Finding the Distorted Self in There There

Tommy Orange has a very impressive ability to keep the reader engaged while constantly throwing in new characters and new voices into There There. I found myself crying as all the threads folded into each other in the Powwow section, where suddenly almost everybody dies. I wanted Calvin and Octavio to be redeemed so badly, and I was so shaken when Orvil went down. What I found most impressive about this work was the thematic sense of self within all these narratives. There was self-destruction, self-actualization, and self-discovery amongst almost all the different voices.

My favorite character was Thomas Frank, although we don't hear from him as much, he has a significant moment. His chapter introduces the second person point of view into the narrative, which doesn't happen a lot in fiction, and it feels very ethereal and important. I don't usually feel that the voice means "me" when the "you" is invoked, and in this case, it felt distinctly that a voice from the other side, an elder, was imparting the wisdom about Thomas' driven rhythmic nature. To be into drumming from the stage of in utero, that's something. "Everything can be drumming whether rhythm is kept or strays. Even gunshots and backfire, the howl of the trains at night, the wind against your windows. The world is made of sound. But inside every kind of sound lurked a sadness. In the quiet between your parents, after a fight they both managed to lose." (210) Such poetic and evocative language used to describe the pull of the pulse. Thomas doesn't feel deserving enough to sing, but Bobby Big Medicine encourages him (I love Bobby). The dissonance in Thomas' body becomes resolved through the music, and the community. His self-actualization is marked by the drum, and his self-discovery is shot through with the stories from his past, how his parents met and came together.

Another important section for me was Edwin's where he is constipated and looking for relief online. His conversation with his mother is so sad and beautiful, where he defends his weight, and rails against her judgement: "Being big, you think about it all the time. You feel it. All those years, dieting all the time, you don't think that fucked me up? We're all always thinking about our weight. Are we too fat? Well, what I have going on comes with an easy answer, and even more so when I see my reflection in the mirror on the front of the fridge, which, by the way, I know you put there for my benefit." (73) It's such an incredible anthem for fat people, defiant and loud. I loved this for its self-defense, and I also put it in the self-actualization category. Also, the end of this section was incredible. Joking-not-joking about needing a crane to pull him out after he dies, and he tries several times to do a sit up and finally shits. It's perfect. I love him. I need to believe that he makes it after being driven to Highland Hospital. Even though we're left not knowing.

Another beautiful moment, in Bill Davis' section, is when he's regaling a cherished period of his past, "The games were all he had then. He had his teams, and they were winning, three years in a row, right when he needed it, after what felt to Bill like a lifetime of losing...it was a really good time to be from Oakland, to feel that you were from that thing, that winning." (85) I'd credit this as self-preservation, being able to cling to this sense of self from a larger community success. I was interested in this part because a lot of characters gain a specific strength from the Native community, and belonging there when they don't seem much to belong elsewhere, yet Bill finds this peace with his teams. I appreciate this moment too for the poetic nature of winning: he was AWOL, dishonorably discharged, hated America, hated life. But he finds himself in Oakland, and finds self-identification in the magic of a three years winning streak. Also in this section I love that he details all the books he read in prison. It's important he loves that One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest is entirely narrated by the Native American, but that the movie screws that up. The book is always better! He is so relatable with this review of his time incarcerated, and being able to make the best of life inside.

Octavio is the epitome of self-destruction. Whether it's going over to Sixto's house to possibly beat the shit out of him, or when he gets himself wrapped up in the Powwow robbery scheme, he's on a path and nobody can pull him off it. One of the most chilling moments in the novel was when they were all loading their 3D-printed guns in the bathroom: "The dread keeps going, moves out of him, like he had his chance with what it was telling him but he missed it, because just as he feels it a bullet drops and rolls out in front of him, out of the stall. Hears the squeak of shoes. Must be Tony here to get his bullets. Everyone goes quiet at the sound of the bullet rolling." (256) The part that's really ominous, and what really gets me, is that they are all about to kill each other in about half an hour. All of them are going to die. And they don't know it. And they're just thinking about that five thousand dollars. It completely breaks my heart. They are all loading these bullets that are going to go into each other, each in their own stall, their last moments before them. It's so dark. Orange gave them so many chances to steer out of this, but they each retreat to this moment. Even though none of them is a suicide, I find it to be a self-destruction they participate it, as, they are self-destructing as a generation. They never had a chance.