What would Louise Erdrich write?

One of my favorite authors is Louise Erdrich. I first read one of her novels as part of a Native American Literature class in college. I liked the book for several reasons: it was told from the perspective of a number of different characters, it had overlapping stories (so that you read about various events from the different, and sometimes contradictory, perspectives of several people), and it jumped backwards and forwards in time, somewhat randomly.

Then I read another one of her novels and loved learning captivating (occasionally shocking!) backstory on certain memorable, if not lovable, characters. As she tends to center her narratives on the Native Americans and German immigrants living in a small, fictional town in North Dakota, the same characters and extended families tend to pop up again and again throughout different books. Two years ago, I reread all of her fiction in an effort to get a handle on certain narratives as they changed through books and characters’ perspectives. It made me realize again just how masterful of a storyteller she is.

One of the main things I appreciate about her writing is her ability to take a seemingly unremarkable occasion, or life, and make it fascinating. She easily spins a narrative that helps me empathize with occasionally unsympathetic characters or people I wouldn’t notice otherwise. 

I have thought about Louise Erdrich a number of times during our year here, mostly on two themes. The first is regarding the artisan stories we write. 

Everyone has a story, whether or not it’s shared, and Louise Erdrich can make any story fascinating. While the stories Sam and I write share a bit about an artisan’s life, they certainly aren’t something you would want to curl up on the couch with and read all afternoon. As I sift through random pieces of information about artisans, I frequently wonder what kind of captivating story Louise Erdrich would build from them. Here are some examples. (Some names have been changed.) 

In addition to being a silversmith, Juan is a lawyer specializing in family law.

Pablo is pretty successful based on the number of orders he receives, and yet still lives in a shack without running water or electricity. His wife tells Manos Amigas to only give her the payments and advances, since her husband has a gambling problem. While that strategy worked for some time, her husband now shows up frequently, alone, asking for payments due.

Noemi grew up in her father’s ceramics workshop and now has her own workshop. She sells jellos in the mercado when retablo orders are slow, and also studies cosmetology.

Antonio drives a mototaxi to supplement his work in ceramics.


Jacinto lived in Villa El Salvador, far on the south side of Lima. In 2000, he and 10,000 others were moved by the government to Ventanilla, far on the north side of Lima. When the government trucks dropped them off, he was stunned to see their new home: nothing but sand. No buildings, no structures, no nothing. He, his wife, and their five children slept in the sand, with only plastic and cardboard for protection.

Rosa makes stuffed vicuñas and llamas. She has had absolutely nothing several times, the first time being when her husband sold their house without telling her and kept all of the proceeds. She left him to go to Lima, where she would have more opportunities to support her and her nine children. They left with only the clothes on their backs. The second time was when an earthquake caused a neighbor’s home to fall onto her home, which collapsed. While she and her kids went for medical treatment, everything they owned was stolen. Now, 30 years later, she is a successful and elegant businesswoman. To make ends meet, she has a small storefront where she sells water, sodas, snacks, copies, phone calls, and her family's artesanía, and she also sells typical Peruvian food at a nearby kiosk.

When Melquiades was interviewed several years ago and was asked about his birth year, he responded, “1953 in reality, but 1959 is what is listed on my birth certificate.”

Hugo has been in jail for the last 10 years and his sentence is for five more, but that hasn’t slowed his pottery business. His wife brings him the clay and other raw materials. He’s built a workshop inside the jail, complete with employees: he has trained other inmates to help him. He even has a kiln. 


The second reason Louise Erdrich has been on my mind is because of how she portrays the sometimes contradictory perspectives of events in her characters’ lives. It makes me wonder about the nature of truth when I try to figure out what is “true” in any given situation.


Such as: occasionally we have heard people share parts of their lives that, based on someone else’s account, cannot be true. But yet, it must be true, since it’s their own story. 


For example, Alejandro and Emilio are brothers. Emilio is the eldest of four, Alejandro the youngest. We interviewed them, each in his own workshop, and each told us how their father had died when they were very young, that their mother had remarried three months later and left them and their siblings to fend for themselves, and Emilio then had to leave school and work to support himself and his three siblings.


But their stories differ on their ages when their father died. Emilio says he was 13 or 14, and that Alejandro was 6. Alejandro told us that he was 3 when his father died and Emilio was 12 when he had to start supporting the family.


Both are true, since each of them is allowed to have their own story, right? But they can’t both be factually correct. Does it matter? I don’t think it does, although I was initially worried when I thought of Manos Amigas clients who might read both Emilio and Alejandro’s stories and wonder at our fact-checking ability. 


When I read Louise Erdrich and she includes contradictory accounts like this, I love it since it adds complexity to the story. When I encounter it in real life I am not always as appreciative: I want to know the right answer! Yet the right answer is that there is no truth, perhaps. Or, as one of our fair trade friends said, “there are multiple truths.” I feel like one of the characters in The Matrix: “There is no spoon!”


Louise Erdrich: what a lovely, complicated, and intriguing guide through literature and life.