The Toughest Indian in the World

Sherman Alexie

I cannot tell you how many times I threw this book against the wall after reading the first few pieces in this collection of nine short stories, by the very popular Sherman Alexie (of the Spokane and Coeur d'Arlene Tribes in Washington state). But, as I had mentioned earlier, Sherman's narrative, smart-assed voice kept me coming back, hoping there would be a gem in this muck. I'm glad I kept at it.

After reading through the first six stories and numerous tosses of the book, I came to the story called "Saint Junior," and I exhaled. At last, this is the Sherman Alexie I knew was in him. And joy of joys, the next story, "Dear John Wayne" was pretty good, too, not as good as "Saint Junior," but I didn't throw the book against the wall while reading it, nor when I finished the story. And then I came to the final piece, "One Good Man" and found the hidden jewel Sherm has been pounding away at his keyboard trying to shape. It's because of these last pieces I can recommend this book, but either check it out from the library, or buy it at discount, if not remaindered.

I had to wade through the juvenile muck of "Assimilation," which is about a Native American woman married to a white man who decides she wants to have an affair with a Native American man, the darker the better, because her marriage is on the rocks. Meanwhile, her husband is also contemplating an affair or leaving, because he's not sure he made the right choice years ago marrying her and perhaps should have married his previous white girl friend. Things come to a head on a bridge in winter, when they're stuck in traffic because a woman decides to jump off the bridge. Witnessing this event, the couple decides they love each other after all.

Then there's the title piece, "The Toughest Indian in the World." This is the piece that caused controversy, because Sherm describes a homosexual encounter between an old Indian man who was a prize fighter and a young Indian man who has similar characteristics to Sherm, a writer in Seattle, coming to terms with what it is to be an indigenous man in this world today. Then "South by Southwest," which is about two Indian men who become robbers, acting like indigenous male versions of Thelma and Louise.

Next is "Class," which is about an upper-middle-class Indian man who's married to a white woman and how their marriage is on the rocks and how she has continued to pine for her former white boyfriend (kept letters, even recent ones telling of an affair). The husband knows this, but only after he realizes his wife has been faking her orgasms ever since her miscarriage, he decides to go and be with other Indians, to "feel" Indian and try to even have an affair with a "dark" Indian woman. Winds up at a bar on the Res., gets into a fight and in the end returns home realizing he really loves his wife, and she seeing him beaten an bruised, senses a change in him that reconfirms her love for him. A repeat of the first story, but with the gender of the characters switched.

Then there's "The Sin Eaters," which bordered on magic-surrealism, starting out with a dream of indigenous peoples being re-conquered and winds up in a dream reality of all Native Americans being rounded up and used as "stock" to save the rest of humanity. It left me thinking: what the hell was that, when I finished it. And then "Indian Country," which ran in the New Yorker, when it named Alexie as one of the most promising young writers today (he's in his mid-thirties). This one starts out about a Native American writer who arrives in Montana to meet a woman who turns out to have run off to marry a white man in Arizona, with the story winding up about what happens when his lesbian friend from college and her partner meet her Native American parents.

All of these stories imply themes of difficulties with interracial marriage, what it is to be "Indian," and appear to be obsessed with sex as defining relationships, rites of passage, the place where all of human history and conflict is replayed. The writing isn't "honest," but rather geared towards a younger audience and meant to evoke some sort of visceral response, while trying to take it's characters to a new level of understanding. High School writing workshop stuff.

After all of this juvenile muck, we get to "Saint Junior," about a middle-aged Indian couple and their everyday-ness and their history, how they met, their trials, etc. It had the feel of an early Barbara Kingsolver short story. I liked these two characters and their relationship was very loving and nice to see a portrait of "normal" Native Americans, living their lives together. A sweet story.

Then "Dear John Wayne," which takes the form of an interview. A young, white anthropology student is interviewing Etta, an elderly Native American woman in the year 2052. She was born in 1934, so she's 128 years old and turns out to have been John Wayne's lover, his true love, or at least she claims. The story is full of humor and inside jokes, such as the pregnant pauses between the questions the student asks Etta and her responses and even how she changes the subject on him. Minorities and those who know cultural anthropology will understand. And Sherm. paints a portrait of John Wayne (the main butt of Native American jokes) as a man who was completely the opposite of his image, in "reality." Made me almost like him.

Lastly, we have the jewel, "One Good Man," which is told in first person and is about an Indian man who's an English teacher, divorced with one son and his dying father. We see both of their lives and their struggles, including the narrator's relationship with his ex-wife's white husband and his father's struggle to be a good father, even now, when he is in a wheelchair and near death. The narrator always asks himself, trying to define: What is an Indian? I believe by the end of this story, he's answered the question. Here's the opening passage from "One Good Man":

Outside the house, Sweetwater and Wonder Horse were building a wheelchair ramp for my father... Sweetwater was known to go whole weeks without uttering a single word, opting instead to communicate through monosyllabic grunts and hand gestures, as if he were a very bright infant..

"Jesus was a carpenter," said Sweetwater, trying to make it sound casual, as if he'd merely commented on the weather or the game...

"What did you say?" Wonder Horse asked again, hoping that Sweetwater would change the subject, take back the complicates thing he had said, and make their lives simple again.

They were building a wheelchair ramp for my father, who was coming home from the hospital without his diabetic, gangrenous feet...

"Harrison Ford was a carpenter, too," said Wonder Horse.

"Who?" asked Sweetwater.

"Harrison Ford, the guy who played Han Solo, you know? In Star Wars, the movie?"

"Oh," said Sweetwater. "But Jesus was, you know, a *real* carpenter."

"Well, hell, anybody can call themselves a carpenter," said Wonder Horse. "I mean, those Tulee boys built themselves a tree house over yonder. I guess that makes them carpenters, but it sure don't make them good carpenters. That thing is going to roll out of that tree like a bowling ball."

"I suppose, but the thing is, Jesus was Jesus, enit? I mean, Jesus must have been a good carpenter. I mean, he was Jesus, enit? That's pretty powerful right there... Come on," said Sweetwater, his voice cracking with one emotion or another. "He was Jesus. He could walk on water and, like, conjure up fish and bread and stuff."

"Is that it? Stuff? Stuff? Is that your whole proof on this thing? All that proves is that Jesus might have been a good magician. He might have been a good fisherman. He might have been a good baker. But it absolutely does not prove that he was a good carpenter. I mean, there Jesus was, running all over the place, trying to save the world. Do you really think he had time to study carpentry? Do you really think he had the time to study his tools, to memorize them, to understand them? Do you really think he had the time to devote himself to wood?"

"He was the Son of God. I think he could multitask."

"Multitask!" shouted Wonder Horse. "Multitask! Where do you learn that shit?"

"Television."

"Television? Television? Is that all you have to say to me?"

"I guess," said Sweetwater.

They were building a wheelchair ramp for my father, who was coming home because he didn't want to die in the hospital.

------------------------------------------

And it only gets better from there. This is Sherm at his best: funny, sad, and lyric all at once. I want more of this Sherman Alexie, not the other kind.