Carol Rose Goldeneagle. BONE BLACK. Nightwood, 2019.
I was looking on the cover for some clue, but the only hint
is “a novel”. It seems to me more like “horror”.
This is the type of novel found in the basement rooms of
men who carry automatic rifles into mosques and elementary schools. Justifications
for violence as a solution to their emotional challenges. Shooters who are
angry, convinced of their own superiority, rationalizing their criminal acts in
whatever arguments best suit their distorted views. Living out their fantasies
of revenge and vigilantism. Targeting. Entrapment. Death. Dismemberment. Disposal.
At first I respond to the title as a reference to the main
character’s career as a potter, with bone black a glaze she creates for
herself. And to the Saskatchewan setting, someone who knows and loves the land,
including the Qu’Appelle Valley. Then, I notice the unpolished style. Almost
total telling. Slip-sliding between tenses and POVs. Then I begin to think
about the characters. Is this husband for real? I ask, Where is the
protagonist? There is no character with whom to identify or even really to care
about. The main character’s level of moral reasoning is so low as to be
non-existent. The level of self-awareness is delusional. The idea that she is
grieving, and that being an artist and being pregnant somehow give her a pass?
Not to me.
I don’t even want to think about what a detrimental effect
this story would have on reconciliation, were too many people to read it. The
worst fears realized. That nothing is sacred, and that she does not even
realize her desecration.
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