TY - JOUR
AU - Vallowe, Megan
AB - Pulitzer Prizes and Hugo Awards of the 2010s brought a great deal of critical and commercial attention to historical and science fiction about multi-ethnicity in the United States. Hamilton (2015), lauded as “the landmark American musical about the gifted and self-destructive founding father” who arrives as a Caribbean immigrant and ascends to fame in the early United States, swept the Tony Awards and won the Pulitzer for Best Drama in 2016 (“Hamilton”). Colson Whitehead’s The Underground Railroad (2016), a novel about an enslaved black woman who escapes the pre-Civil War US South by riding a subterranean railway that literalizes the Underground Railroad, won the Pulitzer in 2017 for its “shattering, powerful meditation on the history we all share” (“Underground”). Meanwhile, Rebecca Roanhorse’s “Welcome to Your Authentic Native American Experience™” (2017), a science fiction short story about a Native American man who is betrayed by a white customer while working as a tour guide at a Native American virtual reality theme park in Arizona, won the 2018 Hugo Award for Best Short Story. Considering that Blake M. Hausman’s Riding the Trail of Tears (2011) told a story of national founding, escape from white settlers, and Native American virtual reality before these multi-ethnic works of historical and science fiction rose to fame, it is remarkable that the novel has received scant attention or acclaim. Riding the Trail of Tears is a novel about a Cherokee woman who works as a lead designer and tour guide at a virtual reality theme park for the Trail of Tears in North Georgia. Like many hybrids of science and historical fiction, the novel employs tropes that often appear in popular fantasy films and speculative television shows: it has Indigenous body simulations, for example, such as those seen in Avatar (2009), and artificially intelligent characters and theme parks, such as those seen in Westworld (1973 and 2016). The novel’s premise asks readers to imagine what might happen if people could project themselves into Cherokee bodies at a twenty-first-century Georgia theme park, where guests and hosts alike try to survive a virtual reality experience of the Trail of Tears. Balancing Cherokee history and science, the novel offers a provocative, historically specific, and satirically corrective account of Cherokee Removal. This account is given, quite literally, through the eyes of Tallulah Wilson, the novel’s Cherokee protagonist. Tallulah is the granddaughter of the man who invented the virtual reality technology used at the Trail of Tears theme park, known officially as Tsalagi Removal Exodus Point Park (TREPP). Inside Tallulah’s tear duct resides the novel’s narrator, a Nûñnë'hï, who has escaped the ride and wryly asks that we call him “the Nunnerator” (10).1 With the Nunnerator’s narration, readers “sense the world through Tallulah’s body” (1) and experience the final of her more than “eleven hundred trips on the Trail of Tears” (37). During this final ride, Tallulah and her tour group experience a disruption of the ride’s usual Removal cycle. The ride’s sentient Cherokee hosts, called “the Misfits,” engineer a hack to enhance the ride’s violence toward guests, break the ride’s Removal loop, and release themselves into a virtual version of their ancestral Cherokee homeland. With the Misfits’ help, Tallulah and all but one member of her tour group emerge from the ride psychologically shaken but physically unscathed. A citizen of the Cherokee Nation, Hausman considers the novel a “work of science fiction” that falls into the category of “Indigenous Futurism” (“Interview”). Yet while Riding the Trail of Tears appears to operate primarily as a work of science fiction, it operates equally as a work of historical fiction. The connection between science fiction and historical fiction has long been discussed by scholars such as Frederic Jameson, who notes that science fiction “is the exploration of all the constraints thrown up by history itself” (66). Historical motifs and characters within science fiction, such as the intergalactic, Romanesque, Asgardian empire of Marvel Comics, and the robot-fighting Robin Hood of Dr. Who, incorporate eras, events, or people of the past to imagine “this or that fantastic future” (59). Like Jameson, other scholars of science fiction, such as Roger Luckhurst, define it as a genre that “orients perceptions towards the future rather than the past or the cyclical sense of time ascribed to traditional societies” (3). Hausman’s novel, however, is not only oriented toward the future, nor is it a work that simply makes use of historical motifs and characters. Like many works of Indigenous-authored science fiction, it complicates the temporal constraints of conventional science fiction. As Luckhurst’s definition suggests, conventional science fiction frequently relies on linear senses of time, which are oriented unidirectionally toward the future. Critiquing narrow definitions of science fiction such as this, Grace L. Dillon (Anishinaabe) notes that defining the genre by future-orientation “would unintentionally omit much of Native [science fiction] whose futures very much are thought experiments about recycling space-times or parallel worlds” (244). Defining science fiction from an Indigenous perspective, she posits that Indigenous science and speculative fiction take several orientations toward space and time. Dean Rader similarly explains how Indigenous speculative fiction resists temporal constraints of science fiction, positing the “Indian invention novel” as a genre that combines and reconstructs narratives that often ignore, if not outright defy, Euro-American conceptions of time, physics, and genre (86). Due to its double-edged orientation toward both the past and the future, Riding the Trail of Tears can be described as Indigenous science fiction, speculative fiction, or an Indian invention novel. Because of this multifaceted orientation toward space and time, it not only resists settler colonial temporal constraints but also defies generic categorization. For these reasons, defining Riding the Trail of Tears as historical fiction is similarly complicated. The linear temporal constraints of much historical fiction insist on a predominantly settler colonial-oriented conception of past, present, and future, or what Mark Rifkin calls “settler time” (39). This conception of time includes what Georg Lukács describes as “the historical defense of progress” (63). This linear progressive conception of time dominates Euro-American history and fiction. Because that foundational conception of time informs much scholarship on historical fiction, the genre’s definitions give precedence to settler colonial conceptions of space and time, which often support a nation-building project that views Western civilization as its ideal.2 However, as Dillon and Rader illustrate with Indigenous science fiction, there is a need for Indigenous-oriented definitions of historical fiction as well. Along those lines, Vine Deloria, Jr. (Standing Rock Sioux) identifies the disconnect between Native American and Euro-American orientations toward history. That disconnect is based largely on differing perspectives about history’s relationship to space and time. More specifically, Deloria argues, Native American-oriented conceptions of history give preference to space as “having the highest possible meaning,” and therefore, cultural, social, and political ideas are all made in reference to space (61). In contrast, Euro-American-oriented conceptions of history often view time as the most important organizing principle, with time illustrating “a steady progression of basically good events and experiences” (61).3 If historical fictions are stories of a nation by its people, and Indigenous orientations toward history place greater emphasis on space, then discussions of Indigenous-authored historical fictions should rely on modes of interpretation that are specific to an Indigenous nation’s spaces and peoples rather than definitions of genre based on Euro-American conceptions of time and progress. Therefore, to read Hausman’s novel as a work of both science and historical fiction, it is necessary to use spatiotemporal and narrative lenses rooted in Cherokee worldviews. We argue that Hausman’s use of Cherokee throughways (or portals) exemplifies a tribally specific instance of what Dillon calls Native slipstream: a genre of Indigenous speculative fiction that collapses time into a navigable stream.4 Applying the tribally specific lenses of the “Beloved Path” and “Chickamauga consciousness” outlined by Daniel Heath Justice (Cherokee), we connect the novel’s portrayal of Indigenous scientific innovation to its representation of Cherokee history. More specifically, through exploring the novel’s portrayal of Tallulah Wilson to represent the Beloved Path and its portrayal of the Misfits to represent Chickamauga consciousness, we understand Tallulah’s eventual convergence with the Misfits as opening a technological and historical portal—a throughway to imagining an Indigenous-oriented past, present, and future in North America. By employing tribally specific genre features, Hausman imagines Cherokee people effectively resisting Removal via digital, Cherokee-made technology and reclaiming Cherokee historical lands. Riding the Trail of Tears folds a Cherokee historical novel into Indigenous futurism, performing the work of cultural renewal, historical recovery, and national revision associated with historical fiction. In The Historical Novel (1937), Lukács observes that renewing cultural consciousness, recovering and remaining faithful to historical realities, and re-envisioning national history along more revolutionary lines have been hallmarks of the European historical novel since its rise to popularity in the nineteenth century. While Lukács’s definition of historical novels and other scholars’ definitions of historical fiction are rooted in predominantly white European texts, contemporary multi-ethnic examples of historical fiction, such as Hamilton, offer a way of understanding how historical fiction in novels such as Riding the Trail of Tears participates in a tradition of renewal, recovery, and revision even as such fiction pushes the genre away from a focus on settler-oriented histories. Using color-conscious casting and contemporary popular musical genres, such as hip-hop, to reframe the “founding fathers” chapter of US history, Hamilton pushes the US historical musical into a multi-ethnic arena, where its form is less limited by musical genre conventions that perpetuate silent, “whites-only” progress narratives about revolutionary history in the United States.5 In terms of technique, Riding the Trail of Tears works similarly, using the genre conventions of science fiction to reframe histories of the Trail of Tears in the United States around Cherokee people rather than white settler colonists. This reframing pushes the novel into both a multi-genre and multi-ethnic historical arena, where Hausman writes back, reorienting historical fiction to face the speculative future, just as he reorients science fiction to face the contested past. Historical fiction about Native American people comes with a large set of obstacles for Native authors and audiences. As Rifkin observes, “Native peoples occupy a double bind” when their place and time in history is narrated by settler colonists: “Either they are consigned to the past, or they are inserted into a present defined on non-native terms” (1). Much Euro-American-authored US historical fiction bears evidence of this double bind, relegating Native American peoples to the distant past, if not extinction, or illustrating contemporary Indigenous presence to be marginal rather than central to contemporary US experience. James Fenimore Cooper’s historical novel The Last of the Mohicans (1826) might be called the “founding father” of this tradition, as it arranges the scenery of the Euro-American frontier to suggest that Indigenous people will not exist in the future United States. Popular Euro-American US historical fiction since Cooper has continued to use this hallmark of the genre with regard to the Vanishing Indian mythos, which frequently prescribes a decline-and-extinction narrative for Indigenous people of the Americas in ways that rationalize the continuation of settler colonial national expansion.6 Native-authored historical fictions frequently take different approaches to narrating space and time in history. As Deloria reminds us, the primary orienting factor for Indigenous histories is not time but space. Indigenous historical fictions are not necessarily oriented along linear progressive lines. Joseph Bauerkemper explains that to explore Indigenous historical fictions is to consider the “nonlinear disposition that distinguishes literary Indigenous nationhood from many of the coercive, destructive, exclusionist, and violent tendencies mandated by the terminal investments in linearity made by modern nation-states” (28). Many Native-authored novels with historical settings, such as the novels of LeAnne Howe (Choctaw) and Louise Erdrich (Ojibwe), make use of spatial and temporal orientations that are specific to the national historical narratives of their respective tribal nations.7 These authors’ tribally specific approaches to historical fiction, which emphasize space and deploy nonlinear time, demonstrate dedication to tribal sovereignty, which participates in the tradition of Native American literary separatism (Womack 14). Cherokee writers such as Robert J. Conley and writers who claim Cherokee descent, such as Marilou Awiakta and Diane Glancy, have observed this literary tradition in fiction and nonfiction about Cherokee history.8 By representing Cherokee political figures from Nancy Ward and Dragging Canoe to Elias Boudinot and John Ross as historical advocates for the life and lands of Cherokee people, these authors demonstrate how Cherokee people historically resisted, and continue to resist, settler colonial Removal efforts.9 Like Conley’s novels of the Trail of Tears, Riding the Trail of Tears recasts Removal from a Cherokee perspective. Rather than fixate on Removal as historical tragedy, however, Hausman’s telling of the Trail of Tears imagines ways of recovering Cherokee technologies and reclaiming Cherokee land. Because the novel reorients tropes associated with science and historical fiction to represent Cherokee perspectives, Riding the Trail of Tears is able to describe the far-reaching historical and technological consequences of Cherokee Removal. In this way, the novel aligns with the subgenre of Indigenous science fiction that Dillon calls “Native slipstream.” According to Dillon, Native slipstream “views time as pasts, presents, and futures that flow together like currents in a navigable stream” (3).10 In Native slipstream, time is like water in a stream: it moves in ways that are multifaceted, fluid, variable, and recursive rather than singular, linear, and fixed. Although Hausman’s novel has received little scholarly attention, such scholarship has observed that water and time govern its structure. Ashley Barnett, Amy Gore, and Miriam Brown Spiers all note that “endless water,” “slipstreams,” and “intersections of the past and the present” are organizing principles that allow the reader to connect historically disparate moments with the present day (Barnett 240; Gore 101; Brown Spiers 54). To examine the ways in which Hausman’s novel connects historically disparate moments through space and time, we combine Dillon’s Native slipstream with Allison Adelle Hedge Coke’s definition of throughways. In her foreword to Blood Run (2006), Hedge Coke identifies Indigenous earthworks as evidence of the presence of scientifically advanced Indigenous civilizations throughout the Americas (xii).11 Hedge Coke uses the term throughways to describe the cultural, infrastructural, and geographical routes that historically sustained these networks, connecting them to both pre- and post-invasion space and time: Throughways, whether by river or beaten path, were so extensive it has been said that practically all roadways in the hemisphere, including the now overdeveloped United States, previously served these trading and adoptive relationships… . Such systems ensured survival of individual nations equally as well as confederated, regional, and the broader indigenous Americas. (xiv) As infrastructural and technological connections that reach across space and time, throughways are a type of Native slipstream that allow Indigenous spaces to “flow together” (Dillon 3). As Hedge Coke points out, such technological connections ensure survival for Indigenous peoples across multiple Indigenous spaces. Coupling Hedge Coke’s definition of throughways with Dillon’s Native slipstream allows us to read Hausman’s novel—a novel in which Cherokee history is oriented along multiple spatial vectors that flow together because of Cherokee technological innovation—as inventing a tribally specific Cherokee throughway to survive Removal. As key narrative features, the Cherokee throughways in Riding the Trail of Tears are central to the novel’s hybridization of Cherokee historical fiction and Indigenous science fiction. Riding the Trail of Tears imagines such Cherokee throughways in the form of Cherokee roads, trails, rides, loops, doorways, and other modes of travel through time and space. Perhaps the most Cherokee of these throughways is the Jeep Cherokee that serves as TREPP’s prototype. Tallulah’s grandfather, a Cherokee inventor named Art, modifies a Jeep Cherokee, fitting large televisions with bug-eyed screens into all the car’s windows. After passengers press a green button on the dashboard, the windows click on, and passengers “ride all the way from the stockades in Georgia to the hills and lakes of northeastern Oklahoma,” all while watching the Trail of Tears transpire “through the television windows.” When Tallulah completes her first ride as a young girl, “her feet feel bruised and raw,” and she is shocked by the “mass of bent and broken bodies that stretched up to ten miles long at the beginning of the trip” (33). Despite the fact that Tallulah only has a virtual encounter—that is, she has simply viewed the Trail of Tears through a series of television screens—the experience of her feet feeling “bruised and raw” illustrates the existence of a throughway connecting disparate Indigenous spaces. Tallulah traverses these spaces to survive Removal first via the Jeep Cherokee prototype and later via TREPP itself. Thus, in its prototype form, Art’s virtual Trail of Tears operates as a technology that allows twenty-first-century Cherokees to travel through space and time. Perhaps more remarkable than the physical pain Tallulah experiences on her first ride is her sense that the virtual Cherokee characters are viewing her through the television screen. She remembers that her grandpa told her “that the Indians walking the Trail were digital and couldn’t see inside the car, but Tallulah thought they stared right through her… . Thousands and thousands of digital eyes.” Even though Art is quick to dismiss Tallulah’s fear that virtual Cherokee on the Trail can see her, given the events that occur later in the novel and the fact that some virtual Cherokee become sentient, this moment raises a question: does Art create the ride to become sentient so that virtual Cherokees might break free? Based on the way he designs the ride to view the Trail of Tears from a Cherokee perspective, Art seems to purposefully engineer the ride to, in his words, “go to the source” (33) and more accurately reflect Cherokee history and technology. In so doing, he opens a portal that reorients settler histories and technologies to face the reality of Cherokee history, which allows the ride’s Cherokee characters to use the ride’s technology to mount a resistance to (and escape from) Removal. Tallulah experiences the effects of this reorientation after her first encounter with the virtual Trail of Tears. After that experience, she “was never able to look at a Jeep Cherokee again without wondering” if “people who drove Jeep Cherokees subconsciously want to ride the Trail of Tears” (33–34). Such existential questions are later mirrored by members of Tallulah’s tour group (143–44), who come to view Removal through the lens of Cherokee national, rather than US national, historiography. In these ways, Art’s invention reappropriates settler technology as Indigenous technology. It modifies the Jeep Cherokee to make it a Cherokee Jeep—a throughway to travel through space and time, to “go to the source,” and help future generations survive Removal (14). Thus, a settler colonial-oriented technology that reenacts histories of Cherokee Removal becomes Cherokee-oriented technology that defies settler-oriented histories of Removal. Just as Art reappropriates and reorients the Jeep Cherokee to make it a historically accurate vehicle for Cherokee history, Hausman reappropriates and reorients historical fiction about Indigenous people to make the genre a more historically accurate vehicle for Indigenous history. Within that narrative, Hausman uses the framework of Indigenous science fiction, much like Art uses his television windows, as a medium, a Native slipstream, through which to provide a more accurate Cherokee account of the Trail of Tears. That account reaches its fullest expression in its time- and space-traveling Cherokee characters: Tallulah, a Cherokee woman living and working on the land of her ancestors, and the Misfits, who repeatedly experience and continually survive Removal. Hausman depicts Cherokee technologies of travel through space and time via the two governing principles that Justice defines as the “‘Beloved Path’ of accommodation and cooperation, and the ‘Chickamauga consciousness’ of physical and/or rhetorical defiance” (16). In Justice’s formulation, these two modes of expression “thread their way through Cherokee literary and cultural expressions,” exemplifying the “white/peace” political sphere of Cherokee Beloved Woman, Nanye’hi (Nancy Ward), and the “red/war” political sphere of Chickamauga war chief, Tsiyu Gansini (Dragging Canoe) (15–16). In Riding the Trail of Tears, the Beloved Path and Chickamauga consciousness are exemplified by Tallulah and the Misfits, respectively. The dualism of the Beloved Path and Chickamauga consciousness reflects a larger Cherokee worldview found in traditions of the Sky, Middle, and Under Worlds. In this cosmology, the Sky World, or Galunlati, is one of order and stands in opposition to the Under World, or Elohi Hawinaditla, a place of chaos. The Middle World, or Elohi, functions as a space where humans (and life more generally) seek balance between the two others (Teuton, Cherokee 21). Thus, while Tallulah and the Misfits might separately represent these two paths (white and red, peace and war, Beloved and Chickamauga), the collaboration of these two paths at the novel’s climax illustrates a way of finding balance in the processing of Removal. When Tallulah and the Misfits finally meet at the novel’s climax, a portal opens through which virtual Cherokee people escape the concentration camps of their stockades, mount a successful resistance campaign against settler colonial representatives of the US government (soldiers inside the game, Homeland Security outside the game), and survive Removal by not only returning balance to the game but also escaping to a virtual version of Cherokee homeland in North Carolina. Once Tallulah’s tour group enters the virtual ride, the chapters alternate between a focus on Tallulah, a representative of the Beloved Path of accommodation, and the Misfits, representatives of Chickamauga consciousness of defiance. Within Tallulah’s chapters, the virtual ride and its scripted events are all geared toward accommodating the guests’ experience of Cherokee Removal. When Tallulah notices that elements about the ride are not working as they should, such as the game’s level of violence toward a tour group that contains children (172) and the disappearance of one of her tourists (83), she reassures her tour group by returning to her historical script, which details Cherokee building conventions, diets, survival strategies, and origin stories. These details provide more than local color; they force the tourists to interrogate their stereotypes about Native American people, inhabit a Cherokee lived experience that is historically faithful, and learn how Cherokee people survived the Trail of Tears. This level of historical faithfulness speaks to the fact that Tallulah’s chapters rely more heavily on elements of Cherokee historical fiction than science fiction. Because she can see through, speak through, and generate connections between many versions of US history via her Cherokee and American identities, Tallulah becomes a major voice for Cherokee political history. In accordance with Justice’s configuration of the Beloved Path, Tallulah’s approach to her guests “centers itself within an enduring Cherokee presence” (Justice 40). Hausman’s emphasis on a Cherokee worldview includes the novel’s respect for the enduring presence of Cherokee matrilineality (Hausman, “Interview”). As a Cherokee woman who guides non-Cherokee people to survive a virtual Removal, Tallulah evokes the Beloved Path of Nanye’hi. A Beloved Woman, Nanye’hi served on Cherokee governing councils that met with early American government officials to negotiate and advocate for peace, protection, and power for Cherokee people (Donaldson 43–44). Nanye’hi was charged primarily with seeking a path of peace and sociocultural preservation for her people, largely through adaptation to a changing political landscape. Tallulah mirrors Nanye’hi’s position as political ambassador between Cherokee and non-Cherokee people on Cherokee land through her role as a TREPP tour guide. After Tallulah’s tour group jack into their “Realskyn Chairsuits” and enter the digital Trail of Tears, she tells them, “We’re in Northeast Georgia… . In present-day terms, we’re between Atlanta and the Smoky Mountains National Park. Close to Unicoi State Park, if you’re familiar with the local geography. That’s about thirty or forty miles northwest of the current site of the TREPP.” The members of the tour group—which include four white American college students, an elderly Jewish couple, a multinational and multiracial couple visiting from the UK, and a mother with her two children—begin asking questions to get their bearings. “Are we close to Helen?” asks one of the college students. “Helen won’t be built until long after Removal,” Tallulah responds (Hausman, Riding 94). The mother of the two children asks “if they are supposed to do anything while the troops hunt them down,” and Tallulah responds, “We could try to go north. But there’s a stockade in Hiawassee.” The questions continue until it becomes clear that the group is surrounded by concentration camps on all sides and needs to eat. One of the college students wants to hunt a buffalo. Tallulah tells him, “Well, before you can hunt buffaloes, you’ll have to go west” (95). Tallulah’s way of teaching her guests that they are not in twenty-first-century Georgia anymore (or the nineteenth-century Great Plains, for that matter) references multiple geographical spaces. She switches fluidly between describing the local borders of northeastern Georgia, which her twenty-first-century tour group would recognize, to framing the borders of the nineteenth-century Cherokee Nation, which confound her guests’ history lessons about supposedly “Vanishing Indians” and open spaces where buffalo roam. In articulating the historical process by which Cherokee physical throughways are transformed into settler colonial ones, such as the process by which Cherokee roads became federal highways and Cherokee land became filled with US towns such as Helen and Dahlonega, Tallulah articulates a temporal throughway between the nineteenth-century events of the virtual reality ride and her twenty-first-century lived reality. By fluidly balancing nineteenth- and twenty-first-century explanations of their surroundings to a predominantly white tour group, Tallulah represents how the Beloved Path brings balance to geopolitical negotiations. A crucial example of Tallulah’s balancing act occurs when she explains why her communication device is shaped like a beetle. Tallulah relates a Cherokee creation story about how the earth was made by a female water beetle. In the story, Tallulah describes how one day a beetle decided to build mounds, and “bit by bit by bit … created the land” with her “water beetle friends.” When she finishes this story, one of her tourists asks her if it is a “metaphor” for plate tectonics or the last Ice Age. Tallulah “claims not to know, even though she is bloated with theories.” She eventually agrees that the water beetle story “is definitely aboriginal tectonic theory,” subtly correcting the tourist’s application of “metaphor” to the creation story so that the story instead suggests a legitimate historical and scientific theory for explaining Earth’s creation (97).12 In addition to legitimizing Cherokee history and science, Tallulah’s creation story about the origins of her communication device illustrates another throughway between digital and Indigenous worlds, a connection that Lisa Brooks (Abenaki) characterizes as spaces where “[t]he early and the contemporary are close enough to touch and are powerfully intertwined” (313). As Tallulah’s way of theorizing the creation story suggests, these narrated worlds are connected via the “speculative and process-oriented” stories, such as Cherokee historical fiction and Indigenous science fiction (Teuton, “Theorizing” 200).13 Tallulah’s corrective way of narrating Cherokee space and time illustrates the continual political presence of the Cherokee Beloved Path in the novel, one that, according to Justice, adapts and accommodates in pursuit of “cultural continuity above potentially self-destructive rebellion” (30). Exemplifying this Path throughout Riding the Trail of Tears, Tallulah continues teaching her guests how to survive Removal by finding food and safe places to sleep and how to strategically avoid conflict with US soldiers and settler colonists. In contrast, the Misfit chapters, which are largely narrated through the eyes of Tallulah’s missing tourist, Irma Rosenberg, defy historical narratives that rely on linear conceptions of time. For instance, in her first minutes within the Misfit stockade, Irma notices that the Misfits “wore outfits that represented different stages of human development over the last five hundred years,” including buckskins, ribbon-shirts, military uniforms, and sports jackets (106). However, the Misfits’ styles of dress are not the only thing to defy Irma’s Euro-American-oriented expectations about Natives Americans’ place in time. Despite seeming to exist only and repeatedly within the limited spatiotemporal frame of the Cherokee Nation in 1838, the Misfits’ knowledge of twentieth-century figures such as Gandhi, their twenty-first-century culinary technology such as their fully stocked industrial kitchen, and their advanced understanding of the digital structure of the virtual ride also defy Irma’s expectations about Native American science and technology. In other words, with regard to the mechanics of genre, the Misfits’ chapters rely more heavily on the novel’s science fiction frame. In contrast to Tallulah’s actions of accommodating her tourists and cooperating with the virtual US and Georgian militia, the Misfits are rebellious and defiant. They become the novel’s major voice for Cherokee nationhood, as mediated through Chickamauga consciousness, by taking political and martial action to escape their stockade and reclaim their mountains inside the machine. Just as Tallulah and her identity evoke the Beloved Path of Nanye’hi, the Misfits and their identities evoke the Chickamaugas led by Cherokee war chief Tsiyu Gansini (Dragging Canoe), who are “all dedicated to defying the extinction imperative of the US government” (Justice 37). Where the Beloved Path negotiates policies of keeping peace between Cherokee and non-Cherokee people, Chickamauga consciousness negotiates policies of waging war between the same groups of peoples as it constantly weighs strategies of rebellion against decisions of self-preservation. In Riding the Trail of Tears, the Misfits embody this balance between rebellion and self-preservation, organizing collectively not only to escape from harm but also to return themselves to “home and hearth” so as to “protect the most precious trust they honored: the spiritual and cultural life of the people” (Justice 38). It is ultimately the Misfits, as representatives of Chickamauga consciousness, who best know how to navigate the ride’s Cherokee throughways, travel across TREPP’s many loops, and redirect the ride to escape their recurring Removal. After capturing Irma, the Misfits plan to reunify and reclaim virtual Cherokee lands in the US Southeast. While our focus is not on Irma, it is poignant that Hausman chooses a Jewish tourist as the Misfits’ captive. On the one hand, Irma’s story evokes a mini-captivity narrative, a popular genre among white settlers in the years leading up to the actual Trail of Tears. On the other hand, Irma’s captivity also alludes to the connections between Jewish and Cherokee history, which are grounded not only in similar histories of Removal, genocide, and resilience but also in Hausman’s own Jewish-Cherokee ancestry (Hausman, “Interview”). When the Misfits first meet Irma, they describe the scientific landscape of the ride for her, much like Tallulah describes the historical landscape for her non-Native tour group. Orienting Irma to their digital dilemma, the Misfits state, “This machine covers Cherokee country from the old country to the new country, from our mountains to the Indian Territory out west. We’re part of the program, and we cannot leave the boundaries of this machine” (Hausman, Riding 123). In response, Irma offhandedly suggests that they simply return to North Carolina. Being a Jewish woman from New Jersey with little knowledge of Cherokee history, Irma makes this suggestion because of her earlier conversation with Tallulah during the group’s orientation. When Tallulah first introduces herself to her tour group, she tells them she is from North Carolina, that her grandparents live near the Cherokee Qualla Boundary in present-day North Carolina, and that the Smoky Mountains are “the cradle of our culture… . It’s like our motherland” (53). Appreciating Irma’s suggestion despite never having seen North Carolina, the Misfits hum “in nostalgic tones” and echo Tallulah’s words, calling North Carolina “the motherland” and saying, “It’s beautiful there” (123). This echo suggests that Tallulah, the “sole cultural consultant involved in the process” of creating TREPP, has programmed the Misfits with her worldviews and extensive historical knowledge, which explains why the Misfits’ own historical knowledge extends far beyond the supposed limits of the virtual container (14). While the Misfits’ knowledge stems from Tallulah’s programming, their physical description and urge to escape Removal and return home stems from Art’s prototype. Indeed, the seven Cherokee men who lead the Misfits are tribal elders whose aged physical descriptions and knowledge of the ride’s inner workings suggest that they are seven of the prototype’s original Cherokee characters, who, as Tallulah recognizes after her childhood ride in TREPP’s prototype, are “seeking their own exodus” from Removal (34). Like the Cherokee whose eyes “stared right through” Tallulah (34), the elders see through Irma’s Cherokee avatar, and they all wear sunglasses to disguise the omniscience of their digital eyes (116). Designed by Art and programmed by Tallulah to lead the ride’s Cherokee through an exodus of Removal, the Misfits represent the protective warrior impulse of Chickamauga consciousness and rebel against Removal by refusing to repeat their deaths or reenact the trail. In fighting to rescue Cherokee people and secure “the motherland,” they operate much like Tsali, a disciple of Tsiyu Gansini (Dragging Canoe) who escaped Removal, “took to the hills,” used “indigenous knowledge of the mountains to hide out,” and, “together with three hundred Cherokee fugitives,” secured “the homeland of the Eastern Band” (189).14 Like Tsali, the Misfits survive to resist and escape the historical events that removed their ancestors from Cherokee homeland. Unfortunately for the Misfits, TREPP’s updated programming flags them as corrupt files and places them in quarantine. This quarantine manifests as a concentration camp: a “roofless log compound,” specially made to contain the Misfits (105). Maintained by “the Suits” and similar in function to anti-virus software, the concentration camp loops every day with the ride, causing the Misfits to replicate Removal and genocide ad infinitum (117–19). The Misfits tell Irma of their plight when Braves Hat, one of the Misfit elders, says, “We always begin again after we die … just to be killed again” (120). The reality of such a statement, for Irma and the reader, does not become apparent until later, when Irma witnesses everyone in the Misfit stockade reenact the deaths they have been programmed to experience: “Some girls threw themselves on their backs, thrusting their hips up and down, shouting painfully. . . . Boys ripped off their shirts. . . . They threw jabs at their own cheekbones. They hollered. They howled. They hit themselves with one hand while holding the other hand over their mouth” (166). The looped violence in the stockade escalates until one young boy beats himself bloody and sprints head first into the stockade wall. After watching the boy kill himself, Irma turns to a young girl, clawing and writhing in pain, and successfully calms her before her programmed death can be fully realized. While witnessing these looped deaths, Irma and readers come to understand the Misfits’ reality as one of endless torture. Despite this, the Misfits determine that Irma’s presence is a signal that they will soon break through the ride’s technological and historical cycles of trauma. As the Misfits begin marching to meet Tallulah and her tour group, one of the tribal elders recounts how he tried to escape his programming when he was younger, was killed by a soldier on the ride, and was then punished to make an example for the others when he reawakened in the stockade (244–45). Today, he says, “is different… . Today is unlike any other day in our history.” For, indeed, as the Misfits are “marching away from the past and the future as they moved together into the present” (245), they “pull weapons from their jackets and wave them in the air.” Irma asks why, and an elder explains, “We are saving your granddaughter… . If we are cruel, it is only to save our kind, so that we can finally know peace when we next begin again” (265). In these displays of Chickamauga consciousness, the Misfits outsmart the Suits, escape the stockade, and attack the US soldiers who are terrorizing Tallulah and her tour group. In “the most powerful act of self-determination that they had ever performed,” they act to protect themselves, rescue their allies, and reinscribe a place for themselves in the present rather than remain confined to a circumscribed place in the past (244). Thus, when they march to meet Tallulah and her tour group on the ride, they not only illustrate the dualism of Chickamauga consciousness and the Beloved Path but also create a Cherokee throughway that connects the spaces within the Cherokee homeland across multiple moments in time. By connecting the presence of Cherokee people across multiple historical events via virtual reality and technology, Tallulah and the Misfits’ moment of unification provides the ultimate illustration of the novel’s balance, not only of the Beloved Path and Chickamauga consciousness but also of Indigenous science fiction and Cherokee historical fiction. The novel’s parallel and complementary chapter structure allows riders and readers of the Trail of Tears to visualize multiple Cherokee throughways, or tribally specific slipstreams, that illustrate the convergence of the Beloved Path and Chickamauga consciousness. This convergence is fully realized when Tallulah’s and the Misfits’ paths converge at the novel’s climax. After the Misfits escape their stockade and rescue Tallulah and her tour group from being terrorized by US soldiers and Georgia militia, Cherokee characters work together, moving across the ride’s loops to circumvent virtual Removal. Once together, Tallulah’s and the Misfits’ roles embody Cherokee “balance and interconnection,” qualities that Christopher B. Teuton (Cherokee) characterizes as “fundamental to Cherokee cosmology” (Cherokee 21). When Tallulah’s and the Misfits’ character arcs merge, they fulfill a prophecy in the novel: that a Native woman from a southern tribe will return “to a tribe in need down south” (Hausman, Riding 192). Even though the Misfits initially believe the prophesied woman to be Irma, Tallulah is actually the Native woman from a southern tribe who, via her tribal affiliation and history degree (37), helps to write all of TREPP’s knowledge banks and creates the backgrounds for nearly all of the virtual Cherokee characters, including the Misfits (14). The now-combined Misfits, Tallulah, and her tour group travel through the novel’s ultimate throughway: “the double doorway,” which opens a portal to their utopian destination of Cherokee motherland (288). This final Cherokee throughway epitomizes a tribally specific Native slipstream that is a pathway for traveling through time and defying Removal by reclaiming Cherokee-made technologies and ancestral land. By breaking TREPP’s Removal loops, Tallulah and the Misfits reject the settler-oriented usage of Art’s Cherokee technology. Together, they navigate Cherokee throughways, resist an Atlanta business mogul profiting on Cherokee inventions, and make tribally specific decisions about where they reside. As the Nunnerator makes clear from his residence outside the ride at the beginning of the novel, in Tallulah’s tear duct for the middle of the novel, and traveling along “endless water” that “all flows back to where it began” at the end, the novel is replete with Native slipstreams (370). These slipstreams become tribally specific Cherokee throughways, such as Art’s prototype Jeep Cherokee and the double doorway through which the Beloved Path of Tallulah and the Chickamauga consciousness of the Misfits ultimately escape Removal. Cherokee throughways thus connect the novel’s engagement with Cherokee historical fiction to Indigenous science fiction. They are pathways for Cherokee characters to survive historical cycles of Removal. As they demonstrate atop Mount Wayah Bald, where the Misfits “shall be free to begin again,” such pathways allow Cherokee people to reappropriate settler colonial technologies as Cherokee technologies (296). Hausman’s novel imagines Cherokee throughways by using the experimental framework of Indigenous science fiction to craft tribally specific historical fiction. By defying the narrative features of Euro-American historical and science fiction and crafting a tribally specific work of Indigenous futurism, Hausman’s novel combines the revolutionary and revisionary impulses of the historical novel with the fluid temporality of Native slipstream. This tribally specific structure illustrates the historical and contemporary sovereign presence of Cherokee people both in and beyond the US Southeast. In using tribally specific genre conventions within Indigenous science fiction in combination with Cherokee historical fiction to locate the story in a future continuous space, Riding the Trail of Tears writes back against the perpetual settler colonial tradition of relegating Indigenous people and history to spaces and times in the past. Writing against traditions of Euro-American historical fiction that make heavy use of the Vanishing Indian myth, Hausman highlights how Cherokee peoples engineer technological portals that resist settler colonial-dominated modes of production. While Hausman’s balance of Cherokee historical fiction with a tribally specific type of Native slipstream is unique, it is not the only work of Indigenous futurism to use Indigenous-oriented and tribally specific genre conventions to craft works of art that transport readers across space and time. There is a growing body of Indigenous futurist media seeking similar ends. Novels such as LeAnne Howe’s Shell Shaker (2001) similarly blend tribally specific historical fiction with Indigenous speculative fiction to imagine pathways for disrupting cycles of settler colonial oppression between eighteenth- and twentieth-century Choctaw characters. Survivance, a Native-made social impact game that blends self-reflection and art, encourages players to “explore [Indigenous] presence and create works of art as a pathway to healing” (Survivance). Meanwhile, Raiders of the Lost Crown (2013), an alternate reality game, blends speculative narratives with political activism in an effort to repatriate Moctezuma’s headdress from Austria to Mexico as an international gesture at recovering what was lost during the American holocaust (Ponce De León).15 Like these examples, Hausman’s novel emphasizes the indigenization of genres so as to connect Indigenous lived experiences across space and time. With its synthesis of Indigenous science fiction and Cherokee historical fiction, Riding the Trail of Tears allows readers to see that science and historical fiction are not genres confined to Euro-American definitions that dominate discussions about many foundational works of literature and scholarship. Rather, Hausman’s novel illustrates the need to challenge conventional definitions of genre. Hybridizations of historical and science fiction also occur in a vast array of multi-ethnic American literature, including Octavia Butler’s Kindred (1979), Graciela Limón’s Erased Faces (2001), and Nnedi Okorafor’s Binti series (2015–18). Discussions of multi-ethnic historical and science fiction of the United States must pay careful attention to the way that multiple cultural contexts inform definitions of history, time, and space. If they do not, then discussions of genre run the risk of perpetuating the racist legacies embedded in Euro-American myths, such as that of the Vanishing Indian. Because it reorients discussions of genre, Riding the Trail of Tears defies these myths, and its Cherokee throughways illustrate that Indigenous science fiction and multi-ethnic historical fiction are imagining, mapping, and perhaps even inventing a more Indigenous-oriented past, present, and future for North America. The authors would like to thank Gina Caison and all the reviewers at MELUS for their feedback, recommendations, and encouragement on various drafts of this article. Footnotes 1 As told by James Mooney, Nûñnë'hï are a spirit people whose name in Cherokee translates to English as “those who live anywhere” (475). 2 Of the historical novel, George Dekker comments: “[T]he meaning and price of progress … was, as it were, built into the genre by its earliest masters” (74). See also Fiona Robertson, who, like Dekker, roots the American historical novel’s style of thought in the “stadial models of social development” (108), placing all societies at various stages of a continuum, all ascending toward the supposedly ideal stage of European civilization. 3 Joseph Bauerkemper similarly notes that Indigenous historical narratives explore the “relationship between nonlinearity and indigenous nationhood” (32). 4 Portals are a common and long-standing feature of Indigenous cosmologies of the Americas. Most notably, the concept of portals has been discussed at length by scholars such as F. Kent Reilly, George Lankford, and James Garber, who study pre-Columbian earthworks and art. James Duncan defines portals as “gateways, enabling supernaturals and mortals to traverse the levels of the cosmos” (32). 5 See 1776 (1969) and Annie Get Your Gun (1946) for paradigmatic examples of popular US historical musicals that perpetuate an implied “whites-only” progress narrative about the history of the United States. 1776 presents a similar narrative to Hamilton (2015) in that it focuses on the “founding fathers”; its 2016 production adopted a more racially diverse cast in the aftermath of Hamilton’s success. Annie Get Your Gun makes use of Indigenous characters such as Sitting Bull to protect Annie, adopt her into his tribe, and ultimately to recommend she submit to white patriarchal forces to get married. 6 For examples of widely popular and white-authored works of historical fiction that make use of the myth of the Vanishing Indian, see Scott O’Dell’s Island of the Blue Dolphins (1960), Cormac McCarthy’s Blood Meridian (1985), and Michael Blake’s Dances with Wolves (1988). For a more detailed look at how Euro-American US historical narratives insert Native American people “into a present defined on non-native terms” (Rifkin 1), see Mark Rifkin’s reading of Ely S. Parker’s presence in the 2012 Stephen Spielberg film, Lincoln. 7 See LeAnn Howe’s Shell Shaker (2001), which sets up parallel narratives of betrayal of Choctaw matriarchy that take place across multiple generations of a single family, across Choctaw historical lands in south and central North America, and across the settler colonial historical divide between 1738 and 1991. See also Louise Erdrich’s Tracks (1988), which sets up contrasting narratives of two Anishinaabe women’s experience of an allotment process that divides Anishinaabe families and lands across the span of multiple generations and centuries. 8 Despite their contested claims of descent, we include Marilou Awiakta and Diane Glancy here because some scholars, such as Daniel Heath Justice, similarly include them in their discussions of Cherokee literary traditions, and because their literary works address Cherokee Removal. 9 For further discussion of these authors, see chapter 4 of Justice. See also Awiakta’s discussion of Nanyehi (Nancy Ward) and Attakullakulla (Dragging Canoe’s father) in Selu: Seeking the Corn-Mother’s Wisdom (1993), Robert Conley’s portrayal of Dragging Canoe in Cherokee Dragon: A Novel of the Real People (2000), and Conley’s and Glancy’s respective portrayals of John Ross and Elias Boudinot in Mountain Windsong: A Novel of the Trail of Tears (1992) and Pushing the Bear: A Novel of the Trail of Tears (1996). 10 Riding the Trail of Tears (2011) is also like the kind of Indigenous science fiction that Grace Dillon defines as “narratives of biskaabiiyang,” or stories of “returning to ourselves” (10). Such stories describe the effects of colonization, discard the psychological baggage of colonization’s impact, and recover and adapt ancestral traditions in the present day. 11 For more on Indigenous earthworks as advanced technologies in Blood Run (2006), see Chadwick Allen’s analysis of Blood Run’s geometric and biological structure of Native American earthworks, which are evidence of “indigenous technology based in indigenous science” (808). See also Anthony Aveni’s Foundations of New World Cultural Astronomy (2008), whose many contributors suggest that the geometrical position and mathematical precision with which Indigenous North, Central, and South American civilizations constructed their earthworks exhibit a sophisticated level of astronomical knowledge that is equal to or greater than the level of sophistication exhibited by some of their ancient Eurasian counterparts. For more on Indigenous earthworks as literature by Indigenous peoples of the southeastern region of North America, see Eric Gary Anderson (2–3). For more on mounds as sites of technology, art, and renewal, see Howe and Jim Wilson. 12 Cutcha Risling Baldy similarly argues that the application of the term metaphor to Indigenous knowledge systems erases how those knowledge systems “build and support indigenous ideas, as well as unsettle Western ideas about the world” (2). 13 Christopher B. Teuton explains these processes as “mode-three criticism,” which is “[f]irmly committed to the idea of tribal sovereignty” (“Theorizing” 204) and “makes use of, without allowing its purposes to be defined by, academic theory” (205). 14 For a history of Tsali, including an interpretive history that highlights the complexity of the Tsali-as-hero legacy, see William Martin Jurgelski. 15 For Native theory on which the game is based, see Gerald Vizenor’s application of the term survivance to describe methods of telling and enacting stories of “[Indigenous] presence over absence” (1). Such stories, particularly as they are practiced in the game, arguably constitute another narrative genre by Native American people. Works Cited Allen Chadwick. “Serpentine Figures, Sinuous Relations: Thematic Geometry in Allison Hedge Coke’s Blood Run .” American Literature , vol. 82 , no. 4 , 2010 , pp. 807 – 34 . Google Scholar Crossref Search ADS WorldCat Anderson Eric Gary. “Earthworks and Contemporary Indigenous American Literature: Foundations and Futures .” Native South , vol. 9 , no. 1 , 2016 , pp. 1 – 26 . Google Scholar Crossref Search ADS WorldCat Annie Get Your Gun. By Dorothy Fields, composed by Irving Berlin, 1946 . Aveni Anthony , editor. Foundations of New World Cultural Astronomy . UP of Colorado , 2008 . Google Scholar Google Preview OpenURL Placeholder Text WorldCat COPAC Awiakta Marilou. Selu: Seeking the Corn-Mother’s Wisdom . Fulcrum , 1993 . Google Scholar Google Preview OpenURL Placeholder Text WorldCat COPAC Baldy Cutcha Risling. “Coyote Is Not a Metaphor: On Decolonizing, (Re)claiming, and (Re)naming Coyote .” Decolonization: Indigeneity, Education & Society , vol. 4 , no. 1 , 2015 , pp. 1 – 20 . Google Scholar OpenURL Placeholder Text WorldCat Barnett Ashley. Review of Riding the Trail of Tears, by Blake M. Hausman . American Indian Quarterly , vol. 39 , no. 2 , Spring 2015 , pp. 238 – 41 . Google Scholar OpenURL Placeholder Text WorldCat Bauerkemper Joseph. “Narrating Nationhood: Indian Time and Ideologies of Progress .” Studies in American Indian Literatures , vol. 19 , no. 4 , Winter 2007 , pp. 27 – 53 . Google Scholar Crossref Search ADS WorldCat Blake Michael. Dances with Wolves . Random House , 1988 . Google Scholar Google Preview OpenURL Placeholder Text WorldCat COPAC Brooks Lisa. “The Primacy of the Present, the Primacy of Place: Navigating the Spiral of History in the Digital World .” PMLA , vol. 127 , no. 2 , 2012 , pp. 308 – 16 . Google Scholar Crossref Search ADS WorldCat Brown Spiers Miriam. “Reimagining Resistance: Achieving Sovereignty in Indigenous Science Fiction . ” Transmotion , vol. 2 , no 1-2 , 2016 , pp. 52 – 75 . Google Scholar OpenURL Placeholder Text WorldCat Conley Robert J. Cherokee Dragon: A Novel of the Real People . U of Oklahoma P , 2000 . Google Scholar Google Preview OpenURL Placeholder Text WorldCat COPAC Conley Robert J. . Mountain Windsong: A Novel of the Trail of Tears. 1992. U of Oklahoma P , 2014 . Google Scholar Google Preview OpenURL Placeholder Text WorldCat COPAC Dekker George. “Historical Romance and the Stadialist Model of Progress.” The American Historical Romance , Cambridge UP , 1990 , pp. 73 – 98 . Google Scholar Google Preview OpenURL Placeholder Text WorldCat COPAC Deloria Vine Jr. God Is Red: A Native View of Religion, 30th Anniversary Edition . E-book, Fulcrum , 2003 . Google Scholar Google Preview OpenURL Placeholder Text WorldCat COPAC Dillon Grace L. “Imagining Indigenous Futurisms.” Walking the Clouds: An Anthology of Indigenous Science Fiction , edited by Dillon Grace L. , U of Arizona P , 2012 , pp. 1 – 12 . Google Scholar Google Preview OpenURL Placeholder Text WorldCat COPAC Donaldson Laura. “‘But We Are Your Mothers, You Are Our Sons’: Gender, Sovereignty, and the Nation in Early Cherokee Women’s Writing.” Indigenous Women and Feminism: Politics, Activism, and Culture , edited by Suzack Cheryl et al. , U of British Columbia P , 2010 , pp. 43 – 55 . Google Scholar Google Preview OpenURL Placeholder Text WorldCat COPAC Duncan James R. “The Cosmology of the Osage: The Star People and Their Universe.” Visualizing the Sacred: Cosmic Visions, Regionalism, and the Art of the Mississippian World , edited by Lankford George E. et al. , e-book, U of Texas P , 2011 , pp. 18 – 33 . Google Scholar Google Preview OpenURL Placeholder Text WorldCat COPAC Erdrich Louise. Tracks . Perennial , 1988 . Google Scholar Google Preview OpenURL Placeholder Text WorldCat COPAC Glancy Diane. Pushing the Bear: A Novel of the Trail of Tears . Houghton Mifflin Harcourt , 1998 . Google Scholar Google Preview OpenURL Placeholder Text WorldCat COPAC Gore Amy. Review of Walking the Clouds: An Anthology of Indigenous Science Fiction, edited by Grace L. Dillon . Studies in American Indian Literatures , vol. 25 , no. 4 , Winter 2013 , pp. 100 – 03 . Google Scholar Crossref Search ADS WorldCat “Hamilton, by Lin-Manuel Miranda.” The Pulitzer Prizes, https://www.pulitzer.org/winners/lin-manuel-miranda. Accessed 2 Sept. 2020 . Hausman Blake M. “Interview with Blake Hausman about ‘Riding the Trail of Tears.’” The Bridge, 10 Apr. 2015 , pccbridge.com/index.php/2015/04/10/interview-with-blake-hausman-about-riding-the-trail-of-tears/. Hausman Blake M. . Riding the Trail of Tears . U of Nebraska P , 2011 . Google Scholar Google Preview OpenURL Placeholder Text WorldCat COPAC Coke Hedge Adelle Allison . Blood Run . Salt , 2006 . Google Scholar Google Preview OpenURL Placeholder Text WorldCat COPAC Howe LeAnne. Shell Shaker . Aunt Lute Books , 2001 . Google Scholar Google Preview OpenURL Placeholder Text WorldCat COPAC Howe LeAnne Wilson Jim , “Life in a 21st Century Mound City.” The World of Indigenous North America , edited by Robert Warrior Kind ed., Routledge , 2014 , pp. 3 – 26 . Google Scholar Google Preview OpenURL Placeholder Text WorldCat COPAC Jameson Frederic. Archaeologies of the Future: The Desire Called Utopia and Other Science Fictions . Verso , 2005 . Google Scholar Google Preview OpenURL Placeholder Text WorldCat COPAC Jurgelski William Martin. “New Light on the Tsali Affair.” Light on the Path: The Anthropology and History of the Southeastern Indians, edited by Pluckhahn Thomas J. and Ethridge Robbie , U of Alabama P , 2006 , pp. 133 – 64 . Google Scholar Google Preview OpenURL Placeholder Text WorldCat COPAC Justice Daniel Heath. Our Fire Survives the Storm: A Cherokee Literary History . U of Minnesota P , 2006 . Google Scholar Google Preview OpenURL Placeholder Text WorldCat COPAC Luckhurst Roger. Science Fiction . Polity , 2005 . Google Scholar Google Preview OpenURL Placeholder Text WorldCat COPAC Lukács Georg. The Historical Novel . 1937. U of Nebraska P , 1983 . Google Scholar Google Preview OpenURL Placeholder Text WorldCat COPAC McCarthy Cormac. Blood Meridian . Vintage , 1985 . Google Scholar Google Preview OpenURL Placeholder Text WorldCat COPAC Mooney James. Myths of the Cherokee . 1900. Dover , 1995 . Google Scholar Google Preview OpenURL Placeholder Text WorldCat COPAC O’Dell Scott. Island of the Blue Dolphins . 1960. U of California P , 2016 . Google Scholar Crossref Search ADS Google Preview WorldCat COPAC Ponce de León Jennifer. “Through an Anticolonial Looking Glass: On Restitution, Indigenismo, and Zapatista Solidarity in Raiders of the Lost Crown .” American Quarterly , vol. 70 , no. 1 , 2018 , pp. 1 – 24 . Google Scholar Crossref Search ADS WorldCat Rader Dean. Engaged Resistance: American Indian Art, Literature, and Film from Alcatraz to the Nmai . U of Texas P , 2011 . Google Scholar Google Preview OpenURL Placeholder Text WorldCat COPAC Rifkin Mark. Beyond Settler Time: Temporal Sovereignty and Indigenous Self-Determination . Duke UP , 2017 . Google Scholar Google Preview OpenURL Placeholder Text WorldCat COPAC Robertson Fiona. “Walter Scott and the American Historical Novel.” The Oxford History of the Novel in English: The American Novel to 1870 , edited by Gerald Kennedy J. and Person Leland S. , vol. 5 , Oxford UP , 2014 , pp. 107 – 23 . Google Scholar Google Preview OpenURL Placeholder Text WorldCat COPAC 1776. By Peter Stone, composed by Sherman Edwards, 1969 . Survivance. Wisdom of the Elders, Inc., survivance.org/. Accessed 2 Sept. 2020 . Teuton Christopher B. Cherokee Stories of the Turtle Island Liars’ Club . U of North Carolina P , 2012 . Google Scholar Google Preview OpenURL Placeholder Text WorldCat COPAC Teuton Christopher B. . “Theorizing American Indian Literature: Applying Oral Concepts to Written Traditions.” Reasoning Together: The Native Critics Collective , edited by Womack Craig S. et al. , U of Oklahoma P , 2008 , pp. 193 – 215 . Google Scholar Google Preview OpenURL Placeholder Text WorldCat COPAC “The Underground Railroad, by Colson Whitehead (Doubleday).” The Pulitzer Prizes, www.pulitzer.org/winners/colson-whitehead. Accessed 2 Sept. 2020 . Vizenor Gerald. “Aesthetics of Survivance: Literary Theory and Practice.” Survivance: Narratives of Native Presence , edited by Vizenor Gerald , U of Nebraska P , 2008 , pp. 1 – 24 . Google Scholar Google Preview OpenURL Placeholder Text WorldCat COPAC Womack Craig S. Red on Red: Native American Literary Separatism . U of Minnesota P , 1999 . Google Scholar Google Preview OpenURL Placeholder Text WorldCat COPAC © MELUS: The Society for the Study of the Multi-Ethnic Literature of the United States 2020. Published by Oxford University Press on behalf of The Society for the Study of the Multi-Ethnic Literature of the United States. All rights reserved. For permissions, please e-mail: journals.permissions@oup.com. This article is published and distributed under the terms of the Oxford University Press, Standard Journals Publication Model (https://academic.oup.com/journals/pages/open_access/funder_policies/chorus/standard_publication_model)
TI - Cherokee Historical Fiction and Indigenous Science Fiction in Riding the Trail of Tears
JO - MELUS: Multi-Ethnic Literature of the United States
DO - 10.1093/melus/mlaa052
DA - 2020-11-13
UR - https://www.deepdyve.com/lp/oxford-university-press/cherokee-historical-fiction-and-indigenous-science-fiction-in-riding-m7fHDB2yaO
SP - 1
EP - 1
VL - Advance Article
IS - 
DP - DeepDyve
ER -