The Only Good Indians

“White girls know the names of everything.”

Lewis says this about his wife Peta for calling the fireplace a hearth. Like Ricky, Lewis has an awareness of himself that is built in part on his difference from white people, even his wife. Lewis doesn’t think of the world with the kind of specificity that the people around him do, choosing instead to leave most things uninvestigated.

“Jerry says Lewis shouldn’t hold it against Harley. He didn’t know what he was doing. When the whole world hurts, you bite it, don’t you?”

This description of Harley’s attack on Silas serves as foreshadowing for the actions of Elk Head Woman and her motivation in the novel. It furthers the novel’s look at Indigenous culture and its view of nature as well—that when nature lashes out, there’s usually a man-made reason for the reaction.

“The headline kicks up in Lewis’s head on automatic, straight out of the reservation: […] FULLBLOOD BETRAYS EVERY DEAD INDIAN BEFORE HIM. It’s the guilt of having some pristine Native swimmers—they probably look like microscopic salmon, even though the Blackfeet are a horse tribe—it’s the guilt of having these swimmers cocked and loaded but never pushing the downstream, meaning the few of his ancestors who made it through raids and plagues, massacres and genocide, diabetes and all the wobbly-tired cars the rest of America was done with, those Indians may as well have just stood up into that big Gatling gun of history, yeah?”

Lewis struggles with the guilt of leaving the reservation and of marrying a white woman. His shame illustrates the importance of lineage and procreation his tribe believes in and his internalized disappointment of how his life has developed. His guilt also highlights the violence and struggles his community has faced as he feels responsible for refraining from having children.

“‘We’re from where we’re from,’ she says back. ‘Scars are part of the deal, aren’t they?’”

Shaney’s scar, which Lewis later sees as a clue that she might be Elk Head Woman, is a testament to the poor level of medical care available on most reservations and through the Indian Health Service. Indigenous readers would know full well what Shaney means in this moment, and this moment also speaks to the burden that the other characters carry with them from their life on the reservation and from the massacre of the elk.

“Lewis, knowing that this was how you got to be a good Indian, finally remembered how to jack a round in. Once it was seated, he pulled the Tasco up until it cupped his right eye, and he was firing now as well, and firing again, just waiting to pull the trigger until he could see brown in the crosshairs. Just anywhere near the crosshairs—how could he miss?”

Lewis, Cass, and Gabe all frequently return to the idea of being a “good Indian,” which is variously a thing to strive toward, a cultural joke, an excuse, a complaint about cultural expectations, and a longing to belong. Often, their understanding of what being a “good Indian” means comes from an exaggerated or ill-informed relationship to their cultural identity, and during the Thanksgiving Classic, Lewis thinks that he’s acting as he’s supposed to. It’s only later that he realizes that what he’s done is a violation.

“That craziness, that heat of the moment, the blood in his temples, smoke in the air, it was like—he hates himself the most for this—it was probably what it was like a century or more ago, when soldiers gathered up on ridges above Blackfeet encampments to turn the cranks on their big guns, terraform this new land for their occupation.”

This follow-up to the previous quote makes it clear why what happened at the Thanksgiving Classic was wrong: Instead of acting like Blackfeet should, the four friends acted like white soldiers, slaughtering indiscriminately. They inadvertently recreated the colonizing actions of manifest destiny which pushed the Blackfeet onto the reservation in the first place by eliminating the creatures living in peace and disrespecting the nature around them.

“Dealing with cops is like being around a skittish horse: No sudden movements, nothing shiny or loud. Zero jokes.”

Indigenous people have a long history of persecution at the hands of American authorities, and the local police force is no different for Lewis. Here, he articulates the fear he lives with around the police, which is justified when they draw their weapons on him for pulling his hair back.

“He’ll watch her grow for the rest of the year, keep the coyotes and wolves and bears away, and, when she can, he’ll let her go on her own, stand there crying from sadness, from happiness. And then it’ll all be over. Indian stories always hoop back on themselves like that, don’t they? At least the good ones do.”

In the closing moments of Lewis’s section of the novel, he speaks of his intentions to restore balance to the world through raising the calf he cut from Peta’s stomach, though he misinterprets his role in bringing it to life. Notably, this quote also foreshadows the end of the novel, which sees Denorah returning to the site of the Thanksgiving Classic and restoring balance by honoring the suffering of Elk Head Woman.

An elk mother, cornered, will slash with her hooves and tear with her mouth and even offer the hope of her own hamstrings, and if none of that works, she’ll rise again years and years later, because it’s never over, it’s always just beginning again.”

In Part 2 of the novel, the reader sees Elk Head Woman’s point of view for the first time. She’s a manifestation of motherly grief transformed into rage, and she thinks the cycle of violence must continue forever. Through her determined rage, she represents nature’s cyclical spirit that demands retribution.

“She rode that historical free throw, that game, that win, to a full-ride four-year college scholarship down in Wyoming, and Denorah talks to her every week on the phone, big sis to little one, no ‘step’ between. When she was done with her ledger art that day, when it got Miss Pease’s ‘B-’ scrawled top-right—‘Is this really Indian, D? Shouldn’t you do something to honor your heritage?’—she mailed it to Trace, careful to fold along the panel lines, and Trace said Denorah got it just right, that’s just how it happened…”

Denorah has a different view of what cultural or ancestral heritage looks like, choosing to look to her immediate family for what’s meaningful and a representation of her identity. She connects to the Blackfoot tribe through basketball, and a connection she learned by example through her sister’s successes. Denorah’s honoring of the game, and by association, her heritage, shows a respect for her people that is not seen in Ricky, Lewis, Gabe, or Cassidy. This understanding of the importance of her people allows Denorah to end the cycle of violence for herself and Elk Head Woman.

“Counting coup, he explained, using his ancient-old hands to form each word, act out what he was saying, counting coup was running up to the baddest enemy and just tapping them, then getting clear before that enemy could bash you with anything.”

Counting coup is an important idea in the book, and here, Neesh introduces it to Gabe as a metaphor for addiction and recovery. He wrongly thinks that Neesh is painting a romantic portrait, though Neesh is trying to save the men in his group from their problems. Later, counting coup will factor into Gabe and Cass’s end and Denorah’s decision to end the struggle she has with Elk Head Woman.

“That was probably only a couple of months after she’d moved in, when he was still trying to prove to her that he was a Real Indian. Exhibit one: I ride my own horses on the same land my ancestors did.”

Cass, too, thinks of himself in the terms of authenticity regarding his heritage. Notably, all the characters in this book use the term “Indian” to describe themselves and reject Native or Indigenous, especially when thinking about stereotypical signifiers of Indigenous identity.

“But now that it was built, they could heat up the rocks whenever they wanted, get clean, screw whatever book Gabe had. What, were the Indian police going to thunder down from the sky on lightning bolts, write Cassidy up for letting a woman into the sacred sweat lodge?”

Here, Cassidy suggests that his sweat lodge will be co-ed, which is not traditionally allowed. He obstinately holds any accountability in contempt as he reflects on changing the traditions he’s grown up with. He’s not thinking of making the change for any reasons of gender parity, though; he only wants the freedom to do so should he choose. It’s another example of the ways Lewis, Cass, and Gabe struggle to understand the intentions underlying their cultural legacy.

“He shakes his head no again, that it couldn’t have been her. That he’s not a bad dad for not having stopped to get her warm, hike her up to wherever she was going. Just, what that means, he supposes, it’s that she was some other baller, out in shorts in the cold. Meaning he’s just not a good Indian.”

Gabe’s decision to pass by a female who resembles his daughter results in reflections that are uncommon to his character. He realizes that his empathy for others only extends to his daughter. This disregard of others even extends to himself as he’s written himself off long ago, going along with others’ views of his negligent and problematic behaviors.

“But proper form is where it all starts. More you practice, the luckier you end up.

The ritual, the ceremony.”

Denorah’s love of basketball mirrors parts of her cultural heritage. By engaging in the practice of basketball, she’s learning how to control her identity and gain power over her own future. The mention of ritual and ceremony allude to the cycle enacted by Elk Head Woman and, as Denorah understands the importance of tradition, she successfully ends the ritual at the end of the novel.

“‘There’s nothing, like, against doing it at night, is there?’ Gabe asks.

‘Let me check the big Indian rule book,’ Cassidy says.”

The “big Indian rule book” is a running joke between Gabe and Cassidy, due to the hunting ban that they’ve had to live with for a decade and the expectations for them as Indigenous men. Their problem with tribal authority exacerbates their feelings of shame and lack of belonging that sets them apart in some ways from the rest of the tribe.

“… but this dad does his right hand flat, palm down, and moves it from left to right, cutting this idea off. It’s a hand signal the boy—you can smell it on him, can see it on his face—remembers from a picture book in elementary: how the old-time Blackfeet used to talk with sign language when they needed to.

He hates being from here. He loves it, but he also hates it so much.”

This hand signal highlights the continued Blackfoot traditions that the characters unwillingly and willingly cling to. The four friends struggle with this will become very important in the closing moments of the book. Nate’s love/hate relationship with his home mirrors Cass and Gabe’s; what’s different for him is that his feelings haven’t ossified into an ironic dismissal of his heritage like they have for the two men.

“…he told us that none of the old stories are ever about a war party attacking a sweat that’s happening. That it wouldn’t just be bad manners to do that, it would be the worst manners. You don’t even jump somebody when they’re done, are all staggering out, weak and pure and shit. It’s a holy place, like. It means right here where we are, it’s the safest place in the Indian world.”

This moment builds to the surprise ahead as the sweat will be violently interrupted by the Elk Head Woman. As the sweat is seen as a sacred space, it amplifies the pain the Elk Head Woman intends to inflict and the cyclical nature of her motives. She and her calf were roaming for winter food in a safe space, only to be shot down. She wants to destroy the men when the impact will be most devastating and unexpected, so she uses the sweat lodge ritual to her advantage.

“‘My dad says he’s busted him he doesn’t know how many times,’ he says.

‘White man’s laws,’ Cassidy says. ‘Getting picked up, that just proves he’s Indian.’”

Cassidy makes it clear to Nate that he and Gabe’s anti-authoritarian streak comes from a place of real fear and hurt about the injustices they’ve faced. The idea of white man’s laws speaks to the long history of legal abuses that tribal peoples in America have faced and is seen here as an everyday part of life to the Blackfeet.

“You could have taken them at any point over the last day, day and a half, but that’s not even close to what they deserve. They need to feel what you felt. Their whole world has to be torn from their belly, shoved into a shallow hole.”

As Elk Head Woman stalks her prey and watches Cassidy and Gabe, the waiting builds suspense in the narrative as she circles and waits to strike. Her motive to tear their worlds from their bellies alludes to her calf being taken from her, and her desire to enact vengeance and close the cycle of grief. The second person point of view is singular, pulling the tone in a new direction and allowing the reader to relate to the elusive spirit’s murderous desire.

“‘What are you even doing!’ he yells to Gabriel.

‘My death song,’ Gabriel sputters. ‘Shh, this next verse is tricky.’

‘You’re just making that up!’ Cassidy tells him. ‘Everything that’s Indian, you just make it up!’

‘Shit, somebody’s got to,’ Gabriel says, and goes back to the song.”

The men’s relationship to their Blackfoot identity, and their tenuous understanding of it, is laid bare in their final moments. Gabe sings a made-up death song to give his death meaning and purpose, but even that is a shallow, insignificant act that Cass sees as improvisational and false. His lack of respect for their heritage only frustrates his friend further in a moment of desperation and panic.

“At the end of a game or the beginning, it doesn’t matter, it’s never the fastest or the strongest player who gets that rolling-away ball. It’s whatever girl dives the hardest. Whoever fights for it. Whoever doesn’t let anybody take it away. Whoever doesn’t care about their precious hair or skin or teeth. It’s all about whoever wants it the worst.”

Denorah embodies the idea of the final girl in a slasher story, and part of what makes her able to survive is that she wants it. Her obsession with basketball is part of that will to live, as she knows that the only way off the reservation for her is through a scholarship. In the basketball reflecting her own cultural heritage, the image becomes an allusion to those who uphold the customs are those who want them the most.

“…she sees know that both her fathers have stood at the top of this slope behind a rifle, and the elk have always been down here, and it can stop… it has to stop, the old man telling this in the star lodge says to the children sitting all around him. It has to stop, he says, brushing his stubby braids out and the way, and the Girl, she knows this, she can feel it.”

Denorah sees the violence that the men in her life have perpetrated against the Elk Head Woman, and finally ends the cycle of death. The reference made to her as “the Girl” evokes a tribal story being told, separately from the narrative, as a cautionary tale. This furthers the imagery of oral tradition throughout the novel as the she images a tribal elder telling the story, reflecting on her own respect for her culture, and the respect the culture has for nature.