From Library Journal
This anthology of 26 essays is a follow-up to I Tell You Now (1978). The authors, born mostly in the 1940s or after, come from many different tribes. Some are full blood, others mixed; some were raised on a reservation, others weren't; and some are well known, others obscure. They are professors, artists, poets, novelists, playwrights, social workers, and more. Krupat (English, Sarah Lawrence Coll.) and Swann (English, Cooper Union) assert that the essays reflect not only how many different ways there are to be Indian today but also how many different ways there are to write about these experiences. After a misanthropic description of American life, W.S. Penn admits, "The problem is that I don't really hate America. I hate the fact that what I want America to do is like me." Rex Lee Jim declares, "When I realized that everything matters, I immediately knew that my destiny was completely in my control." Vickie Sears calls writing "a wind" and a "moving in dreamdance." Like the previous anthology, this collection is a mixed bag but still a valuable contribution to Native American studies and literary scholarship.DNancy P. Shires, East Carolina Univ., Greenville, NC
Copyright 2000 Reed Business Information, Inc.
Growing up Native American is unlike any other experience, although questions of identity and the struggle to find a place in the dominant culture resonate meaningfully to readers from all backgrounds. As Rex Lee Jim, one of the 26 contemporary Native American writers who contributed autobiographical essays to this striking collection, writes, "It's somewhat funny to know that the very personal is also the most common and therefore universal." Like many others, he focuses on the power of language, in his case, a Navajo prayer taught to him by his grandfather. Betty Louise Bell writes that as a child she "trusted words" to save her from the hardships of her poor, semiliterate family. Sherman Alexie's ironic and athletically graceful essay is the most dynamic, but each self-portrait compellingly discloses a unique facet of Native American life and of literature, which preserves memory, makes sense out of suffering, and renders revelations poetic.
Donna SeamanCopyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved