LaRose

They had resisted using the name LaRose until their last child was born. It was a name both innocent and powerful, and had belonged to the family’s healers. They had decided not to use it, but it was as though LaRose had come into the world with that name. There had been a LaRose in each generation of Emmaline’s family for over a hundred years […They] knew the stories, the histories.” 

The author discusses the familial name LaRose, which has been passed down through the women in Emmaline’s family for generations. There is a certain fate associated with the name itself; even though Emmaline and Landreaux try not to use it, their last child seems fated to possess the familial name, foreshadowing his work as a healer within his family. LaRose’s fate becomes inextricably linked to the pain and trauma his family will suffer; however, the author also associates this impending trauma with the historical trauma of his people, suggesting that the Ojibwe life is synonymous with pain itself. Only through the palliative powers of stories and the knowledge of history can the LaRoses heal their families.

“Peter thought his wife would begin to heal once this was resolved. He thought it was time to take LaRose home. But he wanted Nola to say so. Instead, she invented plans […] I’ll make LaRose a cake every day, she thought, if he’ll only stop crying, if he’ll cling to me like Dusty did, if he’ll be my son, the only son I will ever have […] Emmaline was the only person she had told […] It was, thought Nola, the reason LaRose was brought to her […] Because her half sister understood her so well, Nola would turn from her, afraid of her, and harden herself against Emmaline.” 

Peter does not understand his wife’s trauma as a result of losing Dusty or her desire to keep LaRose as a part of their family. As a white man, Peter seems confused by the traditional Ojibwe ways which allow for an exchange of children between families. Peter does not comprehend the interconnectivity of the Ojibwe people; his ignorance of the traditional ways extends to his general lack of understanding toward his wife. Nola does not tell her husband that she cannot have any more children, especially another son to replace Dusty. Therefore, Emmaline’s decision to give LaRose to Nola demonstrates the importance of knowledge in maintaining these familial relationships. However, knowledge also makes characters increasingly vulnerable to external forces, which partly explains Nola’s insistence that LaRose stay with them while simultaneously fearing and even growing to hate Emmaline. Nola already feels vulnerable after the loss of Dusty, and Emmaline’s actions only serve to increase this vulnerability, forcing Nola into a position of helplessness and hopelessness wherein she feels that suicide becomes the only mechanism for her escape. However, Peter does not possess knowledge of this and remains blind to his wife’s depression.

“She knew, of course, why the pains left her at that time, rarely returning. Billy had been cruel, self-loving, and clever. His love had been a burden no different from hate. […] People thought she had been faithful to his memory because she had abjectly adored Billy Peace […] Actually, he had taught her what she needed to know about men. She needed no further instruction.” 

Emmaline’s mother, LaRose Peace, discusses the connection between emotional trauma and physical pain. The author implies that Mrs. Peace suffered emotional abuse from her husband, a cult leader, although the true nature of this cult is never discussed. Through the character of Mrs. Peace, the author suggests that the actions of men—the perpetuators of trauma—are responsible for the pain and suffering of women—the unwilling victims.

“Father Travis was still surprised by what they had done […] he had heard of these types of adoptions in years past, when disease or killings broke some families, left others whole. It was an old form of justice. It was a story and stories got to him […] Mary gave her child to the world, he almost said […] Emmaline […] reminded him of pictures of the Blessed Virgin.” 

Even though the tradition associated with sharing LaRose is a type of Ojibwe justice, the author also blends this with Christian theology to identify the multifaceted, modern Ojibwe identity. Father Travis conflates Emmaline with the Virgin Mary, rendering her as Christ’s mother and, by extension, LaRose as a savior. Father Travis’ conflation possibly identifies his own whiteness, as he is only able to understand Ojibwe culture and traditions through the restrictions of his white gaze. However, Emmaline practices both Christianity and Ojibwe religion. Therefore, this action could demonstrate the spiritual tenet common within both theologies: the selfless sacrifice required to save.

“Peter opened his eyes, his bright, dear, blue eyes that never would belong to another child. The boy had come out true to both of them, the best of each of their features, and they had marveled […] Nola found comfort in the pictures but closed her eyes now so that she would not see the likeness in Peter.” 

The author emphasizes the color of characters’ eyes, which seem to represent physical indications of genealogy. The white characters in the novel all have blue eyes, whereas the characters with Ojibwe blood have a variety of eye colors. Nola prefers Peter’s blue eyes, and every time she looks at LaRose’s brown eyes, she is painfully reminded that he is not her biological son. Nola also feels this pain when she looks at Peter and so must close her own eyes to avoid the reality of her pain. Nola’s act of closing her own eyes likens her decision to blind herself as a kind of death, foreshadowing her thoughts of suicide.

“They did not trust Hollis or Willard, or even their dad, not to shatter the bottle with their feet. It was like that to live with guys. They just stepped on things, even gifts. Ojibwe girls, traditionally and now throwback traditionally, were taught from a young age not to step over things, especially boy things. Grandma’s friend Ignatia Thunder, their traditional go-to elder, had told them all that their power might short out the boys’ power. It was sexist, Josette said, another way to control the female […] the Iron women weren’t a hundred percent with the rule, but they still couldn’t get themselves to forget about it.” 

The Iron girls consider men’s carelessness around female belongings, wherein women must always contain a dual awareness: both of themselves and the possibility of male action. In contrast, the men are not forced to consider their own bodies, which reflects the heavily gendered aspect of violence throughout the narrative. Although violence and the potential for violence exist throughout the reservation, both seem especially tied to the intersection of female and Ojibwe identity; that is, the female Ojibwe body is constantly in a state of greater danger to external violence as both traditional Ojibwe and Anglo-Western society attempt to control the native female body. 

“Landreaux and Emmaline’s house contained the original cabin from 1846, built in desperation as snow fell on their ancestors. […] if the layers of drywall and plaster were torn away from the wall, they would find the interior pole and mud walls. The entire first family […] had passed around tuberculosis, diphtheria, sorrow, endless tea, hilarious and sacred, dirty, magical stories. They had lived and died in what was now the living room, and there had always been a LaRose.” 

Here, the readers see the Iron family as a continuation of their past, living in the same house as the original LaRose and continuing to use the name LaRose for a member of each generation. The idea that LaRose always exists indicates the name supersedes Anglo-Western concepts of time and chronology. The name exists in a nearly divine space, possibly signifying the divinity of adhering to traditions. The characters become a part of history, existing simultaneously in the present, past, and future. These chronological aspects also exist alongside one another in the house, as the past version of the house has been included in the present construction. Therefore, the very nature of the house also subverts common Anglo-Western constructs of time, tying the house to LaRose’s name. 

“Before they took LaRose to the Ravich house last fall, Landreaux and Emmaline had spoken his name. […] That name would protect him from the unknown, from what had been let loose with the accident. Sometimes energy of this nature, chaos, ill luck, goes out into the world and begets and begets and begets. Bad luck rarely stops with one occurrence. All Indians know that.” 

Energy is associated with names, as though naming something or someone limits the chaos associated with the unknown. The author repeatedly demonstrates the importance of knowledge to Ojibwe culture and tradition, wherein ignorance usually begets problems and bad luck for the characters. In order to limit these unfortunate events, the characters speak names, especially the name of LaRose as it is associated with healing. 

“Their tradition worked. Dazzling act. How could she or Peter harm the father of the son they’d been given? She closed her eyes and felt the heavy warmth of LaRose as she rocked him to sleep, legs dangling over her legs, breath steaming a passage to the crater of her heart.” 

Nola realizes the traditional act works because it requires her and Peter to feel love for LaRose. If they love LaRose as though he is their own child, they are less likely to seek revenge against LaRose’s father, Landreaux. The healing power of tradition lies in its ability to counteract the human urge to exact vengeance. LaRose’s body acts as a calming mechanism for Nola, easing the pain and psychological torment of losing Dusty and mitigating her tendency toward vengeance. Part of this calming mechanism lies in touch itself: Nola rocks LaRose as she would have Dusty, essentially rendering LaRose as a surrogate body. This surrogacy breaks open the pathway toward Nola’s heart that was once blocked by Dusty’s death. Even though vengeance appears instinctual, it seems to stem from the blockage of the heart caused by trauma and therefore is not associated with refined or beneficial human emotions. The author constructs vengeance as natural without moralizing either it or nature, but rather presenting the wisdom of tradition as a palliative counteraction.

“Nola, however, was reassured by her daughter’s compulsion to tear aside the plastic wrap that divides the universes. It was only natural, thought Nola, to live in both. When you could see one world from the other world, the world for instance of the living from the world of the dead, there was a certain comfort. It relaxed Nola to imagine herself in a casket.” 

Unlike Peter, who finds discomfort in Maggie’s penchant towards the macabre, Nola finds it instinctual and reassuring. This division between the two parents could result from differences in their identities. Unlike the Ojibwe’s seemingly close relationship with death, Anglo-Westerners seem to ignore death and consider it an unsuitable conversation topic for children. Ojibwe culture seems to believe that death exists as an inescapable part of life and can therefore be studied and known like any other part of life. In Ojibwe tradition, the world of the living coexists with that of the dead; as such, breaking the veil between these worlds allows for a healing kind of knowledge. The author does indicate that this comfort in death can go too far, as is the case with Nola who seems to spend too much time imagining herself in the world of the dead and therefore becomes drawn to death itself, foreshadowing her later battle with suicide. 

“Her head felt funny, like what those boys did sucked her brains out. Their touching hands were gross and left germs of stupidness. She wanted to wash and wash. Little asshole. She nearly slapped LaRose. But she couldn’t hold onto her bitchiness. LaRose was so frustrating, melting her with nothing particular except he never hurt anything.” 

After the Fearsome Four assault her, Maggie discovers the psychological effect of physical trauma. She feels stupid, as though the sexual violence has diminished a part of herself. This association between physicality and psychology reflects the assertions of LaRose Peace (see Quote 4), although her physical manifestations of psychological trauma represent the direct opposite of Maggie’s situation. Regardless of the location of the trauma, then, it would appear as though psychology and physicality are inextricably linked through the common occurrence of trauma, especially prevalent among Ojibwe women throughout the novel. The author also uses Maggie to indicate the possibility of reproducing this trauma, as Maggie’s first instinct is to lash out violently. However, LaRose’s presence prevents her from doing this, just as his presence prevented the Raviches from exacting revenge against Landreaux (see Quote 10). The reader witnesses the similarities between Nola and Maggie, especially regarding their instinctual reaction toward personal trauma. 

“She soon learned how to fall asleep. Or let that part of myself they call hateful fall asleep, she thought. But it never did. Her whole being was Anishinaabe. She was Illusion. She was Mirage. Ombanitemagad. Or what they called her now—Indian. As in, Do not speak Indian, when she had been speaking her own language. It was hard to divide off parts of herself and let them go.” 

When the first LaRose attends the white boarding school, the administrators force her to put aside her Ojibwe heritage. They penalize her for speaking in her native tongue and attempt to remove all of the aspects of her identity. LaRose appears to submit, but allows those aspects of her identity to lie dormant. Whiteness becomes about appearance whereas Ojibwe tradition and identity remain inextricable from one’s self. She cannot let these parts go because they are part of her identity, which the white people do not understand as they lump all Native American tribes under the Indian misnomer. 

“He knew that Romeo was descended of the one Indian in ten who had preternatural immunities, self-healing abilities, and had survived a thousand plagues. I believe in this boy, he declared. Even though he is the scrawniest, stinkingest, maybe the ugliest kid I’ve ever seen, and in the worst shape, he is from a long line of survivors.” 

The doctor who saves Romeo’s leg believes that Romeo possesses healing abilities because the vast majority of his ancestors were killed off when white people invaded the Americas. The author links the history of the characters with the diseases brought by white settlers. Even though many of the Native Americans succumbed to disease, the author implies that the ones who survived are stronger because they possess the biological immunities handed down from generation to generation. The author argues that the white man’s desire to annihilate the native populations will never come to pass. Even Romeo, the most broken of all the Ojibwe characters, still possesses an inherent strength as a result of his Ojibwe blood, which has survived plagues and various trauma. The historical trauma has strengthened him, ensuring that his blood will live on. 

“It was ancient and had risen from the boiling earth. It had slept, falling dormant in the dust, rising in mist. Tuberculosis had flown in a dizzy rush to unite with warm life. It was in each new world, and every old world. First it loved animals, then it loved people too. Sometimes it landed in a jailhouse of human tissue, walled off from the nourishing fronds of the body. Sometimes it bolted, ran free, tunneled through bones, or elaborated lungs into fancy lace. Sometimes it could go anywhere. Sometimes it came to nothing.” 

The author personifies tuberculosis as a life force even as it sucks the life out of the population. The author describes tuberculosis as an ancient parasite whose infection is confused for love and freedom. The author uses the metaphor of the disease to identify the negative aspects of Anglo-Western ideals, such as love and freedom. Like these ideals, the disease is at once something tangible and ephemeral, something omnipresent that can vanish without a trace. It becomes a divine force that ruins the body in beautiful ways that are reminiscent of the way in which the boarding schools force the LaRoses to dress like white women in fancy lace. The author perhaps likens whiteness itself to the disease as both seem to derive power from destroying that which is in their paths. 

“But she would at last be safe now, beyond reach. Her children would never have to endure what she had suffered. He would care for them with his life. In his thoughts, he told this to her, his words warm in the air, searching out her spirit.”

After the first LaRose dies, her husband, Wolfred, contemplates that she will be safe at last. Here, the author implies that life is suffering, and death is the release. LaRose now exists in a world beyond the trauma of human existence wherein Wolfred can speak to her via the power and importance of words. However, the reader realizes that Wolfred remains unable to keep his promise to his first wife, as her daughters also suffer from tuberculosis and the trauma associated with boarding schools. The history of the LaRoses seems to necessitate circularity in terms of narrative, something that other people, such as Wolfred, are hopeless to thwart. History then becomes more powerful than any being, a divine force in its own right.

“Are you crazy? That’s called intergenerational trauma, my boy. It isn’t our fault they keep us down; they savaged our culture, family structure, and most of all we need our land back.” 

After Hollis discusses wanting to join the National Guard to fight for “their” country, Romeo discusses the nature of intergenerational trauma which continues to oppress Native Americans. Romeo clearly distinguishes between outsiders—namely, white society and especially the US government—and their community, implying that Romeo and Hollis are not members of the same community the National Guard protects. Romeo asserts that the government Hollis is so willing to fight for has stolen their land and attempted to annihilate their very culture by attacking their familial structure. Although readers might be tempted to dismiss Romeo’s arguments as part of his own refusal to take responsibility for his actions, the author has interwoven so many similar suggestions from various characters that the reader is forced to agree with Romeo. However, the reader also acknowledges Romeo’s own obsession with the war, noting the conflict in his interest with American politics which contrasts sharply with this “us vs. them” mentality. The conflict within Romeo’s own arguments represents the conflicted nature of identity on the reservation, wherein many Ojibwe characters, such as Hollis, feel both American and not. 

“She opened her hand. Now the stone was cool and took half the weight off her. Maggie was so tired of sobbing herself sick, and gorping until she could only puke yellow. It was the only way to keep her mother focused on her. Now LaRose seemed very sure. He seemed to know what to do.” 

Maggie does not know how to cope with the physical weight she feels after having to watch Nola to make sure Nola does not kill herself. When she confronts LaRose with this burden, LaRose suggests making a stone the symbol of the weight they must carry, their duty as children. LaRose’s association with nature frees Maggie of some of the emotional burden she must bear as they equally divide their time in watching Nola’s emotional wellbeing. This solution is very childlike and simple, just as the stone as a symbol of emotional weight is very childlike. This simplicity perhaps also alludes to the simple yet effective old traditions, such as Landreaux’s decision to give LaRose to the Raviches. T The solutions of the old traditions are effective, perhaps because they also indicate a level of knowledge—about history, or, in this case, about nature—and therefore demonstrate the palliative effect knowledge can bring in terms of creating a seemingly simple solution to the emotional trauma of life. 

“She wanted drugs but only got lucky with Josette. Twice the trusted competent anesthetist was not on duty at the HIS hospital. She didn’t want a bad spinal, an everlasting epidural or headache. Without one, the pain took up everything, she said. When she went to visit friends in the maternity ward, the smell of the place made her blood pressure shoot up, her hands shake […] Some physical memory. But all worth it, she said, as women always did. Maybe Jesus thought so too.” 

Landreaux thinks about his wife’s drugless childbirths as he takes the pain pills he stole from Ottie, relapsing. Landreaux’s contemplations reveal the nature of poverty on the reservation, especially regarding the lack of adequate health care accessible to native populations. Emmaline faced real consequences and had to endure unimaginable pain as a result of living on the reservation and staying among her community members. The female capacity to withstand pain stuns Landreaux, who can barely seem to get through the day without thinking about taking something to dull his own psychological pain. Landreaux knows that Emmaline’s body still remembers the trauma of childbirth; however, even with that physical memory, she still gave birth to three more children, believing that the suffering was worth the end result. Landreaux then likens Emmaline to a kind of savior, a martyr who is willing to sacrifice themselves for something greater than physical comfort. This highlights Emmaline’s strength in contrast to Landreaux’s weakness of spirit as he succumbs to addiction. 

“There are five LaRoses. First the LaRose who poisoned Mackinnon, went to mission school, married Wolfred, taught her children the shape of the world, and traveled that world as a set of stolen bones. Second her daughter LaRose got tuberculosis like her own mother, and like the first LaRose fought it off again and again […] then this LaRose […] bore the fourth LaRose, who eventually became the mother of Emmaline, the teacher of Romeo and Landreaux. The fourth LaRose became the grandmother of the last LaRose […] In all of these LaRoses there was the tendency to fly above the earth […] for hours when the right songs were drummed and sung to support them.” 

The narrator details each of the LaRoses, identifying ways they are both different and similar. The identity as a LaRose becomes both an individual and a communal identity, perhaps reflective of the Ojibwe identity itself which appears both individual and communal. Similarly, the omnipresence of a LaRose within the family engenders a kind of divinity to the name itself, as though it has always existed and always will. Even though the name technically skips Emmaline’s generation, the family always has a LaRose in it, demonstrating the importance of names especially in carrying on familial legacies, tradition, and history.

“I don’t know exactly, said LaRose, except she took so many showers, after, to get clean. They made her feel like a broken animal. Father Travis tried to keep his hands from tightening by putting two fingers to one temple and closing his eyes. The infection of fury rose in him.”

LaRose explains, to the best of his capacity, Maggie’s sexual assault at the hands of the Fearsome Four. LaRose’s innate knowledge of tradition and history heals various wounds within the community, but this incident marks one of the few situations in which LaRose indicates ignorance. However, the author indicates that this incident is something that LaRose possibly cannot know, just as Father Travis cannot know it as the author renders violence associated with sexual assault as a feminine experience. However, the inextricability of the characters allows the trauma of this experience to spread like an infection throughout the community, affecting all characters. The experience of trauma, even that of sexual assault, is not only personal but also communal. As one character suffers, so do the others. 

“Peter’s shoulders hunch and square, his chest expands, his neck swells, his heavy hands itch to grab that red bandana and twist and choke the words off. This guy is slime. This guy is doing violence here. At the same time, this is something Peter can’t help coming to know. It will be there whether he hears it now or walks away.” 

After Romeo tells Peter his theory on Dusty’s death, Peter becomes overwhelmed by the desire to react violently against Romeo’s words. Here, the author equates words with violence, as though Romeo’s language itself necessitates Peter’s violent reaction. The author also alludes to the presence of knowledge, which exists whether or not a character listens. These words, like knowledge itself, do not require a listener to exist; rather, their existence becomes omnipresent, an unavoidable fact of life. The reader knows that these words are not true; however, their falsehood does not seem to matter as they exist outside of human constraints of time or reality. The author then implies that words themselves are powerful not only because of their potential for human reaction but also in and of themselves as they exist as semi-divine forces.

“I needed him to come to my aid and stop a nickname from sticking on me. It took all my doing to slide out from under or slap down those nicknames. I battered Crip to the earth and went after Stooper. Sank my fangs into Wing and I defined myself. I stayed Romeo. I did it, but it cost me and now here behold: I am who I am. Not a good person, not a bad person.” 

Romeo indicates the importance of names in terms of identity. In order to create the identity he wishes to have, Romeo must fight against the mean nicknames from his peers, which all concern his now crippled appearance. Although Romeo is outwardly crippled, he refused to admit that he was also inwardly crippled, and so battled these names with tooth and claw. Here, the reader witnesses the split between internal and external identity, wherein part of Romeo’s identity becomes fused with his constant struggle to battle against the external imposition of a foreign identity. However, Romeo admits that he paid a price for this battle for self-definition, reminiscent of the Christian God of the Old Testament. Romeo maintains that this battle for self-identity allowed him to supersede human constraints of morality, wherein he becomes wholly himself—neither good nor bad. .

“From a human distance, now, Peter sees LaRose in Landreaux’s solid, hip-slung walk […] Sees all the things he kept himself from seeing […] A flood of pictures touches swiftly, lightly, through his thinking—all lost things; then all the actual lost things: the aspirin, the knives, the rope, all deadly in Nola’s hands. And the bullets deadly in his own hands. LaRose.” 

As Peter tries to kill Landreaux, he notices the similarities between Landreaux and LaRose. Peter realizes that if he were to kill Landreaux, he would kill a part of LaRose as well. The quotation also indicates that Peter previously suffered from a sort of blindness, as though he could not see what was before him, both in terms of the similarities between Landreaux and LaRose and in terms of his wife’s suicidal depression. The author indicates the importance of sight in understanding people; Peter was previously so blinded by grief that he could not care for those suffering around him. This inability to care for others as a result of blindness makes Peter almost inhuman, although he regains his humanity once he sees the similarities between Landreaux and LaRose. It is this connectivity that makes people human, this ability to see the links between other individuals. Peter ends his reverie with their joint son’s name, LaRose, almost like a prayer wherein he expels the hurt and grief that has blinded him to his family and friend. Although LaRose’s name does not entirely assuage Peter’s grief, it does indicate some sense of finality, as though a metaphorical chapter in Peter’s life has closed. This closure, then, connotes healing, a salve that only LaRose can offer.