The Bonehunters (Malazan Book of the Fallen, #6)

by Steven Erikson

Corporal Deadsmell, Throatslitter and Widdershins

How can such a brilliant author be so bad at names. I never knew names could be dumb enough to ruin a story.

Compassion existed when and only when one could step outside oneself, to suddenly see the bars from inside the cage.

Urb. Tarr, Koryk, Smiles and Cuttle. Tavos Pond, Balgrid, Mayfly, Flashwit, Saltlick, Hanno, Shortnose and Masan Gilani. Bellig Harn, Maybe, Brethless and Touchy. Deadsmell, Galt, Sands and Lobe. The sergeants Thom Tissy and Balm. Widdershins, Uru Hela, Ramp, Scant and Reem. Throatslitter…Gesler’s gaze swung back to Tarr, Koryk, Smiles and Cuttle. Hood’s breath.

Does these names inspire a desire to read?

Burdens were born from the loss of innocence. Naïveté. While the innocent yearned to lose their innocence, those who had already done so in turn envied the innocent, and knew grief in what they had lost. Between the two, no exchange of truths was possible.

right, we’ll start with this. Ascendants who find worshippers become gods, and that binding goes both ways. Ascendants without worshippers are, in a sense, unchained. Unaligned, in the language of the Deck of Dragons. Now, gods who once had worshippers but don’t have them any more are still ascendant, but effectively emasculated, and they remain so unless the worship is somehow renewed. For the Elder Gods, that means the spilling of blood on hallowed or once-hallowed ground. For the more primitive spirits and the like, it could be as simple as the recollection or rediscovery of their name, or some other form of awakening. Mind you, none of that matters if the ascendant in question has been well and truly annihilated. ‘So, to backtrack slightly, ascendants, whether gods or not, seem to possess some form of power. Maybe sorcery, maybe personality, maybe something else. And what that seems to mean is, they possess an unusual degree of efficacy—’

When wealth ascends to a point where the majority of the poor finally comprehend that it is, for each of them, unattainable, then all civility collapses, and anarchy prevails.

Inequity ends, Trell, when no-one and no thing is left standing.

‘You saw what you wanted to see. No witness in truth but myself, regarding the events now being revisited. Revised, yes? As all events are, for such is the exercise of quill-clawed carrion who title themselves historians. Revisiting, thirsting for a taste, just a taste, of what it is to know trauma in one’s quailing soul.

Truth is a pressure, and I see us all shying away. But, my friends, from truth there can be no escape.

Barathol moved past her at one point, and, as Chaur laughed once more, she saw an answering smile on his battered, scarified face. Oh yes, it is indeed blessed music. So unexpected, and in its innocence, so needed…

We’re holding the jetty, and not one damned soldier down there gives a damn about anything else! Why?’ He thumped the rail. ‘Because we’re waiting. We’re waiting for the Adjunct. Destriant, we’re hers, now. It’s done, and the damned empire can rot!’ The other man’s eyes slowly widened at this outburst, and then, with a faint smile, he bowed. ‘As you say, Fist. As you say.’

Best moment

And so we weep for the fallen. We weep for those yet to fall, and in war the screams are loud and harsh and in peace the wail is so drawn-out we tell ourselves we hear nothing. And so this music is a lament, and I am doomed to hear its bittersweet notes for a lifetime. Show me a god that does not demand mortal suffering. Show me a god that celebrates diversity, a celebration that embraces even non-believers and is not threatened by them. Show me a god who understands the meaning of peace. In life, not in death.