A lone woman’s eccentric relationship with a “non-speaking” boy and his stepfather is the intimate setting that immerses readers in an artistic dialect connecting an ancestral past to a pursuit of self-discovery.
The storyline of The Bone People by Keri Hulme pushes forward ever so leisurely while its melancholy undercurrent deceives readers into thinking we know what’s happening. Nevertheless, once the peculiar language sinks in, its unforeseeable arcs start to make sense.
Hulme uses unexpectedness as a literary device. “Between waking and being awake there is a moment full of doubt and dream, when you struggle to remember what the place and when the time and whether you really are,” she writes. This confused state of mind reflects how the main characters interact with each other.
The Bone People is full of instances when traditional perspectives are missing. Father and son, Joe and Simon, aren’t typical. When Joe beats Simon it is shocking, but that doesn’t strip Joe of humanity. Nor is the hermit, Kerewin, your typical lady across the street. Even though the characters often make us uncomfortable, we can identify with them as they quietly give way to bits of loveliness in the dark corners of their lives.
Simon contemplates life with Joe and Kerewin childishly — with simple language. His straightforwardness, at best, helps readers understand how to come to terms with pain and suffering coupled with love and compassion:
And home is Joe, Joe of the hard hands but sweet love. Joe who can comfort. Joe who takes care. The strong man, the man who cries with him, and home has become Kerewin, Kerewin the distant who is so close. The woman who is wise, who doesn’t tell him lies. The strong woman, the woman of the sea and fire.
Hulme has created an effortless yet intricate mindset through Kerewin’s reclusive nature. At the same time, readers are treated to Kerewin’s insight and life choices as she explains the relationship between the boy and his stepfather:
Well, there’s them … and I think it was a mistake. I brought them … but how can I send them away now? But my family is gone. I am alone … It’s the bloody horrible way you’ve remembered everything bad about everybody, and kept it and festered it all your life … Twenty-five years. That’s a long time. A quarter of a century. A generation. They were the only people who knew me, knew anything of me, and they kept on loving me until I broke it … do they love me now?
Kerewin’s loneliness is prevalent through out The Bone People, but as the pages turn, her outlander character never loses an anticipation or expectation of hope.
Hulme’s mystical writing style grabs readers and brings a sense of bewilderment. An example is the following passage about the bond between the trio:
The gas heater hisses. The kitchen is warm, but the air is thick; smells of burnt fat, and underlying stink of coal gas. Yet, with people in it, the kitchen is a friendly and comfortable room, she decides, and remembers her first impression of it. Spartan it may be, but at the moment, the very bareness emphasizes the companionship between her and the man, and the boy.
Hulme brings it all together with an understanding that the human spirit has an infinite capacity for the re-start, or the second chance. Rehabilitation, change and transformation are Kerewin’s final truth:
If I was an honest uncompromising soul, if I wasn’t riddled by this disease called hope, I’d climb into the middle of my pyre and light a phoenix fire from there. On the other hand, my cardinal virtue is hope. Forlorn hope, hope in extremity. Not Christian hope, but an innate rebellion against the inevitable dooms of suffering, death, and despair. A senseless hope. If I hadn’t my hope, I might have lasted 10 seconds there … the air is all gone from round it … splendid dragon … the glory of the salamander.
The Bone People combines its plot with a constant feeling of hope along with deep-rooted convictions. Witnessing these emotions through the eyes of strong characters makes it an entertaining read.
Juan’s Book Review