Checkerboard Hill

I am about two-thirds of the way through reading Checkerboard Hill when I jokingly describe the most gasp-inducing plot points to my sister. She says it sounds like a soap opera, and attempts to use the fact that I am enjoying it to convince me that I would also like to watch Desperate Housewives. I would most certainly not, but what I struggle to articulate to her at the time is that, even though Checkerboard Hill might sound overly dramatic—after the death of a family member, a woman, Ria, returns to her home in Australia after years away, leaving her husband and son behind in New Zealand, and slowly the secrets of her past are revealed to us—it is in fact not like this at all.

This is partially because unlike, say, Desperate Housewives, Checkerboard Hill puts indigenous experiences and Māori culture at the forefront. It stands strongly and firmly apart for putting the spotlight firmly upon the traditions and tikanga which are very rarely seen to such an extent in mainstream media.

The focus on Māori experiences and tikanga becomes particularly interesting when we examine Ria’s character as a whole. In New Zealand, she feels a sense of disconnect from her husband and son, who are both fluent in Te Reo Māori, and is embarrassed that she cannot speak the language as well as she would like. Even though I read Checkerboard Hill as a Pākehā, and though my reo Māori remains far more rudimentary than Ria’s, I feel this is a struggle I can somewhat relate to—I think we are all aware that, as a country, we need to be speaking Te Reo Māori more, and saying “Kia ora” just doesn’t cut it any longer.

The tangi held for the dead family member is also powerful and moving because it shows the endurance of Māori traditions, even whilst an ocean away from where those practices originated. We catch glimpses of racism too, such as when Ria’s sister, Rachel, talks about their mum; ”being brown, here, at a time when things were…well, you know, you know how it was. She never really talked about it but it must have been rough.” The story unpacks the difficulties faced by Ria - personal, familial, and cultural, and Jade Kake does a wonderful job of making her protagonist human. Ria is not always likeable, but she is always real.

Furthermore, Checkerboard Hill is powerful not only because of what it is about—the blurb pitches this as, “belonging and dislocation, identity, misunderstandings and fractured relationships, and the way Māori traditions and tikanga are transmuted across the Tasman, across time and space”—but also because of how it is written. The use of a third person present-tense style of writing creates both an immediacy and a curious sense of distance, drawing the reader into Ria’s emotions, while still allowing them to feel as though something vital is missing (indeed, something is). The reader feels more like they are existing in someone else’s life than reading a book, with the way the words move like water and immerse you in Ria’s world - her grief, and her regrets, and her silences that are actually screams. And in many places, it’s simply beautiful too: “she looks back to the sky but it’s no longer there. The sunset has already begun to fade.”

Once in Australia, the story slips and slides easily between the present and the past, with a recollection often prompted by something seemingly insignificant, and the memory only contextualising itself within the wider context of the story much later on. There are holes in the narrative that are only filled slowly, ever so slowly, while the death that has brought Ria back to Australia is constantly skirted around while still remaining the focal point. Not only does this encourage one to keep reading, but it accurately reflects an experience of grief and loss, where we do not always want to acknowledge what is missing, even though we remain constantly aware of it. In film, silences can be very powerful and Checkerboard Hill makes use of what is left unsaid in the same way, creating ominous undercurrents that drive the story forward.

It should be noted that there are a few simple formatting/grammar errors such as “she sees Donna opens the door” but these generally don’t detract from the story and the thematic qualities of the work. Any readers should also be aware that Checkerboard Hill contains depictions of drug use, drinking, smoking, physical violence and sex, so I would only recommend it for older readers, aged 17 and above.

Ultimately, despite its short length (coming in at 290 pages) Checkerboard Hill is a moving and powerful novel from a strong and talented writer that deserves not only to be read, but to be felt.