Not long ago I read Red Paint: The Ancestral Autobiography of a Coast Salish Punk By Sasha LaPointe. This essay collection is a continuation of the thoughts and emotions expressed in that volume, albeit arranged thematically instead of chronologically. It is just as powerful, or possibly even more so, as LaPointe’s talents as an artist continue to evolve and improve.
I learned of Thunder Songs as I was conducting a search for author events in the area that I might be able to attend. I discovered that Sasha LaPointe would soon be appearing with Maori poet Tayi Tibble at a local bookstore to promote their newly published books. It turned out that at the event Thunder Song wasn’t discussed much; the women mainly read some poems and spoke of how they met and discovered that the Coast Salish and Maori cultures had a lot in common, which was in itself fascinating.
In Thunder Song, LaPointe’s voice as a writer has become even stronger and more assured. She writes about her lighter skin tone and how it delayed her from understanding the way that white people recoil from indigenous people, about the dangers of going missing that native women face, and about a miscarriage that almost killed her due to a doctor that couldn’t be bothered to take the time for a proper medical diagnosis. However, as in Red Paint, she not only writes of the traumas but also the factors that contributed to her healing. When she was young, becoming involved in the punk music scene helped to liberate her spirit. Writing, of course, was a powerful purifying process. She also obtained assistance along the way through sincere relationships with loved ones. She returns again and again to the storytelling ability of her great grandmother. For instance, when her great grandmother learned that she had a passion for the Little Mermaid, she told Sasha the story of the Maiden of Deception Pass, who became involved with a sea spirit and left the land for the ocean, which brought about prosperity for her people.
In my favorite essay in the book, LaPointe writes of the struggles she faced as a vegan in the midst of her indigenous fish and meat-eating culture. She persevered for a long time, but the craving for salmon in particular, which as a ceremonial food is deeply enmeshed in her people’s past, became too much for her. When she compromised and ate some salmon after a long period of abstinence, she felt no guilt but instead a sense of release and freedom. She writes: “I guess I’m the kind of Indian who will never be vegan, who will never again teach herself to be hungry or quiet.” And: “I am the kind of Indian who will never hide who she is again and who will always eat the salmon.”
Another touching essay concerns the healing process she went through with her mother as they walked together along pathways in the evergreen forest. Her mother points out the licorice fern plant, which aids in respiratory conditions and once, it is said, helped a mute woman speak. LaPointe says that the licorice fern will aid them both and give “strength to finally use our voices.”
I was brought up in the Pacific Northwest, as LaPointe was. For many years our family had a beach cabin on the shore of Hood Canal in Puget Sound, and as LaPointe tells of her childhood amidst the evergreens and along the beaches, I recall my own youth in those magical places. My family’s attachment was surface-level at best, though, while hers goes many generations deep. It is good to see these things in their proper perspectives, and LaPointe effectively communicates the power and strength and resilience and value of the indigenous cultures that were here long before white colonists arrived.