for the past two days, i’ve been in an ongoing argument with cowrie, the central character in the journey home/te haerenga kainga by cathie dunsford (spinifex press, 1997; book 2 in a series). i had to return it to the library tonight before i’d finished reading it, but that may have been a good thing because it was driving me to distraction and i need to focus on getting my shit together for the trip home tomorrow.
honestly, i’m not even sure i like the story at all, but there are so many things bothering me about it in so many complex ways that i just can’t forget about it.
this is probably a sign that it’s a good book, actually.
i want to write more, but need to sleep. for now, all i can say is that i have never spent so much time preoccupied by my whiteness EVER (which, if you know me, you’ll realize is a lot). also, i’m kinda starting to get why the old lesbians get riled up when i refer to them as queer.