Kay McKenzie Cooke
Good Things Come and Go by Josie Shapiro (Allen & Unwin, 2025), 330pp, $40
‘Do you believe in fate?’ asks one of the characters at a pivotal point in Josie Shapiro’s novel Good Things Come and Go. Another character eventually replies, ‘If fate is real, then she’s truly a bitch.’ Fate, misplaced trust, displacement and human fallibility all play a part in this contemporary story of three friends who, individually and collectively, have reached a crisis point.
In Shapiro’s novel, the sport, the art and the craft of skateboarding is prominent, not only because of its potential as a plot point, but also as a metaphor for life—its potential for falls and tricks and challenges. The allure. The danger. The thrill:
Shoulders first, slam the left foot, push the nose down so the four wheels touch the ground and roll down the incline. He’s falling, once again, falling down, and then there’s no guarantee about what might happen next.
Persistent references to skateboarding evoke vivid images and sounds. Shapiro’s use of skating terms and lingo conjures the rumble and scrape of a skateboard on concrete and steel, enough to create a timpani inside the inner ear of any readers with memories of themselves—or their kids or grandkids—skateboarding through life on to, maybe even past, middle age. One of the three main characters, Riggs, treats it as his life’s blood and a way of coping. A way to anaesthetise feelings of grief and guilt that hound his days. His friend Jamie is also a keen skater, but nowadays he has more pressing worries: things chronic and life-changing that are set to test his mettle. For Riggs’ partner Penny, an artist with a tendency to look at what’s around her through a colour chart, it is the elusive art of painting that promises salvation from a depression accentuated by deep grief:
The art of falling. A series of seventeen paintings from the perspective of a bird, or a drone, replete with a strange sense of drama, each piece designed to make the viewer feel they’re falling towards the ground at great speed.
Each character is given, in turn, an equal share to move the plot along, within a trajectory that goes at a fast clip, the characters falling and getting up again. There are unsettling red flags that warn of danger. There are depictions of narcissistic behaviours, with the potential to infuriate even the most placid reader.
As unfolding events point towards an imminent reunion for the three friends, space is given for each of them to describe in the third person what is occurring or what has occurred. This seamless approach also serves to prevent the reader from falling into the trap of becoming too judgemental, as various revelations unfold about the personal foibles and life choices that have led the three protagonists towards their present circumstances. Dysfunctional upbringing and the effect of manipulative parental influence are one example. Grief that is ongoing and unresolved is another.
It soon becomes apparent that all three, whether through personal choice or outside forces, are heading into even more of a mess, taking secrets they each harbour with them. The potential for trouble is not helped by the rash and erratic behaviour attributed to Riggs’ addiction to painkillers. His subsequent, often unhinged, actions affect everyone and feed into a general sense of imminent disaster. Being untethered and in danger of falling victim to the whim of whoever is the more forceful among the trio—clearly, the erratic Riggs—creates a tension that keeps building through Shapiro’s descriptions of disruption, frustration, jealousy and fear. The resulting stress verges on unbearable as secrets from years ago, when they were teenage friends, reach a flashpoint.
It’s apparent that once the three friends find themselves together again, the group dynamic hasn’t disappeared. Their friendship is spontaneously reignited with an immediate rise in energy levels. They delight in discovering that they still enjoy each other’s company and that the bond created from past shared experiences has lasted. However, it doesn’t take long for misunderstandings to come to the party. Uppermost for Penny and Riggs is a deep grief to negotiate together—or not—after the death of their daughter, Rose. For Jamie, it is a chronic health condition, combined with unrequited love, that lies at the pit of his depression and fear. Things that were meant to be, even preordained, have been disrupted, maligned and twisted off course.
Shapiro manages to juggle the different viewpoints, aligning them without harming the plot. In fact, the plot benefits from this ability to give equal room to three different viewpoints. The characters tell the story without any unwelcome imposition or the interference of unnecessary explanations. Jamie, Penny and Riggs emerge as fully formed and distinct, making it easy for the reader to identify with them as recognisable people who are all too human.
Through one of Jamie’s accounts, a rivalry that exists between himself and Riggs is brought to our attention as another danger area:
Dr Sobhani would not be impressed. He’d told Jamie no skating, not for love nor money. Well, Jamie isn’t risking everything for anything as basic as that. It’s for something much more important: lifelong rivalry.
This rivalry is also emphasised by admissions where Riggs allows himself to be honest, acknowledging that, compared to Jamie’s goodness and sensitivity, he falls way short. By being allowed entry into the sanctity of Riggs’ private torment of guilt and grief, even if we can’t fully excuse or forgive his obtuseness and anger, we can at the very least understand and appreciate his pain. As for Penny and Jamie, between them lies a complicated knot of feelings that needs to be untangled. And although the parents are given what could be described as minor roles, their impact still comes across as important and influential. Especially so in the case of Penny:
Penny looks to her mother for help. Meg sits silent and completely still. Penny remembered this dynamic. She remembers it so vividly and still she’s shocked. Why is she shocked? This is her father through and through. Slow to praise, quick to criticise. A man who’s never apologised for anything and who demands apologies for the slightest wrongs.
The generation gap must play a part in how life has evolved so far for all three friends, now no longer young adults. Thus parental ties, if not already broken, are severed even more as the three free-wheeling protagonists are inexorably led to a reunion at Jamie’s Uncle Martin’s bach in the Coromandel. Here, Shapiro’s command of a sense of place becomes even more apparent. She has already taken us from the opening page’s fraught, edgy atmosphere of Los Angeles: ‘The buzz of backyard crickets wafts in, and from further away the yipping of a coyote, followed by a long, howling whine.’ And then on to the more restorative landscape of Aotearoa: ‘Was New Zealand always this fucking beautiful? Maybe he appreciates its natural charms more now that he’s older … Nature. Sunsets. Even the air in Aotearoa is thin and clear and perfect.’
Such descriptions add a natural texture without disrupting the novel’s narrative flow. Here’s the Coromandel from Jamie’s perspective:
From where he stands, you look right down onto a stretch of golden sand and, beyond that, the water, the blue-grey chop pulling out to the horizon, the lug of Slipper Island Whakahau loping heavy to the right, and then nothing, nothing at all, between him and Chile.
Once the trio reunites, their differing personalities feed into the psychological drama. All three of these people exhibit unappealing traits, whether that be an overbearing personality, a tendency to meekly follow, a narcissistic lack of empathy, an obstinate pride or inherent anxiety that manifests as weakness. However, the third-person accounts, with disclosure of personal histories, rescue them from being written off as dead losses. It’s a writing device that draws the reader into an empathetic understanding of how broken the three really are. An appreciation of where they are each coming from is encouraged and fostered.
We get the feeling that the dynamic first initiated through their friendship as teenagers on Waiheke does have the potential to heal any cracks and fissures; whether it be Riggs’ energy and sense of fun, Penny’s thoughtfulness and depth, or Jamie’s calmness and kindness. Immersive and explosive episodes serve as catalysts for epiphanies. The story of the three friends is brought to a conclusion that feels authentic. Like a phoenix rising from the flames—perhaps the very phoenix that, as teenagers, Penny and Jamie furtively spray-painted at night onto the side of a butcher shop on Waiheke—there is a sense of positive new beginnings applied to tragedy’s burn. And there’s a sense of optimism and energy akin to that of the rush Riggs experiences as he ‘fangs it round the coast back to Whangamatā’. Akin to that of a skateboarder just before taking off on the ride of their life.
KAY MCKENZIE COOKE (Kāti Māmoe, Kāi Tahu) lives in Ōtepoti Dunedin. She is of Māori descent (Kāti Māmoe, Kāi Tahu, Waitaha), and Scottish, Irish and English descent, and is tāua to nine mokopuna. She is the author of four poetry collections and three novels. A new collection of poems is forthcoming from The Cuba Press.
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