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The family tragedy, the death of his mother and baby brother, and the subsequent family separation are described in wrenching detail, mirroring and paralleling the descriptions of historic events resulting from the lethal coming of whites into his homeland following the discovery of gold in California. This book is simultaneously literature, an autobiography and the history of a People. This is one of those books. He says, ".we must seek a power or a series of powers outside of ourselves which we identify as 'helpers.' Helpers can be a tree or animals, rocks or mountains, stars or flowers, frogs or rainbows.
This is the masterful recounting of a personal journey that enfolds us warmly in a child eye's view ofWilson'sfamily and tribal relations, as well as the intrinsic and permanent relationship with theland in its ancient and essential dimensions. Every once in a while a book is written that changes everything. Wilson places us, as readers, in a spot that is at the same time ancient, historical and contemporary. We must seek within ourselves the spiritual terrain from our watu/ah'lo (spiritual umbilical cord) to the Great Power, cultivating our personal power and creating wholesomeness with our thoughts and intentions.It is taught in our lessons and legends, and by our Elders, that The People are responsible for life upon earth. Thebook begins with a dream in which Wilson is tested and reminded by the Elders of his responsibility to his People.
This is a story of growingself-assurance and human understanding as Wilson matures and comes to see the world from a broader vision, as well as his place and potential role within that world. Honoring the lessons then becomes a mandate from Great Power/GReat Wonder/Great Spirit that we are bound to obey. This autobiography written by Darryl Babe Wilson about his Achomawi/Atsugewi (Pit River) Indian childhood in northern California is filled with wonder and lyrical beauty, and at the same time with painful tragedy and brutality. Helpers come to us in our time of need, and they guide our dreams." This book is utlimately the story of strength and power. It combines observations both minute and practical with those that sweepinglyencompass infinate place and time, understood both by the heart and mind.
We are deftly drawn into a world that is simultaneously rugged and sweet. Near the end of the book, he says, "For it was a song, according to our narratives, that caused all of the universe to have a beginning. All people must obey the Great Law, so the sweetness of life can continue."
Every once in a while a book is written that changes everything. This is the masterful recounting of a personal journey that enfolds us warmly in a child eye's view of Wilson's family and tribal relations, as well as the intrinsic and permanent relationship with the land in its ancient and essential dimensions. THE MORNING THE SUN WENT DOWN is one of those books. This autobiography written by Darryl Babe Wilson about his Achomawi/Atsugewi (Pit River) childhood in northeastern California is filled with wonder and lyrical beauty, and at the same time with painful tragedy and brutality. This book is simultaneously literature, an autobiography and the history of a People. It is highly recommended.//This is a portion of the review by Susan Lobo that will appear in the journal NATIVE AMERICAS (Cornell)
Whe it appeared that his foster parents wanted to strip away his Indian identity, Wilson rebelled, for which he was sent off to a boarding school where the young California Indian charges were locked in their rooms at nights and punished by day for minor infractions. Wilson, a poet and scholar from the Achumawe and Atsugewi tribes of northeastern California, came into adolescence in the mid-1950s, when his people had all but disappeared through assimilation or extermination. from "Kirkus Reviews" (starred review): A slim, modest, and altogether extraordinary memoir of rural Native American life. Wilson recounts these horros matter-of-factly but doesn't dwell on them; instead, he celebrates a teacher who sagely corrected his compositions, encouraged him to improve himself, and urged him to become a writer. Blame for part of that disappearance he lays squarely at the door of whites; but, he adds, "the neglect of our Elders to teach us our traditions was equally damaging." His own parents did their best to teach Wilson and his siblings something of the old ways: how to hunt deer, how to tame rattlesnakes, how to listen for mountain lions, lessons that he imparts to his readers with precision and grace- and not a little humor. But when his mother and younger brother were killed in a collision with a logging truck, Wilson was sent off to live with white foster parents among unfriendly neighbors (he remembers, touchingly, one young girl "who did not accuse me with her eyes or attitude," principally "because we were not enemies"). Readers have reason to be grateful to that teacher as well. Wilson is a careful and compassionate obeserver of his life and those of other young Indians, and his book is a fine addition to the growing library of Native American autobiography.
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