W.H. Oliver: Looking for the Phoenix: A memoir

By JENNY JONES

In a memoir by a historian, the historian will, understandably, never be far away. That's both a strength and a weakness in W.H. Oliver's memoir.

The strength is Oliver's appreciation of how history is made, and how people's lives relate to bigger events on the national and world stage. That implies, and Oliver doesn't disappoint here, an understanding of how a particular historian (himself) has participated in the historical process.

Unfortunately, the guiding hand of the historian shows first as weakness. That's because the first three chapters, which present Oliver's father, treat him as an object to be held up by two fingers and pinned out on the page. He is relentlessly used to illustrate his times, first in Cornwall, then in New Zealand.

Oliver jnr is anxious not to overstate his certainties, but by constantly distancing Oliver sen's actions with such qualifiers as "possibly", "almost certainly" and "it seems reasonable to suppose" he gives his father a poor chance of lift-off as a character.

Yet in a section that hangs so much upon a central personality, the quality of the characterisation is pivotal.

In later chapters, Oliver tells how he became a poet and historian, linking this with his developing sense of himself as a New Zealander. We are invited into the mind of the historian, and offered rare insights into the workings of historical process.

Oliver describes the context in which his celebrated Story of New Zealand (1960) was written and the issues he had to tackle as first general editor of the landmark Dictionary of New Zealand Biography. We become witness to the dilemmas he faced as a historian during the 90s when he worked on claims before the Waitangi Tribunal.

Oliver often presents himself as a timid person, more likely to turn away from adventure than seek it, but in some ways he is courageous. Though a supporter of the tribunal process, he did not flinch from voicing and publishing his concerns about various aspects of it. He wanted the claimants to receive reparation for the actual injustice inflicted, not to promote another wrong for the sake of quicker or greater return. He devotes a full and fascinating chapter to issues around the tribunal's work. To have been so clear-sighted and open about his views, given the prevailing mood of those he was in sympathy with, must have taken great courage.

And he seems honest. Though he obviously feels not entitled or not inclined to tell his readers much about his relationships with the women who have been important in his life, he is frank about his own (self-professed) shortcomings. It's frustrating to glimpse things potentially so much more interesting than what is on the page, but a memoir has no obligation to spill all the beans.

As Oliver nears the end of his memoir he considers his retirement, mortality and the meaning of his life. It makes for a well-rounded conclusion to a book that's often wry and engaging, always thoughtfully written, and valuably perceptive about the historical process.

Bridget Williams Books

$39.95

* Jenny Jones is an Auckland writer.