My dear reader,
I hope you’ve found and shared stories that moved you since the last newsletter. Perhaps you even had time to follow Julius’ footsteps through Rome, Gaul, Spain, and Egypt. If so, let me know what you thought of his conquests and political triumphs.
On the Edges of the Empire
Ever since sending out that last letter, one thought kept creeping back into my mind: Yes, the conquests of Caesar—and of the Roman Empire more broadly—were undeniably impressive. Their legacy still marks the map of Europe. And yes, their method of integrating conquered peoples was clever, even seductive. They brought roads, aqueducts, architecture—advancement, some would say.
But it was also ruthless. Highly exploitative. Roman rule was imposed on autonomous, self-governed peoples who had no say in the matter. And of course, Rome was neither the first nor the last empire to expand in this way.
History repeats this pattern. Empire brings wealth to the conquerors, but at great cost to those already living on the land. We see this again with the Spanish, French, English, Dutch—and, in South America, the Portuguese—in the so-called “New World.” Profit, at a price often paid in lives and memory.
So this month, I wanted to turn the lens. Away from the empire builders—and toward those whose worlds were changed by conquest.
Holding On to a Fading World
This month, we meet White Man’s Dog, a young man of the Pikuni, one of the three tribes of the Blackfeet Nation, living in the region now known as Montana. Fools Crow, written by James Welch, brings us into a way of life that was already beginning to fade in the late 19th century.
The story begins shortly after the American Civil War. At first, White Man’s Dog seems unremarkable—young, unsure, untested. But as the novel unfolds, he earns respect as a warrior and emerges as a steady, grounded presence within his community.
Standing Against the Storm
When I picked up Fools Crow, I expected a story shaped by marginalization. Welch, after all, was one of the first widely recognized Native American authors, and he grew up on a reservation in Montana. In my mind, I had already placed this novel into the category of “marginalized voices.”
But Fools Crow doesn’t read like a story reaching in from the margins. The Lone Eaters, a band of the Pikuni, are self-reliant, self-governed, and deeply rooted in their land and customs. The novel portrays a world that is intact—spiritually, socially, and politically. The people within it are not helpless or oblivious. They recognize the changes pressing in around them, and they discuss, debate, and respond with clarity and agency.
Still, the threat is real. Trade with white settlers brings not just goods, but diseases. Dreams grow darker. Violence looms. There is a sense of watching a storm gather in the distance—one that will reshape the land, and the lives of those who call it home. While there’s animosity toward white encroachment, there’s also curiosity, and even the hope of gaining from their wealth or knowledge. Nothing is simple; every reaction is layered with history, desire, and fear.
Let the Story Guide You
Fools Crow isn’t an easy book to slip into—but it’s deeply captivating once you’re there. Welch uses Blackfeet names for people, places, animals, and objects. While I quickly grew used to the characters’ names, I found myself adrift when it came to unfamiliar flora, fauna, and geography. Welch offers little cultural explanation, so as a reader unfamiliar with the traditions, you’re left to lean into the context, to feel your way through the unfamiliar.
That unfamiliarity is part of the power. Fools Crow is rich with symbolism and deeply rooted in the worldview of the Pikuni people. Dreams, visions, and ceremonial practices are not just background elements—they shape the path of the story and the life of the protagonist. The spiritual world isn’t set apart from daily life; it breathes through it, offering guidance, warning, and connection across generations. I’m sure much of its meaning slipped past me—I could only glean what I could from research and quiet attention.
For further exploration
If Fools Crow leaves you wanting to learn more—about the literary movement it emerged from, the historical backdrop, or stories with a similar tone—here are a few places I explored:
Articles & Essays
- On the 21st-Century Renaissance of Native American Fiction – LitHub
- Fools Crow Study Guide – LitCharts
- Marias Massacre – Montana Historical Society
TV Series & Documentaries
- 1883 and 1923 (Yellowstone prequels)
- American Primeval (Netflix)
- America’s Wild West: Discovery of a Land – National Geographic
As always, follow what sparks your curiosity—there’s no need to click through everything. Let the story lead.
Into the Backbone of the World
The novel uses a third-person omniscient narrator, shifting between perspectives. At times, we’re deep inside White Man’s Dog’s thoughts; at others, we glimpse the inner lives of those around him. This broadens the emotional scope and gives the story the feeling of a shared memory, rather than a solitary journey.
I hope you’ll enjoy exploring the “Backbone of the World”—the Rocky Mountains—and following White Man’s Dog on his quiet, powerful journey into adulthood.
If this story sparked thoughts, memories, or questions—I’d love to hear them. Just hit reply and say hi, share your take, or let me know what you’re currently reading.
If you’d like to help keep the lantern lit on this journey through time and story, you’re warmly invited to visit my Contribee page. Think of it as dropping a coin in the storyteller’s hat—no pressure, just a small gesture of appreciation.
And if you know someone who loves to get lost in good stories and explore the world through books, feel free to pass this newsletter along. There’s always room for a fellow traveler.
See you at the next campfire,
Kalypso
