Reservation Blues still lingers in my mind like a waft of perfume from a passerby on the street. This is one of my favorite quarantine reads. More than that, it is unlike anything I have read before or since.
In his 1995 fictional debut Sherman Alexie weaves the mythology of blues legend Robert Johson into the lives of the Spokane Indian tribe. The story begins with Robert Johnson arriving in Wellpinit, the only town on the reservation, waiting with his guitar at where else, the crossroads.
Besides being one of the greatest Delta bluesmen, Robert Johnson is legendary for the legend behind Crossroads, his most famous song. The story goes that Johnson took his guitar to the crossroads of Highways 49 and 61 in Clarksdale, Mississippi where he sold his soul to the devil in exchange for supreme guitar skills. As the song goes, he’s standing at the crossroad, unsuccessfully trying to hitch a ride, “didn’t nobody seem to know me, babe, everybody pass me by.”
The only man willing to stop and pick up the fictional Robert Johnson is protagonist Thomas Builds-the-Fire. Thomas drives him to the top of Wellpinit Mountain where Robert leaves his guitar behind in the van. Thomas strums the forgotten guitar and hears the first notes of the reservation blues. This is where the story begins...
What follows is the tale of a bewitched guitar and a group of American Indians who form a band called Coyote Springs and chase their rock n’ roll dream of a record contract in NYC. Yet the heart of the story lies underneath the dream of fame and in the lives of five people looking for their place and purpose in life.
We get glimpses of their lives in the song lyrics that start each chapter, such as Falling Down and Falling Apart or Urban Indian Blues. Chapter 5 starts with the vivid My God Has Dark Skin, “My braids were cut off in the name of Jesus, To Make me look so white, My tongue was cut out in the name of Jesus, so I would not speak what’s right.” So much is expressed through these verses that blues doesn’t seem a strong enough word to hold them.
Sometimes I read to hear another person’s voice, another person’s story. This is one of those books and this was my introduction to American Indian literature. A different voice and an unforgettable story that weaves harsh reality with music, poetry, legend and the mystic into a singular story that stays behind long after the spine closes.
I have my friend Mary to thank for bringing Sherman Alexie into my world. Throughout quarantine we traded care packages that always included a book we had enjoyed. I look forward to reading more from Alexie and other American Indian voices.
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