ANNA KARENINA

Oh, the Drama!...

Anna Karenina was long. That is the first and most obvious thing anyone should ever say about this book. It was 900 pages long, with tiny text. It was 4 or 5 weeks of reading long! I think that it is important to mention here that I am a highly capable reader (the Return of the King finished in one day and night, thank-you!). Old books require more time to read, and to ponder over meanings behind the intricate wordplay.
 

Anna Karenina was also interesting, like a long, twirling, mind-enveloping dance where you are spinning and spinning. There are whirlwinds of galas and balls, and then moments of complete clarity. Tolstoy has a unique way of delineating exactly how a character is feeling, what he is doing, and why. Every so often the fluffy story of Anna and her affairs is pierced with an undercurrent of ominous foreboding. I especially found this when Anna recounted her strange dreams, in which she heard a small French peasant muttering something, while doing terrible things with steel. While these parts are a little disturbing, the book also holds other points of interest. The book does not solely centre on the story of Anna, but also works around the lives of the other characters, and especially of one called Levin, who could be likened to the writer's portrayal of himself. Through Levin's story, Tolstoy seems to be untangling his thoughts about religion. In the end, Levin's religious epiphany reads like Tolstoy's epiphany.

If you want any more juicy details, you will just have to read all 900 pages yourself, and I implore you to do so, as you will learn and grow with the book. 

The book itself was also very interesting, and just a wee bit charming. Printed all the way back in the 1950's, it is about the size of your hand. In this way, it reminds me of old Bibles people used for personal devotion.
The most wonderful thing about it was the discovery I made about the page corners. At first glance they seemed to be cut in a very rounded shape. But, as I read, I began to find corners that had been squished or folded by somebody's hand. First a few, then some more, all completely rectangular, as pointy as could be! So... using my detective skills I have come to the conclusion that: the many hands that have held this book, over the last 60 or so years, have worn the edges right down as they thumbed their way through the story. I thought that was quite special.

KUROW

THE BACKYARD OF NEW ZEALAND

For much of their childhood, my younger brother and sister were schooled in a tiny town called Kurow: population approx. 312. 

Every other weekend or so, I would go visit them, and stay in a small one-storey house that looks like it was transported straight from the pages of a 1970's catalogue - ugly windows and all. The floors were of plastic lino in a grey pattern, the doors were hollow, and resounded when they shut, the wallpaper was all bumpy and textured. 

To get to the school, it was simply a matter of walking about 2kms up a dusty gravel road, past the water channels and farmlands, to the edge of town. Town itself was so small that you could blink while driving by and miss it altogether. There was a convenience store, at which we would buy tubs of ice cream and 'put it on mum's tab, please.' There was a small museum, and a store owned by a rather odd gentleman who liked to pile his books in towers and mazes, wrapping them in glad-wrap to keep them safe. I wondered if he ever sold anything. There was the petrol station, with a few solitary pumps, and the playground, and the dairy where you could buy ice blocks and chips and pies. Kurow is like the epitome of New Zealand. 

The local kids liked to spend a lot of time biking around - hanging out by the river, at the small indoor swimming pool, or causing trouble around the farms. Some of them liked to hunt rabbits, and many of them planned to become farmers when they grew up. 

It was not long before I knew every square inch of that town, seeking out my favourite places: the bough of the tree overhanging the river, only reached by a small path off the main road; and a hidden jungle-like maze of overgrown tumbled stone walls, a mysterious labyrinth with a forgotten purpose.

In a small town like Kurow, there is always something to occupy yourself with. If you are of a mind to, you might...

Climb the watch tower on the racecourse and look out over the farmlands.

Pick walnuts straight from the trees in the school yard.

Play truth or dare down at the playground, and end up licking the slide. 

Charge your mums account for all kinds of things: chips, lollies and ice cream mainly.

Go over to your friends house and ask if they want to come out and play.

Meet up with everyone at the river to practice diving from the old bridge.

Explore the tiny offshoots of land and islands beside the river, and disturb the campers there.

Dare your friend to enter the paddock with the bulls. 

Muck around on the edge of the waterways that trickle all through the town, racing small boats of leaves or twigs.

Get in trouble for running all over the golf-course, yet again.

Sneak back into the golf course and draw an obscene picture in one of the sandpits.

VICTORIAN OAMARU

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On the edge of the town of Oamaru, by the waters of the Pacific Ocean, there exists a small slice of Victorian paradise. The streets are lined with tall limestone structures, their pillars and parapets gleaming in the midday sun, shop signs swinging in a sea breeze. A bookbinder, a hat maker, an old hotel.

I have often visited this area of Oamaru, its being so close to home and all. As I walk the dusty streets, there are memories: of markets, ice creams, of dressing as a Victorian school-girl for the annual Fete. The area has a story to tell, and many local people are dedicated to the recreation and preservation of that story.

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-1860-1890-

THE STORY OF OLD OAMARU:
 

Around the time of the late 1860s, the port of Oamaru was booming, and the area beside the ocean was fast becoming the commercial centre of town. A call went out for an expansion – new warehouses to house grain and seed. The answer came in the form of Thomas Forrester, a recent graduate from a Glasgow design school, and a lover of the popular Neoclassical style. Forrester quickly went to work, creating some of the most elegant and elaborate grain warehouses in the country, using the local white limestone. The results were grand, and what remains today is New Zealand’s most complete street-scape of Victorian commercial buildings, or what the locals like to call a ‘Victorian Town at Work.’

- NOWADAYS -

A VICTORIAN TOWN AT WORK:

Today the Victorian precinct is well cared for – with sixteen original buildings owned by a trust, and restored by the skilled stone masons of the area. Moreover, the locals work not only to preserve the buildings, but also the crafts, skills, and lifestyles that were so popular in the late 1800’s. It is not unusual to see a penny farthing whizzing down the lane, or a gentleman in a cravat doffing his top hat to passers-by, nor is it odd to see a woman dressed in a full Victorian get up, parasol too, or a little coracle boat bobbing in the bay. These locals are known to be downright friendly, and ever-helpful. Similarly, the businesses that occupy the old warehouses are reminiscent of the late 1800’s , among them: a bookbinder, a hat maker, a whisky seller, a working railway, a brewery, a wool store, a soap maker, and a fully refurbished Victorian licensed hotel called The Criterion. 

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The attention to detail in Victorian Oamaru is breathtaking. If one was to enter a bookstore and purchase a book there, they would be greeted by a salesclerk dressed in traditional clothing, who would write up the purchase in a ledger with a fountain pen, ring up the bill on an old cash register, and then wrap the books in brown paper and twine before stamping them and handing them over. It is this kind of care and attention to detail that seems astounding in our age of quick, impersonal transactions and internet shopping. Somehow it makes that book seem more precious, an object to be cherished and kept, not simply consumed and then stuffed to the back of the bookshelf.

And this is where we begin to see that re-enactment can put a person into a wholly different mindset.

On this matter, I am reminded of an article, sent to me by a friend, on the life of a couple who choose to live in a completely Victorian manner. In the article, Sarah explains that she and her husband enjoy using Victorian technologies such as ice-boxes and oil lamps, fountain pens and antique chatelaines. She reports that the everyday use of these objects has equipped her with a different attitude than someone who uses modern technology...

“Much of modern technology has become a collection of magic black boxes: Push a button and light happens, push another button and heat happens, and so on. The systems that dominate people’s lives have become so opaque that few people have even the foggiest notion what makes most of the items they touch every day work — and trying to repair them would nullify the warranty. The resources that went into making those items are treated as nothing more than a price tag to grumble about when the bills come due. Very few people actually watch those resources decreasing as they use them. It’s impossible to watch fuel disappearing when it’s burned in a power plant hundreds of miles away, and convenient to forget there’s a connection.

When we use resources through technology that has to be tended, we’re far more careful about how we use them. To use our antique space heater in the winter, I have to fill its reservoir with kerosene and keep its wick and flame spreader clean; when we want to use it, I have to open and light it. It’s not a burdensome process, but it’s certainly a more mindful one than flicking a switch.

Not everyone necessarily wants to live the same lifestyle we have chosen, of course. But anyone can benefit from choices that increase their awareness of their surroundings and the way things they use every day affect them. Watching the level of kerosene diminish in the reservoir heightens our awareness of how much we’re using, and makes us ask ourselves what we truly need. Learning to use all these technologies gives us confidence to exist in the world on our own terms.”

— Sarah A. Chrisman

This article puts into perspective the real benefits of preserving old-fashioned methods of living, and makes me truly appreciate what the locals are doing in the old town of Victorian Oamaru, down by the waters, where the sea breeze makes the shop signs swing.

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