And Then She Fell
staying in my lane (and other news)
And Then She Fell is an education, especially for us settlers who strive to be allies. Especially for me, who teeters on the edge of the world of my ex and my son, and who has striven to uphold traditional values without claiming them for my own.
I feel so deeply for the character of Alice in Alicia Elliot’s novel—for her displacement from her reserve to downtown Toronto, for her unsupported gift of vision, and I want to kick Steve, her white husband, for being so dense. And I want her to be able to access help. Real support.
But wait. I also see myself in that husband. Steve is studying the language, learning the legends, and doing his best to be an ally. But. But. But. As the protagonist observes, these non-Indigenous academics have taken the Haudenosaunee stories, repackaged them, and sold them back. With the idea that they are somehow helping.
I find myself tangled in these ideas. Because in my story, What the Living Do, I sought to honour those I’ve known by giving their words to the character of her work partner, Mel. Observed, of course, through the unreliable vision of my white protagonist. Who is, in some fashion, also me. Naïve. Well-intentioned but ultimately missing a few points.
One potential reviewer suggested that I’d over-romanticized Native wisdom. I had intended to illustrate that tendency through Brett’s interpretation of what Mel says and does. The reality is that he’s an ordinary man. However, this reviewer took exception to the way Mel’s wife is portrayed; that without ever meeting Brett or being told of her circumstances, she sends herbal medicines. I’ve thought long and hard about that aspect. There’s also the story of one of his maternal ancestors essentially saving her family from the Spanish Flu by having them drink a tea made with skunk juice. When Brett asks if Mel’s great, great-grandmother was some kind of medicine woman, he answers that all women are medicine women. That is my favourite line in the entire book. Because he doesn’t say, all Indigenous women, he says all women. The skunk story is one I’ve endeavoured to keep alive since it comes through my son’s ancestral line. It’s a wonderful story.
My son seems to have been born with an innate understanding of and profound relationship with the natural world. And he is my world. So how is this not my story to tell? This is my tangle.
Have I over-romanticized Indigenous wisdom in this story? Have I veered out of my lane? My lived experience is through settler eyes. I get it wrong sometimes. Maybe I did project wisdom onto my ex. Maybe I then witnessed the reality of his life. And maybe, in my desire not to see anyone I love suffer, I rushed in to try to “save” him. Good luck with that, right?
Alicia Elliot shines a light for those of us who want to “help,” and who strive to be allies. The character of Alice is suffering—from frightening visions, from a visionary gift she can’t unwrap, from a loving husband who isn’t able to grasp how his “helping” isn’t helping, from colonialism, from poverty, from being an outsider in a city that was once the meeting place of her ancestors, from addiction, and a lack of confidence in her storytelling ability.
This book has caused me to question everything I think I know about this land, who belongs here, and what the presence of settlers has intentionally and inadvertently created.
What I do know, is that even if I got it wrong, my son has it right. His role as Land Based Learning Coordinator on his home reserve of Rama First Nations enables him to give back to the community in a good way. He was born to do this work.
My next two novels stay out of that lane and solidly back in my own. One question invariably asked of a novelist is how much of the story is based on their life. Naturally, readers want to know how much is lived experience, and how has one’s life informed the story.
The novel I hope will be out in the world in the next couple of years takes an event in my life and mixes it up with a life I might have lived, so I’ll be able to answer those questions clearly when the time comes. The one I’m working on now isn’t based in any way on my life, but rather takes on a huge, What if…? from stories I’ve read about organ transplant recipients.
In other news:
Amherst Writers is offering their annual fundraising Write Around the World smorgasbord of writing workshop opportunities throughout May. Facilitators from many countries are leading a variety of themes so you can pick and choose and delight in as many as you like, all the while supporting AWA’s social justice programs.
Masters Review of What the Living Do
Upcoming What the Living Do events:
Saturday, April 13, 1 to 3 p.m.: Blue Heron Books, Uxbridge, Ontario
Saturday, May 25, 3 to 4:30 p.m.: Biblio Wakefield Library, Wakefield, Québec
Friday, May 31, 7 to 8:30 p.m.: Take Cover Books, Peterborough, Ontario
Wednesday, June 5, 6 to 8 p.m.: Caffé Fantastico, Victoria, BC
Wednesday, June 26, 7 to 8:30 p.m.: Notably Books, Nelson, BC
Ask your local bookseller to order a copy. Or…
US friends Order from Regal House
Audio version available soon!
Your post shows us that we are never done as writers, as thinkers, as a species. Your honesty is self-reflective, and that's what a reader hopes all writers do for their craft.
Deep
am, I haven't yet started your novel. Making my way through Birnam Wood at the momen
t. But I absolutely LOVE the way you talk about your writing process in such an incisive, self-reflective and charming manner. It gives the rest of us who struggle with that very process hope and encouragement. You are fearlessly honest and very brave.