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333 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1994
What I said in the secrecy of my thoughts was: Fanny, mazaska, the white iron you call money, is useless to me. Even the goods I take from the sutler's store, the flour, coffee, sugar, and tobacco, the knives and blankets, are things I do not want. I give them to my cousins who live upriver.These words belong to Red Dress, ancestor of several members of Susan Power's wonderful cast, who gives the novel a kind of foundation stone or pivot. Her presence, like that of other ancestors and spirits, is real in their lives: here the truth of powerful and often dangerous medicine and magic is taken for granted. I remembered a friend comforting me once saying that everything that dies goes on being somewhere and this is true if only in that afternoon country of the past, but reading The Turquoise Ledge: A Memoir before this prepared me to believe more wholeheartedly in the visions and visitations of Power's multilayered narrative, which eschews linearity and braids stories and voices in a way that reminded me of Louise Erdrich
Bear Soldier, head chief of our band and my own father, was a logician whose counsel was solicited by other leaders. He listened to the anecdotes I dutifully translated for the priest – Cain slaying Abel, Abraham's willingness to sacrifice Isaac, Joseph delivered into slavery by his jealous brothers – and shook his head. My father wanted to know, “Why are his people so determined to kill their relatives?”Thus, the critical orientation to Christianity is always respectfully expressed in a way that explains Sioux traditional religion as again when Frank is chatting with a Sioux Christian and repeats one of Herod's comments: “That's what Tunkasida told me, something like that. He said the Christian God has a big lantern with the kerosene turned way up, and the people pray to Him for guidance, and he lights the way. Now, Wakan Tanka, when you cry to Him for help, says, 'Okay, here's how you start a fire.' And then you have to make your own torch”.
So I asked Father, “Why did Cain kill Abel?”
Father pointed at me and shook his finger. “Because he didn't have faith.”
I told my father, “When the priest's people don't believe in the higher spirits they go crazy.”
”Then we'll pray for them.” he said.
“I prefer to watch the present unravel moment by moment than to look close behind me or far ahead. Time extends from me, flowing in many directions, meeting the horizon and then moving beyond to follow the curve of the earth. But I will not track its course with my eyes. It is too painful. I can bear witness to only a single moment of loss at a time. Still, hope flutters in my heart, a delicate pulse. I straddle the world and pray to Wakan Tanka that somewhere ahead of me He has planted an instant of joy.”