For this assignment, I am going to be closely investigating the allusions found in Thomas King’s novel, Green Grass, Running Water (GGRW), between pages 391 and 401.

“Young Man Walking on Water” (King 391): This is an allusion to Jesus of Nazareth, widely believed to be the incarnation of the Christian God who can perform miracles on Earth. One of these miracles, and among the most famous, is His feat of walking on water. This is often interpreted as Christ establishing His dominance over the natural world; He has the ability to bend and shape the natural world to His will, something that only God is supposed to be able to do. His ability to exert this influence on nature suggests, more generally, a relationship of domination between humankind and the natural world. This stands in opposition to the Indigenous worldview that is being maintained in GGRW, as evinced by the personification of the lake, Glimmerglass, and the powerful position of Coyote. Thus, King’s choice to specifically refer to Jesus as “Young Man Walking on Water,” even though it is only in passing on this particular page, seems to be purposely evoking and questioning the Christian concept of the ‘great chain of being,’ which asserts that humans take precedence over (and thus dominate) the natural world. Flick also points out that Christ’s name is, here, deliberately made to sound more ‘Indian’ (Flick 161).

“Glimmerglass” (King 391): Glimmerglass is the nickname given to Lake Ostego in New York by novelist James Fenimore Cooper in his work, The Deerslayer (Flick 162). (Cooper is also, notably, the author of The Last of the Mohicans, which is famous for perpetuating the ‘vanishing Indian’ myth that I have addressed elsewhere on my blog). This novel is actually going to be referenced multiple times throughout the remainder of these ten pages, so I think this is an appropriate moment to give a brief overview. Written in 1841, the events of The Deerslayer take place in the 1740s, in the years leading up to the Seven Years’ War (also called the French and Indian War). The novel essentially tells the story of a frontiersman who, along with the help of his trusty ‘Indian’ sidekick, help a trapper defend his settlement from the Iroquois (or the Haudenosaunee). By calling the lake ‘Glimmerglass,’ King is overtly situating the following events within the context of Cooper’s colonial novel.

“Chingachgook” (King 392): Chingachgook is the name of the Mohican chief in The Deerslayer who accompanies the frontiersman, Nathaniel Bumppo, on his journey. In Cooper’s novel (and, indeed, in King’s iteration), he often fights alongside Bumppo against other Indigenous tribes. In this scene, Chingachgook is shown searching loyally for his white companion; ironic, since Bumppo has just mistaken Old Woman for Chingachgook only because “Chingachgook is an Indian. You’re an Indian. Case closed” (King 392). This demonstrates quite clearly that Bumppo does not value Chingachgook for his individuality, but simply for his ‘Indian-ness,’ perhaps more specifically for his Indian ‘gifts’. This makes the Indigenous people in the novel interchangeable, at least in the view of Bumppo and, by extension, Cooper.

“Nathaniel Bumppo, Post-Colonial Wilderness Guide and Outfitter” (King 392): Finally, we are introduced to the hero of Cooper’s novel, Nathaniel “Natty” Bumppo – though King will soon bastardize his name as ‘Nasty Bumppo,’ both a homophone and apt descriptor for Natty. During the events of The Deerslayer, Bumppo is given the name ‘Hawkeye’ by ‘Mingos’ (attacking Indians) that recognize his war prowess after Bumppo shoots a ‘Mingo’ that tries to steal his canoe. King utilizes this ‘Indian’ name multiple times in GGRW; for example, one of the four elder Indians is called ‘Hawkeye.’ Moreover, immediately after Bumppo christens Old Woman ‘Hawkeye,’ because it sounds like a good “killer name,” Coyote wonders if this is a good Indian name. The storyteller responds that “It sounds like the a name for a white person who wants to be an Indian” (King 395). Thus, the name Hawkeye becomes a symbol for cultural appropriation and the romanticizing of the colonial idea of the ‘Indian’ way of life.  As Flick points out, the addition of ‘post-colonial’ to Bumppo’s self-imposed title is a “Joke on the ‘colonial hero’ […] and the ‘post-colonial’ treatment he gets in King’s book” (Flick 162). She also points out that he is wearing the “fringed, buckskin jacket” that the Indians ‘borrow’ from George and give to Lionel (Flick 162).

“Indians have Indian gifts […] and Whites have white gifts” (King 392): Flick calls this moment a “send-up of Cooper’s construction of whites and Indians in his stories” (Flick 163). Cooper seems to have very specific ideas about what an Indian is capable of, and contrasts this with his ideas of what a white is capable of. The ‘Indian’ gifts are all related to ‘primitive’ animal instincts, such as running, enduring pain, and having “agile bodies” (King 393). These ‘gifts,’ or aptitudes, are designed to primitivize Indigeneity. Meanwhile, the ‘whites’ have the gifts of patience, spirituality, cognition, philosophy, and other things generally associated with sophisticated civilization (King 393). Thus, King is pointing out these black and white binaries constructed by colonial novelists like Cooper, who seek to posit ‘Indians’ and ‘Whites’ at two opposite sides of a spectrum: civilized vs. uncivilized, mentality vs. physicality, human vs. non-human, superior vs. inferior. Although this is not directly alluded to in GGRW, I wanted to include a link to a powerful TEDx Talk featuring Gregg Deal speaking about how these stereotypes that people like Cooper put forth – the same stereotypes that King is contending with – have lasting, damaging effects.

“Daniel Boone” (King 395):  A real-life frontiersman (as opposed to the fictional Bumppo) who fought in several colonial wars, including the French Indian War and the American Indian Wars. He is often seen as an American hero.

“Harry Truman” (King 395): As the 33^rd American president, Truman was in office during World War II. He is the one responsible for ordering the devastating bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in the final moments of the war, resulting in the death of approximately 214,000 people upon initial impact, as well as lasting environmental effects that continue to plague Japan today, over seventy-five years later.

“Arthur Watkins” (King 395):  A Republican senator in Utah who repealed treaty rights and encouraged Indigenous peoples to assimilate (Flick 163). He also lobbied to terminate federal recognition of tribes.

I would note here the context that the three preceding historical personages are mentioned: they are the names that Bumppo pitches to be Old Woman’s ‘killer name’ after she is accused of shooting him. All of these names are eventually discarded. Even though it is Old Woman who rejects these names, the implication is that they are not ‘killer’ enough, even though these men are indubitably guilty. Perhaps this is because their names sound white; the name Bumppo settles on is Hawkeye, which ‘sounds’ Indian. This is ironic since not only is Hawkeye actually white, but Bumppo is Hawkeye; thus, there is a roundabout admission of guilt here.

“’Maybe,’ says Coyote, ‘it was a conspiracy’” (King 395): A reference to the assassination of beloved U.S. President John F. Kennedy and the ensuing conspiracy theories regarding his death. Although Lee Harvey Oswald was arrested for the murder, many Americans believe that he was not acting alone, a fact exacerbated by Oswald’s death before a trial could be held. One of these conspiracies that King specifically mentions is the idea that there was a second shooter, aside from Oswald, who shot at JFK from a ‘grassy knoll’. The fact that King brings these conspiracies in with connection to Bumppo suggests that there was a ‘second shooter’ in Bumppo’s death (with Bumppo being the first potential shooter). This may suggest that it is Chingachgook who shoots Bumppo, as he materializes immediately after the shooting. This would subvert the idea that Bumppo is Chingachgook’s protector and friend, contrary to his  portrayal in Cooper’s novel, and suggests that their relationship was not as genial as Cooper makes it seem.

 “They all take out a book from their packs” (King 396): As Flick suggests, the book is the Cooper novel, The Deerslayer, which has formed the basis for many of the events of this sequence (Flick 163).

 “West Wind Tours” (King 400): Flick says that this is a reference to “myths about winds as a procreator” (Flick 163). I would also add that it is the west wind that brings locusts to Egypt in Exodus 10:19; thus, there seems to be a nod to apocalyptic events immediately preceding the earthquake at the climax at the novel. Perhaps there is also a reference to capitalism as being a cataclysmic force (like locusts), especially when it is relying on the exploitation of Indigenous lands.

“Clifford Sifton” (King 401): Sifton was a former Minister of the Interior that had a very liberal immigration policy at the cost of the displacement of Indigneous peoples. In GGRW, Sifton is an employee of the company that built the dam who implores Eli Stands Alone to stop standing in opposition to the dam. Thus, the attitude of white progress at the cost of Indigenous livelihood that characterizes the real Sifton carries over to his fictional counterpart.

“Lewis Pick” (King 401): Pick was an American engineer who’s Garrison Dam, built as part of the Pick-Sloan contract, completely destroyed the livelihood of the Mandan, Hidatsa, and Arikara Nation. King casts Pick as the builder of the dam that will eventually break and flood as the result of Coyote’s earthquake. In GGRW, it is Pick who spots the cars that will definitively crack the dam open; in their last appearance in the novel, it is suggested that both Pick and Sifton are killed by the dam in a case of poetic justice.

Works Cited 

Bernock, Danielle. “What Is the Meaning and Significance of Jesus Walking on Water?” Christianity.com. Salem Web Network, 25 Aug. 2020. Web. 30 Mar. 2021.

“Bible Gateway Passage: Exodus 10:19 – New International Version.” Bible Gateway. Web. 30 Mar. 2021.

Biography.com Editors. “Jesus Christ.” Biography.com. A&E Networks Television, 04 Jan. 2021. Web. 30 Mar. 2021.

Biography.com Editors. “Lee Harvey Oswald.” Biography.com. A&E Networks Television, 10 July 2020. Web. 30 Mar. 2021.

Britannica, Editors of the Encyclopaedia. “Mohican.” Encyclopædia Britannica. Ed. Elizabeth Prine Pauls. Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc., 18 June 2009. Web. 30 Mar. 2021.

Britannica, Editors of the Encyclopaedia. “Natty Bumppo.” Encyclopædia Britannica. Ed. Kathleen Kuiper. Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc., 24 Apr. 2020. Web. 30 Mar. 2021.

Brittanica, Editors of Encyclopaedia. “Chingachgook.” Encyclopædia Britannica. Ed. Kathleen Kuiper. Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc., 7 May 2010. Web. 30 Mar. 2021.

“Cooperstown New York — Otsego Lake, Lakefront Park, Hyde Hall.” VisitingCooperstown, the Cooperstown, New York Travel Site. Web. 30 Mar. 2021.

Flick, Jane. “Reading Notes for Thomas King’s Green Grass, Running Water.” Canadian Literature 161/162.Special Issue: On Thomas King (1999): 140-72. Canadian Literature. Web.

Hall, David J. “Sir Clifford Sifton.” Sir Clifford Sifton | The Canadian Encyclopedia. Ed. Tabitha Marshall. 22 Jan. 2008. Web. 30 Mar. 2021.

“Hiroshima and Nagasaki: 75th Anniversary of Atomic Bombings.” BBC News. BBC, 08 Aug. 2020. Web. 30 Mar. 2021.

“History.” MHA Nation. Web. 30 Mar. 2021.

History.com Editors. “American-Indian Wars.” History.com. A&E Television Networks, 09 Mar. 2010. Web. 30 Mar. 2021.

History.com Editors. “Daniel Boone.” History.com. A&E Television Networks, 04 Mar. 2010. Web. 30 Mar. 2021.

History.com Editors. “French and Indian War.” History.com. A&E Television Networks, 09 Nov. 2009. Web. 30 Mar. 2021.

History.com Editors. “Harry S. Truman.” History.com. A&E Television Networks, 12 Nov. 2009. Web. 30 Mar. 2021.

“Home.” Haudenosaunee Confederacy. 18 Aug. 2020. Web. 30 Mar. 2021.

Hughes, Rowland. “The Last of the Mohicans.” Encyclopædia Britannica. Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc. Web. 30 Mar. 2021.

“Indigenous in Plain Sight | Gregg Deal | TEDxBoulder.” YouTube, uploaded by Tedx Talks, 26 June 2018.

“James Fenimore Cooper.” American Literature. Web. 30 Mar. 2021.

“John F. Kennedy.” The White House. The United States Government, 18 Jan. 2021. Web. 30 Mar. 2021.

Kilbbe, Lawrence H. “CliffsNotes on the Deerslayer.” CliffsNotes Study Guides | Book Summaries, Test Preparation & Homework Help | Written by Teachers. CliffsNotes. Web. 30 Mar. 2021.

King, Thomas. Green Grass, Running Water. Toronto: HarperPerennial Canada, 2007. Print.

“Lewis A. Pick.” Chi Epsilon. The Civil Engineering Honor Society. Web. 30 Mar. 2021.

Nee, Sean. “The Great Chain of Being.” Nature News. Nature Publishing Group, 25 May 2005. Web. 30 Mar. 2021.

Patterson, Thom. “One JFK Conspiracy Theory That Could Be True.” CNN. Cable News Network, 21 Mar. 2018. Web. 30 Mar. 2021.

Ramsden, Peter G. “Haudenosaunee (Iroquois).” The Canadian Encyclopedia. Ed. Zach Parrott. 14 Dec. 2006. Web. 30 Mar. 2021.

Ranea, Victoria. “2:6 – On the Vanishing Race.” Victorias ENGL 372 Blog. WordPress, 04 Mar. 2021. Web. 30 Mar. 2021.

Scott, Patricia L. “Arthur Vivian Watkins.” History to Go. Utah.gov, 02 June 2020. Web. 30 Mar. 2021.

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.

Thomas King’s Green Grass, Running Water, is, without hyperbole, one of the most complex, layered, and nuanced novels I have ever read, making it impossible to comprehensively unpack the full significance and role of Coyote. However, I will do my best to address some of the thoughts that I had whilst reading about Coyote’s function as a character. One thing I found fascinating about Coyote is his dual role as both a surrogate reader and a catalyst for crucial plot events. Without Coyote, the story would, in some sense, not exist. The novel’s opening and closing frame involves the ‘I’ figure, who I will henceforth call the storyteller, telling a story to Coyote; it might be said that we read as voyeurs, listening to a story that is simultaneously meant for us and not meant for us.  Hence, Coyote is the reason the story exists, or at least the reason that we as readers are hearing it. Since King is relying on a worldview that may not be familiar to readers of the Western tradition, Coyote functions as an interlocutor on our behalf, asking questions and allowing us to gain access to the story.

However, Coyote is not only a passive receiver of story – he also has a direct impact on the events of the plot, especially in the latter half of the novel. In fact, the novel’s climax is a direct result of Coyote’s actions: the earthquake that breaks the dam and kills Eli Stands Alone is the immediate, though seemingly unintended, result of Coyote’s dancing and singing. Thus, Coyote is both a receptacle for the story and a main actor in it. This creates what might be called a symbiotic relationship between Coyote and the story – neither can really exist in its presented form without the other. Given Thomas King’s statement that “the truth about stories is that that’s all we are,” I think that Coyote’s role in Green Grass, Running Water is at least partially to illustrate the ways that stories affect us, but also the ways that we effect stories (Stories 2). Stories, Coyote seems to be showing us, do not exist in a vacuum; stories and people create webs that are interconnected and mutually dependent.

I would also note here that Coyote is the reason for a lot of the cycles that are perpetuated throughout the novel. The fact that he is unwilling to listen to the storyteller results, more than once, in the storyteller having to restart his story. As Professor Paterson has pointed out, the story of the First Woman, in its many iterations, is also “the story of Indigenous resistance against European forms of oppression and colonization” (Paterson n.p). Thus, this dismissal or refusal to listen to Indigenous story, which even Coyote is apt to, encourages the repetition of these cycles of oppression. This is especially fitting when we consider that several of the white characters in the novel “don’t listen when they should” (Flick and Fee 132). By Coyote’s refusing to listen, or, if we’re being more charitable, his playful lack of concentration, the storyteller is forced to tell the same story (of Indigenous oppression as resistance) over and over again. Nowhere is this connection made clearer than when the storyteller explicitly says that it is because Coyote “must have been sitting on those ears” that “this world has problems” (Green Grass 100). Thus, my takeaway is that it will not be until we all learn to listen that we will move past these cycles of oppression. By listening to story specifically, we can effect change in the real world, and by creating change in the real world, we can change what kind of stories it is that we tell. In this context, storytelling is an act of colonial resistance. Thus, Coyote, in his dual role as both story-shaper and listener, embodies this mutual relationship between the real world and the story world.

Works Cited

Flick, Jane, and Margery Fee. “Coyote Pedagogy: Knowing Where the Borders Are in Thomas King’s Green Grass, Running Water.” Canadian Literature 161/162 (1999): 131-39. Print.

King, Thomas. Green Grass, Running Water. Toronto: HarperPerennial Canada, 2007. Print.

King, Thomas. “‘You’ll Never Believe What Happened’ Is Always a Great Way to Start.” The Truth About Stories: A Native Narrative. Toronto: Anansi, 2007. 1-29. Print.

Marshall, Lannah. “Narrative Techniques: Audience Surrogates.” Thanet Writers. 26 Oct. 2017. Web. 19 Mar. 2021.

Paterson, Erika. “Lesson 3.2.” English 372 99C Canadian Studies. WordPress. Web. 19 Mar. 2021.

Sium, Aman, and Eric Ritskes. “Speaking Truth to Power: Indigenous Storytelling as an act of Living Resistance.” Decolonization: Indigeneity, Education, & Society 2.1 (2013): I-X. Print.

For this blog assignment I would like you to make some comparisons between Harry Robson’s writing style in “Coyote Makes a Deal with the King Of England” and King’s style in Green Grass, Running Water. What similarities can you find between the two story-telling voices? Coyote and God are present in both texts, how do they compare in character and voice across the stories?

To answer this question, I will begin by asserting that what makes Robinson’s style distinct is the way that his prose comes across as highly conversational. Simply by reading, we get a strong sense of what it would sound like to have Robinson tell us the story himself. Of course, this makes sense when we contextualize Living by Stories as a transcription of Robinson’s conversation with Wickwire; it sounds conversational because it is a conversation (I’ve linked an interview with Wickwire where she speaks a little bit about what it was like to work with Robinson, which I found particularly valuable for her general insights on oral history). The influence of Robinson’s stylistic idiosyncrasies can be felt throughout Thomas King’s Green Grass, Running Water, but it is most evident in moments where King’s narrative tells the story of Coyote, GOD, and the First Woman. At these junctures in the plot, King’s writing, which is strictly prose (that is to say, not a transcription), echoes Robinson’s conversational tone. Out of all of these moments, I will call attention to one particular instance where this echoing is visible:

Okay. There are two worlds, you know. One world is a Sky World. One is a Water World.

‘Where do the Coyotes live?’ says Coyote.

‘Forget the Coyotes,’ I says. (King 38)

This section, aside from containing an actual conversation, also feels conversational. We can compare it to something from Robinson:

Because that’s God’s thought, you know.

And the king no more to say. (Robinson 71)

These selections feel stylistically similar because both use the interjection ‘you know’ – this makes it feel like we as readers are being addressed directly, even though in both cases we are not (Robinson is talking directly to Wickwire, while King’s ‘I’ figure addresses Coyote). In addition to making the text feel more intimate, these interjections are also evidence of how direct Robinson’s impact was on King’s prose: knowing that King was inspired by Robinson, this ‘you know’ does not feel like a coincidence, but rather like a direct reference.

There are other strategies that both authors have in common, such as using a question-and-answer format and informal grammar to make the prose feel more intimate. We can find an example of these strategies in the selections I’ve already given, despite their being so short – a testament to the magnitude of Robinson’s influence on King. In the quote I’ve provided from King, the phrase ‘I says,’ despite being a technical error, imbues the story with a distinct and casual voice that reflects a sense of orality. This is especially noteworthy when we compare it to Robinson’s similar grammatical flaw, ‘the king no more to say,’ because we understand that Robinson was actually speaking these words. Thus, by King deliberately imitating these faults in his own written work, his prose harnesses the “power of the oral voice in the written piece” the same way that Robinson’s story inherently does by being primarily oral (Gzowski and King 72).

I’ll turn now to how both iterations of God and Coyote are portrayed in their respective works. King’s Coyote feels less wise, for lack of a better word. The fact that a good chunk of Coyote’s dialogue in King consists of questions, relying on the ‘I’ figure for answers, demeans his credibility. This is especially true when compared to Robinson’s Coyote, who is surprisingly forceful in his speech. His direct commands to the King of England, things like “[a]nd you going to make a book right in the same town,” give Robinson’s Coyote, at least in my opinion, a more powerful voice than King’s Coyote (Robinson 75).

As for the God characters, King’s GOD comes across in voice as capricious. This is especially evident in the moments that reference the Garden of Eden, where GOD says “[y]ou can’t leave my garden… you can’t leave because I’m kicking you out” (King 69). This comment in particular feels reminiscent of a toddler throwing a tantrum, and indeed this image of GOD as a misbehaving child was consistent for me throughout Green Grass, Running Water precisely because of the way His voice is portrayed by King. I would suggest that this might be the result of the power dynamic between GOD and Coyote; in King, GOD is explicitly a product of Coyote’s dreams who (incorrectly) believes the world belongs to Him. Meanwhile, in Robinson’s telling, God is someone who bestows authority on Coyote, as Coyote’s power is something that “God give him” (Robinson 72).  Even though in Robinson, God does not really have a voice since we never hear Him speak directly, His conspicuous removal from the immediate narrative shrouds Robinson’s God in a mysterious but powerful authority, something that King’s GOD sorely lacks with all of His delusional grandeur. As a result, God’s voice in Robinson’s story does not feel like a mockery, but rather feels very serious and reverent.

I found it really interesting to compare how narrative voice works in these two stories, and the way that this effects the characters and reading experience. I look forward to seeing what you all think, as I think both King and Robinson are presenting us with extremely rich and nuanced works that generate a lot of food for thought!

Works Cited 

Gzowski, Peter, and Thomas King. “Peter Gzowski Interviews Thomas King on Green Grass, Running Water.” Canadian Literature 161/162 (199): 65-76. Print.

King, Thomas. Green Grass, Running Water. Toronto: HarperPerennial Canada, 2007. Print.

OpenLearningTRU. “Dr. Wendy Wickwire Question 2 – Oral History.” YouTube. YouTube, 18 Nov. 2015. Web. 12 Mar. 2021.

Robinson, Harry, and Wendy C. Wickwire. “Coyote Makes a Deal with the King of England.” Living by Stories: A Journey of Landscape and Memory. Vancouver: Talon, 2005. 64-85. Print.

Hi all, hope everyone is doing okay during this busy time of year! I wanted to take this opportunity to revisit a few of my past blogs, some expanded and revised, to consolidate the thinking we have done so far in preparation for the second half of the term. I have chosen my first entry on orality and literacy because not only does the the topic interest me deeply, but it has provided a framework for a lot of my thinking throughout the course. It is also my post with the most resulting dialogue, and the dialogue that made me think the most critically when responding to it. For that, I thank these (and all) of my interlocutors!

I chose my second post, on home, because writing it made me reflect deeply on what home can be. It is a word that we often use flippantly, and so it felt good to re-examine what exactly home means to me.

Finally, I chose my post on dichotomous thinking because I think that binaries are something we need to be wary of falling into. This concept is something that I want to carry with me as we move on in the course, and so it felt appropriate to return to it at this point.

All of these blogs have in common that writing them really made me think, and that they led me to new ideas that I had not necessarily had before. I feel all of them respond to their respective prompts well and that their topics have a bearing on the core themes of the course.

Enjoy, and see you all with a new post soon!

1:3 – On orality, literacy, and digital media

2:3 – On Home

2:4 – Dichotomous Thinking and Thomas King

Carlson writes:

“Harry Robinson’s account of literacy being stolen from Coyote by his white twin conform to all the standard criteria associated with a genre of Salish narratives commonly referred to by outsiders as legend or mythology with one exception – they appear to contain post-contact content” (Carlson 56).

Why is it, according to Carlson or/and Wickwire, that Aboriginal stories that are influenced or informed by post-contact European events and issues are “discarded to the dustbin of scholarly interest”? (56).

Upon my own reflection, I would suggest that one of the reasons that these post-contact myths are often overlooked (or deliberately ignored) by contemporary and past scholars alike can actually be linked to a piece of technology that has become ubiquitous. When Daguerre and Talbot individually invented the first versions of what would evolve into modern-day cameras, in 1839 and 1840 respectively, they created a medium that allowed viewers to shape the world around them in an entirely new way. As camera technology developed, becoming faster and more portable, many sought to preserve their quickly changing surroundings through the camera lens.

The Vanishing Race, taken by Edward S. Curtis. The haziness of the camera and the way the men on horseback recede into the distance with their backs to the camera, gives the sense that these men are disappearing/leaving for good.

Amongst these early photographers was one Wisconsin-born Edward S. Curtis (b. 1868, d. 1952), who made it his photographic mission to capture images of Indigenous tribes before they ‘disappeared’. Through his colonially tinged photographic lens, Curtis created countless images of Indigenous tribes, all interpreted according to his own vision of Indigeneity. As his photographs were popularized across America, they reinforced the notion of Indigenous peoples as being “The Vanishing Race”- incidentally (or perhaps not) the title of his most famous photograph and accompanying photo book. Aside from using photographic techniques to perpetuate this assumption, Curtis sometimes took liberties with the editing of his photographs, removing artefacts of modernity (most famously, a clock) in order to marry reality with his colonial vision: primitive peoples on their way out of existence, disappearing to make room for the modern White Man. Of course, Curtis was not the first, nor the last, to engage in this erasure of post-colonial Indigeneity: renowned anthropologist Franz Boas is also guilty of this, as Wickwire informs us, through his erasure of the word ‘gun’ from a certain myth in order to locate the story in the deep past (Wickwire 23).

This notion of the ‘vanishing race’ perpetuated by both men is, I think, a major part of why scholars – even highly lauded ones like Franz Boas, who is often called the ‘Father of Modern Anthropology’ – are not interested in post-contact mythologies. The primary interest seems to be in primitivizing Indigeneity, locating it in a perpetual past. This thought is reflected in the writings of both Wickwire and Carlson. Wickwire quotes Harkin, who says that collectors of Indigenous myth sought to document “some overarching, static, ideal type of culture, detached from its pragmatic and socially positioned moorings among real people” (qtd. in Wickwire 22). Carlson provides another perspective on this erasure, establishing that “it is [] a working assumption that orality antedates literacy, and that all historical movements between the two states […] is unidirectional, with literacy following orality. Exceptions to this rule, if they existed, would signal a civilization’s decay or a culture’s decline” (Carlson 45). Thus, these oral myths that speak of European contact indicate the persistence of oral storytelling, even after the ‘introduction’ of writing, and thus flout the oral/literacy continuum that has been painstakingly formulated by European thinkers and settlers. This way of thinking serves a confirmation bias of Indigenous archaism; if they are rejecting literacy, then they must be moving backwards. This ties into to why Indigenous tribes are often portrayed, for example by Curtis, as stagnating and needing help to progress.

This is all to say, essentially, that the reason that I think why post-contact Indigenous mythologies are often discarded is because of colonial perspectives on Indigenous modernity, and this view seems to be granted by Carlson and Wickwire. Colonially influenced scholars, whether conscious of this influence or not, are interested in upholding this story of Indigenous peoples as “the vanishing race,” as this fanciful story alleviates continuing guilt by portraying the erasure of Indigenous peoples as something past that must be forgiven and not as something present that must be actively halted. In this way, Indigenous peoples were and are being systematically removed from the present, not only by mass genocide and displacement, but also through an erasure of modern Indigenous identity.

The original (top) and edited (bottom) versions of In a Piegan Lodge taken by Edward S. Curtis. Note the clock (or lack thereof) in between the two men.

Works Cited 

Carlson, Keith Thor Orality and Literacy. Ed. Carlson, Kristina Fagna, & Natalia Khamemko-Frieson. Toronto: Uof Toronto P, 2011. 43-72.

“Edward S. Curtis Gallery.” Edward S. Curtis Gallery. Web. 05 Mar. 2021.

“Myth of the “Vanishing Indian”.” The Pluralism Project. Harvard University. Web. 05 Mar. 2021.

National Academy of Sciences – Http://www.nasonline.org. “National Academy of Sciences.” Franz Boas. Web. 05 Mar. 2021.

Wickwire, Wendy. “Living by Stories a Journey of Landscape and Memory.” Introduction. Living by Stories a Journey of Landscape and Memory. By Harry Robinson and Wendy Wickwire. Vancouver: Talon, 2005. 7-30. Print.

Image Credit

Curtis, Edward S. In a Piegan Lodge, Two Versions. Digital image. Smithsonian Magazine. 21 Mar. 2012. Web. 04 Mar. 2021.

Curtis, Edward S. The Vanishing Race. 1904. Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. Library of Congress. Web. 4 Mar. 2021.

This blog post is a response to prompt #1, which ultimately boils down to:

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?

It might seem prima facie contradictory, or at least counterintuitive, for King to warn us about taking binaries for granted only to then provide two creation stories framed as being diametrically opposed. My initial thoughts regarding this inconsistency are that King is illustrating the arbitrariness of dichotomous organization. Simply by “us[ing] different strategies in the telling of these stories,” he is able to “colour the stories and suggest values that may be neither inherited nor warranted” (King 22). Thus, this complicates the notion that binaries are inherent or naturally formed; they can be and often are influenced by factors outside of the intrinsic characteristics of the objects/notions being compared, such as how they are presented to us.

Furthermore, since we are positing both of these stories as being opposites and therefore in contention with each other – in other words, if we agree that “if we believe one story to be sacred, we must see the other as secular” (King 25) – then we are forced to a moment of decisiveness. We must decide which one to deem sacred and which one is secular, and the way that we make this decision will be affected by the way that we construct this binary in the first place. Thus, by King telling the Christian creation story in a way that “creates a sense of veracity” (King 23), we are influenced to the believe this story over the other creation story for gratuitous and extrinsic reasons. I think the point we are meant to grasp is that King could have just as easily told the story of Charm with this serious intensity and tone, and we may have chosen to believe that creation story instead. This goes to show that our choice has little to do with the innate believability (or unbelievability) of the story’s content; rather, our decisions are informed (perhaps subconsciously) by how these ideas are presented. If this is the case, then we are being encouraged, in a roundabout way, to rethink our conception of these binaries by questioning the real reasons for characterizing them as opposites.

When I tried to find images of the Indigenous creation myth, I tellingly could not find anything; however, there are hundreds of renditions of Adam and Eve. This one is a print by Albrecht Dürer and dates to 1504.

As someone with some background in philosophy, I wanted to bring up a philosopher named William James who I think may be relevant to this conversation. In his famous paper, “The Will to Believe,” James talks about what he calls ‘live hypotheses’ and ‘live options.’ His paper is meant to be in dialogue with the Philosophy of Religion, as he uses the view expressed in this paper (called pragmatism; I will link a quick video explaining it here, but the rest of his theory does not really bear on this post) to defend religious belief, but I think parts of his thinking can be applied to our discussion here. He defines a “live hypothesis” as “one which appeals as a real possibility to him to whom it is proposed,” while a “living option is one in which both hypotheses are live ones” (James n.p). Thus, perhaps the choice that King is asking us to make is not really a choice to us at all; one of the hypothesis is dead, since “we live in a predominantly scientific, capitalistic, Judeo-Christian world governed by physical laws, economic imperatives, and spiritual precepts” (King 12). We are therefore more prepared to believe in a hierarchical creation story than a collaborative and egalitarian one; the Indigenous story is then a dead option, meaning that there is no real choice to make. However, more pertinently, James also provides a way to accommodate both creation stories. As he points out, the “deadness and liveness in an hypothesis [sic] are not intrinsic properties, but relations to the individual thinker” (James n.p). Thus, while one hypothesis may seem dead to us, that does not mean that is dead to all. Perhaps this is a way of accommodating both stories as true, and a way of thinking that may move us towards a less binary worldview. 

If I had to come up with another reason, though, for King’s strange inconsistency, I might say that King is pointing out how easy it is to fall into these binaries, even after we have been told to be cautious of them. It is very difficult for us humans to ‘de-binarize’ our thinking; we need look no further than one of the most prevalent dichotomies – male/female – to see just how troubling these binaries can be and how difficult it has been for those who identify as non-binary to try to dismantle them. Thus, perhaps King is also demonstrating that no matter how aware we are, we are still prone to this kind of thinking: it is a process of unlearning that we must embark on consciously and over a prolonged period of time. I would add as a final comment that not every culture seems to tend towards binary thinking, but the one in which we find ourselves most certainly does, and so it is our duty to be critical of how we organize the world.

I am looking forward to hearing what you all think, both about the question and my response to it. I think there are a lot of different ways to interpret King’s dichotomy, so I am curious to see yours!

Works Cited 

Bergner, Daniel. “The Struggles of Rejecting the Gender Binary.” The New York Times. The New York Times, 04 June 2019. Web.

James, William. “THE WILL TO BELIEVE.” The Project Gutenberg E-text of The Will to Believe, by William James. Project Gutenberg, 8 May 2009. Web.

King, Thomas. “”You’ll Never Believe What Happened” Is Always a Great Way to Start.” The Truth About Stories: A Native Narrative. House of Anansi, 2010. 1-29. Print.

“PHILOSOPHY – Epistemology: The Will to Believe [HD].” YouTube, uploaded by Wireless Philosophy, 24 May 2013, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uzmLXIuAspQ

Home can mean different things to different people, but it seems that there are at least a few aspects of home on which we as a class can agree. Throughout the six stories that I read written by fellow students, I noticed a few recurring values surrounding the home that seem to constitute, at least for the people in our class (or more narrowly, the people who’s stories I’ve read), what home is at its core: love (of all kinds), belonging, safety and comfort, and relaxation.

The most common value I noticed was definitely love, and most often it was centred around familial love – which is why it feels very apropos that I am writing this blog post on Family Day, a day that is meant to allow us to refocus on family and take a break from the stresses of economic life (whether it actually achieves this aim is up for debate). Regardless, family seems to form the core of home, for both myself and many of my classmates. Even if we live far away from our family, we seem to consider home to be wherever they are. If not based on our immediate family, our sense of home still tends to be located in people – friends, lovers, or even pets. Home, then, does not have to be a physical place; it is much more flexible than this. Home can be wherever we go, provided the right people are with us. It can be something we carry within us, even when we are separated from those we love.

Another value of home, or perhaps we can call it an assumption, that I noticed regarded a sense of belonging. People spoke of being – well, I suppose the best turn of phrase would be ‘at home.’ They felt connected to the place that they called home; they felt a sense of their roots there, as if it were inseparable from their identity. Home is a place where we do not have to worry about fitting in, or presenting a certain face to the world. It is a place where we are accepted. I call this facet of belonging an assumption because the reality is that a lot of people feel like they do not belong in their various hometowns or houses, for a variety of reasons. Based only on my fellow student’s stories that I read, it appears that we all have been fortunate enough to take this sense of belonging for granted.

Another value I found consistently appearing in these short stories, including my own, was a sense of safety or comfort associated with home. Home is a place where we want to feel protected from the outside world (as one story pointed out, this takes on a new significance in the midst of a pandemic, where the safest place to be is in the home). Many of us see home as a place where we can allow ourselves to let our guard down, where we are familiar with everything and there is nothing to surprise us. It is a haven where we take shelter from the storm of life. I think this aspect of home is especially interesting because it is so fragile. Victims of home invasions, whose sense of security at home is disrupted, feel more hostile and depressed indefinitely afterwards. Thus, psychological research seems to affirm that this sense of security is a somewhat universal facet of our conception of home: if it is broken, we feel violated, and it is difficult to reconstruct this feeling once it has been shattered.

Finally, home is a place where we can relax. I personally see this as contingent on the other aspects of home I have listed; only if these other conditions are met can home can be a place to unwind. A lot of people spoke of the importance of feeling like their home is separate from other aspects of their lives, and the ways that this has beem complicated by COVID-19 – something I certainly relate to, as the home has become not just the home, but the office, the school, the doctor’s office, and the concert hall, among other things. However, it seems safe to say that our concept of home usually involves some sense of being at ease. It is a place where we can pursue the things that bring us joy and serenity, whether that be reading, watching a movie, or taking a bubble bath. This, to me, is one of my personal values regarding home: if I cannot feel relaxed at home, where else am I supposed to relax?

Of course, this is a non-exhaustive list. I found great pleasure in reading these short stories, and felt really comforted by other people’s ideas of home. It made me feel like I was at home, and made me grateful for the sense of home that I can sometimes take for granted. I feel that this exercise has not only allowed me to get to know my peers better, but has also helped me refine my own feelings of what home means to me. 

Works Cited

Beaton, Alan, Mark Kavanagh, and Carla Herrington. “The Psychological Impact of Burglary.” Psychology, Crime & Law 6.1 (2000): 33-43. Taylor and Francis Online. Web. 15 Feb. 2021.

Frazer-Harrison, Alex. “From Controversy to Tradition: 25 Years of Family Day.” Calgaryherald. Calgary Herald, 16 Feb. 2015. Web. 15 Feb. 2021.

I finally stand back and look at the wall.

After a painstaking hour of detail-work and two of intense physical activity – up down up down – I have finally managed to turn the walls from a deep grey-blue to a pale yellow, what the old man at Home Depot described as ‘cream puff’. I drop the roller brush on the plastic tarpaulin, carefully laid to protect the new hardwood floors, and wipe a hand on my bare leg. Wet paint streaks across my thigh. I consider it for a moment, but who’s going to see? I’m just at home all day today.

It’s only 2:45, I should get some more done. I look around at the boxes, trying to determine which one will be the least painful to unpack. I’ve only been in my new apartment for about three days, but already I am starting to see hints of home, proliferating like new life amidst the chaos. A mug is perched on the edge of the sink – should I wash that? – the dregs of my morning coffee abandoned. A pile of books sits in a careful stack on the floor. The photos from my second trip to Europe are framed and ready to be hung up. Eventually.

My phone rings, and I answer it. My mother is curious to know if I’ve finished painting the walls.

“Yeah, mom, I just finished the last coat a second ago. It took forever, but it was worth it.”

She squeals in that overly-excited way that my mother is prone to, and for a just moment I miss her so intensely that my stomach twists around itself, even though it’s only been seventy-two hours since I last saw her.

“I’m so glad! You have to send me pictures! I can’t wait to see it. Remember when we painted your room?”

“Yeah, I do,” I say, remembering the chip in the paint located at about dog-height. “We had only just finished painting when Blake came and knocked something over.”

“That crazy dog! He was just a puppy then,” my mother says, emotion clouding her voice.

“How did the things with the realtors go?” I ask.

“Good, good. The new people signed the papers, so it’s all good to go! Now dad and I just need to find a place to live,” she says, laughing.

I picture the house that, up until only three days ago, was my home. The black nail polish stain on the carpet from a slumber party gone wrong. The maps I hung up at fifteen, the edges curling in on themselves as if they are hiding. The bookshelves crammed full of books, books that are now sitting in boxes all around me. I wonder how the new owners will renovate my room. I wonder for how much longer I’ll remember these details. I wonder if you can wallpaper over fifteen years of memories.

“That’s good! I’m sure that you guys will have no problem finding a place. It only took me a week to find this one,” I say, glancing out of the glass sliding door that, by some stroke of serendipity, is the same model I had at home. I notice that it’s snowing. I realize that I have yet to solve the puzzle that is the heating system in this house and I grimace, remembering the news article warning of an intense cold snap.

“I hope you’re right. Anyways, I have a call in a few minutes. Do you need dad to come and help you with anything?”

Yes, probably.

“No, that’s okay. I’m sure I can figure it out.”

“Alright. We’ll see you soon!” she says, and hangs up.

I put my phone back on the mantle, then sit down in the middle of the floor. Suddenly I have no more energy, no will to continue the long process of unpacking. I just want to lie down on the sofa, maybe watch a movie – but of course, there is no sofa yet. Nor is there a television. They are tucked safely away in other rooms, stripped of their purpose but protected from paint splatter.

The rest of the afternoon stretches before me. I realize that I can do whatever I want. There is no one else here to stop me. But what is there to do? My entire life has been placed in cardboard boxes and taped firmly shut.

I get back up, stretch. There’s a knot forming in my shoulders, and I imagine the hot shower I will take later in an effort to relax my muscles. I’ll go for a walk, I decide, picturing the cozy bakery a few blocks away. I’ll get a nice loaf of sourdough and I’ll come home and make some garlic bread. The thought of this comforts me, so I navigate through a sea of flattened boxes and detritus to the bedroom, my bedroom, to change out of my painting uniform.

The lady at the bakery gives me the loaf for free, and her kindness almost makes me cry.

I struggle to hold the loaf, my wallet, and my phone as I shuffle through the various keys on my key ring, trying to find the one that will open my door. When I finally get it, I stumble through the door, tracking snow through the threshold.

I place the loaf on my kitchen counter. I can hear my upstairs neighbour vacuuming, though it takes me a moment to place the sound. Other than that, my new building is peaceful.

The house and I stand in silence, almost in communion.

“Welcome home,” it says.

Works Cited

Francis, Gemma. “Sixty per Cent of Adults Consider Childhood Residence True Home, Poll Finds.” The Independent, Independent Digital News and Media, 3 May 2018, www.independent.co.uk/life-style/childhood-house-true-home-adults-poll-nostalgia-memories-origin-a8334891.html.

I have a great story to tell you.

Once, there was a boy who wanted to be class president. He would stop at nothing to achieve this. He wanted the position like a miser wants gold – that is to say, he wanted it for all the wrong reasons. He did not care about helping his peers; he only wanted admission to the top Ivy League schools, and he thought being class president would make him a shoo-in.

There was one thing standing in the boy’s way. Another boy, a small, mild boy he saw sometimes tutoring younger students in the library, was his opponent. Our boy wasn’t worried, though. He knew he could crush his meek competitor in an instant, as he had a secret weapon in his arsenal.

Both boys campaigned as hard as they could. Each time the mild boy put up a poster, our boy papered over it. When the mild boy handed out buttons in the cafeteria, our boy made bigger ones. Everything the mild boy did, our boy did one better.

Finally, the day of the final speeches came. Both boys took to the podium. The mild boy went first. He spoke of new vending machines, improved tutoring programs, and more funding for student clubs and dances. By the end of his speech, the entire auditorium was clapping and cheering in a frenzy.

But our boy was still not worried. He adjusted his shirt, waited for the applause to die down, and then began to tell a story. He told the most scandalous things about his opponent he could think of, weaving tale after tale about how he had seen the boy doing the most disgusting and cruel things imaginable. As he told his story, he could feel it picking up momentum in the crowd. The story had taken on a life of its own – even our boy realized that he had taken it too far, but he could not stop himself. His story slithered into the ears of his audiences, and they turned, horrified, to the mild boy. The mild boy could do nothing but gape, his eyes welling up.

Finally, our boy’s story ended. He had not said a word of what he would do if elected. He stepped off the stage, trembling, and left the auditorium.

That afternoon, results were read. Our boy had won, of course.

But being class president was not at all what he had expected it to be. Pretty soon, he was floundering – missing meetings, losing budgets, forgetting to do important tasks. The school descended into chaos. The boy was miserable. The student body was miserable.

So he took to the PA one day and said, “I am sorry. I lied during my speech. Everything I said about my opponent was not true. He deserves this position, not me.” But the students did not hear him. They had accepted his story as true. Fabricated evidence to the boy’s claims had appeared. The story was no longer under the boy’s control – it never truly was.

And so, for the whole school year, the student body was miserable. Our boy did not get into any of his chosen schools – they took one look at his track record as president and denied his application. There were no dances. The vending machines were always empty. And, perhaps worst of all, students began to fail because there were no tutoring programs.

And the mild boy? Rumour has it that he switched schools. He couldn’t take the ostracization from his once beloved peers. He never ran for class president again.

And that is how one story unleashed evil on an entire student body.

END

A painting by Charles Edward Perugini depicting another famous story of how evil came to the world: the story of Pandora’s box. Much like the witch’s story, once Pandora opens the box, she can never close it again.

Writing this story was a very different experience from my usual writing, and this is because I had in the back of my mind that it was something I would have to memorize and speak aloud. This significantly altered my typical writing style. For one, I was conscious that my words would have to be simple and economical. If the plot was too complicated, or if I gave myself too many details or descriptions, then I knew that I would have difficulty memorizing it. For that same reason, I also knew that it would have to be relatively short.

I also wanted to avoid getting too specific with my story. I wanted it to be something that my audience(s) could follow without having to revisit past events, like you might sometimes do with a written piece of literature. It needed to have an easy flow, and also be general enough to prevent confusion. This is why I decided to call the boys “mild boy” and “our boy” to distinguish them – there are no names to get mixed up.

When I was telling the story, I also noticed a few things that are specific to oral storytelling. The exact words of my written story did not matter as much when I was telling it; the important part was making sure I was remembering the plot points. In fact, sometimes new words sprang to mind that actually worked better or felt more natural than what I had originally written. I really appreciated this aspect of oral story-telling; it felt more spontaneous. I could also respond better to the needs of my audience; for example, if I noticed someone having a stronger reaction to a certain part of the story, I could pause for effect, or say more about it. Conversely, if a moment did not have the impact that I wanted it to, I could change the wording the next time I told the story and experiment with different language. I will admit that I wrote down a few of the plot points for reference the first time I told the story, just to ensure I did not miss a crucial moment, but when I started actually telling the story I found I did not need it. The story came to me instinctively, as if it had always existed and just needed a vessel to manifest in reality.

Doing this exercise made me more aware of the fact that oral story-telling is not the same as reading a written work aloud. The fact that the story is not written down (I suppose it is in this case, but traditionally it would not have been) gives the story a fluidity that is not really available with the literary tradition. Also, writing for oral story-telling does not just mean writing a story. It is a different medium altogether, as it does away with the more decorative aspects of literary writing and focuses on simplicity. This is not to say that these stories are worse; any embellishments can be added spontaneously, if the moment calls for it.

I will admit that I enjoyed this exercise more than I thought I would. I was dreading it at first, but once I started writing I realized I was having a lot of fun. It was also nice that the assignment gave me an excuse to call a few people; I suppose it goes to show the connectivity of oral culture!

I have really enjoyed learning about oral cultures and the power of story-telling, and have been doing some of my own research about it. I wanted to link some resources I’ve been looking at if anyone else is interested! This one is actually a UBC website that provides more information about indigeneity and oral culture. And here is a TEDx talk given by Trent Hohaia that resonated with me, in which he speaks about his life, his identity as a Māori person, and the power of oral story-telling.

This above story is a retelling of a story reproduced in The Truth about Stories by Thomas King; it can be found originally in Leslie Silko’s Ceremony.

Works Cited

Hanson, Eric. “Oral Traditions.” Indigenousfoundations, UBC, indigenousfoundations.arts.ubc.ca/oral_traditions/.

Hohaia, Trent. “Making Connections – The Power of Oral Storytelling.” TEDx. TEDxUOA, 2021, Auckland, New Zealand, University of Auckland, www.youtube.com/watch?v=uh_9H93MACA.

“‘You’ll Never Believe What Happened’ Is Always a Great Way to Start .” The Truth About Stories: a Native Narrative, by Thomas King, House of Anansi Press Inc., 2010, pp. 1–29.

Hello, fellow bloggers! Today I will be evaluating hypertext and widely accessible self-publishing platforms as two facets of digital media that are changing the ways we tell and experience stories.

I would suggest that both of these have similar effects on literature and story: they blur the lines between author and reader. Hypertext, for example, encourages readers to interact and engage with text media. By allowing readers to be selective about what they click on, the author is bestowing some of their authorial power on readers. This differs from traditional print media because in something like a novel, we are generally expected to read everything. Thus, this agency allows readers to shape their own reading experience; they are no longer confined entirely to the whim of the author. Additionally, hypertext is moving the entirety of the written world towards a potential singularity, as linked text leads to linked text until all works are connected. This is similar to what Project Ocean was trying to accomplish. For anyone unfamiliar with Project Ocean, it was the codename for Google Books. The project, aside from making novels more widely accessible, sought to create intertextuality by providing hyperlinks to any books or papers that a text made reference to. Project Ocean ended up failing, almost entirely due to a number of lawsuits and copyright strikes. However, the idea to use hypertext to link all works would have diminished the role of the author even further, as all texts would have begun to blur together. Thus, we can see how hypertext can play a role in reconfiguring the relationship between author and reader.

Self-publishing websites have also complicated the strict reader/writer binate. The first example of digital self-publishing that comes to my mind is fan fiction. Fan fiction enables readers to reshape their favourite stories, stepping into the role of author and rewriting sections of the story they disliked, sometimes even completely undoing or ignoring a plot point of the original novel. In this way, the author’s power over their story diminishes as it falls into the hands of fans. This lack of the control the author has over their work once it has been surrendered to the public constitutes some natural progression of the theory of the ‘Death of the Author‘, as described by Roland Barthes. As authorial intention and identity becomes less important, we are free to divorce the author from the work and reshape stories according to our will.

Of course, self-publishing online is not limited to fan fiction; it can also refer to blogs like this one. These are both a blessing and a curse. Since one no longer needs to go through a traditional publisher to disseminate ideas widely, those who often find themselves shuttered out of the male-and-white dominated publishing world are given a chance to bypass the system entirely. The fact that a majority of fan fiction is written by women is highly suggestive of this. However, this egalitarianism means that those with a more pernicious agenda are also given a global platform. Readers need to have more critical awareness of what they are reading than in the pre-digital world, where works had to go through official channels. Hypertext also plays a role here, as it is often used as a way to source claims and encourage fact-checking; but, as I mentioned, we do not have to click through hyperlinks. 

To close out this discussion of digital media, I would propose that certain social media tools that use self-publication are troubling the traditional hierarchy that places orality below literacy by creating a hybridized oral-literate medium. I am thinking here of ‘story-time’ YouTube videos. In his (problematic) seminal work, Orality and Literacy, Walter Ong points out that “sound exists only when it is going out of existence” (Ong 70) and is thus inferior to the permanency of the written word. He also states that “when a speaker is addressing an audience, the members of the audience normally become a unity,” while “writing and print isolate” (73). Story-time YouTube videos do not conform to either of these facts. The video format makes sound permanent and fixed, but the oral story-teller is separated from their audience – they are speaking to a camera, and each individual audience member watches alone, breaking up the ‘unity’ of the audience. Thus, traditional boundaries between oral and literate cultures are obfuscated, and this hierarchy loses relevance. As our technologies advance even further, I would suggest that the hierarchy will eventually be rendered obsolete altogether.

Hypertext and digital self-publishing sites are changing the ways that we conceive of story and literature. With each new reconfiguration, I hope that we can move toward dismantling the ethnocentric hierarchies surrounding orality and literacy.

Works Cited 

Klink, Flourish. “Towards a Definition of “Fanfiction”.” Fansplaining. Fansplaining, 30 May 2017. Web. 26 Jan. 2021.

Ong, Walter J.. Orality and Literacy : 30th Anniversary Edition, Taylor & Francis Group, 2013. ProQuest Ebook Central, https://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/ubc/detail.action?docID=1092747.

“Short Summary: Death of the Author – Roland Barthes.” Short Summary: Death of the Author – Roland Barthes. 06 Feb. 2017. Web. 08 Mar. 2021.

Somers, James. “Torching the Modern-Day Library of Alexandria.” The Atlantic. Atlantic Media Company, 27 Apr. 2017. Web. 26 Jan. 2021.