Lori
Wheeler
America and Its Romantic Ideal of the Native
Only one-sixteenth of me is descended from Cherokees.
As a child, I always wondered which sixteenth of me. I knew it was my
high cheekbones and my long dark hair, but was that it?
Almost every other part of me was Irish: the freckles, the pale skin, and
my feistiness. Much of this I got
from my maternal lineage. As I grew
up, my paternal grandmother, who was also of Irish descent, would speak of her
mother-in-law in hushed, reverent tones.
Even now at the age of eighty-seven, my grandmother refers to her
mother-in-law as Mrs. Wheeler.
Partially, this is because my grandmother grew up in an age when it was anything
but polite to speak of your elders with familiarity, but in large part this is
due to the fact that my grandmother, like me and my generation, grew up in a
culture that romanticized and revered the American Indian.
Until studying literature, the Native American was my only
conceptualization of the Romantic.
Therefore, I was intrigued to find
The
Last of the Mohicans
on the syllabus. Other than the
several titles of Sherman Alexie that I have read, I have not had the experience
of Native American writing, and I have certainly never studied it with an
analytical eye. After reading from
Cooper’s classic, I revisited two of Alexie’s most memorable books, Indian
Killer and The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian to look at
the modern characterization of Native Americans in fiction for adults and for
young adults, respectively.
Sherman Alexie is himself a Native American and writes about his culture
and for his people. He is outspoken
in interviews and in his own writing that the plight of the Native American is
still a struggle, and very much a mystery to non-Indians.
Most of his writing features Native American protagonists dealing with
the conflicting worlds of the reservation and modern American cities.
His novel
Indian Killer
is a gritty exploration of that struggle. Born to an Indian woman and given up
for adoption, John Smith is adopted into a wealthy white home that
simultaneously encourages his exploration of his heritage and discredits it.
Through a haze of mental illness and a misguided attempt to reconnect to
his native culture, Smith puts himself in the middle of ritualized killings of
whites in Seattle. Alexie rejects
Cooper’s representation of American Indians as either all good (Uncas) or all
bad (Magua), and embraces the dichotomy of the modern Native American who must
balance both worlds without being shunned by both.
As a Native American, Smith receives the physical blessings and stoicism
of his people to further his individualistic experience apart from his family
and the society in which he was raised.
He begins work on a construction crew and becomes a kind of neo-warrior,
comfortably willing to risk his life on the skeleton of a new high rise building
to meet the demands of his reclaimed identity.
Smith also becomes involved in a Native American student group at a local
college campus and finds himself facing the hypocritical academia of an American
Indian “expert” who makes false claims about his own heritage and profits from
it. A very shallow reading of
Killer presents Cooper’s all-bad Native American to modern society, but a
more adept reader easily sees the Romantic pull of Smith’s biological heritage
on him and Alexie’s use of it to create a realistic portrait of today’s Indian.
The tradition of the Romanticized Native American tends to push us toward
a tragically romantic reading of
Killer,
in which Smith avenges the self that was stolen from him by his adoption.
However, this reading does not ring true—to Romanticism or to Native
American culture. What Alexie
manages to do through Smith’s story is to illustrate the cultural issues that
plague American Indians as a racial group and ultimately bring about their
demise. It is still a tragedy, but
not of epic proportions. John Smith
does not represent the entire American Indian population, but his illnesses do.
Apropos of his name, Smith tries to live in both worlds, but finds that
he cannot. Frequenting an Indian
bar, he finds those around him laughing and wanted to laugh himself because he
“knew his laughter would make him feel more like a real Indian” (Killer
277). Not only because he is a
stranger in both the American and Indian worlds but also because of the demons
that plague him, he cannot find a healthy way to participate in either place.
Sadly, this is a Native American reality that Alexie recreates for his
readers. There is nothing romantic
about an entire ethnic group feeling alienated from all cultures, their own
included.
The
Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian
is a fictionalized autobiography in which Alexie recreates the same complexities
of Native American life found in Killer but written for adolescent
readers. Diary follows the
story of Junior’s transition from reservation schools to American schools off of
the rez. As much bildungsroman as
American Indian story, Junior faces the challenges of adolescence: hormones,
identity, acceptance, however these issues are made even more complex by the
fact that he must face them in town and on the reservation.
While providing a refreshingly realistic portrayal of Native American
culture through narration and illustrations, Alexie seems to romanticize
American Indian culture through the attitudes of the adults on the reservation
and the respect that Junior pays them.
The bildungsroman genre provides a sturdy vehicle for progressing this
romanticized view of American Indian culture in that it places the protagonist
in the position of a hero on a journey to adulthood and understanding—a journey
through which the individual experiences the sublime and the gothic in search of
unity and transcendence. All of the
characteristics of a romantic coming-of-age story appear in Diary.
Junior’s reservation life is the gothic setting for his terror of a life
that will simply repeat a generational failure to live out the potential of
one’s life. Until he believes that
he can make a life for himself off the reservation, Junior worries that like his
gifted musician father, his dreams will die in a bottle.
Alexie paints a picture of a young man who struggles to create and
sustain relationships amidst the struggles of growing up in two places, but
accurately paints a picture of what it is like for a Native American to maintain
relationships on and off the reservation.
Junior faces pressure from both sides to be exclusively Native or
exclusively American. If he chooses
to live life only as an Indian, his white friends will never see him as anything
more than an eccentricity in their own lives, but if he chooses to be anything
but Indian, he faces the scorn of the reservation.
Somehow, Junior finds a way to balance both aspects of his identity.
Not surprisingly, his understanding comes through a connection with the
natural world on his reservation.
Much like the pine trees growing on his reservation, which are
“older than the United States,” alive when Abraham Lincoln, George Washington,
and Benjamin Franklin were alive, Junior begins to understand that his Indian
heritage transcends history (Diary 219).
He finds that he is free to be both Native and American; he discovers the
ability to nurture his reservation friendships and his American dreams.
Although it is more heavily portrayed in Alexie’s
writing for adolescents and young adults, the romantic ideal of the American
Indian persists. However, for
Sherman Alexie, the romanticized Indian is only useful when it enables critical
reflection the state of today’s Native American cultural identity.
In both Killer and Diary, Alexie uses irony to turn the notion
of the romantic Indian on its head.
He uses this romanticized ideal to criticize America’s ignorance of and
dismissal of the dilemma of the American Indian.
Cooper anticipated the tragedy of Native American culture in the death of
Uncas and the isolation of Chingachgook.
However much Cooper saw a partnership between American Indians and the
colonists who would become America, portrayed by Hawkeye’s commitment to
Chingachgook, he did not anticipate the end of the frontier in The Last of
the Mohicans. It is Alexie who
deals with the end of the frontier and asks what happens to the American Indian
when whites refuse to see them as complex beings, preferring to think of them as
either all good like Uncas or all bad like Magua.
Bibliography
Alexie, Sherman. Indian Killer. New York: Grove Press, 1996. Print.
——-. The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian. New York: Little,
Brown and Company, 2007. Print.
http://www.theatlantic.com/past/docs/unbound/interviews/ba2000-06-01.htm
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