2015 Alex Award Recipient!
Maren Yearly is a young woman who wants the same things we all do. She wants to be someone people admire and respect. She wants to be loved. But her secret, shameful needs have forced her into exile. She hates herself for the bad thing she does, for what it's done to her family and her sense of identity; for how it dictates her place in the world and how people see herhow they judge her. She didn't choose to be this way.
Because Maren Yearly doesn't just break hearts, she devours them. Ever since her mother found Penny Wilson's eardrum in her mouth when Maren was just two years old, she knew life would never be normal for either of them. Love may come in many shapes and sizes, but for Maren, it always ends the same-with her hiding the evidence and her mother packing up the car.
But when her mother abandons her the day after her sixteenth birthday, Maren goes looking for the father she has never known, and finds much more than she bargained for along the way.
Faced with a world of fellow eaters, potential enemies, and the prospect of love, Maren realizes she isn't only looking for her father, she's looking for herself.
Camille DeAngelis' Bones & All is an astonishingly original coming-of-age tale that is at once a gorgeously written horror story as well as a mesmerizing meditation on female power and sexuality.
|Publisher:||St. Martin's Press|
|Product dimensions:||5.10(w) x 7.80(h) x 0.90(d)|
|Age Range:||14 - 18 Years|
About the Author
Camille DeAngelis is the author of the novels Mary Modern and Petty Magic and a first-edition guidebook, Moon Ireland. A graduate of NYU and the National University of Ireland, Galway, Camille currently lives in Boston. She is a vegan.
Read an Excerpt
Bones & All
By Camille DeAngelis
St. Martin's PressCopyright © 2015 Camille DeAngelis
All rights reserved.
Penny Wilson wanted a baby of her own in the worst way. That’s what I figure, because she was only supposed to watch me for an hour and a half, and obviously she loved me a little too much. She must have hummed a lullaby, fondled each tiny finger and toe, kissed my cheeks and stroked the down on my head, blowing on my hair like she was making a wish on a dandelion gone to seed. I had my teeth but I was too small to swallow the bones, so when my mother came home she found them in a pile on the living room carpet.
The last time my mother had looked at Penny Wilson she’d still had a face. I know Mama screamed, because anyone would have. When I was older she told me she thought my babysitter had been the victim of a satanic cult. She’d stumbled upon stranger things in suburbia.
It wasn’t a cult. If it had been they would have snatched me away and done unspeakable things to me. There I was, asleep on the floor beside the bone pile, tears still drying on my cheeks and blood wet around my mouth. I loathed myself even then. I don’t remember any of this, but I know it.
Even when my mother noticed the gore down the front of my OshKosh overalls, even when she registered the blood on my face, she didn’t see it. When she parted my lips and put her forefinger inside— mothers are the bravest creatures, and mine is the bravest of all— she found something hard between my gums. She pulled it out and peered at it. It was the hammer of Penny Wilson’s ear drum.
Penny Wilson had lived in our apartment complex, across the courtyard. She’d lived alone and worked oddjobs, so no one would miss her for days. That was the first time we had to pick up and move in a hurry, and I often wonder if my mother had an inkling then how efficient she’d become. The last time we moved she packed us up in twelve minutes flat.
Not so long ago I asked her about Penny Wilson: What did she look like? Where was she from? How old was she? Did she read a lot of books? Was she nice? We were in the car, but not on the way to a new city. We never talked about what I’d done right after I’d done it.
“What do you want to know all this for, Maren?” she sighed, rubbing at her eyes with her thumb and forefinger.
“I just do.”
“She was blond. Long blond hair, and she always wore it loose. She was still young—younger than I was but I don’t think she had many friends. She was very quiet.”
Then Mama’s voice snagged on a memory she hadn’t wanted to find. “I remember how her face lit up when I asked if she could watch you that day.” She looked angry as she brushed the tears away with the back of her hand.
“See? There’s no point thinking about these things when there’s nothing you can do to change any of it. What’s done is done.”
I thought for a minute. “Mama?”
“What did you do with the bones?”
She took so long to reply that I began to be afraid of the answer. There was, after all, a suitcase that always came with us that I had never seen her open. Finally she said, “There are some things I’m never going to tell you no matter how many times you ask.”
My mother was kind to me. She never said things like what you did or what you are.
Mama was gone. She’d gotten up while it was still dark, packed a few things, and left in the car. Mama didn’t love me anymore. How could I blame her if she never did?
Some mornings, once we’d been in a place long enough that we could begin to forget, she’d wake me up with thatsong from Singin’ in the Rain.
“Good morning, good moooooooorning! We’ve talked
the whole night through . . .”
Except she always sounded kind of sad as she sang it. On May 30th, the day I turned sixteen, my mother came in singing. It was a Saturday, and we had planned a full day of fun. I hugged my pillow and asked, “Why do you always sing it like that?”
She flung the curtains wide open. I watched her close her eyes and smile against the sunshine. “Like what?”
“Like you would’ve rather gone to bed at a reasonable hour.”
She laughed, plopped herself down at the foot of my bed, and rubbed my knee through the duvet. “Happy Birthday, Maren.” I hadn’t seen her that happy in a long time.
Over chocolate-chip pancakes I dipped my hand into a gift bag with one big book inside—The Lord of the Rings, three volumes in one—and a Barnes & Noble gift card. We spent most of the day at the bookstore. That night she took me out to an Italian restaurant, a real Italian restaurant, where the waiters and the chef all spoke to each other in the mother tongue, the walls were covered in old black- and-white family photographs, and the minestrone would keep you full for days.
It was dark in there, and I bet I’ll always remember how the light from the red glass votive holder flickered on Mama’s face as she raised the soupspoon to her lips. We talked about how things were going at school, how things were going at work. We talked about my going to college: what I might like to study, what I might like to be. A soft square of tiramisu arrived with a candle stuck in it, and all the waiters sang to me, but in Italian: Buon compleanno a te.
Afterward she took me to see Titanic at the last-chance cinema, and for three hours I lost myself in the story the way I could in my favorite books. I was beautiful and brave, someone destined to love and to survive, to be happy and to remember. Real life held none of those things for me, but in the pleasant darkness of that shabby old theater I forgot it never would.
I tumbled into bed, exhausted and content, because in the morning I could feast on my leftovers and read my new book. But when I woke up the apartment was too still, and I couldn’t smell the coffee. Something waswrong.
I came down the hall and found a note on the kitchen table: I’m your mother and I love you but I can’t do this anymore.
She couldn’t be gone. She couldn’t be. How couldshe?
I looked at my hands, palms up, palms down, like they didn’t belong to me. Nothing else did: not the chair I sank into, not the table I laid my forehead on, not the window I stared through. Not even my own mother.
I didn’t understand. I hadn’t done the bad thing in more than six months. Mama was all settled into her
new job and we liked this apartment. None of this made sense.
I ran into her bedroom and found the sheets and comforter still on the bed. She’d left other things too. On the nightstand, paperback novels she’d already read. In the bathroom, almost-empty bottles of shampoo and hand lotion. A few blouses, the not-as-pretty ones, were still hanging in the closet on those cheap wire hangers you get at the dry cleaners. We left stuff like this whenever we moved, but this time I was one of the things she’d left behind.
Trembling, I went back into the kitchen and read the note again. I don’t know if you can read between the lines when there’s only one sentence, but I could read all the things she hadn’t said clearly enough:
I can’t protect you anymore, Maren. Not when it’s the rest of the world I should be protecting instead. If you only knew how many times I thought about turning you in, having you locked up so you could never do it again . . .
If you only knew how I hate myself for bringing youinto the world . . .
I did know. And I should have known when she took me out for my birthday, because it was too special not to have been the last thing we’d do together. That was how she’d planned it.
I’d only ever been a burden to her. A burden and a horror. All this time she’d done what she’d done because she was afraid of me.
I felt strange. There was a ringing in my ears like you get when it’s too quiet, except it was like resting my head against a church bell that had just chimed.
Then I noticed something else on the table: a thick white envelope. I didn’t have to open it to know there was money inside. My stomach turned over. I got up and stumbled out of the kitchen.
I went to her bed, burrowed under the comforter, and curled up as tight as I could. I didn’t know what else to do. I wanted to sleep this off, to wake up and find it undone, but you know how it is when you desperately want to get back to sleep. When you desperately want anything.
The rest of the day passed in a daze. I never cracked The Lord of the Rings. I didn’t read a thing besides the words on that note. Later on I got up again and wandered around the house, too sick even to think of eating anything, and when it got dark, I went to bed and lay awake for hours. I didn’t want to be alive. What kind of life could I have?
I couldn’t sleep in an empty apartment. I couldn’t cry either, because she hadn’t left me anything to cry over. If she loved it, she took it with her.
Excerpted from Bones & All by Camille DeAngelis. Copyright © 2015 Camille DeAngelis. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
I loved the book.... I dont read much like this but this held my attention
This book is unique, interesting and a little quirky. I enjoyed reading this story very much!
Maren Yearly is most certainly unlike any character I've met before: Maren eats people, especially people who seem to like her and, one day, Maren finds herself on her own because her mother has abandoned her out of fear for her life. Rather than fall apart, Maren sets out to find the father who has never been part of her life and, perhaps, answers to the questions that have always loomed over her. Now, one might question the appeal of reading about a cannibal, particularly with the rather gruesome scenes that are bound to occur (and they do) but the first chapter reeled me in by starting off with Maren's first "meal" when she was just a baby and then moving on to a scene 16 years later when her mother deserts her, finally drained of all ability to protect and love her daughter. This conjunction of two kinds of pathos led me to think I wanted to know how Maren would cope and I'm so glad I pushed on. Bones & All is an odd story, no doubt about it, and it most likely won't appeal to a broad spectrum of readers but this is more than just a horror novel; this is the journey a young girl must take to accept herself and, as such, Ms. DeAngelis has done a nice job. It also carries a bit of an agenda but not obtrusively and the reader is free to embrace or ignore said agenda. In the end, it's the story that matters most.
Being a young adult horror novel, something that I have never listened to before, my interests were piqued immediately. I had high hopes for this story even though the reviews for the print version are widely mixed. Maren is an ordinary girl by every respect except one. When she loves someone she has an uncontrollable drive to eat them, yes as in consume them. This is something that she hides and thinks about quite often. She told her mother only out of necessity. Maren’s mother is a good one, I guess, in the sense that she just wants to protect her daughter from the fallout that would come from eating people. Being ready to move and the drop of a hat, having all of their belongings fit into one suitcase each. If you are standoffish about looking further in to Bones and All because it is a horror story, just know that the horror aspect and the gore that would come along with eating people is mostly implied and not described in detail. Most of the story follows Maren on a quest to figure out why she is like the way she is. And she just so happens to eat a few people along the way. She also finds others, including a lover, that are like her who join her on her quest for the truth. DeAngelis is an amazing writer. Creating a unique story that wraps around your imagination making the reader fill in all of the blank spots. Unfortunately, for me, my attention waned. This a drama story through and through, not action packed, in fact there was nothing particularly exciting or eventful at all. I wanted more. I never felt any connection with any of the characters. I think that some people with absolutely fall in love with the story. While others will be more like me. I found Julia Knippen’s performance here to be absolutely amazing. If you are not familiar with her voice, it sounds very young and fit in with DeAngelis young character set very well. Knippen even makes the male characters stand out from Maren and the other females. She did her best with what she had to work with to keep the listener engaged and my faults had nothing to due with her performance or the production quality of this book. Audiobook provided for review by the narrator. Please find this complete review and many others at my review blog [If this review helped, please press YES. Thanks!]
3.5 stars It's hard to sympathize with monsters. Just before starting Camille DeAngelis's Bones & All, I read Alissa Nutting's Tampa, written from the perspective of a middle school teacher whose only sexual interest is pre-pubescent boys, and my entire review consisted of three words: "Ick. Just ick." So one of the real joys of Bones & All was DeAngelis's ability to create a likeable monster, in this case a teenage ghoul who eats the boys who like her. Like M.R. Carey's The Girl With All the Gifts, another recent novel featuring a monster protagonist, Bones & All is really a coming-of-age story, although Maren's journey toward self-knowledge and self-acceptance is gorier than most. Bones & All is not a fantasy, despite Maren's unusual eating habits, but the novelty of the problems she must confront (how do you get rid of those pesky clothing scraps and that particularly bad breath?) adds a frisson of interest to what might otherwise be an ordinary tale of parental abandonment and the search for a new place to belong. Had I stopped reading at the end of the novel, I might well have given Bones & All 4 or more stars. Unfortunately, I also read the acknowledgements, in which I learned that DeAngelis's "purpose" in writing her book was to convey her vegan belief that "the world would be a far safer place if we, as individuals and as a society, took a hard, honest look at our practice of flesh eating along with its environmental and spiritual consequences." Not only do I not care for authors who overtly proselytize through their fiction, but I was also especially dismayed by DeAngelis's message in this case because she failed completely to transmit that message through her story. Far from forcing me to confront the adverse consequences of eating flesh (non-human, in my case), DeAngelis's sympathetic portrait of a girl biologically compelled to eat something her conscience opposes, as well as the emotional place in which she leaves Maren at the end, actually led me to be more accepting of Maren's cannibalism. DeAngelis's failure to accomplish her stated purpose caused me to negatively reassess my entire reading experience. I received a free copy of Bones & All through NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.
This is just amazing
Good stuff. Not for those looking for a little romance.
When anyone ever got close to Maren, she consumed them; she literally ate them until their bodies were no longer recognizable. This strange behavior started when she was a young child, making her life with her mother a struggle as they were constantly moving with Maren’s unpredictable behavior. Maren’s attempt to locate her father to resolve some unexplained questions has her on a journey where she encounters other individuals who like herself are unique in the world as we know it. Maren was an interesting character as I felt she was like a free bird. She had an agenda but often she just went with the flow of what was occurring around her and for the most part, they worked out for her. Maren got along with everyone and she seemed to keep the peace among the individuals she was around. I often thought things just fell into place for her and I anticipated a happy ending. Although I had a few unanswered questions, it was an interesting read and one that I will not forget. I am one of The Bones & All Street Team and I was given a copy of this book in exchange for an honest opinion.
I had gotten a sample and read it but not only do i want to get the book, i just want to read it because the sample i had read was spectacular...i loved it at first, then i had gotten confused but thats just because of me, not the book; i understood what was wrong in her life, that she did not like, and what was happening to her (this all happened in just a 27 paged sample) but the sample from the book just left me wanting more of it, i can't wait till i am able to retrieve this book on my nook.
Hi i love your book so much i gave the STAR a 5 if you know i will stop get bulldy by you and at my school some kids in my classromm bulldy becaues they hate the way i dress they hate me real much they want me to die right now in school and i said no im not killing myslfe right now and i said STOP bulldying me and i tell my dad and mom they said im come up to your school but they did the bulldy said imsorry and my mom and dad said this means everbobby your not gannser or bulldyes so stop for you how ever a bulldy you can get bulldy by big kids to at resaes so stop bulldy my and bye