Despite the indulgent spirituality that is peppered throughout the text and the often hard-to-follow stop/start faux-poetic quality of the prose, I was still truly rooting for this book.

I initially had a genuine connection with the three main characters, flaws and all. I was also enjoying some of the language experiments that the author was conducting, although most of them didn't quite work. Nevertheless, I still admired the spirit behind them. (I did like the convention of indenting the character's inner monologues, which seemed like a good idea that could be used elsewhere.)

However, the book quickly delved into territory that I found reprehensible. So, spoilers ahead. Basically, a child is abused. It is violent and not pleasant to read about. In most cases, this would be acceptable. I don't expect my books to sugarcoat the real world or create flawless and perfect characters.

It's how Hulme then handles this abuse that infuriates me. First, there was lip service paid to how bad child abuse is. Okay, fine, that's a good first step. But then, the book slowly starts to shift its position, dropping hints that it's okay to slap your child over the head sometimes when he makes you angry. It's only when you completely maim them that it's not okay. And even then, it's forgivable when you love the child and the child loves you, right?

In fact, child protective services, the cops, the doctors, and the psychologists are supposedly looking out for the child's interests, but they don't really know him. They don't understand the bond that has formed between the child and the abuser! They're not really listening to what the child truly wants, which is to go back to his abusive father.

And oh, about that abusive father? Don't worry, we can forgive him because he went on a spiritual journey and met a Maori elder who told him about a god in a river that he is looking after. I mean, that was completely random and out of left field. What does that have to do with his abusive behavior? He hasn't really earned forgiveness or anything, but look, he had a tough life growing up, and then his wife died, and lots of sad things happened in his life. So, give him a break, will ya? Besides, he found a random god! So, that's gotta be worth some kind of redemption, right? Because of spirituality and magic and stuff.

Also, the kid is shrouded in mystery, which is fine, but we're not going to explain anything, not really. We're just going to say he was traveling with a bunch of coke heads, which should explain the fear of needles thing. Which is really the least of the mysteries. I mean, the kid has a voice, can scream, knows words, can write, can even mouth words silently, but won't talk. Why is that? Oh, coke heads... hmmm.

And that ending was just like "OK, everyone lives happily ever after. Let's sweep everything under the rug because now there's magic, and so they can all be together and never experience abuse ever again." After creating relatively complex and flawed characters, I'm surprised Hulme thought this Deus Ex Machina type of ending was really going to cut it. It's like she stopped trying or caring.

I don't mind child abuse being addressed or even portrayed without judgment. But this book goes too far in that it actually implies that child abuse is okay as long as the abuser has found spiritual enlightenment and promises, I mean, really promises, he won't ever do it again, right? (wink, wink)

He-el, intently watching the child take off his sandals and socks, suddenly realized that there was a certain aspect of childhood that he had long forgotten.

It was truly remarkable to imagine that one would have to ask permission whether they could go barefoot or not.

In childhood, such simple pleasures often came without hesitation or the need for approval. The child's innocent act of removing his footwear brought back memories of a time when freedom and spontaneity were the norm.

He-el couldn't help but smile at the sight, as it served as a gentle reminder of the carefree days of his own youth.

It made him wonder how much we lose as we grow older and become bound by the rules and restrictions of society.

Maybe it was time to reclaim some of that childhood spirit and allow ourselves to embrace the simple joys that life has to offer, even if it means going barefoot from time to time.

You know those books that you finish thinking that it was alright, but as time goes on and your mind mulls it over you begin to like it more and more? The Bone People is the opposite kind of book. To the extent that coming back to write this review, I was surprised to find I had given it two stars instead of one.

Where to begin with this terrible attempt at a novel? Well, the opening with poems and snippets of disjointed text without context served as a confusing start. Even after finishing the book and understanding what was going on, it remained needlessly opaque. In general, the structure of the book is a mess. The first two-thirds is an almost completely realistic depiction of life, and then it switches in the final third to a story full of the supernatural. Jarring, to say the least. Additionally, this book is far longer than it needed to be. A properly aggressive editor would likely have shaved off at least a hundred pages.

Beyond the structure, the content is also painfully bad. The main character, Holmes, is a bizarre insert of the author. She is a rich, brilliant artist who is also a martial arts master. Sure, she laments at times about her lack of connection to others, but the book portrays this as Holmes being too cool for everyone else rather than an actual inability to be social. She feels like an edgier attempt at a Mary-Sue, and at times I cringed while reading the parts focusing on her.

However, she is not the main problem. The character of Joe and the book's attitude toward his actions are. It is revealed around the halfway mark that Joe is abusive toward his adopted son Simon. We're talking about beatings that put Simon's life in danger. The book still treats Joe as a sympathetic character, even when his beatings send Simon to the hospital and nearly kill him.

Hulme is on record as saying she wanted to write about child abuse. But someone needs to tell her that writing about an issue is more than just including an instance of it in your book. You also have to explore the effect of that message or take a stand on the issue. I'm assuming she didn't intend to do either, because the end of the novel seems to preach that child abuse isn't that bad and that being around an abusive adult is a good option as long as he claims to care. At the end of the story, Simon is desperate to return to Joe, his abuser, and the novel generally takes the approach that the government made a mistake by removing the child from his care, as they just "didn't understand the relationship the two had."

Such a message is disgusting. I'm going to give Hulme the benefit of the doubt and assume she's merely an incompetent writer, instead of evil.

I truly love to express just how much I DETEST THIS BOOK. It is an absolute monstrosity that is a staggering 600 pages TOO LONG. It is completely unpublishable in its current state. The so-called "story" it presents is truly abhorrent. It tries to convey the message that hitting a child until you almost kill him is somehow OKAY as long as you claim to really love your child. The idea that they will understand and everything will magically be okay is just absurd. In fact, those who would advocate such a thing should be skinned alive and have all their internal organs removed and eaten while they are still wide awake. =)

I have a profound feeling that this book is going to linger in my mind and haunt me for an extremely long time. Given such a powerful impression, I should probably bump my rating up a little higher.

However, there were a few aspects that gave me some pause. The writing style was markedly different from anything I've ever read before. At first, it was quite challenging to adapt, but I did manage to get the hang of it eventually. Nevertheless, I was still confused by the Mauri language, despite the dictionary provided at the back of the book. Additionally, the symbolism used throughout the story added another layer of complexity that I found somewhat difficult to decipher.

The themes explored in the book, namely alcoholism and child abuse, were deeply disturbing. They made me confront some harsh realities and emotions. The characters, too, weren't all that likeable on the surface. They had their fair share of flaws and shortcomings. And yet, in some strange and inexplicable way, as I delved deeper into their stories, I grew to like them with all their imperfections.

The ending of the book left me with a sense of ambiguity. It wasn't neatly wrapped up with a tidy bow, even though it initially appeared to be. I couldn't quite decide whether the ending was weak or if it was intentionally written in such a way to keep the reader guessing and pondering long after they had finished the last page.

This was my second encounter with The Bone People. I vividly recall adoring it the first time, yet also being aware of its numerous minor flaws. The very beginning seemed a bit rough, the end was somewhat sketchy, and in the last third, the story's threads appeared to elude Keri Hulme. However, whenever I chanced upon it on Goodreads, I was constantly astonished by my 4-star rating. After all, there are many five-star reads that I remember far less clearly and that had a lesser emotional impact on me. This time, I've decided to trust my instincts, which tell me that this book might be like my bookshelf. I cherish it dearly, despite the fact that it's not what anyone would call a neatly constructed shelf. Nevertheless, I would sing its praises (both the book's and the shelf's) at every available opportunity.

Hulme is an outstanding storyteller, and her language, although peculiar at times, is extremely powerful.

One aspect of this book that left a profound impression on me is the warmth Hulme shows towards her deeply damaged characters, without ever sugarcoating their actions. As a reader, this often placed me in an intriguing grey area, being simultaneously repulsed by and in love with these people in equal measure.

I would highly recommend this book to anyone interested in literature from and about New Zealand, and in following the journey of three emotional wrecks (often strange and beautiful, sometimes strange and hard to stomach) in a story that combines elements of New Zealand Realism with Maori Symbolism.

I can't truly claim that I had a great affection for this book.

I read it, and while I didn't experience boredom or a strong aversion to reading it, I also didn't glean a significant amount of knowledge from it or have an overwhelming emotional response after finishing it.

I did enjoy the earlier portions of the book when Kerewin's narration took center stage. However, towards the end, after Joe physically assaulted Simon, my interest in the book waned completely.

Joe's encounter with the wise man left me rather perplexed, and from that point on, the book seemed to take a downward turn.

Kerewin's redemption at the end was somewhat bothersome to me as it felt like a forced happy ending for what was otherwise a rather twisted story.

Very few of the issues were resolved, and the more troubling aspects of the book were not integral parts of the theme or even particularly notable.

Most other reviews and summaries of the book place a great emphasis on the Maori connection. Joe was Maori, Keri was part Maori, and Simon was European. Keri served as the connection, and this was a recurring symbol throughout the book.

Overall, I found the book to be somewhat lacking in substance and coherence.

Probably the word that sums up the reading experience of this book the most is frustrating.

It was a laborious task reading this book in more ways than one. The narrative style, which is often stream of consciousness, scatterbrained, herky-jerky, overblown and jarring, stalls and diminishes the power of the story. It's like driving through dense fog, making the reading process quite an effort at times. I even wanted to skim ahead during some overblown sections.

Moreover, the book is too dark and depressing, and the lead characters, Joe and Kerewin, are lackluster and unsympathetic, so I wasn't emotionally invested. There are heavy subjects like child abuse, but the way they are presented doesn't have the intended impact.

Another issue is that the book is vastly overwritten. There are long passages where nothing of consequence happens, like when we're in a bar listening to characters order drinks for thirty or more pages. While the author may be trying to help us get to know the characters, the mundane scenes and underwhelming characters leave the reader unsatisfied.

Finally, the ending was both ridiculous and pretentious, in my opinion. I tried to finish the book no matter what, but I was almost ready to give up at several points. Overall, it's one of those books that I was just glad to be over and done with.

I first read this book 35 years ago when it was published in German.

I couldn't remember many of the details, but I could still recall the sense of awe and admiration it evoked in me.

Reading it again after such a long time has only strengthened my initial impression.

Keri Hulme named her protagonist Kerewin Holmes, and the similarity of the names alone hints at autobiographical elements.

Kerewin is an extremely independent woman from a Maori family, unfettered by people and things.

Her wealth undoubtedly makes her lifestyle more comfortable.

She has constructed a tower on the coast and leads a solitary existence.

She then encounters the Maori man Joe and his white foster son Simon, and gradually grows closer to both.

Soon, these three form a complex relationship, each grappling with their own significant problems.

The book's writing style is truly unique, and it is rich in Maori language and culture.

It demands concentration and a willingness to engage deeply.

On my first reading, I struggled with the final part of the book, which delved into Maori myths and spirituality.

This time, however, I was able to understand and appreciate it with ease.

Perhaps it's because I'm older and more worldly-wise.

I remain in awe of Kerewin's unwavering independence.

Yes, she pays a price for it, as does anyone who chooses to be alone.

But I find her character truly admirable, especially in the way she copes with her illness.

It may seem strange, but ever since I first read this book, I've aspired to be like Kerewin.

Based on all I've said, it's clear that this book is a strong contender for the title of my all-time favorite.

While one should always be cautious with absolute statements, in this case, I'm almost willing to take that risk.

I don't have much regard for the star metric of rating books on the like-dislike spectrum. At best, it is an imperfect substitute for conveying both the quality and impact of a book. For instance, I can't truthfully say that "I really liked" this book. Hulme's narrative made me feel manipulated and abused.

It is a rather straightforward story about the relationship between a woman, a mute boy, and his father. And I think many people might wrongly assume that this is a story essentially about colonialism and the Maori people. Instead, isolation and the stubbornness of human dysfunction are far more central. It's an extremely powerful story. Be prepared.

Alright, comment #1 is completed. Moving on to the next one...

The Bone People has been on my "To read" list for ages.

Not only is the book on Terri Windling's esteemed Mythic Reading list, but the setting in New Zealand, with its mixed characters of Maori and European ethnicity and the intermingling of the two cultures, also made it extremely appealing to me.

However, the first chapter was a disappointing surprise. I seriously considered ditching the book altogether!

Luckily, I found this article and realized I was not alone! http://www.theguardian.com/books/book...
This article precisely pointed out what bothered me, but reading it also encouraged me to read on. And I'm glad I did!

This book has so many wonderful aspects. It is a mystery, a love story, and a cultural novel all rolled into one. Above all, it is mythic fiction.

The Guardian article explained that Keri Hulme had great difficulty getting this book published. She refused any suggestions to edit or rewrite it.

Finally, the book was published by a small independent publisher and became a huge bestseller.

I think it's a pity she wasn't more open to some editing suggestions. In my opinion, Hulme is not as skilled a writer as, for example, Isabel Allende or Elif Shafik.

Both of the writers I mentioned are capable of complex storytelling with multiple themes, characters, and points of view without being confusing, but I found the style in The Bone People to be very muddled.

I truly wish from the bottom of my heart that I could give this book a higher rating! 5 stars for content but 1 for the writing.

This book is an absolute fave of mine.

Hulme's writing style, although it might take a bit of adjusting to at first, is truly compelling. There's something about it that just draws you in and keeps you hooked.

For some strange reason, as I was reading, I couldn't help but picture Whoopi Goldberg in the lead role. The character is one of the most earthy and real women I've come across in literature. She's not perfect, but that's what makes her so relatable.

My first copy of this book ended up on someone else's shelf, and I have no idea how it got there. It was one of the few books that I just had to replace, even though I know it might disappear again some day.

This book is a definite swooner, and I would highly recommend it to anyone looking for a good read.