A book a day: Stephen Graham Jones: The Only Good Indian

Original language: English

Original title: The Only Good Indian

Year of publication: 2020

Translation: Manuel de los Reyes

Valuation: recommendable

When one has been reviewing books professionally for a few years (yes, professionally, because you can’t see the mortar we charge here, in addition to the diets, plus the bribes that publishers pay us) learns to handle certain concepts of the intelligentsia literature, even though I have no idea what they mean no matter how complex they may seem to the layman; This is the case, for example, with “alterality”, “metafictional”, “stream of consciousness” and a long and no less pedantic etcetera. One of these interesting expressions is that of “suspension of disbelief”, always present, necessarily, in any fictional narrative, but which I have rarely found in such an ostensible way… because it is contradictory, as in this novel by the celebrated, al less recently, Stephen Graham Jones.

I explain: The only good Indian (You know what the pioneers of the Wild West said, those intrepid forgers of the Land of the Free, Home of the Braves, etc.: the only good Indian is the dead Indian…) is precisely about that, about Indians (I would use “native Americans”, but if the author, who is a total Blackfoot, doesn’t, I won’t to amend the plan) that if they are not dead, it is a miracle. Or better yet, they are already dead but they don’t know it yet. These are, in this case, friends Ricky Marked Ribs, Lewis A. Clarke (yes, it’s a joke), Gabe Crossed Guns and Cass Sees Deer – aka Think Twice -, Blackfeet as SGJ, who suffer persecution from a preternatural entity that seeks revenge for an act that its colleagues committed ten years ago (an act, by the way, that may be terrible and even unforgivable in North American indigenous culture, but that does not attract as much attention in the Spain of the bullfighting celebrations in full force, the posh monterías in plan The national shotgun and the hunters with bracelets from Spain and VOX who threaten any SEPRONA agent who gets in their way). The objective of such implacable revenge, which is ultimately what this novel is about, will not only be ours. four little indians (note the elegant allusion to that somewhat racist children’s song; the idea is not mine, since it is also mentioned in the book… and in fact, and sorry for the possible spoilerthat’s what its plot consists of), but also his most loved ones and even some who passed by… whoever seeks revenge should not be squeamish, friends.

Well, okay, some of our more susceptible readers will think: this guy has already given us his usual share of nonsense, he has messed with VOX, he has made comments that are not relevant and, in short, he has gone off the deep end. hills of Úbeda… But in reality he barely tells us about the book and much less explains to us what the digression in the first paragraph is about, unless it is a way to feed his ego, without further ado… Well, you have got it right… I mean, not in terms of ego (well, a little, yes), but in that I’m going over the hills there. I have my reasons, however. The first is that I am trying to talk about this novel without spoiling its possible reading for anyone, which is fundamental, for obvious reasons, when we talk about thrillers terrifying, as is the case, but also very difficult to avoid, for the same reasons… hence so much verbiage, I admit that it is dispensable.

Secondly, because, I admit, it is a bit difficult for me to specify what I mentioned in the first paragraph, my reluctance as to whether in this novel the author has achieved the famous “suspension of disbelief in the reader.” In this reader, at least, not entirely. Maybe if I were a Native American or of some ethnic group that is supposed to have a greater connection with both the natural and the supernatural world, I would see it differently and I already know, in addition, that in any fantastic narrative you have to have a little wide-sleeved and give the unreal element the benefit of the doubt, but, I’m sorry, I’m not convinced by the threat that looms over our group of Blackfeet friends… and not because this writer’s narrative skills are scarce. ; Quite the contrary, SGJ does everything in his power to make the thing believable and even ominous, but he looks, boy, when it’s not, it’s not…

So what’s the point of the “recommended” rating? Will our very clever readers be surprised? Well, because, leaving aside my reluctance (which is still subjective) to accept the fantastic component of the story, everyone else who appears in the novel is VERY, VERY GOOD: the setting, magnificent, in part of USA – an Indian reservation in Montana – that we rarely find in fiction and that allows us to know the reality of current North American Indians, beyond idealizations and mysticisms; the characters, perfectly constructed, with greater complexity than it may seem, given the nature of the novel; SGJ’s prose, wonderful, more elaborate and subtle than is customary in many thrillers and horror stories… In short, if you like the genre (and if you don’t, why not?), you will do well to dedicate some time to this novel, without taking too much into account the drawbacks that it may have. put a humble reviewer like me… who would like to be able to write something of this level, on the other hand; )