By Mary McCallum
Penguin, NZ$28 | Reviewed by Amy Brown

THIS DEBUT novel has been generously endorsed by two of New Zealand’s premiere fiction writers. Damien Wilkins calls it “an involving, rewarding book made with skill and care and gusto.” Dame Fiona Kidman describes it as “a fine piece of work”. The fact that Mary McCallum was Wilkins’ student in the 2005 creative writing master class at Victoria University’s International Institute of Modern Letters could lead one to question the unbiased sincerity of these commendations. However, in this case scepticism is unwarranted; McCallum’s book is every bit as satisfying as its back cover suggests.

I’m not a great fan of brooding historical dramas, so when the publisher’s blurb promised a female protagonist living in an isolated whaling community in 1938 and harbouring a secret grief, I primed myself for all the clichés and sentimentality that such a subject might occasion. This was, I soon realised, unnecessary. Each character in The Blue is too busy dealing with the routine complications of life in a harsh setting to be boringly picturesque. Lillian Prideaux, who, for reasons which I won’t reveal here, is barely acknowledged by the other wives on Arapawa Island, is constantly tending to chickens, fishing, cleaning, baking, sewing and worrying about her children. Her husband, Ed, a returned soldier traumatised by the Great War, now harpooning whales for three months of every year, is distant from her. Her 18 year old daughter, Susan, is married with a baby, participates in the local sewing circle and has troubling memories of her mother’s year in “hospital”. Mickey, Lillian’s 16 year old son is also cautious around her. A staunch Presbyterian reticence is vividly present in the Prideaux family. The characters’ practical concerns – keeping house, killing whales, making money and staying alive – are primary. The way that they work and the thoughts that plague them during monotonous tasks reveal the more interesting, silent dramas at play in this novel.

Although written in the third person, McCallum’s prose adeptly switches its focus, giving the reader opportunities to compare the interior and exterior lives of several characters, while concealing the novel’s final twist. The controlled unfurling of the plot allows the weight of the characters’ problems to build along with the reader’s suspense, and I think this is the strength of The Blue. While the final whaling scene provided a sound ending and an excuse for more atmospheric writing, I found my attention flagging; having already discovered the central problem and seen it to some extent resolved I was satisfied. (This judgement may just reflect my Moby Dick hang-up.)

Mary McCallum’s well-researched attention to detail, ear for humour and eye for elegant imagery bring to mind the likes of Rose Tremain. I look forward to reading more from her.