Easter Book Reviews by Chloe Blades

Simple Pasta by Odette Williams (Ten Speed Press, 2022)

Stanley Tucci said that Simple Pasta is "pasta deliciously portrayed in all its rustic elegance" - I was sold. I’ll believe anything Stanley says. Last night, while my husband was at the Concrete Awards (it’s a real thing), I treated myself to Carbonara a la Williams. She guides you through emulsifying eggs, pork fat, cheese, and pasta water to create a carbonara sauce that won’t give you a heart attack. It’s divided into seasons; there’s a bone-dry prosecco tower, sesame and honey panna cotta, tagliatelle with lamb, fennel and olives, and rigatoni with tuna, to name a few recipes prime for a party.

I’m building up to the lobster ravioli; in the meantime, I’ll stick to cacio e pepe, which is three different kinds of peppercorn and parmesan with spaghetti. It sounds so simple that a toddler could make it, except her carefully mastered processes and strict execution is what results in a restaurant-quality dish. It’s a meditative operation. She’ll convince you to make pasta, too, with stunning photography from Graydon Herriott guiding you through the pasta making process, and "you can always use dried pasta. Either way, pasta is primal. It’s flour, water, and joy. Everyone loves it. So, put the music on, call your people, and let’s roll".

A Heart that Works by Rob Delaney (Coronet, 2022)

Please believe me when I say that this book is phenomenal. Books like this are hard to sell as a bookseller because people don’t, on the whole, want to read about death, let alone the death of a child. Hold on! Don’t go. I promise you, you will be clinging to every sentence in this memoir. It’s devourable. Not least because Rob Delaney, the American writer of Catastrophe, is astonishingly hilarious, this is a truly life-affirming read. It will have you laughing as hard as you will undoubtedly be crying, and there is no harm in venturing into a new genre when there are only 184 beautifully crafted pages that keep the memory of Henry alive. Henry was diagnosed with a brain tumour when he was one, and this is Rob’s unimaginable story of what it’s like to lose a child, from the soul-destroying diagnosis, the unstoppable love, and the craving to help them get better, through to the eventual realisation that they’re not going to.

It doesn’t sound like a funny read, but there’s something about those who’ve swum in the darkest, deepest depths of grief who have an admirable ability to find joy in the most unlikely places. I read this in two hours, and it melted my cold heart like nothing before. Do it. Read it. Please. It sounds cliche, but as Monica Heisey (comedy writer for Schitt’s Creek) says, it’s "a beautiful treatise on what really matters in life".

Monsters: A Fans Dilemma by Claire Dederer (Hachette, 2023)

I had two minutes to review this essay collection on TVNZ’s Breakfast show earlier in the month and could have talked about it for hours. Claire Dederer published the first chapter in The Paris Review titled "What Do We Do With the Art of Monstrous Men?" and this is the completed book. It’s a witty and intelligent interrogation of the age-old question: Is it possible to separate the art from the artist? Can you watch Manhattan knowing the accusations made against Woody Allen by Dylan Farrow? What about Roman Polanski’s films? Should we be reading J. K. Rowling or Hemingway? Should you stop listening to Michael Jackson? Kanye? Joni Mitchell? What the bloody hell do we do with our heroes now?

This is a biography of the audience, one where we no longer simply watch, read, or hear but have the power to denounce the monstrous artist from the perch of our fascination and righteousness. Dederer makes the point that our fascination with people who commit awful crimes is a response to our "sneaking suspicion of our own badness", as we can sense the crime in ourselves and we are horrified by it, and then thrill "to the drama of loudly denouncing the monster in question". She says that if you "look hard enough at anyone, you can probably find at least a little stain.

Everyone who has a biography — that is, everyone alive— is either cancelled or about to be cancelled". She is a genius, delivering a thought provoking, provocative look at the art of monstrous men (and some women, to offer an ironic twist) from the perspective of us, the audience, and her own biography. I also interviewed her, which you can read here.

Chickenology: The Ultimate Encyclopedia by Barbara Sandri Camilla Pintonato Francesco Giubbilini (Princeton Architectural Press, 2022)

I’m the kind of parent who wants to be entertained if my child needs entertaining. I prefer Bluey over Bob the Builder, and this chicken encyclopaedia over the Noisy Book.

This colourfully illustrated, in depth look at the humble chicken is way better than a chocolate egg, too. Yes, it may be three times the price, but unlike the egg, it has longevity and the promise of hours more joy without the dreaded sugar rush. It’s highly educational and playful, and although my son isn’t yet two, it keeps him occupied and still for at least 7 minutes. That’s half a cup of tea and a precious moment of peace (so it’s a present to Mum, too). Who knew the chicken had more neurones than most mammals?!

They're intelligent birds, they can be trained to do tricks like play bowls and kick balls. This book looks at the different breeds, from the Jersey Giant (now that’s a fun YouTube hole to fall down) to the Silkie, how chickens are formed in the egg, the anatomy of a chicken and their feathers, different chicken eggs from around the world, plus some chicken history and folklore too.

There are even lessons on raising chickens at home as pets. The illustrations are artworthy, and the child in your life doesn’t need an interest in chickens because this book is so stunning to behold that it will spark an unstoppable interest in chickens anyway. It’s a sweet idea. Alternatively, there’s Pigology.