For all the baroque grotesqueness that dominates much of this book, McNaughton also kindles startling moments of sorrow. The scaly effect was accidental, because the details depicted nothing more sinister than exotic flowers and fungi.įrom this stranger, Fariel learns the true story of the supposed kidnapping of his Aunt Dendra at the hands of the woodcutter’s son, Ringard. Not even his eyelids and lips had escaped the needle. It was their setting that had upset everyone, tattoos like the patterned skin of a reptile. He finds an old man, normal in most ways but extravagantly different in one:Įxcept for their extraordinary sadness, his eyes were those of an ordinary old man. Lord Fariel rides out one day to investigate a stranger whose appearance has been frightening the citizenry. The first story, “Ringard and Dendra,” only hints at the weirdness to come in The Throne of Bones. Characters regale the reader with tales of long ago imperial and family glories, and barbarians lurk on the periphery of a society that seems to be in the midst of a slow motion collapse. McNaughton’s world feels very similar to the late Roman Empire. Between them a small middle class live in dual fear of the nobility and of falling into poverty. The rich and powerful lead lives of luxury, while the poor live in squalor. They are set within and on the edges of an old empire slipping into decay: crumbling cities, clashing religious sects, and feuding noble clans. The Throne of Bones contains nine short stories and the novella, “Throne of Bones” itself composed of six intricately intertwined stories. So if this review leaves you curious about McNaughton’s work, be warned: while it’s not sadistic or very frightening, it is strong stuff. Lots of the characters’ actions are motivated by sexual appetites that are many things - mostly disturbing - but never even remotely erotic. On the other hand, many of the characters are by far the most despicable I’ve ever met and their actions among the vilest put to paper. And it’s set in a vivid world, parts of which will haunt me for a long time. It contains some of the best writing I have ever read in fantasy by turns tense, dark, grimly funny, and occasionally majestic. The late Brian McNaughton’s 1997 collection The Throne of Bones is a book I want to on one hand praise and with the other hold it away from myself with a pair of iron tongs. They see their fellows as impediments to feeding, to be mauled and shrieked at when the mourners go home. It vaporizes delicacy and leaves behind a only a slag of anger and lust. Hunger is the fire in which they burn, and it burns hotter than the hunger for power over men or for the knowledge of the gods in a crazed mortal. For all their laughter, ghouls are a dull lot.
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