Myths and stories
are often a way of describing how something happened when we’re not sure what
really happened. Some realistic, some ridiculous, and some that only seem true
if they are part of your belief system. In class we discussed how Erdrich’s
books have a mystical element that is true to the Native Americans, but seems
fanciful to us. In one of my education classes we just read the book How Big
is a Foot by Rolf Myller, which is a very funny children’s book telling the
story of how the foot became standardized to the unit it is today. This book
was introduced with the discussion about it being a “myth” meaning a story that
is made up to explain something. Grendel, and its original, Beowulf,
can be read as the myth of how Denmark became unified. These myths, with
different gradations of plausibility, can all be seen as filling a need for a
story of how something became what we know.
I would like to
suggest that the excerpt we heard Erdrich read in class is another example of a
story that was made to fill a need.
Below is a copy of the passage from the older version (so not exactly
what we heard):
“There are, of course, the slick and
deadly wheels of reservation cars. Poisons, occasionally, set out for our
weaker cousins the mice and rats. Not to speak of the coyotes, the paw-snapping
jaws of clever Ojibwa trapper steel. And we may happen into the snares set as
well for our enemies. Lynx. Marten. Feral cats. Bears whom of course we
worship. I learned early. Eat anything you can at any time. Fast. Bolt it down.
Stay cute, but stay elusive. Don’t let them think twice when they’ve got the
hatchet out. I see cold steel, I’m gone. Believe it. And there are of course
all sorts of illnesses we dread. Avoid the bite of the fox. It is madness.
Avoid all bats. Avoid all black-and-white-striped moving objects. And slow
things with spiny quills. Avoid all humans when they get into a feasting mood.
Get near the tables fast, though, once the food is cooked. Stay close to their
feet. Stay ready.
But don’t steal from their plates.
Avoid medicine men. Snakes. Boys
with BB guns. Anything rope-like or easily used to hang or tie. Avoid outhouse
holes. Cats that live indoors. Do not sleep under cars. Or with horses. Do not
eat anything attached to a skinny, burning string. Do not eat lard from the
table. Do not go into the house at all unless no one is watching. Do not,
unless you are absolutely certain you can blame it on a cat, eat any of their
chickens. Do not eat pies. Do not eat decks of cards, plastic jugs, dry beans,
dish sponges. If you must eat a shoe, eat both of the pair, every scrap,
untraceable. Sit quietly when they talk of powwows. Slink into the woods when
they pack the vans. You could get left behind in Bwaanakeeng. Dog soup,
remember? Dog muffins. Dog hot-dish. Don’t even think of hitching along.
Always, when in doubt, the rule is
you are better off underneath the steps. Don’t chase cars driven by young
teenage boys. Don’t chase cars driven by old ladies. Don’t bark or growl at men
cradling rifles. Don’t get wet in winter, and don’t let yourself dry out when
the hot winds of August blow. We’re not equipped to sweat. Keep your mouth
open. Visit the lake. Pee often. Take messages from tree stumps and the corners
of buildings. Don’t forget to leave in return a polite and respectful hello.
You never know when it will come in handy, your contact, your friend. You never
know whom you will need to rely upon.”
Erdrich, Louise (2009-10-13). The
Antelope Wife (Kindle Locations 1208-1225). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition.
While this story
has value as entertainment (as evidenced by the fact that we all laughed while
listening to it), I think that it has a larger value to the Native American
myth. We attribute the fact that dogs have a survival sense not to do these
things to our modern knowledge of psychology, and we talk about
“self-preservation” and about “altruism”. There are theories about survival of
the fittest and instincts for survival. We talk about Pavlovian conditioning
and test learning on mice. However, all this is dependent on our assumption
that dogs have these ingrained habits and that they don’t need to be taught
like humans do.
The Native American myth is not only stories, but it a ritual of the passing of tradition (I am so inclined to call it mesorah). Therefore, they also attributed a story to how the dogs passed on their traditions of survival similar to themselves. This passing of tradition and passing on keys to survival is a common theme in Native American writings.
The Native American myth is not only stories, but it a ritual of the passing of tradition (I am so inclined to call it mesorah). Therefore, they also attributed a story to how the dogs passed on their traditions of survival similar to themselves. This passing of tradition and passing on keys to survival is a common theme in Native American writings.
I’m wondering if this story about a
conversation between dogs is related to the general tendency I have noticed in
that Native Americans attribute more human characteristics to animals than our
culture does. Is this a valid observation? The conversation that the dogs are having
in this piece is an interesting compromise between a human passing on tips for
survival and a mockery of how a dog sees the world. However, it is attributing
more thought and learning to a dog than we would.
Interesting idea Shulie! It is a very effective writing tool, this personification. In Grendel, the 'monster' is given a human-like voice, something that is not possible when written from the point of view of the humans. Mark Twain also uses this idea in his writings, such as in a short story he wrote entitled "The Notorious Jumping Frog of Caleveras County". Twain endows the frog with human like characteristics, such as when he writes, "You never see a frog so modest and straightfor'ard as he was, for all he was so gifted." Perhaps this method is so effective because it allows for readers to more easily relate to the object/animal being characterized. Once people can relate to it, it is much easier for the reader to understand the point of view/perspective of that object/animal. If the author were to refrain from using personifications, then the object/animal would remain as an abstract idea, hardly relatable to humans, thus preventing the reader from becoming more enraptured with the situation of the animal/object. Using this literary technique greatly enhances an author's writings, as it enables the reader to connect much better with the situation being described.
ReplyDeleteI actually found the excerpt to be even funnier when I read it here, than when Erdrich read it aloud in the interview. When reading it now, I got this image of a tough, scarred dog, maybe with a eyepatch, chewing a cigarette in the corner of it’s mouth, giving life advice. He’s seen it all, and he’s unfazed. Super hardboiled dog.
ReplyDeleteIt does have a sense of a continuum of tradition, passing on survival tips from those older and wiser to the younger and stupider. They won’t really understand why they should follow the advice (“Huh? But why can’t I eat dish sponges? Sure, I could eat both shoes, not a problem.) but they’ll try to do it anyway, or they’ll unfortunately learn exactly why it’s a bad idea to left behind in Bwaanakeeng. They’re in a world that doesn’t belong to them, that they don’t fully understand, and they’re passing on what they do know so others could benefit from their mistakes and experiences. Because of that, they are unmistakably dogs, attempting to survive a strange world where eating slow things with spiny quills is Bad, Don’t Do It.
I don't have much experience with Native American folktales (despite recently discovering "American Indians Tales & Legends" on the bottom of my bookshelf), but from what I generally know about folk tales folk tales, plus some internet trawls, plus Tracks, it does seem like Native American culture is replete with animals that have human characteristics, like speech, and honor, and also human vices, like greed and jealousy. Despite their humanity, they live animal lives, with animal concerns. In the stories, they are similar enough that they can sometimes be bargained with, or argued with, and sometimes they are something "other," to be respected at a distance, or hunted as the case may be. In that way, these stories straddle the fence between the relatable and the mystical.
an interesting thing to add to this. In my fieldwork this morning i saw a board set up to discuss fairy tales vs folktales vs fables. It made me think about this, what are the differences between them, where are the lines? this would seem to be a folktale, but it could also be a fable. any thoughts?
ReplyDeleteI've never liked animal-character stories, despite being a fan of fantasy in general. Perhaps it's because it's difficult to sympathize with the more two-dimensional animal characters than with human ones, or because animals make the reader too aware of the trickery; there is no way to empathize with them without being aware that he's just a device of one sort or another. But, as Shulie mentioned, myths are like that too- in their purest form, they are flat, and usually strongly favor plot over character to teach a point. I thought the dog passage above was overbearing, but I liked Tracks, perhaps because the myths weren't so clearly delineated, and the lessons not laid out. Nanapush says at one point something like, "the waters were already so murky; I thought I'd give them another stir." In that way, Native American myths act as stories more than traditional myths- less didactic than thought-provoking.
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