Almanac of the Dead by Leslie Marmon Silko
1992
Weight: 1.4 lbs
Method of Disposal: Donating
Seeing this book still gives me the slightest twinge of shame in my gut. I read it in college, along with many other Silko books. We had a white male professor who was wonderful and always trying to break out of his academic box without actually leaving it. He would encourage us not to do grad school right away if ever. He wanted us to read books by people who were not "old white men like himself." He had a great smile and a little twinkle in his eyes. The books he recommended were almost always great, and his expectations for us were high.
I did not do as well as I wanted to in his classes, but I would say I was pretty average. After reading so much Silko, we were actually able to meet her one day. She gave a talk and signed books. She seemed so full of anger up at that podium and then frustrated with where she was at when signing books. I don't know if she was or if it was me or if it was all of us, but I had this overwhelming desire to "fix it" and, of course, could not. I would imagine coming to a school of predominantly privileged white women to discuss Native American life past and present wasn't a dream come true. We were probably so disappointing and that is putting it mildly.
I remember enjoying this book and writing a paper on it. Potentially hyped up on something that would keep me awake for days. I flip through it now and see a few quotes underlined:
"Only a woman fantasizes bullets striking a man's back at orgasm; a man's fantasy at orgasm was firing bullets into the wife's husband" (p 362).
"Yaquis also understood that a person might need a number of names in order to conduct all of his or her earthly business" (p 227).
"The white men on the street were genetically defective. Mosca was certain of it" (p 211).
"Each time a Palestinian child was shot by Israeli soldiers, Hitler smiled" (p 212)
I guess you get the gist. Sadness and anger. Frustration and violence.
1992
Weight: 1.4 lbs
Method of Disposal: Donating
Seeing this book still gives me the slightest twinge of shame in my gut. I read it in college, along with many other Silko books. We had a white male professor who was wonderful and always trying to break out of his academic box without actually leaving it. He would encourage us not to do grad school right away if ever. He wanted us to read books by people who were not "old white men like himself." He had a great smile and a little twinkle in his eyes. The books he recommended were almost always great, and his expectations for us were high.
I did not do as well as I wanted to in his classes, but I would say I was pretty average. After reading so much Silko, we were actually able to meet her one day. She gave a talk and signed books. She seemed so full of anger up at that podium and then frustrated with where she was at when signing books. I don't know if she was or if it was me or if it was all of us, but I had this overwhelming desire to "fix it" and, of course, could not. I would imagine coming to a school of predominantly privileged white women to discuss Native American life past and present wasn't a dream come true. We were probably so disappointing and that is putting it mildly.
I remember enjoying this book and writing a paper on it. Potentially hyped up on something that would keep me awake for days. I flip through it now and see a few quotes underlined:
"Only a woman fantasizes bullets striking a man's back at orgasm; a man's fantasy at orgasm was firing bullets into the wife's husband" (p 362).
"Yaquis also understood that a person might need a number of names in order to conduct all of his or her earthly business" (p 227).
"The white men on the street were genetically defective. Mosca was certain of it" (p 211).
"Each time a Palestinian child was shot by Israeli soldiers, Hitler smiled" (p 212)
I guess you get the gist. Sadness and anger. Frustration and violence.
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