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SAIL
Studies in American Indian
Literatures
Series 2
Volume 12, Number
1
Spring 2000
Childrens
Literature
CONTENTS
Introduction
Lisa Mitten ........................................................................................................... 1
How Can This Be Cinderella if There is No Glass Slipper? Native American
"Fairy Tales"
Michelle Pagni Stewart ........................................................................................
3
A Lingering Miseducation: Confronting the Legacy of Little Tree
Daniel Heath Justice
............................................................................................ 20
Contesting Ideology in Childrens Book Reviewing
Debbie Reese .......................................................................................................
37
Elders as Teachers of Youth in American Indian Childrens Literature
Jim Charles .......................................................................................................... 56
CALLS FOR SUBMISSIONS
.......................................................................................65
REVIEW ESSAY
Dreams and Vision Quests in Janet Campbell Hale's The Owl's
Song
Frederick Hale ......................................................................................................
69
REVIEWS
"Artistic License" Should Be Revoked If It Involves the Re-writing of
History: My Heart is on the Ground: The Diary
of Nannie Little Rose by Ann Rinaldi
MariJo Moore ...................................................................................................... 83
The Birchbark House by Louise Erdrich
Peter G. Beidler ................................................................................................... 85
{ii}
The Ballad of Billy Badass and the Rose of Turkestan by William
Sanders
Martha Bartter ...................................................................................................... 89
CONTRIBUTORS
..................................................................................................... 93
2000 ASAIL Patrons
A. Lavonne Brown Ruoff
Will Karkavelas
Karl Kroeber
and others who wish to remain anonymous
2000 ASAIL Sponsors
Jeane Breinig
Alanna K. Brown
William M. Clements
Joyzelle Godfrey
Connie Jacobs
Arnold Krupat
Giorgio Mira
Pat Onion
Malea Powell
Kenneth Roemer
Karen Strom
James Thorson
Akira Y.Yamamoto
and others who wish to remain anonymous
{1}
Introduction
I am pleased to have been asked
to contribute to this special issue of SAIL devoted to Native American literary
works
for young people. The past decade or so has seen another in the cyclical explosions of children's
books being published in
this area, this time focusing on nonfiction and reference books as well as fiction and storybooks
of traditional legends and
on environmental themes. The articles in this issue of SAIL address the fictional
categories, as well as concerns about the
accuracy and understanding of non-Native writers (and reviewers) misinterpreting Native values
and cultures, or sanitizing
aspects of traditional stories to be more palatable to the largely non-Native readers of these
stories, both adult and juvenile.
As several of the contributors to this issue point out, questions need to be asked when writing or
reading these works: What
was the purpose of the story for the people to whom it belongs? To whom was it being told?
Who is it being retold for
now? What lessons are implied or conveyed? Is that lesson still coming through in the retelling?
Is it relevant to the
contemporary audience? Has it been sanitized to make it more "accessible" to today's listeners?
Does it still accurately
reflect the values and images of the people who told it?
Stewart discusses variants of the
Cinderella story as presented in three recent picture books and analyzes how they
differ from European versions of the tale. She highlights how these differences can be used in
classrooms to present
information on Native values and cultures to school- {2}children.
In his examination of Forrest Carter's
Education of Little Tree, Cherokee author Justice points out that the American
public "has a profitable love affair with the image of 'the Indian,' but little love or interest in real
Indians or their lives." He
goes on to talk about how Little Tree has evolved from being perceived as a loved
autobiography of Depression-era
Cherokee mountain life to a work of fiction by a notorious white supremacist.
Debbie Reese confronts issues in
reviewing children's books about Native Americans, fresh from the controversy over
My Heart is on the Ground: The Diary of Nannie Little Rose, a deeply flawed
fictional "memoir" of a young resident of
Carlisle Indian School at the turn of the century (reviewed in this issue by MariJo Moore).
The relationship between grandparents
and grandchildren, as exemplified in similar young adult novels by N. Scott
Momaday and his mother, Natachee Scott Momaday, is discussed in the final essay by Jim
Charles. And Peter Biedler
reviews Louise Erdrich's answer to Wilder's Little House on the Prairie, The
Birchbark House.
Lisa A.
Mitten
{3}
How Can This Be Cinderella
if There is No Glass Slipper? Native American
"Fairy Tales"
Michelle Pagni
Stewart
If you ask most children in the
United States to tell you the story of Cinderella, the answer will be remarkably similar:
Cinderella has two mean stepsisters and a horrid stepmother who make her do their chores and
treat her like a servant. They
try to keep her from attending the prince's ball, but Cinderella's friends, the mice, make her a
beautiful dress, which the step
sisters ruin. A fairy godmother turns a pumpkin into a carriage and gives Cinderella a new dress
so she can go to the ball,
where she dances all evening with the prince. As the clock strikes midnight, Cinderella rushes
from the ball, losing a
slipper on the way, escaping only moments before her carriage becomes a pumpkin once again.
When the prince searches
for the mysterious woman who fits the glass shoe, the stepmother locks Cinderella in the attic;
even though the cat tries to
stop the mice from bringing Cinderella the key, she gets out just in time to race downstairs and
prove she was the beautiful
young woman who danced with the prince at the ball. Although the stepmother trips the prince's
servant so that he drops
and breaks the glass slipper, Cinderella produces the other slipper, which, of course, fits. She
marries the prince, and they
live happily ever after.
This, in fact, is only one version of
Cinderella--Walt Disney's, to be exact--a retelling that came about late in the saga
of the young orphaned girl who is rescued from servitude through marriage to royalty. Disney's
well-known tale contains
creations of his own, such as the well-developed characters of the mice, yet other aspects, such as
the stepsisters, the {4}
slipper and the fairy godmother, come from a rich tradition that varies depending on the teller of
the tale and the culture
from which it derives. In fact, folklorists have identified over 700 variants of "Cinderella"
(Dundes vii). The incidents
folklorists use to identify a "Cinderella" tale include a rich but worthy protagonist found in some
sort of cinders-disguise
who is treated poorly by family members; assistance in the form of magic or advice from a
beast/bird/mother substitute; a
transformation event (such as a dance/festival/church scene) where the otherwise dirty heroine is
revealed in a display of
beauty; and the heroine's recognition through some sort of token, such as the slipper (Yolen 298).
Many versions involve
some sort of curfew, and some versions also entail a series of tasks the heroine must perform
before she is allowed to attend
the event or is recognized for her true worth. The ending, as is the case with most fairy tales, is a
happy one. Not all tales
identified as an Aarne-Thompson tale type 510A1 contain all of these aspects, but
they have the basic elements that
categorize them as a "Cinderella-type" tale.
Not surprisingly, Native American
variants of the Cinderella story abound,2 several of which have been the subject
of
picture books for children in the last few years. These include The Rough-Face
Girl, an Algonquin tale written by Rafe
Martin and illustrated by David Shannon (1992); Sootface: An Ojibwa Cinderella
Story, retold by Robert D. San Souci and
illustrated by Dan San Souci (1994); and The Turkey Girl, retold by Penny Pollock
and illustrated by Ed Young (1996). As
is the case of much literature for children, the authors and illustrators of these picture books are
predominantly white
(Pollock's father is a descendent of the Wyandotte tribe, an Iroquoian-speaking people from the
Northeast, yet she is
retelling a story from the Zuni Indians, a Pueblo tribe from the Southwest). To evaluate the
literature to be sure that Native
Americans and their practices and beliefs are not misrepresented or stereotyped, we should be
concerned with the accuracy
of the stories and illustrations, with the respect and understanding shown toward the culture, and
with the quality of the
story. In this paper I will address such issues, explaining how these three Cinderella picture
books can have value for young
readers and adult readers as well, even though some aspects of the books may be
questionable.
Jon C. Stott's Native American
Children's Literature discusses the problems that persist when one attempts to
introduce children to Native Americans and their culture through children's literature. In the past,
books dealing with
Native Americans--while perhaps well-meaning-- were generally ignorant and offensive to the
cultures the authors were
{5} trying to depict (Stott 1-5). Many relied on the
stereotypes propagated by Hollywood, so the Native American
characters were depicted as primitive savages who needed to be reformed and civilized by the
white culture, as murderers
who must be killed to protect the Western "civilized" way of life, or as noble, nature-loving
creatures whose simplicity and
naivete were romanticized but which ultimately made the characters inferior to progressive
whites.
In the push to incorporate a wider
diversity of texts in the classroom, teachers and librarians have solicited more
books with an ethnic background. On the one hand, this has been a positive goal, since children's
books today contain more
diverse characters than Nancy Larrick discovered in 1965 when she criticized children's literature
for being predominantly
white. (Larrick sought more books dealing with African American protagonists.) Yet, the
problem with Native American
children's books is not an issue of the number of books but rather of their content. Mary Gloyne
Byler argues that there are
too many books about Native Americans, too many because they are not the kind of books we
should be encouraging
children to read if we want them to gain an accurate knowledge of Native American culture and
history, and if we want
them to be sensitive to the situation of contemporary Native Americans. She explains, "There are
too many books featuring
painted, whooping, befeathered Indians closing in on too many forts, maliciously attacking
'peaceful' settlers or simply
leering menacingly from the background; too many books in which white benevolence is the only
thing that saves the day
for the incompetent, childlike Indian; too many stories setting forth what is 'best' for American
Indians" (Hirschfelder
34-35). Thus, while some well-meaning adults might try to introduce children to Native
American cultures with these
books, the knowledge the children will gain will, in fact, be detrimental to the understanding of
Native Americans.
Many critics locate the problem in the
contents of the books that, while perhaps well-intentioned, perpetuate ignorant
and stereotyped beliefs about Native Americans for children and adults alike. For example,
Debbie Reese finds that, in
addition to propagating Hollywood stereotypes (what she calls a "TV Indian"), books about
Native Americans fail to make
young readers aware of contemporary Native Americans and their way of life. Because books
about Native Americans are
largely set in the past, many children think Indians no longer exist (636-37). That the Native
American way of life is
romanticized in the past also encourages readers to ignore contemporary problems that befall
Native Americans, some of
which are similar to problems facing any contemporary American (that is, books {6} should recognize the human issues
Native Americans face as well as the issues specific to them as Native Americans). Michael
Dorris, too, criticized
children's literature, which, he said, too often continues to treat Indians as if they are the property
of children, a criticism
surely aimed at Lynne Banks' The Indian in the Cupboard (Hirschfelder vii), a book
so popular with children that it
spawned a movie and a number of sequels. Stott delineates the problem with Banks' book
(15-18), a problem that exists in
many Native American children's books, even those currently being produced. As Stott explains,
most picture books about
Native Americans are produced by non-Natives (25). In the past, this often meant the books were
replete with pernicious
stereotypes and an overall message that would ultimately privilege Western beliefs and
viewpoints rather than celebrating
Native American beliefs and culture. Although some of today's authors who are not Native
Americans seem to recognize
the deficiencies in past books and undertake research before attempting to create their texts, this
is where the problem
arises: some authors do not do enough research to represent accurately the culture they are
writing about, while others use
research that itself is misinformed and racist. Thus many contemporary authors of books dealing
with Native American
culture continue to perpetuate misunderstandings and stereotypes, no matter how subtle.
Does this mean, then, that we should
not let children read any books written by a non-Native? Does this mean that we
should not let them read any books that are not wholly accurate? Therein lies the crux of the
problem: while some Native
authors are beginning to work in the field of children's literature (Joseph Bruchac, Michael Dorris
and recently Louise
Erdrich have contributed), the field is dominated by non-Natives. In Stott's study, for example,
Native American authors
accounted for less than 20% of the authors he studied. Thus we discover the first aspect of the
dilemma: if we eliminate all
non-native authors, our options for introducing young readers to Native American culture and
stories would be sorely
limited. What's more, we might actually be eliminating books that, while not written by Native
Americans, are respective of
and accurate with regard to the culture.3 While Stott argues that we should reject
inaccurate books, Joseph Bruchac, in his
introduction to Stott's study, cautions us to avoid censorship, which, he says, does not resolve the
real problem:
"Understanding how a well-loved book, such as Lynne Banks' The Indian in the
Cupboard, makes mistakes about Native
people and reinforces stereotypes will give teachers the tools to discuss that book and others like
it in a more useful,
informed way" (xiii).
{7}
It seems the synthesis of these two
ideas is the best way we should approach all children's books about Native
Americans, including the Cinderella versions.4 If, by introducing these
inaccuracies to students, a teacher only serves to
reinforce them, then, of course, Stott is correct in suggesting the books not be used. However, in
many cases, if the
problems in the book aren't too pernicious, then Bruchac's idea that we should use these
inaccuracies as teaching tools
makes more sense. Children are more capable of thinking critically than many adults give them
credit for. And they are
probably more likely to look for inaccuracies and disrespect in other reading they do--and to be
able to see past these
problems--if they are introduced to some examples.5 (For, after all, we know that
telling children something is generally
less effective than showing them.) In this way, these three versions of Cinderella can be great
teaching tools for helping
children to understand Native American cultures and beliefs while at the same time making them
aware of how the culture
and beliefs can so easily be disrespected.
The three children's picture books
depicting a Cinderella-type tale are of two versions. The Rough-Face Girl and
Sootface: An Ojibwa Cinderella Story, both based on an Algonquin version of
Cinderella,6 tell a similar story of a young
girl without a mother whose two sisters (note these are not step-sisters) treat the
youngest poorly, making her do chores and
work by the fire. By throwing ashes on the youngest, they have scarred her face, thus her
nicknames of Rough-Face Girl
and Sootface. In these similar tales, all the girls in the village aspire to marry the corollary to the
European prince: the
Invisible Being in the first version, an invisible warrior in the second. Because the girl who has
seen this invisible man will
get to be his wife, his sister tests all the hopeful girls to see if they have actually seen him by
asking what his bow is made
of and a second question (what is the runner of his sleigh made of or how is his bow strung in
these two versions). The
protagonist's sisters lie and say they've seen the young man, but they fail the test because they
cannot answer his sister's
questions. Rough-Face/Sootface then dresses up (although in both cases, her dress is not
glamorized the way Disney's
Cinderella's is) and goes to meet the warrior's sister. Unlike the other girls in the village, her
sisters included, the
protagonist is able to answer the questions correctly and is thus able to marry the invisible young
man.
A very different tale is told in
The Turkey Girl, based on Pueblo versions of the folktale.7 This
version starts off with
a poor young girl who lives alone and takes care of the turkeys in her village. When she hears
about the upcoming Dance of
the Sacred Bird, she is eager to go, {8} but she thinks
she does not belong at the dance. The turkeys, her friends, change her
rags into a doeskin dress with shells on its hem and give her beaded moccasins for her feet. They
even shower her with
jewels, taken from the careless villagers who dropped them. In return for their help, they ask only
that she not forget them,
that she return before the sun sets to care for them. She promises. They tell her that if she breaks
her word, they will seek
their freedom. At the dance, the Turkey Girl is admired for her beauty, and she joins in the
dancing. She keeps the turkeys
in her thoughts for quite a while, but soon the music and the dancing entice her, and she begins to
procrastinate. At one
point, she thinks that she shouldn't have to leave the dance "for mere turkeys." She tries to justify
her staying by asking,
"Were they not just gabbling birds?" Alas, she waits too long and returns to find the gate open
and the turkey pen empty.
The turkeys had left because she had not kept her promise to them. The story ends by explaining
this is why to this day
turkeys live apart from humans.
Patricia J. Cianciolo, in her article,
"Folktale Variants: Links to the Never-Ending Chain," explains how the nexus
between cultures and stories can serve as a learning tool to help young readers understand
cultures they are unfamiliar with
or take pride in their culture if it is one that is being depicted. As Cianciolo argues, when young
readers encounter a tale
that they have heard again and again, they become more aware of small differences. These
differences become obvious as
features of the specific culture from which the tale derives (83). For example, readers of the
Native American versions of
Cinderella will find some aspects of the European variants conspicuously missing: for example,
glass slippers would be
impractical in a culture that is not waited on but instead spends a great deal of time ambulatory
(in contrast to the upper
class society depicted in some of the European tales). In fact, much has been made of the various
shoe-tests in Cinderella
tales,8 which are conspicuously missing in these Native American variants--most
likely because footwear was more of a
practical concern and the true test for an individual would be concerned with his/her inner
strengths and beliefs, not his/her outerwear.
A more subtle addition in all Native
American versions is an emphasis on rewarding those who speak the truth. In
both The Rough-Face Girl and Sootface, the protagonist gets to marry
the invisible warrior in part because she alone can
really see him (she passes the test), but also because the other girls in the story lie and say they
have seen him when, in fact,
they have not. Because the protagonist in The Rough-Face Girl at first admits she
does not see the warrior, the man's sister
encourages the protagonist to proceed with the test because she does not lie and say she {9} has seen him. Then later, when
she does finally see him, that becomes apparent to the sister because the protagonist doesn't have
to make up answers to the
questions she poses. Similarly, in Sootface, the protagonist does not lie about
seeing the invisible hunter; in this case, she
sees him coming toward her and asks the sister who he is before being asked the questions "What
is his bow made of?" and
"How is his bow strung?" (the latter question, although different from the one in The
Rough-Face Girl, results in the same
answer: the Milky Way).
While the story in The Turkey
Girl is quite different, truth in the spoken word is again privileged. Contrary to the
happy ending one finds in most Cinderellas, many readers are amazed to find in this Zuni
Cinderella story that Cinderella
does not marry a prince or invisible warrior (in fact, in this version, no correlation for the prince
exists).9 When the
protagonist promises the turkeys she will be home by dark and fails to keep her word, she is left
alone. In this case, the
differences in the tale suggest two significant values of the Native American culture: on the one
hand, the girl does not keep
her promise to the turkeys, so she is not true to her word and is therefore punished. Furthermore,
she ignores her promise
because she decides that she doesn't have to pay attention to the turkeys--they are mere birds. In
so doing, she places herself
above the turkeys, rather than recognizing the significance in life of animals as the Native
American culture does. Thus her
punishment is seen as just "reward" for her actions, in addition to explaining why, "From that day
unto this, turkeys have
lived apart from their tall brothers" (Pollock).
Since folktales derive from oral
tradition and, until put in print, were passed on through word of mouth, the variants
of Cinderella should reflect and respect the cultures from which they derive; as Cianciolo
reminds us, the language should
reflect the oral traditions (84). For if the language of Native American tales sounds like the stilted
"you white man, me
Injun" kind of language found in early texts and Hollywood movies, certainly one should be wary
of the book or at least
make young readers aware of the inaccuracy and artificiality of this language. In all three
"Cinderella" versions, however,
the stories flow nicely and young readers find the stories interesting; that the listener is engaged
in the telling of the story
aligns it with the oral tradition. All three versions also recognize the origins of the tale in the oral
tradition. Yet the way the
authors recognize their sources suggests something about each author's awareness of the Native
American culture. For
example, Martin explains in an author's note on the page opposite the initial page of the story that
the tale he is telling is
"actually part of a longer and more complex traditional story," yet that is {10} all he tells us of his sources.10 In contrast,
San Souci, also in a note--but this time on a page opposite the dedications--explains that he is
retelling a tale that originates
from the Northeast and Great Lakes tribes, although he did find a Pueblo variant as well. What's
more, San Souci
recognizes the actual sources of some of the versions he consulted, including versions from 1884,
1913, and 1979, and
explains that the illustrations are based on research undertaken at the Anthropology Library of
the University of California
Berkeley, reflecting Ojibwa village life in the mid-eighteenth century. This note is significant in
that it specifically cites
sources for both the story and the illustrations, suggesting that both San Soucis recognize the
importance of accuracy in
their work. That the writer consulted sources as far back as 1884 and as recent as 1979 also
demonstrates that he is aware
that time may or may not improve on the tales, depending on whether the earlier versions are
accurate "translations" of oral
tales or whether they, in fact, are heavily edited from a white bias. (The same, of course, can be
said of the more recent
versions: if newer sources rely on problematic retellings of tales, then they, too, can reflect
inaccuracies in the stories.) That
the illustrator researched Ojibwa life to create his pictures is commendable. Yet again, the
accuracy of the source should
always be scrutinized since those who study Native American history know how unrealistic and
disrespectful many
anthropologic sources have been. Furthermore, we see an awareness of the oral tradition from
which the stories come when
both San Souci and Pollock, on the cover of their books, identify themselves not as the writer of
the stories, but as the
teller, specifying that the stories are "retold."
Pollock's version, as well, shows an
increasing awareness of and respect for Native American culture. Her author's
note is not given in small type, hidden on the pages before the story begins. Instead, her note is in
the same font as the story
and takes up a whole page, given after the dedications and publishing information. She informs
the reader of her Native
American background and explains why she chose to retell the Zuni version of Cinderella, in part
because it "end[s] with
the hard truth that when we break our trust with Mother Earth, we pay a price." She also cites
Frank Hamilton Cushing's
collection of Zuni folktales as the source for the story, which may set off some red lights for
people who are aware that
Cushing's "translations" often included his own additions to the story.11 While
she hasn't cited the number of retellings that
San Souci does (in part, perhaps, because a number of Algonquian-speaking tribes have similar
versions of the Sootface
folktale while the Turkey Girl variant is not as abundant), her explanations of where the tale
came from and why {11} she
found it so interesting are included as part of the story, rather than hidden away, as if an
afterthought. Any book which is
based on a specific culture gains credibility by identifying its sources and the amount of research
that the author undertook
to ensure the story's accuracy.
An analysis of these three Cinderella
versions, which came out in the 1990s, reveals that all three picture books
demonstrate respect for Native American culture, even if the end results are not as accurate as
they should be. The earliest,
Rough-Face Girl, has received some negative criticism. Jon Stott criticized the
book because the text situates the
Algonquin tale on the shores of Lake Ontario, which is where Iroquois tribes, not Algonquin,
lived (25). The Kirkus review
from March 1, 1992, described the illustrations as "overliteral" and criticized the face of the
Invisible Man as "intrusions
rather than an integral part of the natural world" (Rough-Face Girl). I would also be
sure to point out to young readers that
the beginning and ending of the book sound more like the traditional European fairy tales than
one should expect from a
Native American tale. For example, the first line reads, "Once, long ago, there was a village by
the shores of Lake Ontario,"
which hints of "once upon a time." The final page reads: "Then at last the Rough-Face Girl and
the Invisible Being were
married. They lived together in great gladness and were never parted." This line suggests the
"happily ever after" ending
found in many European fairy tales.12 Some might find the prince-equivalent to
be problematic in that he is named the
Invisible Being, which sounds like a white's attempt at a Native American name. (In contrast, San
Souci calls the character
the invisible hunter, the invisible warrior or, simply the warrior--he is described in this way, but
not named. Other versions
use Invisible One, and one version names him Strong Wind, the Invisible.) The two sisters, who
have been criticized for
being depicted in a comical way, embody more of a European viewpoint whereas the protagonist
embodies Native
American values. Since we are meant to see the sisters as the "villains," perhaps the author was
in this way making what
was bad about them the assimilationist ideas that emphasize their beauty and the pretty clothes
they wear. In contrast, the
Rough-Face girl's clothes are mocked by the other people in her village, yet her faith in herself
and her courage are depicted
as worthy of emulation. And while feminists might decry the fact that the Rough-Face Girl must
become beautiful at the
end before she marries the Invisible Being, she is recognized for her inner beauty by the Invisible
Being and his sister
before the ugliness is washed away.
San Souci's 1994
Sootface tells a similar version of Cinderella, in part {12} because he tells an Ojibwa version of
Cinderella, and the Ojibwa tribe is part of the Algonquian language family. San Souci's
identification of his sources should
make adult readers less wary of San Souci's retelling, despite his not being Native American
himself, for the research
indicates a respect for Native American culture as well as a recognition that oral tales--even if
similar--differ based on the
teller. And, in fact, San Souci's version, while perhaps not as immediately enticing in its pictures
(most likely because San
Souci emphasized authenticity, as opposed to David Shannon's pictures with their comical
touches), proves to be a more
captivating depiction of Native American storytelling. Carolyn Phelan finds it a "good choice for
classes studying Native
Americans or comparative folklore" and praises it for "read[ing] aloud well"
(Sootface). And, in fact, San Souci's retelling
seems more faithful to the Native American culture. The story's beginning and ending do not rely
on European fairy tale
models, and the male character is not given an artificial name but is instead identified as the
invisible or the invisible
warrior or simply the hunter. Furthermore, when the invisible warrior gives Sootface a new
name, he is enacting an Ojibwa
custom of renaming.
In contrast to these two stories is
Penny Pollock's The Turkey Girl (1996), a Zuni tale Pollock found in a collection
of
Zuni folktales. The Pueblo Indian culture serves as an important backdrop to this variant, which
contains many elements of
Cinderella, but whose differences are much more startling--and more significant with respect to
Native American culture
and beliefs. To begin with, the protagonist in this tale is singled out within her culture, rather
than ostracized by family
members. She is befriended by a group of turkeys she takes care of, which highlights the Pueblo
Indians' raising of
livestock, something not emphasized with the Algonquian tribes. Most reviews of the book
emphasize the colors that are
seen as reflecting the Southwest backdrop of the tale.13 Ed Young's illustrations
are most apt for an oral culture which
would not want the pictures to replace the story found in the words. That the pictures are less
distinct, in fact, makes this
book the most oral-tradition based since both the words and the pictures do not fix the story so
that it is forever after static.
Students of oral tradition know that when one "captures" the story in words, one "fixes" it, in a
sense, and the story will no
longer have the vicissitude which characterizes oral tradition. While Shannon's and San Souci's
illustrations limit the story
to those pictures, in a sense, that is not the case with Young's illustrations, which allow the story
to expand beyond the
illustrations and the words, should a child's imagination--or a storyteller's--wish to
improvise.
{13}
The version Pollock retells lacks a
prince-like substitute, although, contrary to the Algonquian tales, it does contain a
ball-like situation, in the form of a dance/ceremony. The Turkey Girl wishes to attend the dance
but doesn't have the
suitable clothing, so the turkeys--in the role of "fairy godmother"--give her the proper dress and
tell her to enjoy herself but
to be home before Sun-Father "returns to his sacred place" (this is the curfew found in many
Cinderella stories). When the
Turkey Girl promises not to forget about the turkeys, an important element of this variant and of
Native American culture is
introduced: honoring one's word. In fact, this is what first struck Pollock as significant about this
tale: she says that she was
forced to reconsider the Cinderella tales she had grown up with, ones in which Cinderella breaks
her promise to be home
before midnight but is still rewarded by marrying the prince. As Pollock explains, "To Native
Americans, the Fairy
Godmother becomes Mother Earth. No one can break a promise to Mother Earth without dire
results" (Pollock, personal
statement).14 I would argue that it is as important that the Turkey Girl is breaking
a promise to the turkeys, for, in doing so,
she has placed herself above the animals, which is contrary to Native American beliefs. Thus, the
story does not end
"happily ever after"; not only does Turkey Girl not marry, but, in fact, she is left alone, without
her companion friends, the turkeys.
Most young readers quickly recognize
the difference in the ending, but this is a perfect opportunity to discuss the
significance of the difference and how it reflects the Native American culture. A Native
American story would not reward
someone who wasn't true to her word, nor would it reward someone who mistreated the turkeys
as she does. The ending
further emphasizes Native American oral tradition, for the last lines read: "From that day unto
this, turkeys have lived apart
from their tall brothers, for the Turkey Girl kept not her word. Thus shortens my story." Many
Native American tales help
us to understand why things are the way they are (labeled a "pourquoi tale" in children's
literature), which this story does.15
As important, the last line in a metafictional way emphasizes the storytelling tradition.
Certainly, then, introducing young
readers to Native American oral traditions and beliefs through a story they are
familiar with will encourage them to explore and understand other Native American stories,
many more of which are
beginning to be developed for young readers. As important, these Native American Cinderella
variants may encourage
them to question the beliefs that European fairy tales encourage: that a woman must be beautiful
on the outside to marry a
prince, that a woman can only find {14} happiness by
marrying a prince, and that someone who does not keep her word
will be rewarded, to name a few. In questioning such values, they become better readers of
Native American culture as well
as of their own culture. Those from Native American culture and from other ethnicities/ races
will also find reinforcement
in that the heroine can look more like they do (rather than the blonde-haired, blue-eyed Disney
variety) and act more like
they do.16
Although each of these versions of
Cinderella has problems of a varying degree with respect to the Native American
culture that an adult reader should be aware of and make a child reader aware of, still, much can
be gained by introducing
young readers to these variants. Overall, there is more to be gained than lost with these books,
especially if they encourage
young readers to explore other and, we hope, better depictions of Native American cultures and
stories. Several good
bibliographies of Native American books for children, including those by Mary Gloyne Byler,
Arlene B. Hirschfelder,
Ginny Moore Kruse and Kathleen T. Horning, Beverly Slapin, Doris Seale, and Rosemary
Gonzalez are in print, which
should help make selections of culturally accurate and respectful books easier. But if using these
Cinderella variants makes
young readers more interested in exploring Native American cultures and stories--as I have found
to be the case with adult
readers, who are often hesitant to introduce their children or students to Native American stories
because they know so little
about the culture--then they will have served an important function in helping people take that
first step to understanding
more about Native American culture and life. While the slipper may not fit as well as we'd like it
to, at least they're not
afraid to try it on.
NOTES
1 In 1961, Stith
Thompson revised Antii Aarne's tale type index, which collected aspects of various folktales in
order to
categorize them along various story types. This is when the label "510A" was given to the tale
commonly known in the
United States as Cinderella (Dundes viii). Much of the history and various methods of typing the
Cinderella tale are
discussed in Alan Dundes' Cinderella: A Casebook. Because it is not my intention
here to debate the origins of the
Cinderella tale or even to justify these tales as Cinderella versions since the authors have
identified them as such and thus
young readers will, too, my remarks on these issues will {15} be limited.
2 For ease of
discussion, I will refer to the variants of this "cinder-girl" tale as Cinderella, although I do
recognize this
privileges the European versions of the tale. However, since this is the name most children (and
adults) will recognize, it
seems to be the best way to achieve understanding of the argument I am making.
3 Stott praises the
work of Scott O'Dell and Jean Craighead George, authors of Island of the Blue Dolphin
and Julie of
the Wolves, respectively. Many find O'Dell and George to be strong advocates for Native
beliefs and culture. I would add
Sharon Creech's Walk Two Moons to the list since the novel not only deals with
aspects of Native beliefs in a contemporary
setting but also employs a Native American literary structure: she writes in a non-linear,
non-chronological manner,
utilizing multiple viewpoints and retellings of Native American myths, and she even creates a
trickster character.
4 Granted, some
books may be so inaccurate and so disrespectful to the Native American culture that redeeming
the
book may be impossible. However, not all books that "make mistakes" are devoid of value, as
Bruchac argues. As my
argument suggests, children can often learn from these mistakes--as long as the mistakes are
identified and explained, and
as long as the mistakes are balanced with books that are respectful and "mistake-free."
5 Of course, this
presupposes that parents and teachers will be diligent in learning about the Native American
cultures
they are reading about as well as take the time to be aware of any potential problems with the
books they read. Perhaps this
is not as realistic an expectation as we would like it to be. But the more teachers, parents and
concerned adults can make
other teachers, friends and neighbors aware of these issues, the more likely it is that people will
think about them when
selecting books.
6 Similar versions
can be found in World Folktales: A Scribner Resource Collection (edited by Atelia
Clarkson and
Gilbert B. Cross) and The Talking Stone: An Anthology of Native American Tales and
Legends (edited by Dorothy de Wit).
Likewise, a version found in Writing and Reading Across the Curriculum, a
composition textbook edited by Lawrence
Behrens and Leonard J. Rosens, follows the same basic storyline.
7 Joseph Bruchac
and Gayle Ross have included their version of the tale, "The Poor Turkey Girl," in The
Girl Who
Married the Moon: Tales from Native North America.
{16}
8 Poteine P.
Bourboulis argues that "the most important feature in the fairy-story of Cinderella is the
shoe-test" and
points out that Andrew Lang contended that such a tale "could not have originated in a naked and
shoeless race" (Dundes
103). In any case, it seems that those tales most likely to emphasize a shoe-test had origins in the
Asian version of the tale
since the Chinese culture is very foot- and shoe-conscious (106-07).
9 A colleague of
mine insists that the Zuni version is not, in fact, a Cinderella tale in part because the protagonist
fails
the turkey's test. She believes the test to be the most important part of a Cinderella tale. However,
while most tales have
some sort of token which allows the protagonist to be recognized as the heroine, it is the
recognition of her identity that is
key. In this case, I would argue, the Turkey Girl is recognized because of the results of her
actions--in the Native American
culture, she would not be rewarded for failing to live up to her promise; thus her failing the test is
significant (and
necessary) within the culture. She also learns something from this test, which makes her a
"winner" even if she is not
ultimately happily married. Just as the specific test often varies depending on the culture from
which the variant originates,
so, would I argue that the results in this case are culture-specific and thus do not keep the tale
from fitting the "type."
10 Although
Martin doesn't identify any source for his tale, I have found similar sources, as explained in a
prior note.
11 Granted,
anyone familiar with oral tradition recognizes that, as part of the tradition, the stories may change
with the
teller; what makes Cushing's additions problematic is that they were often Westernized additions
which disrespected or at
least misunderstood the culture whose tales he was putting into print (Ruoff 16).
12 This reminds
me of Thomas King's playful depiction of various ways of beginning stories, found in
Green Grass,
Running Water: "Once upon a time," "A long time ago in a faraway land," "Many moons
comechucka . . .
hahahahahahahahahahaha," and "In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth" are all
dismissed as the wrong
way to begin stories.
13 Janice del
Negro suggests the changing light indicates the "emotional tenor of the plot" while Horn
Book indicates the
colors evoke the isolation of the Southwest desert environment. Kirkus Reviews
says the "pictures only hint of place, dress
or culture but fully capture the story's changing moods with floating, indistinct figures and
strongly colored light." (All
reviews were found courtesy of amazon.com.) Sadly, some-{17}times the colored printing of the words makes them almost
impossible to read.
14 Notice, though,
that neither of the other two versions has the element of a curfew; thus, neither protagonist breaks
her
word and is still rewarded.
15 A version
similar to the Algonquian tale (which cites as its origin Canadian Wonder Tales
and does not identify any
particular tribe) also has a "pourquoi tale" ending. In this version, the invisible warrior, named
Strong Wind, punishes the
sisters by changing them into aspen trees. The end of the tale thus explains why aspen leaves
tremble with the wind, for the
two sisters are afraid of their sister's husband, Strong Wind, who is angry because they lied and
treated their sister cruelly.
16 This is true of
other cultures as well. Currently, Cinderella variants exist from a variety of cultures, including
Chinese
(Yeh Shin, written by Ai-Ling Louie and illustrated by Ed Young), Korean
(The Korean Cinderella, written by Shirley
Climo and illustrated by Ruth Heller), Egyptian (The Egyptian Cinderella, written
by Shirley Climo and illustrated by Ruth
Heller), Caribbean (Cendrillon, written by Robert D. San Souci and illustrated by
Brian Pinkney), Persian (The Persian
Cinderella, written by Shirley Climo and illustrated by Robert Florczak) and Middle
Eastern (The Golden Sandal, written
by Rebecca Hickox and illustrated by Will Hillenbrand), to name a few.
WORKS CITED
Behrens, Lawrence and Leonard J. Rosens. Writing and Reading Across the
Curriculum. 6th ed. New York: Longman,
1997.
Byler, Mary Gloyne. American Indian Authors for Young Readers: A Selected
Bibliography. New York: Association on
American Indian Affairs, 1973.
Bruchac, Joseph, and Gayle Ross. "The Poor Turkey Girl." The Girl Who Married the
Moon: Tales from Native North
America. BridgeWater Books, 1994. 65-68.
Ciancolo, Patricia J. "Folktale Variants: Links to the Never-Ending Chain." Once
Upon a Folktale: Capturing the Folklore
Process with Children. Ed. Gloria T. Blatt. New York: Teachers College Press, 1993. 80-
93.
{18}
Clarkson, Atelia and Gilbert B. Cross, ed. "The Indian Cinderella." World Folktales: A
Scribner Resource Collection. New
York: Charles Scribner's Songs, 1980. 43-48.
del Negro, Janice. Review of The Turkey Girl. Reprinted from
Booklist. 15 Apr. 1996. From amazon.com. Online. 18 Jan.
1999.
de Wit, Dorothy, ed. "Little Burnt Face." The Talking Stone: An Anthology of Native
American Tales and Legends. New
York: Greenwillow Books, 1979. 34-38.
Dundes, Alan, ed. Cinderella: A Casebook. Madison: U of Wisconsin P,
1982.
Hirschfelder, Arlene B. American Indian Stereotypes in the World of Children: A
Reader and Bibliography. Metuchen, NJ:
Scarecrow P, 1982.
King, Thomas. Green Grass, Running Water. New York: Bantam Books,
1993.
Kruse, Ginny Moore, and Kathleen T. Horning. Multicultural Literature for Children
and Young Adults: A Selected Listing
of Books 1980-1990 by and about People of Color. Madison: Cooperative Children's
Book Center, University of
Wisconsin, 1991.
Larrick, Nancy. "The All-White World of Children's Books." Rpt. in The Black
American in Books for Children: Readings
in Racism. Eds. Donnarae MacCann and Gloria Woodward. 1st ed. Methuhen: Scarecrow
P, 1972. 156-68.
Martin, Rafe. The Rough-Face Girl. Ill. David Shannon. New York: G.P.
Putnam's Sons, 1992.
Phelan, Carolyn. Review of Sootface. Reprinted from Booklist
15 Oct. 1994. From amazon.com. Online. 18 Jan. 1999.
Pollock Penny. Personal statement. 28 Jan. 1998. From amazon.com. Online. 18 Jan.
1999.
--. The Turkey Girl: A Zuni Cinderella Story. Illus. Ed Young. Boston: Little,
Brown, 1996.
The Rough-Face Girl . Review. Reprinted from Kirkus Review.
1 March 1992. From amazon.com. Online. 18 Jan. 1999.
Ruoff, A. LaVonne Brown. American Indian Literatures: An Introduction,
Bibliographic Review, and Selected
Bibliography. New York: MLA, 1990.
{19}
San Souci, Robert D. Sootface: An Ojibwa Cinderella Story. Illus. Daniel San
Souci. New York: Doubleday, 1994.
Slapin, Beverly, Doris Seale, and Rosemary Gonzalez. How to Tell the Difference: A
Checklist for Evaluating Children's
Books for Anti-Indian Bias. Philadelphia: New Society Publishers, 1988.
Stott, Jon C. Native Americans in Children's Literature. Phoenix: Oryx Press,
1995.
The Turkey Girl. Review. Reprinted from Horn Book. From
amazon.com. Online. 18 Jan. 1999.
--. Review. Reprinted from Kirkus Reviews. 1 Feb. 1996. From amazon.com.
Online. 18 Jan. 1999.
Yolen, Jane. "America's Cinderella." Cinderella: A Casebook. Ed. Alan
Dundes. Madison: U of Wisconsin P, 1982.
294-306.
{20}
A Lingering Miseducation:
Confronting the Legacy of Little Tree
Daniel Heath Justice
I was twelve years old the first
time I read Forrest (Asa) Carter's now-notorious novel, The Education of Little Tree.
Our minister had given a copy of the book to my mother, and she was so moved by the story that
she insisted I read it
myself. At the time my favorite reading material included hobbits, dragons, and wizards; the last
thing I wanted to read
about was Indians, having long since accepted the idea of Indianness as something dull,
primitive, and uncouth. But Mom
was insistent. "It's a really beautiful story, a true story. It's about Cherokees," she told me. "It's
about you."
Mom and I finally made a deal: she'd
read one of my novels if I'd give Little Tree a try. With little enthusiasm I started
reading. Six hours later I was reading it for a second time, still teary-eyed from the first session.
Little Tree had cast its spell
over me as well as my mother, and in the days and weeks that followed my dog-eared copy of the
book went everywhere
with me. I memorized favorite passages and took to imagining myself as Little Tree. The book
was a sentimental vision of
a life that somewhat reflected my own: my dad--twenty-one years older than my mother--was old
enough to be my
"Granpa," and as a hunter, occasional ranchhand, dedicated individualist, and my own guide to
the mysteries of the
mountains, he was every bit Carter's Granpa to my Little Tree; though Mom wasn't a fullblood
Cherokee, she and I spent
many hours in conversation about spirituality, morality, and history, just like Little Tree and
Granma; {21} and I too was a
mixedblood Cherokee boy who never felt more at ease than with my parents and dogs (who were
pugs instead of huntin'
hounds, but I didn't quibble with those little details). Little Tree, a fanciful story
based on stereotypes and lies, written by a
vocal anti-Semitic racist, had become a foundation of my Cherokee identity.
Crow Creek Sioux scholar Elizabeth
Cook-Lynn once asked in reference to Native America, "Who gets to tell the
stories?" As she acknowledges, who speaks is perhaps the most important question for Indian
people today, "the political
question of our time" (64). Issues of colonialism, land displacement and genocide, spiritual and
cultural appropriation, and
fragmentation are all part of this question, and the answers reveal a great deal about who we are
as Americans, particularly
Natives and Euroamericans. Cook-Lynn answers the question: "In regard to the Indian stories,
there is plenty of evidence
that what America wants is what America gets. "Dances with Wolves," The Education of
Little Tree, Sam Gill, Arthur
Kopit, James Fenimore Cooper and other assorted outrages" (61). This is not a recent
phenomenon, as Louis Owens
(Choctaw/Cherokee) explains: "Native cultures--their voices systematically silenced--had no part
in the ongoing discourse
that evolved over several centuries to define the utterance 'Indian' within the language of the
invaders" (7). Cook-Lynn's list
could have been so much longer and included five hundred years of writers, politicians, and
explorers, but those she
mentions are certainly adequate to demonstrate the point that the general American public has a
profitable love affair with
the image of "the Indian," but little love or interest in real Indians or their lives.
A companion question to that asked
by Cook-Lynn, and one of equal importance is this: To whom are the stories
told? I don't mean the mass market that Cook-Lynn addresses in the accessory question to
her first: "What is it America
wants?" (61). Instead, the audience I'm concerned about is the one most often forgotten in
discussions of authenticity issues
and cultural (mis)appropriation: children. From books like The Indian in the
Cupboard, Little House on the Prairie, The
Adventures of Tom Sawyer, and Two Little Savages (written by one of the
early leaders of the American Boy Scouts,
Ernest Thompson Seton) come stories of howling savages, sullen squaws and noble braves, pinto
horses and buffalo-hide
tepees, and legions of faceless, nameless Indians fading away before the inevitable
forward-march of Euroamerican civilization.
Euroamerican children have suffered
greatly from these images, for the mythology of the Vanishing Indian creates
both a monocultural blindness and assumptions of supremacy (what Ward
Churchill1 aptly titles {22} "Fantasies of
the
Master Race") as well as a visceral horror of digging too far into American history and
discovering that a) the "inevitable
vanishing" was neither inevitable or complete, as the battles for and against colonization are still
being fought at the end of
the twentieth century; b) the march of "civilization" has revealed itself to be simply an exercise
of oppression and violence,
and has turned technology into as much an ecocidal system as one of genocide; and c), this
generation of colonialists, the
children who accept the privileges of colonialism without question, is every bit as much
responsible for the dispossession
and slaughter of Indian peoples as their ancestors, even if they didn't do the shooting, raping, or
removing themselves. This
is a sad legacy for Euroamerican children to inherit, and with every new Indian-themed book
published and film produced
without regard to real Indians or real lives, they will continue to be educated into a centuries-old
campaign of colonialist oppression.
With most of the protagonists of
these books and films being white children and their families, there can be little
surprise that white children readily embrace them. But the painful reality is that Indian children,
too, experience the
messages of these media, but without the accompanying message of cultural empowerment.
Instead, Indian children learn
that the continued existence of their peoples is a regrettable mistake; their identities and spiritual
beliefs are backward,
superstitious, and evil (or, in the case of the New Age movement, that their Indian identities and
beliefs can be assumed,
transformed, and sold without ethical consideration of their mother cultures); any questioning of
the American myth of
manifest destiny reveals the ignorance of the questioner, not the corrupt nature of the myth; and
that, inevitably and
hopefully sooner than later, all the Indians will either be wiped away from the mindscape of
America, either through
intermarriage or ideological and physical force. Churchill writes of these messages, and their
influence over Indian
children:
As the Oneida comedian Charlie Hill has observed, the portrayal of Indians
in the cinema has been such that it has
made the playing of "Cowboys and Indians" a favorite American childhood game. The object of
the "sport" is for the
"cowboys" to "kill" all the "Indians," just like in the movies. A bitter irony associated with this is
that Indian as well
as non-Indian children heatedly demand to be identified as cowboys, a not unnatural outcome
under the
circumstances, but one which speaks volumes to the damage done to the American Indian
self-concept by movie
propaganda. The meaning of this, as {23} Hill notes, can
best be appreciated if one were to imagine that the children
were instead engaging in a game called "nazis and Jews." (240)
This self-hating narrative of play is simply a youthful retelling of the invasion of Native
America. The political
complications and implications of such a seemingly-innocent pastime as "Cowboys and Indians"
are clear, especially when
the images of each are defined by the conqueror culture.
Mom and Dad always laugh when
they tell the story: When I was about four years old, we were in a small cafe in
Black Hawk, Colorado, where my parents brought me along for breakfast with a Lakota man who
knew my family from
Dad's trucking days. I sat through the meal without a word, all the while glaring at the stranger
with undisguised hatred.
When my mother asked if I had to go to the bathroom, I nodded, then moved to the man and said
with as much contempt as
my four-year-old voice could muster, "Hey, my Daddy don't like Indians."
The man and my father both laughed,
and Mom smiled as she said, "But honey, your Daddy is an Indian."
I threw myself on the floor of the
crowded restaurant and screamed, "My daddy is NOT an Indian! My daddy is NOT
an Indian!"
By now Mom was mortified, Dad and
his friend were laughing, and I was hysterical. Mom grabbed me in my flailing
tantrum and said firmly, "Yes, he is, and that makes you an Indian, too."
I stopped suddenly, tears and sweat
and snot running down my face, my breath rising and falling in hiccuping gasps. I
was silent for a moment and then said, "So that makes me a little Indian boy, doesn't it,
Mommy?" My face broke out into a
wide smile, and I finally allowed my mother to lead me to the restroom.
I've often thought about that event,
and I've tried to figure out why a young child growing up with a Cherokee father
and mountain-bred mother would be so surprised to discover his dad's Native heritage. I've
wondered why I was so terrified
at the thought of his Indianness but not my own. And I've seen in our lives how that fear can split
people into multiple
selves of varying social acceptability, and alienate us from those we both love and need the
most.
Forrest (Asa) Carter's The
Education of Little Tree is a prime example of non-Indian-defined, Indian-themed
literature. The long-acclaimed coming- of-age story of a young boy who goes to live with his
half-Cherokee "Granpa" and
fullblood "Granma" in the Appalachian wilds upon the death {24} of his parents, Little Tree was cataloged by
the Library
of Congress as primarily a youth biography. If children weren't the intended audience, their
interest soon became apparent.
In his introduction to the University of New Mexico Press edition, Cherokee legal scholar
Rennard Strickland writes:
Little Tree found its first and most loyal readership among
those who cared about the young, about "growing up" . . .
Teenagers took to the book almost as a cult. The values as well as the prose touched many who
didn't usually read.
Younger children found Little Tree on their own. Librarians began to find
Little Tree missing from the shelves.
Students of Native American life discovered the book to be as accurate as it was mystical and
romantic.
Elementary-school teachers learned that Little Tree fascinated their seemingly
world-weary charges. (vi)
Teachers integrated the book into their curricula, following the example of educators like
Ruth Anne Edmunds and Mary
M. Moynihan.2 Two different audio tape versions of the book, one unabridged,
were made to further capitalize on the
novel's popularity.
In his essay, "The Education of
Little Tree: What It Really Reveals About the Public Schools," Michael Marker
explores the popularity of Little Tree in schools, particularly its use as a
foundational text in multicultural education:
The message is perfectly clear: Indians are no longer the continent's
indigenous people; they are only one of many
colorful groups in the great American melting pot. Indians are just like the rest of us. They like to
hunt, make
moonshine, gather wild herbs in season, and have a close relationship with the earth. In short,
they are a lot like the
hill people in the Tennessee mountains, with Indian stuff added to their lives as a kind of cultural
spice. (226)
Diversity issues merely become quaint color to a whitewashed American mythos, a national
identity that depends upon
obscuring the histories of people of color, women, and political and sexual minorities. As Marker
continues:
Even if teachers knew where to find the people and materials that could
introduce their students to genuine and
substantial aspects of {25} Indian culture, they couldn't
present the information in the context of their classrooms.
The ideas would be unintelligible and unacceptable to a group of teachers charged with
maintaining and justifying the
multitude of inequities in a class-based society. (226)
With texts like Little Tree, school systems can claim a multicultural focus
without any confrontation of issues of power,
violence, or oppression. The perspective of the students returns to the hegemony of
Euroamerican values, all the while
shrouded in the self-satisfaction of superficial diversity awareness.
Carter's apparent ability to dissect
racist Euroamerican culture through his simple, down-to-earth characters, poetic
narrative, and insightful observations about the world set The Education of Little
Tree on the quick path of becoming a
minor classic of Native American literature, even driving its publication sales to "close to a
million copies, more copies
sold than The Way to Rainy Mountain by N. Scott Momaday, which once was the
best seller at the University of New
Mexico Press" (Vizenor 116). When a stereotype-ridden work like Little Tree is
more popular among the American public
than a masterpiece like Rainy Mountain, Momaday's exploration and evocation of
his own identity as a Kiowa man, the
depth of anti-Indian sentiment in America is made manifest.3
The gentle praise of Little
Tree ended in 1991 when questions about the work's authenticity as autobiography that
had
surfaced over a decade earlier were finally taken seriously. Emory University Professor Dan T.
Carter, a biographer of
Alabama governor George Wallace, revealed to the New York Times that Forrest
Carter, the obscure half-Cherokee author
of Little Tree, was in fact Asa Carter, an anti-Semitic racist, terrorist, and author of
Wallace's notorious "segregation
forever" speech. Advertised as autobiography, and read with the knowledge of Carter's violent
racism and in conjunction
with his other works, as journalist Dana Rubin asserts, The Education of Little Tree
represents
an extreme kind of Jeffersonian political attitude that can be extended in any
number of directions. To the left, it
intersects with liberalism and multiculturalism; to the right, with libertarianism and anarchism.
Out of context, the
book might sound like a New Age manifesto . . . . But viewed in the context of Carter's life and
writings, The
Education of Little Tree is the same right-wing story he had been telling all along. (96)
{26} Little Tree gave me the first
positive sense of my Cherokee identity, but the legacy of that sense has been
problematic. There is no way to escape the reality of Carter's fraud, nor the truth that there is
nothing very Cherokee about
it.4 Throughout the book Carter connects the deceptively benign world and
"Cherokee" philosophies of Little Tree to his
own racist beliefs with remarkable success, though with a veil of kindness, tolerance, and
respect. The novel's popularity
depends upon and encourages long-established and damaging stereotypes. Because Carter meets
the reader's expectations
through these stereotypes, the image becomes the reality, and the reality becomes artificial and
indistinct. The construction
assumes a hyper-reality with which Native authors, most of whom strongly critique colonialism
and its legacies, cannot
compete. Carter constructs an "Indianness" that borrows shrewdly from the Noble Savage and
generic, pan-Indian images,
while giving the characters an historical (albeit skewed) context and some novel attributes to veil
most of the stereotypes he
manipulates.
Carter's racist history is something
that he was unable to fully manipulate. Though never prosecuted for his
involvement, Carter was tied to the attack on Nat King Cole during a performance in
Birmingham, Alabama, in 1956; the
brutal beating and castration of Edward Aaron, an African American man chosen at random to
receive the frustrated fury of
Carter's band of Klansmen (condemned by other members as being too radical); and the shooting
of three former followers
who had grown uncomfortable with Carter's extremism.5 According to Rubin,
Carter's political stance was "chilling":
On the issue of race, Carter was ruthless. To him, white supremacy was the
foundation for law, order, and
civilization. Racial equality would lead to race mixing, or "mongrelization," which was against
the laws of nature and
God . . . . the civil rights movement was a concoction of world Jewry--the impetus behind the
liberal tide that was
threatening American democracy. In Carter's view, blacks were to be pitied, but Jews were to be
feared. Blaming
them had a kind of dark logic; how else could you explain why previously docile Negroes would
suddenly revolt?
(81)
Carter's support of segregation and his affiliation with the Ku Klux Klan appeared to many as
an almost irreconcilable
contradiction to the virtues of understanding, tolerance, and kindness seen in Little
Tree. This perceived contradiction
occurs largely because Carter continually positions {27}
Little Tree and his family as the agents of morality against the
general immorality of their white neighbors. However, there is ample evidence of Carter's
continued post-Little Tree racism
and anti-Semitism, as well as significant problems in the text, such as Carter's romanticization of
Indians. One of his
acquaintances makes this underlying theme explicit:
Blacks, [Carter] said, were undeserving compared with the patient and brave
Indians, who had suffered terrible
wrongs inflicted by the Yankees. "I heard him say many times that blacks don't know how it is to
be mistreated," says
Buddy Barnett, Asa's friend from childhood . . . . "The Indians have suffered more." (Rubin 81)
Looking at Little Tree as evidence of a midlife conversion (rather than
accepting his moral corruption) forces the reader to
ignore or minimize the true horror of his past and the tragedy of his final years in Texas, when he
was consumed with a
desire to claim his constructed Indian identity and tormented by his enduring hatred of Jews,
blacks, and the wealthy white
literary establishment that had so long rejected him. During one public speech, to which he had
been invited to speak about
Little Tree and his supposed life as a Cherokee, and at which he arrived drunk,
Carter referred to a fellow speaker as "a
good ol' Jew girl" (Rubin 80). And his opinions about African Americans did not change from
his days as a brutal
Klansman; they were simply veiled in his continuing masquerade:
His easygoing humor was a facade he had adopted to preserve the mask. An
Abilene friend, Louise Green,
remembers hearing Carter rage about blacks more than once. At a steakhouse in Abilene, Carter
flew into a nasty
tirade. "He said he didn't want anybody to take care of his poor old mother, and he didn't want to
take care of 'some
nigger's old mother either,'" Green says. On and on he went, louder and louder, about how "the
niggers ought to go
back to Africa," until other diners began to glare. (96)
The masquerade was incomplete. Carter was a violent man who lived hard, hated hard, and
died hard, choking to death on
his own vomit after a drunken argument with his son. This is hardly the image of the sensitive
little half-Cherokee boy who
is taught to love and respect himself and others. Carter's life was one example after another of
direct aggression or subtle
propaganda against those he deemed unacceptable.
My dad grew up on the eastern plains
of Colorado, in and around a {28} little town called
Ordway. It was the era of
the Great Depression, the time of the great serialized Westerns, when the good guy wore white,
the bad guy wore black, and
the "Injun" was the pillaging fiend of the wild, wild West. It's no coincidence that the other
supposed "good guys" who
wore white and fought against dark villains were a strong influence on the social climate of the
day: the Ku Klux Klan.
Their hats were a little taller and their rituals more ornate, but the messages of threat, white
purity, and subjugation of the
"wrong kind of people" were the same. My grandmother was doubly suspect, as she was both
Indian and Catholic. Dad
gave me her rosary; the beads and crucifix are black.
Dad was a dark-skinned Cherokee
boy in a dirt-poor farming community that was largely white and uneducated,
where racism was the standard practice of the day. He was an experienced fighter from an early
age; he had to be just to survive.
Hey, blanketass!
Look, it's Chief Pee-Pee
Running Water!
How! Me heap-big brave,
Tonto!
Goddamm Injun. Worthless.
Backward. Lawless.
Savage.
Indian.
Every day was a battle, but not only
at school. Home posed its own difficulties. My grandfather Jake, a "half-breed,"
never acknowledged his own Cherokee blood--or that of his children--and was as proudly racist
as any of his white
neighbors, in spite of his dark skin and thick dark hair. He wasn't Indian: he was "Black Dutch."
My grandmother Pearl, to
shield her son and daughter from the rampant prejudice of the plains, wouldn't allow them to
enroll in the Cherokee Nation
(though they chose to later in life, as did I). Assimilation was the only hope she saw for them; she
had given up much of her
own Cherokee identity years before to survive an unhappy marriage, far from home and
community. The occupation of
Alcatraz and the tragedy of Wounded Knee II were far in the future, and even the immediate
effects of Roosevelt's "Indian
New Deal" weren't a reality in her life. Her world was now white, and she believed that the
well-being of her children
depended upon that fact. The memory of the Trail of Tears, allotment, and other US social and
political policies against the
Cherokees was still too fresh, too tangible to forget, no matter how much she wanted to.
In spite of the revelations and
controversy about Carter, The Education of Little Tree remains a top seller at New
Mexico Press, and was made into a feature family film by Paramount Pictures in 1997, with
James Cromwell {29} as (the
now wholly-white) Granpa, Tantoo Cardinal as Granma, Graham Greene as Willow John, and
Joseph Ashton as Little
Tree. The book is still taught in college, high school, and elementary school classrooms, and it is
still believed by many to
be an authentic autobiography. The University of New Mexico Press has apparently made little
attempt to inform those who
have purchased the novel since the revelations of 1991, in spite of Strickland's offer to write a
new introduction which,
while praising, would have brought attention to the controversy. The Press, as of November
1998, is still printing the book
with Strickland's original introduction, although the hardcover dust jacket features the following
apparent compromise:
Much of the lore passed from generation to generation by word of mouth is
found in these stories in The Education of
Little Tree, autobiographical if not all factually accurate. For instance, Granma is based
on family memories of
Carter's great-great-great grandmother . . . who was a full Cherokee, combined with the author's
own mother, who
read Shakespeare to him when he was a child. But Granpa is all and forever true in this
storyteller's memoir of a time
that ended when Little Tree was ten and Granpa died.
Carter, who proudly acknowledged his lineage from fallen heroes of the Confederacy and
took his sylvan-sounding
pseudonym from Nathan Bedford Forrest, the founder of the original Ku Klux Klan, found this
Indian identity a useful tool
in expressing his racist ideology.6
The stereotypes and inaccuracies of
Carter's depiction of Cherokee culture has been well-established. While Cherokee
writer Robert J. Conley explains that in Cherokee culture "the sense of community is much
stronger than the sense of the
worth of the individual" (xii), Carter's Indians live apart from their tribal community as much in
spirit and philosophy as in
geographic proximity. Granpa, Granma, Little Tree, and Willow John are the only Indians
around; reference to "the Nation"
in Oklahoma is always with scorn or sadness. No mention is made of the Eastern Band of
Cherokees in North Carolina.
Carter's Indians claim to carry the memory and "Way" of their people, but only as a vanished or
vanishing memory. The
tribal community is dead in Little Tree, and none of the so-called Cherokees seem
interested in reclaiming it.7 Instead of
"[i]ndividual worth [being] defined in a community context" (xii), their worth exists wholly in
their individuality. This fits
well with Carter's belief in staunch individuality and libertarian self-reliance. His resistance to
centralized power is as {30}
apparent in his approach to the United States government as it is in the governments of the
Cherokee Nation and the
Eastern Band.
Granpa is the Noble Trickster,
Granma the dignified Indian Princess (and a Cherokee Princess, no less!), and Little
Tree is just what so many generations of Boy Scouts have dreamed themselves to be: the Little
Brave roaming wild in the
forest, with few rules and all sorts of generic "Indian" woodlore to consume and exploit. In most
ways they are generic
Indians, with few if any attributes that are distinctly Cherokee. None of them have any
connection to the Cherokee clan
system, which would have been quite unusual for Cherokees like Granma and Granpa during that
time period, as historian
John R. Finger points out:
Anthropologists found clear evidence of a continuing clan identity. Gilbert
estimated that in 1931-32 more than half
the people on the reservation [Qualla Boundary, in North Carolina] still had such affiliations, and
in a majority of the
families he surveyed spouses belonged to different clans. . . . And in a random sampling of
conservative full-bloods
in 1935-36, Leonard Bloom found that older Indians knew both their own clans (inherited from
their mothers) and
their fathers'. (68-69)
Even if Granpa and Granma are not staunch conservatives, Carter presents their parents as
being so, for they are some of
the Cherokees who evaded Removal (just like those of the Eastern Band). And, given their
admonition to Little Tree that
"If ye don't know the past, then ye will not have a future. If ye don't know where your people
have been, then ye won't
know where your people are going" (40), Granma and Granpa would certainly have some
knowledge of the clan system of
their family.
This fictionalization of Native lives
and histories poses a very real threat to Native America, for it creates powerful
stereotypes of Indians (what Anishinaabe writer and critic Gerald Vizenor calls "interimage
simulations") that take on a
white cultural reality that is seen as more "authentic" than the realities of living, sovereign
American Indians. While
Strickland sees Little Tree as neither "the work of a bigot nor . . . a metaphor for
segregation," he readily asserts that "Asa
Carter's childhood had nothing to do with The Education of Little Tree" (in Reid
16) and that the advertisement of the book
"as autobiography cuts the threads of truth and turns history into another variety of fiction" (18).
Cherokee-Quapaw/
Chikasaw literary scholar Geary Hobson is less complementary about Little Tree,
believing the book to be "second-rate
literature, and not {31} at all from a Cherokee
sensibility" (69). He endorses legitimate Cherokee writers such as Robert J.
Conley and the late Carroll Arnett (Gogisgi), as well as white writer Joyce Rockwood, who
"displays more understanding
of Cherokee culture and world view than Carter could even dream of, proving that a good writer
doesn't even have to
pretend (as Carter did) to be Cherokee to be able to write convincingly about the people" (70).
Rather than criticize all
non-Indian writers of Indian issues, Hobson asserts that truth and real understanding are far more
vital to a legitimate
presentation than bogus claims of fabricated "Indianness."
There is little consensus, even among
Cherokees, about the value of The Education of Little Tree. In her book
Living
Stories of the Cherokee (1998), folklorist Barbara R. Duncan writes that when "a woman
asked Freeman Owle, after a
storytelling performance, what she could read to understand 'the mind' of the Cherokee, he
suggested reading James
Mooney's Myths and Sacred Formulas of the Cherokee and Forrest Carter's
The Education of Little Tree" (Duncan 25).
Duncan doesn't seem to be aware of the controversy over the book, and there's no evidence to
suggest irony in Owle's
response to the woman (see note 4).
This isn't necessarily surprising, for
Indians still come to the book with appreciation of its apparently positive
depiction of Indian life in the 1930s, while others see it as just another example of white
appropriation of Native identity.
Little Tree speaks to stereotypes that aren't rejected by all Indians; after all, the
Noble Savage is much less degrading than
his ignoble counterpart who runs around scalping everyone and burning their wagons and cabins
to the ground. According
to Modoc writer Michael Dorris, these stereotypes are manifest in the "popular and persistent
folk belief [that] The Indian
is, among other things, male, red-skinned, stoic, taciturn, ecologically aware, and a great user of
metaphor" (46). The Noble
Savage is in touch with the sacred ways of the Earth; he (almost always a male) is sought after by
whites and thus possesses
something that they don't have quite yet; he is also a wise, understanding, sometimes humorous
sachem who is admired by
all and a true leader to a noble yet broken people. Such are the images evoked by the Noble
Savage, and while there are
many problems with this figure, it is still a more benign and ego-enriching role than that of the
rabid savage that does
nothing but howl and slaughter whites and his fellow tribespeople.
In spite of any its superficial
benevolence and proclaimed appreciation for Indians, we know The Education of Little
Tree (and Forrest Carter himself) to be fiction. Granpa's lesson to Little Tree becomes an
ironic one for the informed
reader: "Go by his tone, and ye'll know if he's mean and {32} lying" (79). We went by the kindness of his tone and still
found him to be a liar.
Forrest Carter will not be the last
best-selling simulation of an Indian, nor will he be the last non-Indian to redefine
Indianness through white privilege and overt or implied claims of white entitlement. And as long
as such writers are simply
dismissed as crackpots, fools, or monsters, the masquerade will continue its damaging work. As
Vizenor points out, too
many critics emphasize "trivia rather than . . . an authentic critique of the autoposers, those
posers who were so admired by
readers, even honored by librarians and teachers for their indian simulations. The
critical issue is racialist fraud, not trivial
literary reviews and reductions" (117). This is best seen by perusing the "Native American" or
"New Age" sections of your
local bookstore to find the books on Indian history, culture, spirituality, and literature: most of
the books are written by
Euroamericans for a Euroamerican audience, reshaping the traditions and beliefs of indigenous
peoples as only those in
economic and social privilege can, yet this hardly stems the lucrative tide of Indian-themed
tomes. According to historian
Donald L. Fixico (Shawnee, Sac & Fox. Seminole, and Muscogee Creek), of the more than
"30,000 manuscripts . . .
published about American Indians . . . more than 90 percent of that literature has been written by
non-Indians" (86). Many
have been and are by white scholars and writers; many others by "wannabes" and posers.
Carter finds his greatest popularity in
such a culture. Little Tree contains all the stereotypes of Indians discussed
previously, such as the Noble Savage, the Indian Princess, and the Squaw, as well as the one
image that surpasses all others
in both Euroamerican acceptance and danger to Indian peoples: that of the Vanishing Indian. All
of the Indians in the novel
die except Little Tree, and he ends the narrative wandering across the United States, unconnected
to his people in the
southeast or in Oklahoma, unconnected to any Indians but those who have died. The utter
elimination of Indians from the
world sustains this vision, where the only Indians are white guys playing Indian.
My family is
Tsalagi--Cherokee --Ani-yunwiya, the Real People. Many generations
have suffered from the stereotypes
that Little Tree draws upon, stereotypes that find their deepest grasp in the minds
and spirits of the children. We have spent
many years resisting colonialist intrusions into our lives, histories, and identities, to varying
degrees of success, sometimes
with strategies that would make true understanding more difficult for the children and
grandchildren who would follow.
Until 1996, my parents and I didn't know that The Education of Little Tree was
{33} a fraud; three generations of removal
kept us ignorant of who we are among our people. But we know now. We've reclaimed the story
from Asa Carter and
others like him who would define Indians out of existence and take their place as the indigenes of
the Americas. We're
reestablishing connections with our kin in the Nation and beyond, and we're reading authors like
Cook-Lynn, Vizenor,
Owens, Wendy Rose, Diane Glancy, Marilou Awiakta, Joy Harjo, Linda Hogan, Sherman
Alexie, D'Arcy McNickle, and
other Indians who tell their own stories. The time of Little Tree is at an end; the
voices have escaped. We know the truth:
the stories are ours, and we will be the ones to tell them. That's where the real
education begins.
NOTES
1 The controversy
that surrounds Churchill and his own Cherokee identity is certainly complex, particularly when
one is
citing him as a source for an essay involving the appropriation of Indian identity. However, three
factors weigh heavily in
my choice of citing Churchill's work: first, he's unafraid to say many things that should be heard,
even if they're unpleasant
for Euroamericans to face; second, although often criticized, he's also been highly praised by
tribal people throughout
Indian Country, and he has been accepted as both an Indian and an advocate for Native rights by
many; third, and most
important, he's now an enrolled member of the United Keetoowah Band of Cherokees--if the
Keetoowahs say he's a tribal
member, and if we believe that tribes have the sovereign right to define who is and isn't a
member of their communities,
then it seems to me only right to acknowledge his work and his voice in the larger Native
community. This
acknowledgment doesn't make him or his work any less complicated, but it certainly places the
critical focus where it
belongs: on issues of tribal sovereignty.
2 See Ruth Ann
Edmunds, "The Education of Little Tree: A Novel Study for Literature Based
Instruction Master of
Education Project" (Charlotte, NC: Queen's College, March 1992), and Mary M. Moynihan's
review of Little Tree and its
applicability for teaching sociology courses (Teaching Sociology 19.1 (Jan. 1991):
110-112). Both of these pieces were
published before the revelations of Carter's true identity were widely revealed. Some educators
have found the controversy
itself to be a worthy teaching tool, such as Catherine Raymaker, whose online project sheet on
{34} Little Tree confronts
the stereotypes of the text directly while encouraging students to perform significant and
insightful research into Native
American issues: <http://www.umcs.maine.edu/~orono/collaborative/ education.html>
3 Another
example is the contrast between two recent films, one that focuses on Indians, the other including
Native
American, Chicano, and African American peoples. The film version of Little Tree,
which, though not commercially
successful, was produced by Paramount Pictures six years after Carter's true identity was
revealed, has found its niche in
the world of stereotyped Indianness. On the other hand, the powerful independent film
Follow Me Home (written and
directed by first time director and Native activist Peter Bratt)--a film that unflinchingly explores
the devastating effects of
colonialism on women and people of color, and how the colonizers have turned us against
ourselves and others--has yet to
find a distributor in the United States. Bratt's artistry isn't gentle or coy; he presents the
experiences of many American
minorities with honesty that frightens many Euroamericans. In such a case, the values of
America's "entertainment"
industry are quite clear: status quo at all times. Give the ethnic people a few bones, a Russell
Means or a Salma Hayek, but
nothing that would seriously question the distribution of power and resources in the United
States.
4 There are many
Cherokees who disagree, particularly those who still live in the southeast, such as members of the
Eastern Band. In a conversation with an Eastern Cherokee elder at a literature conference in the
fall of 1999, I learned that
The Education of Little Tree is highly regarded by many Eastern Cherokees as an
authentic picture of their lives, in spite of
the admittedly problematic aspects of both the book and its author. After over four hundred years
of contact, conflict,
intermarriage, and acculturation, Appalachian Cherokees share many cultural traits and traditions
with their non-Indian
neighbors, so the lack of strong tribal specificity wouldn't necessarily be evidence of fraud. And
even Carter's racism isn't
necessarily evidence that he wasn't Cherokee--there are racists within Indian communities, just as
there are racists within all
ethnic groups.
While this knowledge doesn't change
my own opinion of the text or its author, I'm certainly less inclined to dismiss
the work completely. There does seem to be a significant difference between Western Cherokees
and our Eastern kin in our
responses to Little Tree (particularly after the revelations about Carter's life);
further study of this difference would provide
{35} a fascinating understanding of the post-Removal
cultural and philosophical differences between geographically
diverse Cherokee communities.
5 The most
comprehensive study of this period of Carter's life is Dan T. Carter's essay, "Southern History,
American
Fiction: The Secret Life of Southwestern Novelist Forrest Carter," Rewriting the South:
History and Fiction, eds. Lothar
Hönnighausen and Valeria Gennaro Lerda (Tügingen: Francke, 1993):
286-304.
6 By connecting
the fallen Confederate cause to the unarguable treachery experienced by Native nations from the
United
States government, Carter attempted to provide a strong moral ground for his virulent worldview.
Thus, in Little Tree,
Granpa's own father joins "the Confederate raider, John Hunt Morgan, to fight the faraway,
faceless monster of 'guvmint,'
that threatened his people and his cabin" (44). While genetically white, he is presented as much
an Indian as his wife Red
Wing, thus effecting the same transformation as the fully-white but spiritually Cherokee Granpa
in the film version of Little
Tree. In battle Granpa's "Pa" gives "the rebel Indian yell rumbling from his chest and out
his throat, screaming, savage"
(44). His people "were mountain bred. They did not lust for land, or profit, but loved the freedom
of the mountains, as did
the Cherokee" (43). Late in life, his body mangled by old war wounds, "the wild scream of the
exulting rebel's challenge to
hated government would come from his throat and he would die. Forty years it had taken the
'guvmint' lead to kill him"
(45). And, while Granpa is hallucinating from the effects of a rattlesnake bite, he tells the story of
an incident during his
childhood when northern Regulators and Union troops viciously attack a nice, peaceful
Confederate family, who are so nice
and kind that, while they have little money or food, care for an old African American man who
dies in defense of his nice,
kind, peaceful white protectors.
In The Outlaw Josey
Wales, Carter's other widely-known novel, the main Indian character is the Cherokee
Lone
Watie, fictional cousin to the real Stand Watie, controversial political activist of the Cherokee
Nation, the only Indian
general of the South, and the last general of the Confederacy to surrender during the Civil War.
In this book Carter states
that when "the War between the States had burst over the nation, the Cherokee naturally sided
with the Confederacy against
the hated government that had deprived him of his mountain home" (58). This selective use of
history obscures the
complex reality of the Cherokee alliance with the Confederacy: in spite of numerous appeals to
the federal government by
Chief John Ross, who worked hard to remain allied to the Union, federal {36} troops withdrew from Indian Territory early
in the War, thus leaving Cherokees unprotected from roaming brigands of whites and Indians,
Watie's own Native troops,
and the armies of the South. The Cherokee Nation was sharply divided over the question of
joining the Confederacy, with
the majority in opposition. Without support from the United States, the Nation had little choice
but to join with the
southern states. After the war, true to Chief Ross's predictions, the Cherokees and the other
Indian nations who sided with
the South were brutally punished by the federal government for the choice, further weakening the
sovereignty and cohesion
of the tribes.
7 By contrast, the
film version of Little Tree ends with Willow John taking Little Tree under his care
upon the death of
Granma and Granpa. The narrator--the now-adult Little Tree--even tells of traveling to visit and
work with his Cherokee
kin in Oklahoma. (In the book he and Blue Boy "made it to the Nations, where there was no
Nation" [215].) Rather than the
death-knell ending of the novel, the film provides a significant revision, one in which the Indians
actually survive and
continue being Indians.
{37}
Contesting Ideology in
Children's Book Reviewing
Debbie
Reese
Introduction
I began reviewing children's literature
for the Horn Book Guide, a children's literature review journal, in the summer
of 1996. At that time, Horn Book, Inc., was looking for someone with expertise in children's
literature about Native
Americans to write reviews of those books. A local school librarian familiar with my work
suggested the Horn Book
editors contact me, which they did. I submitted a writing sample and soon after, the managing
editor of the Horn Book
Guide sent me a set of books to review. By email, she sent me a message: "Mainly we're
concerned that the review briefly
describes the book, including artwork or photographs, and provides some critical comments."
Several months later, a
review I submitted was rejected by the editor-in-chief. In this paper, I will present the context for
the rejection and discuss
the results of a study I conducted following the rejection of my review.
My identity, experiences, and research
I am Pueblo Indian, from Nambe, a
small Pueblo in northern New Mexico. Surrounded by my family and relatives, I
was raised traditionally on our reservation in New Mexico, which means that my elders guided
me as I took part in
traditional ceremonial and religious activities. After high school graduation, I moved away from
the Pueblo to work on my
bachelor's degree in elementary education. I began teaching in public schools, but {38} the majority of my teaching was in
boarding schools for Native American children in Anadarko, Oklahoma and Santa Fe, New
Mexico. My husband and I met
while teaching at Santa Fe Indian School; we married and have one child, Liz, who is in
elementary school.
Before moving to Illinois we lived at
Nambe, in an adobe home passed on to me from my grandparents and parents.
Since her birth, Liz has taken part in traditional spiritual ceremonies and strongly identifies with
her Pueblo heritage. When
she was three, we moved to Champaign, Illinois, to work on our graduate degrees. In Champaign,
we were among a
handful of Native American people living there. In preschool, Liz saw children "play Indian" on
the school playground as
they chased each other, calling out war whoops. One day, she said to her classmates that she
would be Pocahontas in their
dramatic play (this was shortly after Disney released the animated film), but they told her that she
could not be a real
Native American because "your skin isn't dark and your hair isn't black." Liz did not fit their
conceptual understanding of
what an Indian looks like. In an effort to determine where they might be getting the information
their concepts are based on,
I looked critically at the societal context.
The University of Illinois's athletic
teams are the "Fighting Illini." Each year a student is chosen to be "Chief
Illiniwek." Dressed in a feathered headdress and fringed buckskin, UIUC's "Chief Illiniwek"
dances barefoot at half-time
during football and basketball games. The people of Champaign-Urbana embrace the Chief
image and incorporate it into
their business. His image is everywhere: from clothing, book bags, and posters, to vans and
storefronts of local merchants.
At least fifty-eight businesses include the word "Illini" in their name. The phone book lists
everything from the Illini
Battery Corporation to Illini Wallprinters, Inc.
Native American students at the
University as well as numerous Native American organizations across the country
protest the use of Native American stereotypes as mascots for sporting and athletic teams. Such
stereotypes are not limited
to sports mascots. Stereotypes of Native Americans appear in books, movies, and on television.
They appear in mass
market children's books for sale at department stores (e.g., Clifford's Halloween, by
Norman Bridwell) and in children's
books for sale at book stores (e.g., George and Martha: Encore, by James
Marshall). They appear in children's television
programs (see, for example, the Muppet Babies episode about the Transcontinental
Railroad) and movies (Disney's Peter
Pan ). Within our family there is a heightened awareness of the prevalence of these
stereotypes, perhaps because we are far
from the Pueblo--far from friends, relatives, and others who know what Native {39} American people are like.
In our first two years in Illinois
encounters with stereotypes in and out of preschool caused Liz intense discomfort.
Her teacher talked of her "tantrums" at preschool, an indicator that Liz was not "ready" for
kindergarten. This teacher was
unable to see the connection between what she described as "tantrums" with the reality that,
often, Liz was forced to assert
and defend her identity as a Native American. The "play Indian" activities Liz witnessed in
school and the stereotypical
images of Native Americans in other contexts used to make her feel angry and hurt. Now,
however, she rolls her eyes,
points them out to her teacher, friend, or classmate, says "That's a stereotype" and moves on. She
has learned to cope with them.
As a beginning doctoral student at the
University of Illinois, I wanted to study children's literature and literacy in the
home. But Liz's experiences and my interactions with adults in the University and community
setting made it clear that
members of the community held powerfully entrenched stereotypical ideas of Native American
culture. Instead of literacy
in the home, I chose to study images of Native Americans in children's literature.
Through my research, I learned there
are predominantly three stereotypes of Native Americans in children's literature
(Dorris vii, Flaste 3, Hirschfelder 422, MacCann 150, Slapin & Seale 1). The first is
typically referred to as the aggressive
savage. He appears in books about the western frontier where bloodthirsty Indians attack
innocent settlers for no apparent
reason. Wielding his tomahawk or bow and arrow, he kidnaps children and scalps or kills their
parents. He usually rides a
horse and lives in a teepee. The second is the romantic, or noble Indian. He is the admirable
image of a being who exists in
harmony with nature. He is able to communicate with birds, animals, rocks, and trees. When he
hunts, he uses every part of
the animal and nothing goes to waste. He has mystical powers that allow him to know and see
things others cannot see. He
is the perfect hero and role model for an environmentally conscious America. In both cases, the
Indian is usually shown
wearing a feathered headdress and is partially dressed in fringed buckskin. Berkhoffer documents
the prevalence of this
depiction in American history in his book The White Man's Indian: Images of the
American Indian from Columbus to the
Present. The third way Native American stereotypes are present in children's literature is
through characters wearing Indian
attire. The character is usually a non-Native child or an animal. Sometimes the character is
shown wearing Indian clothes
because he/she is playing Cowboys and {40}
Indians.
As I began to write and share what I
was learning with others, I began to receive invitations from local teachers who
invited me to visit their elementary school classrooms to talk with their students about Native
American culture. These
classroom visits provided me with an excellent opportunity to assess children's understandings
and concepts of Native
American people. As noted earlier, these schools are located in a part of Illinois where the Native
American population is
extremely small. Consequently, most children do not have the opportunity to interact with Native
people in the context of
their daily life experiences. During these visits, children make such comments as: "How did you
get here? Do you have a
car?" "Yes. A red one!" "But Indians don't have cars. They have horses."
These comments reflect the
stereotyped images of Native Americans in picture books, television programs, movies,
and other commercial institutions that use Native American symbolism to promote their
products. Taken together, these
images are powerful enough to suggest to children that a Native American in the 1990's should
look, behave, and live just
as the stereotyped images look, behave, and live. These images are so powerful and long-lasting,
that an intelligent college
senior in journalism told me he was "blown away" when he first met a Native person, because
"He was just a guy! And he
was wearing a baseball cap! And his skin wasn't even red!"
As part of my professional activities I
conduct workshops for teachers and librarians on children's literature about
Native Americans, and on how teachers can authentically teach about Native Americans.
Teachers are learning to recognize
stereotypes--not just of Native Americans, but of many different ethnic groups as well. As they
discard books that contain
stereotypical representations of people of color, they seek culturally authentic literature.
Fortunately, the numbers of such
books are increasing, with many of them published by small presses like Oyate, Greenfield
Review Press, and Lee & Low.
With greater frequency, teaching journals and magazines include articles suggesting that teachers
use children's literature to
provide meaningful instruction about other cultures. With more and more teachers looking for
children's literature to
supplement their instruction, school librarians are working to develop collections that meet the
needs of the teachers and
students they serve.
To reiterate the key points I have
made thus far: 1) many non-Native children have inaccurate concepts about Native
Americans that are based on or reinforced by stereotypical representations, 2) a Native American
child can be hurt when
she sees stereotypical representations, 3) teachers {41}
want to provide children with accurate information about other
cultures and use children's literature to help them accomplish this goal, and 4) librarians want to
help teachers by
developing and maintaining a collection responsive to their instructional needs.
The review of Birthday Bear
Originally published in Europe (written by Antonie Schneider; illustrated by Uli Waas),
Birthday Bear is a picture
storybook in which two white children visit their grandparents in the country to celebrate the
boy's seventh birthday. He is
fascinated with Indians, and throughout the book, he is reading an Indian adventure story. In the
story, the children put on
headbands and feathers, hide, and then leap out from the bushes, waving tomahawks in a mock
attack of their grandfather
as he rides by on his bicycle. My review of the book included a statement that provided details of
the play Indian theme and
identified this depiction as an objectionable stereotype of Native Americans.
Soon after submitting the review, I
learned that Roger Sutton, the editor-in-chief, had read the book and my review
and decided the play Indian part of Birthday Bear was so peripheral to the story that
the book should not have been
assigned to me in the first place (I am the reviewer designated to review books about Native
Americans). He reassigned the
book to an in-house reviewer. I was stunned by this decision and sent the following email
message to the managing editor
who assigns books:
I have been reflecting on your message, and am troubled by Roger's decision
to do an in-house review of the Birthday
Bear book. The play Indian part of the book may be peripheral to him, but it is most
certainly not to me. Surely he is
aware that the play Indian theme figures prominently in the writing of those who work against
stereotypes of Native Americans!
In my research, I specifically LOOK
for books that are not Native American in their central theme, but
incorporate the play Indian theme into the story line. These are, in my opinion (but also in the
opinion of other
multicultural scholars), particularly problematic because they subtly carry on and reinforce the
notions that we are
working most hard to dispel.
In this period of increased attention to
diversity and multicultural education within our classrooms and society
in general, I think it is even more important that we help others become aware of these issues and
how they appear in
children's books.
{42}
Furthermore, when my daughter, who
strongly identifies with her Pueblo Indian heritage, sees illustrations in
books of characters playing Indian, she slams the book shut. Yes, she is my daughter, and my
work is a powerful
influence on her. However, that is her reaction, and as a child in the United States, shouldn't we
pay attention to her
reactions, and do something about it?
Most recently, we found such an
image in a George and Martha book she borrowed from her school library.
Birthday Bear, and other children's books that have subplots of children or characters
playing Indian are the VERY
ONES I WANT TO SEE!!! In my role as a reviewer for Horn Book, it strikes me as logical to
send me these books in
addition to the ones that focus on Native American culture.
Within a few days, Sutton replied:
I wanted to write to you to explain why I felt we could not use your review
of Schneider's Birthday Bear. I totally
understand your objection to the "playing Indian" theme of the story, and, yes, I'm
aware that scholars and critics are
concerned with this issue. It is important that this criticism be made--but not in the Horn Book
Guide. We cannot
give a negative review to a book because we object to its content, because of what it is "about."
To do so would be a
violation of the American Library Association's Library Bill of Rights and its various Freedom to
Read statements.
Here is Point Two of the LBR: "Libraries should provide materials and information presenting all
points of view on
current and historical issues. Materials should not be proscribed or removed because of partisan
or doctrinal disapproval."
While the Horn Book is not a library,
libraries and librarians are our primary audience, using our publications to
assist in the book selection process--so we follow their rules. And I'm glad we do so. Your
daughter doesn't want to
read George and Martha? That's fine--but does that mean no child should read George and
Martha? Beginning in the
1960s, many critics started scrutinizing children's books in regard to their "images" of blacks,
Native Americans,
Latinos, the disabled, women, gays and lesbians, and other groups that had faced discrimination
and were agitating
for their rights. This was and is valuable work, but we can't allow it to dictate library selection.
One person's "right
image" is another person's "stereotype," and we have {43} to allow readers to make their own decisions.
I think Birthday Bear is
a mediocre book, with cliched situations (such as the Indian war-whooping), flat
writing, and a predictable plot formula. But we can't tell our subscribers not to buy it because the
characters should
not have been "playing Indian." That's a sociopolitical criticism that goes beyond our defined
arena of book reviewing
for school and public library selectors. We review books not on the basis of what they say, but on
how well we judge
them to say it.
Roger Sutton, Editor-in-Chief, Horn
Book
His decision to reject the review was based on the following points. First, my review
identified the play Indian theme as a
stereotypical representation of Native Americans. He described this as "socio-political criticism
that does not belong in a
literary review." Second, he believes the word stereotype is subjective, and that one person's
stereotype can be another
person's role model! Third, he believes that identifying the play Indian theme as an objectionable
stereotypic will negatively
influence a librarian's purchasing decision which is, ultimately, an effort on my part to censor the
distribution of books that
contain information I personally find offensive. Finally, he believes the book does not stereotype
Native Americans but that
it shows non-Indian children engaged in fantasy play based on stereotyped images of Indians. He
states that this is an
important distinction because the author has accurately portrayed the way children play Indian,
and so, a reviewer cannot
criticize the book based on inaccurate presentation of content.
His status in the field as
editor-in-chief of Horn Book, Inc. (the premier children's review journal in the United
States), the force of his arguments, and his use of the First Amendment as support for his
arguments were convincing, but
only if I held children in abeyance, and literature itself in a vacuum. An ideology disconnected
from children and people of
color seemed to be guiding his decision-making process.
The study
Based on my work with
librarians and teachers, I believe there was a mismatch between Sutton's editorial policy and
the needs of librarians and teachers who use reviews to select books about Native Americans, or
with content related to
Native Americans. To test my belief, I designed and administered a two-part study to find out
what librarians and teachers
expect to find in reviews of children's books. The first part of the study included a review of the
literature on children's
book reviewing, and the {44} second part consisted of
in-depth interviews with public school librarians and a survey of
subscribers to an internet listserv devoted to a discussion of children's literature.
The review of children's books and multicultural literature
In recent years, there
has been an explosion in the number of children's books being published. Estimates indicate that
between 4,500 and 6000 children's books are published each year (Cullinan vii, Horning, Kruse
& Schliesman 8). Children
themselves rarely purchase children's literature (Kayden 156); public and school libraries are the
major purchasers of
children's books (Briley 109, Horning 3). Because of the volume of books being published,
Hearne notes that librarians
must make book choices quickly and effectively (2). To aid in the book selection process,
librarians often turn to review
journals (Harrington 30, Hearne 2). Several professional journals are dedicated to the review of
children's literature. Among
the more widely distributed journals are Horn Book Magazine, School Library Journal,
Booklist, The Bulletin of the Center
for Children's Books, and Kirkus Reviews. With ever-tightening budgets,
Walford writes "librarians look for critical
reviews as a guide to what is really worthwhile purchasing" (9). Kiefer writes "the written text
and the design are integral
parts of the picture book and must be evaluated along with the illustrations" (78). Townsend
states that reviewers provide a
"consumer guide for potential buyers of books" (179). Schomberg expects a book review to
include descriptive and
objective statements about plot, characters, theme and illustrations, but she also expects a review
to address potential
appeal, curricular use, and possible controversial aspects of the book (41). As more and more
teachers and schools move
towards resource-based instruction (as opposed to textbook-based instruction), school librarians
and the collections they
maintain and develop are assuming a more significant role in the educational curriculum
(Harrington 28, Schomberg 40).
Librarians want to make informed choices and allocate limited library budgets in ways that
enhance and enrich children's
collections (Harrington 30, Kellman 202).
One way that children's literature has
become enriched in recent years is through the increase in multiethnic children's
literature, including literature about Native Americans. Advocates argue that at its best,
multicultural literature meets the
highest literary standards and helps all children learn about themselves and others in an
increasingly diverse society (Sims
Bishop 3-4). The quality and quantity of multicultural literature has increased over the past two
decades (Harris 18). Norton
writes that it helps {45} all children understand and
respect the artistic contributions of people from many different cultural
backgrounds (28). "Educators and parents alike maintain a strong belief in the power of literature
to affect the minds and
hearts of its readers, particularly when those readers are children and youth" (Bishop 40). Bishop
continues: "all children
who read or are read to need to see themselves reflected as part of humanity. If they are not, or if
their reflections are
distorted and ridiculous, there is the danger that they will absorb negative messages about
themselves and people like them.
Those who see only themselves or who are exposed to errors and misrepresentations are
miseducated into a false sense of
superiority, and the harm is doubly done" (43). Multiethnic literature can also help children
stretch their cultural and
historical imaginations and give them encouragement to view the world critically, from the
perspectives of people long
ignored (Bigelow 277).
Advocates of multiethnic literature
note that while there has been an increase in the number of such books available,
much remains undone overall. Horning and Kruse note that most children's book editorial
departments are composed of
people whose backgrounds are Euroamerican, and most children's and young adult book review
journals use reviewers
whose understanding of races and cultures other than their own is shaped by the prevailing
images and ideas in the
dominant experience (7). This points to a need for publishing houses and book review journals to
add qualified people from
racially and ethnically diverse backgrounds to their editorial and review staffs.
Interview and survey questions
The study included
in-depth interviews with two elementary school librarians and an open-ended survey of
subscribers to child_lit, an internet listserv maintained by a professor at Rutgers University. In
both the interviews and
survey, participants were asked to reply and or discuss a series of questions about reviews of
children's books and what they
expect to learn from those reviews. Questions were developed based on information gleaned
from the literature review.
Some specific questions posed were:
1) Do librarians want reviews to include sociopolitical (sometimes referred
to as extra-literary) criticism as well as
literary criticism?
2) What do librarians look for in a review of a children's book with respect to representations of
Native Americans?
3) What image comes to mind when a librarian hears the phrase "ste-{46}reotype of a Native American"?
Participants in the study included elementary, middle school, college or public librarians;
professors of children's literature;
professional journal or book editors; reviewers; teachers; authors; and college students.
Sociopolitical versus literary criticism
The questions that
addressed the content of reviews immediately elicited a statement that sociopolitical criticism of
children's books is part of the "politically correct" movement. An editor stated:
Do people who object to stereotypes really want to insist on books in which
we have rounded individual portraits,
warts and all? Or are they using the term "stereotype" to really mean "harmful"? Well if that is
so, we open a whole
other can of worms. Harmful to whom? Who gets to judge? . . . Do we really want reviewers to
judge books on their
potential for social effects?
A few other participants who view it as an unanswerable question echoed his question of
"who gets to judge" and in this
view, sociopolitical criticism loses its validity.
His remarks sparked many replies
about the social effects of literature. A librarian noted that part of what
distinguishes a well-written book from one that is mediocre is its ability to invoke feelings, joy or
sadness, in the reader. He
noted that when a book has this effect on a reader, it is praised. However, when someone
criticizes the same book because
it causes negative feelings in a reader who is a person of color, that criticism is dismissed as
politically correct. The
librarian asked, "Isn't this a double standard?"
Several librarians say that it is not
possible to separate extra-literary from literary criticism. One librarian views an
author's use of stereotypes as lazy writing, in which an author relies on what "everyone knows"
instead of authentic
characterization. She expects a reviewer to note the presence of ethnic stereotypes, and that doing
so is not "political
correctness" but is "within the proper realm of the reviewer."
In response to a participant who
suggested reviewers use phrases common to literary criticism (such as "lazy writing"
or "poor characterization" or "using stock characters") as an alternative to the word stereotype,
many replied that any of
those terms would have the same negative effect on their purchasing decision. A reviewer's
judgment is just that--{47} a
judgment. These terms, including stereotype, are seen as literary, not sociopolitical.
One librarian's comment concisely
reflected the comments of many: "Why not call a spade a spade?" Another said the
review journals' history of not attending to ethnic stereotypes in children's books has resulted in a
proliferation of books
that contain stereotypes and their attendant factual errors. Specifically, she referred to books that
show Navajo hogans
facing all directions and situated among saguaros. (Navajo hogans are oriented according to
specific religious guidelines,
and saguaros are not found in the area in which Navajo people live.)
The use of the word stereotype in a children's book review
Sixty-six percent (33 of
50) of participants want reviews to include the word "stereotype" if the reviewer identifies
one in the book. Of those thirty-three, twenty-two are practicing librarians. Sixteen percent (8 of
50) of participants want
reviews to include the word stereotype only if the review includes details that support the use of
the word. Of those eight,
three are practicing librarians. Eighteen percent, or 9 participants, do not want reviews to include
the word "stereotype." Of
those nine, one is a librarian.
Most participants in the study are
school librarians who work with children. In that role, they want to be aware of
problematic aspects in books. As they read reviews of books they may add to their collections,
they want as much
information as possible before selecting books to purchase.
There is considerable tension with
respect to the influence of the word "stereotype" on their purchasing decisions.
Some indicate that this word can be the "kiss of death" for a book. However, most librarians
cross-check reviews, using
more than one review to inform their final decision on any given book |