Book Reviews: Tinkering: The Complete Book of John Clarke, & A Pleasure to be Here: The Best of Clarke & Dawe, by John Clarke

Available in bookshops nationwide.

Much of what is presented in these two collections of John Clarke’s work has been published in similar forms before, but that doesn’t make either of these books any less essential. Clarke, of course, died suddenly and prematurely this year at the impossibly-named Mt. Abrupt, and it’s reasonable to assume there will be some demand for a career-spanning go-to as we head into Christmas.

Text has chosen to present the project in two parts. Tinkering features a wide range of Clarke’s writing, from Fred Dagg radio scripts to the farnarkeling reports to later essays and reflections. A Pleasure to be Here acts as Tinkering’s indispensable addendum, drawing together some of the best of the Clarke & Dawe scripts. The brief mock-interviews which Clarke and Bryan Dawe presented weekly for decades make up a large part of Clarke’s legacy, and they would have dominated a single-volume treatment. (A Pleasure to be Here runs over a hundred pages longer than Tinkering: The Complete Book of John Clarke.)

Daughter Lorin Clarke, on whose podcast John appeared as a comedy historian, writes in her introduction to Tinkering about witnessing her father’s creative process, which “reflected not much the industrial rigour of the factory as the natural rhythms of conversation. These little linguistic jokes proscribe any hierarchies or even formalities, suggesting a mutual adventure that might continue for some time”. That’s as good a distillation of the nature and the enduring appeal of Clarke’s work as you’ll get. More than any other satirist, he was constantly in conversation with his audience, encouraging us on a “mutual adventure”.

We get to see the origins of that adventure in a set of essays Clarke wrote about his parents and other dear departed. In the essay on his late mother, he recalls seeing an actress in Palmerston North pretending to be drunk and singing ‘Making Whoopee’. The young Clarke was aware that he was “learning about something by seeing it exaggerated”. This would seem to have made an impression on him. He does, after all, spend lines in an essay nominally about his mother on an amdram lady called Bunty Norman. The “learning about” aspect of this seems significant. Clarke is aware he doesn’t know quite what’s going on, realises that the real thing is different from what is being presented, but treats the whole thing as a learning experience about that real thing. It’s not enough to say Clarke was a decent bloke who had respect for his audience (which is true): he also had a profound understanding of – and curiosity about – the interaction between audience and performer. In the Clarke and Dawe interviews especially, but also with Fred Dagg and The Games, Clarke is not so much a star performer as your co-conspirator. All the time, of course, he’s teaching you about something by exaggerating it.
But Clarke’s exaggeration is likely several thousand shades subtler than Bunty Norman’s. There are many moments in Tinkering where Clarke’s sly, playful humour achieves a state you can only really call “beautiful” or “perfect”; for example, when he describes David Lange as “a man who only shaves because it provides him with an audience”. What a line. If Oscar Wilde had said it (and he would have been happy to) it would be on desk calendars and coffee mugs. But it’s for more than a well-turned phrase or three that you should buy this book. In those moments when you can sense Clarke burning to really make a point, he does so with measured, clear-eyed conviction. Here he is on ‘The New Zealand Sense of Humour’:

“…said to be laconic, understated and self-deprecating. Even if true this is not very helpful. As the same claim is not unreasonably made for the humour of the Scots, the Irish, the English, the Australians, the Russians, the Canadians and the ancient Greeks among others.”

Here he is writing in 2008, at the height of the Global Financial Crisis, in a piece he frames as advice from his recently deceased father:

“You can’t have companies borrowing these huge amounts and not have the bloke come round at some stage and say ‘We’ll have the money now, thanks.’ The whole house of cards will go over. You watch.

And I’ll tell you another thing. The world is being destroyed by greed… And this environmental disaster we’ve got on our hands. What’s caused all this? Greed. Same thing. Capitalism.”

And, of course, the ‘Howard Apology’. In John Clarke and Ross Stevenson’s The Games, the actor John Howard gave the apology that the Prime Minister John Howard was incapable or unwilling to give. In Clarke and Stevenson’s imagined present, John Howard uses the opportunity of having the world’s eyes on Australia for the 2000 Olympic Games to apologise to the country’s indigenous people. After acknowledging that his forebears “destroyed” the Aboriginal world, and that the country has allowed social and racial differences “to become fault lines” he concludes:

“I speak for all Australians in expressing a profound sorrow to the Aboriginal people. I am sorry. We are sorry. Let the world know and understand, that it is with this sorrow, that we as a nation will grow and seek a better, a fairer and a wiser future. Thank you.”

The force of ‘The Howard Apology’ has only grown in the seventeen years since broadcast. Much satire is temporal in nature, as Clarke himself acknowledged, and inevitably not all the pieces collected here land as well as this. This would seem to be the key obstacle facing A Pleasure to be Here, which takes in Clarke & Dawe pieces all the way back to 1989. It’s a fair bet not everyone picking up this book is going to remember all the newsworthy moments of Alan Bond, Tim Fischer and Kevin Andrews, and so it’s remarkable that the book succeeds as well as it does. Clarke and Dawe’s familiar cadences bubble up from every page, and reading the interviews en masse is hypnotising. The form is strong enough that the interviews become timeless meditations on the frustratingly opaque and pompous nature of public language. They’re absurd, but often very silly.

Clarke’s only novel, The Tournament, is very enjoyable but maybe a little unfulfilling as a total piece. Even The Games is remembered more for individual scenes which read more like sketches than essential elements of a wider story. The Clarke & Dawe interviews, along with some of the Fred Dagg television material, remain the epitome of his work. He really was at his best in short form comedy, which makes him a great candidate for anthology. These books are a treat and a delight. I was familiar with a good deal of this material before picking either of them up, but was seduced by Clarke’s voice into that mutual adventure all over again. Presumably, Tinkering and A Pleasure to be Here have been released now so you can buy them both for your parents this Christmas. Given the quality of work compiled here, it’d be rude not to go and do just that. But get your own copies as well.

Reviewed by Jonny Potts

Tinkering: The Complete Book of John Clarke
by John Clarke
Published by Text Publishing
ISBN 9781925603194

A Pleasure to be Here: The Best of Clarke and Dawe 1989-2017
by John Clarke
Published by Text Publishing
ISBN 9781925603200

Book Review: Landscapes with Invisible Hand, by M.T. Anderson

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Weird, bleak and oddly compelling. Landscape with Invisible Hands is more closely aligned to social satire than science-fiction. It asks what would happen if the aliens came offering the ability to cure all illnesses and replace the jobs so that you need never work again? Sounds ideal? Well, it’s not.

The gap between rich and poor increases. The rich — and those who’ve managed to work their way into vuvv society — succeed. The others, left below to scrap over the few jobs that remain, suffer. Adam is one of those left below, living in the shadow of the vuvvs floating city. He is an artist, a painter, and something of a dreamer. Not the most ambitious of youths. After falling in love with a neighbour, the two of them decide to earn an income by starring in vuvv reality TV shows. The vuvv don’t form pair bonds but they do enjoy watching human courtship, circa 1950. It doesn’t end well, and thus Adam’s downward spiral begins…

This is a very readable, and quite relatable look at society — at what makes humans human and the lengths that we will go to both to make money and to please our mostly benevolent (but selfish) overlords. It acts as a social commentary on the division between the wealthy and the poverty-ridden, and how the latter are sometimes dehumanised. The ending falls a little flat but given the characters and the circumstances, I wasn’t expecting it to be dramatic. Overall, quite compelling (with short chapters) and one to make you think.

Review by Angela Oliver

Landscape with Invisible Hand
by M.T. Anderson
Published by Candlewick Press
ISBN 9780763687892

Book Review: Dear Mr M, by Herman Koch

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Famous in the Netherlands and – since the translation into English of The Dinner and Summer House with Swimming Pool – well known elsewhere, Herman Koch is a most interesting man. He was in Auckland earlier this year for the Auckland Writers’ Festival and I was lucky enough to be able to go to his session. Smart, funny, quirky, ever so slightly subversive – after all he was in a Dutch version of Monty Python’s Flying Circus – this was an entertaining and stimulating session, and not at all what I was expecting from the author of the two aforementioned books which are more like psychological thrillers, with plot twists and cat and mouse maneuverings between horrible characters – at times really quite creepy.

He read an excerpt from Dear Mr M, just the first few pages as I recall, with all those elements so critical to The Dinner and Summer House simply dancing off the page. In beginning my own read of this, a huge sense of familiarity rose up, anticipation in knowing I was going to be reading more of the same, with a totally unexpected ending. Settle in for the ride.

This book, however, is considerably more complex than his two previous novels, and although a similar size and length to these others, actually feels much longer, often a bit of a wade through rather than a clear cut brisk hike. There are three, maybe four different narratives going on in this story.

Mr M, now well past middle age, is a famous writer, but beginning to feel the vulnerability of his age, with dwindling sales – wondering if he is still relevant, not wanting to lose his footing on the ladder of fame and the adulation and vanity this brings. Being married to a younger woman helps of course, but there is no denying he has become a grumpy old man.

Observing him is a younger man, Herman, the author of the letter, Dear Mr M, that opens the book. This younger man, perhaps in his mid 50s, has been an acute observer of Mr M, because some years ago, Mr M wrote about the involvement of Herman and girlfriend Laura who were teenagers at the time in the disappearance of their school teacher, Mr Landzaat. It is this creepiness of the adult Herman stalking Mr M and his family that is pure Herman Koch, and is done so very well.

The story of this disappearance is a second thread in the story and takes about half the book. This is actually a complete story of its own, that for the most part, is not at all connected to Mr M and Herman in the present day. But rather the story of teen love,its volatility and oddness, the angst of being a teenager, parents, sexual awakening, teachers. All quite normal and predictable really, giving me uncertainty while reading it, as to where it was all headed – other than the disappearance of the teacher. It takes a long time to get to this event, which after all, is what the whole book is really based on.

The third strand is Mr M himself. His vanity and insecurity fight with each other continually, gradually revealing themselves to the reader through interviews that take place with variously, a journalist, questions from the floor during a book reading, and with Herman himself, where he confronts Mr M with his novel of the teacher’s disappearance. This inevitable ‘confrontation’ between the two becomes the crux of the book – firstly the reader discovering who Herman is; secondly that in the novel, Mr M being very liberal with the facts of the case, essentially accusing Herman of causing the disappearance of the teacher, the burden of which Herman has had to carry all his life; and thirdly what is going to happen when Mr M figures out it is Herman who has infiltrated himself into the lives of him, his wife and child. How much of Mr M is in Herman Koch I wonder, or even how much of Herman is in Herman Koch?

This undercurrent of tension is most apparent when the narration is by Herman the adult. Mr M, by contrast, is far too preoccupied with his diminishing presence and influence in literary circles, and thus unaware of the danger that may be creeping up on him. Although he does become aware that there is something increasingly familiar about Herman, but unsure what it is. In the end the danger comes from a completely different source.

So you can see, there is a lot happening in this novel. Too much for me I am afraid, which makes it difficult to say what type of novel it is. Are we reading of the self-destruction of a gifted and famous writer? Is it a tale of revenge and thus a lesson to all writers that they must be careful how they tread when basing a novel upon actual events? Is it primarily a coming of age story for a group of teenagers and how quickly things can spiral out of control? I wanted much more of the interactions between nasty and horrible people, that make his other novels so fascinating and terrifying to read. I wanted more tension, twists and surprises that left me gasping with evil glee. With much less of the navel gazing, and self glorification that Mr M wallows in. Is this who all writers are? I hope not….

However despite the shortcomings for me in this novel, it is still a good read. Herman Koch fans will enjoy it very much, as there is still plenty of that mistrust and dread brought on by tigers circling each other so as to remain ahead of the game.

Reviewed by Felicity Murray

Dear Mr M
by Herman Koch
Published by Text Publishing
ISBN 9781925355505

Book Review: Hitman Anders and the Meaning of it All, by Jonas Jonasson

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Jonas Jonasson’s previous books include The Hundred-Year-Old Man Who Climbed out of the Window and Disappeared and The Girl Who Saved the King of Sweden.

Per Persson works at the Sea Point Hotel as the receptionist and has a room behind the counter. Hitman Anders is a long-time resident of the hotel – his real name is Johan Andersson. Hitman Anders came by his name after putting an axe into the head of his amphetamine dealer. Everybody is scared of him and because of this he has never paid a cent in rent.

Johanna Kjellander, a former priest, is sleeping rough since being chucked out of her parish after announcing to her congregation she didn’t believe in God, much less Jesus.

Per Persson is handed an envelope at reception containing five thousand kroner for half a job done by Hitman Andersson. Hitman only broke one arm instead of two. His drinking is a bit of a problem but he doesn’t want to end up in prison again. He lives by his reputation and everybody being scared of him.

A scheme is hatched by Per Persson and Johanna to hire Hitman out for jobs with each job having a set price. That goes awry when Hitman finds God and doesn’t want to kill any more. They then hatch another scheme where they accept jobs on his behalf with payment made before the job is done.

I found this a very funny book with a totally improbable plot and lots of bible misquotes which really was the charm of the whole book. A great read.

Reviewed by Christine Frayling

Hitman Anders and the Meaning of it All
by Jonas Jonasson
Published by Fourth Estate Ltd
ISBN 9780008155575

Book Review: Tell You What: Great New Zealand Non-fiction 2016, edited by Susanna Andrew & Jolisa Gracewood

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In his foreword to Tell You What, John Campbell is keen to engage the reader in a discussion about what might constitute ‘New Zealand culture’ these days. He starts out by quoting Allen Curnow: ‘Not I, some child, born in a marvelous year,/ Will learn the trick of standing upright here.’ Campbell goes on to list the ways and individuals in which identity and culture have developed and found expression in the years since Curnow wrote those lines in 1943: the Springbok tour, Bastion Point, frigates in Mururoa, Whina Cooper’s hikoi, Bill Manhire’s poetry, Janet Frame, Flying Nun, Marilyn Waring…

What Campbell is referring to is a two-faceted shift in the way that New Zealanders represent themselves. The first is that many of the people of Aotearoa do now stand conspicuously upright, in many locations, for many reasons — in anger, in celebration, in dissent, in assertion of the need for something better. And linked to this, making it all visible, is the emergent confidence, talent and stridency of our storytellers. There are multitudinous voices, pluralistic points-of-view! And to the great good fortune of the reading public, particularly for those of us who still prefer to read paper books, the second annual instalment of Tell You What has arrived just in time to stave off the despair at contemporary reportage that might, to paraphrase Campbell, have readers climbing into the oven beside the turkey.

So what is going on in New Zealand, for New Zealanders, for New Zealand writers? Judging by this collection, heaps. There are twenty-four pieces, if you count the foreword (which you should, because Campbell is a marvellous writer). There are personal and political accounts from Christchurch, China, Huntly, Frankfurt and the front lines of journalism. There is a lot of humour, which has me thinking that we might be quite a funny people, sometimes. It would be curious to see how much of the humour (Steve Braunias’ satire, Megan Dunn’s surrealism) would translate culturally. If Jermaine and Bret can be known worldwide just by their first names, perhaps the New Zealand sense of humour does cross cultures.

Within the uniformly excellent ranks (there are no weak links in the volume) there are a half dozen prices of writing that particularly resonated with me, either through the subject matter or the style of writing, and usually both combined. Charles Anderson’s account of the sinking of Easy Rider off Bluff combines journalism with a poetic sensitivity. It is a sad, sad story, made all the more harrowing and haunting through being nonfiction.

Braunias writes of his failure to respond adequately when a faulty heater almost sends his house, his daughter and his whole life up in flames. Braunias, like David Sedaris, has the ability to paint failure and weakness in a funny and sad light. His self-absorption rarely crosses over into self-indulgence.

Dunn’s ‘The Ballad of Western Barbie’ begins with an epigram: ‘Two things happen in Huntly: something and nothing. Sometimes it’s hard to tell which is which.’ Her narration of life in Huntly, as perceived when young and then as a well-traveled adult, is enlivened by conversations with her Western Barbie. It sounds odd from a distance, but it works.

Ross Nepia Himona has thought and written an unhyped analysis of the complexities and contradictions inherent in New Zealand’s ANZAC commemorations. In a piece taken from his blog ‘Lecretia’s Choice’, Matt Vickers offers us a head-and-heart dispatch from the front line. And Sylvan Thomson’s portrait is a funny and tender insider’s tale of how it is to make the physical, social and psychological transition from young woman to young man.

As mentioned earlier, the quality of the collection is even. The overall effect for the reader is a sort of mental and emotional relief, a confirmation that something human and intelligent is consistently being expressed and deciphered in New Zealand. In an era of persistent media and political distortion of life big and small, writing like this offers counterpoint and advice: Don’t simplify complex matters, and don’t complexify simple matters.

Reviewed by Aaron Blaker

Tell You What: Great New Zealand Nonfiction 2016
Edited by Susanna Andrew & Jolisa Gracewood
Published by Auckland University Press
ISBN 9781869408442