Three passages from Shapes of Native Nonfiction

Three passages from Shapes of Native Nonfiction: Collected Essays by Contemporary Writers, edited by Elissa Washuta and Theresa Warburton:


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“Jamaica Kincaid, in her conversation with The American Reader, tells her interviewer, in response to a question regarding Kincaid’s mixture of humor and anger in her writing: “There all sorts of reasons not to like my writing. But that’s not one of them. Saying something is angry is not a criticism. It’s not valid. It’s not a valid observation in terms of criticism. You can list it as something that’s true. But it’s not critical.” As we say, and others say, on and off the reservation, past and present, fuckin’ A right. Anger has long been, and used to be, my response to the circumstances of my childhood, ethnic demographic, and creative voice. Always more anger than love, though there was for me, or might have been, an obsession with violence—daggers protruding out of my skull, barbed wire wrapped around me body. My every response was anger, often misdirected, but always refocused upon myself. I sought to understand not only my mental and physical trauma but also historical trauma, both of which I still seek to understand. [...] I have not found a definite answer, know no absolute. Rather, I’ve taken the view that my life, my existence is a job; making the continual attentiveness to my partner’s emotions and well-being a priority, not solely for her, but for myself as well. I would never have voiced this in my life previously (though that may be inaccurate): I have learned that is possible to love myself. To say, all right violence, you’ve had your limelight, now it’s time for you to take the backseat and observe for the remainder of the trip. As for anger, it can always take the helm while I watch the passing landscape.”

― Bojan Louis, Nizhoní dóó 'a'ani' dóó até'él'í dóó ayoo'o'oni (Beauty & Memory & Abuse & Love)


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“When I feel the world is much too heavy or much too light, when I think there’s no way to push through it or that pushing through is as meaningless as not pushing through, I have a visual: a canyon. It’s always midnight and the canyon walls are slate gray with tentacles flailing from the sides. The bottom is covered in bats, engines, spoiled batteries, and broken glass. At first it is easy to take a step down it; there’s always a side that doesn’t seem too steep. But the first step slides into four, and there’s never time to catch my footing and nothing to grab at. From the bottom there is no way up.

When I feel through with things – with the pressure or the nothingness – I think of this canyon and wonder how close to the edge I am. And I take a step back. Then another.”

― Natanya Ann Pulley, The Way of Wounds


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“In my Indigenous and Dakota translation, polyamorous multiplicity is not only about human relations. It is an ethic that also focuses on multiple relations with place and values the hard work of relating to and translating among different knowledges. In my ways of relating with human, earthly, and conceptual loves, I reject the usual definition of “promiscuity” as random and indiscriminate. In my redefinition, “promiscuous” is to seek abundance through partial connections. It is openness to multiple human loves and/or to deep connection with other-than-humans, with the lands and waters of our hearts and with different knowledge forms and approaches that enable us to flourish as Indigenous peoples.”

― Kim Tallbear, Critical Poly 100s


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