Hannah & Huia
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15
Ratings1
Average rating5
Hannah is in a mental health unit, in shock and rendered speechless following the sudden death of her husband and baby son one rainy night - for which she feels unspeakable guilt. She pays little attention to her institutional surroundings as events play and replay inside her head. There is no way out, no way back, and no future she can possibly imagine, just an endless, unbearable present. Huia is also there, a long-term resident who lives entirely in her own inner world, a woman who seems unable to communicate. Her mutterings, her sleeve-plucking, her foot-tapping? Well, that's just Huia. But who is she? What is her story and why does she play on Hannah's mind? No one else pays attention to Huia's condition, but Hannah is drawn to the mystery of the older woman ... Huia has something to teach Hannah, if only Hannah pays attention - and she does. Gradually drawn out of her own web of misery, Hannah learns to read Huia and decides to follow the tiny clues back to the source and discover the truth of Huia. In the process, she uncovers the strange bonds that unite them and finds it might, after all, be possible to save her own life - that families can and should heal. And Huia is her path to redemption. Two women, two literally unspeakable tragedies, two families, one powerful and unforgettable story. No one should ever be made to feel invisible. And you are never alone.
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This review comes to you from a face full of tears and a nose full of snot.
I should caveat this by saying that having lost our Mum unexpectedly, nearly a year ago, any topic of grief is still very raw.
Hannah and Huia is a deft exploration of mental health, and the way in which people are so often left to wend their own way through its nightmarish mazes, or to simply get lost.
The author has incredibly deftly woven together two deeply heartbreaking stories of loss - the two women of the title.
Their two stories intertwine with such pain and poignancy, and incredibly heartbreaking loss that it's almost impossible to put the book down.
There's a beautiful emotional shift during the book, where Hannah starts off almost disconnected from events, and we almost read as an observer. She notes that at times she's watching her body perform functions without any real sensation. Later she feels, and we feel intensely with her.
During her time in a psychiatric ward, in an attempt to help her confront the nightmares from losing her husband and baby, she meets a variety of other people.
It's here that we see them the way she does, each as individuals with their own personalities and quirks. Yes, they all have mental health problems that need support — and the author does note that the staff are so often undersupported themselves — but she takes the time to flesh out the characters as people who deserve to be heard.
We meet Huia, an old Māori women, who's been in care for most of her life. Hannah stumbles across what seems to be a pattern in her behaviour and takes the time to listen to her.
Along the way, we see a portion of Huia's history that ties so many threads together. We see her come to life as more than just some random old woman in the corner, but as a vibrant young woman who has deep and intense hopes and dreams.
About 2/3 of the way through I found myself hoping for Hannah to find the success that she herself was hoping for, and hoping that the end of the book wasn't going to be some cruel crushing defeat.
A little after this, I began to cry with almost every page, and by the end I was a sobbing mess.
The whole story is wound together so beautifully, so deftly, and so sensitively. It's a story that I wholeheartedly recommend and only wish that my mother had been here to read, as she adored supporting local authors.
Get it. Read it. Be prepared for a whole lot of tears.
