New Zealand Travelogue, Part Two: A Taste of Dunedin Literary Culture
After taking time to explore Larnach Castle and its gardens, I headed into town the afternoon of my first day in Dunedin to see what there was to see. I wandered the university campus, which was surprisingly modern — I’m sure there were some historic buildings, but I did not find them. Next, I went to find the bookshops. The University Bookshop was nice and reminded me a bit of the University Bookshop in Seattle, albeit much smaller — nothing special, but a nice bookshop. The real treasure was a short walk down the road, a place called Hard to Find Books.
I’m not sure whether the name referred to the bookshop location itself or the books being hard to find, but I suspect both. With no storefront, a keen eye for a staircase leading up one floor from the pavement is required. Once inside, I was impressed with the wide selection of well-organized secondhand books. In addition to the shop, there was a large storeroom in the back stacked with additional inventory not for browsing, but available online or by request.
My interest was in books by local writers, as is usually the case wherever I go. The staff were incredibly helpful and turned me on to two respected Dunedin writers, James K. Baxter and Janet Frame. Of Frame, I learned that she was about to be lobotomized and it was winning the Hubert Church Memorial Award, one of New Zealand’s most prestigious, for her first published collection of stories, written while in a psychiatric institution, that saved her. This made me more interested in her writing as it suggests something more gritty, provocative and artistic than mainstream ‘literary fiction’ which I am personally finding less and less appreciation for.
After purchasing secondhand copies of a collection of Frame’s short stories and Baxter’s poetry, I headed for The Dog With Two Tails, a cafe and venue I had been reading about that appeared to cater more to the creative crowd. It was a warm and friendly place, with lots of space and not too busy. While reading my newly acquired books and sipping my pint, I decided to see what might be going on, if anything, in town that night.
Being a City of Literature, I was particularly interested in discovering and meeting folks from a local writing group. Browsing through a list of writing groups in Dunedin I found online, I was fortunate to discover that many met on the second Wednesday of each month, which this day just happened to be. Lucky for me! Even better, the Octagon Collective was hosting their monthly poetry night at the same cafe I was already at — how serendipitous! So I stayed and after I took my seat in the performance space the host asked if I wanted to read as part of the open mic portion of the evening, I hesitated, having not performed my work in a while and unsure what I would share, but ultimately signed up.
I was starved for literary culture and community, having never found anything close to it during my summer in Hawai’i. The joy of being around like-minded writers was a pleasure I had nearly forgotten about. Despite being in a strange new world, I felt more at home in minutes than I did the entirety of my time in Kona.
What was I going to read? I had not written much lately, I (virtually) paged through some of my older poetry, including pieces published in ‘Quaranthology’ and was disappointed, they clearly had their time and place, it was not here nor now. There was a piece I had written a few days earlier, just writing for the sake of writing, a rant about living in Hawai’i really, and after re-reading it I decided it was good enough to share, so I settled on that.
The evening reminded me of the pre-pandemic Brave New Words open mic evenings at The Stove in Dumfries, a room packed full of a wide range of people, old and young, sharing an eclectic variety of poetry and prose. Two better-known local writers were featured, the first being Loveday Why, who shared from her recently published collection Concordaance that includes poetic responses she wrote while listening to her mother recount stories of her past. I found this a refreshingly creative way to share family history, something I might want to try with my own family. Following her was Richard Reeve, another great local writer who has made it to the world stage. In-between poems, he recounted a memory of talking with Joan Butcher, a notorious drunk who roamed the streets of Dunedin and was divisive enough that people were throwing bottles at her that particular evening. A related story he shared with me later that evening: when Butcher passed away, the hearse with her casket was apparently driven around the central octagon of the city several times in her honour.
The first full day in New Zealand set a melodious tone far exceeding my expectations for the weeks ahead. I had a reassuring sense that I was in the right place at the right time and glad I listened to the little voice that encouraged me to seek out writing residencies and see the world. This is not a holiday, this is creative practice.