SOURCE: Smith, Jeanne Rosier. “Comic Liberators and World-Healers: The Interwoven Trickster Narratives of Louise Erdrich.” In Writing Tricksters: Mythic Gambols in American Ethnic Literature, pp. 71-110. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997.

[In the following excerpt, Smith investigates Erdrich's use of the Native American trickster archetype in Love Medicine.]

The trickster's constant chatterings and antics remind us that life is endlessly narrative, prolific and openended.

—William Hynes Mythical Trickster Figures

From the first publication of Love Medicine in 1984, tricksters have played a central and pervasive role in Louise Erdrich's fiction.¹ A family of tricksters wanders through Love Medicine, Tracks, and The Bingo Palace. The very existence of such a trickster “family” as Erdrich's rewrites a major tenet of a trickster tradition in which the trickster always travels alone. Erdrich's novels transgress trickster traditions in other ways as well, revising traditional myths, and in the cases of Fleur and Lulu, combining parts of several myths and pushing the limits of our conception of the trickster. Erdrich's tricksters can't be contained, whether in a body, in a prison, in a single story or novel, or—as the expanded 1993 edition of Love Medicine suggests—even in a particular version of a novel.

Several of Erdrich's characters bear important resemblances to Chippewa trickster Nanabozho, and her work offers a trickster-inspired view of identity, community, history, and narrative. As the community evolves, so do the novels' narrative forms. Indeed, the evolving narrative forms of Love Medicine, Tracks, and The Bingo Palace express the history of a Chippewa community in trickster terms that, far from reinforcing stereotypes of a vanishing tribe, emphasize variety, vibrancy, and continuance. Tricksters' ability to escape virtually any situation and survive any adventure makes them particularly appealing to an artist like Erdrich, who feels that Native American writers, “in the light of enormous loss, must tell the stories of contemporary survivors, while protecting and celebrating the cores of cultures left in the wake of the catastrophe (“Where I Ought to Be: A Writer's Sense of Place,” 23). Through trickster characters and a trickster aesthetic, Erdrich attests to the personal and cultural survival of the Chippewa people.

In Erdrich's works, tricksters are central to the formulation of identity, the creation of community, and the preservation of culture. Through their courageous, outrageous stories, their transgressions not only of law and convention but also of flesh and blood, Erdrich's tricksters are, to borrow Gerald Vizenor's words, “enchanter[s], comic liberator[s], and word healer[s]” (Trickster of Liberty x). Erdrich's works convey a tricksterlike delight in the margin as a place of connection and transformation. Her novels focus our attention on these interconnections, not only between characters but also among the various stories and across the novels. The new and expanded version of Love Medicine heightens and reinforces the interconnections among the novels, while questioning the stability of the novel as a form. In keeping with Erdrich's aesthetic of interconnection, my discussion focuses first on the trickster's relationship to identity and then on the trickster-inspired narrative structures that link family, the community, and the novels.

TRICKSTER IDENTITY: LOVE MEDICINE AND TRACKS

That tricksters inspire Erdrich's formulation of identity may appear at first a risky claim. After all, the trickster embodies paradox; his or her ever-shifting form seems to negate the possibility of any “stable” identity. Yet paradox is a part of Native American (and postmodern) conceptions of identity, and the shiftiness defines the trickster's identity. If aptly directed, Erdrich suggests, a trickster-inspired view of identity can be liberating and empowering. Traditionally, the Chippewa trickster Nanabozho is “the master of life—the source and impersonation of the lives of all sentient things, human, faunal, and floral. … He was regarded as the master of ruses but also possessed great wisdom in the prolonging of life” (Densmore 97). As the “master of ruses,” Nanabozho wields as his chief weapon the power of transformation. Nanabozho could “assume at will … a new form, shape, and existence”; he “could be a man, and change to a pebble in the next instant. He could be a puff of wind, a cloud fragment, a flower, a toad” (Johnston 19-20). Using his transformational powers to escape from difficult situations and attack his enemies, Nanabozho's transformational ability implies control over his physical boundaries. It is the trickster's questioning of physical boundaries that is central to Erdrich's vision of identity based on connections to myth and community.

As I argue elsewhere in detail, Erdrich views identity as “transpersonal”: a strong sense of self must be based not on isolation but on personal connections to community and to myth (see Smith). In Love Medicine, Erdrich translates the concept of a fluid, transpersonal identity in concretely physical terms: bodies become boundaries, outer layers that limit and define individuals. Characters flow out of their bodies and open themselves up to engulf the world. Even death does not contain them. Those characters gifted with Nanabozho's ability to control, or dissolve, their own physical boundaries have the strongest identities.

On the night of her homecoming at the beginning of Love Medicine, Albertine Johnson experiences a mystical merging with the northern lights as she lies in a field next to her cousin Lipsha. Her description shows how a physical connection to myth, community, and the landscape provides strength.

Northern lights. Something in the cold, wet atmosphere brought them out. I grabbed Lipsha's arm. We floated into the field and sank down. … Everything seemed to be one piece. The air, our faces, all cool, moist, and dark, and the ghostly sky. … At times the whole sky was ringed in shooting points … pulsing, fading, rhythmical as breathing … as if the sky were a pattern of nerves and our thoughts and memories traveled across it … one gigantic memory for us all.

(LM [Love Medicine] 37)²

Albertine's vision of a vast, universal brain, of which her own face forms a part, expresses what William Bevis calls “transpersonal time and space” (585). Everything connects and interrelates in living, breathing patterns and rhythms that Albertine inhabits both physically and mentally.

Albertine's vision strikingly parallels one of Nanabozho, as described by the Chippewa writer Edward Benton-Banai:

As he rested in camp that night, Waynaboozhoo looked up into the sky and was overwhelmed at the beauty of the ah-nung-ug (stars).³ They seemed to stretch away forever into the Ish-pi-ming (Universe). He became lost in the vast expanse of the stars. … Waynaboozhoo sensed a pulse, a rhythm in the Universe of stars. He felt his own o-day (heart) beating within himself. The beat of his heart and the beat of the Universe were the same. Waynaboozhoo gazed into the stars with joy. He drifted off to sleep listening to his heart and comforted by the feeling of oneness with the rhythm of the Universe.

(56-57)

Like Albertine, Nanabozho in this story is lonely and confused. For both, the merging experience counteracts a sense of alienation and disconnectedness. Albertine's vision is powerful because it reestablishes her sense of connection to her home landscape, to her family (she holds Lipsha's arm and they float together), and, importantly, to Chippewa myth. Seeing the northern lights, Albertine imagines the sky as “a dance hall. And all the world's wandering souls were dancing there. I thought of June. She would be dancing if there were a dancehall in space” (LM 37). In Chippewa myth the joyful dancing of the dead in the afterworld creates the northern lights.⁴ Albertine's vision places June within a community, in a “dancehall in space,” and reestablishes her own links to her culture. By reinforcing her transpersonal and mythic connections to her family, her community, and the natural universe, Albertine's physical merging into the cool, dark night intensifies her own sense of identity.

Albertine's single tricksterlike visionary experience is typical of Erdrich's technique; rather than assign a trickster identity to one particular character who has multiple trickster attributes, she emphasizes the trickster's multifaceted identity with an array of trickster characters. Nanabozho most clearly appears in Love Medicine in the magically flexible form of his namesake, Gerry Nanapush. As the novel's most conspicuous embodiment of the trickster, Gerry addresses Erdrich's central concerns by challenging the notion of fixed boundaries, both physically with his transformative powers and politically with his continual escapes from imprisonment by whites. Chippewa writer and critic Gerald Vizenor describes Nanabozho as a “comic healer and liberator” (“Trickster Discourse” 188). Gerry Nanapush fits both of these descriptions insofar as he represents Erdrich's concern with liberating and healing Chippewa culture from damaging white stereotypes. A thoroughly modern trickster, the two-hundred-and-fifty-pound Gerry squirms through prison walls and vanishes in thin air in Love Medicine, garnering his trickster reputation as a “famous politicking hero, dangerous armed criminal, judo expert, escape artist, charismatic member of the American Indian Movement, and smoker of many pipes of kinnikinnick in the most radical groups” (LM 341). Because it allows him to escape both literal and figurative confinement, the trickster's transformative power takes on political importance in Love Medicine.

Originally imprisoned because of a bar fight with a cowboy over a racial slur, Gerry ends up in jail because, as Albertine Johnson dryly observes,

White people are good witnesses to have on your side, because they have names, addresses, social security numbers, and work phones. But they are terrible witnesses to have against you, almost as bad as having Indians witness for you. Not only did Gerry's friends lack all forms of identification except their band cards, not only did they disappear (out of no malice but simply because Gerry was tried during powwow time), but the few he did manage to get were not interested in looking judge or jury in the eyes. … Gerry's friends, you see, had no confidence in the United States judicial system.

(LM 201)

By placing her Nanabozho figure in such a conflict, Erdrich suggests the trickster's power to counteract and heal the wounds of racial injustice. Andrew Wiget points out that the ability to change form is an essential survival strategy against such restrictive forces: “Trickster is in the business of … insuring that man remains ‘unfinished’ by fossilized institutions, open and adaptable instead to changing contemporary realities’ (21). Gerry keeps escaping, true to his proud slogan that “no concrete shitbarn prison's built that can hold a Chippewa” (LM 341). His face on protest buttons and the six o'clock news, he galvanizes the Chippewa community with his miraculous getaways, sailing out of three-story windows and flying up airshafts, which liberate him and by extension all Chippewas from the white world's effort to contain and define them.

The “unfinished” nature of the trickster provides an escape from essentializing definitions; however strong the mythic dimensions of Gerry's character, Erdrich carefully emphasizes his humanity as well. As Greg Sarris suggests, pinning a trickster identity onto Gerry would be just as confining as all of the stereotypes from which he struggles to break free (130).⁵ With a deft sleight of hand, Erdrich shatters any static image of Gerry as trickster by showing the toll Gerry's public trickster role has taken as he awaits the birth of his daughter: “All the quickness and delicacy of his movements had disappeared, and he was only a poor tired fat man in those hours, a husband worried about his wife, menaced, tired of getting caught” (LM 168). Although he escapes from prison again in The Bingo Palace, his appearance in that novel makes over-romanticizing him impossible; physically diminished by years in a maximum security prison, Gerry's much-changed image on the television screen shocks his friend Albertine. Whereas the old Gerry “had absorbed and cushioned insults with a lopsided jolt of humor, … had been a man whose eyes lighted, who shed sparks,” his gaze in a prison life documentary strikes her as hungry and desperate (BP [The Bingo Palace] 24-25). Erdrich's characterization of Gerry forces readers to consider both the mythic and the psychological dimensions of identity.⁶

Given the fact that the trickster, as Vizenor explains, is a “teacher and healer in various personalities,” Gerry's clownish, bumbling son, Lipsha, is clearly another of Love Medicine's tricksters, deriving his healing “touch” from his mythical forebear (“People” 4). His uncle Lyman describes him as “a wild jack … clever and contriving as a fox,” and, as a trickster in the youngest Chippewa generation, Lipsha represents the hope of cultural survival (LM 304). He goes on to become a central character in Erdrich's most recent novel The Bingo Palace (1994), in which he wavers (tricksterlike) between the luck and easy money of gambling and the fear that turning reservation lands into casino property will rob his community of its heritage and sense of identity.

In the title chapter of Love Medicine, Erdrich comically recasts the Nanabozho origin myth in the story of Lipsha's search for his parents.⁷ In the myth, when Nanabozho learns from his grandmother Nookomis that his mother had been stolen by a “powerful wind spirit” at his birth, he sets out on a long journey to find her and finally meets the great gambler, with whom he battles over the destiny of his people. At the tale's end, Nanabozho beats the gambler through trickery and returns to his people triumphant. The parallels to Love Medicine are clear. Like Nanabozho, Lipsha Morrissey first learns about his parents through his grandmother, Lulu Lamartine. Lipsha's mother, June, has also disappeared in a powerful wind (swept up in a North Dakota snowstorm), and after a search he finally meets his own trickster father, Gerry, and the traitorous King Kashpaw. The three gamble for King's car, and the father and son tricksters emerge victorious. Lipsha's repetition of Nanabozho's journey underscores the importance Erdrich places on cultural survival and suggests the danger betrayers like King pose to it. As with the Nanabozho myth, this poker game represents a struggle over the tribe's destiny, and by escaping from the police and winning King's car, Gerry and Lipsha outwit, if only for the moment, the internal and external forces that threaten to destroy the community. Erdrich's splitting of the trickster into two characters, the wandering Gerry and the homebound Lipsha, emphasizes the trickster's dual character as both marginal and central to the culture and underscores the trickster's multiple identity.⁸

Although Gerry's mother, Lulu Lamartine, corresponds to Nanabozho's grandmother Nookomis, Lulu is also Erdrich's feminist revisioning of the trickster, sharing Nanabozho's physical flexibility, artful gambling, and sexual prowess. Like the trickster, Lulu can “beat the devil himself at cards.” She brags, “I am a woman of detachable parts” (LM 115). Always the center of gossip for transgressing societal rules, Lulu even breaks the incest taboo, pursuing and catching her distant cousin Moses Pillager in a union that produces her trickster son, Gerry. Like Gerry, Lulu has a history of escape from government institutions; as a child she repeatedly ran away from her government boarding school (LM 68). When she escapes the schools for good, thanks to the clever letters of her trickster grandfather, old man Nanapush, she revels in the thought that “they could not cage me anymore” (LM 69).

Though she does not narrate her own story until Love Medicine, Lulu provides a vital link between Love Medicine and Tracks as the listener to whom old man Nanapush's narration in Tracks is addressed. Through his stories, Nanapush counteracts the Indian boarding schools' attempts at cultural erasure and recreates a family and a tribal history for Lulu.⁹ Lulu's nine children speak for the ultimate success of Nanapush's message, for she almost single-handedly repopulates the reservation, knitting the tribe into one big family through their many fathers (Van Dyke 20). Erdrich emphasizes this familial interconnectedness in her description of “Lulu's boys”: “Their gangling legs, encased alike in faded denim, shifted as if a ripple went through them collectively. … Clearly they were of one soul. Handsome, rangy, wildly various, they were bound in total loyalty, not by oath but by the simple, unquestioning belongingness of part of one organism” (LM 118). Fostered by their trickster mother, the boys present a picture of a potentially competitive and explosive system of interrelationships unified and strengthened by a sense of unquestioning belongingness.

A transformer, Lulu possesses the trickster's ability to dissolve her physical boundaries and merge with and absorb her environment: “I'd open my mouth wide, my ears wide, my heart, and I'd let everything inside” (LM 276). Lulu questions even the possibility of imposing boundaries, and as with Gerry, her trickster qualities lead her to deliver a political message: “All through my life I never did believe in human measurement,” she explains, “numbers, time, inches, feet. All are just ploys for cutting nature down to size. I know the grand scheme of the world is beyond our brains to fathom, so I don't try, just let it in. … If we're going to measure land, let's measure right. Every foot and inch you're standing on … belongs to the Indians” (LM 282). Though her sexual escapades win her a trickster's lowly reputation, Lulu's political awareness makes her a guardian of the culture. She warns the tribal council of selling land to the government for a “tomahawk factory [that] mocked us all. … Indian against Indian, that's how the government's money offer made us act” (LM 284, 283). By the end of Love Medicine, Lulu emerges as an “old-time traditional,” a cultural leader whose outrageous behavior in no way lessens her influence (LM 363).

Uninhibited by social constraints, free to dissolve boundaries and break taboos, the trickster's position on the edges of culture makes her or his perspective inherently revolutionary. As an “animate principle of disruption,” the trickster questions rigid definitions and boundaries and challenges cultural assumptions (Wiget 86). By emphasizing her characters' trickster traits, Erdrich turns stereotypically negative images into sources of strength and survival. Using Gerry's trickster characteristics to turn the threatening image of an escaped federal criminal into a symbol of human vitality and possibility, Erdrich also, through the resonance of the Nanabozho legend, transforms Lipsha's maladroit escape from home into a confirmation of personal and cultural identity. Finally, she makes us see Lulu not as the “heartless, shameless man-chaser” and “jabwa witch” that she is reputed to be, but as a woman of vibrancy and vision (LM 277, 322).

The oldest and most vocal of Erdrich's tricksters is old man Nanapush in Tracks, to whom Erdrich devotes over half of that novel's chapters. Nanapush has all the markings of a trickster: a joker, a healer, and a “clever gambler” who “satisfied three wives,” he lives in a “tightly tamped box overlooking the crossroad” (T [Tracks] 38, 41, 4)¹⁰ Though of an earlier generation, Nanapush shares with Lulu and Gerry the circumstance of having escaped from confinement in a white world, and significantly, he associates this escape directly with being a trickster: “I had a Jesuit education in the halls of Saint John before I ran back to the woods and forgot all my prayers. My father said, ‘Nanapush. That's what you'll be called. Because it's got to do with trickery and living in the bush” (T 33). Erdrich's repetition of this pattern of indoctrination and escape indicates its importance as a trickster strategy for cultural survival.

Nanapush's tricksterlike skill as a mediator between worlds has led several critics to emphasize his adaptability.¹¹ Certainly, survival depends upon adapting, yet in Erdrich's view adaptability can also lead to assimilation and even to a collapse of identity. Although Nanapush's knowledge of English makes him an authority within the tribe and a tribal representative to the government, his attitude toward his own bilingualism is deeply ambivalent. The trickster's transformational ability can only provide a useful model for identity when that fluid identity is firmly grounded in a sense of culture and place. For example, Nanapush's knowledge of American laws and language enable him to “reach through the loophole” and bring Lulu home from the government school (T 225). Yet Nanapush regards his own knowledge of written English warily, because he knows that adaptation to modern, western ways can mean the loss of cultural identity. As he observes, “We were becoming … a tribe of file cabinets and triplicates, a tribe of single-space documents, directives, policy. A tribe of pressed trees. A tribe of chicken-scratch that can be scattered by a wind, diminished to ashes by one struck match” (T 225). Adaptation without connection to one's home and culture undermines identity and threatens the community, as we see in Lyman Lamartine. Lyman's description of his own fragile identity in Love Medicine ironically fulfills Nanapush's prediction in Tracks. “I could die now and leave no ripple. Why not! I considered, but then I came up with the fact that my death would leave a gap in the BIA records, my IRS account would be labeled incomplete until it closed. … In cabinets of files, anyway, I still maintained existence. The government knew me though the wind and the earth did not. I was alive, at least on paper” (300). Reborn “out of papers,” Lyman skillfully works his way up in the Bureau of Indian Affairs and goes on to build the very tomahawk factory that his mother, Lulu, had named a threat to traditional culture (LM 303).

Vividly illustrating this danger of adapting too completely, one Chippewa trickster tale recounts:

One morning Winabojo got up early and went into the woods. He saw a great many men with clubs and asked what they were doing. They replied, “We are going to get the boy that your people wagered in the game; you had better join us or you will be killed.” Winabojo decided to do this in order to save his family. When they attacked the village he was so eager that he went right to his own lodge and began to kill his family. He killed the old people and the two boys and was about to kill the baby girl when someone stopped him. Then he was like someone waking from a dream and felt very sorry for what he had done.

(Densmore 99)

Winabojo identifies so completely with his enemies that he kills his own family without realizing it, a vivid warning against internalized oppression.¹² The destruction of Lyman's tomahawk factory brings about a similar result when Lyman notices Marie Kashpaw's hands have been mutilated in a machine designed to reproduce the work of “a hundred Chippewa grandmothers” (LM 310). Internalized racism sharply, if comically, colors Lyman's characterization of himself as “the flesh-and-blood proof of Nector Kashpaw's teepee-creeping” and his characterization of the activists in his community as “back-to-the-buffalo types” (LM 303).¹³ If such self-contempt and loss of identity is to be avoided, then the fluidity that allows the trickster to adapt to swiftly changing circumstances must spring from strong connections to community and culture.¹⁴

One character so closely connected to the myths and old language of the traditional Chippewa that she remains at the margins of Erdrich's contemporary fictional world is Fleur Pillager, whose heroic fights to save her land, unconventional dress and behavior, and mythic connections make her a compelling female trickster figure. In addition to her pivotal role in Tracks, Fleur appears as an itinerant healer and powerful medicine woman in The Beet Queen, Love Medicine, and The Bingo Palace; she is the only character to appear in all four novels. That Erdrich revised Love Medicine to include Fleur in her 1993 edition underscores Fleur's importance to the series, connecting the novels through her marginal but powerful presence. If Gerry and Nanapush are Erdrich's most traditional and widely recognized tricksters, Fleur represents Erdrich's most dramatic revision of the trickster. With Fleur, Erdrich not only retells traditional myths but, like Maxine Hong Kingston, reinvents and combines them. Fleur transgresses traditional myths, combining elements of the wolf (Nanabozho's brother), Misshepeshu the Water Monster, and the bear, making new combinations that are necessary for survival.¹⁵

As Gerry does with Lipsha in Love Medicine, Fleur shares the trickster's role in Tracks with the verbose and socially central Nanapush, and like Gerry, Fleur never narrates. As Bonnie TuSmith notes, whereas Nanapush's trickster-outsider role is “sanctioned within the community” so that he “represents the communal voice” in the novel, Fleur escapes even the Chippewa community's attempts to define her, dressing like a man and living alone in spirit-inhabited woods (TuSmith, All My Relatives 131). Just as Gerry gains fame for his outlaw status, Fleur in an earlier time achieves an equally mythic reputation on the reservation and in nearby towns. “Power travels in the bloodlines,” Pauline says, and although Fleur is not a blood relative of Nanapush, as his spiritual daughter she inherits his trickster traits along with the mystical powers of her own Pillager line (T 31). Unconventional as she is, Fleur displays traditional trickster behavior. She is sensual and skilled at cards and, like Nanapush, Lulu, and Gerry, Fleur encounters and escapes from a white world that attempts to define her too rigidly; she flees the small town of Argus after being raped by the three white men whom she beats at poker once too often. Like Lipsha's card game with King at the end of Love Medicine, Fleur's poker game with the men at the butcher shop represents a battle over the future of the tribe. By winning enough money to make tax payments on her land, she saves herself and her family from starvation.

However, Fleur's tricksterlike pride and independence alone are not enough to work miracles. She must journey, Nanabozho-like, to the afterworld to gamble for her second child's life, and ultimately she fails to save her family's ancestral lands. As with Gerry, Erdrich uses Fleur's trickster traits to show the mythic possibilities of real human beings and to emphasize the importance of community to survival. Nanapush gives us a reason for Fleur's failure that illuminates Erdrich's regard for community: “Power dies.” Nanapush warns, “As soon as you rely on the possession it is gone. Forget that it ever existed, and it returns. I never made the mistake of thinking that I owned my own strength, that was my secret. And so I was never alone in my failures” (T 177). Human mythic strength, Nanapush suggests, demands community.

Notes

1. The most extensive discussions of tricksters in Erdrich's work to date include those of James McKenzie, William Gleason, and Catherine Catt, especially Catt's “Ancient Myth in Modern America: The Trickster in the Works of Louise Erdrich.” Though I agree with Catt's identification of tricksters as central to Erdrich's work, my reading of Erdrich's tricksters differs from hers. Catt stresses the trickster primarily as a mechanism for character development (76), whereas I see the trickster's influence as much more pervasive, particularly on the narrative level. In contrast to Catt's pan—Native American and even universalist analysis of the trickster, my reading draws mostly on Chippewa trickster traditions. As Erdrich's husband and collaborator, Michael Dorris, explains, “What Louise and I do is either within the context of a particular tribe or reservation or it is within the context of American literature” (H. Wong 198).

2. Love Medicine citations refer to the 1993 edition. In the text, Love Medicine will be cited as LM, The Bingo Palace as BP, Tracks as T, and The Beet Queen as BQ.

3. Waynaboozhoo is a less common variation of Winabojo, Nanabooshoo, or Nanabozho. Following Erdrich, who refers to the trickster once directly in Love Medicine, I use Nanabozho throughout.

4. Unlike the heaven of western thought, this afterlife is not exclusionary. Christopher Vecsey explains that “part of the happiness of the afterlife sprang from the fact that practically everyone went there” (64). The northern lights also figure prominently on the cover of The Bingo Palace, which shows them blazing over the lit-up bingo hall in a visual union of past and present, ancient myth and modern life.

5. Sarris specifically criticizes William Gleason's assertion that “Gerry IS Trickster, literally” (Sarris 61).

6. See Ruppert, “Mediation and Multiple Narrative” for a discussion of this tactic as a way of mediating between tribal, pan-tribal, and white audiences so that each audience learns something of the others' understanding of identity.

7. Gerald Vizenor recounts this and other adventures of Nanabozho in The People Named the Chippewa, 4-6.

8. Alan Velie notes that Vizenor also splits the trickster figure in Darkness in St. Louis Bearheart and that this practice is “not without precedent in myth and literature,” citing for example Prometheus and Epimetheus in Greek mythology (131).

9. As James Flavin explains, Tracks's oral context “heightens the tension within the text for it signals the potential for cultural survival or destruction. … When a child leaves [her] culture, when [she] dies or seeks other cultures within which to live, the entire community feels the loss” (3).

10. Nanapush's presence in the novel is so powerful that many critics seem to forget that half of the novel is narrated by Pauline Puyat; these critics call Nanapush the narrator or main character of Tracks. For readings of Nanapush as a trickster, see especially Flavin, Catt, and Bowers.

11. Debra Holt observes that “Nanapush outlives his blood relatives because he can read two sets of tracks—the ones left by animals in the woods and those left on paper” (160). Citing Nanapush's ability to read as a sign of his survival through adaptation, Catherine Catt pinpoints adaptability as the trickster's most valuable trait and explains that “Native American cultures, to survive in any form into the late twentieth century, have had to adapt to changing circumstances. … Trickster provides a model for establishing identity in the presence of change, for adapting, for surviving” (75).

12. Pauline Puyat, to whom I turn later, provides perhaps the most vivid example in Erdrich's fiction of the destruction this kind of identification can cause.

13. The Native American writer Greg Sarris identifies the combination of internalized racism and internalized oppression as the biggest problem of reservation life today and is troubled by its prevalence in Erdrich's books, wondering whether Love Medicine “treats the symptoms of a disease without getting at the cause” (142).

14. Erdrich's attitude toward Lyman is by no means wholly condemnatory. Her use of multiple perspectives allows comic cross-perspectives on all the characters. Here as elsewhere, Erdrich eschews judgment.

15. See Adamson-Clarke's discussion of Fleur as a “transformational” character.