Book No. 82 of 2020
This is, astonishingly, likely the first American Indian-authored book I’ve read since I was in school, which probably says a lot both about my own internal biases/blind spots and the state of representation in publishing and media
Tommy Orange’s writing is really beautiful and exquisitely captures so much of the complexity in American Indian identity—some of it I can relate to, and some of it is startlingly eye-opening. All of the characters in the story have a connection to Oakland, and it’s very sobering for me to realize that there is a layer of community I didn’t know existed in the same area I grew up in, and that the Bay Area I know is not everyone’s Bay Area. (Yes yes I know, obvious statement is obvious.)
The constant shifting of perspective (not only of different characters, but also of first, second, and third person narration) as well as the varying chapter lengths (the use of several very short chapters near the end has an almost rhythmic quality) gives the whole story a shimmering feel. I did have some trouble keeping track of the intertwined stories (probably because I read this in quick snatches over the course of an unusual week)—near the end when things were coming together, I found myself racking my brain for how certain characters were connected to each other.
Similar Reads
This was very similar in both structure and feel to Bryan Washington’s Lot.
Also slightly similar vibes as Jenny Zhang’s Sour Heart.