The Existential Importance of Reading The Mirror Book

Sounds Good!

Good morning! I like you. I like that you’re here, I mean. Reading this. You have a subscription to my newsletter “Sounds Good!” Or (bonus for today) you’re on the free list. I’m grateful to have you. And I’m just a few weeks into this. Trying new things. Writing long passionate essays about the culture I love. Trying to mix it up with some shorter pieces and some different styles, including this one that directly addresses you, the reader, as part of a compassionate collective.

But, frankly, what are you doing here today? You shouldn’t be reading this. There is only one thing you should be reading today.

Of course I mean The Mirror Book by Charlotte Grimshaw.

So get it on your Kindle if you absolutely cannot wait (or if that is how you read everything these days). Or take a trip to Unity Books in either Wellington or Auckland or order online from them. Or, you know, just get to your favourite bookstore…

I’m reading the book right now. I paused my reading of it only to deliver today’s newsletter. After this short spiel about how you must read this book I’ll have my nose back in its pages. I’m a quarter of the way through it after one session and if life didn’t have the habit of bringing with it school lunches to be made and drop-offs because of the rain I’d be ploughing straight through to give it the very best go to read it in one sitting.

Here’s an extract for you to check out right now.

Charlotte Grimshaw is a successful New Zealand writer. She’s published novels and stories, she’s been a regular columnist and reviewer. Recently one of her books was adapted into a TV mini-series. She is also part of one of New Zealand’s great literary families. Her dad is C.K. Stead. He towers over New Zealand letters with a permanent case of Resting Bitch Face. He is approaching 90, his spiritual age for seemingly his entire adult life. He has recently published his own three-volume memoir.

Stead has written almost every kind of writing and pretty much all of the time. He and his wife Kay have been there at the table with Janet Frame and Allen Curnow and Kevin Ireland and Frank Sargeson. He has written about almost every aspect of New Zealand literature – and when he didn’t have a clue (Maori rights) or any real interest let alone empathy (feminism) he definitely didn’t let that stop him.

I have read some of Stead’s poetry and many of his essays and reviews – but that’s it. I’ve never read any of his novels or full collections, I’ve not read a volume of his lengthy memoirs. I should perhaps read Smith’s Dream one day, given I loved the film that was made from it, which all but invented The Modern New Zealand Movie (if not the very industry to support it): Sleeping Dogs.

And I have never read any of Charlotte Grimshaw’s books – again, I’ve read plenty of reviews and essays that she’s penned. Letters, too. She used to appear in The Listener arguing her point, often defending the family.

I’ve had one interaction with Grimshaw, via email. It still cracks me up.

Many years ago I contributed regularly to North & South, as did Charlotte. The monthly music review column featured, for a time, a wee guest spot where I’d ask a ‘Noted New Zealander’ to admit to a musical guilty pleasure. It was straightforward fluff. One month I rang Paul Henry and he chatted to me for far too long about an album he loved to loathe. I’m pretty sure this was him being charming-as! Most often though it was just a quick email. I’d explain the deal, a “guilty pleasure” was an album that you knew wasn’t cool and you didn’t care. End of story. The reply would come from RNZ’s Kirsten Johnstone or veteran broadcaster Roger Gascoigne. The reply would come from a Shortland Street actor or a journalist or a novelist with a brand new book to sell. The reply would feature an album by Lionel Richie or Little River Band or whatever.

And then I emailed Charlotte Grimshaw – since she was on a list of N&S contributors and I figured this would be an easy get. Someone to add to the ongoing file.

Instead. An email reply from Charlotte asking me to clarify just what a Guilty Pleasure was. So I did. Then another. This time arguing the absurdity of the term. I replied suggesting to ignore the actual term and just follow the brief – what was an album (or even just a musical artist) she loved regardless of the season? But no. More emails punishing on through the annoyance it was causing to be made to feel guilty about something that gives you pleasure. It was not on. It was not right. It was not how it was meant to be. (Um, that’s reported speech, by the way, not me being PTSD-cross about the tone of her replies from 15 years ago).

We filed it in the Too Hard Basket. And that was that.

But I often think about the intensity of that trivial exchange.

And it was on my mind in the build-up to reading this much talked-about memoir.

She would be going forensic-af! Leave no turn unstoned.

Grimshaw was born into a life of fiction. Told to use the material around her to get stories. Her parents are not very happy now that she’s done exactly that. As Charlotte’s personal life took a hit she looked inward. She decided to examine the validity of her memories – questioned somewhat by her parents. They’re of the generation that believes therapy to be a weakness. The old man’s idea of therapy is setting the world to rights through whatever it is he feels like writing.

Here is a brilliant review of The Mirror Book (by the brilliant writer Emma Espiner).

A therapist tells Charlotte that it is existentially important to write your story, to own your story, to know your story.

I’d add that it’s also existentially important for us to read such stories. To know ourselves by and through knowing the stories of others.

There’s a journey in this book – deep and profound. That much is clear from its opening pages, it sets the reader up for a gripping yarn. Place, characters, observation – both outward and interior worldview. Its all laid out almost instantly. And then it’s a case of put the jug on, fill the teacup and clear your schedule.

No guilt. Only pleasure.

Last night I shared on Goodreads that I was “Currently Reading” The Mirror Book by Charlotte Grimshaw. Then added that link to my Facebook page. A friend wrote a comment underneath:

“You’re in for the greatest literary scandal in our country’s history. Having said that, I believe Charlotte’s version of events and applaud her for sharing her truth”

Giddy-up!

Let me know how you go with this book. And I’ll be sure to report back when I’m finished.