A pertinent tale of a Native American community’s attempts to come to terms with the accidental shooting of a five-year-old boy
Louise Erdrich occupies a strange space in American letters. She has been rewarded with many accolades, from the O Henry and PEN prizes to the National Book Critics Circle award and National Book award. Her books, which remain consistently excellent in the third decade of her career, are reviewed lovingly, and her audience is enormous and loyal.
And yet there is not the breathless anticipation for the next Erdrich that, say, takes over when a new Don DeLillo or Donna Tartt is on its way. When the books world is making up a list of the great American novelists, Erdrich is generally forgotten, passed over in favour of Cormac McCarthy or even Marilynne Robinson. She is acknowledged as a beautiful writer, but it’s as if we forget she is there when she’s between books.
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