Michael Klaas

Mostly a painful slog; In part because of the subject matter, but mostly because of the flaws of the author's writing and unbalanced perspective. I'm definitely on Dunbar-Ortiz's "side" here in terms of critique of the formation of the American government and the steady stream of abominable choices made by white colonizers, however the author isn't just presenting the other side of the story here... She's often fully unhinged, at one point referring to white colonists as "parasites" in a chapter sub-heading. (Page 60 of the edition I read.) This is language unbecoming of an academic.

The value in this work is that you will get a (relatively) brief overview of most of the offenses of the colonists and the American government against the indigenous people of North America, and a sprinkling of information about prominent Native American leaders and historic figures that can serve to spark one's interests and inspire further reading and research.

I can't really recommend it, however.

This is a more challenging read than one might expect. The way the author structures his chapters with stories and asides that weave multiple times and personal tales together with unclear structure is often confounding. It does, however, bring the personal stories of the characters into their own place in history and culture in a way that emphasizes the depth of Indigenous American experience and tradition. Momaday's description of place is also unfailingly beautiful and rich. The story is inescapably a part of the land and the land shapes it.

I'll need to sit with this one for at least one other read before I can truly comprehend what it's saying to me personally. Mercifully, it's a rather short book, so it's an inviting proposition to sit with the author's textured prose again to sort out the story.

For audiobook listeners, I recommend staying away from the Darrell Dennis narration. He's not up to the task of vocalizing Momaday's work. His cadence and emphasis are off, so I just recommend the print version of this book instead.

This book was an extremely ambitious project which proposes a best-possible future for humanity in the face of catastrophic climate change. The events of the novel begin in the year 2025 (the year of this review) and sprawl decades into the future as a particular cataclysm sparks a chain of events that leads to a post-fossil fuel future.

The format is dry and slow, but the concept is compelling. Robinson's proposed solutions (a mix of geo-engineering, power-down shifts in energy use, carbon mitigation, and economic carrots & sticks) are a mix of possible and preposterous.

The thing I appreciate most about this book is that the author moves the conversation from doomsaying to a solution narrative. This is what we really need and I'm glad that Robinson took on the project for that reason alone.

My experience with dg nanouk okpik’s poetry is similar to the experience I have with a Rothko painting or other work of abstract modern art. It’s an emotive flourishing born from pieces and colors I don’t fully understand. She speaks in rhythm and bullet points of phrases and words that are evocative but not fully explanatory, nor obvious in their interconnections.

The result is a body of work that occasionally moves me, but more often leaves me baffled. Then there are brief stanzas that catch my full wonderment…

Her / my songs call shadows

to lie sideways

and shamans to sway

in the northern tilt

of ten thousand years of ease.

- from Riding Samna’s Gyrfalcon by dg nanouk okpik

There is a bit of poetry that somehow speaks to my understanding of the world, just for a brief moment. And it speaks in language that I cannot myself evoke, so I deeply value it, even though those moments are too sparse within her work for my taste.

This summer on a stroll through London, I passed by Frances Hodgson Burnett’s home which is marked with one of the fabulous blue plaques that mark English Heritage sites. I hadn’t thought of her work in quite some time. In fact, I hadn’t read The Secret Garden since I was a young boy. But I knew I loved it, and it piqued my interest again because I was contemplating starting a fantasy book club when I returned home, and I wondered if The Secret Garden might be a good pick for an early read. You see, in my memory, The Secret Garden was very much a fantasy story because the garden was magic. It changed people. It healed them.

So, now I have just re-read this novel for the first time in nearly 30 years. And I’m delighted to rediscover that — though the story is not fantasy, of course — it is, indeed, about magic of a very real and attainable sort. And the garden did change people. It did heal them. And I remember what I loved so much about it as a young boy.