Subtitled: A Memoir of Family, Myth, and Identity
Nonfiction by Leah Myers
The author begins this story by identifying herself as the last member of her tribe in her family line. Since she is only one-eighth native blood (the smallest percentage recognized by the blood quantum laws of the Jamestown S’Klallam Tribe of the Pacific Northwest), and there are only 542 tribal members left in total (of which 297 are also 1/8 blood), this is probably true. Technically.
Still, I feel like part of the point of this book is that blood percentages are not necessarily the best gauge of tribal identity. Leah spends a lot of time spelling out exactly how her ancestors live on as a part of her; her great-grandmother Lillian, her grandmother Vivian, and her mother Kristy are all pieces of her tribal identity even as their blood is "thinned" by time and intermarriage.
I also feel like the author has a whole lot of anger rolled up into her tribal identity, not that I blame her. She is not wrong in asserting that native peoples have been systematically decimated through deliberate action by white people over the past several hundred years. It's a sad thing, and should not be overlooked. Attempted genocide has indeed been committed.
But here's the thing: Leah is still here. Those 541 other people are still here. And their thinned blood still lives on in countless others, whether they know it or not. Therefore the genocide was not successful, and I think that makes a difference. I don't know if Leah would agree; she's still pretty mad.
This book was interesting but not very enjoyable. It did give me something to think about.
