Potiki

Like another reviewer from Hawai'i, I also read this book in a Pacific Island literature class. What could have easily become a story about white man's exploitation of the Maori people and the environment (and I'm okay with that kind of story too), was instead turned into a glimpse inside the Polynesian mind and set of values. The sections most unsettling to us Caucasians -- those on the mystical aspects of the wood carvings -- relate much about the way the Polynesian views the past, as being in front of them, something to learn from. And we learn that what we regard as "ancestor worship" is really a matter of valuing those who have cared for the land and passed it on to us, along with the knowledge of how to live on it. We're also shown the value of stories: This book is told as a collection of the stories of many persons, each of whom has a unique perspective, something a little different to tell. Some stories are pragmatic, some we would term "mystical," but they too contain a valid warning. This book probably did more than any ever -- fiction or non-fiction, and I'm a voracious reader -- to help me understand Polynesian values, which are basically the same values as those of indigenous peoples all over the world -- care for the land, respect the ancestors, listen to others' stories. Our planet desperately needs indigenous values!

I can't recall when I've ever felt so strongly the musical rhythm of an author's style, or the extent to which it changes to suit the tempo of the action and themes. In the first third of this wonderful book by a very talented writer, conversations between the simple Mary and Granny Tamihana, the guardian of Maori traditions, echo and sound like chants; between Roimata and Hemi, a happily married couple, they resemble duets with complimentary themes. The scene in which Mary gives birth is a grand, complex chorus with the several family members singing over, around, and above each other as they fight for the narrative line. Toko's story of his big fish is a soaring aria which ventures into a mystical realm, for Toko is a seer. And all this music seems totally appropriate to the lives of these Maori characters living in harmony with the land and their ancestors. The middle third of the book changes, as Hemi, the father of the family, abruptly introduces the harsh notes of reality which occur when "the works" closes down, and he and his friends find themselves unemployed. In mournful tones he comments on the loss of tradition, language, and connection to the land which are coming about as education is imposed on their children by outside authorities, and people such as himself accept outside jobs. Their very existence as a group is also threatened by developers who want to buy their land to put up hotels, build seaside parks where visitors can play with the dolphins and whales, and commercialize the lifestyle these Maori have enjoyed all their lives. In the final third of the book, as the Maoris fight for their land, the staccato, simple language is like the harsh beat of a war drum, and the songs disappear from the language, not returning until the rebuilding of the sacred house and the funeral of a key character bring about harmony and poetry once again. It is hard to imagine that Patricia Grace did not deliberately tailor her prose style to her subject matter, yet this seems so completely natural--so totally without artifice--that one wonders if this harmony of words and subject might be the ultimate, triumphant example of the unity of story and life which she so vividly celebrates in this memorable and touching novel. Mary Whipple

This was a mandatory book in a Pacific Literature class. Lucky for me. It is filled with complex symbolism that tells not only of a land struggle for a people who are holding on to their traditions, but how they learn, and choose what they take from "Western" ideas in order to fight for what little of their own land that the government has left for them. A lot of other people -including Hawaiians- are going through this now, which makes this book as relevant today as it was when it was written. The story is told through Toko, a deformed child who has a special knowing. He is central figure in the book, and not only as a story teller. His "second mother", Roimata, is the other story teller. Although, everyone has a story, they are the only two who actually tell the stories. It is an enriching and enlightening book for anyone familiar or not familiar with Moari culture or the struggles between land developers, government, and native peoples of any country or island. It is also much more than that, but I don't want to write an essay just to tell you how great the book is!

By luck, I got this book from my local library on recommendation of a friend. After reading it I still felt the emotions of these Maori people who maintain their ancient traditions and beliefs in a thoroughly modern world. The impact of old/new carvings, the constant sound and smell of the sea conflicting with modern bulldozers and "Dollarmen" trying to outwit the villagers, is only part of the story. You feel you can enter the minds of the family members who tell the story, mostly in English, but some in beautiful Maori poetry. You may not know what the words mean, but try reciting them out loud and you sense the deep meaning of them.