What we thought about 1985 by Dominic Hoey

The Spinoff

20-05-2025

Claire Mabey and Lyric Waiwiri-Smith discuss Dominic Hoey's latest novel, a vivid evocation of 1980s Grey Lynn.
Claire Mabey: Lyric, I ate this book whole. I couldn't put it down once I started. The voice of Obi – the narrator – is so clear and lively. What was your reading experience like?
Lyric Waiwiri-Smith: Reading it was just like being back in Auckland, growing up on the streets of Grey Lynn and hoping you might be able to scab some money off your mates and hit up the 562 Takeaway (made famous by appearing on the cover of Hoey's poetry collection 'I Thought We'd Be Famous'). OK, yeah, Hoey and I grew up in Auckland a few decades apart, but reading this felt like looking back on a childhood diary that myself or any one of my friends could have written.
CM: The looking back is so vivid: Hoey brings such detail to the writing which takes the reader right to Crummer Street, 80s, Grey Lynn. I was interested in the epigraph that says: 'Nostalgia is a gentle madness / the past was like this too / you just don't remember' which I think must be Hoey's own poetry. But this book is both nostalgic in that it harks back to pre-gentrified Auckland, but also anti-nostalgic in that the driving idea of the book is to keep moving on, don't get stuck in the past, don't let nostalgia keep you from getting more than what you think you deserve.
LWS: Such a delicious little epigraph – I got my book signed by Hoey at Unity Books on Tuesday so now that poem is sitting nicely between 'To Lyric' and '❤️ Dominic', which made me shed a little tear for some reason. I guess the past me was like this too. I really like your read of it, Claire, because I feel like everyone in this book is holding onto something – buried treasure, crushed up poetry, grudges – and no one knows how to let it go. That's a theme I really love in Hoey's writing: that really painful hanging onto something that serves you nothing.
CM: That is very insightful, Lyric! And despite this whirlwind of nostalgia present in the adults, the engine of the book is Obi (not his real name but a Star Wars nickname that stuck) who is looking back on his life as a pre-teen in the middle of this chaos. Early in the book he says this, which for me framed the book and explained its fast pace (really short, compelling chapters):
'The line separating the world of kids and adults was so thin, it hardly seemed to exist. It reminded me of video games. You had to keep your eyes on the screen, your hands on the controls, be ready for anything. Because when you're not paying attention, that's when things fall apart real quick.'
What did you make of this gaming thread through the novel?
LWS: As a child of the 2000s I very much missed the Spacies craze, but I did feel like I was right there with Obi and his best friend Al (very funny little kid) in the arcade, trying to game the system by poking wires in the coin slot and desperately hoping for another go at winning big, because your 11-year-old life depends on it. I think he probably picked up that view of the world because a lot of the adults around him – his dad, Gus and Mad Sam – are also trying to game a system (see: adulthood) and failing, so someone else better be the real adult around here and try to create some way to survive, too.
CM: The adults in this novel are so flawed, but I really loved Obi's mum and dad, despite the problems with drugs and booze, and the heart-ache around Obi's mum illness (this novel draws on the sick mum / hopeless dad trope but not at all in a stereotypical way). I found myself feeling so anxious about Obi the whole time: it's a novel about obstacles and having to jump and swerve and strategise your way out of trouble that's not even of your own making – so much external chaos thrust on these little kids.
1985 is a working class novel about working class people and struggle – that's a rare thing in this world, unfortunately. These stories are so relatable and Hoey makes sure his characters are fully fleshed – we can really see them.
Did you feel like this novel was ultimately hopeful, despite the serious nature of the obstacles that Obi and his mates face?
LWS: I think rather than being hopeful or pessimistic, this book just feels like it wants to shed a light on the chaos of life when you're living in a rotting old Grey Lynn villa and there's no food in the fridge. The characters don't pretend to be anything other than what they are, and in their own ways they make excuses for it, but that's just … life, especially when you're working class and philosophically opposed to things like calling the police or liking your 'rich cunt' neighbours. I really enjoyed Obi's reflection at the end (spoilers incoming): 'The neighbourhood was changing … A meanness had got into the water supply. They cut the benefits. Felt like everyone was out for themselves'.
How do you actually win when the odds are stacked against you? Sometimes I think you just accept the way the tide has gone and try to swim through it, even when it's pushing you back.
CM: You're so right. There's a moment in the book that stood out for me where Obi says something like: it sucks when you realise everyone has excuses for their shitty behaviour. And you realise that Obi, too, does shitty things but it's all part of this vast game of life and there's no judgement inherent in this story. It's pure happenings, and environment, and relationships both deep and fleeting. There's a lot of love in this book – it really takes you by the throat and takes you with it, all the way.
LWS: I love the love for Grey Lynn that runs through the book as well. He writes about that suburb with so much care, like you know Obi has haunted every street corner and still wholeheartedly believes this is the only place on Earth that feels like home. I can smell the vinegar factory and mildew on the pages.
I kind of wonder whether these characters and their shameless habits might be a bit garish for a reader who wants to read some kind of underdog story, where Obi does find the treasure and suddenly everything is fixed, or dad gets his shit together and publishes his poems. But, like Grey Lynn, some things mostly just stay the same forever.
CM: Interesting point – the novel stays real and doesn't go down the Goonies road (though it did remind me of 80s adventure movies that I loved so much as a kid). For me the language was so textured and so clean that I could slip through the story without pinning any expectations on the plot. I had dreams I guess, but Obi is so believable that I just wanted to keep up with him, whatever happened.
So, we'd recommend? Maybe with some some strong language warnings for the squeamish?
LWS: I would undoubtedly recommend this book and everything Hoey has ever written. Maybe a scene-setter for a first-time Hoey reader, from my first time hearing his work: I had stumbled down some dimly lit stairs, found myself in Karangahape Road's grimiest little shithole (the Wine Cellar, but the back part that doesn't exist anymore, RIP), walked past a door and heard someone waxing lyrical on shitty landlords and being too poor to quit working hospo even though it's killing you. So I bought a ticket and spent the next five years hearing him out.
Hoey's voice is so representative of Auckland city, and the malaise that comes with the hustle of living there. I really adore his work – if not him, who's going to write about the Obis of Aotearoa?