DeaconIron7953
Language : Read the first page of the book (included below). Think…
Language: Read the first page of the book (included below). Think about the level of language used by the author. We can categorize levels of language as formal, informal, and standard (or neutral). Most fiction is not written in formal language (e.g., I enquired to whom the letter was sent.). Most fiction is neutral or standard (e.g., I asked who the letter was sent to.) Dialogue will often be written in an informal register to sound more natural (e.g., “Who’d you send it to?”). Do you think the language in your book is too challenging? Is it not challenging enough? How does the language create tone (author’s attitude toward the subject) and voice for the characters (are they optimistic, jaded, educated etc.)?
My name is Saul Indian Horse. I am the son of Mary Mandamin and John Indian Horse.
My grandfather was called Solomon so my name is the diminutive of his. My people are
from the Fish Clan of the northern Ojibway, the Anishinabeg, we call ourselves. We
made our home in the territories along the Winnipeg River, where the river opens wide
before crossing into Manitoba after it leaves Lake of the Woods and the rugged spine of
northern Ontario. They say that our cheekbones are cut from those granite ridges that
rise above our homeland. They say that the deep brown of our eyes seeped out of the
fecund earth that surrounds the lakes and marshes. The Old Ones say that our long
straight hair comes from the waving grasses that thatch the edges of bays. Our feet and
hands are broad and flat and strong, like the paws of a bear. Our ancestors learned to
travel easily through territories that the Zhaunagush, the white man, later feared and
sought our help to navigate. Our talk rolls and tumbles like the rivers that served as our
roads. Our legends tell of how we emerged from the womb of our Mother the Earth; Aki
is the name we have for her. We sprang forth intact, with Aki’s heartbeat thrumming in
our ears, prepared to become her stewards and protectors. When I was born our people
still talked this way. We had not yet stepped beyond the influence of our legends. That
was a border my generation crossed, and we pine for a return that has never come to
be.
These people here want me to tell my story. They say I can’t understand where I’m
going if I don’t understand where I’ve been. The answers are within me, according to
them. By telling our stories, hardcore drunks like me can set ourselves free from the
bottle and the life that took us there. I don’t give a shit about any of that. But if it means
getting out of this place quicker, then telling my story is what I will do.
It was social workers at the hospital who sent me here. The New Dawn Centre. They
call it a treatment facility. The counsellors here say Creator and the Grandmothers and …
