Tony Hillerman had been writing mysteries for over 20 years by the time he got around to Sacred Clowns. He was on top form, though maybe a little less “poetic” and a little more “didactic” than earlier on? In his earliest books it sometimes seemed as if he were writing for the Dinee as well as about them. A disapproving elderly (Dinee English for “old person”) might say “he behaves like he’s got no family,” without further explanation for outsiders of the broader cultural implications of that common, disparaging comment. Relaxed conversations would drift on for page after page, without asides on the nature of Dinee storytelling. Perhaps an editor suggested Anglo readers needed to feel less like outsiders?
By contrast with most other Hillerman mysteries, Pueblo culture (“Tano,” probably better known as Tewa or Hopi) figures prominently in the plotting here, alongside the customary Dinee. With both peoples, cultural details are not simply local color but help to drive plot. The Pueblo black-and-white striped koshare or “sacred clowns” are comical tellers of uncomfortable truths. (E.g., at a recent ceremony at Ohkay Owingeh pueblo, their antics concerned child abuse among Catholic clergy.) In this case, one such truth prompts two murders, whose investigation is hindered in interesting ways by Tewa traditions of secrecy, both within the community and (especially) within the men’s religious societies. Aspects of Dinee cosmology are central to the “solving” of another crime: a potentially insoluble hit-and-run on the Dinee reservation. The sorting out of that second crime in terms of the essential Dinee concept of hozhoo (beauty, balance, symmetry, rightness) is interesting to think about in an Anglo legal system based on a minimum of law, observed absolutely (at least in theory).
The Dinee-Anglo cultural contrasts and confusions play out in Hillerman’s usual interesting and amusing ways. E.g., half-Anglo (Janet Peet’s) and Cheyenne (Blizzard’s) incomprehension of Dinee delight during a screening of John Ford’s Cheyenne Autumn, in which Dinee extras, dressed up in bucksin and feathers, supposedly sing Cheyenne laments, but in fact perform songs from what Hillerman calls a “Girl Dance” (actually, a circle dance of a type called nezhnotaha). (The same thing happens, in fact, in Ford’s The Searchers where, in a tight spot, John Wayne identifies a Comanche, impending “Death Song,” but Dinee extras on screen once again sing a nezhnotaha)
This is also the first time Leaphorn and Jim Chee are discovering how to work together up close and personal. Leaphorn, his wife no longer there (the Dinee probably wouldn’t say “dead,” as Hillerman does), is becoming more involved with his new, anthropologist lady friend, while Chee is hot and bothered over Janet Peet (who, let’s face it, we know isn’t right for him). Given Chee’s attachment to tribal traditions, it’s a little hard to believe he’d have waited this long to raise the supremely important issue of his and Janet’s respective clans, an aspect of Dinee tradition that drives what proves to be an unusually prominent romantic sub-plot this time. Criminal issues get resolved handily enough by the end; the romantic ones remain unsettled.