Take a photo of a barcode or cover
A review by rowanwatts_
Nishga by Jordan Abel
2.0
I wanted to enjoy reading Nishga so, so badly. This book was on the syllabus of a course that I was in and it was the only text by an Indigenous author that the class was to read in full, so I set the first crease in the spine practically vibrating with anticipation to experience an Indigenous narrative unabridged. Unfortunately, I think Nishga gets in its own way, in that the obstacles obstructing its path to greatness are of its own construction.
I should clarify something: I understand that Nishga is not necessarily supposed to be an “enjoyable” read for everybody. Much of its blackout poetry is--Abel wrote this somewhere I can’t find now--intended to communicate to Settlers his experience of dislocation and alienation in trying to put together centuries of his culture that has been shredded, redacted, and erased. I appreciate that pursuit for reasons that I hope are self-evident and I think he succeeded in it. Furthermore, I also think that Abel demonstrates his generic flexibility really elegantly, switching between tools such as footnotes, memoir, lecture transcripts, and a thesis defence like a professional swiss army knife user, if there was such an occupation. Nishga is many things, many genres, but overall, it is a profoundly personal exploration of Indigeneity.
But these latter genres--lecture transcripts, thesis defence--contain content the ideas behind which I simply don’t think I can support. Don’t get me wrong: Abel is a raconteur of the highest order. The lecture transcripts and the sections that most closely resemble traditional prose were my favourite parts of this book because of their complex conflicts and subtle construction of tension. There is one scene in which Abel recounts a conversation with a Nishga elder that exemplifies both the author’s expertise in storytelling and his exploration of ideas that I found dissonant. To avoid details, all I’ll say is that the scene sunk its fangs into me and held me at its mercy the whole way through, only to conclude with a reflection from Abel that were… Not empathetic. And this absence of empathy for his interlocutors permeated the text from then on, making the genuine brilliance of some of the language difficult to appreciate.
I should clarify something: I understand that Nishga is not necessarily supposed to be an “enjoyable” read for everybody. Much of its blackout poetry is--Abel wrote this somewhere I can’t find now--intended to communicate to Settlers his experience of dislocation and alienation in trying to put together centuries of his culture that has been shredded, redacted, and erased. I appreciate that pursuit for reasons that I hope are self-evident and I think he succeeded in it. Furthermore, I also think that Abel demonstrates his generic flexibility really elegantly, switching between tools such as footnotes, memoir, lecture transcripts, and a thesis defence like a professional swiss army knife user, if there was such an occupation. Nishga is many things, many genres, but overall, it is a profoundly personal exploration of Indigeneity.
But these latter genres--lecture transcripts, thesis defence--contain content the ideas behind which I simply don’t think I can support. Don’t get me wrong: Abel is a raconteur of the highest order. The lecture transcripts and the sections that most closely resemble traditional prose were my favourite parts of this book because of their complex conflicts and subtle construction of tension. There is one scene in which Abel recounts a conversation with a Nishga elder that exemplifies both the author’s expertise in storytelling and his exploration of ideas that I found dissonant. To avoid details, all I’ll say is that the scene sunk its fangs into me and held me at its mercy the whole way through, only to conclude with a reflection from Abel that were… Not empathetic. And this absence of empathy for his interlocutors permeated the text from then on, making the genuine brilliance of some of the language difficult to appreciate.