Welch, James 1940–
Welch is an American Indian poet and novelist. He draws most of the material for his fiction from the experiences of his youth on an Indian reservation in Montana. The emotional power of Welch's writing is partly a result of his dual abilities to address the topical problems of Indians in contemporary America and to explore the universal complexities of the human condition. (See also CLC, Vol. 6, and Contemporary Authors, Vols. 85-88.)
The writing [in Winter in the Blood] is constantly fending off easy attitudes and conclusions with a flat, brooding precision. The reader keeps wanting to be able to make something of it all, to be clear how these people are Indians, how being an Indian makes a difference. Welch himself is a Montanan, Blackfoot and Gros Ventre, and in Winter in the Blood one may find out what it is like to be an Indian, this Indian, but just what that means is never once offered us for summary or conclusion. It is an unnervingly beautiful book. (p. 20)
As one might imagine, there are fine conversations in bars, and they have just the right quality of aimlessness and direction of life being lived and not lived. (p. 21)
Writing as flat and quiet as this, in a novel that is mostly dialogue, tempts one to think of Hemingway, to praise its tact and understatement. But Winter in the Blood has no such Hemingway sense of style or life; it states everything fully, seeks no sense that these people are responding "gracefully under pressure," because there is no pressure. But that does not lead Welch either to absurdist acceptance or to despair, but to a careful page-by-page measurement of the precise value of however little there is to these lives. Of course in a book like this there is bound to be a problem with plot, because one is inevitably attitudinizing if one uses a plot to give the lives shape or if one refuses to...
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[James Welch] is the best American Indian poet in terms of techniques, production, attitudes, and what must be called competence. One argument advanced against this opinion is that his forms and style are not peculiarly Indian, that he writes good poetry but not Indian poetry. It is true that Welch's poems are not syntactically complicated by his oral language traditions; they are at least partially indicative of his college training. Yet, what is characteristic of Indian poetry is not primarily a left-over dependence on nonwritten native language patterns…. More importantly, the Indian writer has a close personal relationship with the earth and its creatures…. He writes in quite simple rhythms, as though they are dictated by the rhythms of the natural world. And his imagery is often oriental … in its complex simplicity. Finally, of course, it is the poet's experiences as an Indian which determine the subject matter of the poems.
Welch, like many Indian poets, has said that he wants to be known as a poet, not as an Indian poet. That is both right and understandable. Nevertheless, it is inevitable that many of his poems deal with reservation life in Montana, with inferior economic conditions, and with protests against the Washington bureaus responsible for Indian welfare, in addition to the more personal matters of family, tradition, and religion. Some of Welch's poems are sharply satiric; others are softly suggestive, as in this line from "Snow Country Weavers":
say in my mind
I saw your spiders weaving
to bandage up the day
John R. Milton, "New American Indian Writers," in The Contemporary Literary Scene 1973, edited by Frank N. Magill (copyright © 1974 by Frank N. Magill), Salem Press, Inc., 1974, pp. 82-6.∗
James Welch's fine novel, Winter in the Blood, the story of a 32-year-old Indian on a Montana reservation, depends upon understatement, requires it, would be impossible to tell without its restraint. For the story of Indian dispossession is stark and terrible, and, unlike science fiction, true…. The story implicates victor and vanquished in a shared guilt, the white man for having aggressed, the red man for having succumbed. Whatever the reasons or the excuses, the consequences remain inexcusable. The consequences are here in the book, in the narrator's bruised body and defeated spirit, and in the writer's grace. James Welch is not his protagonist, and that must remain a sole and important consolation. The novel begins with an image of dilapidation, the Earthboy place in shambles…. We are accustomed to speak of alienation as the pervasive theme of twentieth-century American fiction, but the alienation of the middle-class white man seems a whining, self-pitying pose beside the experience of the American Indian, separated as he is from his land, his traditions, his people, his customs, his past; separated from himself. All of the narrator's memories are of loss…. The narrator does nothing but wander through bars and unfamiliar bedrooms, drunk, beaten, dazed, pursuing a girl, or the dream of a girl, who holds the only promise of something better, "the promise of warm things."… His hope, not only for salvation but for life itself, lies in the possibility of awakened desire. Wanting nothing, caring for no one, feeling only loss, he will die—broken, tamed, and trapped…. Welch's narrator anaesthetizes himself in order to endure the pain of his total dispossession; but apathy, like winter in the blood, is not transcendence, but death…. Winter in the Blood is quiet, straightforward, and unflinching, a simple and striking story about death—the death of a people, a tradition, a land, a river, a promise. We must read it to our despair. (pp. 311-12)
Blanche H. Gelfant, "Fiction Chronicle: 'Winter in the Blood'," in The Hudson Review (copyright © 1975 by The Hudson Review, Inc.; reprinted by permission), Vol. XXVIII, No. 2, Summer, 1975, pp. 311-12.
Nature and Native American poetry are not merely related by alliteration; they also have a spiritual bond which is a result of hundreds of years of contact and togetherness. Social protest, subjective explorations of existence and other themes are present in Native American poetry as in other American minority poetry. But the affinity between nature and the Native Americans is natural and spiritual and is conspicuously absent in contemporary poetry by other ethnic groups…. The strange cosmic perspective that haunts the Indian mind does not lose itself in its pursuit of the transitory and the superficial, although it does not totally ignore current social realities.
James Welch's poetry has all these characteristics…. (p. 142)
Welch is not always serious. The old man in "Grandma's Man" paints the cry of a goose so long that it floats off the canvas into thin air. Similar humor is seen in "Never Give A Bum An Even Break." But his best poems are serious and philosophical, and nature dominates much of his poetry. (p. 143)
Syed Amanuddin, "World Literature in Review: 'Riding the Earthboy 40'," in World Literature Today (copyright 1977 by the University of Oklahoma Press), Vol. 51, No. 1, Winter, 1977, pp. 142-43.
In Riding the Earthboy 40,… [James Welch] would give us something of the material and spiritual poverty of the American Indian reservation, or rather, and more significantly, of the no-man's-land of small towns at their fringes where the two cultures meet, usually unhappily…. Welch has lived this, and knows the territory, not only the degradation of this passage, but the other side as well, the attempts to resist assimilation, preserve the native culture and resurrect its significance in the face of colonial conditions. Recent popular treatments of the situation have, inevitably, reduced it to cliché, and so one hopes, reading this book, that the poetry will come to the rescue. But Welch's language is not equal to the task. As the two cultures mingle uneasily, so two kinds of diction mix in the poems, but seldom do they produce the chemistry needed to precipitate poetry. A soft, "elemental" diction (clouds, dreams, sky, snow, bones, blood), aimed apparently at drawing on archetypal energies, produces only vagueness (as in the worst of Merwin) and is incongruous with Welch's other characteristic diction, a racy slang…. Also mixed into this unfortunate brew are a couple of staple ingredients from the contemporary poetic kitchen—a colorful but tasteless essence of synesthesia ("Shawls color the rainbow a new odor") and that indispensable monosodium glutamate of our time, inane surrealism: "Elephants are whispering in backyards." Occasionally an image will strike a spark, cutting to the heart of a dilemma ("These Indians once imitated life") or rendering a landscape ("sky so blue / the eagles spoke in foreign tongues"), but for the most part the poems are a jumble of competing tones and confused impressions.
Part of the reason, I suspect, that Welch does not sharpen his diction and clarify his tone is an underlying fear of sentimentality. He speaks in more than one poem about "sentimental crap", and given the potential bathos of his subject, his fear is understandable…. But in his attempts to evade sentimentality, Welch ends up evading feeling as well, and the real issues…. Either way, the poet, along with his persona, remains "distant / as the cloud I came in on", and Welch does little service either to poetry or to the American Indian. (pp. 287-89)
Robert Holland, "Six or Seven Fools," in Poetry (© 1977 by The Modern Poetry Association; reprinted by permission of the Editor of Poetry), Vol. CXXIX, No. 5, February, 1977, pp. 285-95.∗
Winter in the Blood … is a novel in which the nameless protagonist's search for an authentic and meaningful sense of being in the world is structured around various distances. Distance is articulated in essentially three forms—physical, emotional, and aesthetic. The physical (including temporal) distance at which his family and others are held partly causes their emotional remoteness from or coolness toward the protagonist, and he temporarily loses sight of who he is. His emotional distance, in turn, makes him a wanderer, leading him to establish an even greater distance from these others in an accelerating process until the principal action of homecoming is torture. For most of the novel the protagonist is...
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There are few laughs in Winter in the Blood … even though the narrator shares characteristics of a trickster, joker, and fool…. [The] narrator is a mediator and thus an ambiguous and equivocal character. The polar terms he attempts to mediate or reconcile are the fundamental ones of life and death, past and present, winter and summer, Indian and white cultures, the nature of men and women, sex and love, self and others. But unlike the tricksters of his Indian heritage, Welch's narrator is human and so must pay the psychological and spiritual price for existing between extremes, unreconciled to either of them…. [He] is his own man discontent with his present, haunted by his past …, and uncertain...
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Winter in the Blood is in no way a protest novel. Not only is it far more complex, it really is neither bitter nor angry. In fact, although it is powerful and moving in places, it is primarily comic.
Once one abandons the idea that all Indian novels must be angry, it is not surprising to find that Winter in the Blood has a strong comic undercurrent. The comic novel is becoming the dominant genre in fiction today…. And Welch, although he is isolated geographically in Montana, is a writer who is well aware of literary trends. Much of his poetry evinces the influence of the surrealism which Robert Bly and James Wright have imported from South America. In his fiction he employs his own...
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