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Men on the Moon: Collected Short Stories (Volume 37)
When Faustin, the old Acoma, is given his first television set, he considers it a technical wonder, a box full of mystery. What he sees on its screen that first day, however, is even more startling than the television men have landed on the moon. Can this be real? For Simon Ortiz, Faustin's reaction proves that tales of ordinary occurrences can truly touch the heart. "For me," he observes, "there's never been a conscious moment without story."
Best known for his poetry, Ortiz also has authored 26 short stories that have won the hearts of readers through the years. Men on the Moon brings these stories together—stories filled with memorable characters, written with love by a keen observer and interpreter of his people's community and culture. True to Native American tradition, these tales possess the immediacy—and intimacy—of stories conveyed orally. They are drawn from Ortiz's Acoma Pueblo experience but focus on situations common to Native people, whether living on the land or in cities, and on the issues that affect their lives. We meet Jimmo, a young boy learning that his father is being hunted for murder, and Kaiser, the draft refuser who always wears the suit he was given when he left prison. We also meet some curious radicals supporting Indian causes, scholars studying Indian ways, and San Francisco hippies who want to become Indians too.
Whether telling of migrants working potato fields in Idaho and pining for their Arizona home or of a father teaching his son to fly a kite, Ortiz takes readers to the heart of storytelling. Men on the Moon shows that stories told by a poet especially resound with beauty and depth.
Best known for his poetry, Ortiz also has authored 26 short stories that have won the hearts of readers through the years. Men on the Moon brings these stories together—stories filled with memorable characters, written with love by a keen observer and interpreter of his people's community and culture. True to Native American tradition, these tales possess the immediacy—and intimacy—of stories conveyed orally. They are drawn from Ortiz's Acoma Pueblo experience but focus on situations common to Native people, whether living on the land or in cities, and on the issues that affect their lives. We meet Jimmo, a young boy learning that his father is being hunted for murder, and Kaiser, the draft refuser who always wears the suit he was given when he left prison. We also meet some curious radicals supporting Indian causes, scholars studying Indian ways, and San Francisco hippies who want to become Indians too.
Whether telling of migrants working potato fields in Idaho and pining for their Arizona home or of a father teaching his son to fly a kite, Ortiz takes readers to the heart of storytelling. Men on the Moon shows that stories told by a poet especially resound with beauty and depth.
216 pages, Paperback
First published July 1, 1999
4 people are currently reading
151 people want to read
About the author
Simon J. Ortiz
36 books57 followersSimon J. Ortiz is a Puebloan writer of the Acoma Pueblo tribe, and one of the key figures in the second wave of what has been called the Native American Renaissance. He is one of the most respected and widely read Native American poets.
After a three-year stint in the U.S. military, Ortiz enrolled at the University of New Mexico. There, he discovered few ethnic voices within the American literature canon and began to pursue writing as a way to express the generally unheard Native American voice that was only beginning to emerge in the midst of political activism.
Two years later, in 1968, he received a fellowship for writing at the University of Iowa in the International Writers Program.
In 1988, he was appointed as tribal interpreter for Acoma Pueblo, and in 1989 he became First Lieutenant Governor for the pueblo. In 1982, he became a consulting editor of the Pueblo of Acoma Press.
Since 1968, Ortiz has taught creative writing and Native American literature at various institutions, including San Diego State, the Institute of American Indian Arts in Santa Fe, Navajo Community College, the College of Marin, the University of New Mexico, Sinte Gleska University, and the University of Toronto.
Ortiz is a recipient of the New Mexico Humanities Council Humanitarian Award, the National Endowment for the Arts Discovery Award, the Lila Wallace Reader's Digest Writer's Award, a National Endowment for the Arts Fellowship, and was an Honored Poet recognized at the 1981 White House Salute to Poetry.
In 1981, From Sand Creek: Rising In This Heart Which Is Our America, received the Pushcart Prize in poetry.
Ortiz received a Lifetime Achievement Award from the Returning the Gift Festival of Native Writers (the Wordcraft Circle of Native Writers and Storytellers) and the Native Writers' Circle of the Americas (1993)
After a three-year stint in the U.S. military, Ortiz enrolled at the University of New Mexico. There, he discovered few ethnic voices within the American literature canon and began to pursue writing as a way to express the generally unheard Native American voice that was only beginning to emerge in the midst of political activism.
Two years later, in 1968, he received a fellowship for writing at the University of Iowa in the International Writers Program.
In 1988, he was appointed as tribal interpreter for Acoma Pueblo, and in 1989 he became First Lieutenant Governor for the pueblo. In 1982, he became a consulting editor of the Pueblo of Acoma Press.
Since 1968, Ortiz has taught creative writing and Native American literature at various institutions, including San Diego State, the Institute of American Indian Arts in Santa Fe, Navajo Community College, the College of Marin, the University of New Mexico, Sinte Gleska University, and the University of Toronto.
Ortiz is a recipient of the New Mexico Humanities Council Humanitarian Award, the National Endowment for the Arts Discovery Award, the Lila Wallace Reader's Digest Writer's Award, a National Endowment for the Arts Fellowship, and was an Honored Poet recognized at the 1981 White House Salute to Poetry.
In 1981, From Sand Creek: Rising In This Heart Which Is Our America, received the Pushcart Prize in poetry.
Ortiz received a Lifetime Achievement Award from the Returning the Gift Festival of Native Writers (the Wordcraft Circle of Native Writers and Storytellers) and the Native Writers' Circle of the Americas (1993)
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Displaying 1 - 14 of 14 reviews
December 31, 2020
Simon Ortiz is more well-known as a poet, these are some "old" stories that he wrote a few decades back. They feel like oral history - like I'm sitting in his living room and he's telling me stories of some things that happened to some folks he knows. The stories aren't fancy, but they feel more real for that. Many center on people trying to get by, dealing with colonizers, and trying to maintain tradition and family structures. Indian stuff, I guess. I love the incredulity of the Grandpa when he watches the moon landing: They went there seeking knowledge and they brought back... rocks?!? We have rocks here.
March 29, 2016
I thought I'd read this collection several years ago but many of the stories felt new while others were very familiar. Perhaps I skipped around, which would have been appropriate since the stories in this collection operate in a variety modes and were composed at different times in the poet's career. Some lean on cultural traditions, others are autobiographical. Ortiz's principal theme is cultures in conflict, namely anglo vs. native. While known principally as a poet, Ortiz's prose is powerfully clear. There's a lot of anger on the page. (I was going to say "white-hot anger" but that's misleading and "red-hot" is even worse. Old fashioned Faulknerian anger. Anger in the age of massacres as cultural memory -- but when is that ever not the case? The anger of Ortiz's characters is the anger at learning that the Michigan governor willfully poisoned its own citizens or that the Arizona school board banned teaching ethnic studies or that now North Carolina is going to start policing bathrooms. It's the anger in the face of the dim-witted brutality of tinpot bureaucracy. Anger that solves nothing. Anger that makes everything worse. Anger that leads only to more shame. The anger of Ortiz's protagonist vibrates through the pages. Even though the reality of this reader is remote from the native experience Ortiz makes that anger relatable and relevant, except, perhaps, in the case of "Woman Singing," which is a tragedy of Shakespearean proportions and leaves me wounded and wondering if there is any hope for the human project. Art intercedes when life lets us down; but sometimes art opens up a chasm with no bottom and then what are you supposed to do?
August 4, 2021
Most of the tales in Simon Ortiz’s collection of stories deal with the intersection of native beliefs and practices with the modern world. Natives are introduced to new technology or drafted into military service, and their reactions to such changes provide the ubiquitous perception that the indigenous are forever backward and incompatible with modernity when, perhaps, they just have a different value system.
While there are many small, slice-of-life stories here, there is some variety. “The Killing of a State Cop” switches back and forth between perspectives, nicely matching the ambiguity of the real events with the storytelling. “Where O Where” begins and ends with poetry about a young man named Billy Maguirre who disappeared from the hospital and, essentially, turns him into a modern day myth.
Yet for anyone who’s read many indigenous stories or done much research on tribal history in the country, there’s not a whole lot of new ground covered. There are some nice quiet moments of realism, but there are also plenty of moments of Americans assuming they know what all natives are like or thinking they can join a certain tribe with a mere change of clothes or simple ritual, which I have seen many times before. I know these stories go back to the 1970s, but, at this point, I just feel like there are other writers who address these issues better.
While there are many small, slice-of-life stories here, there is some variety. “The Killing of a State Cop” switches back and forth between perspectives, nicely matching the ambiguity of the real events with the storytelling. “Where O Where” begins and ends with poetry about a young man named Billy Maguirre who disappeared from the hospital and, essentially, turns him into a modern day myth.
Yet for anyone who’s read many indigenous stories or done much research on tribal history in the country, there’s not a whole lot of new ground covered. There are some nice quiet moments of realism, but there are also plenty of moments of Americans assuming they know what all natives are like or thinking they can join a certain tribe with a mere change of clothes or simple ritual, which I have seen many times before. I know these stories go back to the 1970s, but, at this point, I just feel like there are other writers who address these issues better.
November 19, 2018
I had to read this over the summer for a class, and i think I was one of the only ones who did not like reading it at all.
One of my biggest criticisms is how hard it is to read. Many of the stories don't have quotation marks and some purposely misspell words. I could not handle it, and about halfway through the book, I got a temptation to just throw away the thing out of frustration!
If you are interested in these sort of stories, and you can handle an annoying writing style, then by all means, read it. But if either of those things aren't true for you, I would not recommend this book. There are probably much better ones out there.
One of my biggest criticisms is how hard it is to read. Many of the stories don't have quotation marks and some purposely misspell words. I could not handle it, and about halfway through the book, I got a temptation to just throw away the thing out of frustration!
If you are interested in these sort of stories, and you can handle an annoying writing style, then by all means, read it. But if either of those things aren't true for you, I would not recommend this book. There are probably much better ones out there.
December 23, 2025
collection of indigenous short stories of (1970s ish) life on the reservation, forced assimilation, the after effects of the korean war
very plain writing concealing rage and despair below the surface; a few gems, a few more mundane stories
very plain writing concealing rage and despair below the surface; a few gems, a few more mundane stories
June 10, 2022
All the stories were good. The most heartbreaking was the one about the goat.
May 28, 2023
“The Way You See Horses” was a standout in this collection.
September 22, 2025
"Distance" almost killed me.
November 14, 2013
Men on the Moon is a brilliant collection of short stories that heavily emphasize the relevance and importance of indigenous knowledge. The stories do well to make comparisons and uncover the dichotomy between Native American indigenous cultural knowledge and modern knowledge. The stories vividly portray the cultural differences between native and non-native sociological structures.
The title short story, Men on the Moon, centers on an old Native American man named Faustin and his grandson Amarosho. Faustin is introduced to a television for the very first time and frequently requires explanations as to how the electronic “box that emits pictures” works. He watches a program of a rocket launch and makes comparisons between modern society and his indigenous and native roots. He falls asleep and seems to dream into the future related to the program on television. He dreams of men on the moon inhabiting a new terrain, but they carry strange boxes on their back and wear protective suits. He then has a vivid dream about a large Skquuyuh mahkina which, “made a humming noise…was walking [and] shone in the sunlight.” It caused severe damage to every object in its path leaving behind a wake of ruin. “Its metal legs stepped upon trees and crushed growing flowers and grass… It splashed through a stream of clear water. The water boiled and streaks of oil flowed downstream. It split a juniper tree in half with a terrible crash. It crushed a boulder into dust with a sound of heavy metal. Nothing stopped the Skquuyuh mahkina.” Faustin warns Amarosho of the dangers of implementing mahkina, or heavy metal machinery, into modern society citing the destructive properties.
The mahkina helped to industrialize the earth, but at a great cost to the natural land inhabited by Native Americans. The machinery categorically corrupted and sought to expel their traditional culture indigenous knowledge. As the astronauts actively seek signs of life on the moon, Faustin seemingly sympathizes with the undiscovered fragments of life believing that, if they were in existence, they would likely wish to be left alone in unity with their natural surroundings just as the Native American people sought to live.
The title short story, Men on the Moon, centers on an old Native American man named Faustin and his grandson Amarosho. Faustin is introduced to a television for the very first time and frequently requires explanations as to how the electronic “box that emits pictures” works. He watches a program of a rocket launch and makes comparisons between modern society and his indigenous and native roots. He falls asleep and seems to dream into the future related to the program on television. He dreams of men on the moon inhabiting a new terrain, but they carry strange boxes on their back and wear protective suits. He then has a vivid dream about a large Skquuyuh mahkina which, “made a humming noise…was walking [and] shone in the sunlight.” It caused severe damage to every object in its path leaving behind a wake of ruin. “Its metal legs stepped upon trees and crushed growing flowers and grass… It splashed through a stream of clear water. The water boiled and streaks of oil flowed downstream. It split a juniper tree in half with a terrible crash. It crushed a boulder into dust with a sound of heavy metal. Nothing stopped the Skquuyuh mahkina.” Faustin warns Amarosho of the dangers of implementing mahkina, or heavy metal machinery, into modern society citing the destructive properties.
The mahkina helped to industrialize the earth, but at a great cost to the natural land inhabited by Native Americans. The machinery categorically corrupted and sought to expel their traditional culture indigenous knowledge. As the astronauts actively seek signs of life on the moon, Faustin seemingly sympathizes with the undiscovered fragments of life believing that, if they were in existence, they would likely wish to be left alone in unity with their natural surroundings just as the Native American people sought to live.
June 4, 2008
There are essentially two types of stories in this collection: stories that illuminate a part of the human experience through a story about a specific emotion or event (e.g., "Feeling Old" or "Feathers") and stories that reflect upon stories themselves (e.g., "You Were Real, the White Radical Said to Me" or "What Indians Do"). My favorites belong to the latter category, stories that are reflective, beautifully written (like poetry, really), and meaningful in a way that gives the whole collection, really the whole endeavor of writing or telling stories, significance.
In "You Were Real, the White Radical Said to Me," for instance, Ortiz writes about having agreed to read his poetry publicly,
"Ah man. Ah man, I don't know why, but I do. I do it for myself, for my people, for the source, for the words that are sacred because they come from a community of people and all life. I do it because I ache for help and because we all need help.
"And that's the way I read the poems that night. And that's the way I sing the songs that night. And that's the way I tell the stories that night.
"The words come from Clay, the old man who carried a brown leather bag on his shoulder when he went from family to family teaching them.
"They come from the Felipe brothers who led a New Mexico state unto Acoma land and wiped him out.
"They come from the brown man with stifled and troubled dreams sprawled at the corner of 5th and Mission.
"They come from the frozen and unfortunate winter of Beauty Roanhorse on the reservation road between Klagetoh and Sanders Bar.
"Ah man. Ah man, they come from me. They come from them. They come and they come, and I return and return them." (126-7)
Similarly, in "What Indians Do," Ortiz writes about singing a song and watching his audience's response:
"When the song is finished, the muscles in the Indian man's face are set tensely for a moment, and then he smiles. And I know that the words mean something, that the meaning of the stories, the songs, the words continue. They continue. They continue" (139).
In "You Were Real, the White Radical Said to Me," for instance, Ortiz writes about having agreed to read his poetry publicly,
"Ah man. Ah man, I don't know why, but I do. I do it for myself, for my people, for the source, for the words that are sacred because they come from a community of people and all life. I do it because I ache for help and because we all need help.
"And that's the way I read the poems that night. And that's the way I sing the songs that night. And that's the way I tell the stories that night.
"The words come from Clay, the old man who carried a brown leather bag on his shoulder when he went from family to family teaching them.
"They come from the Felipe brothers who led a New Mexico state unto Acoma land and wiped him out.
"They come from the brown man with stifled and troubled dreams sprawled at the corner of 5th and Mission.
"They come from the frozen and unfortunate winter of Beauty Roanhorse on the reservation road between Klagetoh and Sanders Bar.
"Ah man. Ah man, they come from me. They come from them. They come and they come, and I return and return them." (126-7)
Similarly, in "What Indians Do," Ortiz writes about singing a song and watching his audience's response:
"When the song is finished, the muscles in the Indian man's face are set tensely for a moment, and then he smiles. And I know that the words mean something, that the meaning of the stories, the songs, the words continue. They continue. They continue" (139).
July 25, 2011
Simon Ortiz is the presiding elder of Native American poetry and much of what makes his poems crucial is present in this book of short stories, which collects his fiction from the 1960s to the 1990s. Wise, funny, deceptively simple, Ortiz isn't afraid of direct political statement, but he always makes sure that it's connected to the lives people live. He says he bases his form on the oral tradition, and there's a conversational style, but most of these are fairly conventional stories. Good ones.
June 16, 2009
Ortiz's Men on the Moon reads like picking voices out from a crowd - seeing a wash of humanity before you, and having the ability to listen in on a handful of stories. The variation in voice, setting, and character is enormous, and that's a real strength of this volume as a whole - the range of experiences, beliefs, ideas, and challenges that are caught up in each tale reveal much about being 'Indian' in the late-twentieth century.
November 7, 2010
I enjoyed the stories of older Native Americans and their reactions to changes in technology and the world in general. Mr. Ortiz is a storyteller and many of his stories would have been better told aloud. If you can find this book as an audio version, I would suggest that instead of reading it yourself.
February 2, 2019
Since it was a collection of short stories, it is difficult to write a review that is not vague. But Ortiz created powerful glimpses of life as Native American that were honest, unapologetically Native, and moving.
Displaying 1 - 14 of 14 reviews