The creeping horror of Paul Tremblay meets Tommy Orange’s There There in a dark novel of revenge, cultural identity, and the cost of breaking from tradition in this latest novel from the Jordan Peele of horror literature, Stephen Graham Jones. Seamlessly blending classic horror and a dramatic narrative with sharp social commentary, The Only Good Indians follows four American Indian men after a disturbing event from their youth puts them in a desperate struggle for their lives. Tracked by an entity bent on revenge, these childhood friends are helpless as the culture and traditions they left behind catch up to them in a violent, vengeful way.
A Haunting Harmony of Revenge and Redemption
Stephen Graham Jones' "The Only Good Indians" is not just a horror novel; it's a visceral symphony of revenge, redemption, and the enduring power of cultural memory. Set amongst the Blackfeet Nation in Montana, the story weaves a contemporary tale of retribution intertwined with the echoes of a past transgression against the natural world.
Four friends, united by a shared youthful mistake that left a grizzly bear dead, find themselves haunted by the consequences years later. As strange occurrences and escalating violence plague their lives, they must confront their individual demons and the collective weight of their actions. Jones masterfully blends elements of traditional horror with indigenous folklore, creating a chilling atmosphere steeped in the history and beliefs of the Blackfeet people.
The characters, each deeply flawed and burdened by guilt, are drawn with raw honesty and empathy. Their struggles to reconcile their past with their present resonate deeply, making their descent into fear and uncertainty all the more impactful. Jones avoids simplistic moralizing, instead painting a nuanced portrait of human nature where good intentions can lead to devastating consequences.
The prose itself is a marvel. Jones' evocative language conjures vivid images of the Montana landscape, its harsh beauty mirroring the turmoil within the characters. He effortlessly shifts between chilling descriptions of the supernatural and poignant reflections on loss and regret, creating a haunting rhythm that propels the story forward.
"The Only Good Indians" is not for the faint of heart. It delves into the darkest corners of human nature and the consequences of violating sacred traditions. But beneath the surface of gore and suspense lies a profound exploration of themes like forgiveness, responsibility, and the cyclical nature of violence.
Highlights:
- Vivid and atmospheric setting: The Montana landscape becomes a living character, reflecting the internal struggles of the characters.
- Compelling and flawed characters: Each individual grapples with guilt and responsibility, making them relatable despite their choices.
- Masterful blend of horror and folklore: Jones seamlessly weaves traditional horror elements with Blackfeet mythology, creating a unique and unsettling atmosphere.
- Profound themes: The story delves into complex questions about forgiveness, redemption, and the impact of our actions on the world around us.
Minor quibbles:
- The graphic nature of the violence might not be for everyone.
- The slow pacing in some sections might test the patience of readers accustomed to fast-paced narratives.
Overall:
"The Only Good Indians" is a haunting and unforgettable read that will stay with you long after you turn the final page. It's a testament to Stephen Graham Jones' ability to craft stories that are both terrifying and thought-provoking, pushing the boundaries of genre while offering a profound exploration of the human condition. Highly recommended for fans of horror, literary fiction, and those seeking a story that lingers in the mind and heart.
Verdict: A chilling and thought-provoking masterpiece that blends horror with indigenous folklore, exploring themes of revenge, redemption, and the enduring power of our actions. Not for the faint of heart, but a must-read for anyone who appreciates masterful storytelling and unforgettable characters.
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Stephen Graham Jones, Author 
Master of Experimental Fiction and Horror
Early Life and Education: Born on January 22, 1972, in Midland, Texas, Stephen Graham Jones is a distinguished Blackfoot Native American author known for his groundbreaking work in experimental fiction, horror, crime, and science fiction.
Jones, an enrolled member of the Blackfeet Tribe, embarked on his academic journey with a Bachelor's degree in English and Philosophy from Texas Tech University in 1994. He furthered his education, earning a Master's degree in English from the University of North Texas in 1996 and completing his Ph.D. at Florida State University in 1998.
Writing Career: Jones's literary journey took flight when he pitched the idea for his debut novel, "The Fast Red Road," to Houghton-Mifflin editor Jane Silver during his time at Florida State University. Published in 2000, it marked the beginning of a stellar career.
His works span various genres, from the crime novel "All the Beautiful Sinners" (2003) to the award-winning horror novel "The Only Good Indians" (2020), which earned him the prestigious Ray Bradbury Prize for Science Fiction.
Academic Achievements: Beyond his writing career, Jones is the Ineva Baldwin Professor of English at the University of Colorado Boulder. His impact on literature extends to academia, where he shares his expertise and passion for storytelling.
Themes and Style: Jones's work is marked by a unique blend of dark playfulness, narrative inventiveness, and genre mixture. Influenced by Native American Renaissance writers, he explores identity and culture, often embracing elements of post-irony and the "New Sincerity."
Awards and Recognition: Throughout his career, Jones has received numerous accolades, including the Bram Stoker Award for "Mapping the Interior" (2017) and "The Only Good Indians" (2020). His latest novel, "My Heart is a Chainsaw," clinched the 2021 Bram Stoker Award for Novel.
Conclusion: Stephen Graham Jones continues to be a trailblazer in the literary world, seamlessly blending genres and pushing the boundaries of storytelling. As a respected academic and award-winning author, his contributions to literature, especially within the horror and experimental fiction genres, make him a captivating figure worth exploring.
Reviewed in the United States on August 17, 2020
“We’re from where we’re from… Scars are part of the deal, aren’t they?”
THE ONLY GOOD INDIANS (2020) is the latest novel by Stephen Graham Jones and certainly the most original novel I have read in quite some time. In the book Jones combines keen observations about modern day Native American life (especially on a Blackfeet reservation and surrounding areas). Without interfering with the story’s plot and without being sanctimonious or self-righteous, Jones exposes with personal authenticity all of the poverty and hardships Natives still face today. Among those hardships are hunger, hatred from outsiders, abuse and bigotry, suicide, struggles between elders and the young, trying to hold onto traditional Native ways which are in conflict with contemporary times, and different approaches to survival involving hard work which takes time, diverse desires for the future, self-image, as well as those who would prefer to simply give up. There is also indulging in drugs, alcohol, and the frustrating futility of countless run-ins with the authorities. By themselves, all of these would make for a tremendous novel, but Jones adds an additional element to the story—the supernatural—making THE ONLY GOOD INDIANS quite unique.
Four young Native American men in their twenties—Cass, Gabe, Ricky, and Lewis, defy both the law and tribal tradition as well as nature itself and go on a dishonorable killing spree, slaughtering a herd of elk five days before Thanksgiving. Caught in a “drop-off place” (and “old-time buffalo jump” where Native Americans would drive bison off cliffs to their doom) outside of the reservation and on land which belongs to Bigfeet elders, the elk are obliviously and heartily grazing before winter sets in and a passing nearby train blocks out the sound of the approaching hunters who have driven onto the land where such is forbidden. The men excitedly, enthusiastically, and wastefully kill far more elk than they can even load into their pickup truck. Among the elk shot is a female. Even with “her back broken [and] half her head blown to mist,” she refuses to die and Lewis discovers she is frantically trying to save her unborn calf. With her one remaining yellow eye boring into his face, a curse is born—one which takes ten years to begin to fall into place.
THE ONLY GOOD INDIANS with its provocative title is not always an easy book to read. Jones’ descriptions of Native American life in what should be a land of plenty is heart-rending. Further, his narrative style, at times, mirrors that of a Cormac McCarthy. Readers need to be alert to sudden, unannounced changes in point of view of the narration and the aspect of time not always being a thing of consistency. As events slowly begin to unfold, one doesn’t always have a sense of what is real or imaginary. If real, the horror that begins to encircle Lewis Clarke, having already lost a close friend, and the things he might or might not be seeing, are, for him, unacceptably bizarre and fantastic.
After learning and absorbing numerous details, some vague and some not, and witnessing persons filled with doubts, disappointments, and hope as well as broken promises, friendships pushed to the brink, and relationships which are both embryonic and fragile at a deliberately measured pace, readers who approach THE ONLY GOOD INDIANS and Jones’ story-telling style with patience and attention get rewarded midway through the novel with a vividly brought to life traditional healing ceremony—a cleansing in a sweat lodge—which goes horribly awry. The story begins to suddenly thrust itself forward at a rapid pace. The horror of what is happening becomes more than clear, beyond belief, and multiplies in what appears to be an insurmountable fashion as does sudden and breath-taking violence and death.
During the book’s final chapters Stephen Graham Jones provides an intricate coming together of his themes of individuals caught between traditional and modern conventions confronting preternatural and yet understandable forces bent on revenge as a most unlikely character moves to the forefront. Readers are likely to find themselves gulping for breath while at the same time watching a blanket of redemption unfold. Thus, THE ONLY GOOD INDIANS proves to not only be an unconventional novel, but a riveting and rewarding read as well.
THE ONLY GOOD INDIANS (2020) is the latest novel by Stephen Graham Jones and certainly the most original novel I have read in quite some time. In the book Jones combines keen observations about modern day Native American life (especially on a Blackfeet reservation and surrounding areas). Without interfering with the story’s plot and without being sanctimonious or self-righteous, Jones exposes with personal authenticity all of the poverty and hardships Natives still face today. Among those hardships are hunger, hatred from outsiders, abuse and bigotry, suicide, struggles between elders and the young, trying to hold onto traditional Native ways which are in conflict with contemporary times, and different approaches to survival involving hard work which takes time, diverse desires for the future, self-image, as well as those who would prefer to simply give up. There is also indulging in drugs, alcohol, and the frustrating futility of countless run-ins with the authorities. By themselves, all of these would make for a tremendous novel, but Jones adds an additional element to the story—the supernatural—making THE ONLY GOOD INDIANS quite unique.
Four young Native American men in their twenties—Cass, Gabe, Ricky, and Lewis, defy both the law and tribal tradition as well as nature itself and go on a dishonorable killing spree, slaughtering a herd of elk five days before Thanksgiving. Caught in a “drop-off place” (and “old-time buffalo jump” where Native Americans would drive bison off cliffs to their doom) outside of the reservation and on land which belongs to Bigfeet elders, the elk are obliviously and heartily grazing before winter sets in and a passing nearby train blocks out the sound of the approaching hunters who have driven onto the land where such is forbidden. The men excitedly, enthusiastically, and wastefully kill far more elk than they can even load into their pickup truck. Among the elk shot is a female. Even with “her back broken [and] half her head blown to mist,” she refuses to die and Lewis discovers she is frantically trying to save her unborn calf. With her one remaining yellow eye boring into his face, a curse is born—one which takes ten years to begin to fall into place.
THE ONLY GOOD INDIANS with its provocative title is not always an easy book to read. Jones’ descriptions of Native American life in what should be a land of plenty is heart-rending. Further, his narrative style, at times, mirrors that of a Cormac McCarthy. Readers need to be alert to sudden, unannounced changes in point of view of the narration and the aspect of time not always being a thing of consistency. As events slowly begin to unfold, one doesn’t always have a sense of what is real or imaginary. If real, the horror that begins to encircle Lewis Clarke, having already lost a close friend, and the things he might or might not be seeing, are, for him, unacceptably bizarre and fantastic.
After learning and absorbing numerous details, some vague and some not, and witnessing persons filled with doubts, disappointments, and hope as well as broken promises, friendships pushed to the brink, and relationships which are both embryonic and fragile at a deliberately measured pace, readers who approach THE ONLY GOOD INDIANS and Jones’ story-telling style with patience and attention get rewarded midway through the novel with a vividly brought to life traditional healing ceremony—a cleansing in a sweat lodge—which goes horribly awry. The story begins to suddenly thrust itself forward at a rapid pace. The horror of what is happening becomes more than clear, beyond belief, and multiplies in what appears to be an insurmountable fashion as does sudden and breath-taking violence and death.
During the book’s final chapters Stephen Graham Jones provides an intricate coming together of his themes of individuals caught between traditional and modern conventions confronting preternatural and yet understandable forces bent on revenge as a most unlikely character moves to the forefront. Readers are likely to find themselves gulping for breath while at the same time watching a blanket of redemption unfold. Thus, THE ONLY GOOD INDIANS proves to not only be an unconventional novel, but a riveting and rewarding read as well.
Reviewed in the United States on December 16, 2023
This book is amazing. The scenes especially the action scenes are so well described that. It’s almost like watching a movie. There are now some “movie clips” playing in my head like and I get scared all over again. I admire and was moved by the organic deep dive into Native American experience—particular to tribe and geographic area—expressed by several native characters in third person omniscient. I could’ve done without the basketball/athlete worship, but that’s just me. I hate basketball.
Reviewed in the United States on January 29, 2021
I’ve been hearing about Stephen Graham Jones’s The Only Good Indians for a while now – how it was essential reading for basically any horror fan, how it felt fresh and unexpected, how it mixed a wild batch of tones into something wholly unique and compelling, all while never forgetting to be a horror novel. Well, all of that is true and then some; The Only Good Indians is a knockout piece of horror, following a group of Native American men – and their families – as they are being hunted down for a crime they once committed by…well, something. Something with elk horns.
There’s so much to enjoy about The Only Good Indians, but let’s start off with Jones’s characters. A Blackfeet Native American, Jones brings his life experience to his characters, giving us Native American men who feel real and lived in – men who are shaped by the disadvantages and scorn that so often come along with reservation life and American stereotyping, men torn between their heritage and a desire to leave it all behind, men struggling with their own cultural baggage all while also trying to figure out what they can leave as their legacy – their children, their loved ones, and so forth. That invests us in these characters, even as we watch them make horrible decisions, or struggle with their addictions, or justify hateful actions. And that’s important, because once the horrors start, that means that we feel the impact of it all the more.
So, that horror. One of the many wonderfully surprising aspects of Indians is the nature of it all. That horrible crime the men committed? It’s not anything you might assume, and yet, even as my first reaction was “that’s not nearly as bad as I expected,” it wholly fits with what’s been unleashed, meaning that we completely understand why the men have the baggage that they do around it. (Some of them, anyway.) As if that’s not enough, though, there’s Jones’s engaging, off-kilter pacing, which has a way of lulling you into a sense of ease because, hey, nothing happens this early in the book, all before stomping on the gas in a brutal way. Much like some of King’s best work, the horror feels both alien and yet familiar, governed by rules that make sense in an almost primal, atavistic way and yet defy easy logic. Jones brings a strong sense of progression and dread to the table, letting things work under our skin before kicking things off with paroxysms of violence that feel like they can’t possibly keep going…and then do.
So here’s what you have: you have rich, sympathetic characters who we care about and who manage to grapple with real world issues of prejudice, discrimination, historic baggage, bleak living conditions, ad more. You have a horror force that’s wholly original, giving us something that doesn’t feel like any other horror novel out there, tapping into something primal and forceful that will get under your skin. You’ve got an amazing air of dread and unease, one that explodes out in nightmarish ways. And you’ve got a story that defies easy categorization and explanation, going in unexpected direction after unexpected direction, keeping you on your toes and unprepared for what’s next. And if all that’s not enough, it’s written so well – it’s got a sense of black humor about itself, a rich sense of character voice, and a storytelling style all of its own.
In other words, The Only Good Indians is every bit as good as you’ve heard and then some. If you like horror? It’s a no-brainer – read it and understand why everyone is talking about it.
There’s so much to enjoy about The Only Good Indians, but let’s start off with Jones’s characters. A Blackfeet Native American, Jones brings his life experience to his characters, giving us Native American men who feel real and lived in – men who are shaped by the disadvantages and scorn that so often come along with reservation life and American stereotyping, men torn between their heritage and a desire to leave it all behind, men struggling with their own cultural baggage all while also trying to figure out what they can leave as their legacy – their children, their loved ones, and so forth. That invests us in these characters, even as we watch them make horrible decisions, or struggle with their addictions, or justify hateful actions. And that’s important, because once the horrors start, that means that we feel the impact of it all the more.
So, that horror. One of the many wonderfully surprising aspects of Indians is the nature of it all. That horrible crime the men committed? It’s not anything you might assume, and yet, even as my first reaction was “that’s not nearly as bad as I expected,” it wholly fits with what’s been unleashed, meaning that we completely understand why the men have the baggage that they do around it. (Some of them, anyway.) As if that’s not enough, though, there’s Jones’s engaging, off-kilter pacing, which has a way of lulling you into a sense of ease because, hey, nothing happens this early in the book, all before stomping on the gas in a brutal way. Much like some of King’s best work, the horror feels both alien and yet familiar, governed by rules that make sense in an almost primal, atavistic way and yet defy easy logic. Jones brings a strong sense of progression and dread to the table, letting things work under our skin before kicking things off with paroxysms of violence that feel like they can’t possibly keep going…and then do.
So here’s what you have: you have rich, sympathetic characters who we care about and who manage to grapple with real world issues of prejudice, discrimination, historic baggage, bleak living conditions, ad more. You have a horror force that’s wholly original, giving us something that doesn’t feel like any other horror novel out there, tapping into something primal and forceful that will get under your skin. You’ve got an amazing air of dread and unease, one that explodes out in nightmarish ways. And you’ve got a story that defies easy categorization and explanation, going in unexpected direction after unexpected direction, keeping you on your toes and unprepared for what’s next. And if all that’s not enough, it’s written so well – it’s got a sense of black humor about itself, a rich sense of character voice, and a storytelling style all of its own.
In other words, The Only Good Indians is every bit as good as you’ve heard and then some. If you like horror? It’s a no-brainer – read it and understand why everyone is talking about it.
Reviewed in the United States on December 24, 2020
Like many other readers, I was excited by the description of this novel's story, and I suppose I was further encouraged by all the recognition the book received. However, this ended up being exactly the kind of novel that makes me wonder just how the publishing/publicity industry really works. This is not a "masterpiece," nor a "stark page-turner," nor many of the other praises heaped upon it by whom I can only assume are friends or colleagues of the author.
To begin with, I had a problem with Jones's writing style, which is a pretty fundamental hurdle to overcome. He uses a lot of comma splices and asides, as if the prose is mirroring the thoughts of the characters (which I figure is the intent), but I found it very jarring and distracting to read. Rarely did I come across a solid page or two that did not contain at least a handful of sentences that stopped me in my tracks and made me re-read them, so I could figure out what he was trying to say.
On top of that, the structure of the novel was a little off-putting as well. Roughly the first third focuses on one of the four main characters, but then it shifts to two others for another section, and then the final section focuses on someone else. This made the overall narrative feel just as disjointed as many of the sentences themselves. In fact, because the first main section had focused so heavily on one character, finishing this section almost had the feeling that the novel was over. But there were still 200 pages left! This definitely made it feel like a bit of a trudge to get through the rest.
Finally, I found the story itself confusing. The premise is simple enough (and honestly not as compelling as I thought it would be, based on the description), but I was left with several questions about how some of the events happened. And not the good kind of questions that a clever mystery might leave you with, but rather practical questions of how some of this even worked that left me feeling like the story was a little silly.
Having said all that, I don't mean to suggest that the novel is terrible or not worth reading for some people. If the synopsis intrigues you, then by all means give it a try. It certainly intrigued me too, but unfortunately the execution didn't work for me.
To begin with, I had a problem with Jones's writing style, which is a pretty fundamental hurdle to overcome. He uses a lot of comma splices and asides, as if the prose is mirroring the thoughts of the characters (which I figure is the intent), but I found it very jarring and distracting to read. Rarely did I come across a solid page or two that did not contain at least a handful of sentences that stopped me in my tracks and made me re-read them, so I could figure out what he was trying to say.
On top of that, the structure of the novel was a little off-putting as well. Roughly the first third focuses on one of the four main characters, but then it shifts to two others for another section, and then the final section focuses on someone else. This made the overall narrative feel just as disjointed as many of the sentences themselves. In fact, because the first main section had focused so heavily on one character, finishing this section almost had the feeling that the novel was over. But there were still 200 pages left! This definitely made it feel like a bit of a trudge to get through the rest.
Finally, I found the story itself confusing. The premise is simple enough (and honestly not as compelling as I thought it would be, based on the description), but I was left with several questions about how some of the events happened. And not the good kind of questions that a clever mystery might leave you with, but rather practical questions of how some of this even worked that left me feeling like the story was a little silly.
Having said all that, I don't mean to suggest that the novel is terrible or not worth reading for some people. If the synopsis intrigues you, then by all means give it a try. It certainly intrigued me too, but unfortunately the execution didn't work for me.
Reviewed in the United States on August 4, 2020
I discover writers through other writers, either through personal recommendations, or an author's name in the same company of a writer I admire. Sometimes writers sneak in plugs for each other in their own work. Ken Bruen's protagonists are always haunting used book & record stores. I've taken tons of recommendations from Ken, from Charles Willeford to Megan Abbott. William T. Vollmann was a name I heard numerous times in conjunction with contemporary & favorite of mine, David Foster Wallace.
In one particular instance, I happened on a generous community for writers hosted by Chuck Palahniuk, a writer I've devoured avidly over the years; I think it was called The Velvet. Through that inside forum I discovered Jeremy Robert Johnson, Craig Clevenger, lots of Bizarro portland writers, and Stephen Graham Jones.
I've read all his published work, from his early West Texas noir/tragedies All The Beautiful Sinners, The Fast Red Road, et al, to the madcap horror romps like Zombie Sharks With Metal Teeth, the chupacabra-inhabited It Came From Del Rio, his own cult novel, Demon Theory, to his turn at pure & informed historical fantasy, Ledfeather (that was formerly one of SGJ's volumes on my Shelf of Fame) the horror for which he is best known, the 100's of stories, the dozens of novels; Mapping The Interior (that was also on the Shelf), The Least Of My Scars, The Long Trial Of Nolan Dugatti, and now, The Only Good Indians.
What effects me most in Stephen's writing is the lapidary opulence of his descriptive prose--each invocation condensed as a koan--without ever leaving the colloquial. I'm envious of the friendships and relationships in all his books, friends that finish each others' thoughts, so many in-jokes we're all let in on, dialogue & dramatic interaction on an exalted but utterly simpatico level.
Stephen is a devotee of horror in all its venues, and his capacious embrace of genre films informs but doesn't define his work. Our sense of justice deferred imbues our empathy for hunted become hunter in Bronson's Death Wish and Eastwood's Sudden Impact; retribution from beyond fuels I Know What You Did Last Summer. In The Only Good Indians, the hunted-become-hunter is no longer figurative.
Stephen Graham Jones breaks the mold of formula or template at every turn. Each of the cast of characters is given their own voice in their own chapters, though in fact, the unique integrity of tone within each chapter, as well as the parsimonious revelation of history among these four Blackfeet young men and their near ones reads initially and in some of the best moments as stand-alone stories. So solid, so true in voice, so particular in personal & characterful resonance.
Lewis is our first narrator. Instantly sympathetic, an everyman we are comforted as will be a dependable and companionate protagonist.
I was honored to be granted an early read of some of Stephen's work. The drunk, hapless, part-time storage unit denizen & guard cum necessitated P.I. had to snap out of a particularly bad hangover. So, with intent, he slammed his hand in a truck door.
"Stephen! I'm a pianist! Give me a heads-up on the hand-smashing stuff!"
Therein lies Stephen's horror super-power: the even-keel, quotidian life plunged instantaneously into the deepest wrong you could never imagine.
What makes Lewis' horror the more palpable is the insecurity of knowing how much is due to the Avenging Angel and how much (as in Scars & Dugatti) is the demon, the guilt sowed deeply within.
And we've barely started. It's a sheer drop into madness all the way to the end, with the Avenging Angel & Denorah, Gabriel's ultra-athletic daughter fighting for it all, one-on-one, Bergman-style, but with the most intuitively informed narrative of blacktop basketball as you'll ever read.
In one particular instance, I happened on a generous community for writers hosted by Chuck Palahniuk, a writer I've devoured avidly over the years; I think it was called The Velvet. Through that inside forum I discovered Jeremy Robert Johnson, Craig Clevenger, lots of Bizarro portland writers, and Stephen Graham Jones.
I've read all his published work, from his early West Texas noir/tragedies All The Beautiful Sinners, The Fast Red Road, et al, to the madcap horror romps like Zombie Sharks With Metal Teeth, the chupacabra-inhabited It Came From Del Rio, his own cult novel, Demon Theory, to his turn at pure & informed historical fantasy, Ledfeather (that was formerly one of SGJ's volumes on my Shelf of Fame) the horror for which he is best known, the 100's of stories, the dozens of novels; Mapping The Interior (that was also on the Shelf), The Least Of My Scars, The Long Trial Of Nolan Dugatti, and now, The Only Good Indians.
What effects me most in Stephen's writing is the lapidary opulence of his descriptive prose--each invocation condensed as a koan--without ever leaving the colloquial. I'm envious of the friendships and relationships in all his books, friends that finish each others' thoughts, so many in-jokes we're all let in on, dialogue & dramatic interaction on an exalted but utterly simpatico level.
Stephen is a devotee of horror in all its venues, and his capacious embrace of genre films informs but doesn't define his work. Our sense of justice deferred imbues our empathy for hunted become hunter in Bronson's Death Wish and Eastwood's Sudden Impact; retribution from beyond fuels I Know What You Did Last Summer. In The Only Good Indians, the hunted-become-hunter is no longer figurative.
Stephen Graham Jones breaks the mold of formula or template at every turn. Each of the cast of characters is given their own voice in their own chapters, though in fact, the unique integrity of tone within each chapter, as well as the parsimonious revelation of history among these four Blackfeet young men and their near ones reads initially and in some of the best moments as stand-alone stories. So solid, so true in voice, so particular in personal & characterful resonance.
Lewis is our first narrator. Instantly sympathetic, an everyman we are comforted as will be a dependable and companionate protagonist.
I was honored to be granted an early read of some of Stephen's work. The drunk, hapless, part-time storage unit denizen & guard cum necessitated P.I. had to snap out of a particularly bad hangover. So, with intent, he slammed his hand in a truck door.
"Stephen! I'm a pianist! Give me a heads-up on the hand-smashing stuff!"
Therein lies Stephen's horror super-power: the even-keel, quotidian life plunged instantaneously into the deepest wrong you could never imagine.
What makes Lewis' horror the more palpable is the insecurity of knowing how much is due to the Avenging Angel and how much (as in Scars & Dugatti) is the demon, the guilt sowed deeply within.
And we've barely started. It's a sheer drop into madness all the way to the end, with the Avenging Angel & Denorah, Gabriel's ultra-athletic daughter fighting for it all, one-on-one, Bergman-style, but with the most intuitively informed narrative of blacktop basketball as you'll ever read.
Reviewed in the United States on December 3, 2023
This book was recommended to me by a friend and I'm glad I listened to him. I have heard some people say they done like Mr. Jones's writing style but, for me, I love it.
My uncle was a Native American and I have read book about Native American myths. This was an awesome ghost story, for lack of a better term. And when the book was finished, I was a little bummed it was over
My uncle was a Native American and I have read book about Native American myths. This was an awesome ghost story, for lack of a better term. And when the book was finished, I was a little bummed it was over
Reviewed in the United States on July 16, 2020
Stephen Graham Jones, with this novel, has skyrocketed up to being my favorite horror writer. The Only Good Indians is multi-layered and if you blink you'll miss something. I read many books every year and it will be difficult to top this one for 2020. It will also prove to be difficult to move onto another read so shortly after finishing this one. Holy cow--or elk.
There are sequences in this novel that will make you put down the book, look incredulously out into space, and return to re-read them. *Wait, what did I just read??* A great writer can elicit this response from their readers after they have created relatable and lovable characters and something bad happens to them. I connected to all of his characters and *believed* in them. Belief is a strong, central theme here and resonates with readers, in my opinion. How much does one believe from generational knowledge, the things they were told by their elders growing up?
SGJ also weaved a lot of Indian history and cultural identity issues into the characters' introspections. Many of these passages spoke to me as I grew up with a father of the Cheyenne & Arapaho tribe and have always been aware of tribal history as well as cultural issues within our tribe and many others. I connected with this novel more than any others. It spoke to me and it will speak to my future children. Since I can remember, my dad has called me Shaney and the moment I realized one of the main characters shared this name my posture straightened and my ears perked up. Could this novel be written just for me?...
I loved everything about it from the clever title (taken from an infamous, maybe-fake quote, but, nevertheless a sentiment followed by early Americans) to the flipping of the aged, openly racist "Indian curse" trope. I devoured this novel in two ways within a span of 24 hours—the audiobook, brilliantly narrated by Shaun Taylor-Corbett, and the Kindle edition. Below, I'd like to share some of my favorite passages for their prose, humor, or emotion.
"It’s the guilt of having some pristine Native swimmers—they probably look like microscopic salmon, even though the Blackfeet are a horse tribe—it’s the guilt of having those swimmers cocked and loaded but never pushing them downstream, meaning the few of his ancestors who made it through raids and plagues, massacres and genocide, diabetes and all the wobbly-tired cars the rest of America was done with, those Indians may as well have just stood up into that big Gatling gun of history, yeah?" (Page 39)
"[I]t was probably what it was like a century and more ago, when soldiers gathered up on ridges above Blackfeet encampments to turn the cranks on their big guns, terraform this new land for their occupation. Fertilize it with blood. Harvest the potatoes that would grow there, turn them into baskets of fries, and sell those crunchy cubes of grease back at powwows." (Page 75)
"What this means, Gabe knows, it’s that she’s going to reach an age where she’ll want to take the world in her teeth and shake until she tears a hunk of something off for herself." (Page 164)
"'I’ve never done one at night,' Gabe says then, leaning back in Jo’s chair, the chair not quite bending. Yet.
'A sweat?' Cassidy says.
'There’s nothing, like, against doing it at night, is there?' Gabe asks.
'Let me check the big Indian rule book,' Cassidy says. 'Oh yeah. You can’t do anything, according to it. You’ve got to do everything just like it’s been done for two hundred years.'
'Two thousand.'
They laugh together." (Pages 179-80)
There are sequences in this novel that will make you put down the book, look incredulously out into space, and return to re-read them. *Wait, what did I just read??* A great writer can elicit this response from their readers after they have created relatable and lovable characters and something bad happens to them. I connected to all of his characters and *believed* in them. Belief is a strong, central theme here and resonates with readers, in my opinion. How much does one believe from generational knowledge, the things they were told by their elders growing up?
SGJ also weaved a lot of Indian history and cultural identity issues into the characters' introspections. Many of these passages spoke to me as I grew up with a father of the Cheyenne & Arapaho tribe and have always been aware of tribal history as well as cultural issues within our tribe and many others. I connected with this novel more than any others. It spoke to me and it will speak to my future children. Since I can remember, my dad has called me Shaney and the moment I realized one of the main characters shared this name my posture straightened and my ears perked up. Could this novel be written just for me?...
I loved everything about it from the clever title (taken from an infamous, maybe-fake quote, but, nevertheless a sentiment followed by early Americans) to the flipping of the aged, openly racist "Indian curse" trope. I devoured this novel in two ways within a span of 24 hours—the audiobook, brilliantly narrated by Shaun Taylor-Corbett, and the Kindle edition. Below, I'd like to share some of my favorite passages for their prose, humor, or emotion.
"It’s the guilt of having some pristine Native swimmers—they probably look like microscopic salmon, even though the Blackfeet are a horse tribe—it’s the guilt of having those swimmers cocked and loaded but never pushing them downstream, meaning the few of his ancestors who made it through raids and plagues, massacres and genocide, diabetes and all the wobbly-tired cars the rest of America was done with, those Indians may as well have just stood up into that big Gatling gun of history, yeah?" (Page 39)
"[I]t was probably what it was like a century and more ago, when soldiers gathered up on ridges above Blackfeet encampments to turn the cranks on their big guns, terraform this new land for their occupation. Fertilize it with blood. Harvest the potatoes that would grow there, turn them into baskets of fries, and sell those crunchy cubes of grease back at powwows." (Page 75)
"What this means, Gabe knows, it’s that she’s going to reach an age where she’ll want to take the world in her teeth and shake until she tears a hunk of something off for herself." (Page 164)
"'I’ve never done one at night,' Gabe says then, leaning back in Jo’s chair, the chair not quite bending. Yet.
'A sweat?' Cassidy says.
'There’s nothing, like, against doing it at night, is there?' Gabe asks.
'Let me check the big Indian rule book,' Cassidy says. 'Oh yeah. You can’t do anything, according to it. You’ve got to do everything just like it’s been done for two hundred years.'
'Two thousand.'
They laugh together." (Pages 179-80)
Reviewed in the United States on October 14, 2020
The Only Good Indians, authored by Stephen Graham Jones, was a birthday buy for myself. It was released on my actual birthday, along with Wonderland by Zoje Stage, so I was feeling pretty chuffed with myself; both hardcover editions had hauntingly lovely covers.
I rated this 5 stars.
By the end of the opening chapter I felt as if a great clock had begun ticking down, to what I did not know; but it didn’t look good for those involved. There were many points while reading, I’ll admit I was doing some sniffling, had to widen my eyes a bit to stop the waterworks from getting started, or as a last line of defense, looking up from the page to stare at the wall or Biscuit (my cat). I had to give up the ghost by the end, give in to a little emotional break, fully; akin to lancing a deep hurt, I was left feeling lighter but weary. Mapping the Interior was my introduction to SGJ, a novella that wasted no words in wringing out everything, leaving me gutted and a fan for life. This novel is a heavy hitter in the same way, showcasing the human bonds that we forge that can last us a lifetime, shining a light on the indigenous people that are always further and further swept into tighter corners of a land that used to be open, beautifully wild, and theirs; but now often burning or drowning.
I have watched or read horror from single digits; Hitchcock, Poe, then Lovecraft and some King were my introductions via my dad’s library and blessing. I adopted a quirk for keeping myself from getting too scared while diving into my horrors, it couldn’t happen to me because I’m not breaking whatever rule the poor characters in question were breaking. Example, I did not allow myself to enter the house of redneck cannibals of my own volition, ending in my murder. That doesn’t really hold up with SGJ. Innocents are just as liable to be struck down, if not more so, before the guilty. And then this even harder one, what if there are no seriously guilty ones being punished, no tremendous enemies to hate on? Four friends make a memory. There are parts that all of them share equally, they could agree easily “That’s the way it happened.” But one made a secret pact, a private promise; he sealed the fate of his friends as well as his own, and even past that, to those attached by association or circumstance. So many lives were held accountable to one man’s promise, and I still got to the end and can’t say where there is an enemy. That’s the thing that tore me up, that SGJ wrote in a way that hit me right between the eyes like a freaking brick; the debt has to paid, sorry isn’t enough, and I can mourn both sides. There are many elements present in this novel, this is one that made the book that touch more horrific to me, kept my mind from resting, gave my pulse that little drop and catch, and coupled with that ending, led to my liberating, messy and over the top cry fest at the end.
10/10 am going to do it again.
I rated this 5 stars.
By the end of the opening chapter I felt as if a great clock had begun ticking down, to what I did not know; but it didn’t look good for those involved. There were many points while reading, I’ll admit I was doing some sniffling, had to widen my eyes a bit to stop the waterworks from getting started, or as a last line of defense, looking up from the page to stare at the wall or Biscuit (my cat). I had to give up the ghost by the end, give in to a little emotional break, fully; akin to lancing a deep hurt, I was left feeling lighter but weary. Mapping the Interior was my introduction to SGJ, a novella that wasted no words in wringing out everything, leaving me gutted and a fan for life. This novel is a heavy hitter in the same way, showcasing the human bonds that we forge that can last us a lifetime, shining a light on the indigenous people that are always further and further swept into tighter corners of a land that used to be open, beautifully wild, and theirs; but now often burning or drowning.
I have watched or read horror from single digits; Hitchcock, Poe, then Lovecraft and some King were my introductions via my dad’s library and blessing. I adopted a quirk for keeping myself from getting too scared while diving into my horrors, it couldn’t happen to me because I’m not breaking whatever rule the poor characters in question were breaking. Example, I did not allow myself to enter the house of redneck cannibals of my own volition, ending in my murder. That doesn’t really hold up with SGJ. Innocents are just as liable to be struck down, if not more so, before the guilty. And then this even harder one, what if there are no seriously guilty ones being punished, no tremendous enemies to hate on? Four friends make a memory. There are parts that all of them share equally, they could agree easily “That’s the way it happened.” But one made a secret pact, a private promise; he sealed the fate of his friends as well as his own, and even past that, to those attached by association or circumstance. So many lives were held accountable to one man’s promise, and I still got to the end and can’t say where there is an enemy. That’s the thing that tore me up, that SGJ wrote in a way that hit me right between the eyes like a freaking brick; the debt has to paid, sorry isn’t enough, and I can mourn both sides. There are many elements present in this novel, this is one that made the book that touch more horrific to me, kept my mind from resting, gave my pulse that little drop and catch, and coupled with that ending, led to my liberating, messy and over the top cry fest at the end.
10/10 am going to do it again.
