Walking the Clouds, edited by Grace L. Dillon

Flight by Sherman Alexie embodies the genre of sf literature characterized as Native Slipstream. According to the introduction of the anthology, this unique Native method of storytelling is “a species of speculative fiction within the sf realm, infuses stories with time travel, alternate realities and multiverses, and alternate histories.” (pg.3) Zits, the main character of the story, transitions through episodes of slippages that call forth “representative moments in Native American history.” (pg.52) Another theme that resonates throughout the narrative arises through the interpretation of these representational events that inform Zits identity in his present life. As a result, Alexie provides a larger argument or discussion for the state of reservation youth as it stands today by examining the effects of internal colonization on them. Shellshaker and this story makes a reference to internal colonization and I would like to learn or discuss more about what this means to us. Dillon seems to say that internal colonization has a capacity for “self-loathing” (pg.52) of the individual. Does this story really move beyond the “self-loathing” dimension of internal colonization?

I was also very intrigued by the symbolism of the character or imagined character named Justice who allegedly prompted Zits to “go to the bank and kill people.” (pg. 58) I think Justice was a fabrication in Zits mind symbolizing the violence of colonialism, or perhaps the internal implantation of colonization in the mind. The fact that we never see Justice is also a commentary of his invisibility to Zits. He/she whatever Justice was was the distributor of the two guns. So by not deciding to kill innocent people does this mean that Zits triumphed over the attempt of colonialism to eliminate him by confining him to incarceration or some other systemic punishment?

In Men on the Moon, Simon J. Ortiz “shares skepticism for a common sf trope, the discovery (sic) of “new worlds” that offer plunder and adventure to technologically advanced colonizers. The story quietly questions assumptions about Native peoples’ ‘technoprimitism’ by juxtaposing the television imagery of the first lunar landing with an elder’s dream of a machine monster on the moon.” (pg.85) Throughout the story, the grand-father, Faustin, is puzzled by the objective of the Apollo mission because the goal of space exploration was in search of something that was already answered. “He wonders, hasn’t anyone ever told them?” (pg. 86) Ortiz clearly emphasizes the importance of ancestral knowledge as something inherent in the Native, or inherent in oral tradition that seeks to uncover “truth.” Faustin’s ancestral message comes to him in the form of a dream of contact between a machine monster and the Native people of the moon. He devises this ʻike pāpālua or second vision, as the “truth” or the ultimate symbol of knowledge. A theme also interwoven in Shellshaker. Ortiz’s larger commentary highlights the importance of Native story-telling as a means to seek knowledge as opposed to the danger of technological advancement of knowledge (really colonization in the case of the exploration of the universe).

When Faustin, relays the events of his dream to his grand-son, Amarosho is skeptical at first, but then he agrees that it is the “truth” thereby passing this “knowledge” to his grand-son. Amarosho, serves as the symbol that teaches his grand-father of “modern” ways because his grand-father is not familiar with english and “Mericano” ways. The grand-father is then the symbol of ancestral knowledge that translates what his grand-son teaches him into Native perspectives. I like how they both refer to eachother as Nana. It relates to how we have discussed the new contemporary grand-child, grand-parent relationship where the grand-child teaches the grand-parent about cultural knowledge. Yet, Ortiz seems to say that no matter who is doing the teaching, we are all products of our ancestors, or that Amarosho and Faustin are reciprocal reflections of eachother.

I chose this story because I like learning about the Apollo missions and question the need for space exploration in general. I used to devise conspiracy theories of how the U.S. never went there and how the event was staged because of the context of the historical “space race” of the time. Further, I have no reception going through/up the pali and your telling me that the U.S. went to the moon? Why hasn’t this technological age figured out how I can get service on the pali yet? There’s something wrong about this picture and investing so much in things that have simple answers as Faustin would agree. I haven’t devised any new theories recently because my boyfriend went to Space camp and got to wear Neil Armstrong’s glove, hold a moon rock, and bla bla bla. I’ll think of something though, are we story-telling in class again today? Haha just kidding...

Sorry so late guys. I was engrossed in the U.S. election last night.

Native slipstream

Walking the Clouds, An Anthology of Indigenous Science Fiction is edited by Grace Dillon. She earned her PhD in literary studies and is associate professor in the Indigenous Nations Studies program at Portland State University in Oregon.

Cyberpunk author Bruce Sterling wrote, “slipstream is a kind of writing which simply makes you feel very strange; the way that living in the twentieth century makes you feel, if you are a person of a certain sensibility."

The technique is similar to “defamiliarization”. “Defamiliarization” is the artistic technique of forcing the audience to see common things in an unfamiliar or strange way, in order to enhance perception of the familiar.

Reality is stranger than fantasy, because time is neither circular, nor linear. The future cannot be predicted because the future does not exist. The status quo is not inevitable to indigenous people. Therefore, we have to shape the future in native way of thinking. The first thing we have to is to imagine alternatives. Native slipstream is useful tool, I think.

"Native slipstream, a species of speculative fiction within the sf realm, infuses stories with time travel, alternate realities and multiverses, and alternative histories.  As its name implies, Native slipstream views time as pasts, presents, and futures that flow together like currents in a navigable stream.  It thus replicates nonlinear thinking about space-time.  In other contexts, the term slipstream often becomes a catchall for speculative writing that defies neat categorization." (p. 3)

Native slipstream provide us visionary perspective and utopian thought. Visionary perspective propse the direction and aim. Utopian thoughts are needed for fuel to keep fighting against enemy.

Indigenous Science Fiction

       Walking the Clouds, An Anthology of indigenous science fiction features selections of Native science fiction texts categorized into sections. Indigenous science fiction as Dillon states offers a unique perspective using Native perspectives in a format which is “associated almost exclusively with ‘the increasing significance of the future to Western techno-cultural consciousness’” (2). This contrast of a genre typically associated to a large degree with Western ontology (science, technology, individualism, objectivism, colonialism) but used to develop indigenous themes (land value, community, nature centric, spiritual, traditional) offers an important perspective on survivance. Envisioning possible outcomes, as Dillon states is not new to indigenous communities, and science fiction is an open tool for exploring outcomes.

        The excerpt from Flight, by Sherman Alexie, uses themes of time slippage and alternative futures in the story of an orphaned 15 year old named Zits who traces his life from the loss of his parents to sexual abuse by his Aunt’s boyfriend leading to his life in foster homes, and finally the streets. The body shifting that happens to him leads him to abandon a planned mass shooting in a bank. As Dillon states Alexie’s use of slippages allows him to “move beyond the self-loathing of internal colonialization Alexie might argue typifies reservation youth today (precisely his target audience) and toward a more holistic sense of self and place” (53). Alexie’s disruption of the trajectory of abandonment, abuse and homelessness by Zits, who closes the excerpt by revealing that his real name is Michael, offers perspective on the experiences of others battling these challenges.

       Sanders, When the World Is All on Fire, on the other hand uses the experience of Sargeant Davis Blackbear to illustrate a Native perspective on apocalypse. Despite the broad scale of this theme, Sanders’s work focuses on Blackbear’s encounter with a family squatting in the reservation. Blackbear becomes charmed by the singing of the daughter of the squatters and later helps her avoid arrest in town for stealing a pendant. By helping her and offering her a ride to her home, he ends up in a confrontation with her father who refuses the assistance that Blackbear offered her. As a result he is reprimanded by his supervisor and told not to go into town. Not long after this incident a wildfire flares up destroying much of the reservation. After a multiday response Blackbear finds out that the wildfire was caused by arson and likely set by the girl’s father. Sanders’s piece, although it does not explain the causes of the apocalyptic conditions that made the family homeless, offers glimpses of the apocalyptic world outside the reservation. His work touches on themes of colonialization, and racism inherent in experiences of Indians on reservations.

       On of the contributors, Gerry William states “The grand gestures of people in critical leadership positions can be juxtaposed with the ordinary soldiers, farmers, bureaucrats etc. that make up the world being described. In my own small way I try to honor this type of writing. One is indebted to the society one grows up in, and one also owes it to that society to follow the traditions established. Constantly challenging those traditions brings on an instability that if carried too far can destroy the good parts of a culture just as much as the parts being questioned. There is a responsibility here that is true to the tribal traditions I grew up in—respect for one’s family, tribe and elders is just as important as finding one’s own way”. (79) Williams very nuanced yet succinct summary of the complexities inherent in the political world. His statement offers reflection on the conflicts between generations, between those who do for a living and those who are in charge, between academia and the greater workforce etc. His statement does raise many questions about where that line between respect and adaptation is. Are there inherent dangers in attempting to draw a line?

Flight and Distances - Sherman Alexie

I chose the two Sherman Alexie stories because I like his work.  I first learned about Alexie from the film “Smoke Signals.”  If you have a Hulu Plus account, you can watch Smoke Signals by CLICKING HERE, otherwise you can watch a trailer for it by CLICKING HERE.

The one issue that I have with Walking the Clouds is the use each individual brief introduction that precedes each story.  While I appreciate those, at the same time, I think it reveals too much before letting the reader understand the larger indigenous context (details, nuances, and issues) that is implicit in the stories.

Sherman Alexie Flight
I have to confess, I loved the show Quantum Leap and was excited when Grace Dillon referenced that awesome show from the 1990s (53).  The brief introduction before the story excerpt definitely left me wanting to get the actual book.  While the excerpt describes the protagonist's (Michael) ability to "manifest" in five characters, the excerpt only gives us a glimpse of one of those characters, an orphaned 15-year old called "Zits".

I cannot help but believe (especially after Sherman Alexie's comments in the interview above at around 25:10) that Alexie wants to ending harmful "cycles" or "stopping [harmful] images" facing Native American youth.  Alexie uses Michael/Zits as a way of ending a cycle of violence in Flight.  Dillon described this as, "reject[ing] the chance to participate in a Columbine-like random killing spree at a Seattle bank" (53).

I also wonder how much of Alexie's Michael/Zits character is representative of himself.  The interview above, taken with the statement, "these slippages represent rites of passage that allow him to move beyond the self-loathing of internal colonization that Alexie might argue typifies reservation youth today . . . and toward a more holistic sense of self and place" (52-53) indicates that Alexie himself today is not (and probably never was) the typical reservation youth.

Reviewing the text of the excerpt, I didn't immediately realize that when Michael first stated,  "Yes, I'm supposed to kill for Justice," that he was actually referring to his co-conspirator also named Justice.  But, the excerpt isn't clear that Justice is really a person.  Maybe the actual story elaborates more on this.


Sherman Alexie Distances
As Dillon explains, Distances continues the survivance of the Ghost Dance.  I thought that Distances also had traces of identity, especially since there were three categories: Others; ancestral persons, Urbans; Indians who previously lived in the city and now live on the reservation, and Skins; Indians who lived their whole lives on the reservation.  I thought it was interesting how Urbans and Skins were prohibited from marriage as determined by the Tribal Council.  

I wonder if Alexie intended to use the transistor radio as a metaphor for something else.  The protagonist states, "I examined it closely . . . for  . . . damage.  But there was nothing, no imperfection I could see.  .  .  . All the mistakes would be on the inside, where you couldn't see, couldn't reach."  Clearly, Alexie encourages all of us to go beyond the surface.

The Technological Sublime, Flight, and the Crazy Horse Monument

I was interested in Indigenous perspectives regarding the “technological sublime”: the inspiring/perplexing effect that man-made machines create with the power to transcend time and space.  Over the weekend I read a CNN article about the image of the controversial memorial for the Lakota warrior Crazy Horse who is known for contributing to Custer’s defeat and death.  Although, many supported the carving of a mountain to construct the monument, other Lakota peoples protested the projects disregard of the sacred Black Hills burial grounds.  In this case the logic behind the technological sublime was not to “better mankind”, like the landing on the moon, but rather to better the status of indigenous peoples: “My fellow chiefs and I would like the white man to know the red man has great heroes also."

I can imagine that many indigenous peoples had the same reaction that Faustin had to the reasoning behind the Apollo moon landing mission.  The “cognitive estrangement” that Faustin experienced was not solely due to the technological achievements of the Apollo mission, but also at the logic behind the mission.  After reading about Faustin’s reaction to the moon mission, I wondered about the logic behind the Crazy Horse monument and other monuments of Indigenous heroes.  Is the monument of Crazy Horse a potential point of contact for outsiders with negative or mistaken views of the warrior?  Or is this a “machine monster” nightmare of utilizing western concepts of a “memorial” and ultimately a desecration of a sacred Indigenous site?  I don’t know, however; Simon Ortiz’s Men on the Moon definitely helped me think more critically about the Crazy Horse memorial.   

What if any affect does such a monument of Indigeneity have on self-loathing (internally colonized) youth, like “Zits/Michael” from Flight?  I liked this excerpt from Flight because it focuses on the multi-generational effects of colonization, both external and internal. One of the most powerful images for me was when Michael tries to shape shift into a little blond boy and realizes that “I cannot be him.” (54)   I thought that Michel’s ability to jump from one time/identity and to another was a metaphor for the vulnerability of youth that “Alexie [the author] might argue typifies reservation youth today.” (53)  Perhaps monuments of Indigenous heroes, like Crazy Horse, can reinforce pride of indigenous heritage for those trying to run away from it.  But again, according to an interview with the founder of the Native Sun News in the CNN article: “he has never heard "a single Native American say, 'I'm proud of that mountain.' "

(just a thought)

 … Dillion’s emphasis on Native mischievousness; namely, as being “tricksters.”  She’s basically arguing that “trickster fashion” is a characteristic trait of First Nations people; and thus it is a good thing – contrasting with heteropatriarchy, and how it loathes defiance, disorderly conduct, (criminal) mischief, etc.   I chose to focus on Indigenous identity with an interest in Hawaiian identity this semester.  And, like the writers in this anthology, I share the controversial idea that defiance is at the essence of indigeneity.  Defiance is trickery in the sense that both manifestations undermine the stability of heteropatriarchy.  Take, for instance, the murder of Captain Cook (as well as San Vitores’s).  Their deaths suggest that indigenous people have, from the start, been deathly defiant to foreign encroachment upon Native way-of-Life.  Mo‘olelo like these should not be forgotten.  The famous Hawaiian proverb, i mohala no ka lehua i ke ke‘ekehi ‘ia e ka ua, should be visualized as a defiant, resilient, and yet prosperous life in spite of difficult adversity.  “Tread” is understood as (the rain) trampling (on the plant) – invoking the sense of harsh environmental forces.  This is much different than Pukui’s translation, which gives us the ethical suggestion that “People respond better to gentle words than to scoldings.”  Do you guys think characteristic traits like trickery, mischievousness, defiance, etc. ought to be promoted for the sake of indigenous identity?    

I found this week’s narrative to be more thought-provoking and effective than last week’s Shell Shaker.  If sf as a genre has not been adequately explored by indigenous writers; then it should be.  In Dillion’s words, what sf provides is “an equally valid way to renew, recover, and extend First Nations peoples’ voices and traditions” (1-2) through a genre that defies colonial metaphysics, epistemologies, and ontologies.  Especially useful is the concept of Native slipstream, which estranges the colonial understanding of linear space/time.  Thus, sf is an effective vehicle through which identity can be forged within a more “Native-centered theory” (86).  Native expression through sf is also advantageous because as it disrupts linear space/time, it also disrupts the “first principles” of heteropatriarchy (i.e., God created the world and then time started) – which, in turn, refutes Manifest Destiny as justification for colonialism.  Creative possibility in “the spirit of imagining Indigenous futurisms” (150) is what sf offers us.  This flexibility allows uniquely Native narratives to challenge heteropatriarchy with alternative realities.  Sierra S. Adare’s quote on page 171 sums up why sf is both practical and efficient, “[S]cience fiction is the only genre that suggests that First Nations peoples and their cultures have a future that has not been assimilated into the dominant society.”  Overall, I think this anthology shows that sf can be an effective tool for Native self-expression.  

                   

The Native Slipstream: Walking the Clouds

Walking the Clouds: An Anthology of Indigenous Science Fiction

Edited by Grace L. Dillon

I read on the back that this is the “first-ever anthology of Indigenous science fiction,” so I have to compliment Grace L. Dillon. I definitely want to read more!

I chose to focus on two pieces from “The Native Slipstream”: Diane Glancy’s short story, “Aunt Parnetta’s Electric Blisters,” and the excerpt from Sherman Alexie’s novel, Flight.

First, I just have to rave about the stunning turns of phrase by Diane Glancy:

“Millions of years can be ‘kinked up and crawled over.’” (26)

“Stars were holes where the rain came in.” (32)

“…inside the coils, an ice river surged.” (32)

“It was the bright sparks of the Keetowah fire, the holy bonfire from which smaller fires burned, spreading the purification of the Great Spirit into each house. Into each hard, old pinecone heart.” (33)

I could go on. This is definitely a strong entry into Native Slipstream science fiction,where “time as pasts, presents, and futures…flow together like currents in a navigable stream” (Dillon 3). The combination of technology and tradition pull the reader under, into Aunt Parnetta’s consciousness, and time feels suspended as it does in a fridge, where, Glancy keenly observes, it is always winter. In class, we’ve examined time as linear, as circular, and now there comes this image of a spiral, the fridge’s coil intestines. It is a dream-like world where Aunt Parnetta finally escapes from the whining of the refrigerator to meet the Great Spirit, where she comes to the realization that she, too, complains and moans—much like the fridge. Aunt Parnetta is more of an old soul, but she still longs for a spark to warm her “hard, old pinecone heart.” (Glancy 33) By slipping through “multiverses,” Aunt Parnetta renews her connection with the Great Spirit and remembers again, the purifying power of holy bonfire. I still don’t have any concrete idea of what the “electric blisters” the title refers to are, and I’m perfectly content with that.

Sherman Alexie’s narrator in Flight is a much younger voice, a boy called “Zits,” who immediately came across as engaging and genuine—even though he was planning to shoot up a bank. “Justice” as a living incarnation unfettered by time has set Zits on a path to achieve revenge. The “slipstream” style has alternatively been described as disruptive of realities or concrete perceptions, but in Flight, the disruptions are smooth, as opposed to interrupting; Alexie makes you accept Zits’s ability to circumnavigate linear time without question: “I walk for days. I walk for years.” (Alexie 57) For example, Zits sees a young white boy with his mother and thinks: “I want to be him. I close my eyes and try and step in his body. But it doesn’t work. I cannot be him.” (54) The disruption has already happened when Zits tries to enter another’s body, but another narrative is simultaneously being told, one in which Zits cannot bridge the imperialist history that sets the boy apart from him. On another level, it could be Zits understanding that he cannot assimilate. On the simplest level, it could be Zits’ longing for a mother who would love him like that, and it is often the simplest lessons—“Maybe you’re not supposed to kill… Maybe you’re supposed to believe that all life is sacred.” (Alexie 57)—that are the hardest to grasp, because forgiveness is a process that requires time—whatever that is.

My other favorite stories were Gerald Vizenor’s “Custer on the Slipstream,” Simon Ortiz’s “Men on the Moon,” Sherman Alexie’s “Distances,” and Eden Robinson’s “Terminal Avenue.” The entire collection points to the fact that Indigenous peoples have been dealing with apocalypses and alien invasions for a long time, and through science fiction, they can freely envision Indigenous futurisms in an arena where imperialist motives are laid bare and traditional Western beliefs, such as time as linear, are challenged.