THERESE MARIE MAIHOT
In a slender volume, Maihot’s poetic memoir explodes with power. “How could misfortune follow me so well, and why did I choose it every time?” Her life is heaped with poverty, addiction, abuse and shame. Mailhot’s grandmother went to a brutal residential school. So many children starved to death there, the nuns ran out of places to bury them so their bones were hidden in the walls of a new boarding school under construction. Her affectionate but absent mother brought home men who preyed upon her children. She had a child, and lost custody of him as she was giving birth to another. “I wasn’t stable, but men don’t usually care about that.” About her husband she writes, “I wanted to know what I looked like to you. A sin committed and a prayer answered, you said. You looked like a hamburger fried in a donut. You were hairy and large.”
“In white culture, forgiveness is synonymous with letting go. In my culture, I believe we carry pain until we can reconcile with it through ceremony. Pain is not framed like a problem with a solution.” “I wanted as much of the world as I could take and I didn’t have the conscience to be ashamed.”
It’s great to see a new voice in indigenous literature open with a powerful work.