Nettle & Bone by Ursula Vernon writing as T. Kingfisher

T. Kingfisher is the pen name of Ursula Vernon, a prolific author with a body of work that runs the gamut from horror to romance by way of comics, short fiction, novels, and children’s books. Her writing as T. Kingfisher represents both horror and dark fantasy genres and is characterized by irreverent humor mixed with creepiness and infused with folklore and mythology. In the novella What Moves the Dead, she has bravely reimagined Poe’s The Fall of the House of Usher while in The Twisted Ones, she takes the archetypical characters and design of the fantasy genre and embeds them into a terrifying horror story that takes place in the modern day real world.

I loved Nettle and Bone; it reminded me of The Wizard of Oz in that our protagonist Marra is on a quest and is joined by those who will help her as they “ease on down the road.” There’s the dust-wife, a powerful gravewitch who operates as both a witch and a gravedigger.

It was said that the dust-wives could speak the language of the dead and that they knew all the secrets that lay beneath the earth. When a dust-wife died, she was cremated and her ashes were spread across the graveyard, so that each dust-wife who came after might keep the wisdom of her predecessors near at hand. [p. 60]

The dust-wife agrees to join Marra’s quest but refuses to leave behind her demon-possessed pet hen who provides both humor and sustenance.

The hen rode until midmorning, whereupon she would stretch, walk down the dust-wife’s outstretched arm, and climb into her pack. The top flap was left open just for this reason. The hen would sit there for about a quarter of an hour, give a single pleased cluck, and then saunter back down the arm and onto the staff again. The dust-wife would pause, retrieve a single large brown egg from her pack, and tuck it into a safe pocket. In the morning, she would cook the egg, divide it in exact halves, and share it with Marra. [p. 76]

Joining them is the disgraced former knight Fenris, no longer youthful after passing an indeterminate amount of time imprisoned by fairies.

He was clearly used to camping roughly. He could build a fire while Marra was still fumbling with flint and keep it going longer. He had no gear of his own after his time in the goblin market, so the dust-wife sacrificed a metal measuring cup and Marra handed over the smaller of her two knives so he could eat and drink.

After two days, Marra no longer seriously believed that Fenris would turn on them. He was calm and judicious and the dust-wife needled him more or less constantly, which he took in good humor. Occasionally Marra would share a glance with him, a bemused one that said, [Can you believe that two sensible people such as us are in this situation?] [p. 112]

A lopsided skeletal dog Marra made out of bones is also part of the team along with Marra’s fairy godmother Agnes, a kindly, dithery individual who is half-fae, and, if pushed, can bestow murderous curses.

The plot of Nettle and Bone is simple with the narrative focusing on present challenges mixed with flashbacks providing historical context. Harbor Kingdom is a small but powerful port nation on the edge of the ocean with enormous empires both to its north and south borders. Under constant threat from both nations, the Harbor Kingdom Royals make a political move. They marry off their oldest daughter Damia to the evil, abusive Prince Vorling of the northern kingdom. Then, suddenly, Damia dies. Kania, the second sister then becomes his wife and has his child, though unfortunately not a male. Thirty-year-old Marra is convinced that the prince is physically abusing Kania, will probably ultimately murder her, and will then choose Marra as his next victim. To save herself, Kania, and the entire kingdom, Marra starts on a grand adventure, slowly building her team as she goes, and taking on the responsibilities ignored by those in power.

The narrative begins with a description of Marra putting together a dog made of bones. Until you read on, it’s a bit confusing, but introduces the eerie atmosphere immediately. Marra knows she cannot save her sister without the dust-wife, a powerful witch who can speak with the souls of the dead. Yet the dust-wife (with her pet hen) will accompany her only after Marra completes three tasks: Sew a cloak of owlcloth and nettles, build a dog of cursed bones, and catch moonlight in a jar of clay. When the story begins, Marra has successfully created the cloak and is working on her next task: she is in a cemetery desecrating graves to create the much-loved companion she names Bonedog.

The trees were full of crows and the woods were full of madmen. The pit was full of bones and her hands were full of wires.

Her fingers bled where the wire ends cut her. The earliest cuts were no longer bleeding, but the edges had gone red and hot, with angry streaks running backward over her skin. The tips of her fingers were becoming poufy and less nimble.

Marra was aware that this was not a good thing, but the odds of living long enough for infection to kill her were so small that she could not feel much concern.

She picked up a bone, a long, thin one from the legs, and wrapped the ends with wire. It fit alongside another long bone—-not from the same animal, but close enough—-and she bound them together and fit them into the framework she was creating.

The charnel pit was full, but she did not need to dig too deeply. She could track the progression of starvation backward through the layers. They had eaten deer and they had eaten cattle. When the cattle ran out and the deer were gone, they ate horses, and when the horses were gone, they ate the dogs.

When the dogs were gone, they ate each other. [p. 1]

Marra is nearly finished completing the bone dog when it opens its jaws in a wide yawn and begins to stretch. And as the bone dog comes alive the tone of the story changes.

“Hush,” she told it. “I’m nearly done—”

It sat up. Its mouth opened and the ghost of a wet tongue touched her face like fog.

She scratched the skull where the base of the ears would be. Her nails made a soft scraping sound on the pale surface.

The bone dog wagged its tail, its pelvis, and most of its spine with delight.

“Sit still,” she told it, picking up the front paw. “Sit, and let me finish.”

It sat politely. The hollow eye sockets gazed up at her. Her heart contracted painfully.

The love of a bone dog, she thought, bending her head down over the paw again. All that I am worth these days.

Then again, few humans were truly worth the love of a living dog. Some gifts you could never deserve.

She had to wrap each tiny foot bone in a single twist of wire and bind it to the others, then wrap the entire paw several times, to keep it stable. It should not have held together, and yet it did.

The cloak had gone together the same way. Nettle cords and tattered cloth should have fallen apart, and yet it was far more solid than it looked.

The dog’s claws were ridiculously large without flesh to cloak them. She wrapped each one as if it were an amulet and joined them to the basket of thin wires.

“Bone dog, stone dog,” she whispered. She could see the children in her head, three little girls, chanting to each other. Bone dog, stone dog . . . black dog, white dog . . . live dog, dead dog . . . yellow dog, run!

At run, the little girl in the middle of the rope had jumped out and begun to run back and forth through the swinging rope, the only sound her feet and the slap of the rope in the dust. When she finally tripped up, the two girls on the ends had dropped the rope and they had all begun giggling together.

The bone dog rested his muzzle on her forearm. He had neither ears nor eyebrows, and yet she could practically feel the look he was giving her, tragic and hopeful as dogs often were. [p. 6]

I don’t think I’ve ever read anything that shifts so naturally from creepy to comical, from comical to brutal, from downright disgusting to heart-felt.

From a landlady psychologically abused by an animated puppet permanently attached to her shoulder — to the antics of Bonedog: They walked along in silence for nearly half an hour. Bonedog nosed at something in a hedge and snapped his jaws closed. Whatever it was fell out through the bottom of his jaw and ran off into the grass. He came back, grinning hugely, very proud of himself. [p. 110]

From descriptions of Bonedog’s habits: Bonedog, bored, sat down and began trying to lick his nether regions. Since he had neither tongue nor anything to lick, this accomplished nothing but seemed to please him. [p. 78] — to the brutality of Prince Vorling evidenced by his first wife’s mysterious death, his threatening tirades and Kania’s bruises.

From the revolting description of one of the dead: The dead boy swam upstream, quick as a fish, and rose to his feet. Water streamed from his mouth and his empty eye sockets. His skin had swollen and split his clothes, a pale, bloated thing with flesh puffing out between strands of waterweed. [p. 78] — to the caring relationship between Marra and Bonedog: Bonedog came and sat on her foot. She closed her fingers around his collar and thought, [My dog trusts me, and then, My dog is witless and also dead,] but things loosened a little in her chest nevertheless. [p. 141]

If these features aren’t enough, T. Kingfisher has also woven into the narrative quote-worthy observations that are sometimes hilarious and often insightful.

We are reminded of Marra’s wisdom as she dissects human frailties and strengths: “And my mother was my mother, and I knew she loved me, so it took me a long time to realize that she would also move me as a game piece to save the kingdom.” [p. 156]

[Nothing is fair, except that we try to make it so. That’s the point of humans, maybe, to fix things the gods haven’t managed.] [p.181]

It is the dust-wife who provides much of the narrative’s incisive observations. Of the mind’s magical power, she observes: “It’s not an illusion,” said the dust-wife. “Not exactly. Your mind knows what certain things ought to look like, and when your eyes are wrong, your mind wins. Agnes’s magic thinks she ought to be six feet tall with eyes like a starving wolf. That Agnes’s body didn’t comply is just an oversight, so far as the magic is concerned.” [p. 234]

Of the goblin market, she remarks: “But everywhere’s dangerous if you’re foolish about it. The goblin market has rules, and if you obey the rules it’s no worse than anywhere else.” [p. 78]

I’m not alone in my admiration of this dark fantasy. Published by Tor Books in 2022, it won the 2023 Hugo Award for Best Novel and was nominated for both the 2023 Locus Award for Best Fantasy Novel and the Nebula Award for Best Novel of 2022. Editor and reviewer Lacy Baugher Milas states of Nettle and Bone that “there’s a specifically wonderful alchemy at work here that threads the thin line between humor, horror, and heart in order to create something that feels both fresh and utterly necessary.”

This novel is an insanely creative work of art!

Check Amazon for more on this book I love.