When I first migrated to New Zealand from the United Kingdom, I really struggled to ‘get’ the popular fixation on Gallipoli. Why was Anzac Day so prominent, I wondered? Why was it emphasised over Remembrance Day? Why was so much importance placed on a relatively insignificant military campaign that ended in heavy losses and humiliating defeat? And why on earth would New Zealanders want to associate their path to nationhood with a war that, in the United Kingdom at least, is frequently portrayed as a pointless and bloody shambles?

While the intervening years had given me numerous insights into these questions, my understanding is now far deeper and more nuanced thanks to this excellent new book by University of Auckland historian and Auckland War Memorial Museum project curator Rowan Light.

Light charts the trajectory of Anzac mythmaking from the 50th anniversary of Gallipoli in 1965 to the high point of the recent centenary programme in 2015. He examines how commemoration has evolved from being relatively low-key and dominated by veterans and their organisations in the 1960s, to being a lightning rod for anti-war and feminist protestors in the 1970s and 1980s, to finally becoming the state-directed juggernaut of today that forms a central component of national narratives and understandings of identity.

Fifty years is a long stretch to cover in a relatively short work, but all Light’s analysis is supported by plentiful research and by detailed reference to a range of cultural forms and expressions – films, books, plays, dawn services, memorials, newspaper reports and television productions.

A major strength of the book is the attention it devotes to both New Zealand and Australia. This is not one of those works where ‘transnationalism’ really means a New Zealand-dominated narrative with a few comparisons dotted around. Instead, this is a thorough-going transnationalism, where the two nations are given equal coverage and their experiences are constantly brought into relationship with one another.

This allows Light to note key similarities, such as the immense social and cultural influence of Anzac, the expanded role of the state in commemoration during the 1990s, and the frequent use of Anzac tropes to justify pursuing (or not pursuing) certain foreign and military policies in the 21st century. Both countries have also sought to employ Anzac commemoration as a means of de-emphasising their history as settler-colonies of the British Empire in favour of a narrative that portrays them as independent nations with distinct characteristics.

But the book also showcases many significant and intriguing differences between the two nations. Australia has invariably taken the lead on Anzac commemoration - spending more money, allocating more resources and developing new initiatives - with New Zealand being left on the margins or struggling to catch up. Moreover, the Australian state has been highly successful at creating a unified Anzac narrative, with the Australian War Memorial in Canberra as its physical and spiritual centre, whereas the meaning of Anzac and its ownership have often been the subject of contestation in New Zealand. Light draws this contrast out with great finesse in his chapter comparing the repatriation of the Unknown Australian Soldier in 1993 with that of Unknown New Zealand Warrior in 2004.

Differences also manifest via another of the book’s major strengths: its focus on the responses of Indigenous peoples to Anzac commemoration. In Australia, efforts to shift attention away from division and discrimination have largely succeeded, with the experiences of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities being effectively subsumed within wider Anzac narratives.

New Zealand governments have been hindered in this regard by the fact significant Anzac commemorative years tend to also be significant commemorative years for Te Tiriti o Waitangi. Light points to numerous instances of Māori resistance and a determination to have their experiences recognised as distinct. This has made it difficult to promote unified conceptions of nationhood and shared ideals of citizenship in the face of public protests about the ongoing injustices of colonialism.

Light’s key case study here is a comparison between the seminal Gallipoli 75 Task Force project in Australia, which “transformed Gallipoli Anzac Day commemorations into an event dominated by Australian prerogatives and priorities,” and the 1990 Commission in New Zealand, which only served to highlight the nation’s “racial, legal and political divisions.”

Writing a thematic analysis, particularly a transnational one, is far from easy. That the key similarities and differences come through so strongly is, therefore, a great testament to Light’s writing. His clear and engaging prose mean the book should be equally accessible to scholars and members of the public, with this attribute being further enhanced by plentiful colour and black and white images, and by the quality production that typifies the output of Otago University Press. Indeed, the only issue I spotted in this regard is a decidedly ‘nit-picky’ one – numerous references to, and the indexing of, a New Zealand Ministry of Culture and Heritage, rather than the correct Ministry for Culture and Heritage.

This is a fascinating and timely book. Whether one welcomes or regrets the powerful influence that Anzac commemoration wields on Australian and New Zealand culture, there seems no prospect of it diminishing anytime soon. As a result, understanding where this influence comes from, how it has evolved, and how it has been maintained, is vital to understanding both the past and the present of these two Anzac nations.

Reviewed by Dr David Littlewood