61 pages • 2 hours read
Louise ErdrichA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
Mary Adare survives a particularly traumatic childhood: Her father dies, and her mother, Adelaide, abandons her and her two brothers during the Great Depression. Even before she abandons her children, Adelaide is a self-centered and tempestuous woman, and she and Mary do not get along. In contrast, Mary herself is immensely practical and resourceful, even cunning, especially as an 11-year-old at the beginning of the book. She believes she is at her best when she functions as a protector. Looking back to her childhood, she admits, “It was not that with Karl gone I had no one to protect me, but just the opposite. With no one to protect and look out for, I was weak” (5). This observation reverberates through the years, particularly in her relationship with her niece, Dot. Mary leaps to Dot’s aide any time she believes Dot needs protection, as in the regrettable incident with Dot’s teacher and the “naughty box.”
Mary’s world is upended when she accidentally creates the “miracle” at her Catholic school. Sliding down the railing and smashing her face into the ice at the bottom, Mary leaves an imprint that, to the nuns, resembles the face of Christ, though Mary instead sees Karl’s face. This begins a lifelong preoccupation with the mystical: She does not so much reject traditional religion as she finds spirituality and the supernatural in many different activities and beliefs—tarot cards, palm readings, and psychic manifestations. While Mary protects others, these obsessions protect her from her own past traumas, masking unbearable realities behind omens and signs.
For all of this, however, Mary understands herself very well. She describes herself in terms that any of the other characters that populate the novel would echo: “I said things too suddenly. I was pigheaded, bitter, moody, and had fits of unreasonable anger. Things I said came out wrong even if I thought first” (66). Mary can be a difficult character to like, but she is redeemed by her cantankerous love for Celestine, her fierce attachment to Dot, and her occasional sensitivity to the needs of others. Even Karl—who she tries desperately to forget because he is the one link to her greatest trauma—eventually garners her conditional empathy: “I’d taken to defending my brother […] Maybe I was grateful that, however accidentally, he’d given me my one tie of kinship, to Dot” (194). Mary’s failings—her stubbornness, unconventional manners, coarseness, and fierceness—humanize her. Her ability to love, in spite of the trauma and loss, ultimately defines her.
In contrast to his sister Mary, Karl is overly sensitive, on the one hand, and keenly aware of his seductive powers—to sell and solicit sex—on the other. As a child, Karl comes across as needy; he is as attached to Adelaide as Mary is indifferent to her. As he grows older, however, Karl revels in his transgressive nature: While in the seminary, he seeks out unhoused men for sex; later, he leaves the priesthood altogether, returning only to taunt his former priest-teachers with his self-described evil ways. He also preys upon others, selling defective products and conducting meaningless affairs; he is minor con man—he never pulls off a grand scheme or plans a straightforward heist—but he is nonetheless a con man.
Clearly, much of Karl’s behavior through the years is the result of the trauma he experienced as a child, not to mention the fact that his sexuality renders him an outsider in most situations. He himself is aware of his emotional makeup: “I’d been cast off so many times that by then it didn’t matter” (55). This leads him to embrace a kind of feigned helplessness, allowing others to take responsibility for him: “So this time I simply sat still until the next person took charge of me” (55). This habit dogs him throughout most of his life. When Celestine takes him in, he occupies her space without contributing: “Every day when I leave for work the last thing I see is him killing time, talking to himself like the leaves in the trees. Every night when I come home there he is, taking space up like one more piece of furniture” (135). He needs to be cared for.
Still, Karl eventually tries his hand at redemption. After being an absent father for 14 years, he makes the effort to see his daughter, Dot. He tries to make a connection with her, but it will take an enormous effort to convert this daughter with her unyielding personality. He realizes that his itinerant lifestyle has molded him into a particular type: “He had aged, become shrewd and hard and gray […] He was so used to driving, so used to distance and movement, that he sometimes found it hard to focus properly on anything within the reach of his arms” (256). Ultimately, though, all that movement tires him out; he yearns to come home and to have a family. He returns to Argus, “disreputable, unshaven, unwashed, covered with road dust, and […] hungry” (321)—yet he does return. In his last act in the book, he pulls the weakened Wallace from the dunk tank and “drag[s] him close” (323). It appears as if Karl’s actions may salvage not just one but two very lonely lives.
Early in the book, Celestine James switches her allegiance from Sita to the newcomer, Mary, and remains Mary’s friend for the remainder of their lives. Celestine bonds with Mary over their shared status as orphans. Celestine was raised by her half-sibling, Isabel (until her untimely death), along with her half-brothers, Russell and Eli Kashpaw. Celestine’s mother is described as one of the rare Indigenous Americans who leaves the reservation, bringing along her three children. Celestine is the product of her union with a white man. While the pull of the reservation and its culture surfaces at various points in the book, Celestine herself does not reflect much on this part of her heritage, and it rarely comes up in other characters’ assessments of her. Russell and Eli Kashpaw are much more tied to the reservation, where they spent their early lives. It is said that Eli has only set foot off reservation land twice in his life.
Celestine comes across as a keen observer of human nature. The book’s fullest picture of Mary’s character emerges from Celestine’s observations. Physically, Celestine is described as tall, big-boned, and imposing—Sita calls her “statuesque” (31). In her mind, Celestine’s large frame is what prevents her from finding love or settling into a conventional marriage. Celestine’s physical size reflects her imposing personality, and together these qualities set her in opposition to traditional assumptions about gender. Karl, who is generally attracted to men, explains his attraction to Celestine as arising from her androgynous appearance. Celestine herself wonders whether men reject her because she is “too much like them, too strong or imposing when [she] square[s] [her] shoulders, too eager to take control” (125). Celestine is also uncompromising and, in her own way, as unconventional as Mary; she refuses to allow Karl to remain in her life after Dot is born. She has no doubt that she is competent enough to raise the child on her own. It is Dot, unsurprisingly, who brings out Celestine’s humanity; the baby “changed the cast of Celestine’s daily world” (175). Finally, she delights in the pure ardor she feels for her baby: “[I]t was passion that Celestine felt, even stronger than with Karl” (175). She struggles with Mary to maintain her primary role as mother, and in the end, Celestine is the one who brings Dot home. She has found her true love.
Sita is a foil to Mary, a rival for the affections of Sita’s parents and best friend. Often, Mary seems to win out in both arenas. With her blonde hair, slim figure, and model-ready good looks, Sita is very different from Mary. Temperamentally speaking, Sita needs people to take care of her, whereas Mary needs to care for others, and while she tries to establish some independence at one point in her life—moving to Fargo to work as a model—that chapter ends with her returning home to marry in search of security. Sita can be dramatic and attention-seeking, as when she “calls out, in a feeble but piercing tone, for help” after Mary faceplants in the ice at school (41). She begrudges Mary the attention and feigns dizziness at the sight of blood. Celestine frequently points out that Sita is much stronger than she looks. But her father has spoiled her and trained her so that she can get her way by pleading and looking pretty, and these habits follow her for the rest of her difficult life.
The first signs of serious trouble in Sita’s life occur at her first wedding to Jimmy (whose surname is never given). She has not been able to find financial security and professional success as a model in Fargo, so she compromises and marries Jimmy, who is boorish and insensitive. Dancing with him on their wedding night, “Sita [wears] a glazed look of surrender as she [is] flung back and forth across the floor” (97). Worse, Jimmy’s even cruder brothers—drunk and disorderly—decide to kidnap her and dump her outside a bar on the reservation. Sita is clearly traumatized by this brutality, though it is never brought up again; however, the incident “[throws] Sita into a state of such repulsion that she [loses] her voice” (98). This foreshadows later events wherein Sita refuses to speak and her second husband, Louis, puts her in a psychiatric institution. At the hospital, it becomes clear that Sita has suffered through many prior psychiatric episodes wherein she disassociates from reality.
Near the end of Sita’s life, Mary and Celestine try to help her, but their efforts come too late. When Sita swallows the rest of the unspecified pills to which she is now addicted, she thinks, “I have walked over empty spaces to get here. I have arrived” (286). She no longer has anyone close to care for her, and her own mind has become unreliable—the pills further clouding her ability to reason. Apart from the other characters, who do undergo transformations, Sita admits, “It’s too late to change the way I am” (289). Thus, she relinquishes her future.
Wallace enters the scene later in the novel, though he is no less central to the book than the other main characters. He is almost single-handedly responsible for the cultivation of the sugar beet fields for which Argus has become famous and relatively prosperous (see Symbols & Motifs). He also becomes the only father figure in Dot’s life, crowded with overprotective women. A gay man who hides his sexuality from his neighbors and even from himself, he allows the townspeople to believe that he was once in love with a sweetheart who died, leaving him too heartbroken ever to love again. When Karl arrives on the scene, Wallace says, “I never knew it, had probably hidden it deep away, but I found the attraction [to Karl] as easy as breathing in and out” (161). The liaison with Karl creates a longing in Wallace that he has never before experienced; he realizes, perhaps for the first time, that he is lonely.
Wallace is skillful at keeping secrets, not only from others but also from himself: “I am good at hiding facts for my own self-protection, at forgetting” (163). This is why he is able to move on from Karl and keep him out of the forefront of his mind. It is also what motivates him to be so engaged in developing the sugar beet fields and in civic-minded activities, in general. He keeps busy to keep from thinking. In addition, this tendency to hide from himself is what draws him to Dot. Where he is fearful, she is fearless; where he is timid, she is ferocious; and where he is disingenuous, she is brutally honest. Instead of making them antagonists (though they have their share of dustups), these qualities have the effect of bringing them together. Wallace, especially, admires Dot’s strength.
While Wallace claims Dot almost as much as Mary—she is named for him, after all—his tendency is to protect her by making her the center of attention. He plans birthday parties and is pleased when Dot comes to him with her troubles. The Beet Festival, culminating in the crowning of the Beet Queen, is merely his most elaborate attempt to win her favor. This is perhaps the reason word gets out about the rigged vote: Wallace wants Dot’s love and admiration in return, and if she is unaware of his role in her crowning achievement, then he is denied his due. Still, for all of Wallace’s misguided intentions, his kindness and loneliness make him a sympathetic character. When Dot sees Karl’s car parked outside of Wallace’s house on the last pages of the book, one senses a more hopeful future for both men.
By Louise Erdrich
American Literature
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Indigenous People's Literature
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National Book Critics Circle Award...
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National Suicide Prevention Month
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