Recently I've been lucky enough to read two excellent New Zealand titles that both approach some aspect of our past in unexpected but rewarding ways.
The Writing Desk
The first from my reading pile is The Writing Desk by Hawkes Bay author/illustrator, Di Morris, in which she tells the story of her family from their arrival in New Zealand as British immigrants in the 19th century through to the modern day.
Many people have written family histories covering similar territory but none so beautifully illustrated, for The Writing Desk... is a graphic novel. And what a graphic novel it is. Morris was lucky to have been gifted a treasure trove of family history records from letters to photographs and she makes full use of these throughout the story - the panels of the story embellished with telegrams, letters in looping cursive, and artwork that has adapted family photos into drawings. The Writing Desk of the title was a wedding gift from the family doctor and is a piece of furniture that captured Morris's imagination as a child, and stands as a symbol of a bygone era when handwritten letters were the main form of communication between family members who lived in different parts of the country, or indeed, the world.
Morris has also approached the story of her family in a unique way, as some elements are "fictionalised" - she includes panels with imagined conversations between family members on topics like love and marriage, the 1893 women's suffrage petition, the suitability of women for the medical profession. Though perhaps not strictly "factual" it makes the story of these people much more engaging, relatable and readable. Sometimes family history can come across as a bit dry and dull and really only interesting if you yourself are related to the people in question but I challenge you not to be impressed by the dogged persistence of Elsie Balfour as she works towards her medical degree. In fact, there is a strong current of feminism throughout, in particular in the way that the everyday domestic life of 19th century women is portrayed (they discuss the practicalities of periods at one point!). And Morris also makes sure that there's historical context provided - the issues of colonisation are not ignored. They're not gone into in great depth either but the acknowledgement that all this "working the land on farms" came at a cost to Māori is a welcome one.
The illustrations are muted and sepia-heavy and peppered with real (or recreated) documents giving a sense of history to the book, suggestive of flicking through and old-fashioned family photo album. Morris has chosen her focus well by staying with a few key characters/family members - we're pulled along through their stories; their successes, failures, loves and losses.
More on The Writing Desk
- The curious writing desk that sparked graphic novel RNZ 11 October 2024
- Di Morris on Instagram
Ghosts on Every Corner
Another book that creates a sense of history but of an entirely different era, is Ghosts on Every Corner by Reuben Wood, featuring the art of Mike Beer (aka Ghostcat), the photography of Dave Richards.
I remembering hearing quite some time ago of Ghostcat's project to scratch build models of buildings from Christchurch's past and being intrigued, and I trotted along to the exhibition of said models with keen interest. Beer's work is meticulous and detailed and delightful. Peering inside his miniature version of the old Cathedral Square police kiosk and seeing a water cooler and little wanted posters was a highlight. I loved seeing a tiny version of Wizards, the legendary Gloucester Street video game arcade (a place that loomed large in the minds and imaginations of people who grew up in 1980s Christchurch). I was drawn to the model of Smiths Bookshop, a local institution for booklovers and thrilled to see a teeny tiny version of one of the digitised band posters from our collection on display in the front window.
But did I question the choices in terms of builds? Certainly. What was the appeal of the old Canterbury Sale Yards as a model? Why a model of Victoria Square, which isn't even a building? Most of the models were not of architecturally significant, or even particularly aesthetically pleasing Christchurch landmarks. Christchurch has lost a great many more "model-worthy" heritage buildings, surely?
But reading the book made all these choices make sense. Because it's not about the buildings. It's always about the stories of the people and the communities that congregated in these spaces. What Ghosts of Every Corner is is a celebration of the sub-cultures of Christchurch in the 1980s and 90s that formed around these spaces. The entire thing is steeped in nostalgia for a very specific version of Christchurch; frankly, it's extremely Gen X coded and I'm here for it.
Was I a skater kid clattering around Victoria Square in the nineties? No... but I immediately recognise that time and space and cohort. Other places I related to more closely - sipping hot drinks out of jars at Java coffee house, perusing CDs at Echo Records, buying a half-scoop of chips at The Cats Pyjamas before catching the No. 5 bus home to Linwood (as well as being "warned" about going into The Doghouse). Reuben Woods' write ups for each of the builds include remembrances from people who worked at or frequented the places represented in the book and he does a great job of capturing "the vibe" of each place and the community that grew around and populated it. There's a little history thrown in but the main focus is the social history, the meaning of each place for the people who knew it well. And in a conversation towards the end of the book this intent is made clear:
Through the interviews and the deeper dive, you get an understanding of the place, the heart of the place becomes the main focal point rather than the artwork. You get a sense of the stories from that place and people's experiences, why it was there, how it started, all of those things. It becomes more powerful.
It's a welcome and refreshing look at a Christchurch and a reminder that cities don't just have a single shiny, official version of "heritage". A reminder that cities are as much their tattoo parlours and their takeaway joints as they are their gleaming high-rises and stonework churches.
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