Ceremony: (Penguin Classics Deluxe Edition)
Leslie Marmon Silko
Language: English
Pages: 243
ISBN: 0143104918
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Thirty years since its original publication, Ceremony remains one of the most profound and moving works of Native American literature, a novel that is itself a ceremony of healing. Tayo, a World War II veteran of mixed ancestry, returns to the Laguna Pueblo Reservation. He is deeply scarred by his experience as a prisoner of the Japanese and further wounded by the rejection he encounters from his people. Only by immersing himself in the Indian past can he begin to regain the peace that was taken from him. Masterfully written, filled with the somber majesty of Pueblo myth, Ceremony is a work of enduring power.
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chair. Those white doctors haven’t helped you at all. Maybe we had better send for someone else.” When Auntie got back from the store, old Grandma told her, “That boy needs a medicine man. Otherwise, he will have to go away. Look at him.” Auntie was standing with a bag full of groceries in her arms. She set the bag down on the table and took off her coat and bandanna; she looked at Tayo. She had a way she looked when she saw trouble; she frowned, getting her answer ready for the old lady. “Oh,
more for night; they came out anytime. When he got back to the table he saw that Emo’s glasses were sitting crookedly on his puffy face. Emo watched him walk across the room to the table. “There he is. He thinks he’s something all right. Because he’s part white. Don’t you, half-breed?” Tayo stopped in front of them. He saw all their faces clustered around Emo’s fat, sweaty head; he thought of dogs standing over something dead, crowded close together. He couldn’t make out Harley or Leroy or
back room, with his glasses on, carrying a book. “Read this,” he would tell Rocky, “and see if you think it’s saying the same thing I think it says,” When Rocky finished it, Josiah pushed the book in front of Tayo and pointed at the passage. Then he’d say, “Well?” And the boys would tell him what they got out of it. “That’s what I thought too,” Josiah would say, “but it seemed like such a stupid idea I wasn’t sure if I was understanding it right.” The problem was the books were written by white
the toe of his boot, and then he let it slip into the sand again. The wind had blown since late February and it did not stop after April. They said it had been that way for the past six years while he was gone. And all this time they had watched the sky expectantly for the rainclouds to come. Now it was late May, and when Tayo went to the outhouse he left the door open wide, facing the dry empty hills and the light blue sky. He watched the sky over the distant Black Mountains the way Josiah had
bolted away, bucking and leaping in a wide arc, returning finally to its mother when it tired of playing. Tayo’s heart beat fast; he could see Josiah’s vision emerging, he could see the story taking form in bone and muscle. “There’s only one more I need,” she said, pointing her chin in the direction of the gunny sacks full of roots and plants. “It won’t be ready for a while, but I’ll show you which one it is, and maybe you can gather it for me, in case I have to go before it’s ready.” Tayo
