Postcolonial reclamation of history is a theme too well rehearsed since
the 1990s to require repetition. The forms of this reclamation, it has
been suggested in the works of Jackie Huggins, Mudrooroo
Narogin, Derek Walcott, Wilson Harris, and dozens of other postcolonial authors,
are marked by a return to nonlinear, local (folkloric, mythic, oral,
dreamtelling, spiritualized) storytelling forms that resist the cartographic,
documentary, questionably secular, and categorical-classificatory forms of organized
history-writing practiced by the Europeans. Diane Glancy refuses to reject the
European tradition completely (as she points out in a 2002 interview, her mother
was German-English) but relocates it in its relation vis-à-vis native history
writing. This essay examines the narrative form of Glancy's fictional account
of Sacajawea, the Native American woman who accompanied the
Lewis-Clark expedition (1804-06), as it made the first overland journey across the United
States to the Pacific Coast and back. Glancy's Stone Heart: A Novel of
Sacajawea (2003) seems to engage with the narrative contest between European and
non-European forms of history-writing and, at the same time, cleverly
reposition native forms so as to reduce this to a no-contest. Form, I want to propose, works
to appropriate and fit into what I term 'compulsory postcoloniality,' where,
unwittingly or consciously, the postcolonial author must (1) reduce cultural transactions to
an encounter (with all its resonance of a binary, one-to-one, antagonistic
relationship), (2) amplify already circulating authenticity devices such as folklore or myth
to demonstrate distance from European (mainstream) writing, and (3)
simultaneously create and feed into a `narrative society'
prepared for, demanding such 'authentic' writing. This last is, I propose, the construction of a body of readership for
`authentic' writing and, at the same time, the production of a body of writing to suit
that (politically correct, ready-for-the-authentic-postcolonial) readership. A
'narrative society' is one that understands itself through stories rather than
statistics, through autobiographies rather than government reports (Dawes, 1995, p.
38). Since the 1990s at least, America's narrative society has constructed itself
through stories of the legendary massacres of Native Americans,
the marginalization of African Americans, the oppression of women and
minorities, and other pernicious and historical evils of dispossession and exploitation.
The form a narrative takes is, of course, conditioned by and contingent upon
the society of readers. A narrative can be made to tell a story because of the
conceptual apparatus of that particular society and age, where, even when the narrative
does not make a meaning explicit, the conceptual apparatus of that society,
its techniques of interpretation, and the conventions of meaning-making enable
an unraveling of the story. Barbara Herrnstein Smith (cited in Waldman, 2004,
p. 86) directs our attention to this context of meaning-making when she
writes:
|