There There

This was a though provoking novel. It explores the modern native experience from a multitude of points of view. It seems especially relevant regarding the use of 3D printers. Touching. Sad. Circular. I enjoyed it very much.

There There fell well below my expectations (it was so highly touted by its critics). The charactor sketches were well done but their orealization into a whole with intended consequences just did not happen in first reading. Critics who think Tommy Orange a great writer should read Faulkner's As I Lay Dying to see how even stream of consciousneso novel is a satisfying whole, even with fifteen different and unintentional narrators.
So, yes, There There is a good novel by a good Native writer, but not great. It hardly holds together..unless it was

designed to reflect the chaos of the lives of the characters and the eventual pow wow, it is a distraction from the message and the overall effect.

There There fell well below my expectations (it was so highly touted by its critics). The charactor sketches were well done but their orealization into a whole with intended consequences just did not happen in first reading. Critics who think Tommy Orange a great writer should read Faulkner's As I Lay Dying to see how even stream of consciousneso novel is a satisfying whole, even with fifteen different and unintentional narrators.
So, yes, There There is a good novel by a good Native writer, but not great. It hardly holds together..unless it was

designed to reflect the chaos of the lives of the characters and the eventual pow wow, it is a distraction from the message and the overall effect.

Famously and contemptuously Gertrude Stein once dismissed Oakland, CA saying: There is no There, There. The circumstances and lives of its residents held no interest for a wealthy aesthete bound for Paris's salons. What's There though today is a population of Native Americans whose lives and tragedies are the searing and grim stories of Tommy Orange's new novel. There There is not for the faint of heart or those who can't look squarely in the eye at the consequences of racism, poverty, addiction and violence. Orange does and he doesn't blink. You will almost certainly shudder.

Tony Loneman is there struggling with the effects and humiliations of FAS--fetal alcohol syndrome. So too is Dene Oxendene there, watching a 40-something uncle succumb to cirrhosis of the liver and trying to imagine something meaningful from the experience. Gangs are there as are children raised by surrogates or aunts and grandmothers or nobody at all. Suicide is there in abundance--defenestrations and self-inflicted gunshots between the eyes. Federal grants and programs are There too, a cottage industry for those with good intentions but no real ability to stem the collective misery. People are grieved-out out There. Orvil, Lony, and Loother are there with their purposely misspelled names and interests in rap, Beethoven and Indian heritage. There is also an occasional recovery there--an exception that proves the rule? Jacqui Red Feather is not there and struggles to go back. Facing your demons and your failures is perilous.

There is also a great PowWow there, a meeting of Natives coming together. Natives are stirring there and elsewhere. Some to explore their culture, some to celebrate it, some to exploit it or damage it further. The denouement of the story is a brilliant premise and fraught with a multitude of possibilities. Frankly, I was disappointed by the ending which I found abrupt and less than satisfying. Upon reflection, I realize the author is not writing so that I might be satisfied by a glossed-over ending. It would be an insult to the truths told before. So There There is an unsatisfying book but should anyone find silver linings in genocide? Surely not. Lastly, there is a multitude of paradoxes in There There: Battered is not broken; diminished is not destroyed. But endurance is not a triumph. Sometimes though, it's all you get.

Brutal, compelling story of Oakland Native Americans going to a big pow wow....hard to read and sad but the writer is so descriptive and knowing you realize it’s real...I want to read it again so I can figure out the different characters knowing how they will turn out ( dead or alive!). Truly unforgettable book....

In my personal discovery of reconciliation I'm reading as much information as I can find about the plight of Indigenous people. "There, there" was another waste of time. I was hoping this book would take the opportunity to show a way forward. The present path of reconciliation seems to be all about revenge for past wrongs. This book is just another sad story of wasted lives and missed opportunities. The book itself is a terribly wasted opportunity. Perhaps that was the point. If you're looking for another "woe is me" book about Indigenous people you will find this a pretty good read. If you are trying to understand how we can move forward and all live together in peace and harmony, you should look elsewhere.

In “There There” there is a passage where one of the characters is thinking about a movie he saw, “Requiem for a Dream”. He says about the movie, “…you don’t exactly come away from the film glad you watched it, and yet you wouldn’t have it any other way.” While I am actually glad I read the book, it was not an easy book to read, for both the writing style and the sadness of the individual stories.

Tommy Orange has written a gritty, edgy, emotional book about what it is like to live as an urban Native American through the eyes of 12 different characters. Young and old, male and female each has a story to tell – none of them “pretty” or easy. I had to struggle with the first few chapters. Trying to make sense of the jumble of people, places and stories. I almost gave up a couple times. The writing was good, but hard to keep up – the characters each distinct and interesting, but so many of them that it got confusing. However, almost halfway through the book it all started to come together. Connections started to be drawn between the characters and the book started to take on life. From about a third of the way into the book until the last chapter it was fantastic – the weaving of stories and subplots was skillfully woven together. In some ways it was liking a train wreck – you knew what was going to happen, but couldn’t take your eyes away. I couldn’t put the book down until I finished it.

The ending came up short – it seemed too abrupt, like someone turned the channel on an engrossing TV show right after the climactic scene but left off the epilogue where you find out what happens to all the characters. I think Tommy Orange did it on purpose – this book is meant to disturb you and make you think. In terms of a reading experience I’d probably rate this book a “4”, but that would minimize the quality of Orange’s writing, which while it was uncomfortable at times, was excellent; hence a rating of “5”.

I received a copy from Netgalley in exchange for my honest opinion.

Vignettes from the lives of a dozen “urban Indians” preparing for a powwow at the Oakland Coliseum are braided together in this novel, which gets its title from Gertrude Stein’s lament about Oakland: "there is no there there." The stories are raw, angry, and painful, often questioning what it means to be Native and what it means to be from Oakland. Orange plays with time and point of view, with some stories taking place many years ago and others taking place in the months leading up to the powwow, as he slowly reveals how the lives of the characters intertwine. The novel is deceptively short, with an abrupt and devastating ending, and Orange's observations on human nature stay with the reader long after the story is finished. This novel is likely to be read and recommended for years to come.

'There There', Tommy Orange's first novel, heralds the advent of a fine writer. It is about urban Native Americans, mostly residing in Oakland, California. The narrative is told from the vantage points of twelve different characters, many of whose lives intersect during the novel. Mr. Orange is a member of the Cheyenne and Arapaho tribes of Oklahoma and studied at the Institute of Indian Arts.

This is not an easy read. It is painful, disturbing, and heartbreaking at times. It is a tragedy. It pulls no punches when discussing the plagues of addiction, abuse, suicide, and alcoholism in the American Indian population. However, it also recognizes the beauty of Native American heritage, tradition and the spirituality that many still cling to. These opposing forces, along with prejudice and the attempted erasure of their history, reek carnage on the lives of many Alaska Natives and Native Americans. Having lived in Alaska for close to 50 years, I am painfully aware of the horrific treatment of the Alaska Native cultures. Many of their languages have been wiped out, children were sent to boarding schools and separated from their parents and, until fairly recently, small villages and communities were without schools. I could go on and on but this is a book review and I know I am digressing.

There are many unlikely heroes in this novel beginning with 21 year old Tony Loneman. Born with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, his facial features and structure make him a definite oddity. He is well aware that the cause of what he calls 'the Drome' are his mother's drinking and drugging while he was in her womb. Tony is a big guy and hypervigilant. He has trouble with impulse control and finds it almost impossible to learn from his past mistakes. All this is part of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. Tony thinks of himself as stupid but he has street smarts and can read people, especially when they're duplicitous. Tony's mother is in jail and he lives with his grandmother. He sells weed for a living and gives most of his income to his grandmother.

Early on in the novel, Tony is approached by Octavio who has plans to rob the big pow wow that will be held in Oakland this year. He wants Tony to hide the bullets. Tony isn't sure what a pow wow is and Octavio tells him "We dress up Indian, with feathers and beads and .... We dance. Sing and beat this big drum and sell Indian ... like jewelry and clothes and art". Tony dresses up in his Indian regalia and for the first time in his life he feels like an Indian, a dancer, not 'the Drome'.

The novel's characters are varied and interesting. Dene Oxendene wants to make videos of individual Native Americans in their own words. He gets a grant and hopes to make something worthy of the money he's received. There are two sisters who are part of the Native American occupation of Alcatraz in 1970. They grow up with this a significant part of their personal and cultural memory. Many of the characters are being brought up by relatives other than their parents who they may not have even met or remember. As the novel progresses, lives intersect in unexpected ways.

The author opens the novel with a prologue that provides some history about original contact between American Indians and white explorers. Orange discusses the massacres, the horrific prejudice and torture, and how the white men stole everything they could from a people, leaving them to try and live their lives without land, a means of support, or hope.

Some reviewers discuss the title 'There There' as being a quote from Gertrude Stein's 'Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas'. She was reflecting on her growing up in Oakland and how much the city had changed, " "that so much development had happened there, that the there of her neighborhood, the there there was gone". There is also a reference to a song by Radiohead called 'There There'. "The hook is, 'Just 'cause you feel it doesn't mean it's there'". Personally, I think that the book's title refers to the urbanization of Native Americans. "We are the memories we don't remember, which live in us, which we feel, which make us sing and dance and pray the way we do, feelings from memories that flare and bloom unexpectedly in our lives like blood through a blanket from a wound made by a bullet fired by a man shooting us in the back for our hair, for our heads, for a bounty, or just to get rid of us." "Being Indian has never been about returning to the land. The land is everywhere or nowhere."

Some books are difficult to read and others are near impossible because of the emotional intensity carried within the pages. This is one of the more difficult books I've ever encountered. However, the characters reside inside me. This book has enriched my life.

Near the beginning of Tommy Orange’s debut novel, a character named Dene Oxendene --- probably the closest thing to a stand-in for the author himself --- explains the motivation behind the documentary film project for which he is seeking grant funding: “I want to bring something new to the vision of the Native experience as it’s seen on the screen. We haven’t seen the Urban Indian story. What we’ve seen is full of the kinds of stereotypes that are the reason no one is interested in the Native story in general, it’s too sad, so sad it can’t even be entertaining…” One could imagine that Orange himself had a similar mission in mind as he set out to tell the stories of more than a dozen of those Urban Indians in THERE THERE.

These intersecting stories --- primarily set in Oakland, California (the novel gets its title from a Radiohead song and from Gertrude Stein’s infamous quote about Oakland that “there is no there there”) --- present a rich, varied and, yes, often entertaining portrait of the complexity of contemporary Native life. It could be argued that Orange --- with his technique of using multiple narrators --- is offering a 21st-century urban version of the kind of groundbreaking fiction Louise Erdrich wrote about reservation life in LOVE MEDICINE and elsewhere.

Many of the book’s short, well-developed chapters could stand on their own, but this is most definitely a novel, as all the plots propel readers toward a groundbreaking powwow at the Oakland Coliseum --- and toward the threat of violence there. Along the way, Orange tells the story of more than a dozen characters. In addition to Dene Oxendene (who sets up a Story Corps–style storytelling booth at the powwow), there’s Opal Viola Victoria Bear Shield, who became cynical about activism and Native identity after being compelled as a child to participate in the Native occupation of Alcatraz Island in 1970; there’s Opal’s sister, Jacquie Red Feather, whose lifelong struggle with alcoholism led her to become a substance abuse counselor; there’s Tony Loneman, whose fetal alcohol syndrome and resulting intellectual impairments make him vulnerable to the ominous intentions of other young men; and, most poignantly, there’s Opal’s grandson, Orvil, who longs to reclaim his Native identity by participating as a dancer at the powwow.

In addition to these and other stories, Orange includes a prologue and an interlude, both of which provide historical and social context and introduce readers to the complicated issues undergirding his characters’ stories and lives. These include the question of what it means to be a “real Indian” and the complicated question of blood: Who gets to claim Native identity, and who wants to? The Native people whose stories Orange tells are not painted as victims or as stereotypes or as poster children for the popular idea of resiliency, though they all wrestle in different ways with the marginalization of their communities and the invisibility of their stories.

Again and again, Orange returns to the idea of the vitality of narrating one’s own story and of listening to others’, whether in a storytelling booth, at a communal event like a powwow, or in the pages of novels like this one: “The wound that was made when white people came and took all that they took has never healed,” Orange writes. “An unattended wound gets infected. Becomes a new kind of wound like the history of what actually happened became a new kind [of] history. All these stories that we haven’t been telling all this time, that we haven’t been listening to, are just part of what we need to heal.”

Reviewed by Norah Piehl

Totally living up to its prepublication hype, Tommy Orange’s novel is a searing, sometimes funny, often heartbreaking look at a group of Native Americans in Oakland California. Told through twelve interconnected characters, Orange’s characters range from an Aunt raising her sisters three boys, a young man searching for his father, and a documentary filmmaker chronicling the lives of these people to name a few. Their lives are messy, fractured, and filled with hope and longing. Looking for a place to belong, attempting to connect with a past and forge some kind of future while all moving towards a third act that brings all the characters together with shattering consequences. Orange writes absolutely beautifully like this passage: Before you were born, you were a head a tail in a milky pool-a swimmer. You were a race, a dying off, a breaking through, an arrival. Before you were born you were a egg in her mom. Before you were born you were the nested Russian grandmother doll of possibility in your mom’s ovaries. You were two halves of a thousand different kinds of possibilities, a million heads or tails, flip-shine on spun coin. Before you were born you were the idea to make it to California for gold or bust. You were white, you were brown, you were red, you were dust.
One of the best books of 2018.

Famously and contemptuously Gertrude Stein once dismissed Oakland, CA saying: There is no There, There. The circumstances and lives of its residents held no interest for a wealthy aesthete bound for Paris's salons. What's There though today is a population of Native Americans whose lives and tragedies are the searing and grim stories of Tommy Orange's new novel. There There is not for the faint of heart or those who can't look squarely in the eye at the consequences of racism, poverty, addiction and violence. Orange does and he doesn't blink. You will almost certainly shudder.

Tony Loneman is there struggling with the effects and humiliations of FAS--fetal alcohol syndrome. So too is Dene Oxendene there, watching a 40-something uncle succumb to cirrhosis of the liver and trying to imagine something meaningful from the experience. Gangs are there as are children raised by surrogates or aunts and grandmothers or nobody at all. Suicide is there in abundance--defenestrations and self-inflicted gunshots between the eyes. Federal grants and programs are There too, a cottage industry for those with good intentions but no real ability to stem the collective misery. People are grieved-out out There. Orvil, Lony, and Loother are there with their purposely misspelled names and interests in rap, Beethoven and Indian heritage. There is also an occasional recovery there--an exception that proves the rule? Jacqui Red Feather is not there and struggles to go back. Facing your demons and your failures is perilous.

There is also a great PowWow there, a meeting of Natives coming together. Natives are stirring there and elsewhere. Some to explore their culture, some to celebrate it, some to exploit it or damage it further. The denouement of the story is a brilliant premise and fraught with a multitude of possibilities. Frankly, I was disappointed by the ending which I found abrupt and less than satisfying. Upon reflection, I realize the author is not writing so that I might be satisfied by a glossed-over ending. It would be an insult to the truths told before. So There There is an unsatisfying book but should anyone find silver linings in genocide? Surely not. Lastly, there is a multitude of paradoxes in There There: Battered is not broken; diminished is not destroyed. But endurance is not a triumph. Sometimes though, it's all you get.

Brutal, compelling story of Oakland Native Americans going to a big pow wow....hard to read and sad but the writer is so descriptive and knowing you realize it’s real...I want to read it again so I can figure out the different characters knowing how they will turn out ( dead or alive!). Truly unforgettable book....

In my personal discovery of reconciliation I'm reading as much information as I can find about the plight of Indigenous people. "There, there" was another waste of time. I was hoping this book would take the opportunity to show a way forward. The present path of reconciliation seems to be all about revenge for past wrongs. This book is just another sad story of wasted lives and missed opportunities. The book itself is a terribly wasted opportunity. Perhaps that was the point. If you're looking for another "woe is me" book about Indigenous people you will find this a pretty good read. If you are trying to understand how we can move forward and all live together in peace and harmony, you should look elsewhere.

In “There There” there is a passage where one of the characters is thinking about a movie he saw, “Requiem for a Dream”. He says about the movie, “…you don’t exactly come away from the film glad you watched it, and yet you wouldn’t have it any other way.” While I am actually glad I read the book, it was not an easy book to read, for both the writing style and the sadness of the individual stories.

Tommy Orange has written a gritty, edgy, emotional book about what it is like to live as an urban Native American through the eyes of 12 different characters. Young and old, male and female each has a story to tell – none of them “pretty” or easy. I had to struggle with the first few chapters. Trying to make sense of the jumble of people, places and stories. I almost gave up a couple times. The writing was good, but hard to keep up – the characters each distinct and interesting, but so many of them that it got confusing. However, almost halfway through the book it all started to come together. Connections started to be drawn between the characters and the book started to take on life. From about a third of the way into the book until the last chapter it was fantastic – the weaving of stories and subplots was skillfully woven together. In some ways it was liking a train wreck – you knew what was going to happen, but couldn’t take your eyes away. I couldn’t put the book down until I finished it.

The ending came up short – it seemed too abrupt, like someone turned the channel on an engrossing TV show right after the climactic scene but left off the epilogue where you find out what happens to all the characters. I think Tommy Orange did it on purpose – this book is meant to disturb you and make you think. In terms of a reading experience I’d probably rate this book a “4”, but that would minimize the quality of Orange’s writing, which while it was uncomfortable at times, was excellent; hence a rating of “5”.

I received a copy from Netgalley in exchange for my honest opinion.

Vignettes from the lives of a dozen “urban Indians” preparing for a powwow at the Oakland Coliseum are braided together in this novel, which gets its title from Gertrude Stein’s lament about Oakland: "there is no there there." The stories are raw, angry, and painful, often questioning what it means to be Native and what it means to be from Oakland. Orange plays with time and point of view, with some stories taking place many years ago and others taking place in the months leading up to the powwow, as he slowly reveals how the lives of the characters intertwine. The novel is deceptively short, with an abrupt and devastating ending, and Orange's observations on human nature stay with the reader long after the story is finished. This novel is likely to be read and recommended for years to come.

'There There', Tommy Orange's first novel, heralds the advent of a fine writer. It is about urban Native Americans, mostly residing in Oakland, California. The narrative is told from the vantage points of twelve different characters, many of whose lives intersect during the novel. Mr. Orange is a member of the Cheyenne and Arapaho tribes of Oklahoma and studied at the Institute of Indian Arts.

This is not an easy read. It is painful, disturbing, and heartbreaking at times. It is a tragedy. It pulls no punches when discussing the plagues of addiction, abuse, suicide, and alcoholism in the American Indian population. However, it also recognizes the beauty of Native American heritage, tradition and the spirituality that many still cling to. These opposing forces, along with prejudice and the attempted erasure of their history, reek carnage on the lives of many Alaska Natives and Native Americans. Having lived in Alaska for close to 50 years, I am painfully aware of the horrific treatment of the Alaska Native cultures. Many of their languages have been wiped out, children were sent to boarding schools and separated from their parents and, until fairly recently, small villages and communities were without schools. I could go on and on but this is a book review and I know I am digressing.

There are many unlikely heroes in this novel beginning with 21 year old Tony Loneman. Born with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, his facial features and structure make him a definite oddity. He is well aware that the cause of what he calls 'the Drome' are his mother's drinking and drugging while he was in her womb. Tony is a big guy and hypervigilant. He has trouble with impulse control and finds it almost impossible to learn from his past mistakes. All this is part of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. Tony thinks of himself as stupid but he has street smarts and can read people, especially when they're duplicitous. Tony's mother is in jail and he lives with his grandmother. He sells weed for a living and gives most of his income to his grandmother.

Early on in the novel, Tony is approached by Octavio who has plans to rob the big pow wow that will be held in Oakland this year. He wants Tony to hide the bullets. Tony isn't sure what a pow wow is and Octavio tells him "We dress up Indian, with feathers and beads and .... We dance. Sing and beat this big drum and sell Indian ... like jewelry and clothes and art". Tony dresses up in his Indian regalia and for the first time in his life he feels like an Indian, a dancer, not 'the Drome'.

The novel's characters are varied and interesting. Dene Oxendene wants to make videos of individual Native Americans in their own words. He gets a grant and hopes to make something worthy of the money he's received. There are two sisters who are part of the Native American occupation of Alcatraz in 1970. They grow up with this a significant part of their personal and cultural memory. Many of the characters are being brought up by relatives other than their parents who they may not have even met or remember. As the novel progresses, lives intersect in unexpected ways.

The author opens the novel with a prologue that provides some history about original contact between American Indians and white explorers. Orange discusses the massacres, the horrific prejudice and torture, and how the white men stole everything they could from a people, leaving them to try and live their lives without land, a means of support, or hope.

Some reviewers discuss the title 'There There' as being a quote from Gertrude Stein's 'Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas'. She was reflecting on her growing up in Oakland and how much the city had changed, " "that so much development had happened there, that the there of her neighborhood, the there there was gone". There is also a reference to a song by Radiohead called 'There There'. "The hook is, 'Just 'cause you feel it doesn't mean it's there'". Personally, I think that the book's title refers to the urbanization of Native Americans. "We are the memories we don't remember, which live in us, which we feel, which make us sing and dance and pray the way we do, feelings from memories that flare and bloom unexpectedly in our lives like blood through a blanket from a wound made by a bullet fired by a man shooting us in the back for our hair, for our heads, for a bounty, or just to get rid of us." "Being Indian has never been about returning to the land. The land is everywhere or nowhere."

Some books are difficult to read and others are near impossible because of the emotional intensity carried within the pages. This is one of the more difficult books I've ever encountered. However, the characters reside inside me. This book has enriched my life.

Near the beginning of Tommy Orange’s debut novel, a character named Dene Oxendene --- probably the closest thing to a stand-in for the author himself --- explains the motivation behind the documentary film project for which he is seeking grant funding: “I want to bring something new to the vision of the Native experience as it’s seen on the screen. We haven’t seen the Urban Indian story. What we’ve seen is full of the kinds of stereotypes that are the reason no one is interested in the Native story in general, it’s too sad, so sad it can’t even be entertaining…” One could imagine that Orange himself had a similar mission in mind as he set out to tell the stories of more than a dozen of those Urban Indians in THERE THERE.

These intersecting stories --- primarily set in Oakland, California (the novel gets its title from a Radiohead song and from Gertrude Stein’s infamous quote about Oakland that “there is no there there”) --- present a rich, varied and, yes, often entertaining portrait of the complexity of contemporary Native life. It could be argued that Orange --- with his technique of using multiple narrators --- is offering a 21st-century urban version of the kind of groundbreaking fiction Louise Erdrich wrote about reservation life in LOVE MEDICINE and elsewhere.

Many of the book’s short, well-developed chapters could stand on their own, but this is most definitely a novel, as all the plots propel readers toward a groundbreaking powwow at the Oakland Coliseum --- and toward the threat of violence there. Along the way, Orange tells the story of more than a dozen characters. In addition to Dene Oxendene (who sets up a Story Corps–style storytelling booth at the powwow), there’s Opal Viola Victoria Bear Shield, who became cynical about activism and Native identity after being compelled as a child to participate in the Native occupation of Alcatraz Island in 1970; there’s Opal’s sister, Jacquie Red Feather, whose lifelong struggle with alcoholism led her to become a substance abuse counselor; there’s Tony Loneman, whose fetal alcohol syndrome and resulting intellectual impairments make him vulnerable to the ominous intentions of other young men; and, most poignantly, there’s Opal’s grandson, Orvil, who longs to reclaim his Native identity by participating as a dancer at the powwow.

In addition to these and other stories, Orange includes a prologue and an interlude, both of which provide historical and social context and introduce readers to the complicated issues undergirding his characters’ stories and lives. These include the question of what it means to be a “real Indian” and the complicated question of blood: Who gets to claim Native identity, and who wants to? The Native people whose stories Orange tells are not painted as victims or as stereotypes or as poster children for the popular idea of resiliency, though they all wrestle in different ways with the marginalization of their communities and the invisibility of their stories.

Again and again, Orange returns to the idea of the vitality of narrating one’s own story and of listening to others’, whether in a storytelling booth, at a communal event like a powwow, or in the pages of novels like this one: “The wound that was made when white people came and took all that they took has never healed,” Orange writes. “An unattended wound gets infected. Becomes a new kind of wound like the history of what actually happened became a new kind [of] history. All these stories that we haven’t been telling all this time, that we haven’t been listening to, are just part of what we need to heal.”

Reviewed by Norah Piehl