FROM THE EDITOR

Graham Greene famously said there should be “a splinter of ice in the heart of a writer”. I’ve just finished reading a book whose author deliberated for years about if it should even be written for fear of exposing uncomfortable family truths, plus some awkward admissions of her own (A Song for Rosaleen by Kiwi author Pip Desmond will publish next month). And now comes Peter Wells’ new book Dear Oliver and his admission that he was “haunted” over whether or not to unearth unspoken historical events, and risk marring his families’ legacy.

Obviously, both Desmond and Wells forged ahead with their exceedingly honest projects, despite the questionable ethics. In both cases their mothers had passed away, which bestowed what Wells describes as a “sense of absolute freedom”.

Wells is now undergoing cancer treatment – and this has further given him “a sense of a deadline”. He is, he says, no longer mucking around. Previously a private person, Wells has been sharing the journey of his illness via his Facebook page, with regular posts detailing his most intimate thoughts, fears and hopes.

His friend for more than 20 years, writer David Herkt admitted in our emails back and forth that even he has been startled by Wells’ frankness: “I have never quite experienced such an intimate glimpse of someone’s mortality via Facebook.” But as Wells himself says: “I could not say I am sure that person exists any more. That private self. I said goodbye to him without being aware of it when they wheeled me into Oncology Acute.” Turn to page 8.