Review
This is the author's third novel featuring former Beijing investigator Shan Tao Yun; the previous two were The Skull Mantra and Water Touching Stone. Shan joins a group of Tibetans returning a sacred artefact to its home. Almost at once the group is threatened with violence and the outlawed monk who leads them through the wild land of Tibet is killed. Shan learns that the artefact has in fact been stolen from the Chinese army. Their journey into the mountains takes them to the base of a Western oil venture and a monastery that appears to be more in line with the teachings of the party than with those of Buddha. It is a powerful tale told with gusto about oppressed people who never give up. It all makes a riveting story which holds one right from the beginning; a thriller of real quality.
The Guardian - Praise for The Skull Mantra
'A cocktail of action and adventure…a great read’
The Telegraph - Praise for The Skull Mantra
‘Complex, crammed with Tibetan and Buddhist lore and legend, and utterly fascinating’
Book Description
The bestselling author of The Skull Mantra and Water Touching Stone.
--This text refers to an alternate
Paperback
edition.
Product Description
Which will come first: enlightenment or death? When disgraced former inspector, Shan Tao Yun joins a group of reverent Tibetans returning a sacred artefact to its home, it seems he has at last found the peace he has struggled for since leaving prison. What starts as a spiritual pilgrimage, however, quickly turns into a desperate flight through the Tibetan wilderness as the outlawed monk who guides them is murdered and Sham discovers that the artefact has recently been stolen from the Chinese army. But why is the army so desperate to find the artefact entrusted to Shan? Why is an aged medicine lama being stalked by government agents? Why has an American woman, a geologist for an oil company, abandoned the project and fled into the mountains? Shan discovers not answers, but only new mysteries as he is drawn to such unexpected places as the raucous headquarters base of the Western oil venture and a monastery that seems more attuned to the teachings of the party than those of Buddha. And the further he travels into the mountains, the more Shan realises that what is at stake is not only justice but the spiritual survival of those who have joined his strange quest. At the heart of Pattison's powerful tale is a story of a brave, oppressed people who have learned to endure by drawing strength from their land and their rich spiritual traditions.
From the Publisher
A thriller from the bestselling author of The Skull Mantra and Water Touching Stone.
The Skull Mantra won the Edgar Award for Best First Novel by an American author and was shortlisted for the CWA Golden Dagger Award. It was also called in by IMPAC
The Skull Mantra won the Edgar Award for Best First Novel by an American author and was shortlisted for the CWA Golden Dagger Award. It was also called in by IMPAC
From the Back Cover
When disgraced former inspector Shan Tao Yun joins a group of reverent Tibetans returning a sacred artefact to its home, it seems he has at last found the peace he has struggled for since leaving prison. What starts as a spiritual pilgrimage, however, quickly turns into a desperate flight through the Tibetan wilderness as the outlawed monk who guides them is murdered and Sham discovers that the artefact has recently been stolen from the Chinese army.
But why is the army so desperate to find the artefact entrusted to Shan? Why is an aged medicine lama being stalked by government agents? Shan discovers not answers, but only new mysteries. And the further he travels into the mountains, the more he realises that what is at stake is not only justice but the spiritual survival of those who have joined his strange quest.
--This text refers to an alternate Paperback edition.About the Author
Eliot Pattison's numerous books and articles on international policy issues have been published on three continents. He is a world traveller and frequent visitor to China. The Skull Mantra, his first work of fiction, won him the Edgar Award for Best First Novel from the Mystery Writers of America. Bone Mountain is Pattison's third novel featuring former Beijing Investigator, Shan Tao Yun.
Excerpted from Bone Mountain by Eliot Pattison. Copyright © 2003. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
" Sift the sand to find the seeds of the universe. "
The voice that came to Shan Tao Yun through the night was like wind over grass. "Let them reach the original ground then plant them, "the lama said as Shan ’s gaze drifted from the white sand in his palm to the brilliant half moon. He knew his teacher Gendun meant Shan ’s original ground, the seedbed of his soul, what Gendun called Shan ’s beginning place. But on such a night he could not shake the sense that Tibet itself was the true original ground, that the vast remote land was the world ’s beginning place, where the planet, and humankind, never stopped shaping themselves, where the highest mountains, the strongest winds, and the most rugged souls had always evolved together.
Ten feet farther down the river’s edge Shan ’s old friend and former cellmate Lokesh chanted quietly, beads entwined in his fingers, his mantra almost indistinguishable from the rustle of the water. Shan breathed in the fragrant smoke of the juniper branches they had brought to burn at the water ’s edge and watched as a meteor flew over a low distant shimmering in the sky, the only hint of the snow-capped mountains that lined the horizon. It seemed he could reach out and touch the moon. If the earth had a place and a season for growing souls this was surely it, the chill moonlit spring of the high Tibetan wilderness.
Shan watched as though from a distance as Gendun gently opened Shan ’s fingers and lifted his hand toward the moon, then lowered it and turned Shan ’s wrist to empty the sand into the small clay jar they had brought from their hermitage ten miles away.
"Lha gyal lo, "a voice murmured on Shan ’s opposite side. It was the caretaker of the hermitage, Shopo, his voice cracking with emotion. "Victory to the gods. "They had arrived at the river at dusk, and only now, after the lamas and Lokesh had spent two hours speaking with the nagas, the water deities, had Gendun decided Shan could begin collecting thespecial white sand.
"Lha gyal lo!" an excited voice echoed halfway up the slope behind them. It was one of the four dropka, Tibetan herders, who had escorted them to the river and now stood guard, nervously watching the darkened landscape. Gendun and Shopo were outlawed monks engaged in an outlawed ritual, and the patrols had grown aggressive.
Without even sensing the movement, Shan found his hand back in the water, and when he lifted it out it was full of the white sand again. In the moonlight he saw Lokesh ’s eyes widen and gleam with excitement as, slowly repeating the motions Gendun had shown him, Shan washed the sand in the moonlight then emptied his palm into the jar.
Gendun ’s face, worn smooth as a river stone, wrinkled with a smile. "Each of the grains is the essence of a mountain, "the lama said as Shan ’s hand dipped into the water once more, "all that is left when the mountain has shed its husk. "Shan had heard the words a dozen times during the past two months as they had ventured into the night to collect sands from places known only to Shopo and the herders. In their turn each of the vast peaks that lined the horizon would be reduced to such a grain, Gendun explained, and so it would be for all mountains, all continents, all planets. It would all end as it began, in such tiny seeds, and humankind in all its glory could never match the power reflected in a single grain. The words were a way of teaching impermanence, Shan knew, and of showing respect for the nagas from whom they borrowed the sand.
Shan sensed a distant drumming noise in his ears and the moon seemed to edge even closer as he gathered another handful for the jar. His hand reached toward the clay jar then froze in midair as a frantic voice split the stillness.
"Mik tada! Watch out! Run!" It was one of the dropka sentinels on the ridge above. "The fire! Dowse the fire!" Shan heard feet scrambling over the gravel of the slope above and looked up to see two men silhouetted in the moonlight, realizing in the same moment that the drumming was not in his head. It was a helicopter coming in low and fast, the way Public Security operated when raiding Tibetan camps.
One of the guards, wearing a black wool cap, darted to the water ’s edge, futilely pulling on Lokesh ’s shoulder, then moving to Shan ’s side to tug on his collar. "You have to go patch that god!" the man shouted. "We must flee!"
Shan let himself be pulled to his feet, his spine chilling as he looked first toward the helicopter, then at the lamas, who only smiled and continued their homage to the river. Gendun and Shopo were accustomed to risking imprisonment for simple acts of reverence. And though Shan and the dropka might be disturbed by the increased pressure from Public Security, there was only one mystery that ever concerned Gendun, the mystery of growing and strengthening souls.
"If it is Public Security they will drop soldiers over the ridge to surround us!" the sentinel groaned as he kicked sticks from the small fire. "They will have machine guns and devices to see in the night!"
Shan studied the man in the black cap warily. He had more than a mere herder ’s grasp of Chinese weapons and tactics. Shan suddenly realized that he had not seen the man before, that he had not been part of their escort.
The voice that came to Shan Tao Yun through the night was like wind over grass. "Let them reach the original ground then plant them, "the lama said as Shan ’s gaze drifted from the white sand in his palm to the brilliant half moon. He knew his teacher Gendun meant Shan ’s original ground, the seedbed of his soul, what Gendun called Shan ’s beginning place. But on such a night he could not shake the sense that Tibet itself was the true original ground, that the vast remote land was the world ’s beginning place, where the planet, and humankind, never stopped shaping themselves, where the highest mountains, the strongest winds, and the most rugged souls had always evolved together.
Ten feet farther down the river’s edge Shan ’s old friend and former cellmate Lokesh chanted quietly, beads entwined in his fingers, his mantra almost indistinguishable from the rustle of the water. Shan breathed in the fragrant smoke of the juniper branches they had brought to burn at the water ’s edge and watched as a meteor flew over a low distant shimmering in the sky, the only hint of the snow-capped mountains that lined the horizon. It seemed he could reach out and touch the moon. If the earth had a place and a season for growing souls this was surely it, the chill moonlit spring of the high Tibetan wilderness.
Shan watched as though from a distance as Gendun gently opened Shan ’s fingers and lifted his hand toward the moon, then lowered it and turned Shan ’s wrist to empty the sand into the small clay jar they had brought from their hermitage ten miles away.
"Lha gyal lo, "a voice murmured on Shan ’s opposite side. It was the caretaker of the hermitage, Shopo, his voice cracking with emotion. "Victory to the gods. "They had arrived at the river at dusk, and only now, after the lamas and Lokesh had spent two hours speaking with the nagas, the water deities, had Gendun decided Shan could begin collecting thespecial white sand.
"Lha gyal lo!" an excited voice echoed halfway up the slope behind them. It was one of the four dropka, Tibetan herders, who had escorted them to the river and now stood guard, nervously watching the darkened landscape. Gendun and Shopo were outlawed monks engaged in an outlawed ritual, and the patrols had grown aggressive.
Without even sensing the movement, Shan found his hand back in the water, and when he lifted it out it was full of the white sand again. In the moonlight he saw Lokesh ’s eyes widen and gleam with excitement as, slowly repeating the motions Gendun had shown him, Shan washed the sand in the moonlight then emptied his palm into the jar.
Gendun ’s face, worn smooth as a river stone, wrinkled with a smile. "Each of the grains is the essence of a mountain, "the lama said as Shan ’s hand dipped into the water once more, "all that is left when the mountain has shed its husk. "Shan had heard the words a dozen times during the past two months as they had ventured into the night to collect sands from places known only to Shopo and the herders. In their turn each of the vast peaks that lined the horizon would be reduced to such a grain, Gendun explained, and so it would be for all mountains, all continents, all planets. It would all end as it began, in such tiny seeds, and humankind in all its glory could never match the power reflected in a single grain. The words were a way of teaching impermanence, Shan knew, and of showing respect for the nagas from whom they borrowed the sand.
Shan sensed a distant drumming noise in his ears and the moon seemed to edge even closer as he gathered another handful for the jar. His hand reached toward the clay jar then froze in midair as a frantic voice split the stillness.
"Mik tada! Watch out! Run!" It was one of the dropka sentinels on the ridge above. "The fire! Dowse the fire!" Shan heard feet scrambling over the gravel of the slope above and looked up to see two men silhouetted in the moonlight, realizing in the same moment that the drumming was not in his head. It was a helicopter coming in low and fast, the way Public Security operated when raiding Tibetan camps.
One of the guards, wearing a black wool cap, darted to the water ’s edge, futilely pulling on Lokesh ’s shoulder, then moving to Shan ’s side to tug on his collar. "You have to go patch that god!" the man shouted. "We must flee!"
Shan let himself be pulled to his feet, his spine chilling as he looked first toward the helicopter, then at the lamas, who only smiled and continued their homage to the river. Gendun and Shopo were accustomed to risking imprisonment for simple acts of reverence. And though Shan and the dropka might be disturbed by the increased pressure from Public Security, there was only one mystery that ever concerned Gendun, the mystery of growing and strengthening souls.
"If it is Public Security they will drop soldiers over the ridge to surround us!" the sentinel groaned as he kicked sticks from the small fire. "They will have machine guns and devices to see in the night!"
Shan studied the man in the black cap warily. He had more than a mere herder ’s grasp of Chinese weapons and tactics. Shan suddenly realized that he had not seen the man before, that he had not been part of their escort.
