TANGI

Te Ao Hou, March 1974, Page 60

TANGI by Witi Ihimaera Heinemann, $4.95 reviewed by Paul Katene It is impossible to describe the poignant beauty of Tangi. The style follows the Maori oral tradition in its persistent use of mytho-poetic elements; its personifications; its dramatic and lively juxtaposition of images; its sudden changes of moods and colour—light and shade. Word groups and word sounds play an important part in recall, in emphasis, or to act as pivotal points for transitions from laughter to tears—from sunlight to darkness; from present to past. The basic construction consists of two journeys—taken in opposite directions. This inverse parallelism is the frame supporting the reflective sketches from which emerge the story of Rongo Mahana, his wife, Huia, and their children. Tangi is their struggle to become self-reliant. It is also the story of death. This is the central theme that gives rise to the marvellous descriptive scenes of grief on the marae at Rongopai. Most Maoris would quickly relate to Tangi, seeing some aspect of their lives unfolding within its pages. Readers unfamiliar with the tangihanga will, nonetheless sense that something totally new has been added to the literature of this country—a new insight—a new depth plumbed. Tangi is not only a personalised vision of the author, it is the personalised experience of a people—it is the heartbeat of Maoridom, told with great subtlety and sensitivity within a framework that remains peculiarly Maori. The subject is neither every writer's joy, nor every reader's passion. It says much for Witi Ihimaera's skill that while extracting the fullest measure of pathos, at no time does he become mawkish. His control is always taut; his realism warmly sincere; his humour affectionate. There is nothing contrived with his people or their situations. They are essentially human, natural and warmhearted. They are moved by aroha. They are part of the land, sea and sky. Tama Mahana has spent four years in Wellington—the unspoken years of his manhood. A telephone call brings news of his father's death. He hurriedly journeys home to Waituhi. After the tangihanga he returns to Wellington to prepare for a permanent shift back to Waituhi. His father's death has brought a heavy sadness to him—a sense of loss. It has also brought a sense of guilt; but above it all, it has brought a new awareness of freedom with the stirrings of maturity. Tangi is the augmentation of the short story of the same name from Pounamu Rounamu. Shortly is to appear Whanau by the same author. Undoubtedly this will also extend our vision of his kinsfolk at Waituhi, beyond that point afforded by his short stories. Perhaps by then we may discern an emerging pattern. There are still those four unspoken years in Wellington. And who is this girl Sandra? Is Tangi really the long awaited novel by a Maori?