Happy Mother’s Day!
The lovely Angela Meyer, New Zealand author of the energetic new memoir Sea Fever, tells us a lovely story which proves that mums really are loved all over the world.
Feliz Día de la Madre.
‘ “Whoa these South American men are game!” I thought as a handsome stranger waltzed up to me and gave me flowers. It wasn’t ‘impulse’, I hadn’t used deodorant in weeks, it was hardly my glamorous composure, I was busy hauling my trantruming one year old son up of the cobbles, and this guy was ‘game’ as I was standing next to the only other gringo in town – my husband.
What was going on?
With Dashkin (my son) squarely on my hip and placated with an apple I took stock of the situation. We were on the steps of Catedral de Santa Marta, in Colombia the first stop on our nine month voyage from Aruba to Brisbane. Mass had just finished and the good people of Santa Marta were streaming out into the adjacent square. The men, were dressed in light weight suits, the children, swamped in satin ruffles and the women, glorious in their Sunday best.
Hawkers began pimping single cigarettes, sticks of chewing gum and thimbles of ‘tinto’(a sweet black coffee) but the guy getting all the action, was the very same man who had given me flowers.
The insistent throng were clambering over each other to purchase single red roses wrapped in polka dot plastic.
“Maybe its some special cultural tradition to give cheap flowers to ladies after church? Why did I get one? Maybe he felt sorry for me and was just trying to be kind?” I thought to myself as I sniffed at the odourless rose.
A second look and I realised that the line was entirely made up of men and children.
Hanging back expectantly, were the women.
Dash started squirming and demanded to be put down. I obliged and holding his hand he lead us over to the ladies.
“Hola” I said conscious of my sea-stained shorts and tatty t shirt.
“Hola Feliz Día de la Madre” a wonderfully wrinkled old woman rasped at me as she gestured towards Dash and gave me a knowing smile.
Feliz Día de la Madre. I rolled these words around in my mind, quietly cursing that my Spanish was so bad and trying to pick out the bits I recognised. Was she sympathising with me about having a scratchy toddler to deal with? Dia that means day doesn’t it? Or does it mean God? Is she asking me about God or God’s Day or The Day?
Dash meanwhile, had decided she is defiantly someone he needed to introduce himself too. Ross (my husband) was engaged in stilted conversation with one of the hawkers and wass guarding the pushchair while I was still trying to make sense of the greeting. It has got to that time in the conversation where I really need to say something back. I opt for my standard “Si”.
“Feliz Día de la Madre” she repeated.
This time I sound the words out and say it back to her.
Her eyes twinkle and she looks over the head of my hot, white little son who is now sitting snuggled up on her knee and said ‘Gracis”. We smile. I suddenly feel homesick for my grandmother and mother. Dash leaped off and tore across the square. Ross and I hastily said our goodbyes and take off after him.
Later that day and back on the boat I get out my Spanish phrase book and I flick through the pages unitl finally, after getting sidetracked by Spanish pick up lines, I find it…
Feliz Día de la Madre- Happy Mother’s Day.’








Now to a book that won’t actually be available until late May but is certainly worth a mention:

How do you like your fiction? Extra racy? Then 

With New Zealand Book Month underway, there are a bunch of local new releases to get excited about too. For those who like their fiction a little saucy, Leigh Marsden returns with the intriguing
Having said that, beloved author 

A big Australian release from the celebrated novelist. London museum curator Catherine’s secret lover dies and she has only her work to support her. Grieving in secret, she finds peculiar solace in what would be considered by others to be a box of antique spare parts. For Catherine however, the box signals a complex journey into the history of its creation, its maker and ultimately herself. For those intimidated by the reputation of Mr Carey, this would be an excellent introductory work. It’s one of his most accessible works to date and modest in length, yet Carey still exercises his mighty literary power throughout, particularly his ability to give elegant voice to elusive emotions.
If being scared out of your pants is more to your liking, divisive Scottish crime writer Stuart MacBride is back with a standalone novel. The idea is intriguing- children are being kidnapped and the culprit sends a picture of them to their parents each year on the childs’ birthday. It’s classic MacBride- blackly funny, with well rounded characters and a gore factor turned to extreme. Seriously. Don’t read this a) before the lights go out or b) when you are eating. If you’re not too squeamish, however you should enjoy this novel, particularly the payoff at the end.
For a book low on murder and high on life you can’t go past the new Sophie Kinsella, author of the wildly successful Confessions of a Shopaholic series. In I’ve Got Your Number, Poppy Wyatt is engaged to the exotically named Magnus Tavish (a name which conjures images of blazers and hedge funds), but then the wildly different Sam Roxton accidentally comes into her life and hilarity ensues. This has the pert writing and agreeable plot to be expected from a top chick-lit author and really is perfect if you’re sitting by the pool sipping a mojito or two.





This is Alice Hoffman’s best novel yet, and an astonishing work of historical fiction. The Dovekeepers is set in the fortress of Masada, where 900 Jews heldout for months against an enormous Roman onslaught in 70 AD. We experience the siege through four women who have sought refuge in the fortress. They are bound together by their nurturing of doves, by the extreme tragedies that have stained each of their lives, and the further tragedies they know await them in Masada. The Dovekeepers is a rich, complex novel which achieves all it sets out to: the characters are finely etched, the prose is devastating, the voice of the each protagonist is distinct, and Hoffman’s attention to detail is staggering. Ancient jewish culture and the stark desert environment is vividly brought to life in this emotional and profoundly beautiful novel.



