Take us to your chief and other stories

 

In 2016, Drew Hayden Taylor published a book of his own science fiction short stories, Take us to your chief and other stories. It is a playful book. Taylor says, “I wanted to take traditional science fiction characteristics and filter them through an Aboriginal consciousness,” (p.viii). A prolific author in a number of genres, he says “I’m an old hand at hybridizing,” (p.viii). Regarding the goals of his work, he says “Part of my journey in this life both as a First Nations individual and as a writer is to expand the boundaries of what is considered Native literature. There is more to Indigenous existence than negative social issues and victim narratives,” (p.ix). With respect to why he chose science fiction, he says “some critics might argue our literary perspective is a little too predictable – of a certain limited perspective. For example, a lot of Indigenous novels and plays tend to walk a narrow path specifically restricted to stories of bygone days. Or angry/dysfunctional aspects of contemporary First Nations life. Or the hangover problems resulting from centuries of colonization. All worthwhile and necessary reflections of Aboriginal life for sure. But I wonder why it can’t be more?” (p.ix). 

One of the short stories, “Lost in Space”, begins with the protagonist, Mitchell, using oxygen deprivation to put himself in an altered state (2016, p.47). 

Mitchell had been hovering effortlessly, drifting both in the gravity vacuum of space and, more interestingly, in and out of consciousness. Small tethers from the right shoulder and left pant cuff of his jumpsuit anchored him to opposed bulkheads. This was to make sure he didn’t bump into the walls of the ship and ruin his fun. His mind had no such restrictions and had meandered back and forth between alpha, beta, delta, and all remaining brain-wave frequencies. The small room was dark and the temperature was neutral. A sort of purgatory. Additionally, the oxygen in this hyperbaric chamber had been reduced to the minimum, allowing for a more recreational time alone. In other words, he was mellowing out in the twenty-first century version of an improvised isolation tank. (Taylor, 2016, p.46-47)

He is on a spacecraft mining the asteroid belt, and his only company is the ship’s artificial intelligence, Mac (p.48). Mac informs him that his grandfather has died (p.48). His grandfather was his only Indigenous grandparent and inspired his love of space (p.49). He reflects on a conversation with his grandfather, where his grandfather reflected on the connection between Indigenous identity and the land, and how his grandfather told him, “I can’t help wondering if it’s possible to be a good, proper Native astronaut.” (p.51). Mitchell reflects on the barriers to expressing his Indigenous identity in space, including not being able to burn sage because of fire suppression technology; no dawn to greet; no Four Directions to honour; the complexity of honouring Mother Earth and Father Sky while being “closer to the backside of Mother Mars,” (p.52); and no drumming due to the calibration of technology on the ship (p.53). Mac locates a video of his grandfather drumming, and as Mitchell watches it, he reflects on how his grandfather encouraged him to “represent,” (p.55). “Song after song made him realize that even though he was only one quarter Anishinabe, he could be fairly confident he was the only Anishinabe out here in the asteroid belt, possibly the only one outside of Earth and the three space stations. This was the only drum music for millions and millions of kilometers. This was a responsibility. As his grandfather used to say, he’d better step up and represent, because he was a hell of a long way from home.” (p.55). 

Drew Hayden Taylor’s story is fun. The question that his grandfather poses is an interesting one. Note that his grandfather doesn’t ask if it’s possible to be a Native astronaut, rather, he questions whether it is possible to be a good, proper Native astronaut. The main character reflects on cultural practices that he cannot do in space, the implication here being that being “good” and “proper” are expressed through cultural activities such as smudging and drumming. Ultimately, he decides that he is being a good and proper native by virtue of his commitment to “represent”, and he expresses his identity by celebrating his ancestor.  What this story highlights is the fact that sometimes we are put in positions where there is no one around to affirm our Indigenous identity, and when we are put in those positions, we have to affirm ourselves. 

After reading this story, I did have some questions. What exactly does it mean to represent? What are the unique responsibilities tied to being in a professional context where you are the only Indigenous person? How do you conduct yourself when you have no family present to help you navigate identity? These questions are especially relevant in the university environment, where Indigenous people are under-represented. 

Other stories in the book include the first Native superhero, alien encounters, and a story where petroglyphs are a time travel portal to the past. There was one story about youth suicide that I didn't really like. But other than that one story, I really enjoyed this book.

Walking the Clouds - Grace Dillon

*Update - I noticed that the original version of this is riddled with typos. Blogger doesn't have spellcheck? Or maybe I turned it off somehow? Anyhow, fixed the glaring errors. 

When I encounter an author, I often look them up to see if they have any podcasts or lectures online. Then when I am reading, I can imagine their voice narrating it. Grace Dillon does have a number of lectures available online. She's a gregarious speaker with a delightful laugh. I recommend watching this video from the Future Imaginaries Symposium in Kelowna.

This post focuses on her introduction to the book she edited, Walking the Clouds: An Anthology of Indigenous Science Fiction (2012). She actually has another collection, Hive of Dreams: Contemporary Science Fiction from the Pacific Northwest (2003). I just recieved it in the mail. Grace Dillon does not address Indigenous fiction in the introduction. But I haven't looked too closely so maybe I am wrong about that. 

In the introduction to Walking the Clouds: An Anthology of Indigenous Science Fiction (2012), Grace Dillon opens with reference to a Drew Hayden Taylor play in which one of the characters is an Indigenous science fiction writer who resists their writing being limited to a mechanism to educate non-Indigenous Canada about Indigenous people, and instead just wants to follow their own creative impulses while also making a living (p.1). Reflecting on the concept of Indigenous self-expression through science fiction, Dillon asks the question "Does s[cience] f[iction] have the capacity to envision Native futures, Indigenous hopes, and dreams recovered by rethinking the past in a new framework?" (p.2). She says the anthology “weds s[cience] f[iction] theory and Native intellectualism, Indigenous scientific literacy, and western techno-cultural science, scientific possibilities enmeshed with Skin thinking." (p.2). 

She says, "The stories offered here are thought experiments that confront issues of 'Indianness'” (p.2) and also describes them as a "mindscape" (p.3). The parameters of the mindscape are described through the names of the sections in the book: “Native Slipstream; Contact; Indigenous Scientific Literacies and Environmental Sustainability; Native Apocalypse, Revolutions, and Futuristic Reconstructions of Sovereignties; and Biskaabiiyang, ‘Returning to Ourselves’: Beyond the Shadow-Worlds of Postmodernity and the (Post)Colonial." (p.3). Dillon engages with Indigenous scholars as she: invokes Gerald Vizenor's Suvivance (p.6); invokes Lawrence Gross's concepts of post-apocalyptic stress syndrome, aakozi (Anishinaabemowin for being out of balance), and returning to bimaadiziwin (being in a state of balance), (p.9); and invokes Linda Tuhiwai Smith's approach to decolonization, which Dillon describes as "changing rather than imitating Eurowestern concepts." (p.10). She says, "In the end, Walking the Clouds returns us to ourselves by encouraging Native writers to write about Native conditions in Native-centred worlds liberated by the imagination." (p.11).

Dillon, G.L. (2012). Imagining Indigenous Futurisms. In G.L. Dillon (Ed.) Walking the Clouds: An Anthology of Indigenous Science Fiction (p.1-12). Tuscon, Arizona: University of Arizona Press.

There are a few stories in the anthology that I thought were pretty good. The book is laid out as a scholarly reader, with academic introductions to each piece. 

The front matter of the book has a page that says "Volume 69" and lists the (very impressive) editorial board, which includes Joy Harjo, N. Scott Momaday, Simon J. Ortiz, and Leslie Marmon Silko. I saw that and I was like Volume 69 of what?!? so I went to the website website and found this description: 

Launched in 1971, Sun Tracks was one of the first publishing programs to focus exclusively on the creative works of Native Americans. The series has included more than eighty volumes of poetry, prose, art, and photography by such distinguished artists as Joy Harjo, N. Scott Momaday, Simon J. Ortiz, Carter Revard, and Luci Tapahonso.

I do love collections of things. So maybe some day I will look further into this Sun Tracks collection. But not today because I have some other things to do today. 

In 2016, Extrapolation, a scholarly journal on science fiction and fantasy, published an Indigenous Futurisms issue and Grace Dillon wrote the editorial.

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