Unflinching and sharp-eyed, The Missing Morningstar is a knockout collection of short stories brimming with originality. Stacie Shannon Denetsosie invites us to look around Navajo Nation through the eyes and thoughts of highly observant characters who are straddling multiple worlds, pondering their identities, and considering their options.
Denetsosie’s female protagonists are forthright and perceptive. She writes with a blunt style that is engagingly matter of fact. Denetsosie gets her stories up and running quickly, bringing us along for the ride as easy as climbing into a car. Many of the stories take place around Kayenta, Arizona but Denetsosie also takes us to Utah, Idaho and Houston. There are convenience stores and trailers, hopes and dreams, ghosts and spirits. “Snow Bath Season” is one of the wittiest ten pages I’ve read in a long time.
In “Dormant,” grocery store bagger Bernadine helps Aaron, a high school student teacher and former Mormon missionary, deliver a stray cat from Kayenta to a vet in Tuba City. After the delivery, they stroll through a flea market and stop at a food tent for a piccadilly, a “Navajo delicacy” with pickles on top of shaved ice. As in many of the stories, Denetsosie takes us inside how her characters believe they are being perceived. “A group of liver-marked elders with yellowed bifocal lenses stopped talking as Aaron and I sat down at a table near them. I shot them a knowing look. Aaron and I were a strange match, to them, but it was none of their business. Interracial couples always had a hard time on the reservation, especially when the woman was Navajo. We were only thought of as leaders and matriarchs when our bodies bore brown babies, born for Navajo men. Outside of that, we were lost Indians, left to live with our reservations.”
Later, as their summer relationship drifts into September, Bernadine needs a pregnancy test. She imagines herself moving in with Aaron and having a “beige baby,” but then realizes she’s not going anywhere, that she’s stuck living at home with her alcoholic mother and the sketchy men she brings home. “Intuitively, I knew it would always be that way, burned Spaghetti-O’s, and drives to the gas station for chewing tobacco … My mother was erratic, but we belonged to one another.”
In “Conception,” a candid story about struggles with fertility, Roanna wonders why she’s having trouble conceiving with her husband, Matt. “Were my antibodies torpedoing his swimmers like a game of Battlestar Gallactica? Or maybe I was so dedicated to decolonizing that my Navajo body rejected Matt’s Euro-sperms.” Roanna goes to extraordinary lengths to conceive by looking up an old flame. “It surprised me that he could live his life so honestly, be a dentist, and still be a rezzy. Talking to him was natural. I didn’t have to overcompensate or over explain anything. Casey just understood. Even when I started dropping my t’s and slipping into my rez accent, he matched rhythm.”
Denetsosie writes with a fine touch. Four examples:
“It got hot too, our shirts sticking to our bodies and hardening into little shells like we were stink bugs on an errand.”
“Her hair was combed back into a low ponytail secured with white buckskin, and she wore so much turquoise jewelry she sounded like a walking penny jar.”
“His Navajo was authentic, clinging to his syllables like fat on mutton in a forgotten stew.”
“It’s funny how the dead become more than themselves and take on monolithic existences, like they are ancient dwellings themselves.”
The title story is a beautiful and beguiling contemplation of gender fluidity. According to “The Missing Morningstar,” the traditional Navajo culture once took a progressive and enlightened view of LGBTQ issues around identity. Our narrator, who describes herself as a “masculine-feminine,” tells us now that the reservation today is “entrenched” in western gender roles. “A girl I knew was removed from the Women of the Navajo calendar because she was outed to the publishers for transitioning. There is a resurgence of two-spirits on the reservation, but the reservation is synonymous with isolation. We’re isolated as hell.”
Denetsosie wraps her tale in a tale of kidnapping at a convenience store that ends the story collection where it began on page one—amid the town trash.
The Missing Morningstar is beautifully written, start to finish. Congratulations to Torrey House Press for shining a light on this remarkable writer.