I have been assigned pages 247-259, which correspond to pages 296-311 in the HarperPerennial edition. In this section, Lionel, Eli, Bill, Charlie, and the Old Indians meet at the store. Meanwhile, Alberta encounters Connie at the Blossom Police Department, and remembers her father’s time in the tribal police.

Page 296: [Lionel’s] gold blazer had turned brown and smelled like a wet dog.

An allusion to Coyote, which foreshadows his imminent meeting with the Old Indians. King also likes using Lionel’s clothes to show the conflict between Lionel and his Indian heritage – see also the John Wayne jacket – and having his clothes resemble Coyote seems like definite points in the Indian column.

Page 297: “You’re making a puddle,” said Bursum.

Ack, I’ve been trying to research or figure out what the puddles (which the cars disappear into, and Lionel steps into when he exits the car) symbolize but am coming up blank. Anyway, Lionel’s wet clothes drip into a puddle here, which I’m certain is significant!

Page 298: “I’m going to show your other relations how the Map works…” “Everyone’s related, grandson,” said the Lone Ranger. “That’s right,” said Bursum. “That’s the way things are with Indians.”

Bill’s quote is a manifestation of the racism that permeates the novel in a pretty base form – assuming because they’re Indians, they are related or know each other. (Although, to be fair, calling Lionel ‘grandson’ can’t help.) The Lone Ranger’s comment references the interconnectedness of the novel and possibly their previous existence in the story of the Garden of Eden (if everyone is descended from Adam and Eve, everyone would be related).

Page 298: Bursum was already moving towards the Map with the old Indians in tow… It was a concept, a concept that lay at the heard of business and Western civilization. He had said some other things, but Lionel had forgotten exactly what they were.

Bill Bursum is a reference to former US Senator Holm O. Bursum, who drafted the Bursum Bill in the 1920s. The Bill gave non-Indians the right to any land they occupied before 1902, and gave state courts (generally pro-white) the ability to settle any land disputes. In other words, the Bill gave the whites the ability to recreate the map of the United States to their liking, which is what Bursum does with the display in his store. The ability to settle wherever they wish may be the “concept that lies at the heart… of Western civilization,” and I also think the grand (but ultimately empty) statements Bursum makes are meant to satirize a politician’s rhetoric.

Page 299-301: “Here’s a nice Sony. It’ll pull in the local stations. Should get CBC too.” … “This one,” said Lionel, “is the best we carry. On a good night you can hear New Zealand with this one.” “Don’t know that I want to hear New Zealand,” said Eli… “Probably the little one,” said Eli. “It’s not as large a world as people think.”

Lionel, who believes he must escape the reserve in order to find success or fulfillment, tries to upsell his uncle on the Panasonic radio that will let him listen to radio from around the world. Eli, who now recognizes the value of staying on the reserve, opts for the local radio instead. The “small world” comment echoes the “everyone’s related” comment in reference to the interconnectedness of the novel, and foreshadows the imminent arrival of Charlie.

Page 300: “First Nations’ Pizza.”

According to Flick’s reading notes, this references testimony in a land sovereignty case, where BC’s Crown Counsel argued First Nations lost their First Nations status if they use white fast food. I was unfortunately not able to find the Province editorial cartoon Flick mentions or an online version of the book she cites, but there are a few copies located at UBC’s library.

Page 301: “They look familiar,” said Eli. “Maybe they’re from Brocket.”

Brocket is a small town in southern Alberta situated on the Piikani Nation reserve. It is notorious for being the setting of Brocket 99, a fake radio station run by heavily stereotyped characterizations of native DJs. Eli’s reference suggests the Old Indians resemble these stereotypes as well. If you have time, I recommend reading through the linked article and especially the comments, where opinions on the piece differ from hate speech to a harmless joke to “one of these classic pieces of Canadiana.”

Less interestingly, the comment (which implies a proximity to Brocket) helps us map the fictional town of Blossom, AB:

Page 302: It was a jacket. A leather jacket. With leather fringe… “You know, you look a little like John Wayne.”

Lionel receives John Wayne’s jacket from the Old Indians for his birthday. Wayne played the archetypical cowboy hero in a number of Western films, including the novel’s fictional Western, The Mysterious Warrior. Lionel’s desire to leave the reserve and become a white man, as Norma puts it, is expressed by his childhood desire to “be John Wayne” – this present gives him that ability. Here’s a picture of the jacket John Wayne wears in The Alamo (1960) which matches the novel’s description:

Page 305: For a time, Amos had worked for the tribal police.

Tribal police forces still exist today, as a way to self-administer police forces to First Nation communities. Here’s a link to the website for the First Nations Chiefs of Police Association.

Page 307: Fred Peterson

Fred Peterson was mayor of Portland in the 50s who rushed a dam project at the Bull Run watershed. The reference is obscure so it could be a stretch – but maybe not, considering the novel’s relationship with dam projects, and King’s fondness for naming characters after politicians. Without the reference, I was still struck by the whiteness of his name. Two white first names? Clearly this guy is not to be trusted.

Page 308: “Didn’t I sell you a Camaro four, five years back?” “Must have been my twin.” … “Well, let’s say that maybe Milford or Melfred comes in here and he needs a little money. And maybe he’s had a little to drink…” “Milford doesn’t drink.” “So you say.”

More racism – first, Peterson can’t tell different Indians apart, then he leans on the drunk Indian stereotype in order to explain how Milford might have sold his truck and forgotten about it.

Page 308: “Ricky, my sales manager, bought the truck… Left about a week ago. Took a job in Florida.”

All roads lead back to Fort Marion, and it seems like the perfect destination for someone who made a career out of exploiting Indians. Unfortunately, there’s no reference to anyone named Ricky working at Hovaugh’s clinic.

—

This section seemed lighter on references than other parts of the novel, but let me know if you find anything that I missed!

Prompt 2 – Coyote Pedagogy is a term sometimes used to describe King’s writing strategies (Margery Fee and Jane Flick). Discuss your understanding of the role of Coyote in the novel.

Before jumping right into my views about Coyote’s role in Green Grass, Running Water, I think it is important to write about other elements of the story – the medicine wheel, and the storytelling process. These elements are all connected, so I hope you’ll bear with me and I promise we will get to Coyote eventually.

Let’s start with the Medicine Wheel, as described in our class notes for this lesson:

“The Medicine Wheel is a tool for healing both individual and community problems – but it is also a tool for teaching, which is really the same thing… As the Wheel turns, it is also returning, and in this way all of these elements are continually connecting and reconnecting; the past meets the present and things begin again.”

The turning of the Wheel brings rejuvenation, allowing the seasons and the elements and seasons to continue their cycle. If the wheel stopped, then, the rejuvenation would not happen, and the world would become static and fetid. What could stop the turning of the wheel? The answer, I think, comes from telling stories.

There are a number of characters in Green Grass who express a desire to “get the story right.”  Ishmael tells Crusoe it’s “best not to make [mistakes] with stories,” (King, 14) and a frustrated Babo says “That’s not right either. I keep getting it wrong. I better start at the beginning again.” (King, 93) Most crucially, the unnamed narrator of the story is set on telling the story of the water right, instructing Coyote to “Listen up… I only want to do this once.” (King, 38) He ends up telling his story four times over the course of the novel, which ends with him preparing to tell it yet again.

None of these characters ever do seem to tell their story right, but what would happen if they did? I think part of the explanation is found in Blanca Chester’s article, describing the novel’s relationship between stories and reality:

“The stories themselves are re-created and they simultaneously re-create the world – again and again. The stories continue to theorize, and thus to create, Native reality.” (Chester, 59)

Storytelling is cyclical, and each story told gives birth to a new world, or breathes life into the old one. Like the turning of the medicine wheel, storytelling is a process of rejuvenation. I do not think this is a coincidence, rather that the two are closely linked; the telling of stories is the process by which the wheel turns. I feel like this is well-supported by the novel’s structure, which associates each of its four acts with one of the quadrants of the medicine wheel, and uses each section of the novel to tell a new version of the narrator’s creation story. At the end of the novel, the rejuvenation process is complete (“‘Look at that, Mary. It’s spring again. Everything’s green. Everything’s alive.’” [King, 425]). But it is not over – a new cycle is beginning, as the narrator starts telling Coyote a new story of the water. (King, 431)

A ceremonial drum inscribed with a Medicine Wheel design. Is that the Lone Ranger’s mask in the top-right corner?

If storytelling is what keeps the wheel turning, rejuvenating the world, it follows that an end to storytelling would stop the wheel, throwing the world into decay. The idea of “getting the story right” actually seems like a dangerous one, in that light – if the narrator got the story right, he wouldn’t have to keep beginning again, and would stop telling it. Now that we have taken this appropriately cyclical route of explanation, I think I am ready to theorize Coyote’s role in the novel: Coyote, using his trickster/transformer abilities to alter or disrupt the narrator’s story, ensures the story is never “right” so the wheel can keep spinning.

Coyote has two main tactics for keeping the stories coming. One tactic is disruption: he inserts events, such as the arrival of Moby-Jane (King, 197), and the things he say become dialogue in the story, such as in the exchange between A.A. Gabriel and Thought Woman (King, 271). Secondly, when the story ends, he asks questions and claims not to understand the story, forcing the narrator to start again:

“But what happens to First Woman?”
“Oh, boy,” I says. “You must have been sitting on those ears. No wonder this world has problems.”
“Is this a puzzle?” says Coyote. “Are there any clues?”
“We are going to have to do this again. We are going to have to get it right.”
“Okay,” says Coyote, “I can do that.” (King, 100)

While the narrator wants to finish their story and be done with it, Coyote blocks this effort and makes the story begin again. The narrator seems to think Coyote’s inattentiveness is a bad thing, citing it as the reason the world “has problems” and “is a mess.” But the pattern of their back-and-forth is anything but chaotic; it is predictable and cyclical. Their exchanges ensure the Wheel keeps turning.

I like this explanation, although it leaves a number of questions unanswered. For starters, what are Coyote’s intentions? Does he know the importance of his role, or does he just enjoy a good story? Is he as silly as he appears, or does he just act that way in order to keep the narrator talking? Flick’s description of Coyotes doesn’t provide much in the way of hints, as she notes they are “capable of being brave or cowardly, conservative or innovative, wise or stupid.” (Flick, 143) I am also still lost about the identity of the narrator, and why it is important that they keep telling the story, instead of passing it onto Coyote, as was their intention. I would love to hear thoughts on any of this!

Works Cited:

Chester, Blanca. “Green Grass Running Water: Theorizing the World of the Novel.” Canadian Literature 161-162. (1999). Web. July 1, 2015.

Flick, Jane. “Reading Notes for Thomas King’s Green Grass Running Water.” Canadian Literature 161-162. (1999). Web. July 1, 2015.

King, Thomas. Green Grass, Running Water. Toronto: HarperCollins, 1993. Print.

While there are many similarities in style between Harry Robinson’s Coyote Meets the King of England and Thomas King’s Green Grass, Running Water – the rhythm of the prose, the use of repetition, the narration that speaks directly to the audience – I was much more interested to see the differences. The character and voice of Coyote and God varies greatly in these two stories, with Robinson placing Coyote into a Christian power structure, and King showing the same power structures to be ridiculous. These different tactics accomplish a similar goal, however, of rejecting the place Aboriginals occupy in Western religion.

Let’s start with Robinson’s Coyote, who wields a great deal of power in his story. He is sent on a mission from God to make a deal with the King of England, and he wastes no time in using his trickster powers to assert himself over the King. He speaks with confidence and authority, commanding respect and awe from the Westerners he addresses:

“You write it all down.
Then it can be that way ’til the end of the world…
Reserve at all time.
Can never be sold.
Can never be changed…
All right, that is if you say ‘all right, we’ll have a war,’
All right we will have a war. I can let them know.
And they’ll come in,
And they’ll be the one that going to kill first.” (Robinson, 74-75)

The anthropomorphic Coyote described by Robinson differs greatly from King’s “scraggly dog… spinning in the rain.” (King, 289) Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coyote_%28mythology%29 Image circa 1914

Before starting this course I had never encountered Coyote, and I was unsure how to envision him – is he anthropomorphic, or simply an animal? Robinson’s story suggests the former, when the Americans comment the figure on the water “Looks like a person.” (Robinson, 64) King takes the opposite approach in order to undermine Coyote’s authority. Compare Robinson’s Coyote to how he appears to the characters of Green Grass:

“…a scraggly dog dashed back and forth, chasing its tail, spinning in the rain, as if it were trying to dance.” (King, 289)

Coyote clearly wields great power – his dancing is what caused the storm – but the images King conjures of him are ridiculous, commanding none of the power or authority Robinson’s Coyote does during its meeting with the King of England.

Let’s explore these two Coyotes through a framework I am more comfortable using: D&D alignments. Robinson’s Coyote is Neutral Good: he acts out of a sense of duty towards God and his people. He tells the angel that “whatever he says I will,” (Robinson, 67) and he prevents a war with England to try and end his people’s suffering. He seems somehow more… respectable than King’s Coyote, who leans heavily towards Chaotic Neutral. While Robinson’s Coyote used his powers for practical purposes, King’s embraces his role as a trickster, and seems to delight in making mischief:

‘”Look out! Look out!” shouts Coyote. “It’s Moby-Jane, the Great Black Whale. Run for your lives.”
“That wasn’t very nice,” I says. “Now look what you’ve done.”
“Hee-hee, hee-hee,” says Coyote.’ (King, 197)

‘”I didn’t do anything,” says Coyote. “I just sang a little.”
“Oh, boy,” said the Lone Ranger.
“I just danced a little, too,” says Coyote.
“Oh boy,” said Ishmael.’ (King, 416)

King’s Coyote clearly has a great deal of power, changing history by interjecting into stories and causing earthquakes with a song and dance. But, unlike Robinson’s Coyote, he does not use his power to become a figure of authority. (The story’s narrator seems to imply that he could become a similar figure to Robinson’s Coyote, saying “You are one silly Coyote… No wonder this world is a mess.” [King, 238])

These characterizations suggest hugely different power structures in the cosmologies of King’s and Robinson’s worlds. Robinson’s world suggests a linear power structure: God (speaking through an angel) gives orders to Coyote, and Coyote exerts his power over the King of England to get his way. Interestingly, based on what King identifies in The Truth About Stories as “power… vested in a single deity who is omnipotent, omniscient, and omnipresent,” (King, 24) Robinson is actually inserting Coyote into a world of Christian creation. This is subversive – God does not speak directly to a Western authority, as one might expect, but to a Native representative. Coyote supplants the role of religious authority a Western pope or bishop to hold would traditionally hold.

While Robinson’s Coyote finds himself a more comfortable place in the Western canon, The Lone Ranger, Ishmael, Robinson Crusoe, and Hawkeye deny it altogether. The four characters first reject a religious character’s attempt to subjugate them, and later a literary character’s attempt to make them play their assigned “part.” King presents these characters as uniformly ridiculous – look at Noah chasing poor Changing Woman around the island when it’s “time for procreating” (King, 147) – undermining the authority they suppose over the women. The four Indians become free from the constraints Western society would impose on them; they choose a name for themselves, and band together in order to “fix the world.” Along with Coyote, who rejects the mantle of authority Robinson’s Coyote accepts, they make their own creation story. The group chooses to exist not in the Christian world, but “a world that… moves toward harmony… a world determined by co-operation.” (ibid, 25)

[in response to Prompt 5]

Works cited:

King, Thomas. Green Grass, Running Water. Toronto: HarperCollins, 1993. Print.

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

Robinson, Harry. Living by Stories: A Journey of Landscape and Memory. Ed. Wendy Wickwire. Vancouver: Talonbooks, 2005. Print.