Formats: Print, audio, digital
Genre: Ghosts/Haunting, Historic Horror, Killer/Slasher, Monster, Myth and Folklore, Occult, Psychological Horror
Audience: Adult/Mature
Diversity: Indigenous American (Alaskan Native, Pueblo, Comanche, White Earth Nation, Cree, Georgian Bay Metis, Mohawk, Cheyenne-Arapaho, Hidatsa Mi'kmaw, Cherokee, Tłı̨chǫ Dene, Hidasta, Mandan, Sosore, Sioux Penobscot, Chickasaw, Choctaw, Sicangu Lakota, Edisto Natchez-Kusso, Lipan Apache, Anishinaabe)
Content Warnings: Alcohol Abuse, Animal Death, Child Abuse, Child Endangerment, Death, Drug Use/Abuse, Forced Captivity, Gaslighting, Gore, Illness, Oppression, Mental Illness, Pedophilia, Racism, Rape/Sexual Assault, Sexual Abuse, Slurs, Torture, Verbal/Emotional Abuse, Violence (Highlight to view)
Blurb:
Many Indigenous people believe that one should never whistle at night. This belief takes many forms: for instance, Native Hawaiians believe it summons the Hukai’po, the spirits of ancient warriors, and Native Mexicans say it calls Lechuza, a witch that can transform into an owl. But what all these legends hold in common is the certainty that whistling at night can cause evil spirits to appear—and even follow you home.
These wholly original and shiver-inducing tales introduce readers to ghosts, curses, hauntings, monstrous creatures, complex family legacies, desperate deeds, and chilling acts of revenge. Introduced and contextualized by bestselling author Stephen Graham Jones, these stories are a celebration of Indigenous peoples’ survival and imagination, and a glorious reveling in all the things an ill-advised whistle might summon. |
I received this product for free in return for providing an honest and unbiased review. I received no other compensation. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.
There are many recognizable names in this collection:
Rebecca Roanhorse, Richard Van Camp, Cherie Dimaline, Mona Susan Power, Darcie
Little Badger, and Waubgeshig Rice. There’s even a foreword by Stephen Graham
Jones. But I was especially excited to be introduced to some new (to me) Indigenous
authors.
The stories in the anthology vary from fun campfire stories
about werewolves (Night Moves by Andrea L. Rogers) and ghosts (Night
in the Chrysalis by Tiffany Morris) to more serious and disturbing tales
about residential school sexual abuse (Sundays by David Heska Wanbli
Weiden), mental
health (The Prepper by Morgan Talty), stolen land (Limbs by
Waubgeshig Rice), and missing
and murdered Indigenous women (The Ones who Killed Us by Brandon
Hobson). There were bits of Native languages sprinkled throughout the various
stories, for example I learned Uguku is “owl” in Cherokee, Kwe’ is “hello” in
Mi’kmaq, and Mahsi’ cho is “thank you” in Gwich'in. This felt especially nice
to see since so many Native languages are endangered. I can’t possible review
all the amazing stories within the collection (and they are all amazing), so
I’ll focus on a few of my favorites.
Kushtuka by Mathilda Zeller is about an Alaskan
Native woman named Tapeesa. Recently an obnoxious White man named Hank Ferryman
and his son Buck have moved to the area to build a monstrous lodge full of
stolen Native artifacts. Tapessa is sent to the lodge cook for one of Hank’s
parties and on the way the grotesque man asks her to tell him a “Native story.”
Tapeesa warns that telling stories after dark could catch the attention of a
spirit, but Hank laughs this off as silly superstition. She tells him the story
of the Kushtuka, a shape-shifter that can take human form and tries to lure
people away. As predicted, the story summons a Kushtuka which attacks Hank’s
lodge. We also see this idea of attracting the attention of evil spirits in Before
I Go by Norris Black, where a woman’s grieving causes the Night Mother to
appear and offer to bring back her dead husband (it doesn’t end well).
One of the things I related to in Kushtuka was
Tapessa being called “basically White” by Hank because her dad is White. As a
biracial person myself, having others (especially White people) try and tell
you your identity isa pet peeve of mine. Historically, I would’ve been
considered Black since my father is Black (due to the “one-drop” rule which I
discuss below), despite having light skin. Yet these days most White people
label me White because I’m White-passing. In both cases, White people choose my
identity for me without listening to what I have to say, much like Hank does
for Tapessa.
In White Hills by Rebecca Roanhorse, a White woman
named Marissa is judged for having “too much” Native blood by her White
in-laws. Marissa is your typical rich, White woman. She’s married to a wealthy
business man named Andrew, is very concerned with her appearance, and lives in
an HOA neighborhood in a big house. After going to the country club to announce
her pregnancy to her husband, Marrissa makes the mistake of mentioning she’s a
small percentage of Native (in reference to not being offended by a racist
mascot) and her husband becomes visibly upset. The next day Elayne, Andrew’s
mother, takes Marissa to a “specialist” who has racist phrenology drawings on
the wall. Elayne explains that she doesn’t want a “mutt” grandbaby who may be
dark skinned and “savage” (despite Marissa being white). The way in which
Elayne views Marissa’s child is very reminiscent of the “one drop” rule. The one-drop
rule was a legal principle based on a form of hypodescent, the assignment
of a mixed-race child to the ethnic group considered "lower status."
In other words, anyone with Black ancestry (no matter how far back) was
considered Black. There were strict classifications for mixed-race individuals that
were given offensive names like “Mulatto” and “octoroon,” I discuss more about
how this racist system allowed the US to hold up White supremacy here.
I mentioned above how annoying it is when other people (especially White
people) decide my identity for me, butit’s even worse when the government does
it.
And this leads me to blood
quantum. Blood quantum is highly controversial and personal, and since I’m
not Indigenous and therefore shouldn’t weigh in on such a heated debate I will
tread carefully and stick to the facts as best I can. If you’re not familiar, Blood
Quantum laws were enacted by the United States government to determine if
someone was considered Native or not dependent on their degree of Native
ancestry. The first "Indian
Blood law" was originally created in 1705 when the Virginia government
wanted to limit the civil rights of Native people and people of Native descent.
Some Native tribes continue to use blood quantum to determine who can enroll
for tribal membership, others do not. Leah Myers, a member of the Jamestown
S’Klallam tribe, gives an example of the importance of tribal enrollment in her
Atlantic
essay:
"Tribal citizenship is more than symbolic. It
determines eligibility for educational assistance, medical care, and other
social benefits. Plus, only members can attend citizen meetings and vote in
tribal elections. If my future children don’t meet the blood requirements for
my tribe, they could still participate in events, cultivate plants in the
traditional-foods garden, and take Klallam-language courses. But no matter how
much they served the community in love and time, they would be deemed a 'descendant'
and marked as separate."
Here’s
a guide to Blood Quantum that gives both the arguments for and against blood
quantum (full transparency, most Native sources I looked up were against these
laws). Basically, blood quantum proponents argue that getting rid of blood
quantum rules will make scarce resources even scarcer due to population growth
and that it will allow disconnected outsiders and pretendians
to join the tribe, which will erode their culture. Opponents of blood quantum
argue that statistically it will eradicate Native nations, and point to the
law's racist origins which were intended to control and erase Indigenous
people. It also makes relationships complicated, as Indigenous people must
calculate their potential children's percentage of Native blood and if they can
enroll or not, which can put a strain on families. Blood quantum also conflicts
with traditional Indigenous ideas about kinship and has“no basis in
Native American traditions.” Essentially, both proponents and opponents
disagree on the best way to preserve their tribal nations.
This idea is explored more fully in the story Quantum
by Nick Medina. A woman named Amber is so obsessed with blood quantum and
getting her children on the tribal roll that she favors her son Grayson, who’s
5/16 Native, while ignoring his brother Sam, who is only 1/8 Native, to the
point where Sam is practically feral. She even tries to steal blood from a
deceased Native man from their tribe so she can inject it into Sam.
Another story I enjoyed is Collections by Amber
Blaeser-Wardzala, an incredibly creepy story about collecting human remains. Professor
Smith, a liberal White woman, collects the heads of all the students she’s
helped. She’s very proud of her collection: she has all the sexualities and
genders, all the religions, and almost all the races. An Indigenous head would
be her “white whale.” Megis (called Meg by the White professor) is
understandably horrified by the collection, as is one of her Black classmates,
but none of her white classmates seem to be. Professor Smith implies she wants
to help Megis so she can have her head for her collection. Megis, the first
person in her family to go to college, is desperate to stay on Professor
Smith’s good side so she can maintain her scholarship and get a good job, and
therefore doesn’t have much choice but to stay in the house of horrors. While
an extreme example, the story underlines how troubling it is when museums collect
human remains without consent and how academics
will treat bodies as mere curiosities.
“When [Native American artifacts and human remains] were
acquired, collectors weren’t thinking of Indigenous peoples as human beings. People
were resources, and human remains were to be preserved alongside pots” says
Jacquetta Swift, the repatriation manager for the National Museum of the
American Indian and member of the Comanche and Fort Sill Apache tribes. It’s
the unfortunate reality that most human remains on display and in private
collections, are unethically sourced from BIPOCs against their wishes.
This theme is also lightly touched on in Navajos Don’t
Wear Elk Teeth by Conley Lyons where a Native man named Joe has a summer
fling with White man named Cam. Cam collects teeth, some of which turn out to
be human (he claims his last boyfriend was a Navajo man who gave him an elk
tooth for “good luck” which Joe is dubious about). One of Joe’s friends refers
to this as “bad medicine” and suggest Joe get an elder to sage his house.
Not all the stories are quite so dark, however. Snakes
are Born in the Dark by D. H. Trujillo felt like a Goosebumps book
or a fun story kids tell to scare each other, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. In
the story, an Alaskan Native boy named Peter goes hiking in the woods with his
white cousin Maddie and her rude boyfriend Adam. They come across Native petroglyphs
in the Four Corners desert which Maddie and Adam both immediately touch. Peter warns
them not to touch the carvings but Adam continues to do so while mocking him.
Unsurprisingly both Maddie and Adam suffer unpleasant (though non-lethal and
impermanent) fates which results in a humorous ending. It’s a fun twist on the
classic “Indian curse” where we (and Peter) are rooting for the White people to
get their comeuppance.
I could go on and on about the stories in the anthology, like
Hunger by Phoenix Boudreau where two Cree college girls, Summer and
Rain, outsmart a Wehtigo. Or Scariest. Story. Ever. By Richard Van Camp
that touches on who gets to tell Native stories and how to share culture
without stealing it. They’re all great. I also felt like I learned a lot while
reading the anthology.
