Indian Killer

This motif appears at various points throughout the novel, reflecting on matters of identity and entitlement. Most broadly, it is apparent in Marie’s response to Mather’s insistence that he is an expert on Indian culture. She rejects his assumed right to cast himself as an expert and suggests that only an Indian could take such a role and be qualified to teach others, reasoning that “when I take a chemistry course, I certainly hope that the teacher is a chemist” (312).

Marie is also frustrated with Mather’s choice of texts for the course, which are all written, co-written, or edited by white people, meaning that the students are learning only white people’s stories about Indians rather than actual Indian stories or knowledge. She particularly objects to the inclusion of one of Wilson’s Aristotle Little Hawk novels on the syllabus, questioning Mather’s assertions that Wilson is actually an Indian and provides any kind of authentic commentary on Indian life or identity. Her objections are most explicit at the protest against Wilson’s book reading, where the demonstrators carry signs directly challenging the ownership of stories and declaring that “ONLY INDIANS SHOULD TELL INDIAN STORIES” (263).

The motif is also explicitly explored in Reggie’s confrontation with Mather over the tapes of Indian elders reading traditional stories. As Reggie’s belief that he needs to seek the approval of white men starts to shift, he insists that Mather has no right to the stories—that they are not the property of white people to be sifted through and analyzed by white academics. However, because of his perception of himself as friend and ally of Indians and an expert on Indian cultures, Mather believes that he is entirely entitled to the tapes, to such an extent that he “come[s] to see those stories as his possessions, as his stories, as if it had been his voice on those tapes” (138). Significantly, part of Reggie’s insistence that Mather does not have a right to the stories comes from the fact that he himself, and actual Indian, feels disconnected from them. Indeed, in an effort to reclaim Indian stories for himself, Reggie actually records his assault on the white man as a contemporary story of Indian life, speculating, “who can say which story is more traditional than any other?” (320).

Father Duncan was John’s priest when he was a boy, but for much of the novel he features as a hallucination, an aspect of John’s subconscious. In this setting, he represents John’s internal conflict and confused sense of identity. As a Spokane and a Jesuit, Duncan is plagued with doubt about who he is. Showing John the stained glass window depicting Jesuits being killed by Indians, he explains, “You see all of this? It’s what is happening inside me right now” (15): He believes that the Jesuits were martyred like Jesus but also that they deserved their fate. John shares these conflicted feelings about white culture and Indian culture, having been raised without an authentic connection to his Indian heritage but resenting and fearing white society.

Duncan also represents the possibility of resolution and becoming whole. After Duncan disappears into the desert, John comes to look at his journey as a kind of spirit quest or even a miracle in which Duncan went into the desert in search of answers. This search involved bringing together all aspects of himself, and so Duncan, “wanting to be heard by every version of God, prayed in English, Latin, and Spokane” (125). As Duncan’s footprints stopped and no body was found, John conceives of this journey as Duncan being saved, as perhaps experiencing an ascension, a moment of peace and resolution in which the warring aspects of himself came together and found a truth that saved him. In many respects, John’s story is a search for such a moment of completeness, and after his suicide, his spirit begins his own journey across the desert in search of similar connection and belonging and peace.