This is a memoir about Tung learning more about her emotions/feelings and coming to terms with her depression and anxiety. She works through overwhelming emotions that eventually begin to make her day-to-day life increasingly more difficult. She seeks help from mental health professionals and little by little becomes more accepting and appreciative of herself at every stage in life, even if she feels like she is failing or imperfect. She learns to be kinder to herself and to take better care of herself.

The emotions and feelings are portrayed very honestly and vulnerably, which really makes struggles with mental health seem less scary and less taboo. This helps decrease any stigma and hopefully encourages others to seek help if it’s needed!

The writing is very simple and to the point. It doesn’t sugar coat the experience of depression and anxiety. The illustrations aid in the visualization of the feelings and emotions Tung experiences. They are not overly positive and colorful, but are just simply honest.

I would have really appreciated reading this book earlier in my life. It makes the reader feel less alone and like there are other people out there with similar experiences, which can make all the difference.

This memoir really works for what it is and what it aims to do. But I cannot help but want for more. Mental health is not solely a personal concern, but is heavily influenced by external systems. And for many, personal efforts are not enough in providing support.

I’ve been waiting to post my review to gather my thoughts on this book, but I just don’t know that I could ever fully encompass how much this book got to me.

A family brought together, torn apart, left to mend their broken pieces, lose each other, and find each other again. Raw, gritty, aching, sometimes nauseating and other times heartwarming. Sometimes devastating and other times fiercely hopeful.

Becky Manawatu’s Auē is a harrowing tale about multiple generations of an extended Māori family navigating grief, trauma, addiction, and gang violence. She expresses the family’s complicated story through a uniquely Māori lens, incorporating language and cultural traditions seamlessly into the narrative. Most of the characters really grew on me, and I appreciated the complexity Manawatu put into her female characters especially. Jade in particular will stick with me.

Each chapter is told from the perspective of a different character and a third person narrator; Manawatu’s ability to shift from a young child’s inner world to his teenage brother and then to the third person narration of other characters’ journeys is phenomenal. At first these switches felt confusing and disjointed because of how some chapters are in the current timeline and others are told from the past. But once I understood the backstory, it became easier to go back and forth. The confusion also made for an intriguing experience of the story in and of itself. I wanted to get to the bottom of this family’s story and understand their pain.

I was deeply moved by the way Manawatu beautifully expresses some of the most painful emotions and tragic scenes. The characters don’t just have feelings, we are taken on the somatic experience with them and dive into their inner worlds. There were moments that had me sobbing with so much empathy that I had to put the book down.

My one critique is that the final quarter of the book felt rushed after such an intense slow burn throughout the majority of the book. I wouldn’t have minded it being longer just to get a more fleshed out timeline of events for the conclusion.

Auē hurt me in so many beautiful ways.