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Last night I finished David Treuer’s The Translation of Dr. Apelles and, like many books I’ve encountered in my Native American Novel class, my first reaction was that I needed to read it again to really “get” it. Stories within stories, books within books. Good, complicated stuff.

I was overly ambitious in trying to get through Louise Erdrich’s Love Medicine during break. Reality bodychecked that idea from the get-go, but I did read about 50 pages before sacrificing it for finishing some short stories I wanted to get in the mail and, of course, doing taxes, cooking dinner, grocery shopping, and other domestic duties I tried to pick up the slack on during my alleged “down” time.

I’m also currently listening to The Painted Drum and I have to say that I haven’t found either LM or PD to be as instantly engaging as Tracks or The Beet Queen, and I also know why. These latter two start off a little off kilter, pervaded by a sense of otherworldly weirdness whereas Love Medicine and The Painted Drum begin with straightforward realism. It doesn’t matter how beautifully written a book is, I just don’t care for straightforward realism. The world is a confusing, perplexing place and I like my fiction to reflect that.

And the more criticism I read, the more I feel like I’m being bodily pulled toward Native American lit as field of study. The list of books I have on my pending list for the off-season features a handful of Cormac McCarthy novels but is otherwise dominated by Indian lit. Books of criticism, even. I have a tendency to be obsessive about things I get interested in, and I’m resisting the urge to drop about $300 on books the little voice inside my head is telling me I won’t have time to read.

Current Mood: Okay |
Currently Listening To – Bob Dylan – “Pat Garret & Billy the Kid”