From the Beginning

In order to tell us the story of a stereo salesman, Lionel Red Deer (whose past mistakes continue to live on in his present), a [college] teacher, Alberta Frank (who wants to have a child free of the hassle of wedlock—or even, apparently, the hassle of heterosex!), and a retired professor, Eli Stands Alone (who wants to stop a dam from flooding his homeland), King must go back to the beginning of creation.

Why do you think this is so?

When Eli is driving with Lionel in Green Grass Running Water, Lionel asks Eli why he came home to the reserve when doing so didn’t change his life. Eli’s answer is as follows:

Can’t just tell you that straight out. Wouldn’t make any sense. Wouldn’t be much of a story. (361)

Why can’t Eli just tell it straight out? Why wouldn’t it make any sense? Why does he have to tell a story?

When Lionel asks Eli why he came home, he is not trying to understand Eli–he is trying to understand himself. He wants to use Eli’s answer to examine an answer that he will have to eventually give, be that the answer to whether he will pursue Alberta, the answer to whether he will return to university, or the answer to some other question. Eli understands that, and that is why he can’t just say his answer by itself, but has to also communicate his own questions and circumstances. He needs to tell Lionel his entire story so that Lionel can compare that to his entire story.

Many if not all listeners and readers and viewers of stories share Lionel’s motivation. They want to experience stories that are not their stories and that can therefore be compared on an equal scale to their stories. They want to try other answers on their own questions.

What question does King answer in Green Grass Running Water? Who is asking it? I don’t know, but my hopefully educated guess is that it’s non-Native Christian Canadians who are asking the question. Their question: Who are Indians?

Their real question: Who are we?

A question this broad requires an answer that is just as broad. King addresses the question of who Indians are by giving the stories of several Natives–of Lionel, of Alberta, of Eli, of Latisha, of Charlie. Considering the novel’s length and its other stories, however, it may seem that none of these stories are complete as there are just not enough pages. I have two thoughts about this. My first thought is that they don’t have to be complete because the communication is between cultures rather than individuals, and the shape of a culture’s entire story is very different and a lot more complicated than that of an individual. My second thought is that they are complete. After all, they all have a beginning.

What is it about the beginning that makes it so important? Well, it is (or should be) common knowledge to story creators that the beginning is everything. For writers, the beginning starts and often ends at the first sentence. The story’s beginning is what introduces readers to the story and what urges them to stay. It is equivalent to the advertisement, the storefront window, the free trial. A story gains or loses its audience at the beginning, and it is only in dire circumstances that someone drops out afterwards.
Simply put, beginnings have to do a lot of things at once.

The beginning sets a contract stating that this is how it is and that this is how it’s pretty much going to be. It is thematically comparative to the entire story and is in that sense an entire story itself. That which follows the beginning always connects back to the beginning; the beginning is the schematic of everything that follows it.

The schematic of Green Grass Running Water is a creation story. The creation story, the most influential kind of story, is the story that all believers examine in search of answers to their own questions. Rather than a separate story, however, believers think of the creation story as a part of their own stories. This beginning is certainly important to them. It illuminates everything that follows.

This illumination goes both ways.

The prompt asks why, in telling the stories of several Natives, King must go back to the Native creation story. What if that question is reversed? What if King, in telling the Native creation story, must go forward to the stories of several Natives? Why would he have to do that?

King answers the question of who Indians are by giving a Native creation story; his answer is that Natives, like everyone else, are their creation story. King answers the question of what the Native creation story is by giving the stories of several Natives; his answer is that the Native creation story, like all other creation stories, is its believers.

Works Cited

Appel, Jacob M. “10 Ways to Start your Story Better.” Writer’s Digest. F+W, 2015. Web. 3 July 2015.

King, Thomas. Green Grass Running Water. 1993. P. S. Toronto: HarperPerennial-HarperCollins, 2007. Print.

Nichol, Mark. “20 Great Opening Lines to Inspire the Start of Your Story.” Daily Writing Tips. DRT, 2014. Web. 3 July 2015.

Paterson, Erika. “Lesson 3:2.” ENGL 470A Canadian Literary Genres May 2015. U of British Columbia. Web. 3 July 2015.

True Stories That Contradict Each Other

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?

While King does read the “Genesis” story with an authoritative voice, he does so in an ironic way. This is made clear when he says, in the same ironic way, that “none of [us] would make the mistake of confusing storytelling strategies with the value or sophistication of a story” (23). He is thus not emphasizing the believability of one story over the other; rather, he is emphasizing the narrative technique that (mis)leads readers to thinking that one story is more believable than the other: “These strategies colour the stories and suggest values that may be neither inherent nor warranted” (22). He heavily implies that narrative techniques which makes stories seem more believable (e.g. the authoritative voice) do not justify judgments that one story is more valuable or sacred than another, especially in the cross-cultural context where different techniques are valued.

King’s irony extends to his discussion of dichotomies. The long list of them that he gives emphasizes Western society’s obsession with what are ultimately superficial oppositions that possess unjustified and discriminatory connotations (25). This irony is then briefly discarded for a more genuine appeal:

So am I such an ass as to . . . suggest that the stories contained within the matrix of Christianity and the complex of nationalism are responsible for the social, political, and economic problems we face? Am I really arguing that the martial and hierarchical nature of Western religion and Western privilege has fostered stories that encourage egotism and self-interest? Am I suggesting that, if we hope to create a truly civil society, we must first burn all the flags and kill all the gods, because in such a world we could no longer tolerate such weapons of mass destruction?

No, I woudn’t do that. (27)

The irony may return with that last line, but he’s already said what he means. His viewpoint is evidently inclined towards the Native narrative, and so I think that King gives us this dichotomy-laden analysis to criticize those very dichotomies and make us examine not only their validity but the consequences that they have already wrought on our world. I think he is trying to show us that there is a way out, even if he knows no one is going to take it.

Now, to backtrack to the prompt’s first question (which I am backtracking to because it requires a personal answer), I do not believe in any creation story. To be more precise, I do not believe in the possibility of rendering the world’s origin (assuming that such an origin happened) in a communicable format. That’s it. So, the quality of sacredness that the prompt refers to is frankly lost on me. However, I do perceive and am affected by the world structures that the “Genesis” and “The Earth Diver” stories posit; were I to be exposed to one story and not the other, I would likely lean towards the structure that the story I’m exposed to portrays. That structure would be cooperation or competition in the case of these two stories, but it could be a lot more.

As someone who does not really understand the concept of sacredness, I view sacredness as an attribution that has the effect of prioritizing a story’s portrayed structure over that of every other story. This prioritization over other stories is what causes all of the resulting problems as people with different world views try to convert each other, through any means. I think then that in cautioning us against binary thinking, King and others are trying to get us to accept a world of true stories that contradict each other–one in which we acknowledge that sacredness is in the eye of the beholder.

Works Cited

Fuchs, Jackie. “10 Creation Myths as Strange as the Bible.” Listverse. Listverse Ltd., 11 Jan. 2014. Web. 11 Jun. 2015.

King, Thomas. The Truth About Stories. Toronto: House of Anansi Press Inc., 2003. Print.

Paterson, Erika. “Lesson 2:2.” ENGL 470A Canadian Literary Genres May 2015. U of British Columbia. Web. 11 Jun. 2015.

Wright, N. T. “How Can the Bible Be Authoritative?” Vox Evangelica 21 (1991): 7-32. Web. 11 Jun. 2015.

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