Sweetgrass is the second of three in a trilogy set on the Mozhay Reservation in northern Minnesota: The Dance Boots; The Road Back to Sweetgrass; and, her most recent, In the Night of Memory.
The Road to Sweetgrass concentrates on a generation of Ojibwe women coming of age and one man from an older generation. Through these four and the family, friends and a few strangers who enter their lives, we hear the stories of what happens to them from the time they were teens to middle age. As in LeGarde Grover’s previous book, The Dance Boots, the characters move through life and its tragedies, not as though each tragedy is the end, but as though tragedies are part of the one’s world, always have been, always will be. The particulars of life on Indian land in northern Minnesotais described in detail. By that I mean, one learns how homes looked on the inside, how fry bread is made, how one cleans a tar paper house (provided by the self-proclaimed, “generous” federal government after a forced relocation scheme for the tribe – “You can take . . . , Mr. Muskrat, anything you can carry away; Mrs. Muskrat, you, too. The federal government is going to build another house here for the LaForce family, and I can promise you that the same will be done for you at the place you decide on by the river. I have the authority to do that. These will be warm, tar-papered lumber houses, very fine houses, with raised floors. Your missus will like that.”), surviving rape and becoming pregnant, how to rice – the full range of human emotions and tragedies. It reminded me of Claire Denis’s 35 Shots of Rum, a peerless movie about North Africans in Paris, which portrays North Africans, not North Africans in relation to whites, as most movies here do, but as themselves in their setting. It’s a world apart from the dominant society but infiltrated by it in large and small ways. Characters you’ll meet in Sweetgrass: Margie Robineau, the paternity of whose daughter Crystal no one knows for sure, despite lots of gossip; Zho Washington, a kind man whose first wife he never touched because he fell in love with her while she was in a TB sanatorium and whose second wife left him because she wanted more fun than an old man on a reservation could provide; the Dionne girls, according to a woman elder, the only nice one being Dale Ann named because her father was crazy about Roy Rogers; and their mother, Grace Dionne: “We never knew exactly how old (Grace) was, . . . . and because she wasn’t from Mozhay but from somewhere in Louisiana, it was impossible for Mrs. Minogeezhik and Beryl Duhlebon, the reservation experts on linkages between genealogy and behavioral and physical characteristics, to establish a explanation for her aggressive housekeeping and strict child rearing.”
LeGarde Grover’s great gift is her voice and tone, a delicate way of noticing people and what they do and what that engenders in their lives. The people the author places at the forefront, she treats with kindness and understanding. She doesn’t chastise them for their faults or behavior, or exonerate them. She simply describes what is.
Although LeGarde Grover documents poverty, lack of medical services, and the obtrusiveness, plain foolishness and meanness of the federal government, another of her great gifts is never prescribing how a reader should think about what has happened to our First Persons. Nor does she emphasize the poverty in a way that makes a reader pity her characters and think, “Oh, my God, how awful. How can anyone bear it?” She relates in a trustworthy voice a story about three girls and a man and their way of life so that one reads it as a fellow human being, not as an anthropologist looking at foreign specimens.
Recommended highly.