The following is my rendition of Leslie Silko’s story of how evil came into the world. Originally from Silko’s book Ceremony, I learned this story in Thomas King’s The Truth About Stories.
Here is an audio recording of me, Georgia, reciting the story to my dog, Sita, by the fire:
Here is a transcription of my version of Silko’s story:
I have a great story to tell you.
They were sisters.
Some by blood, some by choice, some, maybe, by habit or proximity or comfort – whatever it is that lands us in imperfect yet deep relationship, where our neediness is apparent, but our love is boundless. Forgiving. Selfless…. Sometimes.
They braided one another’s hair, shaved one another’s heads, cooked rice bowls, abundant with nutrients, and ate spoonfuls of peanut butter before bed. Some smoked cigarettes with their morning coffee as they stretched their legs, others woke to lemon water, the sun, running legs, pissing puppies.
They drew delicate lines, beaded one another jewelry as some of their grandmothers had done long ago, and they chopped wood, hauled water, changed tires, rode quads and snowmobiles.
They were tough and tender. Soft and stubborn. Bush queens.
Independent but in love with the collective- their community of sacred sisters.
Peace princesses prone to mistake-making, expectation-breaking, bread-baking wonder.
They were a living celebration of womanhood. Of the moon.
Sometimes, they howled to get one another’s attention.
Often, they took deep breaths and danced freely.
No fear of judgment.
One evening the women came together around the fireplace in their living room. Sprawled on cushions and one another’s shoulders, Basil asked the girls what frightened them most.
Paradise pointed to a dead mouse by the kindling box. Dusted and rigid, her shoulders tensed and her jaw clenched with the acknowledgment.
Astrid walked to the doorway where she picked up their gun. It had never been used, but all the men in the area carried them for protection so they kept one too to dispel the power dynamic created when strange men came wandering onto their property with big guns and big egos. She lifted it, scanning the dark night with piercing eyes, and then took it apart, set it down, and softly bowed her head in reverence to life and to the power of that machine.
Ember inhaled deeply and acknowledged the alter the women had built for loves lost, through death and distance. Basil passed around a stone from her pocket, each of the sisters thumbing it softly until it made its way to the alter.
Silence.
The women looked to the last sister.
And all Peaches had was a story.
When the telling was done, the room was teary eyed, shaking, repulsed and silent.
Peaches had clouded the room with a darkness that couldn’t be undone.
Stoke the fire!
Shine a light!
Dance like rivers!
Flow like the sea!
Pass like the clouds! the women cried.
But, of course, it was too late. For once a story is told, it cannot be called back. Once told, it is loose in the world. (King 10)
—
Reflection
I would never call myself a storyteller, orally at least.
I love to move. I dance my stories. Other times- silence and presence are my stories. My dad is an author, a storyteller. And, perhaps through some sort of Freudian slip, most of the men I attract into my life are elaborate, detailed storytellers. So I spend much of my time listening to, watching and reading stories. Entertaining other people’s development as storytellers. Noticing the stories people choose to repeat, and the way details, emphasis, and dramatization is added overtime. I can be a babbler, but I don’t feel the stories I tell through my rambling carry much importance… I try to keep myself in check and speak my truth deliberately.
Where I live in the bush on the Nass River, I am alone, aside from a nice fellow, Corwin, who lives a kilometre away. Together, we are in silence. We only speak of necessary matters of the present moment- like whether the generator has run too long, or the wolf tracks are coming close.
The only being I speak to is Sita, the dog, so, I shared this story with her, and with the fire.
Sita- the witness; the listener
As I wrote, I spoke the story aloud, again and again. An exercise I enjoyed. My dad tells me I have a lisp, so I practiced clarity of speech each time I repeated myself.
Clearly, in this loneliness, I am longing for my sisterhood. Revelling the strength of the women I love. All the names are pseudonyms; the fears, real as can be.
Though I did take note of King’s storytelling tips, like making the audience wait by building suspense (King 7), or crafting the story as a performance (King 22), or, on King’s wife’s advice, “don’t preach. don’t try to sound profound,” (King 26), I had to surrender to my own flow, my own truths, and my own creativity to finish the assignment.
I can’t say I am proud of this story, or that I’ll go back to it, but I sure did appreciate the exercise of writing from the imaginary.
Thank you for taking your time with it.
Works Cited
CBC Radio. “4 Story Tips with Thomas King,” October 13, 2016. Online.
Everyday Decolonization: Living a Decolonizing Queer Politics,” 2015. Journal of Lesbian Studies, 19:2, 154-172, DOI: 10.1080/10894160.2015.970975. Online.
King, Thomas. The Truth About Stories: A Native Narrative. Peterbough: Anansi Press. 2003. Print.
Georgia, thank you so much for your story, it was beautifully spoken. I find it so interesting to be able to read a person’s creation and then have their reflection on it. Sometimes I wish the famous writers did that at the back of their novels or poems or essays. It would be so interesting to get inside their heads, and truly understand why and how they’ve created what they’ve created. I appreciate how vulnerable you are in your reflection; it sounds almost storylike as well. Your writing style is really wonderful. I’m wondering how it felt to present this story to your dog? Last term I took an Indigenous lit class and we spent a lot of time discussing hierarchies within the animal kingdom and how the settler-colonialist view definitely places humans at the top of the pyramid, whereas so many Indigenous nations don’t appear to even have a pyramid, and humans are definitely not always at the top. I’m also taking another Canadian lit class right now and we just finished reading 15 Dogs (by Andre Alexis) where fifteen dogs are granted human consciousness… it really made me think about how I interact with animals, and my ways of behaving when it’s just me and my cat alone together. It sounds like your present living situation is very isolated, and I’m wondering how it felt to gift this story to your dog?
I also would never consider myself a storyteller. I’m a very quiet person and do most of the listening in relationships, so this was an interesting, and quite intimidating, exercise for me. I think it’s safe to say you can start calling yourself a storyteller, even if it’s just for Sita, because this was marvelous! Thank you again!
-Kirsten
Kirsten-
O, thank you for such a kind and thoughtful response. Because I don’t see anybody, I’m very easily touched by words out here and, admittedly, shed a tear (vulnerability comes naturally for me).
It’s cool to realize the potential to connect with people through this course… Unexpected.
I’ll check out your story in a moment 🙂
Funny enough, I started reading a book last night – Cunt by Inga Muscio – which begins with her reflection on the process of writing it, how it’s transformed beyond her. and how it’s been received by others. The copy I found is the 20th anniversary edition, and I ‘m sure you could find similar reflections out there if you looked.
To answer your question- it feels so good to have Sita here with me; protecting me, sharing space, experiencing the weather, the change from day to night, again and again. She was listening, at points, though by the time I ‘presented’ the story, I’d been repeating it for a few hours and, admittedly, wasn’t offering Sita much presence or attention. The gift is her presence. To be reminded from such a gentle and patient being that I am never alone. My words were heard, and though they may have not been understood as I understood them- they were received and somehow held, maybe by Sita, maybe by the rain, or the fire, or by my own imagination. Having Sita around teaches me a lot about non-judgement. To have this being that will receive, receive, receive, and not say a word or do a thing differently, has helped me to realize how sensitive I am to other’s judgements, real or perceived. And how at ease I feel when surrounded by acceptance. I’m learning that offering boundless acceptance and non-judgement is very important to me- something I seek to embody, and something that I believe can create space for growth and change.
Lastly, 15 Dogs sounds interesting! I spend tons of time around pups and would love to read that once I’m back by a library or bookstore.
Thanks for taking time to engage. Kindly,
Georgia
Hi Georgia. Thank you so much for sharing. It certainly sounds like this is something that you aren’t necessarily used to, you’re maybe more used to being on the receiving end on stories. That being said, I agree with Kirsten above, I very much value your honesty in your reflection. Even if you don’t consider yourself a storyteller, after this I very much think you can. I thought your story was excellent! Also, am I correct in that the photo at the top of your page is from your home? It looks absolutely beautiful if it is, and can picture you and Sita sharing many adventures and stories together. All that being said, I am curious as being the storyteller sounds new to you, do you think this has now changed how you will receive/perceive the stories you now hear? Has being the storyteller provided any new insights for you to examine for the next time you read a book, or share a story with a friend? Personally, I am an avid reader, but have never really considered some of the challenges writers might face, and how that colours the story they are writing. I wonder if you feel the same. Thank you again for your story, and I can’t wait to hear your comments!
Ross
Hi Ross-
Thank you ever so kindly for taking time to read and engage. It’s appreciated.
The picture is indeed from my current home, about 100km northwest of Terrace, BC on Nisga’a Nation territories. I’ll share more pictures in my future posts. You’re right- it is so beautiful! Though part of the beauty comes simply from the fact that I have time way out here in the bush to appreciate all that surrounds me.
Something I was reminded while writing this story was to write from what you know. In Thomas King’s first chapter of The Truth About Stories I think he says something along these lines when he talks about including Indigenous characters in novels. I think I receive stories most positively when I sense a genuine connection between the teller and the story itself, or teller and the characters or the setting. I read a lot of autobiographical works and fiction in which I can tell the author has developed a close relationship and done research through their own lived experiences to develop their characters and story. I want to learn to live better in the world through what I read, and that can only happen when someone’s truth is spoken through the writing.
I think part of why I feel shy as a storyteller is because I’ve lived so closely to people working to perfect the craft. I am hyper of aware of some of the challenges authors face… Growing up, I watched my dad spend sleepless nights at his writing desk for years on end. We would go on long road trips and he’d be in his head for two hours crafting a sentence until, finally, he asked me to write out seven words. So, from him I’ve learned that it is possible for me too to be a storyteller, but I must take great care.
Hope you’re well today, Ross. Kindly,
Georgia
Georgia, I liked reading your story, but I loved hearing it! I found it so interesting to read a story, and then to hear it read by the author herself. I was a big reader as a child, and I would tear through books. However, I hated listening to people read aloud. (I was that student who never followed along during class read-alongs because I was 4 chapters ahead). As a kid, I took pride in this, but as I got older, I realized what a flaw it is to not be able to focus when listening to a story! It’s actually something I try to work on, by reading books aloud with my husband, or listening to audio stories. Now, as a mother and a teacher, I place so much emphasis on reading aloud, and I’m so happy to see how much students love listening to a good story! There is a certain magic to listening to a story that doesn’t exist when reading alone- as someone who is spending much time alone these days, what are your thoughts on this? Do you ever read other material aloud to your dog? (I won’t judge you- I read way too much to mine!) Anyway, as someone who struggles listening to stories, I really enjoyed listening to you- you have a great cadence and it really brought the story to life for me! Thank you!
Thank you for your kindness, Marianne! When I’m not out in the bush, I teach yoga and meditation which has offered me great practice in articulating my words slowly and clearly. I’ve also spent many hours reading aloud with family, friends, lovers… I think it’s a beautiful way to connect, to share, to be together, to centre other stories and perspectives in our relationships…
I do indeed read aloud to my dear doggy Sita and to myself. With the extra time offered to me in this solitude, I’ve been recording my blog posts as I write them and then listening to my own voice as I go back and edit. I’m learning to write in a more natural, conversational way. I want to rid myself of the formality that was taught to me through schooling!
Thank you, again, for listening. Take care.
Hi Georgia!
Thank you so much for the story. I loved your telling of it. I think your performance was excellent and your words were extremely well written. Thank you for your honestly during your reflection of the work, I think its important to approach this kind of work with an open mind, something you have done quite beautifully.
I liked how you retold the story from the book in your own way, although the story’s composition has changed, the moral and plot remained the same, which is a very cool thing.
I wanted to ask you, how you think telling a story out loud affects the interpretation of the story, rather than simply being read? Does the story being told out loud have an affect on the listener’s interpretation? Do you think something is lost when a story is simply written and not performed?
Thank you for taking time with my story, Sean. I appreciate your kindness too. And, funny enough, it hadn’t really occurred to me how similar my plot was to King’s… I guess I’ve got some witchiness within myself.
The loss when a story is written and not performed is the loss of the author’s sense of agency and control over how their story is heard. Much is to be gained from the added space for interpretation when the reader’s voice and rhythm is included (ie, when a story is read by the reader), just like much could be gained when the author’s voice is heard. A reader might be more receptive to certain stories when reading in their own voice rather than the authors.
I liked reading my own story aloud because I could add emphasis and cadence where I felt it belonged. As I write, I repeat my words aloud so it felt like a more full expression of my story when I read it aloud.
I’d like to amp up my punctuation skills… I think that would give me added confidence that the reader is reading my stories or articles as I’ve intended for them to be read. I’m very into the poetics of language and of story.
Thanks for taking time to listen and to share.
Warmly,
Georgia
Thank you for the story and reflections Georgia. Great work!
The impression your story left me with is that it is an authentic expression of yourself. Sometimes I find this more interesting than a story’s content.
I wonder, as you mention your lonely settings, if (more likely how) your stories would change if your settings changed. If your self mirrors your social mileau (see J. S. Mead for this), then if your social world changes, thereby changing your self, wouldn’t your stories change too (assuming they’re a reflection of your self)?
Hi Ryan –
Thank you for taking time to get to know parts of me- indeed, this story is a reflection of myself, my yearnings, desires, fears, and that which I hold dear.
Hilariously, my off-grid life is at an ashram, a yoga and meditation centre, where self-inquiry is key to the process of being in this community. There are no visitors right now because of its remote location, especially due to the snow (to get to the car, I have to take a 5k snowmobile ride, dig out the car if it’s snowed, and then drive 100km to the nearest grocery store).
But! I spend time here in the lively season too. What we learn is that there is a lower self, made up of greed, gluttony, lust, deceit, laziness/ slothfulness, hatred, etc, stories, and personality, imposed personality patterns based on societal beliefs, and a higher self, that is the divine self, which involves our ability to love and be loved, to be non-violent, non-judgemental, to be spontaneous, to see beauty, to serve our communities, this planet, our own needs, and our ability to connect with others and ourselves in a genuine way that’s not all wrapped up in the stories we’ve been told about who we are. I’ve learned that I can get to the core of my being – this higher self – through meditation and time in nature. So, I do those things as regularly as possible, which ground me and help me to interact with the world more consistently.
So, yes and no, my stories might change, they might not. Indeed, because of the isolation of my current living place, I had more time to reflect and write the story. Time I might’ve not invested had I been in the city. The story also draws on past memories and dreams for my future.
I could go on… but that will do. Thanks for reading.
Take great care-
Georgia