Keri Hulme’s The Bone People isn’t exactly a "light weekend read." If you’ve ever picked it up, you know the feeling. It’s dense. It’s gritty. It basically forces you to confront things about family and culture that most people would rather ignore over their morning coffee.
When it first hit the shelves in 1984, the literary world didn't really know what to do with it. It was rejected by several major publishers before a tiny feminist collective called Spiral took a chance on it in New Zealand. Then, it went and won the Booker Prize in 1985. Suddenly, everyone was talking about Keri Hulme and her strange, spiraling narrative of three broken people on the edge of the world.
What actually happens in The Bone People?
The story revolves around a trio of outsiders. You have Kerewin Holmes, a reclusive artist living in a tower she built herself. Then there’s Joe Simon, a Māori man who is deeply grieving and often violent. Finally, there’s Simon, a non-verbal boy Joe "found" after a shipwreck.
It’s a rough book. Honestly, some parts are downright grueling to get through because of the depictions of child abuse. But that’s kind of the point. Hulme wasn't trying to write a pretty story about New Zealand's "clean and green" image. She was digging into the marrow—the "bone"—of what happens when people are disconnected from their roots, their land, and each other.
Why The Bone People caused such a stir in the 80s
You have to remember the context of 1980s New Zealand. The country was going through a massive cultural soul-searching period. The Springbok Tour protests had just happened. Māori activism was reaching a boiling point. Into this environment drops a book that blends English and Te Reo Māori without a glossary (at least in the original versions).
Hulme didn't apologize for it.
She forced the reader to do the work. If you didn't know the language, you had to feel that sense of displacement. It was a stylistic choice that mirrored the characters' own search for identity. Critics were divided. Some called it a work of genius that redefined post-colonial literature. Others found the violence toward Simon—the young boy—too much to handle.
The controversy hasn't really gone away. Even today, if you look at Goodreads or literary forums, people are still arguing about whether the "redemption" at the end of the book is earned or if it excuses the trauma depicted earlier in the chapters.
The Tower, the Sea, and the Bone
Symbols are everywhere in this book. Kerewin’s tower isn't just a house; it’s a physical manifestation of her isolation. She’s an "intellectual" who has lost her "heart," or at least her connection to her family. When she loses her ability to paint, her world falls apart.
Then you have the sea.
The ocean in The Bone People is a character itself. It provides food, it hides secrets, and it literally delivers Simon to Joe. It’s a source of life and a source of destruction. This reflects the Māori concept of Te Moana-nui-a-Kiwa. It’s not just water; it’s a spiritual bridge.
Keri Hulme: The woman behind the myth
Keri Hulme herself was a bit of an enigma. She lived in Okarito, a tiny settlement on the West Coast of the South Island. She liked whitebaiting. She liked her solitude. After winning the Booker, she didn't become a "celebrity author" in the traditional sense. She didn't pump out a book every two years to keep the momentum going.
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She was of Kāi Tahu and Ngāti Māmoe descent, along with English and Scottish heritage. This "mixed" identity is the heartbeat of the novel. It’s about being "in-between."
Hulme once said that the characters haunted her for years before she could actually get the story down. She spent over a decade writing it. You can feel that weight in the prose. It’s not "crafted" in a corporate, polished way. It feels excavated.
Common misconceptions about the ending
People often talk about the ending of The Bone People as a happy one. It’s not. Not really.
It’s more of a "restoration." The characters don't just go back to how they were. They are fundamentally broken and then pieced back together in a new shape—like kintsugi pottery. They find a way to create a whānau (family) that isn't based on blood, but on a shared necessity for survival and a reconnection to the land.
If you’re looking for a neat resolution where everyone apologizes and everything is fine, you’re reading the wrong book. It’s messy. It’s uncomfortable. It’s human.
How to approach reading it for the first time
If you’re planning on diving in, here’s some actual advice.
First, don't worry if you don't understand every word of Te Reo Māori immediately. Let the sounds wash over you. The rhythm of the language is part of the experience.
Second, take breaks. The descriptions of Joe’s treatment of Simon are visceral. It’s okay to put the book down for a day or two.
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Third, pay attention to the silence. So much of the "dialogue" in this book happens in the spaces between what is said. Simon can’t speak, yet he’s often the most expressive person in the room.
The legacy of the Booker win
Winning the Booker Prize changed things for New Zealand literature. It proved that a story deeply rooted in a specific, local context could resonate globally. It paved the way for authors like Witi Ihimaera and Patricia Grace to reach wider international audiences.
But it also put a lot of pressure on Hulme. The literary world wanted more from her. They wanted The Bone People Part Two. She never gave it to them. She stayed true to her own pace, her own voice, and her own quiet life in Okarito until she passed away in 2021.
Actionable steps for exploring the world of Hulme
To truly appreciate the impact of The Bone People, don't just read the book and stop there.
- Listen to the language: Find recordings of Keri Hulme speaking. Hearing the cadence of her voice helps you understand the rhythm of her writing.
- Research the Waitangi Tribunal: Understanding the historical context of Māori land rights and cultural reclamation in the 70s and 80s will give you a much deeper insight into Joe and Kerewin’s struggles.
- Check out the "Spiral" story: Look up the history of the Spiral collective. It’s a fascinating look at how grassroots publishing can change the course of literary history.
- Look at West Coast landscapes: Search for photos of Okarito and the West Coast of New Zealand. The landscape is a vital part of the book's DNA. Seeing the rugged, misty, and often harsh beauty of that area makes Kerewin’s isolation much more tangible.
The book remains a polarising masterpiece because it refuses to be "nice." It demands that you look at the cracks in the floorboards. It asks what it means to belong to a place and to a people, especially when you feel like you've been cast out. It’s a hard read, but it’s one that sticks to your ribs long after you’ve finished the final page.