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Photographs included in the original manuscript have been reproduced xerographically in this copy. Higher quality 6” x 9” black and white photographic prints are available for any photographs or illustrations appearing in this copy for an additional charge. Contact UMI directly to order. ProQuest Information and Learning 300 North Zeeb Road, Ann Arbor, Ml 48106-1346 USA 800-521-0600 UMÏ FROM GHOST DANCE TO GRASS DANCE: PERFORMANCE AND POSTINDIAN RESISTANCE IN AMERICAN INDIAN UTERATURE DISSERTATION Presented in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree Doctor of Philosophy in the Graduate School of The Ohio State University By Lisa Marie Tatonetti, B.A., M.A. ***** The Ohio State University 2001 Dissertation Committee: Professor Debra Moddelmog, Adviser Professor Chadwick Allen Approved by Professor Brenda Brueggemann Adviser English Graduate Program UMI Number: 3022585 UMI* UMI Microform 3022585 Copyright 2001 by Bell & Howell Information and Learning Company. All rights reserved. This microform edition is protected against unauthorized copying under Title 17, United States Code. Bell & Howell Information and Learning Company 300 North Zeeb Road P.O. Box 1346 Ann Arbor. Ml 48106-1346 ABSTRACT My project examines the ways American Indian authors have adopted, resisted, revised, or rejected the figures of the 1890 Ghost Dance and the Wounded Knee massacre in their constructions of Native identity. I argue that the ongoing shifts in literary representations of these two events illustrate paradigm shifts in the ways Native authors define and construct their ethnicity. I begin with an examination of the first novel written by an American Indian woman: Muscogee author S. Alice Callahan’s recently re-released Wynema: A Child o f the Forest (1891), a text written only months after the massacre occurred. Highlighting the tensions in this early narrative, I suggest that Callahan’s novel presents an emerging possibility of resistance in its strong reaction to the 1890 Wounded Knee massacre even as it relies heavily on the repressive myth of the “vanishing Indian.’’ I next examine the canonization of two texts that include the most firequently cited retellings of the massacre and its aftermath—Dakota author Charles Eastman’s From the Deep Woods to Civilization (1916) and Lakota Nicholas Black Elk’s as- told-to Black Elk Speaks (1932). 1 contend that the subsequent readings of these two accoimts, rather than the accounts themselves, lay out a model through which the Ghost Dance and Wounded Knee come to stand not for Native resistance but instead for the erasure of Native peoples and cultures. ii The second section of my dissertation analyzes how late twentieth-century American Indian authors have either appropriated, revised, or rejected the dominant images of the Ghost Dance and Wounded Knee in order to define contemporary Native identities. 1 first look at Spokane/Coeur d’Alene author Sherman Alexie’s body of poetry and fiction to investigate how Alexie—whose own ancestors did not participate in the Ghost Dance—employs dominant images of the Ghost Dance to construct pan-tribal resistance. I next analyze how Dakota author Susan Power— whose tribal ancestors were both participants in the Ghost Dance and victims of the Wounded Knee massacre—uncouples dance fi:om tragedy by focusing instead on the Grass Dance, a war dance historically used to promulgate tribal memory of heroism and resistance. This project, then, expands the study of ethnic representation and tribal identity in American Indian literature by highlighting how Native writers transform dominant images of the 1890 Ghost Dance and the Wounded Knee massacre into new tribal stories of survival and resistance. UL For Edna May: ‘Tetley” IV ACKNOWLEDGMENTS My six years in Ohio State’s graduate program have been truly extraordinary. I have been blessed throughout that time with good friends, fabulous colleagues, and amazing teachers and mentors. Before I acknowledge many of those folks, however, I first need to recognize some of the people who helped me get to (and through) graduate school in the first place. To my dad, Frank Tatonetti, you are always in my heart. To my sisters, Judy Conner and Nancy Lear, and my mother, Edna May Tatonetti, I wouldn’t be here without your love, support, and laughter. Above all else, the most important thing I have learned while in graduate school is the value of family—my trips home are solace to my soul. To my long-time friends, Carrie Fast, Tania Carey, and Lisa Teger, I send all my love and thanks for years of (choose your category and order here): love; travel; black clothes; FL Keys, Gatlinburg, Atlanta, New Orleans, U2, & Indigo Girl road trips; late- night dancing; early-moming horseback rides; Rock Island Rd. apartments and little pink crack houses; incredible conversations, and more just plain fun than most folks have in an entire lifetime. Now all three of you can stop asking, “Are you still in school?” To Mark Lytm Carpenter (Book 'em, Dan 0), thanks for thousands of dollars of long-distance phone calls, for Grand Finale memories, and for one all-expense paid semester of school. And to Jama DePalma, thanks for years of unconditional love and red hair—good thing I had that IG sticker. As for helping me through grad school, thanks to Kate and Katarina for the first two years and to all the OSU gals for the rest. Thanks to all the readingwomen—Janet Badia, Jennifer Phegley, Emma Loss, Melissa Goldthwaite, Beclqr Taylor, Kristin Risley, Jennifer Cognard-Black, and Sandee McGlaun—for loads of great materials and good advice; who could ask for better intellectual and spiritual models? Thanks to the First Draft Group and my fabulous dissertation group—Emma, Tara, Melissa I., and Kristin. Special thanks to my two parallel-writing partners, Janet and Melissa. Janet, my partner in activism and crime, 1 cannot enter Panera or drink a cosmopolitan without thinking of you. Melissa G., how would 1 have made it through the insanity of the job market without you? 1 treasure those mid-aftemoon music breaks and evening walks. And to the gals at the Pennsylvania Avenue compound: thanks, hugs, kisses, and love— Rebecca, I thank your Mendship, for teaching me to make spring rolls, and for being your wonderful self; Tara, 1 thank you for being a fabulous roommate and friend. 1 treasure our relationship and the memories of Kelly’s Island, the Grand Canyon, and Havasu Falls. Your constant support in my work and my life is truly amazing 1 will expect to see you in Oshkosh dispensing decorating advice and giving gardening tips. My most heartfelt thanks and love goes out to my committee members— Professors Brenda Brueggemann, Chadwick Allen, and Debra Moddelmog—whose collective wisdom, kindness, and affection has been absolutely invaluable to my growth as a scholar, teacher, and person. Words are truly inadequate to express the depth of my gratitude. But here goes, anyway... vi Brenda, you have taught me so much about the intersections of rhetoric, multicultural studies, and disability studies. And, just by being yourself, you have also shown me how to balance kindness with self-confidence and scholarly drive with unadulterated humanity. Thanks, too, for giving me a family in Columbus—some of my most treasured Columbus memories are of your backyard. When the stress of the new job gets to be too much, I will close my eyes and see bursts of summer flowers, smell citronella and brats on the grill, taste cold lemon beer, hear Karl’s and Esther’s laughter backgrounded by the rattle song of evening insects, and feel again the warm embrace of total contentment. All my love to you and yours. Chad, my mentor and my fiiend, where do I even begin? You have taught me so much about American Indian Studies, about good scholarship, and about every facet of academic life. Thanks for the incredible amount of time you’ve given to workshopping my ideas, my grant proposals, my job materials, and my dissertation—you have always gone far, far above the call of duty for me, which I both recognize and deeply appreciate. I have learned invaluable lessons fiom being your student, from watching you teach, and fiom the warp and woof of our Cap City conversations. I want to note here, too, that my ideas about Black Elk Speaks and The Grass Dancer come directly out of the independent study and the American Indian literature classes I took with you, which were both amazing experiences. As you have reminded me, this is not an end, but a beginning—I look forward to being your colleague. (It’s time to start planning the SAI lOO"* anniversary conference 1) In the summer of 1995,1 called the Graduate Studies ofBce and asked that Debra Moddelmog be appointed as my advisor.