Sorting the Bones Cory asks, “How are morticians utilized in natural disaster death tolls?” In 2001, I was nearing the end of my undergrad degree. That fall semester, I was taking Physical Anthropology. The instructor, Dr. Harrell Gill-King, was one of my favorite professors, and the class came with a bonus bone lab. On Tuesday, …
“For some folks, death is release, and for others, death is an abomination, a terrible thing. But in the end, I’m there for all of them.” —Death, The Sandman It’s difficult to say when I realized I was no longer afraid of dying—when that looming specter that haunted the recesses of my mind seemed …
State of the Necromancer Address The year 2023 has wrought big changes for your necromancer, dear readers. When I started mortuary school, one of the first things I learned is that—at least in Texas—a mortician can expect to make as much as a teacher. I laughed, I cried, I resigned myself to ongoing penury. At …
Tahlequah didn’t know she had an audience while in mourning. She didn’t even know that she’d been named Tahlequah, purported to mean “two is enough” in Cherokee, and also J35, by the humans who kept tabs on her as she carried her stillborn calf for seventeen days around the Salish Sea in the Pacific Northwest. …
Nonhuman Thanatology and the Quest for Human Exceptionalism, by M L Clark Keep Reading »
After the Flesh Teddy asks: Can you talk a little bit about the history of charnel houses? I feel like I always hear this word as a literary cliché, particularly in depictions of war, but know less about the practices behind it. I’d love to hear more about how components of this are reflected in …
Celebrating the dead begins with a song. An organist, pianist, or keyboardist—sometimes all three at once—pluck notes into the air. Tambourines rattle, their brass jingles sending shivers down the spines of the congregation. Then a sharp soprano croons, “If you wanna know, where I’m going, where I’m going, soon….” After a few lyrics, a chorus …
Death Comes to Dinner The holiday season approaches, when the living gather in their warm, fleshy social units to eat, drink, and have awkward conversations with relatives. This year, instead of letting that one particular relation pontificate about politics, conspiracies, or political conspiracies, I suggest steering the conversation to a cheerier topic: DEATH. Even if …
I’m a drummer, a sailor, and a sufferer of eczema. I’m a boxer for the duration of a cross-Canada flight sitting beside a pleasant older woman who started the conversation with a story about the playground scraps her grandchildren had been having. I discuss my failed attempts at culinary excellence and the dangers of dull …
A Fantastic Voyage Adam wants to know about “phases of decomp, assuming [a] cool/cold outdoor setting.” I love a good voyage of discovery through the stages of decomposition. So much so, in fact, that some of my co-workers have dubbed me Ms. Frizzle. (Okay, it’s really because of the hair.) Sadly, this particular question is …
My grandpa’s antique shelf clock sits on my mother’s fireplace mantel. It unnerved me as a child—the glass of its face reflects a golden patina of age that’s slightly oily, perhaps from the smoke of a kerosene lamp. Its hands are filigreed, black. They read seven thirty-nine, always, on spindly and severe Roman numerals. Ante …
