Don’t you love it when a book has a backstory?

I came across The Bone People entirely by accident. Obviously I have heard of it, since I’m on a small quest to read all the Booker Prize winners (nine novels left!). But I never actively decided to seek it out.

Last October, I was in Amsterdam and I went to the rather wonderful used bookstore The Book Exchange (actually it was my girlfriend who told me where it is). Just saw a copy of The Bone People, snatched it up and read it two months later as part of the Manbookering group.

The Bone People is an odd little book. It is experimental with puns and strange linguistic turns of phrases, with some Maori chucked in too (there’s a glossary at the back). Yet it focuses on universal themes. There are lots of details, which require a reread. The characters are fully developed and it stays with you long after you’ve read it. In other words, it’s a perfect Booker Winner.

The title The Bone People refers to the Maori philosophy of our ancestors and their descendants, which is one of the main themes of the book. The novel concerns three people: Kerewin, a headstrong independent woman who lives in a tower; Joe, a recently widowed father; and Simon, Joe’s adopted mute son who is prone to wild fits of destruction. Kerewin and Joe try to trace Simon’s past throughout the novel. Also, when an event in the book creates tension, both Kerewin and Joe seek out their past, which ultimately leads to reunification.

Other themes which dominate the book are child abuse, one of the tougher passages to read but Hulme deals with it in a unique way, presenting the abuser as someone who is hitting out due to a lack of communicative abilities. The theme of loneliness also prevails, as all three main characters are loners and they deal with it in their individual ways.

The book itself is episodic so there are certain set pieces such as the trio going for a holiday, the trio holding a party, the trio going to a pub. These scenes are fantastic and were what I considered a highlight.

Really the only flaw I found with The Bone People is that it is slightly overlong and that the optimistic ending is disappointing. But if it were consisting of ‘negative’ moments (and there are a lot of those), then I guess the book would descend into parody. Plus it is an interesting look at how Maori mythology can be integrated with everyday life.

As I said, reading it once does not do The Bone People any justice. Such a rich, complex novel benefits from rereads. Very rarely does one find a novel as unique as this one.

My all-time favorite book is truly a remarkable piece of literature.

It is a unique blend of poetry, allegory, and narrative, which makes it a captivating read.

The writing style is so enticing that it compelled me to give the book another try throughout my college years.

Finally, I discovered my deep affinity for it.

My life has repeatedly circled back to the character of poor Kerewin, and I still haven't fully understood what keeps drawing me back time and time again.

Could it be the beautiful language, the vividly described landscape, or the story of Simon, who finally finds his voice and comes to terms with his trauma?

Now, I'm realizing that Simon's story has given me an unbelievable sense of empathy for my own child.

Despite the differences in their specific experiences, there are underlying similarities that have touched my heart.

This book has had a profound impact on me, and I continue to be amazed by its power and beauty.

Meaningful and unique, this article is a must-read for anyone seeking something extraordinary to peruse.

It presents a love story, yet it is not a traditional romance. In fact, it is like nothing I have ever encountered before.

The story delves into deep and complex emotions, taking the reader on a journey that is both heart-wrenching and thought-provoking.

However, it is important to note that there is a huge TW (trigger warning) for child abuse. This aspect of the story adds a layer of darkness and realism that cannot be ignored.

Despite the difficult subject matter, the author manages to handle it with sensitivity and grace, making it a powerful and impactful read.

I highly recommend this article to those who are brave enough to explore the depths of human emotion and experience.

The experience felt longer than it actually was.

It seemed as if time had slowed down, stretching each moment into an eternity.

Every second dragged on, making the whole event feel like an endless ordeal.

The anticipation and the waiting made the minutes feel like hours.

Even though the actual duration might not have been that significant, the perception of time was distorted.

It was as if the mind was playing tricks, making the experience seem much more drawn out than it truly was.

This feeling of time elongation can have a profound impact on our emotions and memories.

It can make us feel exhausted, frustrated, or even relieved when it finally comes to an end.

Sometimes, these moments that feel longer than they are can become etched in our minds, standing out as particularly vivid or memorable experiences.

Whether it's a difficult task, a boring lecture, or a tense situation, the feeling of time stretching can leave a lasting impression.

In July, I had the opportunity to travel to New Zealand. As a result, I developed a strong desire to explore the works of New Zealand authors. This particular novel is one of the most renowned from that country, and several individuals had strongly recommended it to me. To my surprise, the writing style didn't strike me as being as strange or unusual as many reviewers had pointed out. Each of the three main characters has their own interior monologues, and for the most part, these are relatively easy to follow, especially since they are indented in the printed book. The story immediately captured my interest from the very beginning and kept me eagerly turning the pages.

However, the hardest thing to come to terms with while reading this book is the terrible physical abuse inflicted on a child. It's not difficult to believe - the author has made it extremely believable - but it's incredibly hard to tolerate. It's deeply upsetting. Nevertheless, I have to admire the delicate balance between good and bad, positive and negative. The relationship between Simon, the child, and Joe, the adoptive father, is highly complex, and I truly appreciate the author's ability to unfold its layers and connections gradually.

The character of Kerewin, a 30-something woman who becomes involved in Simon and Joe's lives, seems to be an alter-ego or an extension of the author herself, although I'm not certain if this is indeed the case. She is an odd and withdrawn individual, and the reasons for this aren't entirely clear. Perhaps she has always been this way.

One of the most compelling aspects of this story for me was the continuous presence of modern-day Maori culture. Both Joe and Kerewin were raised in a Maori context, even though neither of them is purely Maori by blood (which is quite typical of Maori people today). They intersperse Maori words and sentences throughout their communication (thankfully, there is a user-friendly glossary at the back of the book), and they make references to traditions and customs that I had learned about during my travels. I really liked how the story isn't overtly "a Maori story" but rather that the adults happen to be Maori, and it's an integral part of their relationship with each other.

By the end of the book, Maori culture becomes a significant part of what redeems them all. It's a process of reaching out, connecting, and embracing one's true self instead of attempting to fight against it.

This year, I delved into the captivating pages of Women Who Run With the Wolves: Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype by Clarissa Pinkola Estés (CPE). In this remarkable work, CPE vividly describes various archetypes, among which is the skeleton woman.

Similarly, in "The Bone People," the three main characters - the foster father, the foster son, and the lady friend - are all, to a greater or lesser extent, spiritually dead. They do manage to come back to life, yet the ending feels rushed, and the skeletons of their characters are not fully fleshed out.

The story concept itself is truly great, in fact, it's huge. Perhaps it's too vast for a single writer who may not have been given the opportunity to thoroughly flesh out or polish the story.

The reviewer for The Washington Post Book World accurately described this novel as "An original, overwhelming, near great work of literature."

My sincere hope is that one day, the executor of Hulme's estate will grant permission to another writer to breathe more life into the story, fully develop the characters, and polish the narrative to its full potential.

Reading this book was an experience that was profoundly emotional for me.

The story is told through the perspectives of a trinity of characters, with the point of view constantly shifting. This added an interesting layer of complexity to the narrative, as I had to constantly adjust my understanding and perception of the events and the characters.

The use of magical realism in the book was also quite captivating. It blended the real and the fantastical in a seamless way, creating a world that was both familiar and strange.

Another aspect that made this book a challenge was the unfamiliar language. The author used Maori words and phrases throughout the text, but fortunately, there was a helpful glossary provided. This allowed me to better understand the meaning and significance of the words, but it still required some effort on my part.

Despite the challenges, I found this book to be incredibly rich and charged. It was filled with literary symbolism that added depth and meaning to the story. The themes explored in the book, such as love, loss, identity, and culture, were universal and relatable, yet presented in a unique and thought-provoking way.

Overall, I would highly recommend this book to anyone who enjoys reading complex and engaging literature. It is definitely worth rereading, as I believe that each time I pick it up, I will discover something new and gain a deeper understanding of the story and its themes.

I read this book so long ago that I have completely forgotten the details of the story. However, I still vividly remember how much I liked it.

Recently, I had the opportunity to listen to a long and in-depth discussion about this book. The discussion included several excerpts from an old interview with the author, which really brought some of the characters back to my mind.

This book won the prestigious 1985 Booker Prize, which clearly indicates that I am not the only reader who has derived great pleasure from it. It seems that it is high time for me to read it again, but this time, I will pay much more attention to every nuance and detail.

(I am only making a rough guess about the date when I read it for the first time.)

I am really looking forward to re-immersing myself in this wonderful literary work and rediscovering all the charm and beauty that it holds.

I read this book shortly after its release.

At first, it seemed to have a slow start, but then it gradually built up to a shattering climax.

The scenes that had an impact on me back then still do now. This book does an excellent job of exploring a complex relationship that was both loving and violent.

I wish I could claim that Joe's prison sentence was unrealistically short, but unfortunately, I can't. Some of the prose was truly beautiful, and I didn't mind the liberties Hulme took with descriptive words.

However, there are also a few flaws.

Kerewin is at least partially autobiographical (the similar names are a bit of a clue!), and I could sense Hulme's smug approval of Kerewin's actions. Personally, I found her insufferable at the beginning, although she did improve in the middle of the book, and I liked the character's honesty about her role in the outcome for Simon.

I had forgotten the ending. It was a bit too Mills & Boon for my taste. I thought Hulme wimped out a bit there.

All in all, it's not a masterpiece (or a mistresspiece?), but it's a very fine book and an important part of New Zealand's literary landscape.

If you don't mind a book that makes severe and repeated child abuse seem like an okay thing (seriously, not just depicting it happening within a story, but actually promoting it as acceptable to leave a child in such a situation), or constant drunkenness, then this is a good book.

The writing is indeed unique. It takes a while to get accustomed to Hulme's style, but it had me hooked and eager to read until the end. I was hoping for some sort of redemption within the story. Hulme presents an ending that might seem good for her, but I find the way the abuse is excused simply because the people love each other to be completely unsatisfactory. Moreover, some of the mysteries in the story never get resolved.

Surely, there must be a much better exploration of Maori culture than what is offered in this book. This work amounts to a rather pathetic counterculture styling. It fails to do justice to the rich and complex Maori culture and instead presents a one-sided and often disturbing view. There are countless other books and works that can provide a more accurate and respectful portrayal of Maori traditions, values, and experiences.

The ocean was the sole song in the book that truly captivated me.

That being said, it offered a fascinating insight, yet it was like a door one never desired to open. Hulme is a talented wordsmith, with a rich and evocative language that描绘出 a harsh and salt-stained landscape. This really gives a sense of New Zealand's vast wild spaces, as well as the staggering alcoholism, racial tensions, and blithe brutality. From a strictly objective perspective, the story is indeed stunning. Truly. However, unfortunately, it is drawn out.

Reading about people getting blindingly drunk, being stupid, belligerent, and abusive - and then sick, nine out of ten days, is not exactly riveting.

Reading about a kid being brutally beaten regularly, not just a couple of slaps or straps of a belt, but with broken bones and scars that will never fade physically or emotionally, is deeply depressing.

Reading about other people thinking something should be done but doing nothing, well... that's infuriating.

I have to give some leeway considering this was published in the eighties. While corporal punishment was once commonplace, thrashing one's kids was not. It was never acceptable.

There is a mysticism and magical realism employed within the story that blend well with the native Maori beliefs. There is an intense amount of Maori language used, so the index in the back is not just a supplemental item. Unless you understand basic phrases, titles, and terms of endearment, you'll miss significant context. I read this in paperback form, so I can't speak to whether ebooks have clickable references, but it would be invaluable.

Finally, my knowledge of NZ politics and racial issues is nil or nearly so, to the point of being completely useless. Nonetheless, it is evident within the story how characters are judged based on how "Maori" they are, from physical appearance to language skills and beliefs. This is interesting, but it also makes the brutality of Simon, an extraordinarily "white" character, disturbing. I haven't read any critiques about this, but it would be interesting to discuss with someone who has a greater understanding of the issues.

So, the theme really didn't appeal to me. The storytelling itself is beautifully worded, albeit repetitive and drawn-out. The ending, well, that's where it fell apart. Unrealistic and vague, as if more palatable closure was needed than what was either laid out throughout the story or frankly, deserved by the characters.

As much as I love the ocean, I don't want to visit here again.

\\n  

Betelgeuse, Achenar. Orion. Aquila. Centre the Cross and you have a steady compass.
But there's no compass for my disoriented soul, only ever-beckoning ghostlights.
In the one sure direction, to the one sure end.

\\n

It took me a while to adapt to the rhythms of this one.

However, once I did, I discovered it to be a strange and potent experience. We are on the South Island of Aotearoa New Zealand, in a world of a sparse community, spiritual undertones, and a Maori-inflected natural world: manuka, weka, pakihi, kumara, huhu, katipo. The main characters have the sharp outlines of tarot cards or symbolic figures. For instance, there's a boy with no voice and a woman who lives alone in a ruined tower. Yet, they are made deeply and touchingly human.

There is a great deal of pain here, and the characters often act poorly. In one particular case, I think it's unforgivably bad. But the author doesn't seek forgiveness. It's a wonderfully non-judgmental narrative. She shows people who are broken and destructive, yet also shows that this doesn't rule out healing, community, or love. There's something very unusual and beautiful in that, even if you can't entirely accept it.

The central protagonist, ‘Kerewin Holmes’, I assume is a fictionalized version of Keri Hulme, the author. She's a very distinct character, completely different from the ‘heroine’ of any similar novel. A pipe-smoking, whisky-drinking aikido master, she is utterly self-reliant – strong, capable, articulate, artistically productive, ‘Hard and taut, someone of the past or future, an androgyne’. Sexuality not only has no role in her motivations but is completely absent from her character. Indeed, I would say this is the most complex and thoughtful portrayal of asexuality I know in literature.

Hulme's prose is dense and at times allusive. She slips in and out of internal monologue, hops between tenses for stylistic effect, and frequently uses Maori. It's a curious and worthwhile novel. The only one Hulme completed, it was published by a New Zealand feminist collective and promptly won the Booker Prize in 1985, the first Kiwi novel to do so. I'm glad I finally read it, not least because I'm pretty sure they can revoke my New Zealand passport if I haven't.