Jimmy Bluefeather: A Novel (37 page)

Certain source materials were invaluable in writing this story:
English/Tlingit Dictionary, Nouns
, printed at Sheldon Jackson College, 1976;
Tlingit Verb Dictionary
, compiled by Gillian L. Story and Constance M. Naish at the Summer Institute of Linguistics, University of Alaska’s Alaska Native Language Center, 1973;
Being and Place Among the Tlingit
by Thomas F. Thornton, University of Washington Press, 2008;
The Tlingit, An Introduction to Their Culture and History
, by Wallace M. Olson, Heritage Research, Auke Bay, Juneau, 2004;
The Tlingit Indians
by George Thornton Emmons, American Museum of Natural History (#70 in the Anthropological Papers), 1991;
Cedar: Tree of Life to the Northwest Coast Indians
, by Hilary Stewart, University of Washington Press, 1984;
Qayaks & Canoes: Native Ways of Knowing
, by Jan Steinbright (photography by Clark Mishler), Graphic Arts Center Pub. Co., 2002;
Tlingit Place Names of the Huna Káawu
, a 2006 map by the Hoonah Indian Association with assistance from the U.S. National Park Service;
Tongass Timber, A History of Logging & Timber Utilization in Southeast Alaska
, by James (Jim) Mackovjak, Forest History Society, 2010.

At times I use outdated names. Winter wren versus Pacific wren, for example, given that Keb Wisting, as an old man, would probably be unaware of a new name, or unwilling to accept it. He’d have known the bird by its earlier English name (and of course its Tlingit name) for most of his adult life. While taxonomists often change the common names of species, indigenous peoples do not. For them, names—and the acts of naming and being named—are often sacred. As for the practice of using an adz cross-handed, I’ve seen it done only once, in Alert Bay, British Columbia. It so impressed me that I integrated it into Old Keb’s teachings for James, to set him apart from other carvers. Certain elements in the Pepper Mountain logging accident are contrived to make the plotline work. And certain clans and places within the geography of this novel I leave undiscussed (e.g. Mount Fairweather) as they have great Tlingit cultural and spiritual significance and are best addressed from that point of view exclusively by Tlingits.

Because languages represent the intellectual legacy of humanity, and are disappearing rapidly around the world, a percentage of the royalties from this book are dedicated to an organization devoted to preserving the Tlingit language.

It took twelve years and many revisions to write this book. George and Jessie Dalton (in Hoonah and Glacier Bay) introduced me to the power and beauty of the Tlingit canoe culture, and the importance of storytelling, seal hunting, and berry picking. Melanie, my wife, believed in Old Keb from the beginning. Dan Henry (in Haines), Wayne Howell, Greg Streveler and Hank Lentfer (in Gustavus), and Richard Nelson (in Sitka) offered sage and sincere advice. Carvers Nathan Jackson (Saxman), Tommy Joseph (Sitka), and Lou Cacioppo (Gustavus) inspired me with their artistry and skills. An additional nod to Lou for showing me the many exquisite details in a raven’s plumage. Ken Grant and Gus Martinez (both with the National Park Service in Glacier Bay) helped me: Ken with Tlingit sensibilities, Gus with law enforcement matters. Ben Stroecker (Gustavus) set me straight on commercial fishing. Dawn Morano, Jane Rosen-man, and Nick Jans made valuable suggestions. Elizabeth Kaplan, my wonderful literary agent, read
Jimmy Bluefeather
in three days and embraced it with great love and commitment. After many publishers said no (I’ve saved their rejections, laminated them, and intend to put them on the walls of my outhouse), Doug Pfeiffer at Alaska Northwest Books rescued this story from the wood-burning stove and gave it a good home, perhaps even a long life. Kathy Howard and Tina Morgan made valuable edits. Vicki Knapton and Angie Zbornik also made strong contributions. The Gustavus City Library provided friendly shelter and good Internet connectivity. Finally, several works of fiction inspired me to write a cross-cultural story with a protagonist whose life experiences and worldview were far different from my own:
Cannery Row
by John Steinbeck,
The Milagro Beanfield War
by John Nichols,
The Confessions of Nat Turner
by William Styron,
The Help
by Kathryn Stockett,
The Century Trilogy
by Ken Follett,
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
by Mark Twain, and
Hamlet
by William Shakespeare. Imagine an Englishman writing about a tormented Danish prince. All things considered, he did well. Thank you friends, mentors, and exemplars. In the end, I believe our similiarities far outweigh our differences, and nothing matters more than compassion and love.

Kim Heacox
Gustavus, Alaska
21 December 2014

Q:
Alaska roots this novel and plays a large part in the overall story line. How does the perception of Alaska as a kind of mysterious and remote place play a part in
Jimmy Bluefeather
? Why can’t the story have happened anywhere else?

A:
This story is an after-image of the ice age. It’s set in a wild coastal world of storms, bears, mountains, whales, temperate rain forests, and tidewater glaciers. It’s set in Alaska, the America-that-used to-be, where rivers of ice run from the mountains down to the sea, and calve massive pieces of themselves into inlets and fjords, and create icebergs that provide nursery platforms for seals to give birth to their pups. It’s a land of eagles and ravens, of rebirth and resilience; a coming-back-to-life place in the wake of a massive glacial retreat. As such, that resilience infuses everybody who lives there, even an old man like Keb Wisting. The land itself, cut and carved by glaciers, is still youthful and wild, patterned by the tracks of wolves and bears. It inspires him to be young again, to finish carving his last canoe and take off, undaunted by the wind or rain. Such a thing could hardly happen in a cornfield or a city, in a shopping mall or a subdivision.

Q:
What was your biggest challenge in writing about Keb? Is there another character you enjoyed bringing to life?

A:
First, to endear the readers to him; make him likeable, believable. Second, to cross the age and culture barriers with accuracy and respect. I’m not Norwegian, Tlingit, or ninety-five years old. I’ve spent time with Norwegians (been to Norway several times) and with Tlingit elders (living as I do in Southeast Alaska) and always found them to be engaging, quick-witted (often with great senses of humor), soft-spoken, and wise; rooted in the past, yes, but also much more attuned to modern life than you’d think . . . knowledgeable about things like politics and basketball. I also enjoyed developing Anne as a character, since the novel moves from Keb’s point of view to hers. I enjoyed writing about her budding romance with Stuart, something I didn’t have in earlier drafts.

Q:
What was the genesis of publishing
Jimmy Bluefeather
?

A:
I began writing it in September 2002 and finished the first draft in three years, and put it away (thinking:
Yikes, what have I just done?
). Months later I reread it with new eyes, cut it by 20 percent, filled out a few characters and scenes, and tried to sell it. Rejections rolled in, many on beautiful letterhead (all rejections today come by e-mail and make less interesting keepsakes, unless they’re brilliantly written—few are). I hired a manuscript doctor, revised it again, tried selling it, hired another manuscript doctor, added a new epilogue, let it sit for another year, then found a literary agent—Elizabeth Kaplan—who read it in three days and loved it. More rejections. I let another year or two go by, and revised it again. Random House and Henry Holt came close to taking it. Then one day, almost as an afterthought, I sent the manuscript to Doug Pfeiffer at Alaska Northwest Books (“Hey, Doug, how are you? Look what I’ve been working on.”). I’ve known Doug for twenty-five years, but wasn’t sure he was interested in publishing fiction. He loved it, made an offer, and here we are. My advice to writers: write for the joy of it, not to be rich or famous (whatever that is). Tell a good story. And never give up.

Q:
Could you discuss the transformation of the relationship between Keb and James as the story evolves?

A:
Through a profound experience (the canoe journey) they come to understand and trust each other, and develop great respect for each other. It’s not an easy transformation, just as travel by canoe is not always easy. It’s hard, and it’s the “hard” that makes it great. Early on, Keb dislikes much of what he sees in James. James in turn regards his grandfather as a relic waiting to die. They love each other, of course, but they don’t easily relate to each other. The canoe—and wild Alaska—changes all that. The story opens in May and closes in September, and a lot happens in that time. Not until a later draft did I land on the epilogue, with the rebuilding of the Keb Shed, and James (Jimmy) using his hands so artfully, beginning to show the mannerisms and speech of his grandfather.

Q:
Is there a symbolism between James and the Canoe?

A:
Yes, the canoe is James’s new legs. It’s his new freedom and identity after ruining his leg (and basketball career) in a logging accident. The idea of the canoe
floating above all his grief—the ocean of his loss—appeals to me. I’ve known young athletes who’ve suddenly faced the end of their careers. It devastates them. They struggle for years, if not entire lifetimes, to find themselves again. The canoe saves James; it gives him new purpose. It allows him to work with his hands, to paddle into his terror and his potential, to become an artist in a new and rewarding way, one that will enrich the rest of his life.

Q:
You discuss the struggle between tribal and environmental issues. How does that affect the story? Is this happening in current news?

A:
Keb’s two daughters, Ruby and Gracie, see things differently. They love each other, but don’t always respect each other. This breaks Keb’s heart. His three sons are dead. Ruby and Gracie are his only remaining children, and he wants them to get along. He wants peace in his family. But large modern forces get in the way: politics and power, primarily, built on the idolatry of money, which in turn is built on an economic model that’s addicted to growth and never full, never satisfied. Ruby is pro-Native corporation while Gracie is not. This goes back to the 1971 Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act that created a dozen regional Native corporations and 200-plus village Native corporations across the state. While Ruby and Gracie both want to return to their ancient homeland, Crystal Bay, Ruby wants to capitalize on its mining and tourism potential, while Gracie wants to take kids and elders there to pick berries and maybe one day hunt and fish (ceremonially) as in the ways of old. Then along comes Keb who goes back in his own way, by canoe, something nobody’s done in recent memory. Many Tlingits today talk about going back to their ancient homeland, but nobody does it in the ancient way, by canoe. In fact, the art of canoe carving is largely gone today. So to think of an old man finishing his last canoe and taking off for the glaciers that shaped the geography that shaped him—I found this a powerful story line to explore.

Q:
What’s up with Steve?

A:
Ah, yes, Steve the Lizard Dog. People love dogs. I think a good story can be improved by a quirky, endearing dog. Look at Snoopy in the cartoon strip
Peanuts
. He’s comical but also wise. Look at John Muir and Stickeen and their amazing adventure together on the Brady Glacier in 1880. I brought along Steve
to help develop all the other characters in the town of Jinkaat, and in the canoe: Old Keb, James, Kid Hugh, and Little Mac. Each has his/her own relationship with Steve, and that’s fun. Also, early on we discover that Steve irritates some people, but not Keb. Keb likes him, and sees his goodness. This helps to develop Keb and Steve as characters that benefit from each other’s company.