Two Books on Returning to New Zealand

Paula Morris On Coming Home BWB Book Review
Kirsty Gunn Thorndon Wellington and Home My Katherine Mansfield Project BWB Book Review

“Is it the end of things, really, to come home?”

Two books caught my eye recently, both published by Bridget Williams Books (BWB) in 2014. Both are short; both are published by expatriate New Zealand writers; and both deal with a return to New Zealand. For those aware of my own recent return to New Zealand, the attraction these books immediately had will be entirely unsurprising.

Who was it who said that “Should I stay or should I go” is New Zealand’s unofficial national song? If our literature all stems in some way or another from Katherine Mansfield, then this isn’t too surprising: her youthful clamour to return to London from Wellington is an essential part of her Hero’s Journey, as is her late longing (and failure) to return to Wellington from Europe. From even before Mansfield, pakeha New Zealand’s dilemma has always been a kind of ‘grass is greener’ syndrome. And it’s this syndrome, though never directly named, that both these books end up dealing with most deeply.

Kirsty Gunn’s Thorndon: Wellington and Home: My Katherine Mansfield Project picks up on Mansfield directly, drawing parallels between hers and the authors’ lives. A return to Wellington for the first time since childhood is the premise of the book, enacting a kind of hypothetical: what would have happened had Mansfield managed to return? Paula Morris’ On Coming Home, on the other hand, is a kind of anthology of writing about the return. From Mulgan and Mansfields’ lifelong longings to return, to Rilke and Rushdies’ exiles, New Zealanders’ arrivals and departures are made significant.

Gunn’s book wears its problems on its cover, with that double-colon title. Hypothetically a book about Thorndon, Wellington, returning to New Zealand and Katherine Mansfield, the book touches on all of these subjects but never quite gets to the heart of them in its 120 pages. Throughout, you can see the books begun and left unfinished, hurriedly stitched together with often-awkward segues (Gunn calls the book a “sketchbook,” implying the real work lies in the future). But despite this, there are lyrical and poignant moments throughout, as when Gunn meets an English broadcaster who has been in Wellington for many years:

“He looked out the window and said that the thing about Wellington was that you couldn’t really leave, the geography of the place forbade it. Oh I know there’s a road, he’d said, two roads to take you north, and the airport… But none of that really counts. The place itself is designed to keep you in.

Or when she muses on the unregarded significance of domestic life:

“Why should it be, I wonder, that other dramas are deemed more important? Why matters of church and state must eclipse the family, and over and over again fiction that takes as its subject the domestic should be sidelined and trivialised? For houses are like theatres. They give light and atmosphere. Every day the curtains at the window are opened and closed to drama and play and scene setting and the endless rich interplay of language and human affairs that’s the everyday, every day. Where we live is surely who we are.”

Passages like these, and others dotted throughout the book, add up to make a memorable chapter in Wellington’s literature and New Zealand’s literature of return.

I wish Morris’ book, on the other hand, had been longer—and it should have been titled The BWB Anthology of Returns to New Zealand. I wanted more throughout! Morris’ deep and cross-cultural reading on the psychology and literature of return adds up to a wonderfully rich, but all too short, compilation of quotations.

“‘It is dangerous to abandon one’s own country,’ James Joyce wrote to Italo Stevo, ‘but it is more dangerous still to return to it, for then your fellow countrymen, if they can, will drive a knife into your heart.'”

“In New Zealand, writes James McNeish, ‘there exists a curious state of tension with the rest of the world, in part because we do not like our sons and daughters to go away… We boast of our infantry going to fight abroad but not our artists and intellectuals whose fight for recognition, out of the great loneliness of being a New Zealander, may be rather more difficult.'”

And Morris’ own lines add up to some of those to be quoted in the Anthology of Returns to New Zealand, whenever that does eventually come out:

“Coming home was the thing; it made you a real New Zealander. You only went away to splash yourself with the heavy cologne of Old Culture before suffocating in it: that’s when you turned back to the bracing fresh air of home.”

Suffocate in that cologne of Old Culture I did: sometimes after a day of reading at the Bodleian my hands and pores would be coated with the thick orange grease of disintegrating leather, from mouldy book bindings. And now that I’m back, I’m still rather enjoying the bracing fresh air of home. Some tell me it will wear off soon, but I wonder if things have changed; as when I sit here at Devonport Library, surrounded by young people from England, Germany, Sweden and the US, tapping on their keyboards and reading books about NZ. The dilemma of “should I stay or should I go” is theirs to deal with now, not mine.

Anyway, does anyone still wear cologne? Maybe the bracing fresh air of the Hauraki Gulf or the Cook Strait is what the world needs these days. Regardless, these two books added a little to the significance of that air. Quick reads, and exactly what I needed.

Mulgan on Homesickness and New Zealand

There was a deep and elemental truth in the Wordsworth doctrine, nevertheless. Even though the vision of his belief was denied to me, I came in the end to know that much of what he wrote was true, and that, in particular, the land and the people whom we know when we are young stay with us and haunt us until we die. I don’t know that this proves anything about immortality or reincarnation, but it is a fact. If you try to fight against this truth, and forget the country of your youth, as I did for a long time, you will lose the fight and wither internally of homesickness.

This is one reason why New Zealanders, a young people but already with a place in history, are often wanderers and restless and unhappy men. They come from the most beautiful country in the world, but it is a small country and very remote. After a while this isolation oppresses them and they go abroad. They roam the world looking not for adventure but for satisfaction. They run service cars in Iraq, gold mines in Nevada, or newspapers in Fleet Street. They are a queer, lost, eccentric, pervading people who will seldom admit to the deep desire that is in all of them to go home and live quietly in New Zealand again.

Putting aside Wordsworth, and our queer eccentricities, what is it about Oxford to breed this particular kind of withering homesickness in New Zealanders?

An Image of the Internet

The Web, and its promise of a voice and a site for all, is our equivalent of the mare incognitum, the unknown sea that lured ancient travellers with the temptation of discovery. Immaterial as water, too vast for any mortal apprehension, the Web’s outstanding qualities allow us to confuse the ungraspable with the eternal. Like the sea, the Web is volatile: 70 percent of its communications last less than four months. Its virtue (its virtuality) entails a constant present—which for medieval scholars was one of the definitions of hell.

Alberto Manguel in The Library at Night

And I, brought up with the internet, of course wanted to post this quotation online. To keep it for posterity, to rescue it from oblivion in the pages of a mere book.

Alberto Manguel on the Internet

Alexander Turnbull and New Zealand’s Library (A Short Bibliography)

Alexander Turnbull Library Iorangi
Turnbull and friends aboard his yacht Iorangi in the Queen Charlotte Sound. Image from Alexander Turnbull Library collection.

We have the man’s library, but what to do with the man himself? Dilettante, cocaine addict, recluse, snob, sailor and bibliophile—Alexander Turnbull is not one of those benefactors to be remembered fondly by history, nor, for that matter, by his contemporaries. When he died in 1918 he left his library to the nation. Had he not done so, it’s unlikely he’d be remembered at all.

But what a library! Readying myself for my return to Wellington I’ve been browsing through old catalogues of Turnbull’s books, discovering what I’ll have access to after giving up the Bodleian. Guiltily, I realised I’d made from a distance that old mistake in assuming that because we’re small we wouldn’t have much of value.

We have a copy of what has been called the most beautiful book ever printed, the Hypnerotomachia poliphili, from Aldus Manutius’ Venice press. Turnbull bought it from Bernard Quaritch, famous London book dealer, in November 1900. There are over 100 other incunabula in the national collection, many but not all from Turnbull’s own collection.

We have one of the finest and most complete collections of Milton books in the world. This was perhaps Turnbull’s most serious collecting interest, and his most costly.

Turnbull collected complete sets of books from famous private printing presses including, most notably, William Morris’ Kelmscott Press. Alongside this, of course—and after Turnbull’s time—we have complete runs of everything printed by New Zealand’s own private presses like Caxton and Pegasus.

There are currently 24 medieval manuscripts in the Turnbull Library, though Turnbull himself only bought one (he did not read Greek or Latin). The earliest is a pre-1150 manuscript of Boethius’ On Music.

And then, most significantly, is the fact that Turnbull aimed for utter comprehensiveness in his collection of NZ-related materials. Neither Sir George Grey or Dr Thomas Hocken, who donated their significant libraries to the public too, had the sheer quantity of NZ books as Turnbull did.

And unlike so many collections in Europe, we don’t need to be members of a university or personal friends with the collector to go and view any of these. They’re a part of our national collection. Just walk in to the National Library building in Wellington.


Turnbull and NZ’s libraries, a short bibliography:

The Fascinating Folly: Dr. Hocken and his Fellow Collectors. E. H. McCormick, University of Otago Press, 1961. (This is a pamphlet with great introductory material to the three contemporaneous book collectors who gifted their libraries to the nation.)

Alexander Turnbull: His Life, His Circle, His Collections. E. H. McCormick, Alexander Turnbull Library, 1974. (The most comprehensive biography written on Turnbull).

This brilliant guide to book history at the Alexander Turnbull Library.

The Turnbull: A Library and its World. Rachel Barrowman, Auckland University Press, 1995. (A great history of the library through time, though with far less about Turnbull himself than McCormick’s biography).

Early Imprints in New Zealand Libraries. Alexander Turnbull Library, 1995. (Subtitled “A finding list of books printed before 1801 held in libraries in the Wellington region”, this is a good primer on what we have in our libraries).

How millionaire book collector Alexander Turnbull fell from grace“. Redmer Yska in The Listener, January 2019. (A good primer).

The Oldest Manuscripts in New Zealand. David Taylor, NZCER, 1955. (A popular book in its time, this covers the earliest Medieval manuscripts we had in all NZ libraries before 1955).

Account of a cruise in the yacht Iorangi to Queen Charlotte sound, New Zealand. Alexander Turnbull, privately printed, 1902. (The only book Turnbull himself ever wrote. A copy is available, of course, in his own library).