Green Grass, Running Water

“‘In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep—’

‘Wait a minute,’ said Robinson Crusoe.

‘Yes?’

‘That’s the wrong story,’ said Ishmael. ‘That story comes later.’

‘But it’s my turn,’ said the Lone Ranger.

‘But you have to get it right,’ said Hawkeye.

‘And,’ said Robinson Crusoe, ‘you can’t tell it all by yourself.’”

In general, King is skeptical of monologues and anything that purports to be a singular authority. The implication that the Christian creation story “comes later” undermines its authority as the singular explanation for the existence of life on Earth and relegates it to being a subplot of other creation stories. The escaped elders understand this; they will not allow Lone Ranger to tell the story by himself because to do so would make the story a monologue.

“‘Gha!’ said the Lone Ranger. ‘Higayv:ligé:i.’

‘That’s better,’ said Hawkeye. ‘Tsane:hlanv:hi.’

‘Listen,’ said Robinson Crusoe. ‘Hade:lohó:sgi.’

‘It is beginning,’ said Ishmael. ‘Dagvyá:dhv:dv:hní.’

‘It is begun well,’ said the Lone Ranger. ‘Tsada:hnó:nedí: niga:v duyughodv: o:sdv.’”

After fooling around with different starts to the story, the Lone Ranger, and subsequently, the other escaped elders, get serious and speak in Cherokee. The first words by the Lone Ranger are the ceremonial opening of storytelling in a Cherokee divining ceremony, signaling the proper start to the story. Cherokee syllabary can also be found at the start of each part of the text. Each part starts with a direction and a color, with each direction having a different ceremonial meaning: Part 1 is East/red; Part 2 is South/white; Part 3 is West/black; Part 4 is North/blue.

“So that GOD jumps into that garden and that GOD runs around yelling, Bad business! Bad business! That’s what he yells. […] And just so we keep things straight, says that GOD, this is my world and this is my garden.”

The depiction of God as greedy and possessive draws a direct connection between Christian values and Western imperialism. Here, God sees the land and all that it produces as something he can not only own but profit from. When juxtaposed with the real-world issues the novel presents (like the dam being built on Indigenous land) the connection between stories, values, and what counts as reality falls into place.

“She rarely flew, hated planes, in fact. In a plane, she was helpless, reduced to carrying on an inane conversation with a total stranger or to reading a book while she listened for the telltale vibration in the engine’s pitch or the first groan of the wing coming away from the fuselage. And all the time, that faceless, nameless man sat in the nose of the plane, smiling, drinking coffee, telling stories, completely oblivious to impending disasters. Marriage was like that.”

Alberta’s choice of metaphor to describe marriage reflects her experiences in relationships with men thus far. Her ex-husband, Bob, ignored her goals and desires and was willing to sacrifice them in pursuit of his own dreams. Likewise, Lionel and Charlie are equally oblivious to what she really wants and attempt to build their relationships with her by conforming to stereotypical gender roles. Thus, for Alberta, the idea of marriage feels like being trapped in a plane: She is stuck in a boring, often mildly uncomfortable situation, going to a journey over which she has little control, with someone who is completely oblivious to the fact it could all end at any minute.

“Sifton sat on the railing and squinted at the sun. ‘That’s the beauty of dams. They don’t have personalities, and they don’t have politics. They store water, and they create electricity. That’s it.’”

On the surface, Sifton may be correct that dams don’t have politics. However, dams don’t exist as abstract objects, they have to be built with physical materials and in physical spaces. Who that space does or doesn’t belong to, who materially benefits from the construction, and who suffers the environmental and cultural consequences are political matters. Sifton is able to treat dams as apolitical because, as a white man in his position, he never has to feel the consequences they create. It is never his land that is destroyed or completely changed—he builds the dam and leaves.

“After the fourth year, the company hired Crosby Johns and Sons Inc., a slick public relations firm in Toronto, to mount a publicity campaign to convince the Indians that the dam was in their best interest, a campaign that culminated with a story in Alberta Now demonstrating rather conclusively, with graphs and charts and quotes from various experts on irrigation and hydropower, that after only one year of the dam operating at full efficiency, the tribe would make in excess of two million dollars. White farmers and white business would profit, too, the article conceded, but the Indians would be the big winners.”

The tactics used by the law firm representing the dam construction mirror those used by settlers when convincing Indigenous peoples to sign land treaties. The proposition is presented as being in their best interest while downplaying how much the white settlers will gain. King emphasizes this by naming the law firm Duplessis—a name that invokes duplicity and refers to the corrupt political regime of Maurice Duplessis through the 1930s and 1950s in Quebec.

“Lionel, at Bursum’s insistence, had read The Prince, and so had Charlie Looking Bear for that matter, but Bursum was sure that neither of them had understood the central axiom. Power and control—the essences of effective advertising—were, Bursum had decided years before, outside the range of the Indian imagination, though Charlie had made great strides in trying to master this fundamental cultural tenet.”

Bursum’s admiration of The Prince—a work of political philosophy that broadly argues that acting immorally is justified when done in the name of preserving power and control—contextualizes a lot of his values, thoughts, and actions. Bursum also demonstrates that he believes the racist stereotypes that are perpetuated in Western media (ones that are specifically interrogated and exposed in other parts of Green Grass, Running Water), and sees Indigenous people as intellectually inferior. Finally, that he sees Charlie as having made great strides is directly tied to the fact that Charlie is fundamentally more materialistic than the other Indigenous characters in the text. This closely aligns with Bursum’s worldview that things only have value if they can be turned into commodities, a worldview that is essentially incompatible with Indigenous ways of thinking.

“‘Hell, Eli, those treaties aren’t worth a damn. Government only made them for convenience. Who’d of guessed that there would still be Indians kicking around in the twentieth century.’

‘One of life’s little embarrassments.’

‘Besides, you guys aren’t real Indians anyway. I mean, you drive cars, watch television, go to hockey games. Look at you. You’re a university professor.’”

Sifton embodies past and present settler-colonial perspectives throughout the text. He openly admits that from a colonial perspective, the treaties were not made in good faith. They were made to gain access to land and resources, under the assumption that Indigenous people would eventually be forced to assimilate or be completely eradicated (something that numerous government policies—such as residential schools, the banning of cultural practices and traditions, and systemically enforced poverty—have continually tried to ensure). The insistence that Eli isn’t a “real Indian” because he drives a car and is a university professor plays into the idea that Indigenous culture and tradition is a thing of the past and somehow incompatible with modern life in North America. Moreover, Sifton needs to believe this is true because it would exonerate him from having to honor the treaties.

“The film was blank. The people at the photo store told Leroy that it had never been used. Orville wrote the man, but the letter came back a month later marked ‘Address Unknown.’”

The revelation that the film Orville confiscated is blank highlights that the man’s reluctance to give it over had nothing to do with the film itself. Instead, it was about power and control. The man has an implicit sense of superiority and is used to being in control and doing as he pleases with relative impunity. The idea of being put in a subordinate position to someone he sees as inferior to him is so unfathomable and unacceptable that he is willing to risk his family’s safety over a blank roll of film.

“Most of the clinics won’t take single women. I think it’s a question of morals.”

The requirement that a woman must have a husband in order to proceed with artificial insemination on moral grounds is deeply ironic, given the number of single mothers in the text. Latisha is forced to raise her children alone because George beats her then abandons them to “find himself.” Alberta’s mother is also forced to raise the family alone after Amos becomes an alcoholic. Additionally, Eli’s mother not only raised her children alone, but also built a cabin for them to live in with her bare hands. Thus, King suggests that the idea that women need men to raise a family is a patriarchal fantasy, rather than a practical reality.

“Nobody played an Indian like Portland. I mean, he is Indian, but that’s different. Just because you are an Indian doesn’t mean that you can act like an Indian for the movies.”

King highlights that the image of Indigenous people and culture that exists in the popular imagination of North Americans was created by Hollywood. This representation does not reflect reality and is an example of how the line between reality and fantasy is often itself constructed. The Hollywood version of Indigeneity is not interested in authentic Indigenous identify or culture and is ultimately used to define whiteness: It creates the “heroes” by giving them something to conquer or defeat.

“So Ahab’s men look at the ocean and they see something and that something is a whale.

Blackwhaleblackwhaleblackwhalesbianblackwhalesbianblackwhale, they all shout.

Black whale? yells Ahab. You mean white whale, don’t you? Moby-Dick, the great male white whale?”

Ahab’s inability (or refusal) to recognize anything black or female is King’s commentary on the fact that most of the Western literary cannon is made of straight, white, male authors. By extension, this also means many of the stories and characters are concerned with themes about masculinity or other aspects of male identity. In a textbook example of form and content complementing one another, King buries the word lesbian to illustrate how non-straight, non-male people are overlooked in a male-dominated world like instantiated by Melville’s Moby Dick.

“‘My God,’ she said. ‘That’s beautiful. It’s like it’s right out of a movie. […] It’s like going back in time, Eli. It’s incredible.’”

Karen’s immediate reaction to seeing Indigenous cultural practice for the first time is to compare it to film—something that numerous white characters do throughout the text. This suggests that Karen sees Indigenous identity and culture as “other,” as if it is something that could only exist in fiction. Likewise, the idea that being at the Sun Dance is like going back in time implies that Indigenous cultural practices are a thing of the past and do not fit into contemporary society. In either case, Karen cannot believe what she is seeing because it is outside the bounds of how she thinks of “real” Indigenous peoples. It’s crucial to King’s project that it is not only openly racist characters like Sifton and Bursum that make statements like this. Even Karen, who loves Eli and wants the best for him, can’t help making comments that reveal her cultural bias.

“It’s the idea of a dam that’s dangerous.”

The idea of the dam is dangerous because it represents a worldview in which the landscape is treated as an exploitable resource, regardless of the wider environmental consequences. Moreover, given the fact that dams are often built on Indigenous land, it also represents a violation of treaty rights and the idea that profit is more important that preserving cultural traditions.

“Bursum considered himself part of the family, always doing what he could to help. He had been one of the leading voices in getting the city to declare February Indian month. Each year he sponsored the basketball team from the Friendship Centre, and hardly a week went by when he wasn’t taking out advertisements in the local Indian newspaper.”

Bursum’s idea that he always does what he can to help is self-serving in two ways: First, like Robinson Crusoe, who needs someone of color around to educate and protect him, Bursum does not actually care about helping others, but rather, attempts to feel superior and establish hierarchies. Second, he is only interested in helping Indigenous people because he sees them as a market from which he can profit.

“You got the wrong song […]. This song goes ‘Hosanna da, our home on Natives’ land.’”

King creates a parody of the Canadian national anthem “O, Canada” by combining it with the Christian liturgical word “Hosanna” (an appeal to God for deliverance). The opening lyrics to the original anthem are “O Canada, / our home and native land.” By changing the line to “our home on Native’s land,” he points out the irony in the original lyrics, given that Canadian land was taken from the people who lived there first.

“Lionel picked up the pace, striding out, swinging his arms, looking for all the world like a goose at full gallop. He was going to be late. And wet.”

After waking up on his 40th birthday, Lionel resolves to make some changes in his life—namely, leaving his job with Bill Bursum so that he can go back to school and start to get serious with Alberta. While his intentions are good, his plans are misguided: The source of Lionel’s dissatisfaction in life is closely tied to his identity and the fact he’s become distanced from his cultural roots. Additionally, Alberta is not even interested in being serious, regardless of what he does. The rain he experiences as he walks to work is a symbolic cleansing, as the storm was started by the escaped elders and Coyote.

“Under the bad points, says Robinson Crusoe, as a civilized white man, it has been difficult not having someone of color around whom I could educate and protect.”

In one line, King elucidates the way that whiteness has cast itself as superior through binary oppositions and hierarchies. The definition of civilized is completely dependent on having someone else around that can be labelled as uncivilized. Likewise, characterizing whiteness as intellectual and strong requires someone who needs educating and protecting. As Robinson Crusoe suggests, historically, this role has been filled by people of color, and without it, he does not know what to do.

“‘Your ancestors were slaves, were they not?’ said Dr. Hovaugh.

‘Nope,’ said Babo. ‘But some of my folks were enslaved.’”

Babo’s insistence that her ancestors were not slaves, but rather, enslaved is a small but important distinction. It is the difference between a noun and a verb—between something the ancestors fundamentally are, versus something they’re forced to do. This idea runs parallel to the text’s overall attitude toward meaning, categorization, and boundaries. Considering them as slaves is a closed definition, whereas seeing them as enslaved is open-ended and leaves the possibility of change.

“‘I’m Louie,’ the large man in the plaid shirt told Latisha when she came to take their order. ‘And this is Ray. The ugly guy is Al.’”

This is an excellent example of how King uses names to layer meaning in the text. Read together (and even more apparent if read aloud, as it would be in the oral tradition), Louis, Ray, and Al evoke Louis Riel, a famous Canadian historical figure. Riel led the Métis in their fight for self-determination in the Red River Rebellion and was eventually executed for treason. For readers familiar, this allusion adds additional meaning and context to Eli’s struggle to stop the dam, and even foreshadows his death. For less familiar readers, it can provide an intertextual prompt that encourages them to learn more about Canadian Indigenous history as they grapple with finding meaning in the text’s various layers. However, because King is unconcerned with telling the reader what meaning or lessons they should take from the text, nothing is lost if this kind of reference is missed altogether.

“‘So why’d you come home?’

‘Can’t just tell you that straight out. Wouldn’t make any sense. Wouldn’t be much of a story.’”

Eli verbalizes an idea that is central to both Indigenous storytelling and pedagogy: There is no “correct” interpretation of the story. What is correct can be different for each person because each person brings their own experiences and needs to the story. Ultimately, it is more important for the audience to arrive at an idea or understanding by themselves than it is for them to grasp the meaning exactly as the storyteller intended. This is also the method King employs with Green Grass, Running Water: There are literally hundreds of allusions and references embedded in the text, as well as the proliferation of meaning that comes from the interplay between the different plots and characters. However, at no point does King explicitly outline what the audience should take from the text.

“It had been a long time since Lionel had traveled the lease road. Normally, he came in through Medicine River on the road that ran to Cardston. That road was all asphalt and mileage signs and billboards. This road was a wild thing, bounding across the prairies, snaking sideways […].”

Lionel’s choice to avoid the lease road signals the distance he has built between himself and his Indigenous identity. He has become more accustomed to paved roads and advertisement billboards than the wilder and more boundless lease road. Eli, whose struggles with identity mirrors Lionel’s, experienced a similar feeling during his visit home with Karen after being away for years. The juxtaposition of the two roads runs parallel to King’s broader characterization of Western and Indigenous storytelling as well—while the Western narratives he examines and satirizes are closed stories, the oral storytelling he attempts to recreate is open, chaotic, and full of potential.

“Lionel rolled his shoulders around in the jacket. ‘Look, it’s very nice. I mean, I like leather. And the fringe is… elegant. But I really can’t keep it.’

‘It looks a little tight,’ said Hawkeye.

‘Well, it is a little tight.’

‘It looks hot, too,’ said Robinson Crusoe.

In fact, Lionel felt as if the jacket was suffocating him. Worse, the jacket had begun to smell. A stale, sweet smell, like old aftershave or rotting fruit.”

The jacket given to Lionel by the escaped elders is the same jacket worn by John Wayne in the Western film, and the same jacket described in the picture of George Custer in the hotel lobby Lionel stayed at in Salt Lake City (and by extension, the same jacket George Morningstar—a character that alludes to George Custer—wears as well). Upon receiving the jacket in Bursum’s store, Lionel liked it and felt like it fit nicely. However, after coming back to the reserve for the Sun Dance and having a moment to reflect on how peaceful he felt, the jacket suddenly feels suffocating. Thus, the jacket—connected with the forms of “whiteness” Lionel has strived for his entire life—symbolizes his denial of his Indigenous identity. The rejection of the jacket signifies that he is finally on a path toward self-acceptance and embracing his cultural roots.