I didn’t enjoy reading this book, nor did I find it particularly uplifting, and I say that as a proud rights-bearing Métis citizen.
I’ll get to my issues shortly, but I want to be clear that my problems do not lie with the author. Jesse Thistle is an exceptional person with a truly incredible story. He is a credit to our people and deserves recognition for what he has achieved and overcome, and for the quality of this memoir. I believe that as an author he succeeds in his goal of communicating the brutality of his lived experience as a homeless man, and the contexts in his life that either failed him or pushed him into that hardship. My decent rating for this book is a reflection of my respect for him and the quality of his writing.
This book is unceasingly dark in Thistle’s description of his life and communicates itself in very vivid terms to the reader. The language lends itself well to the task, with clipped straightforward sentences that make frequent use of accessible metaphor. Stylistically this book is about as crude as they come, with constant reference to shit, piss, vomit, blood, pus, etc. (Although it is very chaste when it comes to sex.) Lines like “My eyes looked like two pissholes in the snow” will certainly stay with me. There are frequent pop culture references as well that put you in a time and place. All of this strengthens the story in my view, it accurately reflects Thistle’s experiences and there’s no pretentiousness to this book at all. The bluntness of the language is, no doubt, part of the reason for its success. It’s a very easy read but there’s a shock-value to the way Thistle tells his story that can’t help but get under your skin.
However, I believe that From the Ashes is so unrelentingly focused on the pain of Thistle’s experiences that it forgets to explain how he pushed through them. There are occasional references to his vaguely-felt indigeneity prior to his recovery, and a few people in his life that helped him out, but at the end of the book I was left feeling like I didn’t really know what had driven this man to maintain his humanity or, ultimately, to start making permanent changes for the better. For example, there are frequent mentions that he would see and stay with his brother Jerry even during some of the darkest parts of his life, but we hear no mention of what their interactions looked like past their early childhood and adolescence. Thistle gives us pages of detail about the way gangrene sets into his leg, but nothing except a few sentences about his relationship with his brother in adulthood. He also mentions once or twice that he never goes so far as to deal drugs himself and this marks him out as unusual, but he offers no explanation for how he decides this and manages to stick to it for decades despite all of the hardship he suffers.
The book is divided into four sections with the first three making up 297 of its 354 pages. These initial three sections are made up largely of endless heartbreak and horror, and it is only in the last 50 pages we see Jesse start to piece his life together. It honestly risks veering into the realm of voyeurism in many instances, with Thistle giving us only the worst lowlights of his life. Obviously, this is all his truth, and I recognized and acknowledged his pain, but as a memoir I began to feel detached from him as a person because he seems unwilling to portray himself as a fully-realized human during these dark periods, or explain how he got through them. I can understand that impulse on a personal level, but it weakens the nature of his memoir. From the Ashes communicates Thistle’s experiences without necessarily offering a lot of reflection on them beyond how horrific and wrong they were. It is a book full of anecdote, but any argument it makes must come from its reader rather than Thistle himself. It feels like confession more than memoir.
My gut tells me that a lot of the fault here can be placed at the feet of the publisher. I think they saw how sharp/brutal Thistle’s writing and personal history were (I notice some of the writing from the book used to be a on a personal blog) and wanted as many pages of shocking prose as they could get. Additionally, I cannot help but see the decision to market the book so heavily as an indigenous story as being rather cynical on the part of the Simon & Schuster. If there is a uniquely Métis angle to this story it is that Thistle comes to that identity late in life, during those final 50 pages of redemption. Prior to that, his identity is only guessed at or gestured to in a few incidents or metaphorical dream sequences. Rediscovering a Métis identity is a common experience with our people, but what it means is that there’s very little in From the Ashes that directly relates to being Métis. It is first and foremost a story of losing your parents, addiction to drugs, homelessness, and crime. These are all aspects of Métis history and experience, but they are not unique to us, and certainly not what define us.
I would place From the Ashes alongside Maria Campbell’s Half-Breed as a book that speaks of profound personal suffering from a Métis author. However, Campbell’s story is different as she was very aware of her indigenous context for her entire life, and consequently her memoir is rooted in being Métis in a way Thistle’s is not. Again, this is not a criticism of Thistle, whose story of rediscovering his ancestry is a resonant one for our people, but From the Ashes is not really about that rediscovery, its about the suffering that came before it.
Consequently, I came away feeling that Thistle’s indigenous identity is circumstantial to the story he presents here, and not central to it. It helped to consolidate his redemption, but I’d argue that his wife Lucie seems just as, if not more, important to his recovery than him reconnecting with his Métis history. Simon & Schuster’s decision to market this book as a distinctly indigenous story feels like a calculated one, as a way to pitch the book in a topical way and to add an interesting angle to the popular 'addiction memoir' format that details how someone overcame poverty, homelessness, and broken families. But that's exactly what From the Ashes is before anything else: an addiction memoir that compels its reader by having them witness the author's suffering.
This doesn't sit well with me. If the book had been structured differently, with more time given to Thistle's reconnection with his identity, then I might feel otherwise. Again, I don't think this is Thistle's fault, he is entitled to tell his story how he wants using his skill at writing accessible, gritty prose. But the choice to pitch this book, with its unrelenting focus on its author's hardships, as a quintessential indigenous story lies squarely with the publisher.
There’s certainly a need to acknowledge the suffering of Métis people, but I also want to see depictions of our lives that are not rooted entirely in that suffering. There is a great deal of nuance to Métis identity that is quite unique to our people and which is not dealt with in From the Ashes. Reading it reminded of the discussions around the release of the film 12 Years a Slave, how it’s brilliance couldn’t entirely underwrite its unrelenting focus on Black suffering. Similarly, Métis people should not need to go through what Thistle and Campbell did in order for our lives and stories to be thought of as compelling for a white mainstream audience.