Green Grass, Running Water

Water appears in almost every aspect of the text: Each section starts with nothing but water; there is rain, puddles, and floods; and the novel’s title is a reference to the Canadian government’s promise that Indigenous people will retain rights to their land as long as the grass is green and the water runs. King even draws attention to the motif of water and floating in one of the fourth-wall breaking moments in the text when Coyote says, “All this floating [and water] imagery must mean something” (356).

On the most superficial level, water is the source of life. The flowing water and the floating imagery also mirror the sense openness, flexibility, and potential that King tries to evoke by emulating oral storytelling. Like the escaped elders floating from story to story, the reader floats from plotline to plotline, never stuck or bound to just one, with each one flowing together, then apart again—that is, except where that flowing is stopped by the colonial intervention of dam, threatening both life and Indigenous cultural tradition.

Water also symbolizes cleansing and new beginnings. After making plans to turn his life around, Lionel is soaked when he is caught in the rain. The plans he made to go back to school are washed away, leaving him ready to be put on the right path by Eli and the elders. The rushing waters caused by the earthquake are enough to burst the dam, and while this water destroys the cabin as well, it opens the possibility of new beginnings as Norma attempts to rebuild it. Most fundamentally, however, water serves as the connective tissue between the different plotlines and serves as a reminder of the interconnectedness of all life—a belief that is central to Indigenous ways of thinking about the world.

Bill Bursum’s wall-sized TV display that is arranged to look like a map of North America is a symbol of the connection between mass media and colonial domination. The form and function of “The Map” embodies the monologic nature of mass media. It is a map of all North America, yet the televisions it is comprised of all show the same thing at once, suggesting that a single perspective, voice, or story in this form can easily become the dominant narrative.

The wide-reaching impact of mass media can be seen throughout the text: Almost all of the characters end up watching the same Western when it is on TV; Karen and George both comment that the Sun Dance is like something out of a movie; and Charlie’s father cannot get movie roles because he does not conform to the stereotype created by Hollywood. Bursum understands this, and it is partly why he is so proud of the display. He also seems to understand the insidious effect of mass media and its direct connection to power and control: “It was like having the universe there on the wall, being able to see everything, being in control” (129).

King even describes Bursum as “taking in the panorama” when watching his favorite Western on his display of screens (194), implying the power of the mass media is akin to the panopticon—an architectural prison design in which every cell is visible by a single guard. While the guard could not possibly observe every prisoner at once, theorist Michel Foucault explored the ways that the inmates are forced to self-regulate because they can never know whether they are being observed. This is precisely what happens with Lionel. He internalizes the white gaze and harmful stereotypes on display in Western films, and it emotionally paralyzes him. Thus, Lionel renders himself powerless through the media he consumes.