We spend our lives in worlds remote from one another. We imagine we all live together on this round earth but we do not.
Sometimes the things that divide us are of our own making, and sometimes they are insurmountable misunderstandings. Jiles recognizes both, and shows them to us without flinching.
This is the story of Britt Johnson, a free black man from Kentucky, who comes West to settle his family, along with his hopes of owning and operating a freight service. One of the first blood-curdling events we encounter is the taking of his wife and children by the Comanche and Kiowa.
One of the complaints I have heard from others regarding this novel is that it is starkly, brutally violent. Well, the times are starkly and brutally violent and Jiles is no liar, no softener of history; she tells it as it was. Her ability to provide detail that makes us feel we are present among the sights, the textures, and the smells, ranks among her greatest assets as a novelist.
Mary lay half awake all night to watch the flickering light of the fire shifting on the tipi walls and the liner, a hypnotic and incessant dashing of light and shadow, the noise of the tipi cover and liner belling in and out accompanied by the unpredictable stanzas of the wind. The fire smoke shot upward, carried by the chimney of air that rose between the liner and the walls. It blossomed up into the smoke flaps and out. Whirling eddies of snow sifted down between the flaps and flashed in the light of the fire, and vanished. The fire threw shadows of moccasins hung up to dry so that they seemed to walk against the tipi walls, the fire threw shadows of a fishnet and a gourd dipper snaring the evaporating snowflakes.
I’ve never spent a snowy night in a teepee, until now.
This is Britt’s story, but it is more than that, of course. Jiles is an even-handed historian; she takes no sides and gives no quarter. And, in doing so, she makes us understand, in a way we might not have done before, how impossible this situation was for both the settlers and the Indians. This is a clash of cultures. What is murder to outsiders is ritual and courage to the Indians; what seems like an offering of a better way for the Quaker agent is the destruction of freedom and life itself for the Indian. There can be no simple resolution. The more powerful group will win, and in doing so, annihilate the other.
Much of what Jiles tells us about Britt and his family, friends and life, is conjecture. This is, after all, fiction. However, it mattered very much to me that Britt Johnson was a real man and that the larger fabric of this story is based on true events and real courage. In her afterward, Jiles states that Britt’s story “returned to me repeatedly as I read through north Texas histories over the years, and I often wondered why no one had taken it up. And so I did.” I’m so glad she did.