Kam
Oh godsdamnit I wasn’t expecting this to hit as deep in the emotional gut as it did, but it definitely hit in a good way.
When this first came out it was promoted as a horror novel something along the lines of Stephen Graham-Jones’ The Only Good Indians: different types of horror, sure, but still similar in that they would both touch upon the horrors of colonialism and land and cultural theft faced by Native Americans across history and into the present. I actually thought, based on the book’s summary, that it would focus on the numerous disappearances of Native women that, if I recall correctly, was a topic that had traction on the wider internet at the time the novel was published.
But where The Only Good Indians reckons primarily with colonial history and brutality, and how those affect the lives of Native Americans in the present, this novel reckons with grief and loss: not just personal (though that does make up the bulk of the story), but also generational grief, the kind that comes from having one’s entire people and culture being brutalized and victimized in every possible way by white colonizers. It’s not something addressed directly, but it’s an undercurrent that runs throughout the novel, one that is brought up every now and then in small moments, like when Mackenzie describes what happened to her hometown during the oil field boom, and then what happened after when the oil fields were no longer viable.
But while the novel does address those wider themes, what it really focuses on is personal: Mackenzie’s grief, and relationship with her family. I won’t get into it much to avoid spoilers, but suffice to say that this is essentially the novel’s emotional heart. Through Mackenzie, the reader comes to understand how grief can be a wound that cuts not just through individuals, but through entire groups of people, and how the wound can deepen and fester until it breaks a person - a community - apart.
At the same time, though, the novel acknowledges that grief is not something that a person can confront alone. Grief is a burden best shared with those one loves, even if one thinks one does not deserve to be loved - or rather, ESPECIALLY if one thinks one does not deserve to be loved. Running away from grief, or from any problem for that matter, will only isolate one further from one’s support system; the idea that one must keep this pain to oneself for fear that it will hurt others will only deepen the pain and make it permanent. Share it, though, and the burden lessens, becomes easier to bear, and heals - not immediately, but over time.
The emphasis on the value of community was especially well done here, and rooted in the cultural context of Mackenzie’s Cree identity. It also didn’t escape my notice that Mackenzie’s community is primarily made up of women and queer people: people who have stood on the margins for decades, if not hundreds, of years, and who, more than anyone else, understand the power of coming together to face any challenge. While I understand that being close to one’s blood family might not always be possible for a lot of people, that doesn’t change the fact that community is still value of having community in the first place - if not of blood, then of culture, and of the heart.
Overall, this was a powerful read that sucker-punched me in the emotional gut. While there are some aspects of horror to the story, it is largely a meditation on grief, loss, and the power of community in the face of tragedy: an idea that more people could stand to remember, in the face of the challenges the world as currently stands has in store for everyone.
Originally posted at kamreadsandrecs.tumblr.com.
Oh godsdamnit I wasn’t expecting this to hit as deep in the emotional gut as it did, but it definitely hit in a good way.
When this first came out it was promoted as a horror novel something along the lines of Stephen Graham-Jones’ The Only Good Indians: different types of horror, sure, but still similar in that they would both touch upon the horrors of colonialism and land and cultural theft faced by Native Americans across history and into the present. I actually thought, based on the book’s summary, that it would focus on the numerous disappearances of Native women that, if I recall correctly, was a topic that had traction on the wider internet at the time the novel was published.
But where The Only Good Indians reckons primarily with colonial history and brutality, and how those affect the lives of Native Americans in the present, this novel reckons with grief and loss: not just personal (though that does make up the bulk of the story), but also generational grief, the kind that comes from having one’s entire people and culture being brutalized and victimized in every possible way by white colonizers. It’s not something addressed directly, but it’s an undercurrent that runs throughout the novel, one that is brought up every now and then in small moments, like when Mackenzie describes what happened to her hometown during the oil field boom, and then what happened after when the oil fields were no longer viable.
But while the novel does address those wider themes, what it really focuses on is personal: Mackenzie’s grief, and relationship with her family. I won’t get into it much to avoid spoilers, but suffice to say that this is essentially the novel’s emotional heart. Through Mackenzie, the reader comes to understand how grief can be a wound that cuts not just through individuals, but through entire groups of people, and how the wound can deepen and fester until it breaks a person - a community - apart.
At the same time, though, the novel acknowledges that grief is not something that a person can confront alone. Grief is a burden best shared with those one loves, even if one thinks one does not deserve to be loved - or rather, ESPECIALLY if one thinks one does not deserve to be loved. Running away from grief, or from any problem for that matter, will only isolate one further from one’s support system; the idea that one must keep this pain to oneself for fear that it will hurt others will only deepen the pain and make it permanent. Share it, though, and the burden lessens, becomes easier to bear, and heals - not immediately, but over time.
The emphasis on the value of community was especially well done here, and rooted in the cultural context of Mackenzie’s Cree identity. It also didn’t escape my notice that Mackenzie’s community is primarily made up of women and queer people: people who have stood on the margins for decades, if not hundreds, of years, and who, more than anyone else, understand the power of coming together to face any challenge. While I understand that being close to one’s blood family might not always be possible for a lot of people, that doesn’t change the fact that community is still value of having community in the first place - if not of blood, then of culture, and of the heart.
Overall, this was a powerful read that sucker-punched me in the emotional gut. While there are some aspects of horror to the story, it is largely a meditation on grief, loss, and the power of community in the face of tragedy: an idea that more people could stand to remember, in the face of the challenges the world as currently stands has in store for everyone.
Originally posted at kamreadsandrecs.tumblr.com.