6 JUNE 1, 2005
Smoke Signals
JUNE 1, 2005
Smoke Signals 7
Tine Sweet Science of
being Sherman Alexie
ALEXIE continued
from front page
before continuing. ml think he smells
really good,"" he continued for her to
repeat in signs. "'I wish he weren't
stading so close to me. He's making
me sweat." He added for the audi
ence, "You can say anything in sign
and it looks great: "Please chainsaw
my legs off," he said.
His success on stage also in
cluded his powerful presence and
the way he used physical humor.
Alexie was in the second row of the
audience when introduced. Later,
as he was warming to his story, he
came to a break point and paced
in circles like a cat. Another time,
he slunk back behind the curtain
and poked his head out like a kid
in trouble. (He was showing how
Indians respond to men in uni
form.) Then, there was the walk
down the airplane aisle with alto
gether too much of some kind of
flu bubbling up inside him.
"In case you came here to see a
traditional Indian," he said at the
start, "you better leave now."
Which is ironic in Alexie's case,
dians and the movies, Smoke Sig
nals and The Business of Fancy
Dancing (many available in the
Tribal library) is among today's
most acclaimed Indian writers.
Joyce Carol Oates, writing in The
because this author of 16 books New York Review of Books, called
including Would Steal Horses,
The Lone Ranger and Tonto
Fist fight in Heaven, Reservation
Blues, Indian Killer, Ten Little In-
him "a funny, irreverent, sardonic
but sentimental, rebellious
postmodernist voice set beside his
elder and conspicuously more
writerly and "spiritual" Native
American contemporaries N. Scott
Momaday, Leslie Marmon Silo, and
Louise Erdrich. Sherman Alexie is
the bad boy among them, mocking,
self-mocking, unpredictable,
unassimilable, reminding us of the
young Philip Roth whose contro
versial works of fiction "The Con
version of the Jews" and Portnoy's
Complaint outraged an older gen
eration for whom anything Jewish
had to be sacrosanct."
In his monologue at OSU last
month, he showed all of this.
"I'm always amazed that white
people turn to us for spirituality," he
said. "Have you been to a rez?"
Or, on that rant against vegans,
he said, "Indians also think we're
equal to the animals. Well, I'll quit
eating meat when you get a cow
out here to beat me at a poetry
slam. Only so many words rhyme
with 'Mooo.' I mean, yes, we're
Interview with Sherman Alexie
LaSells Stewart Center at OSU
'J I '
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Writer's Angst Smoke Signal's StaffWriter RonKarten (right) shares a
laugh with Sherman Alexie during an interview at OSU.
Question: They say that it's a great curse for a family to have a mem
ber that is a fiction writer. What does your family think of your work?
Answer: My mom and dad, before he passed away, sat in the third
row of every reading (I gave) in Spokane or the area. My immediate
family was great with it. I've got cousins who had problems but,
you know, who cares?
Question: When you write, do you have anybody or bodies in mind
that you are writing to?
Answer: I'm not going to be happy until every person on the planet reads
one of my books. So, everybody.
Question: Describe the level of fame and fortune that you feel you've
got in your life now, and tell me what it's meant to you.
Answer: Laughter. It's a relative thing. There's literary fame, I guess.
And I'm rich for an Indian. I make a great living doing what I love
the most and I don't have to compromise.
Question: How do you feel about the big decisions you've made,
that have shaped your life?
Answer: Best thing I ever did was leave the rez.
Question: How old were you when you left?
Answer: I went to the White High School on the border. Still lived on
the rez, but, I left school there for eighth grade, I was 14?
Question: And what were the features of having left that made it so good?
Answer: I had no idea that dysfunction had become traditional until I left.
Question: Is the literary figure you've become at all similar to the lit
erary person you intended to become?
Answer: I have no control over that,
ever happens, happens.
I write what I write and what-
Question: Are you heading off in new directions?
Answer: I've got a book of short stories that are completely about white
people. And then I just signed a deal for three kids books.
Question: Are these be the first kids books you've written?
Answer: Yeah, yeah. Two novels and a picture book.
Question: What made you decide to go in this direction?
Answer: I have kids, so...
' Question: You have kids?
Answer: Yeah two. Eight and three.
Question: Do you read your stuff to them?
Answer: Yeah, no, not my stuff, but I spend so much time reading to
them, and reading kids books that I got inspired.
Question: What books inspired you?
Answer: Novel-wise, it would be this guy Rob Thomas who writes
about teenagers in a really interesting way. Andrew and I forgot the
guy's last name, wrote a book called, Brindl, really made me want to
do it. Picture books. The classics. The Snowy Day. But the new ones
are really funny and interesting, like Duck Runs for President, You
Give a Moose a Cookie.
Question: And what about adult books?
Answer: I like everything.
Question: If it has arrived yet, what was the moment when you knew
you had made it?
Answer: When I had something other than Indian Service medical care.
Question: Describe your writing process.
Answer: All the time. Wherever. Whenever. I stop when it's time to
go home. Book and film critics generally have their say without re
sponse from writer or director. I'd like to hear what you have to say
about the critics. Naaa.
Question: Do you have hopes or fears you'd be willing to talk about?
Answer: Hopes, that I continue to write good books. Fears? That I don't.
Question: What are you reading these days?
Answer: Lot of mysteries. Dennis Lehane. His book, Mystic River,
was made into a movie. But I've really been reading his. He has about
eight or nine of them.
Question: How do you feel about the state of the countrythe war in Iraq?
Answer: I am distressed by the pessimism of the left and the right. Our
country gets better and better with every generation. And I don't under
stand why people think this president is any worse or better than any other
president. Our politicians have never measured the quality of our country.
supposed to be better stewards;
yes, we're supposed to take care of
the earth; yes, we're supposed to
honor the sacrifices made by the
animals; yes yes yes yes yes, but
dammit, we're in charge, and you
know why? It's because of these,"
and he held out his thumbs.
He said that even vegans distin
guish between the value of animals
and vegetables because they eat
vegetables. "Maybe you think that
carrots are less important than
cows. I think they're equal, espe
cially in a sauce."
But he was clearly angry at their
efforts. "How self-centered, how
arrogant," he said. "Imagine the
awesome privilege of living in a so
ciety where you get to choose what
you eat at each and every
meal... When I was a kid, I was a
vegetarian and a vegan for long
stretches," he said. "I was a com
modity cheese-atarian."
While Alexie ripped through in
sult (to men wearing little pony
tails, he said, "Give it up. You look
like an idiot! The women are all
laughing at you!") after joke ("I'm
a liberal. I'm a lefty, pacifist,
Commie-bastard who hates liberals.
I can't stand us... if somebody tries
to blow up the plane I'm on, I'm
going to kill them and eat them!")
after observation ("Homophobia is
the only hatred that doesn't make
sense. Find me a country that was
invaded by gays") after advice (in
planning for anti-war demonstra
tions, he suggested a dress code), it
was easy to forget that he had a
personal story in process.
In the end, it was all just win
dow dressing for Alexie to describe
the complex nature of the love he
has for his father.
"My father was a lifelong alco
holic," he said, "but he was a kind,
sweet, shy man." He said that the
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Signing During a private dinner by invitation only, Alexie signed a poster for Roxanne Williams (Klamath).
two substituted talk about sports for
telling each other, T love you.'
"My dad would leave us for weeks
at a time on his binges," Alexie said.
"And I would cry myself sick."
The story circled around to how
his grandfather, who was killed in
the second world war when his fa
ther was only six, "was a war hero,
but we didn't know that." The fam
ily learned that the Defense Depart
ment had just never bothered to
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1
A Crush On The Big Indian. . . Sherman Alexie had some fun with Oregon State University
Signer Samantha Hatfield (Siletz), a doctoral student. "How do you sign, 'I have a crush on the big
Indian?' Alexie asked her.
present the awards to the family.
"We were Indians," he said in
explanation.
"So Oprah calls," he said, picking
up the oft-interrupted narrative,
and he went through the trip to
Oprah's complete with the gastric
surprise he brought to the show.
Oprah, it turned out, had brought on
some generals who had not the nine
medals Alexie thought his grandfa
ther was owed, but twelve, making
him even more
of a hero.
In the pro
cess, he talked
about how
regardless of
his own
"Horatio Alger
on the reser
vation" story
"nobody's
protected." He
said that he
paid more than
$170,000 in
taxes last year,
but still, his
son, Joseph,
"came out dead
and green. I'm
thinking, 'my
wife cheated
on me with a
Martian.' I
was so jealous."
The doctors
were able to
save his son,
and he's doing
fine today, but
the notion
that nobody
particu
larly Alexie is protected came
up again and again. It came up in
service to the story he wanted to tell
about his father.
It went on to describe how his
father chose to go off dialysis
when he brought him the medals,
how he had six good weeks, two
bad ones and two more terrible
ones before he died.
Alexie's mother was standing
by a Smoke Signals poster on the
door when his father died. His
father looked at his wife and at
the poster behind her and his
last words, according to Alexie,
were, "I should have married
Irene Bedard (a Smoke Signals
cast member whose likeness is on
the poster).
Then, Alexi read his poem, "On
the First Anniversary of My
Father's Death," in which he com
pared birds flying into windows
with the actions of his alcoholic
dad. He seemed to be saying that
the two just liked to do stupid
things. He gave no indication
that he realized that birds don't
see the windows they fly into.
Though he acknowledged during
the show that he was probably of
fending half of the audience, the
end of the show brought everyone
in the full house to their feet. Dur
ing the sustained applause, this
man of smiles stood alone in the
largest sense of the word on the
stage. His face appeared masked
in sadness. He seemed to be oblivi
ous to the adoring audience.
His father was gone and neither
cleverness nor brilliance, neither
anger nor understanding nor love
would ever bring him back. B
j.