Category Archives: Unit Three

Stories Within Stories

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For my post this week, I will be reflecting on pages 99-109 in Green Grass, Running Water and finding some of the references and underlying stories contained within the stories explicitly shared in this text.

While reading Green Grass, Running Water (by Thomas King), I was struck by the number of plays on names and words, allusions, and subtle references that King made throughout the novel. However, after reflecting on story and reading posts by my classmates, as well as Jane Flick’s reading notes, I found there were even more layers of meaning and depth to the story than I initially realized. In particular, cycles throughout the story that connected to Florida and ledger art sparked my curiosity and was one of the main reasons I chose to focus on this section of the novel. While there were many references throughout the novel, this post and reflection focuses on some of the references found within a small section of the book, with the intention of revealing some of the layers of story woven into King’s writing.

Sitting around, drawing pictures in Florida (King, Green Grass, Running Water 99)

The pages I chose begin with First Woman and Ahdamn being taken by soldiers to a train station where they board a train for Florida. This section alludes to the transportation and imprisonment of 72 Cheyenne, Kiowa, Comanche, and Arapaho from their traditional lands to Fort Sill and, later, to Fort Marion, where they were imprisoned from 1875 to 1878 (King, Green Grass, Running Water 18; “Red River War”). It was claimed that the prisoners were all leaders and combatants in the Red River War, although it has also been suggested that, for many of them, “their primary crime was that they were Indians who had led a traditional Plains Indian life,” especially as they did not have a trial before being imprisoned (Ojibwa).

In addition to these connections, Coyote suggests going to Miami and Fort Lauderdale, which could be a reference to the history of these places, as Miami was named after an Indigenous word and is built on an Indigenous village site while Fort Lauderdale was also built on land traditionally used by Indigenous nations (Tequesta) and was later used in the Second Seminole War (“Fort Lauderdale History”). In a less connected sense, Coyote’s suggestion could also simply be based on a desire to visit the beaches in Miami and Fort Lauderdale. Still, the story, along with First Woman and Ahdamn, proceed to Fort Marion, rather than listening to Coyote’s suggestions.

Once at Fort Marion, the prisoners were “converted” to Christianity (many did not keep this as a religion) and educated in English ways, with assimilation being the end goal; one of the techniques for this assimilation and “civilizing” was “encouraging” the prisoners to draw (Adams; Coffee; Keeping History). Ahdamn’s drawing, and his resulting “fame” that takes place at Fort Marion, alludes to this ledger art that was produced by those held captive at Fort Marion. This art was created by some of the prisoners during their time at Fort Marion and often was sold to visitors — the artwork is still bought and sold today (Adams). Accordingly, some of these pieces of art depicted cultural life, including the Sun Dance (“Keeping History”), another important part of the story for King’s characters.

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Connecting cycles and directions

The Sun Dance is one of the connections that many of the characters in King’s novel share, regardless of the year the dance occurs as, like many of King’s themes, it too is cyclic and has the potential to connect the characters across time and space. However, throughout the book, broader connections to the theme of interconnection and cycles can be found. The section I chose transitions from one section to another and, as author Jane Flick suggests, these different sections indicate different directions and colours which relate to both the Medicine Lodge, a part of the Sun Dance for many nations (Stover), and the alternative names (Mr. Red, Mr. Blue, Mr. Green, and Mr. Black) that First Woman, Changing Woman, Thought Woman, and Old Woman go by in Dr. Hovaugh’s records (Flick 143; King, Green Grass, Running Water 53).

This transition also marks the beginning of another creation story, a story of Changing Woman. This transition gives a turn to another one of the four Indian comrades (unlike in much of Western society, different creation stories each have a turn) and presents a reference to water and, in this way, new beginnings overall as both Lionel is in a puddle of water and, perhaps less significantly, the toilet floods at the Dead Dog Cafe (King, Green Grass, Running Water 106-107). Changing Woman’s name also suggests a different phase of life (changing from a child to an adult) following First Woman, and, in this way, connects to larger cycles of life.

Finding significance in names

Similar to how significance can be found in the names of First Woman and Changing Woman in reference to life stages, numerous other references can be found within the names of King’s characters. Even within these few pages, character and location names hint at deeper meanings to their stories. For instance, First Woman’s name also alludes to other creation stories that include a first woman. In the case of Green Grass, Running Water, First Woman also alludes to Christian stories of Eve and Adam as First Woman meets and Ahdamn and they live in a garden for a time (King, Green Grass, Running Water 40). In addition to this, the alternatives names for First Woman and Ahdamn, Lone Ranger and Tonto, also reference another story that has had impacts on perceptions of Indigenous peoples in North America, and could be a connection to some of King’s photography experiences (Flick 141). While these names are not hugely emphasized in this section of the book, they are still reoccurring references (in addition to Robinson Crusoe, Hawkeye, and Ishmael), which could also be perceived as references to how stories and stereotypes can remain with a person, regardless of the context.

Beyond these character names, the name of Latisha’s restaurant, the Dead Dog Cafe, seems to indirectly reference the beginning of the novel where Coyote’s dream starts to get out of hand and ends-up wanting to be a dog. However, the dog end-up as a GOD instead as “when that Coyote Dream thinks about being a dog, it gets everything mixed-up. It gets everything backward” (King, Green Grass, Running Water 2). In addition, after the publication of Green Grass, Running Water, King also wrote and co-hosted a radio show, the Dead Dog Cafe Comedy Hour, which also takes place within the (fictional) town of Blossom, Alberta, and provokes similar questions and reflections (such as those about stereotypes, “Indians,” and stories) to Green Grass, Running Water.

Overall, this only skimmed the surface of the many connections that one can find within King’s writing; it is incredible to reflect on the many layers of understanding and meaning that can be found within his work.

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Re-Storying Narratives

“The lives of King’s characters are entangled in and informed by both the colonial legacy in the Americas and the narratives that enact and enable colonial domination. King begins to extricate his characters’ lives from the domination of the invader’s discourses by weaving their stories into both Native American oral traditions and into revisions of some of the most damaging narratives of domination and conquest: European American origin stories and national myths, canonical literary texts, and popular culture texts such as John Wayne films. These revisions are acts of narrative decolonization.” (Cox, qtd. in Paterson, question 4)

This prompt drew me as, more and more throughout my learning this year, I have been reflecting on the impact, and potential, of art and stories in the processes of colonization and decolonization (including through maps, national “myths,” and historic stories/histories). When I first read this quote and the prompt to “[i]dentify and discuss two of King’s ‘acts of narrative decolonization’” (Paterson), a flood of ideas came to mind as I thought of different aspects of Green Grass, Running Water that seemed to re-story not only prominent Western stories, but colonial perspectives and assumptions that underlie these stories, along with many others.

However, while starting to write, I began to reflect on how the concept of “decolonization” itself is diverse in its definitions and interpretations. Defining this term seemed important to being able to write and reflect on it, yet this definition was not as definite as the word might imply. In fact, some suggest that the definition in and of itself is variable, depending on the context of its use (Sium, Desai, and Ritskes ii; Tuck and Yang 5).

Beyond these points, a friend of mine told me once that she had been reflecting on the word “decolonization” in being counter to colonization, yet centered around it by the term itself. This caused our discussion to turn to what other words could be used to “paint the picture” of what is desired instead. We did not come-up with an all-inclusive answer, and, as some suggest, perhaps “Decolonization doesn’t have a synonym” (Tuck and Yang 3). However, the ideas of restorying and highlighting, what is desired was a large part of this conversation.

Still, within the overarching themes of decolonization, I agree with James Cox’s suggestion that throughout the story Green Grass, Running Water, Thomas King contributes to the process of disrupting damaging colonial narratives and prompting his audience to think critically about their assumptions (or, in other words, decolonizing) through his narrative (221). In particular, through his writing, King presents different perspectives and storylines than the hetero-patriarchal ideals that Western culture typically emphasizes (especially compared to many Indigenous relationships with gender and gender roles), shows that Indigenous stories are still being told and lived (counter to myths of “vanishing Indians”), and creates a form of storyline that is not as monologic as traditional Western stories and that highlights the interconnections, and dialogues, between story lines and perspectives (Chester 45). In addition, King inserts threads of story and creates alternate tellings of well known and “damaging” colonial narratives, such as Moby Dick and genesis (Cox 221).

To expand on a few of these themes, one of the first things that struck me in King’s writing was the prominence and power of his female characters. Women in Green Grass, Running Water, such as Alberta Frank, are strong, capable, intelligent, and “successful,” while other characters who are portrayed as women (such as the “four Indians:” Lone Ranger, Robinson Crusoe, Ishmael, and Hawkeye) are shown as powerful entities in the creation stories that are cycle throughout the book. Beyond this, instances such as some interpretations of Moby Jane (Flick 152), and even Albert’s desire for a family structure without commitment to one man (King 65), touch on possibilities of sexuality, gender, and family that go beyond common Western (hetero-patriarchal) structures. Even the four old Indians seem to transcend gender (and gender expectations) in some ways as they are perceived as men or women by different characters and at different times.

In these ways, King plays with assumptions of gender and identity commonly portrayed in Western society, such as what wedlock means in a Western sense, compared to what characters such as Alberta desire (86-87), and what a reader might initially assume when one reads “police officer” before the officer is referred to as “she” (304). These narratives bring awareness to these assumptions and can create a dialogue between these potentially different perspectives (Western and Indigenous), both within the narrative and within the audience.

Along these lines, King’s narrative not only prompts discussion and creates an alternative message to many Western stories, but it creates an alternate telling to and (re)claims some of the well known Western narratives that have impacted society, including views of women. For example, King’s telling of First Woman’s story can evoke the narrative of Adam and Eve in the garden of Eden, even for those relatively unfamiliar with the tale. However, this story is of its own making and is an entirely new perspective on the garden of Eden tale, if they can be said to be the same at all. In King’s version, First Woman (later known as the Lone Ranger) and Ahdamn (later known as Tonto) end-up in a garden made by First Woman (40). Coyote’s rambunctious dream-turned-dog-turned-backwards (GOD), while watching these events unfold, decides that the garden belongs to him and that he does not want to share with anyone (King 68-69). First Woman concludes that he seems to have forgotten his relations, and her and Ahdamn leave the garden to find another location without “a grouchy GOD for a neighbour” (King 69).

Through this narrative, King disrupts colonial stories, and their related assumptions, in a number of ways. For instance, in this version of the story, First Woman chooses to leave the garden and has authority over her own choices and body/location, suggesting a “reclamation of … authority” for Indigenous women (which many had prior to colonization) (Cox 227). In addition, through this storytelling process, King touches on the continuance and adaptability of Indigenous peoples (counter to some colonial myths) as First Woman continues to thrive and problem-solve throughout the story — moving to another place, changing her name, and continuing to “fix things” in a more modern-seeming setting as the Lone Ranger.

Overall, while this only touches the tip of the possible examples of the decolonial narratives and conversations between different paradigms that King provides in his book, King has created a powerful deconstruction and re-storying of damaging Western narratives, while also weaving in ongoing stories and connections. Some storytellers suggest that there is power and significance in creating narratives as they can create another vision for the future (and past) that can impact one’s perception of the world, or even just provide another perspective, a different story, which can be important in and of itself. In Green Grass, Running Water, by showing the interconnectedness of the stories and the lives of his characters throughout the narrative, as well as the connections between colonial and decolonial narratives, King works to create another, decolonizing narrative while inviting the story’s audience to interact with it and ultimately, reflect and inspect their own questions, connections, and assumptions.

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To Build a Story?

For this week’s post, I will be responding to the following prompt:

“[I]n her essay, Maracle answers her question describing what she sees to be the function of literary criticism in Salish society. Summarize her answer and then make some comparisons between Maracle and Frye’s analysis of the role of myth in nation building” (Paterson, question 6).

In order for criticism to arise naturally from within our culture, discourse must serve the same function it has always served. In Euro-society, literary criticism heightens the competition between writers and limits entry of new writers to preserve the original canon. What will its function be in our societies? (Maracle 85)

Author, storyteller, and educator Lee Maracle poses this question in her essay, “Toward a National Literature,” where she continues to explore different elements of what the function of criticism could be, especially with regards to First Nation society (Maracle identifies herself as Sto:lo). In her “response,” Maracle suggests that story and its criticism can be a prompt for discourse and “healthy communal doubt” (85).  This questioning can create inspiration to reflect on one’s self and society, or “face ourselves,” and to grow and transform by expanding clan knowledge or augmenting “the house … by adding rafters” (Maracle 85). Once augmented, it calls for new myths to be created based on these changes, which can help to spark opportunities for group learning and further criticism and reflection on the story’s role and relationship to oneself and one’s community, and to their continued growth. In the words of Maracle, the “purpose for examining old story is first to understand it; second, to see oneself in the story; and then to see the nation, the community, and our common humanity through the story and to assess its value to continued growth and transformation of the community and the nation” (85).

Through this process of reflection, criticism, and group learning, Maracle suggests that new stories are created, some of which can help to direct one towards the “good life,” change behaviours, and “clear old obstacles” (85). Beyond this, Maracle indicates that this process of “creation and recreation of literary culture is a function of education,” which is also a means to share and transfer knowledge (90). This knowledge and stories are a part of an inheritance that is a part of what Maracle says governs her (94) and that are also elements of a nation (85). In fact, Maracle suggests that these stories come forward and are created by the myth-make in the interest of the nation (85).

In the words of professor Erika Paterson, “[t]here is an intimate relationship between constructing a literary canon and building a nation.” Author and literary critic Northrop Frye also alludes to this concept in his reflections at the beginning and conclusion of his book The Bush Garden: Essays on the Canadian Imagination. Not only can this connection be found, but Frye also shares some commonalities with Maracle in terms of reflecting on the myths and stories that influence, and are influenced by nations.

To expand, both Maracle and Frye suggest that one’s place, both within the environment and society, can contribute to one’s experience with stories, and with national identity. In the words of editors Aman Sium and Eric Ritskes, “[l]and is not simply the backdrop against which stories are told; it’s the premise of why and how we tell them” (vii). In Frye’s analysis, this affects nation building as one’s physical location alters one’s imagination and culture which is directly linked to identity; causing identity to be found at a local scale (ii). This contrasts with a more euro-centric view of a nation-state being culturally homogenous (“Introduction to Nationalism”); however, even with various attempts at assimilation (including residential schools and promotion of “Canadian unity and identity” (Frye ii)), Canada has continued to be culturally diverse, with many “nations” within the internationally recognized state (“Introduction to Nationalism”). In a similar way, Maracle also recognizes that one’s location and experiences affects one’s writing — and suggests that writing from within one’s culture and with an understanding of that culture’s original knowledge is essential for that culture to grow (84).

Beyond this, Frye and Maracle both suggest that imagination is important for identity and that a lack of connection to previous, historical knowledge contributes to a degree of loss in terms of identity and national myths. However, Maracle and Frye come from very different standpoints in this regard as for Maracle, this is due to the detachment of knowledges, national systems, and stories that have been forcefully disconnected and interrupted by colonialism (80). On the other hand, Frye (contributing to the erasure that Maracle reflects on) finds the transformations in Canada, from “wilderness” to “a part of North America and the British Empire, then [to] a part of the world” (219) is too fast for a writing tradition, and its related national identity, to really be grounded and developed (while simultaneously suggesting that “Canada” began when Europeans arrived).

As indicated by both these authors and Paterson, myth plays a role in nation building and, to go beyond the ideas already presented, “to believe in [stories and myths] is to reimagine the world” (Sium and Ritskes v). This concept creates numerous possibilities—and challenges. To return to an earlier reflection, perhaps these myths are some of the reasons why it can be so challenging, and often problematic, to be at home in Canada. In the words of Indigenous (Michi Saagiig Nishnaabeg) writer and academic Leanne Betasamosake Simpson: “[i]t struck me at that moment that our nationhood, my nationhood by its very nature calls into question this system of settler colonialism; a system that is such an overwhelming, violent, normalized and dishonest reality in Canada and so many other places” (Simpson, emphasis added). In this way, stories can contribute to the forgetting or, in this case, the remembering of histories that a nation may want rewritten. Yet, to others, this concept may not seem surprising as Chamberlin suggests that “that’s what all stories do: they hold some people together and keep others apart” ( 227). In this sense, national stories and myths can tell who belongs to the nation and how they do, while also excluding others who are not a part of the socially constructed nation.

Still, whether the stories are honest or not, writers and storytellers, such as Maracle (89) and Simpson (“Storytelling as a Force of Resistance and Tool of Reconciliation”) suggest that, even with all the power they hold, stories are not the only pieces required to alter reality, or even to construct oneself, and that one needs to “close the false gap that often exists between speaking and acting (Sium and Ritskes v). In the words of Maracle, “[o]ur stories belong in and to our future” (94) and we will need both stories, and actions, in order to move towards “genuine decolonization” (Maracle 95) and a more connected, “reimagined” world (Sium and Ritskes v).

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