In this relentlessly domestic novel about a failed marriage, Louise Erdrich changes her focus from grand themes and the on-going history of Native American cultures to a microscopic analysis of the interactions of two people who have failed, not just in their marriage, but in virtually all their other relationships. Gil, a well-recognized, almost-great artist, is thirteen years older than Irene, who had been his student and model when she was in college and he was a teacher. Devoting virtually his entire career to paintings of Irene, he has depicted her from her almost-innocent twenties to her present life as a heavy-drinking mother of three who despises him for dominating and controlling every aspect of her life. Whereas many other Erdrich novels soar with theme, this novel is firmly grounded in domestic trials and tribulations, created with such emotional intensity that I found myself wondering about the degree to which this novel might be partly autobiographical.
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In this remarkable impressionistic novel, author Kent Meyers focuses not on plot development and not on character analysis (however well developed the characters may be), but on the rippling effects of the death of young Hayley Jo Zimmerman on her community–Twisted Tree, South Dakota. Meyers does not dwell on Hayley Jo’s fate for its drama or its sadness but for its seeming inevitability, a main theme throughout the novel. Hayley Jo’s fate, in turn, illuminates the choices the other residents make in their own lives and highlights the inevitability of their own fates. As Meyers explores his metaphysical themes in earthy, naturalistic detail, Twisted Tree, the main focus of the novel, comes alive. Dividing his novel into sixteen sections narrated by fifteen different characters, author Meyers shows their interrelationships with each other and their connections with Hayley Jo, ignoring the whole concept of time as he alternately explores past and present, shows how the diverse characters have known Hayley Jo, and builds the story of her death obliquely. Meyers’s ability to bring the atmosphere to life is so strong that it overcomes whatever limitations one might expect of a novel in which the main character remains relatively unknown—and dead—and in which there is little mystery about her fate. He delves into the essence of life itself, telling stories and creating motifs which allow the reader to connect the themes and unite the characters and their histories. This is on of my Favorite Novels of the Year.
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When Seraph Milk, known as Mooshum to his young granddaughter Evelina, haltingly describes to her a brutal 1911 crime in which he was involved, he reveals the underlying horrors which unite and divide all the families she knows. Mooshum was one of four Ojibwa Indians from Pluto, North Dakota, who were captured and strung up for the gruesome murder of the Lochrens, a white family. Only Mooshum, among the Indians captured in the area immediately after the murders, miraculously survived the vigilante hangings, while ironically, an infant daughter, overlooked by the murderers, survived the Lochren massacre. Filling her novel with vibrant characters who share their lives and stories—and often cast new light on old stories—Erdrich creates a kaleidoscope of swirling images and moods, filled with irony. The drama of the murder and hangings shares time and space with hilarious scenes in which Mooshum and his unregenerate friends taunt the local priest. With a far greater emphasis on characters and their stories than we have seen in Erdrich’s most recent, more plot-based novels, and with a grand canopy of theme overarching all, this novel is a triumph–big, broad, thoughtful, and ultimately, important.
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Focusing on the lives of several Chippewa Indian families, and the white families with whom they interact and/or marry, author Louise Erdrich depicts their traditional culture through some of the early characters, and, through later characters, the way the old ways change or become compromised through education, the introduction of religion by missionaries, and contact with modern society. The stories are set in North Dakota on or near a remote reservation, not far from the Canadian border, similar to the place where Erdrich grew up and where her parents worked as teachers for the Bureau of Indian Affairs. The stories reveal fifty years in the lives of the Kashpaw and Lamartine families from the 1930s to the 1980s, as they interact, intermarry, and ultimately try to figure out who they have become. Through her selection of details and her often lyrical descriptions, Erdrich creates vibrant local settings within which her characters tell their stories in lively, colloquial voices. Emotional, matter-of-fact, tormented, and sometimes angry, the characters are equally well drawn for both men and women.
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In a powerful opening scene, fourteen-year-old Carson Fielding, of Twisted Tree, South Dakota, approaches Magnus Yarborough, the slickest and wealthiest man in town, and negotiates to buy one of his best horses at a low price. Twelve years later, Yarborough is his enemy, a man who is starving horses on private land. Carson and three friends, both white and Native American, are determined to save these horses. Meyers creates much more than a coming-of-age story here, delving into the essence of life itself, while keeping his style unpretentious and his plot lines simple. Stories learned by the four main characters, both white and Native American, from their parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles connect the various themes, unite the characters, and show the overlaps between cultures as all these young people grow and learn. (My favorite novel of 2005)
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When Faye Travers, an estate agent in New Hampshire, inventories the home of John Jewett Tatro at the behest of his niece and heirs, she is aware that Tatro’s grandfather was once an Indian agent on an Ojibwe reservation and that his grandmother was Indian. Faye, of Indian heritage herself, is hoping to find some Indian artifacts that can be sold or donated to a museum on behalf of the estate. Sarah Tatro, the niece, is not much interested in “old beadwork and stuff,” and she has almost forgotten the old storage room in the attic, but when she opens it, Faye finds a collection of enormous value. Neither Faye nor Sarah Tatro notices the drum, at first—three feet in diameter, hollowed out from a single piece of cedar wood and covered by a moose hide. Suddenly, the drum “speaks” to Faye, resonating with a single, deep note which only she hears.
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