This Tender Land

“The stories you hear now are the ones I tell you. And they mean just what I say they mean.” 

Not all the violence practiced at Lincoln School is physical. Here, Mrs. Brickman expresses her intent to select stories for her students and to impose her interpretations upon them. These stories include not only the fables she tells them after dinner but also the broader narratives about the treatment of Indigenous peoples in the United States.

“You tell stories but they’re real. There are monsters and they eat the hearts of children.”

As Mose observes, the stories Odie tells have real-world counterparts. By reshaping his life experiences into stories, Odie processes those events, connects with others, and enjoys a degree of control that he lacks in real life. The “monsters” rarely, if ever, come out ahead in his stories.

“If the situation hadn’t been so tragic, I’d have found it funny, this heavy white man showing a bunch of Indian kids things that, if white people had never interfered, they would have known how to do almost from birth.” 

Odie finds the scoutmaster’s efforts to teach Native American students wilderness survival skills ironic. By forcibly relocating Native American children, some for years at a time, school officials effectively cut them off from sources of cultural knowledge. The implication is that, to some extent, such schools impeded the education of their students.

“‘Listen, Odie, what does a shepherd eat?’ […] ‘His flock,’ Albert told me. ‘One by one.’” 

Throughout the novel, Odie struggles to arrive at a meaningful conception of God. Albert’s comment recasts a traditionally comforting biblical image of God as a shepherd in a more menacing light, suggesting that God preys upon individuals. Odie vacillates between Albert’s pessimistic outlook and the desire to believe in a benevolent higher power.

“Everything that’s been done to us we carry forever. Most of us do our damnedest to hold on to the good and forget the rest. But somewhere in the vault of our hearts, in a place our brains can’t or won’t touch, the worst is stored, and the only sure key to it is in our dreams.”

After seeing Mose have nightmares, Odie reflects on the relationship between experience and identity. Mose has trauma in his past that goes unaddressed and unresolved through his years at Lincoln School. Though the earliest signs of discomfort come in dreams, his journey involves a conscious awakening to his past, both personal and cultural.

“The more I knew about him, the less frightful he was.”

At first scared by Jack, Odie comes to respect and even appreciate him as he gets to know him. He even explicitly compares Jack to Faria, the once-frightening rat who lived in the quiet room. Through Albert’s leadership, and his own experience, Odie comes to understand that other people are almost always deserving of sympathy, though Mrs. Brickman and DiMarco test the limits of such sympathy.

“Ask me, God’s right here. In the dirt, the rain, the sky, the trees, the apples, the stars in the cottonwoods. In you and me, too. It’s all connected and it’s all God. Sure this is hard work, but it’s good work because it’s a part of what connects us to this land, Buck. This beautiful, tender land.”

Even as Jack develops into an ambiguous character, alternately admirable and reprehensible in Odie’s view, he morphs from taskmaster into philosopher. Here, he challenges Odie’s newfound pessimism following the death of Mrs. Frost with an acknowledgement of the beauty and goodness to be found in people, nature, and the work that connects them. His is a holistic view of God that exceeds the boundaries of organized religion.

“Tragic, that’s what I call it. But don’t blame the land. […] The land is what it is. Life is what it is. God is what God is. You and me, we’re what we are. None of it’s perfect. Or, hell, maybe it all is and we’re just not wise enough to see it.” 

Odie pushes back against Jack’s holistic spiritual outlook, questioning why God would allow bad things to happen to people like Mrs. Frost. Jack acknowledges the pain such events can cause but rejects Odie’s attempts to assign blame. Instead, his attitude is one of acceptance of the way things are, imperfect as they seem.

“There is a deeper hurt than anything sustained by the body, and it’s the wounding of the soul. It’s the feeling that you’ve been abandoned by everyone, even God. It’s the most alone you’ll ever be.” 

Seeing Emmy cry a few days after losing her mother, Odie reflects on the lingering effects of loss, grief, and loneliness. At various points in the novel, and for different reasons, each of the four main characters reaches a similar low point. Their concern for each other fosters a family-like dynamic in which to work through such alienating experiences.

“I have been to the top of the Eiffel Tower at night and gazed across the City of Light, but all that man-made brilliance didn’t hold a candle to the miracle I witnessed on a June night along the bank of the Gilead River when I was a boy.” 

Jack describes the land as “beautiful” and “tender,” and here, Odie witnesses its beauty for himself. While land serves important functional purposes, such as the production of food, Krueger draws attention to its aesthetic qualities. His concern for beauty demonstrates the narrator’s viewpoint, expressed in the Prologue, that stories serve to remind listeners of beauty’s “divine source.”

“Only God is perfect, Odie. To the rest of us, he gave all kinds of wrinkles and cracks. […] If we were perfect, the light he shines on us would just bounce right off. But the wrinkles, they catch the light. And the cracks, that’s how the light gets inside us. When I pray, Odie, I never pray for perfection. I pray for forgiveness, because it’s the one prayer I know will always be answered.”

Odie is surprised to note Sister Eve’s vices of drinking and smoking. Using physical imperfections as a metaphor, Sister Eve explains that human weakness allows godly light, presumably meaning goodness or truth, to be seen more clearly. Her plea for forgiveness foreshadows Odie’s later struggle to come to terms with the deceptive aspects of Sister Eve’s crusade.

“Knowing the truth ain’t always what it’s cracked up to be, Odie.” 

When Whisker senses that Odie is beginning to doubt Sister Eve’s miracles, he warns him that gaining knowledge can be a painful process. His warning proves sound as Odie’s discoveries result in disillusionment and anger. Odie’s journey from trust to disbelief and finally to a new understanding takes place within a coming-of-age context that sees him questioning things he once took for granted.

“I don’t know about God in the Bible, he signed. But I know you and Albert and Emmy, and now Sister Eve. And I think about Herman Volz and Emmy’s mother. I know love. So if it’s true, like Sister Eve says, that God is love, then I guess I believe.”

After Albert beats the odds to survive the snakebite, Odie asks Mose whether he believes in God. Mose’s response suggests a more holistic, abstract perception of deity than that found in scripture. His view of God draws upon experiences and relationships rather than texts and focuses on goodness, unlike Odie’s view at the time, which is centered on destructive, random events.

“And look at them. Most folks here had no idea this was just around the corner. So much is beyond anyone’s control.” 

Mother Beal offers a compassionate assessment of those rocked by economic difficulties during the Great Depression. Instead of blaming them for their poverty, she acknowledges larger factors at play. The limits of her generous outlook are tested by the behavior of her son-in-law, whose excessive drinking is partially responsible for the loss of their farm.

“I lived a long time among the Sioux. […] A people beset by all kinds of travail, but I found them to be good and kind and strong. That was especially true when they held to the practice of their old ways.” 

Mother Beal shares her respect for Sioux people and culture with Odie. Her emphasis on the maintenance of their culture contrasts with the methods and goals of the Lincoln School, which cut off students like Mose from their cultural heritage. Though Odie initially resents the changes that Mose undergoes as he reconnects with his heritage, he later finds Mose to be refreshed by the process.

“Quite a bet you made last night. […] That a leopard’ll change its spots. […] But, Buck, here’s the thing. If you never make that kind of bet, you’ll never see the good that might come from it.” 

Forrest commends Odie for placing his faith in Mr. Schofield, recognizing that the potential benefits of such actions are sometimes worth the risks. Mr. Schofield is just one of several people whom Odie must decide whether to give another chance. The limits of his compassion are particularly tested when he learns his mother’s past and must decide whether to place his trust in her.

“I’d come from different people than Mose. My skin was the same color as that of the people who’d cheered when Amdacha died, the same color as those who’d done horrible things to a whole tribal nation, and I felt the taint of their crimes in my blood.” 

Although neither Mose nor Odie was present to witness the official execution of 38 Native American men in 1862, both feel a sense of involvement when they learn what happened. As a Native American, Mose feels a sense of loss and anger, while Odie, who is White, feels remorse. Their newfound historical awareness thus shifts the dynamics of their relationship in the present.

“There seemed to be me two kinds of people—those with and those without. Those with were like the Brickmans, who’d got everything they had by stealing from those without. Were all the people sleeping in the great houses on Cathedral Hill like the Brickmans? If so, I decided I’d rather be one of those without.”

While helping Shlomo deliver newspapers, Odie takes a brief look at upper-class neighborhoods. The contrast in the standard of living between those communities and the Flats leads him to wonder whether such wealth was stolen, directly or otherwise. Using the Brickmans’ dominion at the school as a frame of reference, Odie decides that he would rather be morally satisfied than physically comfortable.

“With every turn of the river since I’d left Lincoln School, the world had become broader, its mysteries more complex, its possibilities infinite.” 

After seeing Flo and Gertie kiss, Odie reflects on the broadening of his perspective since leaving Lincoln School. His conception of God, his understanding of love, his sense of identity, and more are refined throughout his journey. His growing awareness of the diversity of life and experience is accompanied by growing tolerance and compassion.

“Do you think maybe Aunt Julia might be in need of forgiveness? And do you think you can find it in your heart to offer that? From what you tell me, under the circumstances, she’s tried her best.” 

Sister Eve’s counsel to Odie that he offer Julia another chance constitutes an invitation for Odie to adopt and act on the more nuanced worldview acquired throughout his travels. Odie finds that it is most difficult to forgive himself and those close to him. Only when he recognizes the mutual, ever-present need to forgive and be forgiven does he approach peace.

“She gazed at me, and in her eyes, I found what it was I’d been searching for all along, searching for without understanding. Bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood, heart of my heart.”

Throughout the novel, Odie pursues a vague notion of home. Over time, he realizes that home is not so much a place as a state of being. Only after meeting Julia, recognizing her as his mother, forgiving her, and seeing her stand up for him to Mrs. Brickman, does Odie feel that his search is over. Here, he echoes biblical language to describe his epiphany.

“Listen, Odie, you’re the biggest part of every memory I have. You are my brother. The hell with everything else. I love you so much it’s nearly killed me sometimes. Until the day I die you will be my brother.”

Upon hearing that Odie is his cousin, not his brother, Albert indicates that nothing in their relationship has changed. While Odie finds a home of sorts in his newly restored relationship with his mother, his temporary separation from Albert helps him recognize the value of the relationships he already had. It also reveals that shared genes have to do with the strength of a relationship, as he welcomes Mose and Emmy as brother and sister.

“Maybe the universe is one grand story, and who says that it can’t be changed in the telling?”

After reminding Odie of his gift for telling stories, Sister Eve suggests that storytelling is much more than an abstract art. Rather, it is an act of creation. Odie goes on to imagine a desired ending to his mother’s coma, raising the possibility of his unreliability as a narrator while highlighting the empowerment available in such interventions.