Whether she’s writing a poem, essay, column, story or something in between, humorist Tiffany Midge is known for her sharp pen and perspicacious vignettes. A historian by day, Devon Mihesuah has written countless nonfiction books and papers about the desecration of Native graves, racism, genocide, boarding schools, activism, Native women and much more, and through this lens writes fiction firmly planted in Choctaw history and beliefs.
On Tuesday, at Auntie’s Bookstore, they will discuss Indigenous horror and read from their most recent books, the poetry collection “Horns” for Midge, and story collection “The Bone Picker” and horror novel “The Hatak Witches” for Mihesuah. This is one of a handful of events they are doing together.
Midge’s and Mihesuah’s writing, besides being different genres, are tonally and stylistically different, but “I think that maybe this is a good thing,” Mihesuah said.
“That makes it more interesting to play off of each other,” Mihesuah said. “I think if we were doing the exact same thing it may not be as much fun.”
“Horns” contains poems told from the perspective of cast a of characters readers might consider monsters from the outside – from the bride of Frankenstein to Lizzie Borden – forcing the reader to consider the interiority of complicated women. Midge said her poems meditate on the “monstrous feminine.”
“I’m just really interested in all things that have a relationship to women and femininity and women’s empowerment, and so taking these kinds of characters and looking at them through that lens,” Midge said.
“The Hatak Witches” revolves around Detective Monique Blue Hawk, a Choctaw woman solving a murder that occurred in the room where a museum hoarded grave-robbed Native skeletons and artifacts.
“The Bone Picker” takes the reader through Choctaw stories and the pantheon of traditional beings, such as the shape-shifting opa (the great horned owl), in “The Cornfield.”
Mihesuah wrote, “Elus Crow made a horizontal slice under the squirrel’s tail then made two cuts over the rodent’s hips. He laid the small animal on the ground, belly up, his right foot on its tail. He took hold of the back legs then yanked upwards. Most of the hide ripped free of the carcass in one motion. Then he tugged on the skin of both legs and threw the smaller pieces of pelt into the trees. The furry bits hung on the branches like Christmas ornaments.”
“The Bone Picker” also tackled the history of people like Ned Christie, who she also wrote an entire book about: “Ned Christie: The Creation of an Outlaw and Cherokee Hero.”
“Ned Christie deserves all the attention he can get just because of how his image has been screwed up by Wild West fighters,” Mihesuah said.
In reality, Midge and Mihesuah’s work has plenty in common – it comes from a place of unfailing authenticity, and they both have their sights trained on interrogating harmful power structures.
Midge’s titular poem, “Horns,” takes the perspective of Ruth, whose mother is a human and father is a devil. For Midge, this poem is especially personal; her mother is Native, and her father is white, and Ruth’s hybridity was an entry point for talking about the mixed race experience. Midge is a citizen of the Standing Rock Sioux Nation.
“I was just drawing on my own family or just sort of an imaginative, fantastical version of my own family,” Midge said.
In the poem, Ruth’s father withholds his acceptance because of her gender.
Midge writes, “Another time Mother said, “Don’t you admire the black widow?/ Isn’t it lovely how she devours/ her mate after union? Wasn’t she your invention, Dear?” / To this, Father grinned,/ acutely proud of himself. Father’s resistance wasn’t a reflection/ of whether I was worthy of love.”
Both will be discussing Indigenous horror at the Auntie’s event, which Midge said is important to understand as wholly separate from the Western ideas of horror.
“Western culture is so firmly rooted in Christian ideology and Christian texts and things like that,” Midge said. “We can’t really relate our own stories, and we can’t relate to that, at least traditionally. Our stories are not going to be steeped in that.”
Mihesuah speaks of horror in terms of lessons.
“These stories are meant to teach lessons: how to behave, you better behave, you’re supposed to think good thoughts. If you don’t think good thoughts, something’s going to know it,” Mihesuah said.