Horror in Elk's Clothing

In her relentless account on the colonization of the American continent entitled La Férocité Blanche, the wonderful author and activist Rosa Amalia Plumelle-Uribe states something along the lines of "For the ones who know what it is, colonialism is not a word that needs to be explained. It consists of horrific and dreadful deeds" - in other words; horror is an inherent part of colonialism; horror is in colonialism. In the recently published The Only Good Indians the also wonderful Blackfeet author Stephen Graham Jones ingeniously reverses this statement by putting colonialism inside horror and brings horror back to where it has always belonged.

During the whole time I was reading The Only Good Indians, not once did I guess where the plot would lead, nor did I foresee the emotional magnitude of that glorious conclusion. The story of Rick, Lewis, Gabe and Cassidy, four indigenous men who are being haunted by the elk they have hunted a decade ago, at first sounded like a sort of creature-feature, a hunt-revenge, or ghost story at best. But, believe me, this book is so much more than that; it is a horror book that does what horror does best and what it ought to be doing from the beginning - represent, act as a mirror for real life dreads such as genocide, racism, poverty or social exclusion. This is the meaningful kind, the best kind of horror.

I have said this before and will repeat it here: besides being the new shooting star of the horror universe, Stephen Graham Jones is a surpassingly good writer who understands the importance of authorial tone, who knows very well how to build up tension as well as to control pacing and who does not shy from the nasty and the rough. It is interesting that here and there in The Only Good Indians he allows himself a few experimental ventures. Take, for instance, the nonlinear setup - the frequent flashbacks, the news reports - that forms, on the bigger plan, a much more adventurous division of the plot into three parts, defined by setting. That setting, that place where everything comes down to, is the reservation. And that setting is not only a place, but also a community. The first part of Lewis' life gradually turning into an elkish nightmare seems almost written as an independent novella and is certainly readable as such. It is a story within story which is not only an introduction into the elk horror universe, it is also a period of uncertainty for the reader: "Has Lewis gone insane and paranoid? Is Shaney truly some kind of reincarnation or did he just actually kill two innocent women?". Leaving this setting behind marks the second division, the transition between uncertainty and certainty, the journey from the "outside world" to the reservation, the latter being the third division. This difference between "outside" and "inside" is important here - Lewis "made it" to the outside of the reservation while Gabe and Cassidy are still living there. Considering that this place also represents a community and that the first two murders (of Rick and Lewis) are being committed outside, it is almost as if the author gives a friendly nod to one of the most important rules in horror fiction: Never leave the group. The ones who leave being the first ones to die. It didn't really help Gabe and Cassidy to stick with the community, though.
Another atypical feature is that the reader is introduced to final girl Denorah about halfway into the book, which deprives her of important warmup time traditional final girls are being granted. But still, we root for her.
But all these are minor details that make up only one part of the wider joy I had reading The Only Good Indians.

In the end it is an absolute blast of a book in which the author shows all his skill and mastery. I can see the headline back on the reservation: BLACKFEET AUTHOR COLLECTS ALL LITERARY AWARDS! Full story on 12b.