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Harry Wakatipu returns to the Hopuruahine Hut and out of the mythical mists of the bush, the Grey Ghost fires his .303 from the hip, learns his dogs walk on water, slays the first of the Grim Inscrutable Wolves and lives all winter on a single moa-s egg.
What happens when a flying dunny lands in the river bed, when Harry Wakatipu ferments condensed milk? Tuck this book under your swanny and listen and laugh to the muscular music of the Vast Untrodden Ureweras.
A story of the classic days of deer culling when men were supermen, and weren't allowed to even dream of girls, let alone hide a copy of Anne of Green Gables in the foot of their sleeping bag.
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Review by: diogenes
Dated: 8th of June, 2006
Jack Lasenby tells tall tales about tellers of tall tales who in turn tells tall tales of a tall tale tellers.
Got that?
NO?
Read The Tears of Harry Wakatipu and you will see just what I mean. Compulsive reading meant I was unable to put this book down willingly until I had finished it, but I do give you one word of warning: Whatever you do, never read this book on the bus. It will have you tittering, guffawing, laughing loudly, sniggering quietly and even snorting riotously.
The constant laughing causes people not to want to sit anywhere near you, and the police to be called to have you committed.
Well, maybe not that far, but people do tend to avoid someone laughing to themselves on the bus.
Lasenby has a keen eye, a good keen wit and is a master yarn teller, who gives authentic voice to the characters in the book, so much so, that every time I hear one of the characters' speak, I hear the kiwi drawl echoing throughout every syllable, word and sentence, rather than my own "Queen's English" - ok, so I go a little too far there too...
Having never read Crump, I can only guess that Lasenby satirises the works of Crump; however, I must rely on you native Kiwi speakers to add to the comments underneath just how much satire is included.
All in all, Lasenby is a fine writer, who has brought the hideous character of Harry Wakatipu to life. I look forward to aquiring Lasenby's back catalogue to enjoy the first outings of Harry Wakatipu. This book is worthy of additions to your Kiwiana collection. I recommend this book highly.
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I enjoyed reading about myself. I love reading about myself. Not only am I beautiful, charming, and talented; I'm also well-spoken, well-educated, and well-dressed. I am the wondrous Harry Wakatipu. Lucky old you! You can read about me, too. I wonder if anyone else reads my name aloud, over and over, as I do? It has such a rich and pleasant sound to it. "Harry Wakatipu! Harry Wakatipu! Harry Wakatipu!" And that rich, pleasant sound goes very well with the sound of me gulping down tin after tin of condensed milk.
You're probably best not to go saying anything about me to Jack Lasenby. I notice that he put his name on the cover of my wonderful book, but he didn't write it. I wrote it. I am the great, the wise, the powerful Harry Wakatipu.
To all my besotted admirers – from Mr H. Wakatipu, Esq.
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