Category Archives: Further Courses and Topics

Book Review of Patricia Grace’s Cousins

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Cousins by New Zealand author Patricia Grace tells a story of three cousins growing up after the Second World War in New Zealand. At that time, many Maori had difficulties retaining their cultural identity as they migrated from the rural areas to the cities. The three cousins Mata, Makareka and Missy have different lives and experience very different upbringings and childhoods. What they have in common is that they are shaped by their belonging to an invaded people who struggle to preserve their own language and faith in their motherland.

As a young girl, Mata is led to believe that her mother has died, but in fact she left her family behind to start over. However, Mata’s mother soon becomes very ill and her family is unable to find Mata because she has already been handed over to the legal guardian who places her in an orphanage. Mata’s father is a Pakeha who is not there for her and abandons her. She frequently feels inferior and inadequate in the company of others. Another problem is that she is ashamed of her skin color and always feels out of place. 

Makareta is brought up by her grandmother and grows up understanding her culture and speaking Maori and also English fluently. It is no problem for her to find her way in the two environments. She becomes highly influential in activist Maori circles after rejecting a marriage arranged by her grandmother. The way I read it, this is where her success comes from.

Missy was raised by her Māori whānau and grows up in poverty, which influences her schooling and other aspects of her life. At the same time, she grows up in a strong Maori community. Her grandmother punishes Missy’s mother because she married an unsuitable man in her eyes. Because her grandmother strongly adheres to traditions and her mother rejects them, Missy and her siblings are in constant conflict. Missy has difficulties finding her way outside her community, despite the support of her family.

The book begins with Mata walking barefoot on a street at night, with no belongings except for a photo of her mother. Her story is told from the child’s point of view and in the first-person perspective of an older version of Mata. Significant parts of the narrative focus on the difficult circumstances that shape her life in the orphanage. When Mata is ten years old, she accidentally discovers her resemblance to Makareta. The orphanage reluctantly allows her to spend three weeks of holidays with her family. When she arrives, everything is very different from what Mata had expected. Keita, her grandmother, gives her a photo of her mother. Missy’s mother, Glory, shows Mata her mother’s grave and her ancestors. She doesn’t feel she belongs anywhere and this conflict runs through the book.

The book shows the lives of Mata, Makareta and Missy, three Maori cousins. The chapters are told from multiple perspectives, so that you get to know the three cousins from various angles and at different ages. Only a few memories remain of their brief interlude together. Since then they have gone separate and very different ways, but they cross paths again later in the novel.

Cousins is a thought-provoking book that reflects profound themes, such as cultural, material and emotional deprivation and its effects. On the other hand, the feeling of community and closeness with nature is constantly present, which creates beautiful emotions. The community also includes the dead and the ancestors, who also are present to support the living in the present. The book and the fates described are touching and made me emotional. For example, Mata has to deal with loss of cultural roots, loss of language and even an absence her own (Maori) name. 

Unfortunately, for the foreign reader it is hard to recognize the symbols of Maori culture which are presented. To really understand the meaning behind it, you need to have some kind of prior knowledge. Often the chapters are dragging and it becomes difficult to follow. As soon as you know the protagonists and can roughly understand what and why something is happening, it makes reading easier, but this took me a few chapters.  

I recommend this book to anyone interested in New Zealand, Maori culture and/or general identity conflicts. It seems to be a good read for young people, but also adults of any age. In summary, Cousins teaches you to understand and compare different realities and shows how small decisions can change your life.

Home and Uprooting in Kelly Joseph’s “Transient”

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Home.

What does home mean to people?

Is it the place where one grew up? The place where one is living now? The place where one’s ancestors lived?

Or is home defined by the people with whom one lives together? Family. Friends. Neighbours. Those people surely are needed to make a simple geographical location into a home. Connection to a place is often tied to experiences, shared between a certain group of people.

Māori culture and literature can show us how ambivalent and varied the perception of home may be. As Polynesians, Māori have a nomadic history where mobility and the impetus to find a new home play a huge role. Even today, after living in Aotearoa for hundreds of years, the mythical home island of Hawaiki (where Māori originally came from) is central to Māori spirituality and folklore. The connection to one’s ancestors and family also is an important part of Māori culture. Whakapapa (genealogy) is an integral part of identity for Māori people.

“Transient” is a short story about the uprooting and feeling of disconnection a lot of Māori (and Indigenous people in general) are confronted with. It mostly takes place in New York and is written from the perspective of a Māori woman living in the US.

Deep down I ache constantly for home and family. I have flown back a few times but things have changed since I left. It’s clear to me that my homesickness is not just longing for a place; it’s a yearning for people and a time that have passed, that no longer exist and that can never be reached again.

(p. 147)

This part of the short story shows the struggle with being disconnected from the place where, and people with whom, you feel at home. Even though the protagonist has been living in the States for five years already, she is still homesick and feels foreign in her new “home”. This may also be connected to the struggle of all Māori people after the arrival of the people who are now called Pākehā. Like a lot of other Indigenous peoples, Māori had their home stolen (in a geographical and cultural sense). Their land was forcefully taken from them or was purloined through unfair contracts (most guarantees to Māori in those contracts were not maintained). Additionally, Māori people were (directly or indireclty) forced to live like Pākehā people did and were encouraged to abandon their spiritual beliefs. These experiences may have led Māori people to travel to other countries in the hope of finding a new home, a chance to get different tools to fight for their rights back in Aotearoa, or as a means of proving their worth (e.g. the Māori Battalion in the Second World War).

An uprooting is also shown in the short story through the waka huia, an item which may have been stolen and is now exhibited in the museum the protagonist decided to visit. A waka huia is an intimate object which contains personal treasures and is exchanged between different generations, families and tribes. It was often displayed hanging from the ceiling in traditional Māori whare (houses), hence part of a family’s home. In my opinion the waka huia symbolizes the violation of Māori people through colonialism and imperialism. Both the waka huia and the protagonist are uprooted from their homes and stuck in a foreign place. While one could argue that the protagonist is studying in the States of her own volition, I believe that it shows that even though Māori people aren’t direct colonial subjects in today’s world, the collective uprooting that was done to them in the past and the social and cultural problems caused by that still have considerable repercussions on contemporary Māori society.

In conclusion, I think that “Transient” does a good job of showing the relation of Māori to their home and the personal problems and feelings they are confronted with due to the continuous violent occupation of their home. It’s not possible to understand the problems Māori face in today’s world and the society of Aotearoa without understanding the connection between Māori and their home, which is why I believe that it’s important to read literature written by Māori authors.

Reference

Joseph, Kelly. 2003. “Transient”. In Huia Short Stories 5. Wellington: HUIA PUBLISHERS.

“He looked at me like a cold and thirsty sailor might look at a long hot mug of coffee spiked with whiskey”: Gaze and desire in Tina Makereti’s The Imaginary Lives of James Pōneke

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Tina Makereti’s 2018 novel The Imaginary Lives of James Pōneke tells the story of a young Māori boy who travels to London to become part of an exhibition that displays Māori culture to an audience of Victorian England. It’s a book about identity, about belonging and unbelonging, about violence and humanity, and – what I want to focus on here – about gaze and desire.

The gaze is a motif that runs through the novel in a multitude of ways. The protagonist Hemi is confronted with being an outsider and Other throughout his childhood long before he even reaches London. His formative years are influenced by his experience of what it means to be looked at, to be studied closely, and to look at and actively perceive those around him in turn.

After arriving in London, Hemi soon becomes part of an exhibition arranged by his benefactor. He is the main spectacle, but he also always makes sure to watch and observe his audience. In London, he practises being both spectacle and spectator at zoos, in theatres and at shows (both high- and lowbrow), and in the streets. The centre of the Empire becomes the recipient of his gaze. The gaze can be understood as a form of colonial power, of violence and othering, and through Hemi we see a subversion of the power structure by altering the direction of looking.

It is only later when he meets his friend Billy, whom he regards as non-normative and – due to the relationship with his cross-dressing, perhaps trans-coded girlfriend Henry – as somewhat queer, that the gaze becomes loaded with desire and potential for Hemi. After he realises that Billy must have felt attracted to Henry when he still thought she was a boy, Hemi begins to question what he knows (and feels) about attraction and desire:

“It had been there from the start, I knew, but Henry’s story changed everything. Not everything I knew, but everything it was possible to feel. She had opened up a world in which Billy could look at a man and feel love, and act on it. A world in which I could do the same.”

(p. 157)

What we see here is Hemi’s sexual awakening happening in two directions. It is the real, almost tangible prospect of queerness that is revealed to him through Billy and Henry’s complex relationship with heteronormativity – despite what he knows about the taboo nature of homosexuality in Christianity. This is the first time that this kind of desire becomes a real option in Hemi’s mind.

The other, much more present realisation is one specifically related to Billy as a person: Hemi wants to share at least part of the intimacy Billy has with Henry, wants to be desired in the same way he slowly comes to understand he himself desires Billy:

“I was still curious about one thing. I had seen Billy gazing on her with as much devotion as I think one person could ever bestow on anybody, and I had a sudden desire to be the recipient of that gaze. What was the thing that made her irresistible to him, even dressed as she was?”

(154)

Perhaps for the first time, Hemi actively wants to be looked at, be perceived, because he wishes his desire to be reciprocated. Desire and gaze are related here, immediately, by Makereti’s word choice: Hemi thinks about Billy gazing at Henry, or alternatively looking at a man, and concludes that he wants to experience this as well, both actively and passively. Desire and gaze are intertwined for Hemi, to desire and want something means to see it, to experience it wholly through sight, through looking and examining it.

What starts as potential between Billy and Hemi and is ultimately left unrealised, is then further explored in Hemi’s relationship to sailor and former slave Ethan. The first time Hemi mentions Ethan, he says, “He saw me perhaps even before I saw myself. He knew me.” (p. 220), implicitly characterising their relationship as one filled with desire and longing because we have already encountered how Hemi expresses and understands (queer) desire through the gaze.  

We are further made to understand that to Hemi, desire is still something (perhaps inherently) ineffable, something that is explored through sensual experience rather than words and reason: “I told him my own small story of adventure and woe. All but my feelings for Billy, which were something I had not the language to reveal.” (p. 225)

This also separates Hemi’s past experiences with his unfulfilled desire for Billy from the new reality aboard the ship. Although he followed Billy there, he doesn’t bring their history into the newly developing relationship with Ethan.

This relationship unfolds in a series of moments of direct looking, watching, observing, and most importantly, secretly longing for each other:

“I remember that deep voice. The sureness of it. The deep swell of it. I began seeking him out.
‘And what of women, Ethan? Have you a wife?’
‘I’ve had women, but not a wife. I don’t know there is one for me, to tell the truth of it.’ He looked at me then, too long. Just a moment too long.”

(p. 226)

It is of course no accident that Ethan looks at Hemi and Hemi recognises this look immediately after Ethan admits to being a bachelor, possibly uninterested in women. The gaze doesn’t exist in a vacuum, it is employed as a deliberate tool of communication, an encoded expression of desire.

When Hemi starts to look back at Ethan, he tells the reader explicitly what he sees, inviting us to witness his perception of Ethan, taking us with him on the road to desire:

“Ethan […] began climbing the rigging, his muscles working under a sheen of sweat, the evening light glancing off just so.
I became his disciple, watching my new friend far too often and at too much length. And when I saw him look back I didn’t trust it for a long time – I thought it might be my own feelings clouding my perception. A look that lingers too long is not enough to mean anything, and yet I wanted it to.”

(p. 226)

Hemi still hesitates because although he knows how to read a gaze as a deliberate expression of desire, he has no way of knowing if it was intended this way. The uncertainty and anxiety over his own feelings and whether they may be reciprocated mirrors his past with Billy, but this time they culminate in a scene charged with anticipation and, for the first time, certainty of mutuality:

“As was my custom, I stole glances, reminding myself not to stare too long. We talked to the other men at the table, laughed a bit, chewed and drank, and looked.  I watched his lips as he chewed, the way his throat flexed to swallow. And that was when I saw it: his eyes ran slowly down the length of my face, lingered at my neck, and rose to meet my own again. It was a caress, the way that look played over me. And I knew. What had seemed an impossibility slowly became imaginable, probable even, if only I could cross that space between us.”

(p. 227)

Again, Hemi lets us take part in what he sees, his desire becomes palpable for the reader – and finally he realises with certainty that his feelings are returned. It is still only through recognition of the gaze (rather than an explicit exchange of words or more obvious signs) that he understands what he hoped for has become reality. He is the recipient of Ethan’s gaze.

This becomes even more tangible in the next line: “I came to know my own desire in my recognition of his. Ethan looked at me like a cold and thirsty sailor might look at a long hot mug of coffee spiked with whiskey.” (p. 227) The state of being both active and passive in the act of gazing makes Hemi fully understand his own desire, the reflection of the gaze makes the act of gazing an unquestionable reality. The way that Ethan looks at him tells him all he needs to know; he is desired, he is wanted.

This sentiment is mirrored once the two of them actually have sex and Hemi thinks: “I felt his need as if it were my own, but then it was my own.” (p. 228) Reciprocation and reflection is what characterises their relationship more than anything else, starting with the gaze and ending in a fulfilled physical relationship.

Eventually though, Hemi and Ethan are found out because someone saw them having sex. Their punishment is harsh and violent. What brought them together in one way – beeing seen – is ultimately also what tears their brief relationship apart. We are reminded that the act of seeing, observing and watching is still also a tool of power, both colonial and heteronormative. To be hidden from the gaze is a privilege the two of them are not afforded.

This is made even clearer after Hemi survives the shipwreck and eventually goes to inspect the dead bodies of those who didn’t:

“On the final day I went down to greet my brothers out of some sense of duty. I shouldn’t have. Ethan was grey and blue and bloated, only half of his face and one of his arms intact, but I knew it was him.”

(p. 241)

To see, to know, to experience is not always preferable to being in the dark about something. On the contrary, it can be traumatic and horrifying. Seeing, experiencing and knowing are all in themselves ambivalent and not just expressions of desire as they were for Hemi and Ethan before, they can also be acts of violence, both implicit and explicit.

In sum, Tina Makereti constructs desire almost exclusively through the act of gazing, exploring the relationship between the two and where they intersect in the characters to whom Hemi is closest. The gaze is a tool of colonial power, of othering and of violence, but it also serves as a unique encoded love language that develops alongside Hemi’s coming-of-age.

Reference

Makereti, Tina. The Imaginary Lives of James Pōneke. Hertfordshire, Lightning Books Ltd, 2019.

Misplacement in Kelly Joseph’s “Transient”

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Short story: Kelly Joseph – “Transient” (Huia Short Stories 5, 2003)

Belonging and misplacement are well-known feelings, I believe. At some point in life everyone has experienced the sense of being in the right or wrong place, even if it is just at a party or a friend’s house, where you don´t feel comfortable or, on the contrary, almost like being at home. In the context of our seminar Indigenous Literature from New Zealand – Roots and Routes, we read several secondary texts and other works which discuss misplacement in Māori literature. However, one short story was especially fitting in my opinion for this seminar. “Transient”, written by Kelly Joseph, draws connections between the two main topics of roots and routes. The story specifies those concepts by pointing out that roots do not only refer to your origin but also may highlight a sense of misplacement at the same time.

Misplacement was one of the subtopics in our seminar, yet I must admit that, until we read “Transient”, I never really understood the extent of feeling lost or out of place. Kelly Joseph manages to convey the importance of belonging and roots as anchors within three short pages. She describes the journey of a young woman from Taranaki, wandering through the streets of Manhattan. On her way to the Metropolitan Museum, she encounters a homeless man and gives him some change. Inside the museum she wanders around without a map and comes across an empty waka huia. The protagonist cries for the ‘lost treasure’, which is “out of place in this foreign land” (p. 149). After the same homeless man from the beginning hands her a handkerchief, she makes the deliberate decision of booking a one-way ticket home.

When I started reading the short story, I found it quite sombre. As the first-person narrator describes the “thick humidity” and how “oppressive and disorientating” (p. 147) the setting of Manhattan seems, the reader is able to imagine what the protagonist means with the description of being crushed (cf. p. 147). However, the feeling of misplacement is especially noticeable on page 147, when the protagonist acknowledges: “Now I’m lost.” Further into the story, the protagonist emphasizes a lack of belonging or identification in the context of the “displaced objects” which appear “out of place in this foreign land” (p. 149).

As a teen, I always enjoyed trips to museums since they provided new insights to other cultures and historical periods which we did not experience ourselves. However, based on my undergraduate studies and particularly this seminar, I started to understand more and more that exhibiting objects of foreign cultures is an issue worth investigating further. I started to ponder: “Where do these objects come from?”, “Who gave the museum the right to exhibit it and not return it to its rightful place where it belongs?”. Even though these questions are not answered in the short story, it nevertheeless does provide us with enough insights to understand why we should look upon exhibited cultural objects with more care and consideration.

The perception of the protagonist is that the waka huia (like other exhibited objects) is “lost to its people” (p. 149). They belong to the culture of their people and are out of place in the foreign museum in which they are exhibited. This sense of belonging to a community is also highlighted earlier when she says: “[H]omesickness is not just a longing for a place; it’s a yearning for people” (p. 147). She herself feels like she does not belong where she is right now. As the protagonist and a human being, she has the choice of where she locates herself, even though it has taken her several years to realise the necessary actions she must take to feel at home again. The objects in the exhibition do not have the same sort of agency, which might be a reason for her tears when she grieves for the ‘lost objects’.

As I mentioned earlier, a homeless man hands her a handkerchief as she cries in front of the empty waka huia. This emptiness of the cultural object, which traditionally symbolizes relationships, can be seen as a mirror of the protagonist’s feeling of emptiness and misplacement. The homeless man is the only one who acknowledges her crying and takes action to ease her loneliness. Both characters are seen as outsiders to society, which leads to isolation and a lack of interactions with others. This isolation finds relief when the protagonist acknowledges her unwellness in the last sentence: “The following day I book a one-way ticket home.” Since it is a one-way ticket, it is clear that she does not have any intentions of straying too far from her roots any time soon again.

In the light of what I wrote earlier, more specifically the fact that I was not aware of the range which the sense of misplacement could reach, it is remarkable how thoroughly “Transient” points out and highlights the depth of feelings associated with misplacement and still offers me as the reader to interpret the short story based on my own individual experiences. Disorientating, lost, homesickness are all words that I now associate with this short story. Those words remind me that we belong somewhere, even if the process of realising takes us five years, just as the protagonist of Joseph’s story. However, just like the girl from Taranaki, we have the agency to lead our routes back to our roots. Towards the place where we feel like we belong.

The Imaginary Lives of James Pōneke – Book Review

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“You only have one life in your possession, James. Why not make it of your most magnificent imagining?“

How do you go on when you’ve got no family member left and don’t know where you even belong? When you desperately want to change something about your life, but you don’t know what’s missing? These are only a few of the questions The Imaginary Lives of James Pōneke picks up in much detail.

It was written by New Zealand novelist and creative writing teacher Tina Makereti, who has already won several prizes for her work, including the Royal Society of New Zealand Manhire Prize and the Ngā Kupu Ora Aotearoa Māori Book Award. Her books, essays and short stories often centre on Māori culture and identities.

What is the book about?

Her most recent novel, The Imaginary Lives of James Pōneke, deals with the life and adventures of young James Pōneke, the son of a well-known Māori chief. In the beginning of the book, he loses first his mother and sister, then his father, and is raised by Christian missionaries. Later he abandons the mission and eventually finds a way back to his cultural roots by joining a group of Māori migrants – though still he is not at all satisfied with his life and is longing for a further education. When he meets a young English artist, he jumps at the opportunity and travels to London with him. There, James becomes the artist’s living exhibit at a museum and is offered an “English education”. He soon realises that people in Victorian London are way different from the people at home. During his adventures in the new city, he has to face multiple challenges, such as finding new friends and falling in love for the first time, dealing with multiple forms of racism, and seeking a sense of belonging.

How did I like the story?

I have to say that I enjoyed the characters very much. James is an adventurous, warm-hearted boy who wants to see the world, which is a character trait I can very much relate to. I loved the fact that he had the courage to leave his homeland behind in order to find his true self in a whole new country. But his best friend Billy really was my favourite character in this story.  He gives James the opportunity to just be himself and makes London another home for him. He sees James for who he is, without judging him in any way. Also, I liked his enthusiasm and honesty. Their friendship was so pure and sincere.

Though I enjoyed the characters, I can’t entirely say the same thing about the plot. Don’t get me wrong, I liked the way it was written and the message it conveyed: to let your fears behind and live the life you want to live. The quote I put on top of this text was by far one of my favourites and really shows that it’s up to you what kind of life you live and that it depends on the decisions you make. There were many text passages like this where I felt very inspired and just loved Makereti’s style of writing. It really made me think about my own life in a certain way. However, even though the characters were beautifully developed, I sometimes had the feeling that there’s not much happening in this story. It was interesting to experience Europe through James’s eyes but at the same time, I wished that there was a little more “drama”. Especially during the middle part of the book, I sometimes had a hard time going on reading as there wasn’t much happening. 

My conclusion

Summing up I can say that I enjoyed the writing style very much. There were so many text passages that left me wondering and thinking about my own decisions and the meaning of my life. Especially I wondered if I am living MY magnificent imagining or if there’s something I would want to change.  Also, I kept thinking about the fact whether I could have been as brave as James was in all those dangerous situations he encountered.

I generally recommend the book to anyone who is interested in Māori culture and the way of life back in 19th century. Even though the book had its lengths from time to time, I still liked reading all about James’s story and desperately wanted to know whether he’d find his place of belonging in the world. Now it’s your turn to find out! For me, The Imaginary Lives of James Pōneke is a good 3,5/5 stars.

Makereti, Tina. 2018. The Imaginary Lives of James Pōneke. New Zealand: Penguin Random House (ISBN: 978-1-78563-153-5)

Book Review: The Imaginary Lives of James Pōneke by Tina Makereti

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The Imaginary Lives of James Pōneke by Tina Makereti tells the story of a young Māori orphan boy, James Pōneke, who has a great desire for education and to see the world.

James, who is partially raised by missionaries, meets an English artist in New Zealand and follows him to London to be a living part of his exhibition.

James quickly finds a connection in the artist’s family. During the day he is at the artist’s disposal and presents himself in traditional tribal dress to gallery visitors, who scrutinize him and do not always make a secret of their disapproval of the Indigenous population. At night, James meets his friends (who include the sailor Billy and his lover Henry, or Henrietta, who only walks around in men’s clothes because of her own freedom) and discovers the neighborhoods of Victorian London.

When I started reading the book, I was almost shocked by the sadness and cruelty. And yet, the author manages to transfer the protagonist’s hope to the reader.

Tina Makereti manages to give young James a childlike naivety without it ever seeming annoying to the reader while reading the book. I could always understand the naivety and the hope that the protagonist has at the different stages of his journey, despite all the setbacks.

“Like the others who were now fitted awkwardly into the tribe, I was tolerated, and given work to do, and allowed to participate as long as I was useful. But my position was humble. I wasn’t angered by this. I did not belong to these people. If I were to follow custom, the best I could do was marry one of them to ensure my own children could claim a place.“

(Chapter 4)

Here, the boy James’ search for his identity is introduced and clarified early in the book. Even in a new tribe he finds no real place, he finds no belonging.

The boy’s search for belonging and home touched me very much while reading. His apparent acceptance of the intolerance of his environment is both confusing and sad. And yet the author manages to give him a tiny bit of hope.

Tina Makereti makes sure to project feelings and images onto the reader’s mind with her readable, metaphorical writing style. For example, James’ feelings are expressed metaphorically when he visits the zoo in London with his hosts and discovers a tiger in one of the cages.

“There were no kings in the cages I saw — only poorly looking creatures with scruffy coats.“

(Chapter 7)

The striking description could be applied to James himself, who is also restricted by the displays of his origins in the artist’s exhibition and the many hostilities of London’s residents.

The Imaginary Lives of James Pōneke takes you along emotionally and it is an absolutely worthwhile read which includes themes such as friendship, freedom, family, home, belonging and identity.

I think that it is a great novel in the historical fiction genre which can also provide a good introduction to Māori literature.

Tina Makereti’s novel was first published in 2018, has 256 pages and is available as e-book (ISBN 978-1-78563-154-2) for less than 5€.

Nghi Vo’s “The Chosen and the Beautiful” – a YA rewrite of the Great Gatsby?

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by Friederike Jahn

Over the past few years, screenwriters, authors, and directors have been increasingly interested in adapting literary classics, whether it be on screen or paper. The emerging trend to revisit classic literary pieces and even rewriting them, has been quite successful with films like Little Women and West Side Story reaching box office sales.

Recently, American novelist Nghi Vo published her debut novel ‘The Chosen and the Beautiful’ after having been successful with several novellas. The novel is part of the above-mentioned trend because it retells the story of the literary classic The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Considered to be the ‘Great American Novel’, Fitzgerald’s literary masterpiece is set in the 1920s where flapper girls, Jazz, economic prosperity, and dazzling parties dominate Western society. Told from the perspective of protagonist and first-person narrator Nick Carraway, The Great Gatsby tells the story of mysterious millionaire Jay Gatsby, and his longing to be reunited with his former lover, Daisy Buchanan. Sounds familiar, right? Any adaptation would need to capture the general atmosphere of The Great Gatsby to succeed, considering how well-known the text is. Well, in her novel The Chosen and the Beautiful, writer Nghi Vo has managed exactly that: preserving the familiar, but adding a queer, non-western vitality to Fitzgerald’s classic narrative.

Unlike Fitzgerald’s story, Vo shifts the focal point from Nick Carraway to Jordan Baker, allowing a female perspective to surface in a world predominantly controlled by men. But that’s only half the story, in Vo’s version Jordan Baker is also a queer Vietnamese person, still trying to figure out her own true identity. These characteristics have brought up the question whether The Chosen and the Beautiful ought to be considered a young adult (literature) rewrite of The Great Gatsby. Vo uses several tropes and components typically used in YA literature that really elaborate Jordan Baker’s story. The nature of her character extenuates her oddity and contrasts social norms set in the 1920s. Within YA texts, gender and sexual identity are big themes that add to the coming-of-age aspect and which are also used in The Chosen and the Beautiful. The reader learns about Jordan’s upbringings and the depth of her character, which is vital for the dynamic structure within the novel. Jordan’s queerness combines a foreign yet so familiar storyline that elevates this classic narrative to a new realm of interest for young adults that can connect and identity themselves with her character.

Today, it is not only refreshing to see classic literary pieces through a queer perspective, it is also important to acknowledge the LGBTQ+ community, which has been neglected in the literary canon significantly, especially when it comes to YA literature. With books like Nghi Vo’s, adolescents can dive deeper into a beautifully written retelling of The Great Gatsby, where female agency, a queer vitality and a non-white perspective are at the centre of attention.

Review: Hani and Ishu’s Guide to Fake Dating by Adiba Jaigirdar

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by Alice Kronenberg

“Friends can talk about things. They can figure things out. Get past things. Dou you want a friend in your life who you can never disagree with? A friend who you can’t grow with?”

Hani and Ishu’s Guide to Fake Dating, pos. 2808 (kindle)
https://adibajaigirdar.com/hani-and-ishu (last visited 01/14/2022, 12:50)

Humaira Khan and Ishita Dey are nothing alike: While easy-going and amiable Hani socializes with her friends, introverted and ambitious Ishu spends her days studying to prepare for university. Despite being pushed into the same box by their classmates for being the only two Bengali girls in their year, Hani and Ishu have very little in common and do their best to avoid each other on most days.

That is, until Hani’s friends tell her that she can’t possibly be bisexual if she has only dated boys and she hurriedly invents a fake relationship with Ishu. Hesitant at first, Ishu soon agrees to Hani’s fake dating proposal, hoping that it will make her more popular and secure her classmates’ votes in the election of Head Girl.

In this sunshine x grumpy, fake-dating story Jaigirdar brings to life a breezy, heart-warming romance while simultaneously tackling more serious issues like racism, biphobia, toxic friendships and family conflicts. Keeping the tone appropriate for a young readership, she sends her characters on a journey of growth and challenges, putting them through many uncomfortable moments and painful realizations. In the end, however, the positive feelings outweigh the negative ones, making this a story of queer joy rather than queer trauma.

“Before all of this started, I didn’t even know what being in a relationship was, but now I’m pretty sure I can write a guide to real dating.”

Hani and Ishu’s Guide to Fake Dating, pos. 3745 (kindle)
https://kidovna.tumblr.com/post/654627115062509568/ishu-smells-as-sweet-as-honey-and-i-have-to (last visited 01/14/2022, 12 :51)

Both of the main characters have their own story in addition to their shared one. Hani starts out as a very accommodating character, constantly assimilating to her toxic white friends who don’t show any respect for her culture, her religion, or her sexuality. She is somewhat caught in between wanting to commit to her Bengali and Muslim community and her fear that her friends will exclude her if she does. Thus, a big part of her character development is learning to stand up for herself, to choose her own happiness over her friends’ opinion, and eventually to leave behind a friendship that she’s held onto since early childhood. Thanks to her relationship with Ishu as well as her loving parents, she realizes that she deserves people who support her culture and sexuality instead of mocking it.

Ishu, on the other hand, is utterly unapologetic. She doesn’t care what others have to say about her culture or her appearance. She does care, however, about her parents’ approval – more than anything else, actually. Especially ever since her older sister announced that she wanted to take a break from med-school to get married, Ishu has felt the responsibility and pressure of being the ‘good daughter’ who achieves exactly what her parents expect from her. Over the course of the book, Ishu realizes that her sister might be right in choosing a different path for her life than she initially promised her family, and finds herself questioning her own plans for the future. The more she sides with her sister Nik, the more criticism she receives from her parents, and on top of that, she has to deal with people at school attempting to ruin her chances in the Head Girl election. In the end, Ishu lets go of her desire to please her parents and learns to put herself first.

Adiba Jaigirdar thus created two contrasting main characters who somehow give each other exactly the type of encouragement the other needs. Through the duo-POV narration style, Jaigirdar shows how differently people connect to their culture and how varied the lived experiences of two brown queer girls can be. Her writing style and choice of words is engaging and easily accessible. Some passages may sound a bit juvenile, but if you consider the targeted age group, the language definitely feels appropriate. What stands out positively are the many Bengali foods, clothes, and traditions that were woven into the main story – as a non-Bengali reader, I really enjoyed learning about this culture through the characters.

One aspect I’d like to discuss critically is the motivation behind the protagonists’ decision to fake-date each other. For one, there is no mention of many other friends or acquaintances Hani has outside of her trio that would speak for her popularity, so it is a bit hard to believe that Ishu actually has a shot at becoming Head Girl just because she’s dating Hani. It would have been nice to see Hani engaging with other people or being part of a larger social circle at school to show that she has an influence on the other students (e.g. by making her part of a sports team or popular school club). Also, as understandable as it is for Hani to want to prove to her straight friends that she is bisexual, and as much as I personally enjoy the fake-dating-trope, I wish there was a moment where she realizes that she should never need to invent a girlfriend to convince people of anything. She doesn’t owe her friends an explanation, much less a whole relationship, to prove her sexuality. Even though Hani did ‘break up’ with her friends at the end of the novel, it felt like it was for other reasons – for framing Ishu, for making her ditch her father, for how they treated her after she came out to them. But she never says anything along the lines of, “And by the way, I literally got a fake girlfriend when I really shouldn’t have to, and you’re still not taking me seriously”, and I think that’s the one thing that could be missing in her otherwise well-rounded character development.

Nonetheless, this is an amazing sapphic love story full of tropes we love. Hani and Ishu’s Guide to Fake Dating is both light-hearted and deep and provides the perfect balance of cheesy romance, coming of age themes, and more serious social issues. Jaigirdar handled the difficult aspects very carefully, responsibly, and thoughtfully, providing a rich variety of perspectives and experiences for the reader to consider. What I also like is that the novel ends on a positive note, but not a perfect one. There are still conflicts for the protagonists to resolve – Ishu is experiencing an estrangement from her parents, Hani has just lost her two best friends – but for now, both girls are happy with their lives and their growth. So, you close the book with a sense of knowing that Hani and Ishu will continue to work on themselves off-page, and I think that’s beautiful.

The Black Flamingo is threatened by extinction in these “modern” Times !

Posted on by australianfantastic
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A review of Dean Atta’s Young Adult Novel The Black Flamingo and its connection to the modern portrayal of self-identity.

by Jessica Klostermayer
Photo by Annerose Walz on Unsplash

I Want to Be a Pink Flamingo
Pink. Definitely pink.
I want my feathers to match
the hue you imagine.
I want to blend in
David Attenborough would say,
“Here we see the most typical flamingo.”
Though I don’t want to be the most,
just typical.

Atta, p. 194

This passage out of Dean Attas Novel is by far the most relatable to everybody because it describes a scenario every one of us has been through. A point in life where we don’t know who we are, so we try to be like others. With his work Dean Atta created a lovely story around finding one’s own identity and helping to establish and represent multiple sexual orientations within the literature, which can be applied and reflects our society.

The Black Flamingo

A Summary

The Back flamingo is a YA novel that tells of a half Jamaican, half Greek-Cyprian boy named Micheal, who likes to do girl-like things like playing barbies instead of playing football or doing masculine things. His otherness thrives on the toxic masculinity in his surroundings. Most likely, the fear of the otherness gets projected
at him. Throughout School/College, he has to learn where he belongs, making it even more difficult when you pretend to be a person who you aren’t.

About Dean Atta

Comparing the cover and certain pictures of Dean Atta, it becomes evident that there are many similarities between author and character.

Dean Atta is a British poet of greek Cypriot and Caribbean descent. He is one of the 100 most influential people when it comes to representing the LGBTQ Community—doing that through his writing and performing for more than ten years. Especially his poems, as those in the Black Flamingo, found significant impact in representing all kinds of identities and what they have to deal with within our society.

“I started writing about stuff I was seeing in the news, my own sexual identity and being mixed race.”

Finding One’s Flamingo

That Dean Atta’s work and those representing something different are still important and needed can also be seen in other fields besides Literature. One thing that immediately popped into my head as I saw the cover of The Black Flamingo was the resemblance of Harry’s styles outfit at the Grammy Awards 2021. A British artist also is known for his support of the LGBTQ community and his attempts to fight against toxic masculinity.

Although Harry Styles has not to face the problems of color and status, he finds ways to address other complex issues through his status. The Perfect example for his thrive against this toxic masculinity found its peak in November 2020, where he was photographed and put on the cover of Vogue in a blue dress. With that, he has faced with criticism. Especially this comment on Twitter from Candace Owens found broad resonance which states that men who wear dresses cannot be strong and “leaders”.

That debate comes along whether masculine and feminine behavior can be pinned to one specific gender or is constructed by society, as Judith Butler would suggest. In particular is that sometimes our community has to face that what we learned earlier on in our life isn’t fixed, and I think with The Black Flamingo Dean Atta contributes to that enlightenment lovingly.

References

  • Isaac-Wilson, Stephen. “Dean Atta: Meet the IPhone Poet.” The Guardian, 22 Feb. 2018, www.theguardian.com/books/2012/jan/11/dean-atta-stephen-lawrence-poem.
  • “Candace owens on.” Twitter, https://twitter.com/RealCandaceO/status/1327691891303976961. Accessed 9 Jan. 2022.
  • “Vogue Magazine On.” Twitter, twitter.com/voguemagazine/status/1327359624803209228?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw%7Ctwcamp%5Etweetembed&ref_url=notion%3A%2F%2Fwww.notion.so%2FThe-Black-Flamingo-is-threatened-by-extinction-in-these-modern-Timesf8eb5ede91454591aa5f951811ef3070. Accessed 9 Jan. 2022.
  • Atta, Dean. The Black Flamingo. Balzer + Bray, 2021.
  • Butler, Judith. “Performative acts and gender constitution: An essay in phenomenology and feminist theory.” Theatre journal 40.4 (1988): 519-531.

Images

  • https://unsplash.com/photos/XAg8QK7wXJw
  • http://www.yalsa.ala.org/thehub/wp-content/uploads/2020/07/black_flamingo-200×300.png
  • https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-R8A4fo0FnvI/TiDUOkdE_TI/AAAAAAAAYE8/Va9TLfQ12c8/s1600/dean+atta.jpg
  • https://i.pinimg.com/originals/37/91/8a/37918a155d32f38235952d0cd800b636.jpg

Not even death will tear them apart – Review of Afterlove by Tanya Byrne

Posted on by lebau109
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Tanya Byrne’s Young Adult novel Afterlove follows Guyanese-British teenager Ashana Persaud, also known as Ash. The blurb of the book tells us that Ash is going to die during the novel, and in fact, the first chapter already introduces us to Ash while she is ‘working’ as a grim reaper. But after this first chapter, we are allowed to get to know Ash during her last months alive – and Ash gets to fall in love for the very first time, with a girl called Poppy Morgan.

“She throws her head back and laughs and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. This delicate shiver, like the sound my grandmother’s gold bangles make when she’s clapping roti, that grows and grows until it’s so loud – I can feel it in my bones.” (p. 20)

The story of Ash and Poppy is framed by all the teenage-giddyness and excitement you would expect from a teenage love story. We experience how Ash and Poppy fall in love, from cute first dates to seemingly endless talks about their lives, identities and families. Ash gets to feel how your partner talking passionately about something you do not understand can be the most beautiful thing, even though you are standing in museum full of art – or comparing Poppy’s laugh to the sound of her grandmother’s bangles while clapping roti – or the nervous excitement of telling your parents that you are seeing someone you would like them to meet – or eagerly thinking about what their life together will look like 20 years ahead, maybe sharing a house, having a dog. While their love story definitely makes you smile and maybe even giddy as though you are falling in love for the first time too, specifically thoughts about the distant future leave you with a pang of early grief for the life Ash will never get to live. At times, you hope that the blurb somehow lied to you, but in the end, Ash dies in a painfully accidental way on New Years Eve.

“Grim reapers are responsible for the people in their parish who die the same way they did. So, in your case, you will be responsible for adolescent sudden deaths.” (p. 168)

Because Ash is in fact the last person to die that year, she joins a group of grim reapers and takes on the job of escorting the souls of the city’s deceased to Charon. The way this works in the novel is simple, yet its concept is still fun and interesting – Grim reapers actually freely move around us and just distract themselves until they are called to escort a soul. In order to not be noticed by the loved ones they left behind, their appearances change ever so slightly so that it would be plausible to just be mistaken for themselves, because being actually recognized can dangerously affect the natural order of life and death. But when Ash sees Poppy again, she is ready to risk it all – She is willing to break every rule just to be with Poppy again.

“It’s OK to take the songs you skip off your playlist. It’s OK not to finish the book if it feels like a closed door, not a window. It’s OK not to get married, if you don’t want to. It’s OK not to have kids, if you don’t want them. It’s OK not to know all of this yet.”

(p. 356/357)

Afterlove is obviously not your typical lovestory. But at the same time, when it comes to the sentiments of love, it is exactly that. Ash is ready to risk it all for Poppy, which can be seen as just teenage over-eagerness, but for Ash, it is the conviction that Poppy is just the one. She is ready to challenge death and she is absolutely certain that their love can defy death itself and that it stretches beyond life, death, and everything before and after. The cast of central characters is relatively small, some characters might be rather odd, but they still are endearing in their own way. The only thing I missed was more exploration of Ashana’s family. But overall, I enjoyed Afterlove a lot for the other reasons I already mentioned: the teenage giddyness, the interesting concepts and building of the “life” of grim reapers, the conviction of a love that stretches beyond life, death and time as we know them.

If you would like to read Afterlove, please be aware of the following Content Warnings: Death, discussion of different causes of death, lesbophobia