Missing and Murdered
The ongoing disappearance and murder of Indigenous women and girls in Canada and the United States, often described as a genocide, has persisted for decades. These cases frequently receive little to no attention or investigation. In "Fireweed," Lauren Hadden is looking to shine a light on this atrocity.
Living in Prince George, Canada, Jenny Hayes, who identifies as "white trash," harbors disdain for most everyone, including her demanding mother, privileged social circle, and even her husband. She does develop a strong curiosity about her neighbor Rachelle, an Indigenous widow with two young children whose late husband was white. Despite Jenny's crude, stereotype-laden perspective, shaped by her family and social circle's prejudiced views of Indigenous people as "uncivilized" and "savages," Rachelle becomes a subject of intense fascination for her, observed from her backyard. Jenny is an incredibly nosy neighbor, constantly snooping, peeking, and keeping tabs on everything Rachelle does.
A twenty-four-year-old blonde, blue-eyed white girl, Beth Tremblay has disappeared, and it is the lead story on every station. Her picture is posted everywhere, there are bumper stickers, there is a reward out, and the whole community is galvanized. This just did not happen to girls like her.
One day Rachelle disappears-- she fails to pick up her girls from the day care center. Jenny is the only one who seems to take notice. She investigates, tries to make the Mounties take this seriously, but the report is not even written up. A friend suggests Rachelle is just a casualty suffered by the prostitutes who work highway 16, the so-called "Highway of Tears."
Our "White Savior," Jenny may seem to be good-intentioned, but she just wears us out. She is loaded up with prejudices, she is borderline obsessive with Rachelle, and she makes a series of baffling decisions that leaves you scratching your head. There is a puzzling passage where she second-guesses her ancestry as an explanation for her connection with Rachelle, "...as if other hands were at the wheel." Her husband, no prize human being, makes a comment to her that she should not ever forgive... and she lets that pass. Ultimately, the narrative lacks compelling characters to connect with.
It seems crucial that such a significant story be narrated by Native voices. We never see Rachelle, we see a caricature through Jenny's eyes. There are inherent limitations to the perspective of a naive white woman who makes the story about herself.
The National Week of Action for Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls runs each year from May 5 to May 9.
I received an advance review copy for free, and I am leaving this review voluntarily.
The ongoing disappearance and murder of Indigenous women and girls in Canada and the United States, often described as a genocide, has persisted for decades. These cases frequently receive little to no attention or investigation. In "Fireweed," Lauren Hadden is looking to shine a light on this atrocity.
Living in Prince George, Canada, Jenny Hayes, who identifies as "white trash," harbors disdain for most everyone, including her demanding mother, privileged social circle, and even her husband. She does develop a strong curiosity about her neighbor Rachelle, an Indigenous widow with two young children whose late husband was white. Despite Jenny's crude, stereotype-laden perspective, shaped by her family and social circle's prejudiced views of Indigenous people as "uncivilized" and "savages," Rachelle becomes a subject of intense fascination for her, observed from her backyard. Jenny is an incredibly nosy neighbor, constantly snooping, peeking, and keeping tabs on everything Rachelle does.
A twenty-four-year-old blonde, blue-eyed white girl, Beth Tremblay has disappeared, and it is the lead story on every station. Her picture is posted everywhere, there are bumper stickers, there is a reward out, and the whole community is galvanized. This just did not happen to girls like her.
One day Rachelle disappears-- she fails to pick up her girls from the day care center. Jenny is the only one who seems to take notice. She investigates, tries to make the Mounties take this seriously, but the report is not even written up. A friend suggests Rachelle is just a casualty suffered by the prostitutes who work highway 16, the so-called "Highway of Tears."
Our "White Savior," Jenny may seem to be good-intentioned, but she just wears us out. She is loaded up with prejudices, she is borderline obsessive with Rachelle, and she makes a series of baffling decisions that leaves you scratching your head. There is a puzzling passage where she second-guesses her ancestry as an explanation for her connection with Rachelle, "...as if other hands were at the wheel." Her husband, no prize human being, makes a comment to her that she should not ever forgive... and she lets that pass. Ultimately, the narrative lacks compelling characters to connect with.
It seems crucial that such a significant story be narrated by Native voices. We never see Rachelle, we see a caricature through Jenny's eyes. There are inherent limitations to the perspective of a naive white woman who makes the story about herself.
The National Week of Action for Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls runs each year from May 5 to May 9.
I received an advance review copy for free, and I am leaving this review voluntarily.
