In this bleak, literary novella, Chenault displays some of the most melodic, poetically rhythmic prose I’ve ever read. I was intoxicatingly pulled into Bramble Patch, a fictional Black Midwestern neighborhood haunted by its own past and present—poverty, segregation, violence, interconnected family histories, and the complicated sense of community that binds it all together. In fewer than 200 pages, Chenault packs in an astonishing amount of story, history, and emotion.
The structure is just as ambitious. Told through vignettes, interviews, sermons, news reports, archival material, academic writings, and shifting narrators, it gradually assembles the history of Bramble Patch from the voices of the people who live in and around it and those who remember what came before. Chenault introduces dozens of distinct voices, each revealing another facet of the community to weave an oral history tapestry of how its people experienced and remembered it. The ensemble structure is something I simultaneously admired and despised. I generally prefer a more traditional narrative structure, so it took me quite a while to adjust to the somewhat fragmented format. By the end, though, my appreciation for what Chenault was doing had grown considerably larger than my less than ideal reading experience of it.
The blend of history, magical realism, and horror, and Black American folklore was perfect. The name choice for the Barghest—a monstrous black dog from northern English folklore, with glowing eyes, enormous teeth, and sharp claws—is especially compelling in context alongside the tradition of the hellhounds associated with the Devil at the Crossroads in Black American blues lore; the Barghest occupies a space between literal supernatural monster and embodiment of racism, exploitation, segregation, inherited trauma, and the erasure of Black communities. I only wish there had been more of the Barghest—and more folklore throughout the novel. I loved the reference to Br’er Rabbit and the ways folklore and history bleed into one another, and I would happily have spent more time in those aspects of the story. I loved the reference to Br’er Rabbit and the ways folklore and history bleed into one another, and I would've happily spent more time in those aspects of the story.
These Bones is a series of unfortunate lives and events, all forebodingly hurtling toward one another, with a catastrophic collision waiting at the end of it. It’s a strange, ambitious, haunting little novella, and I can only hope to see more from Chenault in the future.
I recommend These Bones to readers who enjoyed Beloved by Toni Morrison, The Deep by Rivers Solomon, and House of Margins by Tlotlo Tsamaase.