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Gardens in the Dunes
An Indian girl left orphaned after soldiers raid and destroy her village is adopted by a well-meaning American family, but she cannot forget her past and accept the white traditions and education they expect her to embrace. 35,000 first printing. Tour.
480 pages, Hardcover
First published April 6, 1999
67 people are currently reading
2126 people want to read
About the author
Leslie Marmon Silko
46 books929 followersLeslie Marmon Silko (born Leslie Marmon; born March 5, 1948) is a Native American writer of the Laguna Pueblo tribe, and one of the key figures in the First Wave of what literary critic Kenneth Lincoln has called the Native American Renaissance.
Silko was a debut recipient of the MacArthur Foundation Grant, now known as the "Genius Grant", in 1981 and the Native Writers' Circle of the Americas Lifetime Achievement Award in 1994. She currently resides in Tucson, Arizona.
(from Wikipedia)
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leslie_...
Silko was a debut recipient of the MacArthur Foundation Grant, now known as the "Genius Grant", in 1981 and the Native Writers' Circle of the Americas Lifetime Achievement Award in 1994. She currently resides in Tucson, Arizona.
(from Wikipedia)
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leslie_...
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 148 reviews
June 14, 2019
2019 is becoming my year of reading Silko, this now is the second novel I've read after Ceremony and I loved it as much, in some ways perhaps more, given the journey it takes the reader on. As Ceremony was the coing of age of a young man and set over a shorter period of time, Garden in the Dunes is more of a historical novel, set in the late 1800's, following the lives of two native American sisters, Indigo and Sister Salt and at various times, their Grandmother and the white woman Hattie who provides refuge for Indigo for a period of time after she escapes a boarding school she has been virtually imprisoned in.
The novel rests in numerous locations where the girls live and must adapt, but their spiritual home and the place they always wish to return to, the place where their Sand Lizard people come from is the gardens, inland from the river, where there is natural spring and if enough rain, plentiful opportunity to grow what they need to survive.
When the girls are with their Grandmother and return to the gardens they have a purpose, they learn when and how to plant, to prepare food, to stock it, to identify edible plants, they are natural foragers. When they are removed from their natural home, they have to find other ways to survive.
At times it has been necessary to flee, when there is insufficient rain or when pursued by authorities, who effectively kidnap Indian children, separating them from their families and way of life to put them into institutions, forcing another form of education on them.
Sister Salt is put to work in a laundry, then she and twin sisters she befriends decide to set up their own laundry service, living near a dam construction site, surviving together.
It's far-reaching in its geographic span and in its themes, which through the storytelling are often repeated in various forms through the behaviours of multiple characters along the way. Exploitation and corruption are everywhere, interfering in the way people try to live their lives, imposing their ways, trying to keep people(s) separate or making them conform to one perceived way.
Indigo never loses the essence of who she is, despite being groomed and dressed to accompany Hattie and her prospector/explorer husband, despite being taken far away to Europe, her heart is like a magnet, she never loses sight of her intention to find her sister and her mother. Fortunately for her, Hattie is a sensitive and intelligent woman, who though the child brings out a maternal response and desire in her, doesn't ignore this wish and promises to help her find them.
It's a brilliant depiction of so many issues around origins and identity and the ways people survive and thrive, in particular women. We see how their attempts and how they are thwarted, then how they compromise and how being with other women provides them a force, even when they are from different tribes or cultures, sometimes that is a necessary element to their survival, to learn from other women, from other experiences, to share what they know.
Despite it being a relatively long read, it felt like it could have gone on, some threads leave the reader wondering what happened next (Big Candy and Delena, Hattie), the endings come about a little quickly. It could easily have been two or three books.
That said, the final page and the closing sentences are beautifully given over to nature, to a demonstration that though we may grieve at what is passing, nature will always ensure that new life prevails, that something will survive from the ruin. That hope can manifest, though it may not be what we expect.
Themes
Women surviving, collaborating, working together - the gardens, the laundry, Aunt Bronwyn
Exploitation, domination - the dam, river, the rubber trees, flowers, orchids, citron, meteorites
Oppression/Judgement - of authorities over Indians, of one tribe over another, of men over women, of capitalist over explorer,
Spiritual, mystical, respect, ritual - Hattie's thesis and its rejection by the male order, the Messiah dance, Delena and the rains, standing stones in Bath, sculptures in Lucca
The novel rests in numerous locations where the girls live and must adapt, but their spiritual home and the place they always wish to return to, the place where their Sand Lizard people come from is the gardens, inland from the river, where there is natural spring and if enough rain, plentiful opportunity to grow what they need to survive.
When the girls are with their Grandmother and return to the gardens they have a purpose, they learn when and how to plant, to prepare food, to stock it, to identify edible plants, they are natural foragers. When they are removed from their natural home, they have to find other ways to survive.
At times it has been necessary to flee, when there is insufficient rain or when pursued by authorities, who effectively kidnap Indian children, separating them from their families and way of life to put them into institutions, forcing another form of education on them.
The authorities judged Sister Salt to be too much older than the others to be sent away to Indian boarding school. There was hope the little ones might be educated away from their blankets. But this one? Chances were she'd be a troublemaker and might urge the young ones to attempt escape. Orders were for Sister Salt to remain in custody of the Indian agency at Parker while Indigo was sent to the Sherman Institute in Riverside, California.
Sister Salt is put to work in a laundry, then she and twin sisters she befriends decide to set up their own laundry service, living near a dam construction site, surviving together.
It's far-reaching in its geographic span and in its themes, which through the storytelling are often repeated in various forms through the behaviours of multiple characters along the way. Exploitation and corruption are everywhere, interfering in the way people try to live their lives, imposing their ways, trying to keep people(s) separate or making them conform to one perceived way.
Indigo never loses the essence of who she is, despite being groomed and dressed to accompany Hattie and her prospector/explorer husband, despite being taken far away to Europe, her heart is like a magnet, she never loses sight of her intention to find her sister and her mother. Fortunately for her, Hattie is a sensitive and intelligent woman, who though the child brings out a maternal response and desire in her, doesn't ignore this wish and promises to help her find them.
It's a brilliant depiction of so many issues around origins and identity and the ways people survive and thrive, in particular women. We see how their attempts and how they are thwarted, then how they compromise and how being with other women provides them a force, even when they are from different tribes or cultures, sometimes that is a necessary element to their survival, to learn from other women, from other experiences, to share what they know.
Despite it being a relatively long read, it felt like it could have gone on, some threads leave the reader wondering what happened next (Big Candy and Delena, Hattie), the endings come about a little quickly. It could easily have been two or three books.
That said, the final page and the closing sentences are beautifully given over to nature, to a demonstration that though we may grieve at what is passing, nature will always ensure that new life prevails, that something will survive from the ruin. That hope can manifest, though it may not be what we expect.
Themes
Women surviving, collaborating, working together - the gardens, the laundry, Aunt Bronwyn
Exploitation, domination - the dam, river, the rubber trees, flowers, orchids, citron, meteorites
Oppression/Judgement - of authorities over Indians, of one tribe over another, of men over women, of capitalist over explorer,
Spiritual, mystical, respect, ritual - Hattie's thesis and its rejection by the male order, the Messiah dance, Delena and the rains, standing stones in Bath, sculptures in Lucca
November 21, 2015
I'd say if you're not willing to be totally immersed in this novel that you might have a tough go of it. I, however love Silko's work and fully committed myself to the experience. It could be circular and meandering at times, but I think all good tales are both of those things. The contrasting lives of Hattie and Edward with Indigo to Sister Salt's world was paced beautifully. As their respective circumstances grew more critical, the ironies and the conflicts became more elegantly drawn. Silko has, with this story, for me, redefined the definition of justice.
October 22, 2017
It's sad that this is the work that broke my revisiting of authors streak, but the cracks were already showing, albeit in different ways, in 'Humboldt's Gift' and Black Reconstruction in America , and going six months or so without one taste of novelty is a bit much. Out of them all, though, this is the work I would gladly see adapted, as while the textual delivery interfered too much with the ideals for my taste, the riotous profusion of demographic in a much hashed over time frame, which usually shows up as overwhelmingly white in period drams, would do wonders for the screen. The adult realities means this won't be as friendly as some other coming of age narratives, but not only is the work necessary, the existence of "Hannibal" as TV series attests that there's nothing that forbids transatlantic portrayals of breathtaking beauty and all too rampant systematic violence. It'd be easier on the eyes and the historical sensibilities than the pasty remakes choking the visual landscape, that's for sure.
For all my praise, I will admit that the aspirations outstripped the delivery by far. As i am still in the midst of grammar and standardized English, I can be forgiven for expecting to not have to do detective work every time a verb tense shows up that is achieving something more complicated than the simple form. I don't know who edited this text, but they must have been magical indeed to keep track of every event that happened and was happening for nearly 500 pages. My other issue was the sheer repetitiveness; the same world building items were laid out every time something new was introduced, characters couldn't exist without their backstory being laid out every three sections, and the motivations of every action had to be accompanied by their entire plot history. The themes were admirable, but unlike Almanac of the Dead, there was no leaving the reader to their own devices of keeping the tangled plots and identities and climaxes straight, but instead endless repetition of the same old structural integrity, that probably doubled the length of the book. I initially chalked this up to conscious narratological decision when noticing how much more this afflicted the characterizations of the white characters than the indigenous/blacks/Latinx ones, but eventually it all devolved into OC fanfic redundancy. This is another reason I hope for this to show up on screen, as the few moments when characters and events were simply left to exist showed how much potential there was for the story to happen beyond the realm of text.
I'm not sure what happened between AotD and this. Possibly I notice repetitiveness less when the events are brutal and the landscapes are dire. Or the research done for the sake of covering this story's four countries and three continents didn't fit in as well into the narrative as it did in AotD. I'd like to say that I'll read more Silko in the future, but perhaps something shorty and definitely more previewed on my part. This was admittedly a pretty slog, but a slog nonetheless, especially when considering the lackluster ending of the myriad plot lines. I'll wait on an adaptation, but I'd only recommend this to those who really like to read about flowers.
For all my praise, I will admit that the aspirations outstripped the delivery by far. As i am still in the midst of grammar and standardized English, I can be forgiven for expecting to not have to do detective work every time a verb tense shows up that is achieving something more complicated than the simple form. I don't know who edited this text, but they must have been magical indeed to keep track of every event that happened and was happening for nearly 500 pages. My other issue was the sheer repetitiveness; the same world building items were laid out every time something new was introduced, characters couldn't exist without their backstory being laid out every three sections, and the motivations of every action had to be accompanied by their entire plot history. The themes were admirable, but unlike Almanac of the Dead, there was no leaving the reader to their own devices of keeping the tangled plots and identities and climaxes straight, but instead endless repetition of the same old structural integrity, that probably doubled the length of the book. I initially chalked this up to conscious narratological decision when noticing how much more this afflicted the characterizations of the white characters than the indigenous/blacks/Latinx ones, but eventually it all devolved into OC fanfic redundancy. This is another reason I hope for this to show up on screen, as the few moments when characters and events were simply left to exist showed how much potential there was for the story to happen beyond the realm of text.
I'm not sure what happened between AotD and this. Possibly I notice repetitiveness less when the events are brutal and the landscapes are dire. Or the research done for the sake of covering this story's four countries and three continents didn't fit in as well into the narrative as it did in AotD. I'd like to say that I'll read more Silko in the future, but perhaps something shorty and definitely more previewed on my part. This was admittedly a pretty slog, but a slog nonetheless, especially when considering the lackluster ending of the myriad plot lines. I'll wait on an adaptation, but I'd only recommend this to those who really like to read about flowers.
July 12, 2009
Book Club selection. I am two hundred pages into the book. It is VERY descriptive. While I enjoyed the first 68 pages of southwest desert description.....I am now skipping paragraphs as every flower in a Long Island garden is described. Because this book has been rated with four plus stars and I do want to know the fate of Indigo, the young girl, I am sticking with it. I think the book would be more enjoyable to me with half ( maybe one tenth as many descriptions.
It got worse...as on going descriptions of flowers filled the pages.
Book got somewhat better as I continued to read. The last one hundred pages were the best. If only the first two thirds of the book could have been condensed......
It got worse...as on going descriptions of flowers filled the pages.
Book got somewhat better as I continued to read. The last one hundred pages were the best. If only the first two thirds of the book could have been condensed......
January 17, 2009
I didn’t think I’d like this book because I had a negative impression of Silko, who can really like McArthur genius grantees? But I liked it very much. It’s set in the early 20th century on the banks of the Colorado River near Needles, and centers on two sisters of a almost extinct tribe. Silko uses a third person point of view that is quite rich in its description of the natural world around the character, as well as the character’s inner emotional state. She weaves several peoples stories, Indigo, the 10 year old Indian, Hattie, a white feminist, whose dissertation was rejected at Harvard for finding ancient texts that empowert women, a black cook who is trying to make a stake by selling beer, prostitutes and food to the construction workers of the Hoover dam, and a few others. Silko creates the indigenous world view in detail where sex is natural and survival includes finding green shoots under the sand to live, hiding from the Indian police in the grass, and doing everything to return to home and the dessert. She goes a little manic by describing gardens in New England, England, and Italy that could never actually exist. She also throws in feminist symbology from Gnostic texts, to ancient stone sculptures without true scholarship. But in the end you care about Indigo and Hattie.The detail and care of the writing is evident.
February 27, 2012
Though I've heard many people disregard this book, considering it to be feminist chaff, I was very much enthralled with the story and the painstakingly detailed description of the world as Silko re-creates it. While I didn't find any male characters with much sagacity or overt charm in her novel, Silko does touch on various topics with particular grace. Her discussion of women's role in religion--including Catholicism and different Native American spiritualities--was one that kept me engaged in the novel. Particularly, the character of Hattie became the story's protagonist for a short while, stealing the limelight from Indigo of the Sand Lizard People (a fictional tribe of Silko's imagination). Hattie's work on a thesis on gnostic texts, studying the hidden and silenced female figures of the Christian canon (and goddesses of the ancient world), was quite exhilarating--though the instances were contained to only a few separate sections in the novel.
The contrasts between natural/civilized, sexuality/impotence, nature/science, white/Indian, and male/female made for an eye-opening experience. While I drifted many times during Silko's descriptions of flora and locale, these themes were quite compelling and came together in a rather cyclical, though somewhat anti-climactic ending. Overall, quite fascinating.
The contrasts between natural/civilized, sexuality/impotence, nature/science, white/Indian, and male/female made for an eye-opening experience. While I drifted many times during Silko's descriptions of flora and locale, these themes were quite compelling and came together in a rather cyclical, though somewhat anti-climactic ending. Overall, quite fascinating.
February 23, 2015
Not quite the action-packed epic that is Almanac of the Dead, or the purposefully laborious Ceremony, Gardens in the Dunes is an exquisite piece of storytelling that showcase the expansiveness of Silko's intellect, the magnitude of her research skills, and the deftness with which she weaves the weft of narrators through the warp of plot. Of her three novels, this one might be the spring to Almanac's summer and Ceremony's winter.
One of my favorite descriptions of Indigo came from Edward when he became concerned that she acted as though she was a noble queen and not the quiet, submissive, shy, unopionated maid his wife was supposed to be cultivating. My immediate response was, well, Indigo is acting like a human being who knows her worth--she is, in fact, by interacting with the world as if she were an equal to every other person she meets, exercising her rights more thoroughly than polite (white) society women and especially more than working class white women.
One of my favorite descriptions of Indigo came from Edward when he became concerned that she acted as though she was a noble queen and not the quiet, submissive, shy, unopionated maid his wife was supposed to be cultivating. My immediate response was, well, Indigo is acting like a human being who knows her worth--she is, in fact, by interacting with the world as if she were an equal to every other person she meets, exercising her rights more thoroughly than polite (white) society women and especially more than working class white women.
April 1, 2015
A beautiful, lush book. As a playwright, I struggled with the lack of dialogue, but I came to appreciate the necessity of the narrative style to the atmosphere of the story. Despite the "heavy" tone and the sorrow that permeates the plot, this is ultimately a hopeful book and one with a message I really needed right now: the Earth, and our connection to it, is what endures.
September 3, 2012
Very, very interesting... As the reader, I was taken on a long winding trail and met many characters that all came to life for me. That is a difficult task, but Silko pulls it off really well. I felt like I knew every person. 'Gardens in the Dunes' left me thinking about it - long after the book was passed on to a friend.
November 26, 2021
This story was beautiful. I fell in love with Indigo and didn't want to let her go. But it felt like the right thing in the end.
What stopped me from giving it 5 stars was that I didn't understand why we got to follow a few of the other characters on their own. And the chapters were far too long and it was hard to find a break in them sometimes.
What stopped me from giving it 5 stars was that I didn't understand why we got to follow a few of the other characters on their own. And the chapters were far too long and it was hard to find a break in them sometimes.
December 30, 2020
3.5 stars rounded up to 4. This used to be my favorite book hands down. This is my 2nd read and I related differently to Indigo, Sister Salt and Hattie than I did 10 years ago when I first read the book. I still love Indigo for her spirited determination and unyielding belief in meeting her relatives again. However, I thought the overly descriptive portions about Europe and the flowers dragged me as a reader. These bits were hard to get thru. A central message I manage to glean from Indigo's story centered on the power of imagining one's preferred future and holding fidelity to that construction.
February 16, 2022
I grew to like this book more and more as the action picked up. Main character Indigo, a younger sister, is on a quest to find her mother and older Sister Salt; her mother has taken on with a group of followers of the Messiah. Sister Salt has turned up at a dam construction site in the Southwest (Arizona?), taking relations with a Black cook / entrepreneur who's built a makeshift casino to serve the temp workers.
Indigo escapes a reservation school, and is found by Hattie and Edward. Hattie is a lapsed doctoral student, who has written a thesis deemed heretical by the an orthodoxical thesis committee at Harvard; Edward is a repeat failed entrepreneur, always looking for the next botanical (or mineralogical) product that can be exported to American and Europe for great profit. Much of the book is thus spent describing and conveying the journey that Hattie and Edward take with Indigo as they travel to Bath, England and eventually Corsica, Italy.
The relation between Indigo and Hattie is a beautiful story - initially Indigo is suspicious and shy, but she warms up to Hattie (and vice versa). Hattie is continually reevaluating her marriage to Edward, but eventually realizes that
Plants, and nature, play a huge role in the book - Silko clearly displays the colonial/settler-ist mindset that pervades throughout the whole book, from the overflooding of lands due to the building of the dam, or the desire of the characters to build gardens in private homes, plants divorced from their natural surroundings.
Most of the characters reach a calamitous or tragic end, financially or healthwise, by the end of the book. I do wish that the book were cut by 25%, especially sections nearer to the beginning - pacing-wise, I found the narration too slow.
Otherwise, Silko is clearly a lucid and powerful storyteller, with a command of language that is both effusive and exacting.
Indigo escapes a reservation school, and is found by Hattie and Edward. Hattie is a lapsed doctoral student, who has written a thesis deemed heretical by the an orthodoxical thesis committee at Harvard; Edward is a repeat failed entrepreneur, always looking for the next botanical (or mineralogical) product that can be exported to American and Europe for great profit. Much of the book is thus spent describing and conveying the journey that Hattie and Edward take with Indigo as they travel to Bath, England and eventually Corsica, Italy.
The relation between Indigo and Hattie is a beautiful story - initially Indigo is suspicious and shy, but she warms up to Hattie (and vice versa). Hattie is continually reevaluating her marriage to Edward, but eventually realizes that
Plants, and nature, play a huge role in the book - Silko clearly displays the colonial/settler-ist mindset that pervades throughout the whole book, from the overflooding of lands due to the building of the dam, or the desire of the characters to build gardens in private homes, plants divorced from their natural surroundings.
Most of the characters reach a calamitous or tragic end, financially or healthwise, by the end of the book. I do wish that the book were cut by 25%, especially sections nearer to the beginning - pacing-wise, I found the narration too slow.
Otherwise, Silko is clearly a lucid and powerful storyteller, with a command of language that is both effusive and exacting.
April 14, 2025
At first I had the impression that this was a new author because the writing style seemed a bit unpolished. But the author has written several books. And I’m the last person who should critique an author’s writing style. Eventually, I grew accustomed to it and it flowed better for me. I’m wondering if it was a result of editing, because later in the book I found typos; for example, “Indigo look up at Hattie.”
- For the first 200 pages, I kept thinking, where is the author going with this?
- I really got tired of reading about plants and gardens, even though I love gardening and especially caring for indoor orchids. I think many of the descriptions could have been trimmed down or eliminated.
- The editing and typos in the last 200 pages were very distracting. The wrong tense was often used in sentences.
- The transitions from one paragraph to another often were confusing.
- The ending left me wondering what happened to a few of the characters.
Overall, in spite of my complaints, I did appreciate getting a view of a bit of Native American heritage. And I frequently found myself searching for images of various orchids and flowers mentioned in the book.
- For the first 200 pages, I kept thinking, where is the author going with this?
- I really got tired of reading about plants and gardens, even though I love gardening and especially caring for indoor orchids. I think many of the descriptions could have been trimmed down or eliminated.
- The editing and typos in the last 200 pages were very distracting. The wrong tense was often used in sentences.
- The transitions from one paragraph to another often were confusing.
- The ending left me wondering what happened to a few of the characters.
Overall, in spite of my complaints, I did appreciate getting a view of a bit of Native American heritage. And I frequently found myself searching for images of various orchids and flowers mentioned in the book.
April 19, 2022
This book really tested me... I had to truly hunker down to finish it, after what felt like (and actually was) many months. I expected to glide through with shivers n chills as when I read the Almanac of the Dead, but this was slower and really took its time to unfold (maybe also it was a slog to read because of the tiny font and narrow margins and/or because the writing wasn't as tight. The repetition of words and content felt very redundant to me). Yet still, the symbolism got lodged in me and I began to hold tight to crows, parrots, little ancestors, and the desert!! As big shifts happened to characters the language seemed to opened up and I began to feel moved. Tears at the end... so yes, not my favorite Silko book but still a powerful testament to her character- and period-building.
October 13, 2024
really good. explores a lot of complexity and presents dynamic perspectives
June 3, 2025
2.75. Gnostic
August 13, 2023
Beautifully written with fine details of place and time. I enjoyed this story, and was truly invested in Indigo and Hattie. I loved their special bond. It would have been a 5 star for me if the novel was 150 or even 100 pages shorter, and not as many secondary characters, who detracted from the story, in my opinion. Otherwise this is a good book.
November 29, 2025
The rain smelled heavenly. All over the sand dunes, datura blossoms round and white as moons breathed their fragrance of magic. Indigo came up from the pit house into the heat; the ground under her bare feet was still warm, but the rain in the breeze felt cool-so cool-and refreshing on her face. She took a deep breath and ran up the dune, where Sister Salt was naked in the rain. She pulled the ragged sack over her head and felt the rain and wind so cool, so fragrant all over her body. Off in the distance there was a faint rumble of thunder, and the wind stirred; the raindrops were larger now. She tilted back her head and opened her mouth wide the way Sister Salt did. The rain she swallowed tasted like the wind. She ran, leaped in the air, and rolled on the warm sand over and over, it was so wonderful.
From this sacred place in the desert that the main character was raised in for the first part of her life, to the manicured gardens of England and back, the reader is asked to see a story from many points of view, that become dizzying, but all follow a story arc that is braided together as they go. It is a snapshot of time that comes alive in time and in your imagination. The author describes physical settings so powerfully and helps intertwine place in every part of the story. It is a heartbreaking story, and a story that makes important points against colonization, residential schools, racism, white saviorism, cultural misunderstanding, and exploitation. It isn’t violent like Almanac of the Dead but is a more subtle indictment and cautionary tale. One of those long, lovely, engrossing reads that you fall into. It is my new favorite novel ever.
She took handfuls of sand and poured them over her legs and over her stomach and shoulders-the raindrops were cold now and the warmth of the sand felt delicious. Sister Salt laughed wildly as she came rolling down from the highest point of the dune, so Indigo ran after her and leaped and rolled too, her eyes closed tight against the sand. Over and over down-down-down effortlessly, the ease of the motion and the sensation of the warm sand and the cool rain were intoxicating. Indigo squealed with laughter as she rolled into Sister Salt, who was helpless with laughter, and they laughed and laughed and rolled around, one girl on top of the other. They lay side by side with their mouths open and swallowed raindrops until the storm passed. All around them were old garden terraces in the dunes.
Nearly all human cultures plant gardens, and the garden itself has ancient religious connections. For a long time, I've been interested in pre-Christian European beliefs, and the pagan devotions to sacred groves of trees and sacred springs. My German translator gave me a fascinating book on the archaeology of Old Europe, and in it I discovered ancient artifacts that showed that the Old European cultures once revered snakes, just as we Pueblo Indian people still do. So I decided to take all these elements - orchids, gladiolus, ancient gardens, Victorian gardens, Native American gardens, Old European figures of Snake-bird Goddesses - and write a novel about two young sisters at the turn of the century.”Every day they watched the sky for the clouds that might signal the arrival of the summer rains. Early one morning coveys of round puffy clouds drifted across the sky out of the southwest, and Grandma became her lively old self as she sang out a welcome to the clouds.
Grandma Fleet explained the differences in the moisture of the sand between the dunes as they slowly made their way up the sandy path between the dunes. Grandma steadied herself with a hand on each girl's shoulder; they made their way slowly past the bare terraces where the sweet black corn, muskmelons, and speckled beans used to grow. Grandma explained each of the dunes and the little valleys between them had different flows of runoff, some of the smaller dunes were too dry along their edges and it was difficult to grow anything there; in marginal areas like these it was better to let the wild plants grow.
Sparrows hopped along the top of the stone wall where the rock pinks grew from cracks in the old wall and scented the air; mossy saxifrages and catmints grew all along the base of the stone wall and between the old stones with the daisies and dandelions. Aunt Bronwyn identified the stones. Here was a broken stone with a double spiral carving to help the plants to grow faster. Here were the broken pieces of a stone destroyed by an angry mob of Christian converts. Indigo asked if she had any healing stones in the garden, but Aunt Bronwyn did not know. She'd heard discussions of a standing stone that healed patients who were passed back and forth three times over its top. But over the years, the quack doctors and snake oil salesmen of Bath hacked the old stone to pieces to sell as curative charms. Reportedly there were healing stones that fit in the palm of the hand; they were steeped in water from Bath's sacred springs; they cured any ailment. According to the legend of the healing springwater, the Celtic King Bladud learned from local farmers that pigs with sores were cured by soaking in the mud and warm spring-water. The king built a temple and bath at the spring, but later when the king got old he made a pair of wings and jumped from the roof of the temple and was killed.
Her thoughts raced-what had she seen, luminous and white, moving through the foliage of Aunt Bronwyn's corn plants and sunflowers? The memory of that instant caused Hattie to weep again with the joy she felt with all her being. Thoughts raced through her mind in swift-moving torrents-glittering and flashing.
Hattie dreamed she was walking under the big elms and oaks in the park at the Boston Commons. A cool fall breeze blew across her face. How bright and alive the red maple leaves and golden oak leaves appeared, backlit by the sun; they shimmered so close to her face Hattie reached out to touch them. She woke with a start, shivering, aware she was lying outdoors in the dark. She had not walked in her sleep since she was a child. The sky was clear; how brightly the stars lit the night. She recognized the garden stepping-stones across from her, but she was surprised to find herself lying on a long flat horizontal stone in a raised flower bed. She sat up and saw her feet and the edge of her nightgown were caked with dried mud. As her eyes became accustomed to the light, she realized she was in a part of the garden she had not seen before; only the high stone walls were familiar. It appeared
to be an old, abandoned garden of some sort, oddly adorned by stones, many of them broken, carefully sited in the raised parterres with the sweet bay and dandelions.
The pale granite cliff with its cascades of wild orchid blossoms above the river mist was so lovely Edward knew he must photograph it. Edward had a clear view of the river and riverbank for a mile in either direction as he climbed. He carried his camera case and tripod up the ledges and over the boulders to make photographs of the amazing granite hillside where hundreds of Cattleya and Laelia sent out long pendulous flower spikes. Because of the steep incline and the weight of his equipment he stopped periodically to catch his breath and to survey the endless expanses of jungle and the great Pará River as it snaked to the sea.
The dawn flooded the porch with golden green light that lifted her as she stepped into its radiance and pulled her towards it. Indigo ran into the light pouring between the giant trees. To run and run over the soft earth while breathing the golden fresh air felt glorious. She slowed to a walk under the great trees so she could examine them more closely; little mushroom caps dotted the ground under the trees and when she picked one up an held it up close, tiny dewdrops glistened in the light.
It was easy walking under the giant trees because there were no rocks or gullies to watch out for; even the bushes of wild roses and thickets of fragrant azaleas- yellows, pinks, and white- were just few enough. At regular intervals the path through the trees opened into little clearings in bloom with blue and purple iris scattered with bright gold and bright white narcissus. She could feel the ocean’s dampness though she still could not see it. The path went up a slight incline and then suddenly she stepped out of the trees into the brilliant morning light reflected off the bay below.
He stopped and attached the close-up lens so he could photograph a particularly profuse spike of red-orange blossoms of a Laelia cinnabarina that appeared to grow out of solid granite on the side of the ridge. As he viewed the orchid flower through the close-up lens, he savored the sublime, luminous glow from the profuse orange-red blossoms that resembled shooting stars. He made exposures of each subject, careful to double-check the lens setting for perfect photographs.
The snow covered the ground and continued to fail lightly as the drum called them to the spirit house, where they sang the new songs, each in a different language-Sand Lizard, Paiute, Chemehuevi, Mojave, and Walanaj- because in the presence of the Messiah, all languages were understood. They all joined hands and moved in the direction of the sun around the circle of stone.
The sky was clear and the stars' light reflected off the sandhills with patches of snow on the third night. The waning moon did not rise until after midnight, but suddenly the night became so bright the willows along the riverbank and the sandy hillside were clearly visible in a pale blue silver light. Freezing air descended from the mountains, and ribbons of steam rose around the dancers' heads as they sang.
"Across the snowy stars," they sang. More voices joined as they repeated the words, "Over the Milky Way bridge-oh the beloved return!"
They danced slowly, careful to trail their feet gently to caress Mother Earth. The wind was still but now the snow fell faster, and it was difficult to see the lean-to and the camps on the far side of the circle.
Bare cottonwood
Black with crows.
They call
Snow clouds on the wind.
Snow clouds on the wind.
As she began to climb up the deep sand of the slope, the fog and mist swirled down to meet her; now the singing was near and very beautiful- a song in the Sand Lizard language she'd never heard before.
Dance, little clouds, your sisters are fog!
Dance, little clouds, your brothers are mist!
Play in the wind! Play in the wind!
Mama was rocking her-she was so snug and warm. What a happy, beautiful song! Mama kissed her and held her so close.
Indigo woke in her bed and saw it was still dark. She felt so much love she wept; she knew then where Mama was and always would be. Dance, little clouds, dance! Play in the wind!
For an instant Hattie did not know where she was, then she heard the drum and the voices. Outside the soft yellow glow must be the approach of dawn; the lemon yellow light was the same color as the lost carnelian carved with the waterbirds. The light outside became brighter and more luminous- she recognized it at once and a felt a thrill sweep over her. How soothing the light was, how joyously serene she felt. The light she saw was the morning star, come to comfort her.
From this sacred place in the desert that the main character was raised in for the first part of her life, to the manicured gardens of England and back, the reader is asked to see a story from many points of view, that become dizzying, but all follow a story arc that is braided together as they go. It is a snapshot of time that comes alive in time and in your imagination. The author describes physical settings so powerfully and helps intertwine place in every part of the story. It is a heartbreaking story, and a story that makes important points against colonization, residential schools, racism, white saviorism, cultural misunderstanding, and exploitation. It isn’t violent like Almanac of the Dead but is a more subtle indictment and cautionary tale. One of those long, lovely, engrossing reads that you fall into. It is my new favorite novel ever.
She took handfuls of sand and poured them over her legs and over her stomach and shoulders-the raindrops were cold now and the warmth of the sand felt delicious. Sister Salt laughed wildly as she came rolling down from the highest point of the dune, so Indigo ran after her and leaped and rolled too, her eyes closed tight against the sand. Over and over down-down-down effortlessly, the ease of the motion and the sensation of the warm sand and the cool rain were intoxicating. Indigo squealed with laughter as she rolled into Sister Salt, who was helpless with laughter, and they laughed and laughed and rolled around, one girl on top of the other. They lay side by side with their mouths open and swallowed raindrops until the storm passed. All around them were old garden terraces in the dunes.
Nearly all human cultures plant gardens, and the garden itself has ancient religious connections. For a long time, I've been interested in pre-Christian European beliefs, and the pagan devotions to sacred groves of trees and sacred springs. My German translator gave me a fascinating book on the archaeology of Old Europe, and in it I discovered ancient artifacts that showed that the Old European cultures once revered snakes, just as we Pueblo Indian people still do. So I decided to take all these elements - orchids, gladiolus, ancient gardens, Victorian gardens, Native American gardens, Old European figures of Snake-bird Goddesses - and write a novel about two young sisters at the turn of the century.”Every day they watched the sky for the clouds that might signal the arrival of the summer rains. Early one morning coveys of round puffy clouds drifted across the sky out of the southwest, and Grandma became her lively old self as she sang out a welcome to the clouds.
Grandma Fleet explained the differences in the moisture of the sand between the dunes as they slowly made their way up the sandy path between the dunes. Grandma steadied herself with a hand on each girl's shoulder; they made their way slowly past the bare terraces where the sweet black corn, muskmelons, and speckled beans used to grow. Grandma explained each of the dunes and the little valleys between them had different flows of runoff, some of the smaller dunes were too dry along their edges and it was difficult to grow anything there; in marginal areas like these it was better to let the wild plants grow.
Sparrows hopped along the top of the stone wall where the rock pinks grew from cracks in the old wall and scented the air; mossy saxifrages and catmints grew all along the base of the stone wall and between the old stones with the daisies and dandelions. Aunt Bronwyn identified the stones. Here was a broken stone with a double spiral carving to help the plants to grow faster. Here were the broken pieces of a stone destroyed by an angry mob of Christian converts. Indigo asked if she had any healing stones in the garden, but Aunt Bronwyn did not know. She'd heard discussions of a standing stone that healed patients who were passed back and forth three times over its top. But over the years, the quack doctors and snake oil salesmen of Bath hacked the old stone to pieces to sell as curative charms. Reportedly there were healing stones that fit in the palm of the hand; they were steeped in water from Bath's sacred springs; they cured any ailment. According to the legend of the healing springwater, the Celtic King Bladud learned from local farmers that pigs with sores were cured by soaking in the mud and warm spring-water. The king built a temple and bath at the spring, but later when the king got old he made a pair of wings and jumped from the roof of the temple and was killed.
Her thoughts raced-what had she seen, luminous and white, moving through the foliage of Aunt Bronwyn's corn plants and sunflowers? The memory of that instant caused Hattie to weep again with the joy she felt with all her being. Thoughts raced through her mind in swift-moving torrents-glittering and flashing.
Hattie dreamed she was walking under the big elms and oaks in the park at the Boston Commons. A cool fall breeze blew across her face. How bright and alive the red maple leaves and golden oak leaves appeared, backlit by the sun; they shimmered so close to her face Hattie reached out to touch them. She woke with a start, shivering, aware she was lying outdoors in the dark. She had not walked in her sleep since she was a child. The sky was clear; how brightly the stars lit the night. She recognized the garden stepping-stones across from her, but she was surprised to find herself lying on a long flat horizontal stone in a raised flower bed. She sat up and saw her feet and the edge of her nightgown were caked with dried mud. As her eyes became accustomed to the light, she realized she was in a part of the garden she had not seen before; only the high stone walls were familiar. It appeared
to be an old, abandoned garden of some sort, oddly adorned by stones, many of them broken, carefully sited in the raised parterres with the sweet bay and dandelions.
The pale granite cliff with its cascades of wild orchid blossoms above the river mist was so lovely Edward knew he must photograph it. Edward had a clear view of the river and riverbank for a mile in either direction as he climbed. He carried his camera case and tripod up the ledges and over the boulders to make photographs of the amazing granite hillside where hundreds of Cattleya and Laelia sent out long pendulous flower spikes. Because of the steep incline and the weight of his equipment he stopped periodically to catch his breath and to survey the endless expanses of jungle and the great Pará River as it snaked to the sea.
The dawn flooded the porch with golden green light that lifted her as she stepped into its radiance and pulled her towards it. Indigo ran into the light pouring between the giant trees. To run and run over the soft earth while breathing the golden fresh air felt glorious. She slowed to a walk under the great trees so she could examine them more closely; little mushroom caps dotted the ground under the trees and when she picked one up an held it up close, tiny dewdrops glistened in the light.
It was easy walking under the giant trees because there were no rocks or gullies to watch out for; even the bushes of wild roses and thickets of fragrant azaleas- yellows, pinks, and white- were just few enough. At regular intervals the path through the trees opened into little clearings in bloom with blue and purple iris scattered with bright gold and bright white narcissus. She could feel the ocean’s dampness though she still could not see it. The path went up a slight incline and then suddenly she stepped out of the trees into the brilliant morning light reflected off the bay below.
He stopped and attached the close-up lens so he could photograph a particularly profuse spike of red-orange blossoms of a Laelia cinnabarina that appeared to grow out of solid granite on the side of the ridge. As he viewed the orchid flower through the close-up lens, he savored the sublime, luminous glow from the profuse orange-red blossoms that resembled shooting stars. He made exposures of each subject, careful to double-check the lens setting for perfect photographs.
The snow covered the ground and continued to fail lightly as the drum called them to the spirit house, where they sang the new songs, each in a different language-Sand Lizard, Paiute, Chemehuevi, Mojave, and Walanaj- because in the presence of the Messiah, all languages were understood. They all joined hands and moved in the direction of the sun around the circle of stone.
The sky was clear and the stars' light reflected off the sandhills with patches of snow on the third night. The waning moon did not rise until after midnight, but suddenly the night became so bright the willows along the riverbank and the sandy hillside were clearly visible in a pale blue silver light. Freezing air descended from the mountains, and ribbons of steam rose around the dancers' heads as they sang.
"Across the snowy stars," they sang. More voices joined as they repeated the words, "Over the Milky Way bridge-oh the beloved return!"
They danced slowly, careful to trail their feet gently to caress Mother Earth. The wind was still but now the snow fell faster, and it was difficult to see the lean-to and the camps on the far side of the circle.
Bare cottonwood
Black with crows.
They call
Snow clouds on the wind.
Snow clouds on the wind.
As she began to climb up the deep sand of the slope, the fog and mist swirled down to meet her; now the singing was near and very beautiful- a song in the Sand Lizard language she'd never heard before.
Dance, little clouds, your sisters are fog!
Dance, little clouds, your brothers are mist!
Play in the wind! Play in the wind!
Mama was rocking her-she was so snug and warm. What a happy, beautiful song! Mama kissed her and held her so close.
Indigo woke in her bed and saw it was still dark. She felt so much love she wept; she knew then where Mama was and always would be. Dance, little clouds, dance! Play in the wind!
For an instant Hattie did not know where she was, then she heard the drum and the voices. Outside the soft yellow glow must be the approach of dawn; the lemon yellow light was the same color as the lost carnelian carved with the waterbirds. The light outside became brighter and more luminous- she recognized it at once and a felt a thrill sweep over her. How soothing the light was, how joyously serene she felt. The light she saw was the morning star, come to comfort her.
March 18, 2021
I really liked the pacing of this book and the way it wove together so many different themes. In particular, I thought it did a really good job showing the complex and deeply problematic history of empire and how it impacted indigenous people, the land, and the plants! And how it corrupted and destroyed many of the white people taking part in it. The book also does a good job showing how absurd it is for white people to think they somehow live outside of the earth. Or that they don’t have any ancestors who revered it in ways that had overlap with the reverence given to it by the indigenous people of the American Southwest. As Indigo saw firsthand while she was in England and Italy. A really good read that I will mulling over for awhile!
October 9, 2024
this book was so long and so so hard to keep reading at some points but beautifully written and so moving it made it all worth it in the end
September 27, 2014
It is seldom that my opinion of a book differs dramatically from that of the reviewers whose partial reviews are listed in the preamble pages of a book, but with this one is an exception. This epic, set in the late 19th century, tells of the intersecting lives of a young Native American girl, Indigo, and an educated white woman, Hattie, who was a religion scholar until she was forced to leave school because of her non-traditional research topic. The two meet because of Hattie's marriage to Edward, a collector of rare plants, and her move to California. Both Indigo and Hattie are the victims of prejudice. -- Indigo, because she is an Indian; Hattie, because she is a free-thinker and sympathetic to Indigo and her people. While parts of this book are well-written, it is much too long. The middle of the book contains description after description of various gardens, which do nothing to further the plot and causes one to grow weary of the narrative and the characters. The end of the book plunges into fast-forward, with nothing but weak narrative covering months and months of activity. It reads like an overly expansive epilogue, and I raced to get to the end. I tried to like this book. It had promise but needed a skillful editor.
February 6, 2018
This book started wonderfully and broke stride about 1/4 in. The middle of the book was sheer drudgery. It tried to go in to many different directions, tell too many stories, and none of them ended up being told well. I almost quit several times but then skim read to get to the end. It never got better. Meandering is a kind way to put it but droning is what it became. I love a good descriptive novel but the narrative has to be engaging as well. This wasn't after the beginning. the writing has talent and some segments were good, but the book as a whole is not worth the effort
November 14, 2020
After Ceremony, I was very disappointed with this. I read parts and then abandoned this. I may go back and read more. Some aspects were very puzzling and contradicted Ceremony. For example, in this book the Native women frequently drank beer and were promiscuous, while in Ceremony these activities were pictured as part of "The Evil." I also found long sections of the book boring and pointless. After Ceremony, I was very much looking forward to reading other books by her, but have not found anything comparable.
July 20, 2013
I have become a big fan of Silko. While her writing is dense and hard to get through at times, I find myself getting extremely attached to the characters and storyline. I first read _Almanac of the Dead_, which was extremely intense, so I was surprised to find this work a bit lighter, and to be a beautiful story. It fascinates and impresses me the components that Silko weaves together to create such a beautiful narrative.
January 8, 2011
I finally found it! I read this book in college and have been struggling to remember the title after all these years. WONDERFUL story and so well done! I do have a biased opinion as I had a genius english professor picking apart all of beautiful meanings behind details that you may overlook when reading it solo.
I am going to read this one again as soon as I finish my current book.
I am going to read this one again as soon as I finish my current book.
July 27, 2023
This was a sweeping story with many settings, mythical undertones and adventures gone wrong. The main character of Indigo kept me going and in the end I was happy I stuck with this more than 500 page slog.
May 9, 2007
lovely prose, fantastic imagery, and compelling storyline.
November 27, 2008
Not at all like Almanac of the Dead. I liked both a lot.
January 2, 2009
I love reading Silko's writing. Both Almanac of the Dead and this book have such breadth it's amazing to me.
July 14, 2009
A great look at 19th century American Indian life and women of intelligence and curiousity during the late 1900's.
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