The Third A.B.

"Living Stories of the Cherokee" was our book this week.  It's a collection of Native American stories--as told by living Native American Cherokee from North Carolina--separated into section for each teller, collected together by Barbara R. Duncan.  Each section is also preceded by a short biography of the teller, including where they live, what their profession is, and how the stories are a part of their life.

It's obvious that Duncan attempted to mimic the speaking style of each teller by the poetic form of the tales.  I found this to be very helpful in attempting to recreate the feel of the performance in my mind while reading the text.

For my blog and class work, I chose to focus on the teller Davey Arch. Arch is a North Carolina mask-maker and sculptor (which the book implies is his sole source of income).  Some times his masks are a reflection of his culture (such as representing the seven clans of Cherokee), while other times they are an image from one of his stories or from someone in his life. 

Davy Arch and one of his masks

For class on Tuesday, we each chose one of the authors from this book and wrote them a pretend letter in response to their writing.  Since we already read them in class, I thought it would be appropriate to replicate it here:

Davey Arch:

I found your stories in the book "Living Stories of the Cherokee," which I read for an assignment in my "Native American Literature" class.  One of the first things I noticed about your stories (as opposed to other storytellers from within the same book) is that you have a casual tone that feels less like a reading assignment and more akin to conversation.  I'm a performance artist myself (slam poetry mostly, and some music) and one of the most difficult aspects of that art is creating that sense of calm and flowing ease instead of the stuffy awkwardness that performers usually have.  I guess I'm trying to say that your stories read in a very genuine way, and I appreciate that.

I noticed that a lot of your stories focus on stakes and snake imagery.  I was wondering, does that just happen accidentally as a result of living in North Carolina, or do snakes hold some special significance to you?  I keep remembering how often snakes appear in religions and myths, from Egyptian to Judeo-Christian to Aztec (and even Norse and Oriental if you include dragons), and every culture seems to either revere or fear them (or both).  I would be interested in any mythical stories you have come across concerning our reptilian friends / enemies.  

 The book also mentions that you carve masks for a living, sometimes to reference the seven clans of Cherokee and other times to depict people or stories that you know.  Masks are another symbol I've run across while studying other cultures.  Do you consider them to be purely decorational (like many theater performances use them as) or somehow magical (like African tribes and cool video games do)?  I don't personally believe in anything spiritual, but if I did, it would have to be the magical power of masks.  There's just something both addictive and terrifying about wearing a carved face.

Lastly, since I ask this of everyone I ever meet, I have to know:  do you play video games?  And if so, what is your favorite video game story?

For this last part of the blog, I suppose it’s fitting to look towards the stories themselves and what I could get out of them.  

The first story is called “Grandpa and the Turtle”.  The story takes us through the mythical elements of Cherokee healing and mystic medicine, using the blood of an ancient river-turtle to make people live longer, healthier lives.  There’s even a scene of the ritual, where “prayers” or “formulas” (the narrative is purposefully ambiguous about what to call the Cherokee speech that the medicine-man uses) and black and white beads are used to somehow evoke the power or transfer of life from the blood of the turtle to the blood of the man.  The story takes no decisive stand on whether or not the medicine works or the mythic magic is real; it only tells us the story, allowing us to decide for ourselves, using the aged and wounded old man as evidence for either side.  The narrative even specifies that the Grandpa has had many surgeries and modern medical augmentations during his long life.  I love the way that Arch makes no claim about the ritual, choosing instead to only show it to us.  This is how great storytelling works.  

Another of my favorites is “Legends of the Uk’tena”.  It also references the vague “prayers” and “formulas” used in the previous story, but these were used not to transfer life, but to lull a powerful crystal to sleep.  The crystal was often used (for some unmentioned purpose), but whenever it was awake, it had to be fed.  So the great snake Uk’tena would guard it, and the Cherokee people’s prayers/formulas would put it to sleep.  The story continues to explain the legends of Uk’tena—the great snake.  Arch remembers that in some stories, Uk’tena takes the form of a large rattle snake, while in others, it is said to be a horned serpent.  “And there’s also stories about the people who live in the underworld,” he added, saying that if someone entered the portals to the underworld (which existed in rivers, streams, and other bodies of water), then they would see the underworld-people riding snakes as large as horses.  

In all, Davey Arch’s (or Davy Arch’s, according to the internet) stories seemed perfectly balanced in that position between mythical, magical, and realistic.  It’s obvious that he knows and understands these tales, but unlike the Trickster Tales book, the personality of the teller is apparent in each one.  I think that’s the part that’s most difficult to include in a written version, but Barbara Duncan did an excellent job with it. 

2AB

For our one class period this week, we read "The Lakota Way:  stories and lessons for living:  native American wisdom on ethics and character" by Joseph M. Marshall III.  Now, given that I'm a cynical bastard, there should've been no way in hell that I would enjoy this book, especially no way I could remember anything from it, and certainly definitely absolutely no chance in hell that I would learn from it.

But I did.

The format of this book is perfect.  Each chapter begins with a story--a kind of tale from Lakota history or myth--and then ends with a second, modern story dealing with Native American's in colonial times and how the first part of the chapter matters in contemporary times.  It's like jumping back and forth between trickster tales and Sherman Alexie stories.  It keeps the reader (ie, my impatience) from feeling bored or getting used to the narrative.  And since there are two distinct parts to each chapter, you naturally build a mental connection between the two, which (as posted in my earlier blog concerning neurological memory and big words and science and stuff) helps people remember more, for longer. 

Basically, what I'm saying is, I really liked this book.

For the class discussion on Tuesday, my group (Group 6) focused on the chapter about Sacrifice.  Now, since I already explained in class how bizarre I thought the first part was, and since I'm supposed to use this blog to talk about what I learned instead of what I don't like, I'll move onto the second part of the chapter.  In part two, I learned a bit more about Crazy Horse. 

I had never really learned about Crazy Horse before.  I knew the name, and I knew the name Sitting Bull, but never with any relevant information associated with them.  The first chapter of this book is actually the first place I really learned the truth behind the name.

Of course we got mentions of him previously in this course, both in the Reel Injun movie (we learned that every picture we have of him is actually not him at all, haha) and apparently in everything that Alexie ever wrote (seriously, Custard references and Crazy Horse references pop up in everything he does.  The dude is reusing his own tropes), but The Lakota Way really explained the story.  We learn, for example, that Crazy Horse was a humble and quiet, possibly socially-awkward and anxious individual.  He did not boast, though he was surely the greatest warrior and leader than the Lakota had ever seen.  In chapter six, we learn that he sacrificed himself by surrendering to the [colonial assholes I'm descended from].  Of course Crazy Horse was in charge, and he had a hell of a lot of Lakota behind him that would fight if he wanted.  But he knew (as I mentioned in class, briefly) that most were too young or too old to fight.  It would be a massacre, and even one Lakota death was too great a loss to risk.  Surrendering is probably the most painful and disappointing things that a general can do, but he did it without hesitation in order to protect his people.  That's seriously badass.

 On to topic of Crazy Horse, “The Lakota Way” also makes mention of a tradition that the Lakota Indian tribes have, called Waktoglaka.  It basically translates to “to tell of one’s victories”.  So, in that sense, it’s a lot like boasting.  But it’s so much more than that, and I found it quite beautiful actually.  Waktoglaka has stipulations that must be met or followed, like prerequisites for taking part in the tradition.  One such requirement was that, for any great deed mentioned, there had to have been at least one witness.  That way, the stories could be validated instead of made-up.  Once the story was verified, the Lakota people no longer considered it to be boasting.  Instead, it was just another form of story-telling or oral history, which “became part of the identity and the lore of the storyteller’s warrior society, and…served to strengthen the entire village”.  Marshall also notes that these tales would inspire future generations of Lakota into meeting the challenge of their elders’ deeds.

This all concerned Crazy Horse for the following reason:  Crazy Horse was unfathomably humble.  His skills and actions on the battle field were unrivaled.  He was calm, powerful, and well loved by nearly everyone who fought with him.  According to Marshall, there wasn’t another Lakota more suited for the Waktoglaka ceremony, but legends say that he never took part.  In fact, he only ever spoke in public twice during his entire life.  He was shy and humble, even when concerning the nearly impossible feats of battle that he survived. 

But still, everyone knew about these wonderful events, because they were stories that everyone else told for him.  Crazy Horse never had to brag or boast; his exploits were well known already.

Continuing on this vein, the author compares the choosing of political leaders during Lakota society and during our own.  In ours, he rightfully says, no one can get elected without being extremely arrogant and pointing out all of their wonderful achievements (not even mentioning how many of these achievements are lies, and how many negative events are ignored and lied about).  For the Lakota, that way of selecting a leader wouldn’t have made any sense.  They didn’t want someone who thought they should be leader; instead, they wanted to pick the best leader out of everyone.  That’s the only reason that Crazy Horse ever led the Lakota in battle; he never would have volunteered himself for such a high position.

That system of politics, to be honest, sounds very tempting.  I would love to have John Stewart as president, instead of…well…anyone else.  But he’s too humble to run, even though a lot of people would definitely vote for him. 

And imagine how much more honesty we would get if the politicians weren’t running for president, but were just trying to be the best person they could, so that everyone would see how great of a leader they could be.

Class 1 AB (After Break)

It didn't take long for me to find which essay in "Yellow Woman and a Beauty of the Spirit" I wanted to focus on.  Just giving a quick glance to the table of contents, I found Language and Literature from a Pueblo Indian Perspective by Leslie Silko.  I've always been interested in the oral tradition of story telling, being both a writer and a performance artist, and this seemed to be far more accessible than the Native American Trickster Tales we read in the beginning of class (if only due to its contemporary style; time makes everything stale).

From the opening lines, I felt that envy I have towards improv comics and freestyle rappers.  Pueblo Indians, according to this essay, believe that "the words most highly valued are those spoken from the heart".  They are skeptical towards words that have been written ahead of time, since it would be so easy for the author to form poetic lies which mask their true emotions.  Of course, as a fiction writer, I have to agree; it's my job to do that.

Taking us further into the customs of the Pueblo culture, Silko describes Pueblo stories as a spiderweb, connecting several thoughts and ideas together through complex associations.  This sparked an association of my own, in which I remembered (ironically, I supposed) a Psychology class that detailed how we learn and remember.  It too described it as a web of connections:  the more things you associate with a new idea, the more likely you are to remember that idea.  A quick google search on the topic provided the following explanation:

"From a practical perspective, that means that we can remember something 

if we learn it in a context that we understand, or if it is emotionally important to us."  (http://brainconnection.positscience.com/topics/?main=fa/memory-formation5)

Context, then is important for memory.  So doesn't it make sense that stories should work in a similar fashion?  While our linear story-telling technique may make sense, it may actually be less beneficial than the Pueblo's spider-web technique.

The essay also points to the way that Pueblo Indian's view stories.  To them, all stories are equally powerful and equally relevant.   Creation myths are not heralded as more pure than gossip; all stories have their purpose, and all are treated equally.  As a writer, I couldn't imagine a more perfect society.

I was also extremely impressed with their ways of using stories to deal with negative situations.  Silko used the example of a new car rolling down a hill and being totaled.  To make the owner feel better, the tribe recounted when another member had lost their car as well, but with their family inside.  The focus on historical, contextual stories seems to force a kind of empathy across generations, and would most likely create a stronger tribal bond and give birth to a nicer society than the one we live in now.  


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Thursday's class:  "Write for twenty minutes about what you've learned thus far, this semester, in this class."


When I think back on what I've learned, the first, most powerful story comes from the book of historical documents and journals we read (I forgot the title).  In that book, one story comes from a woman who thinks back on the treatment of prisoners within Indian societies.  I remember being entirely dumb-struck by what she said.  According to her, when an Indian person is killed in battle, the tribe will kidnap a person from the white colonists.  This person will not be killed, or tortured, or treated negatively at all.  Instead, they will be given to the family of the murdered Indian, to be raised as a kind of replacement, and as a full member of the tribe.  They will be treated as a part of the tribe, and even be given responsibilities of tribe members.  Under normal circumstances, the "Captured" person will refuse to return to their colonial home when given the chance.  


While that's definitely the coolest thing I've learned, it's not necessarily the most important.  For that, I'd say it came from the film "Reel Injun" [Link], where we learned that every stereotypical Indian behavior, dress, and myth is actually a combination of several diverse tribes and their live styles.  For instance, only one tribe was good at riding horses; only one kind of Indian (plains Indian, maybe?) wore head bands.  The film industry (whether on purpose, on accident, or out of oversimplification) boiled all complex Indian cultures into one simple idea, which is the one we still believe today. 

Every Indian ever, apparently.

The most shocking thing I've learned so far is how absolutely terrible the American Genocide was.  The fact that it killed many times more Indians than the Holocaust killed Jews is not only almost unbelievable, but also extremely distressing in the fact that no one ever talks about it.  Where are the Oscar-winning films about the American Genocide?  


I didn't learn anything from the "Spirituality" book we read, as it was a simple, practically childish book with no significant information. 


I also didn't learn much from the weeks we read and watched Sherman Alexie.  Though I learned a lot about hi and the way he sees the world personally, and his family history, he didn't really teach us anything about Native-American culture.  (In fact, the one thing I definitely remember is how, in his introduction, he mentioned that a lot of Indian people are pissed at him, saying he is furthering stereotypes [like "drunk Indian's, etc"]).  That being said, it was actually my most fond memories of this class (except for "The Business of Fancy Dancing"; god I hated that movie).  His short stories were very insightful into his personal life, and were equally interesting to read.  I suppose it did shed insight into the life of a reservation Indian, but really, since it was a first-person near-memoir, it would be unfair to say it was a representation of anyone other than himself.  

Overall, I think that people are a bit confused over why reservation life is so hard.  I don't think it's because they're Native Americans or they've been destroyed by the white system; Instead, I think it's just because they're poor.  I too come from a shitty small town of hopelessness, and there's no escape from such places without money.  I think a rich Native American would be just as well off as anyone else who was rich.  This isn't an issue of race or creed, it's one of class.  At least, that's what it seems like to me. 

8

Almost half-way.  Spring break starts this weekend (or Thursday night, after work, for me), and I'm really looking forward to it.  I need a break from school work.  My mind is starting to wander onto other temporally-vampiric hobbies (rewriting a novel, programming games, etc), and I'm afraid my grades will suffer for it unless I get a bit of time to throw myself ceaselessly into the abyss of failed time management. 

But all of that is entirely off topic. 

I would like to start on a good note (or at least, on a not-bad note).  In class, Dr. Hobby returned briefly to our prior week's discussion in summary form, repeating his belief that indigenous peoples would find our curriculum (not difficult or different, but) unrepresentative of their culture.  I absolutely agree.   As I mentioned in earlier blogs, I am greatly troubled by the utter lack of Native American history within all the colonial and revolutionary war classes we were forced to take in elementary school and high school.  In fact, as odd as it may seem, I feel a similar under-representation as an atheist while I study humanities at this school.  It seems that every time we read about a new culture in humanities, they're always defined by their religion.  In fact, this is an observation that persists even within this class.  We speak about indigenous spirituality and religion, as if that is representative of the entire culture.  This continues on into the past, all the way back through Ancient Greece, Babalon, Egypt, and even the Caves of Lascow.  Everyone is seen in terms of their religious beliefs, and atheists are apparently non existent.  In fact, I paid special attention in Humanities just to hear anything about atheism, and the FIRST reference I ever noted came from one page of Virgil's "The Aeneid".  A soldier fighting Aeneas says that his sons were killed, and he fears no gods, so Aeneas can not harm him (obviously he meant that metaphorically, as he dies right afterwards).  I've remembered that scene for two years now, since it holds such great significance to me as the first mention of my beliefs within the entire span of human history apparently, according to our curriculum, despite the obvious fact that atheism (as a lack of religion) would have come before religion.  But whatever.

Back to this class!

This week we read "The Sacred Tree," a book about indigenous spirituality.  At this point, my cynicism should hardly be a surprise.  I thought it read like a children's book.  I don't know if it was the format, the large pages, the page layout, the illustrations that existed in every page, or the simplicity of the writing style, but I just couldn't take it serious at all.  I'm glad that Dr. Hobby prefaced this assignment with his own uncertainty and hesitation, as it made me feel more easy about finding the text laughably repetitive and boring. 

Even so, there were certain parts that were at least surrounded by good ideas. 

My basic summary of my feelings while reading this can be best expressed using the exercise we did in class today (Tuesday).  At the beginning of class, we were told to make a kind of chart.  In it, we were to list our own personal values, the values that were mentioned/preached within "The Sacred Tree", and then final section where we detailed how those previous two sections differentiated, how they compared, and finally how we could integrate the values from the second section into our own values from the first column. 

My values are pretty simple.  As I said in class, they basically boil down to "don't be a dick."  More specifically, and more eloquently, my values orbit the ideal of brutal honesty.  I think the world would be a much better place if everyone would just be honest with each other, instead of trying to lie for the benefit of others, or for the benefit of themselves.  "Lying" here is also a vague term in my system of morality, as it also encompasses lying and cheating and other forms of deception.  My values also attempt to decrease the amount of pain in the world rather than increase it, so it's also important to cause as little pain as possible.  There's a tenant in Satanism (which is nothing like what people think it is, by the way; they don't even believe in the devil, but instead believe in a "spirit of the earth".) which states that one should "cause no unnecessary harm".  I think that's a more fair way to live, than to just try not to hurt anyone.  People will get hurt regardless of your actions, and you can't live for someone else instead of yourself.  For example, if you fall out of love with your significant other, you should break up with them.  That will cause pain, but it's the right thing to do.  It's necessary pain.  Finally, my values are based on the idea that one can always be "better" (though the definition of "better" will change for each person), and that life should be a striving of becoming better today than you were yesterday.  

Our class went around, detailing their own values and then recounting the values stated within the "Sacred Tree," and our final section was mostly left open for the blogs.  Integration.  Personally, I find the "indigenous spirituality" to be very naive (others might say "optimistic").  I can't help wondering if they would have fallen victim to the American Genocide if they hadn't been so glad to accept outsiders and trust strangers.  The world is a dangerous place and you have to be careful.

But if there was anything within that book that I wish I could integrate into my life, it would be that.  I wish I could trust people more.  Not all people, just most people.  Those that haven't given me a reason to doubt them.  While the book is too optimistic, I'm too pessimistic.  And I know that.  And someday, that has to change, or I won't become that "better" person I keep trying to be.

Seven

It seems the time of reading fun narrative fiction is at an end.  My Literature class has me reading Madame Bovary, the realist novel, and our class (Native / American / Indian Literature) has us reading "The World Turned Upside Down: Indian Voices from Early America".  While I appreciate the length of the title, and how well that will help my blog's word count, I can't expect to feel happy about reading it.  I miss genre fiction already.

As far as I can tell, having only read the first sixty or so pages, the Calloway book feels and reads much less like a narrative and much more like a high-school history book (except, of course, for the fact that Indian are mentioned in more than just the sections on Thanksgiving and Columbus day) or a humanities text book.  That kinda sucks.  The Alexie short stories were so fun, and even though they were serious and spoke about serious issues, they were still interesting and even surrealistic at times.  Of course, it was inevitable that a class on Native Americans would eventually become extremely historical and depressing (not because they aren't fun, but because their history isn't).  And I suppose that that time is now.

The sudden change in style makes it difficult for me to blog about it, so I've decided to start by just adding in a few details about what crossed my mind while I was reading.  If all goes as planned, I'll be adding to this list as I read more of the book before Tuesday.

1. American History.  I made a small note of it early, but holy hell; How can textbooks seriously speak about the entire Revolutionary War without making any mention whatsoever to Native Americans?  That would be like taking about the Western Expansion without adding that little detail about us stealing everything from Texas to California and probably more from Mexico.  I mean, damn.  That just pisses me off.
2. Am I the only one that seriously thinks religion ruins everything?  I mean, how many wars have been stopped, peacefully, by religion?  And now take that extremely small (most-likely nonexistent) number, and contrast it with the number of wars that were started for religious reasons.  I'm a big supporter of freedom of everything (speech, religion, expression, information, choice, etc etc), but at some point, it almost seems dangerous to not consider religion to be a weapon of mass destruction.  Seriously, does anyone think that the Indians would be any worse off, or even just as bad off, if the "settlers" hadn't been Christians and Catholics? 

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EDIT:  In a sudden and—while I appreciated the sentiment, the timing could’ve been better—drastic change of our course for this week, Dr. Hobby sent out that email informing us not to read the entire book cover to cover.  …That could’ve made my weekend a whole lot easier, but still.  At least the beginning of the week didn’t include me rushing through the final pages in order to finish on time. 

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On Tuesday, we split up into groups and read portions of our section of the text.  My group (group 3, I believe) focused on the “Walking Purchase”.  I won’t go into details (since it’s in the text), suffice to say it’s a pretty accurate description of the phrase “dick move”.  Not the literal one, though. 

The most surprising aspect in that section was how the white people sought the help of the Iroquois in order to settle their supposed arrangement with the Delaware.  Do we really live in such a depressing world that even all Native American tribes couldn’t come together in alliance?  Damn.

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In class on Thursday, we were asked a loaded and cleverly deceptive question:  “What could a college do (or what could they have) in order to persuade Native American students to attend that university?”  Of course, in a class based around the idea of not pushing an entire culture under one simple idea, the question was obviously ironic.  Even so, some of us answered directly, while others ranted endlessly.  I was one of the latter.

White people just tend to overcompensate for their cruelty, I think.  We attempted to apologize for segregation by forcing integration with schools, which was a horrible and far-too-sudden implementation of a good idea.  Taking it even further, we implemented “Affirmative Action”, attempting to balance the workplace by giving African-Americans an extra boost during interviews.  Again, nice thought, but pretty damn racist (it still implies that a black person can’t get the job without extra help, as if they won’t be qualified enough due to their race).  The point of this mini-rant is to get to diversity, which is basically what our class discussion devolved into (partially with my help). 

As I said in class, I don’t blame the colleges.  However, the entire idea of attempting to alter the diversity of your campus in an active way is also pretty racist, in my opinion.  It means that the college is completely ignoring the academic considerations of their student applicants and focusing instead of their race or cultural background.  Didn’t Martin Luther King Jr. say he dreamed of a day when his children could be judged by their character, not their color?  How is this anything but the opposite of his dream? 

Bringing race into an issue that is not about race is pretty much the definition of racism.  We should judge applicants on their scores, or their accomplishments, not their culture or heritage.

But then, that leads to the other issue I mentioned:  budget.  We live in a country that gives unlimited funds to the military, but limits those that educational facilities can obtain.  Speaking as a poverty-stricken America, one who could not have attended college at all without the full-ride grants and loans that pay my tuition and living expenses, government (read: taxpayer) money is important.  Without it, like I said, I wouldn’t even be here.  I’d still be stuck in East Bend, my own kind of poverty-reservation.  And yet, this money is being stripped away and stipulated, in such ways that force colleges to “create diversity”.  This is not what colleges should be focusing on.  What happened to education?

/Rant.

The Sixth

Last week, given that we had two very well-controlled class discussions, a long movie clip, and an array of different short-stories within a well-written novel to talk about, I found the blog to be far easier than in the weeks prior.  This week, in which we had no discussion the first day, read no stories, and are only watching a slow and disconnected movie, will most likely be damn-near impossible to rant about for one thousand words.  Of course, since that's the assignment, I'll definitely try my best.  I just feel the need to begin with this disclaimer so that the reader (i.e. you) will know ahead of time why it kinda all sounds like bullshit. 

I liked the clip of "Smoke Signals" we watched last week.  I thought it was funny, well-paced, and a fair and appropriate adaptation of Alexie's novel of short stories.  That being said, I had high hopes for "The Business of Fancy Dancing."  Silly me, not being cynical.

Now, to be fair, before I completely tear this movie apart, there are some parts which I loved.  Some of the poetry is very good from a contemporary point of view (I add that last bit because I'm not an avid fan of contemporary poetry unless it's slam poetry; I prefer older, more "poetic" verses, like Renaissance poetry), and some of the stories are very clever in the way they introduce characters, and also in the way they purposefully don't introduce characters (like when you aren't sure, through most of the film, who "Aristotle" is.  I thought that was fantastic.  Too bad he turns out to be a psychopath).  There are good things here; I just feel like the movie ruins those good things.  Perhaps in a book form, these scenes would work better.  But film is a visual media, and whoever directed this (I assume it's Alexie...quick google search leads to wikipedia which confirms it:  source) did a horrible job.

Now, a little background.  My sister went to film school.  I've heard her talk about movies for my entire life, I've watched movies with her, and I've studied film a bit myself; I've written screenplays, read screenplay books, read screenplays themselves, and am fairly certain that I know more about film than the average person.  I am by no means an expert, but I have directed, produced, written, scored, and stared in a short film of my own that will likely never see the light of day.  So, I'm not just saying this carelessly.  When I say that "The Business of Fancy Dancing" is a bad movie, I can prove it.

Now remember, I liked Smoke Signals.  I know that Alexie can write and direct movies in an entertaining way, but "The Business of Fancy Dancing" is directed and written...poorly.  It feels like Alexie is trying to become an "artsy" director all of a sudden, instead of sticking with the style that worked so well in "Smoke Signals".  He's using extreme close-ups of pointless pieces of clothing; he's framing people in weird, uncomfortable ways (like when the main character is half-reflected in his mirror, as if Alexie is saying "Hey guys, look how clever I am, it's like a physical visual representation of my character's shattered self-image for ten whole minutes without cutting away, get it?").  I understand he probably didn't have a great budget (that's obvious from the quality of the film [visually, not...oh nevermind]), but that's really not an excuse.  Basically, it seems like he's trying to hard.  And that sucks, because he did such a great job on Smoke Signals.

Of course, we have to mention the writing as well.  Sure, Smoke Signals was based off of "The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven," so it was told in a slightly disconnected way (probably representing the disconnect that Indians feel with America, other Indians, the past, and their heritage).  But it was easy to follow, it was coherent, and it told a story.  "The Business of Fancy Dancing" is busy.  It's clumsy and cluttered.  It's like Alexie wasn't sure what story he was telling, or he was trying to recreate the feeling of Smoke Signals but failed because there wasn't a solid novel to base it off of.  Whatever happened, it ruined what should've been a very emotionally-charged story about being an outcast (homosexual) within an outcast society (Indian).  Being doubly-removed from all people, the main character would be lost in all places, feeling unsafe everywhere, finding no place to call home.  But that message is clouded by the convoluted interspersed stories, title cards, dancing overlays, and odd, jarring music.  And that is truly a shame.

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In class Thursday, after finishing “The Business of Fancy Dancing,” I was even more disappointed by the film than I had been before.  I brought up the basic problems in class, but I thought I’d go into a few more specifics here:

When you’re writing, there has to be a point to your story.  If a reader or audience is giving you their time, they expect something in return; either a good story or a mood or even a simple emotional reaction.  This movie didn’t have any of those things.  I am extremely disappointed by the lack of resolution within the story.  This movie was nothing but an incoherent tapestry of disconnected story elements, two-dimensional characters (all of whom had no drive, desire, or motivation), and unresolved plot points. 

The idea was raised, in response to my critique, that some films should leave the audience confused; Inception was an example.  But let’s not forget that Inception was a movie about dreams and the uncertainty of reality.  Alexie’s film was just about a poet.  There’s no need for his story to be told non-linearly or for the audience to be left confused and uncertain.  It’s not part of the plot, and it doesn’t add to the mood of the narrative.  It’s just an effect of poor story-telling. 

Of course there can be arguments that disagree with me, stating that stories are subjective and nothing can be said about what’s “good” or “correct”, and there are many time that I would agree with that statement.  But then there are times when the writing is just simply bad, or the devices are simply used incorrectly.  This movie is a wonderful example of those times. 

Basically, I’m saying that if you asked Alexie whether the audience was supposed to feel confused, disappointed, bored, non-sympathetic, and irritated by the characters and plot, he would most likely say “no”.  Therefore, this movie was done poorly.  If, however, he actually wanted those things to happen, then I will concede that he did a fantastic job of making sure they did.

Fifth Week

Today's class, as I often state, is a bit different than usual.  Dr. Hobby had us bring in our laptops for group work, dividing us into groups for discussion about Alexie's novel.  My group was group Two, consisting of Jennifer, Alex, Justine, Carolina, Cory, and myself. 

Before we even began discussing the in-class questions, we spoke happily about the bizarre middle of the book where realism takes a step back to allow for the absurdity and surrealism of "The Trial of Thomas..." and the few odd stories that follow.  This section of the book seemed to be a favorite of everyone within our section.

For our first question, regarding the ambivalence of humor and despair within the text, we found the story "The Approximate Size of my Favorite Tumor" to be an excellent example.  In the story, despite being diagnosed with cancer, the main character is horrifically humorous to such disturbing levels that his wife has to leave him.

"Ain't joking about the cancer," I said.  "But I started

joking about dying and that pissed her off."

The story is full of lines like that, interwoven with the plot, illustrating the unbreakable sense of humor that Alexie claims is integral to every Indian's ways of life.  For example: the narrator's reaction to seeing a baseball-sized and baseball-shaped tumor in his body is to joke about placing himself and his x-rays in the Baseball Hall of Fame. 

Pictured:  Indian cancer

Oddly, though, the story's topic of cancer never seemed depressing or despairing to me (perhaps because of the light-hearted way that the main character mentions it); instead, the sadness came only when the wife left.

 For other discussion questions, Justine brought up the third question concerning Indians "graduating" from reservation schools without literacy or any true education.  This reminded me of my own small home towns, East Bend and Yadkinville, where there is an apparent and nearly inescapable cycle that I have called "The Poverty Cycle."  Basically, it works as follows:

Get born into a poor family >

Get a basic education with high aspirations >

Get pregnant and/or married before getting a career >

Accept the failure of those dreams >

Watch as the next generation repeats the cycle.

Obviously, people caught in this cycle never leave this town.  As far as I can tell, this is where ignorance, racism, and cultural seclusion come from. 

Pictured:  more interesting than East Bend

At the end of our class discussions, Dr. Hobby opened up the idea of the future of the world.  I remember him saying that "surely no one here is cynical enough to think the future can't be better".  And, as hard as I tried to disagree, I couldn't.  Even I know that, despite all the horrible things we've done to one another in the history of humanity, I still believe that it is possible for the future to be a better place.  I do not, however, believe it will happen.  I am cynical enough to view the entirety of human kind with a wary disgust and mistrust.  As long as humans are alive on the Earth, humans will suffer at the hands of other humans.  I really, truly, honestly wish it could be different, but it won't be.  No amount of history classes will teach the world to embrace each other.  At most, it will only take another Pearl Harbor or 9/11 to spark a torrent of hatred, and at the least it would only take a stray thought or a personal dispute.  That is what we are.

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Thursday’s class continued the topics and discussion questions of the class before.  Our class’ guest related many of our discussion questions to particular poems within another Alexie work, “First Indian on the Moon.”  It’s nearly impossible to overlook the obvious connections between this and Alexie’s other stories.  He tends to return to the same characters and themes in each of his writings, which leads me to suspect that many of the characters within “The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven” are based, at least in some basic respect, to real characters from Alexie’s past.  He did state in his introduction that, like all fiction, that book was partially autobiographical.  It only makes sense then than some of the people in the novel are also people from his own life’s story. 

At the end of Thursday’s class, each person was given a chance (within a two minute time constraint, which was understandable given how close we were to the end of the class period) to pick their favorite section of their favorite story from Alexie’s novel and read it aloud.  It didn’t take any time at all for me to decide on a story, as the surreal and imaginative “Distances” story is definitely my favorite from the entire book (which I’m sure I’ve mentioned in a previous blog post).  It was also exciting to see that at least one other person read from the same tale. 

As a class, while everyone seemed to enjoy the book for one reason or another, it was extremely insightful so see which stories and sections people chose to read from.  Even more telling, however, were the disclaimers we each gave before reading.  Everyone had their own personal insights into the narratives, and it’s nice to learn so much about the other students without actually having to start conversations with them.  I am, after all, still an introvert, and I don’t really enjoy speaking to other people.  The writer in me, however, needs to learn as much about character and what influences humans as possible. 

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I’d like to conclude this blog by pointing out that bringing our laptops to class and having group / class discussions to blog about makes the one-thousand-word blogging pain a bit more bearable.  I feel that having this every week would most likely increase both the ease and comfort of the students during this particular assignment. 

Next week, however, is a movie week, so I’m not really sure if the same idea would work then.