Blasphemy by Sherma Alexie

I am not a Native American, which disallows me saying all that much of anything about just how authentic a voice Sherman Alexie is when writing about Northwest Indians, but he is an astounding writer.  I am not a big fan of the short story, and this collection is made up of a full range of less-than-novella length stories (some are just a couple of pages and others are much longer).  Despite that limitation, I loved the book, which means that in addition to being a great writer that he is also a great story teller, and one who manages to convey a great deal of information within a limited amount of space.

This is not a man who romanticizes the American Indian.  If anything, he is a little on the harsh side.  Alcoholism is a common theme, and Native Americans do not look good when they are drunks in Alexie’s eyes.  He himself grew up on a Spokane Reservation, and most of his tales take place in the Northwest, either in rural or urban environments. His Indians have an equal mixture of loathing and laughing—they are neither happy nor sad.  They reflect.  They react.  But they do not much change.

I had read one of the short stories in the book—a story that is only barely longer than its title: ”Because My Father Always Said He Was The Only Indian Who Saw Jimi Hendrix Play 'The. Star−Spangled Banner' at Woodstock”, which is a sad story told through the eyes of the son of his alcoholic abusive father.  It is typical of Alexie’s stories.  It is filled with love, hate, grief, and guilt.  That is the usual combination of emotions in this collection of stories.  While they focus on Native Americans, there are universal truths to be told, and Alexie does so swiftly, succinctly, and persuasively.