Kataraina, Becky Manawatu

Our ancestor once lived close to the
house where he was shot. She was at
the river when a man approached
her and offered her some peaches
from a can, but then he attacked her.
 

KATARAINA is the much anticipated follow up to the, frankly, gut-wrenching AUĒ, which at the time I reviewed it, and since then, whenever I return to the book I remember saying:

Understanding the meaning of the verb auē doesn't quite cover the visceral, gut-wrenching capacity of it in the way that the novel AUĒ depicts it. The characters in this novel experience it in all sorts of ways, including love, lamentation, surprise, annoyance, and sorrow.

When the publishers got in touch to say this follow up was now available, the news bought anticipation and the slightest sense of trepidation. Whilst reading AUĒ was truly a gut wrenching experience though, KATARAINA is similar, but different.

The backstory is that in AUĒ, eight-year-old Ārama was taken by his brother, Taukiri, to live with Kat and Stu at the farm in Kaikōura, setting in train the tragedy that unfolded. Ārama’s aunty Kat was at the centre of events, but, silenced by abuse, her voice was absent. In KATARAINA, Kat and her whānau (family) step forward to tell of their childhood, and the relationships between them and the land around them. In particular the nearby swamp, which reflecting stories from all First Nations, is part of their very being - as she puts it "she feels the greenness of the swamp in her veins". The swamp that is partly their tears, exists in the land owned by Stu, a place that has been part of their story since the girl shot the man.

AUĒ was also a family story, exploring violence, connection, separation and redemption. KATARAINA is a more reflective, complex undertaking, still within the contexts from the earlier novel, but looking more closely at the past, future, present connections that bind, separate and create that complexity. Whilst it's not necessary to have read the earlier novel to get the undertones in KATARAINA they are interlinked, a construction of their place and time, woven together by this family impacted by so much pain and suffering, looking always to their surroundings, their relationships with each other and the land - the country that supports, heals and hides them.

KATARAINA is also an incredibly clever novel, told from a number of perspectives, that span family history. It will beguile the reader, despite the unusual, fractured timelines in which the story is told. There is the central incident that is constantly referred to without explanation "the girl who shot the man", and the timeframes are mostly before, and after that event, with a secondary thread about field study days running alongside. At points throughout the novel the introduction referred to at the start of this review is expanded, providing more snippets about the girl, man, river, and the peaches. All of which sounds complicated, but the reading of it simply flows. You will bounce backwards and forwards but it's seamless, partly because it's beautiful reading, intricate yet lyrical, with the forward momentum held in the shimmer of "the girl's" identity. And the why. If "the girl shot the man". Why? And always that beautiful, involving, sensuous prose that was there even in the desperation of AUĒ and given permission to rage in the hope of KATARAINA.

Woven throughout this text, with a glossary at the end of the novel for those that really struggle, the beauty and pointedness of te reo Māori, and the Kāi Tahu dialect is front and centre. Readers new to the language will have to work a bit to pick up meaning from context, or break the flow of the story a little to refer to it. Some, like this reader, with an understanding of the meaning of some of the words, didn't want to move away, instead just went with the flow, picking up the unknown from the reactions of the characters and their intent. 

There is so much to KATARAINA and your reviewer lacks the language and nuance that the author has such a firm grip on to truly explain the impact of a novel like this one. It, and it's predecessor are now lurking on my keep forever shelves, filled with bookmarks at points where the storyline was so intense, moving or simply illuminating that I'm going back to look at them over and over again. These novels, like the work of some of the stellar authors of our own First Nations people (Melissa Lucashenko particularly comes to mind), have given this reader a glimpse into the thought patterns, and an understanding of the world through eyes more connected to a land on which they have lived for so many generations. It's a more experienced, more aware, more nuanced view, and I profoundly hope that writers like this keep writing.