"The sky. The way the clouds keep hanging out by the horizon. I think we might get a crow winter this year...That's what it's called when it snows too soon for it to be called winter. Like, the second week in October, or maybe even earlier...It's real annoying because everything dies before it's supposed to."
I'm a fan of Canadian Indigenous fiction – I am open to anything First Nations writers want to share about their history, mythology, or how they're living now – and while I don't demand that they mould their storytelling to fit the distinct tastes of my settlers' culture, I can't give a complete pass to Indigenous authors whose writing I don't think is of the highest quality. Crow Winter is a fine story that brings mythological beings into the modern world, much like Eden Robinson's Trickster series, but unlike Robinson's precise and imaginative storytelling, author Karen McBride's writing seems amateurish and uninspired. I appreciate this effort, but am not dazzled by the result.
With every word he speaks, the sky darkens as Nanabush's shadow grows larger. I can feel some primal part of me screaming that I need to either fall to my knees or run. I shouldn't be able to commune with someone like him. But I can't move. The wind picks up again and tosses the few pieces of loose hair around my face until each touch feels like lashes from a whip. For the first time, I see the echo of the old powers of Nanabush. As if I know that he's not what he was. I understand him. Something connects us and I see him for the tired, unworshipped, forgotten soul that he is.After graduating university, Hazel Ellis decides to move back home with her mother on the Spirit Bear Point First Nation reserve in Quebec. Hazel's father died after a long illness eighteen months before, and she, her mother, and her brother are all still broken over the loss and unable to talk to one another about it. Once home again, Hazel finds herself being shadowed by an unusually intelligent-looking crow, and once they begin communicating, she discovers that he is Nanabush: the Trickster demigod, neither mortal nor immortal, trapped in avian form and sent by the Seven Grandfather Teachings to put Hazel back together again. As the two develop their relationship, Hazel and Nanabush realise that not only must they help each other for their own healings, but they are set on a mission to save the Spirit World and its connection to this side of the Medicine Wheel.
I did like the depiction of rez life – everything from Band Council politics to the slangy dialect used by Hazel's mom and other residents – and I appreciate what McBride shares about sweat lodge ceremony and other customs, beliefs, and rituals of her Anishinaabe people. But I didn't find the overall plot to be compellingly unique or the up-close writing to reflect the author's Master of Arts in creative writing (from her acknowledgments, it would seem that this began as McBride's Master's thesis). There is plenty of telling-not-showing, repetition of details, and plain clunky writing:
It's a beautiful day. Hot, sunny, with the right amount of wind, so I've got the windows rolled down – which seemed like a good decision when I set out but isn't great now that I'm nearing the actual heap. There's no other way to describe the smell of garbage. It's awful. The epitome of rot. I'd roll the windows up but that would only lock it in with me. This way I have a bit of air flow, even if it's nasty, hot garbage air.I think it's totally fair for an Indigenous author to depict First Nations' lamentable history with the colonising culture in any way that feels right to her. And I don't feel defensive when white people are depicted as greedy, racist exploiters, but cartoonishly evil historical figures don't feel real enough to me to evoke a sympathetic reaction – and neither does making the only living white person in this book (a wanna-be ally to the Spirit Bear Point residents) react with spite instead of understanding when he's given the chance to act like a human being instead of a businessman. Again, McBride has every right (perhaps even a duty) to put disparaging remarks about white people and the history of colonisation in her characters' mouths, but I still find myself challenged by the wording in passages like the following (regarding Hazel's brother, Gus):
Until recently, he worked as part of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. Helping those of us still suffering from second-wave cultural genocide to find peace. Which is a fancy way of saying he helped people apply for the money that was owed to them by the Canadian government.I wish I liked Crow Winter better, but I will say that it wasn't a waste of time to have listened to the story that Karen McBride wanted to share.
