Writers On Mondays Returns To Showcase Acclaimed And Emerging Literary Voices In Wellington
Award-winning books and authors feature heavily in this year's programme. Damien Wilkins, winner of the 2025 Jann Medlicott Acorn Prize for Fiction, will be joined by last year's winner Emily Perkins to chat about his bestselling novel Delirious, which Newsroom declared 'the book of the year' in 2024. Michelle Rahurahu, fresh from winning the Hubert Church Prize for Fiction at the Ockham Book Awards, will be joined by fellow debut author Gina Butson to take us on a whirlwind tour of their novels Poorhara and The Stars are a Million Glittering Worlds.
Many of the authors in the programme are traveling from across New Zealand and even further afield. With Verb Wellington taking a pause on their fantastic readers and writers festival for 2025, Writers on Mondays offers Wellingtonians a unique opportunity to hear literary stars discuss their work this year. Chris Price, co-ordinator of Writers on Mondays, says, 'High-flying Wellington writers are in the spotlight alongside writers from across the motu and beyond: Nina Mingya Powles on a flying visit from London; Mikaela Nyman, fresh from her standout Auckland Writers Festival appearance, making the journey from Taranaki; and poet Nafanua Purcell Kersel traveling from Hawkes Bay. Several Auckland writers will also be in town for especially for the series.' Don't miss your chance to see these writers in Wellington!
Randell Cottage Writer in Residence Saraid de Silva and journalist-turned-fiction-writer Michelle Duff will be in conversation with Tina Makereti to explore their stories about multi-generational women and how we excavate the past to inform the present. de Silva's Amma has had international success, longlisted for the Women's Prize, while another featured writer, Jennifer Trevelyan, has had huge international success with her debut novel A Beautiful Family. She caught the attention of a renowned literary agent who secured her a worldwide publishing deal and Allen & Unwin has published her book in NZ. Duncan Sarkies and Brannavan Gnanalingam will be in discussion about their new novels, and why political satire is more important than ever in current times.
It wouldn't be Writers on Mondays without poetry and we have plenty of conversations and readings with poets from the freshest to our most revered. Poetry offerings include Nick Ascroft hosting poets from his edition of Ōrongohau | Best New Zealand Poems in a reading, a conversation between Mikaela Nyman and Nafanua Purcell Kersel, and poet laureate Chris Tse talking to poets about how poetry might be reinvented. Anna Jackson, Associate Professor at Te Herenga Waka—Victoria University of Wellington, will speak about her new collection of poetry which has been described as 'extraordinary, in both concept and form'.
The events feature many writers who previously studied at the IIML, including MA graduates Gina Butson, Michelle Rahurahu, Michelle Duff, Nafanua Purcell Kersel, Jennifer Trevelyan, Nina Mingya Powles, Chris Tse, Gregory Kan, Cadence Chung, Jiaqiao Liu, Rachel O'Neill and Amy Marguerite, plus Mikaela Nyman, who completed her PhD with the Institute. Damien Wilkins, who is Director of the IIML as well as this year's Acorn prize winner, says, 'It's a thrill to see so many writers on the programme with strong connections to the IIML taking their work to the world.'
For a glimpse of the further talent soon to emerge from the IIML's MA workshops, scriptwriting students will have their words brought to life in lunchtime performances at Circa Theatre, while the next wave of novelists, poets, and creative nonfiction writers will read in special evening events at Meow.
Writers on Mondays will run from 12.15—1.15 pm each Monday from 7 July to 29 September 2025 at Te Papa Tongarewa and Circa Theatre, with two special evening sessions at Meow. Admission is free and all are welcome. The series is supported by the Letteri family. The full programme can be viewed here.Come celebrate Aotearoa writers with us at Writers on Mondays – we look forward to seeing you there.
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Scoop
07-08-2025
- Scoop
Aotearoa New Zealand's National Writer-Residency Organisation Announces Its 2026 Writers In Residence Programme
The Michael King Writers Centre is pleased to announce that next year's programme of residencies at the historic Signalman's House on Takarunga Mt Victoria in Devonport, Auckland, is now open for applications. Writers awarded a residency can look forward to peaceful accommodation, the use of a writing studio, a supporting stipend and the opportunity to focus on a specific writing project. The 2026 programme offers 16 residencies to emerging and established writers for periods of two to three weeks. Awarded residencies will include up to four specifically for Māori or Pasifika writers. Applications open Thursday 7 August and close Monday 1 September. For the application form and more details see: WHY DO WE OFFER THESE RESIDENCIES? * The residency programme aims to support New Zealand writers and promote the development of high-quality New Zealand writing. Projects can be in a wide range of genres including non-fiction, fiction, children and young adult, drama and poetry. WHO CAN APPLY? * We support diversity and actively encourage all writers from throughout New Zealand who are a New Zealand citizen or have New Zealand permanent residency to apply. WHAT IS THE MICHAEL KING WRITERS CENTRE? * Founded in 2005, the Centre was established to realise writer and historian Michael King's dream of having a residential retreat for New Zealand writers enabling time and money to work on a major project over an extended period. * Over one hundred and eighty New Zealand writers have held residencies at the centre since 2005. These include Whiti Hereaka, winner of the Jann Medlicott Acorn Prize for Fiction at the 2022 NZ Book Awards, David Eggleton (Poet Laureate for New Zealand 2019-2022), along with Booker prize winner Eleanor Catton. This year's Ockham NZ Book awards saw 43 books long-listed from 175 entries. Six of those long-listed were MKWC alumni. These included: Shilo Kino (Ngāpuhi, Ngāti Maniapoto), Laurence Fearnley, Tina Makereti (Te Ātiawa, Ngāti Tūwharetoa, Ngāti Rangatahi-Matakore, Pākehā), Megan Dunn, Jason Gurney (Ngāpuhi) and Emma Neale. Emma went on to win The Mary and Peter Biggs Award for Poetry.
Newsroom
30-07-2025
- Newsroom
Book of the Week: Karori, and other nightmares of NZ life
There seems to be no such thing as travel writing anymore, just the sort of witless and-then-we-ordered-room-service trash that appears in the Herald's travel section – it's as though literature has sated its interest in the wider world, the golden age of Bruce Chatwin and Paul Theroux long gone, nonfiction writers preferring the interior monologues of memoir and personal essay. Nonfiction publishers and readers seem to prefer it that way too. No one really wants to know anymore what white writers make of territories of colour. Former editor of Granta, Ian Jack, wondered if travel writing was pointless when he wrote in 2017, 'Travel writing of most kinds has the history of colonialism perched on its shoulder.' But Jack was alert to reversing the witness and the witnessed. He also wrote, 'It could be enlightening to read modern accounts of travels in the Western world by writers from the East; if nothing else, we might then know how it feels to be ironised, condescended to and found morally wanting.' It's a marvellously prescient assessment of the newly published essay collection Returning to My Father's Kitchen by Filipino author Monica Macansantos, who finds New Zealand – particularly Wellington, and specifically Karori – very wanting indeed, as in flat-out, passive-aggressive (mainly aggressive), in-your-face racist. Fresh angle. In the fascinating literary sub-genre of overseas travel writers publishing books about New Zealand, we are routinely ironised and condescended to as an island stocked with village idiots. Paul Theroux, in The Happy Isles of Oceania (1992): 'The older people were dull and decent, the younger ones trying hopelessly to be stylish … I went to Dunedin, which was cold and frugal, with its shabby streets and mock-gothic university and talked to the students. They seemed to be ignorant, assertive and dirty.' The unbearable British writer Duncan Fallowell recorded his few weeks in New Zealand in Going As Far as I Can (2008): 'I'm fed up. I'm fed up with smashed-up towns. I'm fed up with beauty spots covered in shacks. I'm fed up with people being fat and ugly and covered in tattoos.' He cheers up when he discovers the Den in Wyndham St, downtown Auckland. 'The basement is a dark labyrinth of nooks and cells where males hover for anonymous encounters. At last the sex-on-tap problem has been solved. I like to try all sorts of race and types', etc. Whitey, moaning, in agony and ecstasy. Macansantos is a woman of colour. She arrived in New Zealand in 2015 to work on her PhD in Creative Writing at the IIML at Victoria University. Two of the longest essays in her book are set here and qualify as a kind of travel writing; they are both exhilarating, can't-look-away accounts of New Zealand life and New Zealand attitudes, and there is too much going on to merely regard them as moaning but they can both be read as a deeply felt complaint. No ecstasy, just agony. Returning to My Father's Kitchen is not a happy book. Always, always, things and people are working against her. The subject of her first essay of complaint is her landlady in Karori. An abbreviated extract was published in ReadingRoom on Monday. Nothing is ever overt, it's all in the detail, in the death of Macansantos's wellness by a million little cuts. There is the incident with the squeegee. 'Do you know what this is?' asks the landlady, holding up a squeegee. Yes, says Macansantos, it's a squeegee. The landlady then tells her how a squeegee works. 'The next time you take a shower, hose down the walls with the shower head, squeegee them, then use this towel to dry them off.' She tosses the towel, and the squeegee, onto the bed. 'I want to keep it clean.' It was the squeegee of doom, the squeegee that got under her skin. 'I shaped myself, like a pliable doll, to her ever-changing will.' You can tell she likes that line. She writes another variation of it: 'Was I a figurine in her dollhouse, to be bent and arranged according to her will?' The landlady scolds Macansantos for spilling the Himalayan salt. 'Her face darkened, and in a low voice, she said, 'That's very expensive salt'.' She scolds her for drinking the coffee. 'That coffee is very expensive.' She scolds her for taking long showers. 'Power is expensive.' Macansantos thinks the rent is too expensive: $350. That's a lot of money to have to share her bathroom with Airbnb tenants, and she complains, 'The space I rented in her house was not mine at all, and neither, it seemed, was my own body and mind; I carried her voice in my head wherever I went, and it was a voice that did not approve of me at all.' Things are beyond repair by the time the landlady says to her, 'The next time you enter a room, could you please announce yourself?' Macansantos tells her she's found somewhere else to live. 'She accepted my announcement matter-of-factly, adding, 'You seem to be unhappy here'.' Well, she got that much right. Macansantos complains about her to a friend. ''What's her name?' she asked, opening her search engine. 'Is it this bitch?' she asked, pointing at a picture of a woman sharing my landlady's name.' The Himalayan salt, the precious coffee, the evil squeegee – it all sounds like kind of a drag, and maybe $350 is a bit stiff, but does the landlady actually deserve to be called 'a bitch'? Or is questioning it, and suggesting that maybe there are two sides to the story, just a function of racism? Theroux was famous for writing about people on his travels as fools and knaves, but I never had a problem with it, and chuckled indulgently at his description of Otago University students ('ignorant, assertive, dirty'). All good fun; so why is it, conversely, that part of me wants to take the side of Macansantos's landlady? * Macansantos further and more deeply elucidates her theme of racism in her other essay on New Zealand life and New Zealand attitudes. The subject is the time she got hit by a car. She was at the intersection of Taranaki St and Abel Tasman. There was a traffic island in the middle of it. She stepped off the pavement and made her way towards it. A car driven by a white man made its way towards her. 'In those seconds that passed before this man drove straight into me, I had decided, unconsciously, to stop in my tracks, trusting that whoever was behind the wheel had seen me and would not hurt me. It was the simple acknowledgment of my existence that I thought would protect me from harm, and it's the one detail from that evening to which my mind keeps returning whenever I try to make sense of a seemingly senseless event. 'If he'd stopped when I held my hands up and screamed, that means he'd seen me. When he drove straight into me afterward, I fell onto his hood and pain seared through my shins as they collided against the hood's metal surface, and pain flashed through my hands as they slammed against the car's windshield. He stopped, then backed up, throwing me onto the ground. ''I'm sorry. I didn't see you,' the driver said, as he approached us. They turned to him, and the more he apologised, the more I could feel their sentiments shifting over to his side.' Witnesses to the incident, and the driver himself, form a kind of conformist bloc. 'Both parties were at fault,' says a passerby. Everyone agrees. 'As I stood before them, I began to sense that I was merely a nuisance to these people, who seemed so eager to dismiss my pain.' The police step in. 'This looks like a cut-and-dried case. Both of you appear to be at fault.' Macansantos fights the power. 'They never explicitly state their reasons for singling you out, for ignoring your perfect English, for erasing your story. They never call it racism.' Was it racism? Is it possible they were simply describing what they saw – a woman walking across the street without looking, a driver failing to stop? 'I tried to live a normal life. I spent my first Christmas in New Zealand with a Filipino family in Auckland, and there I fell in love. Vincent had immigrated to New Zealand with his family when he was a child, and like me, he knew what it was to be an immigrant. While we shared a common cultural background, Vincent wasn't afraid to break free from its more restrictive norms. With him, I felt more secure in a country that had seemed unwelcoming just a few months before. As I made more friends and deepened my relationship with this man, I began to feel that I was putting down roots, to the point that I could almost call New Zealand home.' The flag flutters, the nationalist heart swells, she becomes one of us – not for long, or not at all. 'My trauma still trailed me whenever I crossed the street. In the months that followed the collision, I felt as though I were drowning. Try as I might to fight my way back to the surface, a weight pressing over me would force me back down. Eventually, I learned to live with this feeling, to submerge it until it sat with me, like an unwelcome yet unobtrusive guest. I took up yoga and Zumba, then started taking tango classes even though my left knee, which had sustained the greatest trauma from the collision, would occasionally buckle underneath me while I danced. I made more friends and travelled around the country. I allowed myself to be moved by the astounding scenery of my adopted home. The longer I lived in New Zealand, the more I felt a kinship with these people who had such a strong sense of community and wouldn't hesitate to help a neighbour in need.' This is great travel writing: she takes you there, by which I mean here, New Zealand, as a stranger in a strange land learning the customs. But soon enough the book reverts to its constant setting: complaint. Things start to unwind at her IIML class at Victoria University. 'When I complained that my classmates' comments at a workshop were tinged with racism, I was disinvited from readings that were organised by a member of my PhD cohort, effectively shutting me out from the group. It seemed, during the rare occasions that I chose to call people out, that only I would suffer the consequences.' Her love life goes all to hell. Vincent, like her classmates, shuts her out. 'Talking to me, he said, now felt like a chore. In the months that followed this final conversation, I'd replay our relationship in my head on a daily basis, trying and failing to convince myself that the man who'd said these terrible things and the man who had wooed me feverishly in the months between the salsa party and tango lesson were one and the same person. Friends told me to forget about him, but my memories hung in the air like an unanswered question, needling me as I opened his food jars in my kitchen, or as I sat in his favourite chair in my living room, sipping the expensive tea he had given me as a gift on his first visit to my apartment.' Expensive salt, expensive coffee, expensive tea – New Zealand is the Switzerland of the Pacific. Macansantos's prose is sometimes inelegant. Her that's and her which's tend to trip over each other's feet. But she writes with such insistence, with force and honesty. It gives the pages an emotional charge. Her life seems to depend on these essays. It all gets too much, however, when compares what happened on the corner of Taranaki and Abel Tasman with the Christchurch shootings. 'How much do our lives matter to you, when you insist on meeting our pleas, our complaints, with silence? Does our presence disturb you so much that you'd rather ram your cars into our bodies as we hold up our hands and beg you to stop, and shoot bullets into our bodies as we kneel in prayer?' There are good reasons why we shy away from comparing various kinds of individual suffering and trauma with the Holocaust, and they hold true, too, for March 15. Just don't. A third essay set in Wellington is only 621 words in length and all of it is unequivocally beautiful writing. She visits Matiu/Somes Island in the harbour. She is about to leave New Zealand and return home. There is a little poignant tone of regret: 'The only time I'd set foot on the island was with Vincent, who doled out grand but impossible promises while we ate our packed lunch.' It's classic travel writing, a small and perfectly formed jewel; the first time I won the travel writer of the year award (that prize has long since ended) was for an 850-word evocation of the Mackenzie Country town of Fairlie, and I remember how hard I worked on assembling its miniature components. Macansantos makes it look easy. The same fluid style is evident in the opening essay, which sets out the book's themes of loss and displacement. 'My father died while I was living in New Zealand, just a few months shy of completing my PhD and returning home, the end to our prolonged separation. I am following my father's advice now to touch base with the motherland after spending years away.' She connects with him by making his favourite dishes. Just as she masters travel writing, she also masters food writing; it's a mouth-watering essay, as she writes of making his chicken adobo with Silver Swan soy sauce ('the best soy sauce in the world, my father claimed') and Calamansi, a tiny citrus fruit native to Southeast Asia. Cooking, she writes, is a declaration of love. But something else looms in that otherwise sweet, loving chapter. She writes that her father had been an award-winning poet in the Philippines – until something happened, something mysterious and sudden, and he was 'silenced', sidelined, shunned. He was helpless to do anything about it. Much the same thing happens to Macansantos when she takes a summer workshop in creating writing. She becomes a figurine in the dollhouse of Filipino literature, bent out of shape, just as she was years later by her IIML cohort. 'It was often difficult for me to connect with peers at workshops, to understand their private jokes, to penetrate the alliances that were forming. I didn't smoke, use their lingo, or drink much,' she writes. 'I hadn't attended an elite private school in Manila and often didn't know the people or places my peers referenced. I had difficulty keeping up with their late-night drinking sessions, in which many of the panelists took part and where more connections were forged. At one workshop, I made the mistake of criticising the work of an older fellow with strong social connections in Manila. Soon afterward, the entire cohort aligned itself against me, refusing to invite me to their parties, pretending I wasn't in the room when I was around, shooting down my comments in workshop. Shut out from their after-hours hobnobbing, it became a struggle for me to navigate the workshop itself … A few years later, a panelist confessed to me that he knew about what had occurred and that 'he had taken their side,' believing that I 'didn't know how to deal with other writers'.' Macansantos, always the victim; Macansantos, carrying her father's fear of being 'silenced'; Macansantos, not knowing how to deal with landladies, cops, classmates. She remembers one particularly painful incident at her workshop. 'A panelist prefaced her discussion of my work by telling the group that 'the writer of this short story will walk away from this workshop weeping'. Then she tore into my story … One of the fellows, who later became a close friend, remembers a hush falling on the session hall when, upon finishing her lambast of my work, the panelist got up, walked up to the wooden stage, and waved her arms around and swayed her hips in a strange, awkward dance.' The image of the panelist as some kind of serpent is revealing. There is something binary about the world Macansantos depicts in these essays. Good is persecuted by evil, right is torn down by wrong. But she emerges triumphant. She is accepted into an MFA programme at the James A. Michener Center for Writers at the University of Texas, and writes, 'When I started writing stories about the immigrant experience, many of my classmates and some of my teachers complained that these stories had no conflict or that they didn't see anything wrong in a situation I presented even if they felt that 'they were supposed to feel wrong.' At times, I had to depend on my fellow writers of color to recognize and point out the sense of alienation that pervaded a scene, or the subtle acts of oppression in an otherwise ordinary encounter. The struggle for freedom shape-shifts when the enemy changes, but I am still here, raising my voice.' The voice is strong. The book is a welcome, radical new addition to the literary sub-genre of international authors appraising Aotearoa. The core of it, though, is something I am unable to relate to, as a white writer and I guess as a white New Zealander, who has no lived experience of racism, and who has never, ever felt any sense of dark foreboding about that object which so made her life intolerable in Karori – the squeegee. Returning to My Father's Kitchen by Monica S Macansantos (Northwestern University Press, $US22) is available in selected bookstores such as Unity in Wellington or as print or ebook version directly from the publisher. ReadingRoom devoted all week to coverage of the totemic Wellington suburb of Karori, which Macansantos examined at critical length. Monday: an excerpt from her Karori essay. Tuesday: Leah McFall writes in lyrical praise of Karori. Wednesday: a most amusing poem on Karori's charms.
Scoop
21-07-2025
- Scoop
Phantom Billstickers Unveils 2025 Poem Poster Season And Celebrates National Poetry Day: A Nationwide Literary Feast
Press Release – Phantom Billstickers For decades, Phantom Billstickers has championed the accessibility of art, transforming urban landscapes into impromptu galleries and bringing the power of poetry out of books and into the public eye. Phantom Billstickers is thrilled to announce the highly anticipated 2025 season of poem posters, set to transform street poster sites across New Zealand over the coming months. This initiative, a cornerstone of Phantom Billstickers commitment to public art and literature, coincides with their ongoing dedication as a key sponsor of Phantom Billstickers National Poetry Day, an annual countrywide celebration of words and creativity. The 2025 poem poster season will showcase works from a stellar line-up of New Zealand's poetic talent, including celebrated poets Ben Brown, Glenn Colquhoun, and newcomer Taylor Grace. Adding further prestige, the collection will also feature powerful contributions from the Ockham Book Awards finalists for the Mary and Peter Biggs Award for Poetry, namely C.K. Stead, Richard von Sturmer, Robert Sullivan, and award winner Emma Neale. This diverse selection promises to offer a rich tapestry of perspectives and styles, ensuring there's a poem to resonate with every passerby. 'Poetry on the street is a simple, yet profound way to connect with people. It offers a moment of reflection, a flash of beauty, or a spark of thought in their daily lives,' says Robin McDonnell, CEO of Phantom Billstickers. He adds, 'As Phantom Billstickers founder and patron of the poems on poster initiative, Jim Wilson, aptly puts it: 'When you put a poem on the street, you're putting up words straight from the heart, you're sparking conversations and igniting imaginations.' We believe these poems will do just that.' Phantom Billstickers' passion for making poetry accessible extends beyond the posters. As the proud sponsor of Phantom Billstickers National Poetry Day, held annually on the fourth Friday in August (this year, Friday, August 22nd, 2025), they play a vital role in unleashing the power of poetry across Aotearoa. Events ranging from open mic nights and school initiatives to public displays and live performances will take place nationwide, fostering a vibrant literary landscape. Phantom Billstickers actively supports and promotes these events, ensuring poetry truly pulses throughout our communities. For decades, Phantom Billstickers has championed the accessibility of art, transforming urban landscapes into impromptu galleries and bringing the power of poetry out of books and into the public eye. The 2025 poem poster season and their continued support of National Poetry Day underscore this enduring commitment, inviting New Zealanders to engage with the beauty and depth of their nation's poetic talent. Keep an eye out for these captivating poem posters appearing on Phantom Billstickers sites nationwide over the coming months, and mark your calendars for Phantom Billstickers National Poetry Day on Friday, August 22nd, 2025, for a nationwide celebration of words.
