Question 1: In his article, “Godzilla vs. Post-Colonial,” King discusses Robinson’s collection of stories. King explains that while the stories are written in English, “the patterns, metaphors, structures, as well as the themes and characters, come primarily from oral literature.” More than this, Robinson, he says “develops what we might want to call an oral syntax that defeats reader’s efforts to read the stories silently to themselves, a syntax that encourages readers to read aloud” and in so doing, “recreating at once the storyteller and the performance” (186). Read “Coyote Makes a Deal with King of England”, in Living by Stories. Read it silently, read it out loud, read it to a friend, and have a friend read it to you. See if you can discover how this oral syntax works to shape meaning for the story by shaping your reading and listening of the story. Write a blog about this reading/listening experience that provides references to both King’s article and Robinson’s story.

Thomas King, in his article “Godzilla vs. Post-Colonial,” introduces several different genres of native literature that does not in any way fall under the limited categories of “pre-colonial” or “post-colonial” literature. King presents a fundamental argument about the nature of native literature:

“post-colonialism purports to be a method by which we can begin to look at those literatures which are formed out of the struggle of the oppressed against the oppressor, the colonized and the colonizer, the term itself assumes that the starting point for that discussion is the advent of Europeans in North America. At the same time, the term organizes the literature progressively suggesting that there is both progress and improvement.” (King 184-185).

The term ‘post-colonial’ infers that native literature evolved as a result of colonialism that the arrival of the Europeans changed the way that native literature is shared. It emphasizes the Europeans and insufficient focus on native literature. The term itself is equally as exclusionary as the act of colonialism itself. King emphasizes some other genres that deviate from ‘post-colonial’ and ‘pre-colonial’ literature, which is often exclusionary to native traditions and histories. The terms imply that native literature moves from savagery to civilized, which promotes racist perceptions. While native literature has evolved, much of it remains proprietary towards native cultures. For example, Harry Robinson’s “Coyote Makes a Deal with the King of England,” which is an account of the colonial experience through the native perspective. King explains that the unique writing style of Robinson retains the “patterns, metaphors, structures as well as the themes and characters [that] come primarily from oral literature” and thus, has changed the way readers interact with Robinsons’ stories (King 186). The reason for is this assertion is because Robinson’s story requires the reader to hear the tale aurally and experience it orally.

The story requires reading through a few times to fully gauge the whole story, especially from the non-native perspective, because the story is not created for me. From the perspective of a non-native, some symbolism is lost to me; for example, the importance of Coyote. Furthermore, the story is about colonialism, yet not really about colonialism. From the perspective of someone who has studied colonialism relationships carefully from the European perspective, the general narrative of colonialism is present. However, the connections are not entirely stable to me, and in reality, it should not be. An exciting part of this story is Coyote’s encounter with the King of England. The King and Coyote discuss the treatment of the natives in which the King justifies the behaviour: “your word, it sounds like war. Sounds like war. If you are King and I am King, we should fight” rather than provide a plausible explanation to the act of taking land (Robinson 71). Robinson presents this discussion as a conversation, and it makes sense to the reader. The treatment of natives by Europeans is extremely violent and indeed like a war on the natives. However, a question remains. The word that Coyote tells the King sounds like war to the King, but what is the word to Coyote? The answer is not tangible for the non-native, but perhaps it is when read by a native. This world is created by their history and by their culture, not mine. I still want to know though because words are an exceptionally crucial part of the cultural infrastructure.

I do not believe that I can understand the entire story unless all the pieces are explained to me by the natives, and even then, I know that it is impossible. Reading “Coyote Makes a Deal with the King of England” is like listening to a song that I once heard when I was young, but I no longer remember the lyrics. I know the story of colonialism, the effects, and the crimes, but I do not know the details, and I do not know the perspective of the natives. There are, after all, many different perspectives and experiences with colonialism. No matter how many times I read or listen to the story, there will always be pieces missing from the final picture. Perhaps this is what King is trying to say. Native literature can be shared, but no matter how many times it is shared, it cannot be enjoyed in its entirety because the context of history, culture, and social connection are meant only for native people.

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Question 1: First stories tell us how the world was created. In The Truth about Stories, King tells us two creation stories; one about how Charm falls from the sky pregnant with twins and creates the world out of a bit of mud with the help of all the water animals, and another about God creating heaven and earth with his words, and then Adam and Eve and the Garden. King provides us with a neat analysis of how each story reflects a distinct worldview. “The Earth Diver” story reflects a world created through collaboration, the “Genesis” story reflects a world created through a single will and an imposed hierarchical order of things: God, man, animals, plants. The differences all seem to come down to co-operation or competition — a nice clean-cut satisfying dichotomy. However, a choice must be made: you can only believe ONE of the stories is the true story of creation – right? That’s the thing about creation stories; only one can be sacred and the others are just stories. Strangely, this analysis reflects the kind of binary thinking that Chamberlin, and so many others, including King himself, would caution us to stop and examine. So, why does King create dichotomies for us to examine these two creation stories? Why does he emphasize the believability of one story over the other — as he says, he purposefully tells us the “Genesis” story with an authoritative voice, and “The Earth Diver” story with a storyteller’s voice. Why does King give us this analysis that depends on pairing up oppositions into a tidy row of dichotomies? What is he trying to show us?

The relationship between creation stories and its teller is also the relationship between the West and the Indigenous people. The dichotomies presented by Thomas King emphasize the ways readers interact with the Bible as opposed to oral stories in ways that diminish the latter’s significance. King’s image that one story is more believable is a reflection of the way each individual story is being presented through the written word. The row of dichotomies that King uses to supplement his argument implores readers to acknowledge their binary thinking and address the issues in these dichotomies. Thomas King is trying to highlight a long-standing dehumanizing relationship between the natives and the settlers that extends into cultural traditions; therefore, the comparison between “The Earth Diver” and “Genesis” is a reflection of the way that contemporary society interact with Indigenous peoples and Western thought.

“The Earth Diver” and “Genesis” are both stories that are vital to explaining the beginning of life, regardless of either’s authenticity, because they are the foundation of cultural evolution. The creation myth is an explanation for the creation of the world and the steps that it took to create contemporary society. The myths bear a religious and spiritual significance for the believer, and it should strike a chord with the listener. In the case of “The Earth Diver” and “Genesis,” the latter is the most widely recognized creation story due to the spread of Christianity, while the former is often considered a myth. The mainstream nature of Christianity has rendered other religious myths and stories as fictional and, thus, unbelievable. This effect is seen in the various portrayals of Ancient Greek and Ancient Egyptian deities in books or films. On the other, most of the characters based on Christian mythic figures tend to be tamer and follow the Bible a little closer. The distinct differences highlight the systematic and historical oppression of indigenous peoples. The dichotomies presented to emphasize the critical differences between Western regimes and native peoples: the former focuses on a single person with immense power versus the power of a community. In a way, King is critiquing the way the West diminishes and discredits Indigenous peoples. The relationship between creation stories and its teller is a mirror of the relationship between the West and the Indigenous people.

The emphasis on the “Genesis” presents the notion that it is better because the tone used in the story is far more authoritative and, thus, more controlling. Meanwhile, the casual tone of “The Earth Diver” tends to leave the impression of the myth being less serious and perhaps less real. King is emphasizing the parallel between the listener and the stories – the creation stories that people hear and the one people choose to believe – the stories are a reflection of the beliefs and the upbringing of the listener. King’s comparison between the creation stories is presenting the notion that each story builds a different person. King presents “The Earth Diver” and “Genesis” as options for the creation story, but for those who believe in the Big Bang – that is a creation story too. King’s emphasis on one’s believability over the other forces listeners to give a reaction towards his choices. In making a decision, the listener recognizes their own beliefs and thus, exposes the tension between religious beliefs and cultures. The importance is understanding that creation stories are not only myths; they are the foundation of a belief system and the one that we choose to believe defines who we are as individuals. The listener of these creation myths are never just listening to a story; they are partaking in the teaching of a people. By choosing one account over the other, the listener is denouncing one lesson in favour of another.

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Home
/hōm/

Noun

1. Home is the place where our family is.
2. Home is a sense of belonging and safety
3. Home is a physical space like a room or a building
4. Home is the ties and bonds that we have to friends and lovers
5. Home is the memories and emotions that connect us to the people we love that, in turn, root us to a place

Georgia’s sense of home is connected to sights and sounds relating to specific places that she identifies as her home. Home is the emotional connection that we have to places and to people that tell us that we belong.

Haipei’s sense of home is a connection to his comrades. Home does not need to be defined by family, it only needs to be a place that provides safety and comfort.

Emilia’s sense of home the physical ties created between our individual family members to the place that they live at. Home is knowing that no matter the distance, our family roots us to our place of origin and to ourselves.

Navid’s sense of home is warmth and comfort. Home is a place that provides shelter after a hard day and family is always there to welcome us back.

Nargiza’s sense of home is quiet, ordinary, and beautifully mundane. Home is the routine that we create with our loved ones that strengthen our sense of belonging.

Jade’s sense of home is rooted in the people she has shared her life, both those who are alive and those who are no longer here. Home changes. The people we share a home with, the place where home is, and the way we identify home all change. In the end, home is a symbol that guides us and roots us when we need it.

Home is our connection to nature, to a physical space, and to the people, we share our lives with. Home changes as we evolve, and it moves with us as we grow, but the ideations of home remain encapsulated by memories and stories about our relationships with other people. We remember home through our parents, our siblings, our grandparents, our friends, and our lovers because it is in the time that we spend with them that we feel like we belong. In that case, maybe home can be defined by the people we love and the people who love us.

The interesting thing about home, both in the ways that we each define them and in the ways we share them, is that home feels familiar. In reading the blogs that others have written about home, I feel a sense of familiarity. Our experiences of home are different, but the feelings that are shared about home are the same ones that can be found in my personal definition. Home is a very general term that we learn to understand throughout our lifetime. No matter how different our lives or our backgrounds might be, home is always something that we can unanimously relate to in one way or another.

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Sunshine filters through the blinds of the playroom, the light blinding as it reflects off the pages of the worn book. The warmth of summertime clings to my skin as I race to finish the stack of books I have borrowed from the library. My little sister is practicing the piano in the background but is instead throwing a tantrum as mommy cooks. The radio is playing in the kitchen at a low level so as not to disturb my sister’s disastrous plinking of piano keys. She is trying to play a beginner’s version of Ode to Joy by Beethoven, but her mistakes are jarring even to the untrained ear. Mommy will not be happy when she hears the comments our piano teacher gives after our next lesson. I flip a page in my book, the adventures of a boy hero are far more interesting than listening to my sister whine about practice. “Piano isn’t even an essential skill, why do I have have to learn it?” my little sister asks over and over. The sun has set by the time I look up again from my book, it is a different book, and the stack has been depleted by three in a matter of hours. I at six years old can read up to five books in a day without fail. Daddy is home now, and as the front door unlocks, I rush to hide in a nightly game of hide-and-seek. Where should I hide today?

Home at six years old is my childhood home. Home is warm and loud. It is always bright and mischievous. It is forever a blazing summer day, and the world is tinged in pink.

~~~
Sunshine filters through the blinds of my best friend’s living room, the light blinding as it reflects off her wooden floorboards. The slight warmth of spring is absent in the ever-present chill of her house as I rapid-fire message after message at our other friend. She has One Direction’s latest album playing on her iPod Touch as her grandfather mows the lawn. The TV is playing a Chinese drama quietly as to not disturb our gossiping. Our other friend has a crush on a boy, and we want to know all the juicy details before everyone else. Not that anything is surprising, this boy is the sixteenth boy she’s had a crush on. My best friend and I roll our eyes at each other – we’ve heard these exact words before and we will surely listen to them again. I scroll through my Tumblr, the videos of One Direction’s latest concert are far more entrancing than my other friend’s complaints. “Why won’t he like me back, I’m not that horrible am I?” my friend asks my best friend and I as if we could see into the mind of the boy. The afternoon sun is high in the sky, and I am hit with the sudden urge to sit in my best friend’s yard instead. I, at fourteen years old, could spend hours with my friends without getting tired of them. As the door to the yard clicks open, I turn to find my best friend asking me: “Where should we go tomorrow?”

Home at fourteen is the time that I spend at my best friend’s side. Home is comfort and patience. There is always laughter and teasing. It is forever a bright spring day, and the sky is still blue.

~~~
Sunshine filters through the blinds of his bedroom, the light awkwardly splashed against the wall. The chill of winter seeps into through his window as I sit on his bed, playing with his Saint Bernard. The occasional video plays from his computer as he anxiously scrolls through his Facebook. Some K-Pop song is playing in the background of our conversation, quiet enough to be soothing, quiet enough to be forgotten. We catch up on the last five years – he has depression and anxiety, I have depression and anxiety – as if we lived parallel but disconnected lives. My best friend will not be happy to hear that I am with him, but that’s okay, I just won’t tell her. I blink at the ceiling, the thoughts racing through my mind are far more distracting than the fact that I am lying next to him. “Did you know that I still remember every little thing about you?” he whispers as my mind echoes I love you into the void. The evening sun is setting, and I am hit with the reality that in fifteen minutes, I have to leave this bubble of security. I, at twenty-two, crave the way that being held by him eases the pain that life gives me. As I start the car, I ask myself, “Where will I find that safety again in this life?”

Home at twenty-two is the short hours that I spent in his arms. Home is safe and soothing. There is always tranquillity and peace. It is a forever a winters day, and it will warm my entire being until summer returns.

~~~

Home will always be warm, always be happy, always be safe. It is tied less to the place and more so to the people. It is tied less to history and more so to the present. Home is where I can exist, exactly as I am and exactly as I am meant to be. The definition of home has accumulated new meanings over the years, but they will always be grounded in memories. The people in these memories become the characters in the stories we tell other people, and in becoming a story, the people we love continue to shape the way we define home. No matter what, home always has sunlight.

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