N. Scott Momaday, poet, novelist, playwright, artist, essayist, scholar and teacher, died in January. He is best known for his first novel, House Made of Dawn, which won the 1969 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction. His father was Kiowa, as a child he was given a Kiowa name and identified as Kiowa, although he lived among and studied other American Indian peoples.
House Made of Dawn concerns a mixed blood Indian returning from the multiple traumas of World War II to the pueblo, trying to find his place in the modern and traditional worlds. In telling this journey, Momaday uses both his knowledge of the written literary tradition and the traditional ways and stories of an oral culture.
These explorations are multiple: using literary form and traditional content, expanding literary forms to include traditional forms--all sorts of combinations beyond categories to create new stories that honor and expand the old. The past is never left out, it is (as Faulkner articulated) always present. The Native tradition is particularly important for its living attitudes towards the natural world and its relationships to human beings and culture. Those attitudes and beliefs can be adapted and absorbed in our contemporary world--in fact, they must be, if the past and the present and the eternal itself are to have a future.
Momaday was a champion of the Native oral tradition, and he taught the subject for many years at various universities. But he was also steeped in written literature, particularly American fiction and poetry of the 19th and 20th centuries. His detailed descriptions of the landscape use literature (including modern) in expressing and interpreting what the indigenous senses observe.
Momaday believed in the spoken word today as well, and he read several times at the Humboldt State University near me. I've seen the tape of one such reading and attended another one. He had a bearing of great dignity, a precise pronunciation and an uninflected voice of great depth and power.The reading I attended was in one of the larger venues on campus, with Momaday at a lectern on a stage. He had hardly begun when the power suddenly went out. He paused, calmed the crowd and continued anyway, so that deep, deliberate voice came out of the semi-darkness with no need for amplification, and with dramatic effect.
Afterwards he signed my copies of The Names, (A Memoir) and The Man Made of Words, a collection of essays, stories and poems. The essays touched upon the work of Jorge Luis Borges and Emily Dickinson (he studied her poems for a year, in manuscript), Teilhard de Chardin and Lewis Thomas, Georgia O'Keefe and Jay Silverheels, as well as his grandmother's stories. He included observations from his travels in Russia and Germany as well as the American West.
I think my favorite of his books that I've read is his second novel, The Ancient Child. It uses his lifelong fascination with the legends of Billy the Kid to explore planes of myth of the past and the contemporary world. It is at once a traditional novel with contemporary and semi-historical characters, a kind of personal anthology and an exploration of storytelling itself. It has humor, too. Momaday identified with the bear, saying he had bear power and occasionally turned into a bear. But there was some Coyote in him, too.
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