them in all manner of icing and decorations and they can be baked slightly soft or golden and crispy. A doubled batch of dough keeps in the freezer for weeks, probably months, which is the way I like to do it because going from dough to baked cookies is so much better than starting from scratch.
December 1, 2016
Getting away…from the kids. It’s been a long time coming for DH and I. Which is kind of unbelieveable because we’re the sort of people who jump at the chance to go off and enjoy ourselves, even if it means leaving the little ones at home. And yet.
I was at work a few weeks ago when a co-worker commented that he hadn’t been to a movie in ages–“since that one with the blue people.”
“Yeah,” he said.
That was 2009. Seven freaking years ago. I know that DH and I, as pre-parents, would never have imagined we’d go so long without walking across a pop-stained, popcorn-crusted theatre floor. And while it hasn’t been that long for us, mostly because our first kid wasn’t born until 2011, I can now understand how that could happen. Seven movie-free years can just happen to you.
So we decided recently to take the plunge, as it were, and go away for two nights–58 hours exactly–so as to restart the Avatar Clock, as I’m now going to call it.
There are several funny things about being away from your kids.
- How bad the last hour before you leave is. I’m sure it’s because you know you’re going away and there won’t be pee to clean off the floor or tantrums to calm in a coundown of minutes and part of you is already gone. Or maybe it’s that the kids sense something is up with their spidey senses. And that you forgot about three extra things you need to do before you can go. Whatever it is, the last hour is awful.
- The constantly swinging balance of how much you miss/don’t miss them. There are other people’s voices in there as well as your own, telling you not to worry, not to think about them. They’ll be fine! Just enjoy yourself. As if enjoying yourself is the thing you have to do with the most ardent furvour, no matter what. You must enjoy the hell out of every moment! Except that you think about their faces and wonder if you can FaceTime with them. But you shouldn’t–because you really are having a good time and seeing them might dampen that. Is that bad? Shouldn’t you be able to have a good old time without them playing with your thoughts like they’re marbles?
- The blessed honeymoon of coming home. The outstretched arms, the little voices, the sweet-smelling hair. The feeling of home after being away. Maybe, conversely, that’s the best part, the thing you do all the rest of it for. All the preparation, the departing angst, the frenzied enjoyment, the battle of guilt and bliss–it’s all for the first three hours, or maybe twenty-four, that you’re home. We missed you. No, we missed you. Squeezing all together on the couch, little knees digging into your ribs, the little one with his over-silibant S’s spraying into your face.
- And then they start hitting each other and an elbow knocks a cup of milk on the floor.
Here’s to getting away, and here’s to ice cream. Both noble and delicious pursuits.