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OBITUARY
Chief of Chiefs
Dies at 91
Downtown Eastside
Crusader Dies
Profile of
Eden Robinson: The Hermit and the Ham
By Stafford O'Neal
It is one thing to read a book for enjoyment or even to review it for
work; it is quite another thing, however, to read a book so that you can
teach it. I had the pleasure a few years ago of leading a seminar on First
Nations Literature with seven intense Haida women in Old Masset, Haida
Gwai, (Queen Charlotte Islands).
We read Eden Robinson's second book Monkey Beach for the course and found
so many layers of meaning that our animated discussions often went into
overtime. There was just so much to talk about in terms of the manner
in which Robinson brought together the seemingly antagonistic worlds of
Haisla tradition and popular culture. She claims not to know where the
name Eden she chose for herself came from, but it turns out to be a pretty
good fit in terms of the garden-like fertility of her mind.
Eden Robinson, the now famous Native author born Vicki Lena in 1968 on
the Haisla Nation Kitamaat Reserve in northern British Columbia is already
about as famous as a writer can get without turning in to a parody of
herself, and now that she has experienced this celebrity status she says
she "can't wait for more Haisla people to get famous" (BC Book
World). I want to tell her to be careful what she wishes for, because
fame is a slippery reptilian thing that doesn't always come and go without
creating its own kind of problems and wreaking its own brand of havoc.
But I couldn't reach her by phone before the Drum went to press, and who
am I, anyway? I am not famous. I have no celebrity status.
Robinson in contrast is so successful that everyone she has crossed paths
with at some point in the past wants to bask in the sunshine of her literary
fame. The University of Victoria, for example, where she received her
Bachelor of Fine Arts degree in 1992, tried to take credit for her success
when bestowing upon her a Distinguished Alumna Award for 2001.
According to the online announcement of the award, this critically acclaimed
Native author "credits her writing abilities (sic) to the guidance
and support of the instructors at UVic, although her Master of Arts degree
from UBC also undoubtedly contributed to her writing successes."
Undoubtedly! Although the esteemed creative writing program at UBC might
very well place the rhetorical emphasis here in reverse order.
But ask Eden Robinson for the goods on who is really responsible for her
writing achievements and the short answer is compact and direct: "definitely
family." As she told Suzanne Methot in a January 2000 Quill &
Quire profile, "I am surrounded by a family that supports artistic
drive. I never felt like I was letting anybody down by being a crazy artist.
I've only found out lately how rare that is."
Rare, to be sure, and it makes much more sense for Robinson to give credit
where credit is really due, that is to say, the family that nurtured her.
The reading public that is the ultimate beneficiary of Robinson's literary
talents can thank her Haisla father and Heiltsuk mother for being such
awesome parents. And Robinson can safely count herself fortunate that
the same universities competing for designation as primary caregiver during
crucial years of her apprenticeship as a writer did not altogether destroy
her burning desire to write.
In any case, the young 'bookworm' who skipped boring classes in order
to go to the library has come a very long way from the University of Victoria
where she 'flunked fiction', was told she had 'no talent', and threw portions
of cafeteria jello against the walls of the student dormitory she shared
with 'perky cheerleaders' and other people who seemed strange because
they 'had never struggled'.
And if she has certainly come even further in space and time from the
Kitamaat Village in Haisla territory where she grew up with her older
brother and younger sister (CBC-TV anchor Carla), she has now finally
gone full circle.
In 2003 she moved back to her parents' quiet home on the coast of central
British Columbia overlooking the upper reaches of the Douglas Channel.
After years of living in the city, touring to promote her books, and working
as writer in residence at various institutions around the country, the
return to her origins was apparently a shock to her system. As Robinson
said to photojournalist Vickie Jensen, "I didn't realize how much
of an urban Indian I was." Thankfully, as the old saying goes, you
can take the woman out of the rez, but you cannot entirely take the rez
out of the woman.
As one of the first female Aboriginal authors in Canada to attract international
attention she has made the best of her international fame. She has never
forgotten where she came from. In Time magazine she used her high profile
and celebrity status to chastise the Canadian government for ignoring
Native issues, such as health care and housing. Her argument was of course
a solid one. The many agreements entered into by First Nations with governments
were in fact originally meant precisely to secure just such services in
exchange for land.
In her fiction Robinson has made pointed reference to historical wrongs
such as small pox epidemics, the tragedy of residential schools, and the
industrial pollution caused by the Alcan aluminum plant at Kitimat town,
the mostly white settlement near where she was raised.
In a world apparently hungry for authentic (or exotic) voices Eden Robinson
seems to have been in the right place at the right time. It is not just
that she is lucky enough to have parents with imaginations who have supported
her since the very beginnings of her aspirations to write. She has also
worked very hard at writing, consuming "many litres of Pepsi Max,
a couple of cases of Twizzlers, and gallons of coffee" in the process.
She has gone long periods of time without seeing her family and "lost
a lot of friends" during the times of creative isolation necessary
to produce the product.
Robinson knows however that it is not enough merely to write the book,
the book must be sold too. The business or job of writing demands a sort
of dual personality. She seems to understand these modern realities of
writing better than many writers twice her age.
"There's the personality you need to write and the personality you
need to promote," she recently told Jenson. "Without the hermit
side, I wouldn't get any book finished, but without the ham side the book
wouldn't get published." This is as clear a statement as any of the
schizophrenic condition of art in the twenty-first century. If you can't
beat 'em join 'em. But the creative individual walks a very fine line
if the essence is not to be overshadowed altogether by the marketing of
the product, and Robinson knows this too. "I'm a very selfish writer,"
she told Suzanne Methot after the publication of her second book.
"The best stuff I write comes when I'm not thinking about who's going
to read this, what market it's going to." This woman is wise beyond
her years.