Book a bach with true character
A second stay at Gabriel’s Bay reinforces what a refreshingly funny place it is.
Lacking a bach, or the capacity to laze? Even more reason to read this book: it’s a holiday in itself, a very real, very Kiwi sort of getaway, full of Krispie biscuits, battered scallops, Bell tea and Swannies. The writing pretends to be laid-back, but it’s deeply accomplished and shot through with humour and emotional intelligence. There’s a sense that you’re in clever, safe hands. That the next page will be just as tight and funny as the last one.
This is the second instalment in the Gabriel’s Bay series by fellow Listener reviewer Catherine Robertson. It’s her sixth novel in a string of bestsellers. I knocked it off over a rainy weekend at home and felt restored, transported.
Destination: the small, fictional coastal town we first encountered last summer in Gabriel’s Bay.
All our old mates are there. Kerry, the import from England, is now (relatively) settled down with resourceful, gunshy Sidney. Their banter is a highlight. Think Much Ado’s Beatrice and Benedict, only in jandals. Kerry’s hard-case parents are in town and on a mission to perk up Vic – a central player this time, Vic has a failing farm and his partner has just run off to
Oz. Fallen golden boy Brownie is fresh out of prison and watching his back. Devon, a Māori boy who, much to his disgust, looks like a beautiful white girl, is enlisted to buddy up with him. Neither is exactly rapt about it. Meanwhile, after their reunion at the end of the first book, Patricia has slotted back into life with stuffy old softie Bernard. But their grand home feels more empty than ever, and she once again resolves to take radical action, volunteering to foster a child.
Robertson is clever about how she reintroduces this ecosystem of characters. New readers will feel welcome and comfortable starting at book two, whereas those making a second visit get just enough reminders of what’s happened so far.
As in book one, the male psyche gets a thorough going-over. Robertson handles Vic’s depression, in particular, with depth and wisdom. Devon, too, is given the space and internal resources to reconcile who he is on the inside with what the world sees.
I suspect if a man had written this series there would be accolades about the importance of the stories, their significance; the way Gabriel’s Bay is a proxy for small-town New Zealand circa now, in all its complex light and shade.
Robertson deserves the same. But she says her highest goal is to make readers laugh out loud. “If they can snort tea out their nose at the same time, even better.”
All our old mates are there … Gabriel’s Bay is a proxy for small-town New Zealand in all its complex light and shade.