I read an early copy of this novel late last spring — and have been dying to talk about it since. It’s finally out, And Then She Fell by Alicia Elliott.
I loved it. The simplest way to explain might be this:
I already knew that Alicia was an incredible writer. I read her columns. Her bestselling collection of essays, A Mind Spread Out on the Ground, is about the treatment of Native people in North America and Alicia’s survival as a Mohawk woman. It has so much heart, intellect, and love — all wrapped up in a powerfully channelled rage.
When I first picked up And Then She Fell, I leafed through. This page caught my attention:
Alicia’s words are so good — why two pages of stars?
I wondered if it might be gimmicky, but I already love Alicia’s work and we share an editor, Kiara Kent. Put plainly, Kiara does not take any shit. Between them both, I knew the stars would be something, even if I couldn’t imagine what.
Fast forward to page 263, I turn the page, see the stars, and become completely mesmerized. I stare at them for a long time, nod, and start to cry.
I’m not asking you to understand. I am telling you to read this book.
If you need more than stars:
And Then She Fell is the story of Alice. She’s a teenager at the start of the book. She loves red lipstick and a boy named Mason. While babysitting, she rewatches the movie Pocahontas.
A memory jog, Pocahontas is an animated musical, from 1995, about the daughter of Chief Powhatan, Pocahontas, who meets and saves an English Settler, John Smith. A Disney movie, it distorted history and made tons of money. It ended up winning two Academy Awards.
In the novel, Alice is watching the film while babysitting. Things take a turn when Pocahontas starts talking from the screen. She claims that John Smith ruined her life.
Alice can’t believe it. She tells Pocahontas that she’s seen the movie a million times, John Smith loves her. Everyone knows it.
Pocahontas chuckled. “The only thing John Smith loves is killing savages. Didn’t you watch the opening scene? He sings a whole song about it.”
“Well, yeah, but that was before. He doesn’t kill you.”
Pocahontas smiled bitterly. “There’s more than one way to kill a person.”
The story follows Alice as she grows up, meets an academic named Steve, marries, and gives birth. They live in Toronto in a house that looks ripped from the pages of an Ikea catalogue. Though Alice wanted to live off the rez, they didn’t have a choice. Steve is white and it was forbidden for him to live on the territory.
In her new life in Toronto, Alice works on a retelling of the Haudenosaunee creation story, but struggles to find time to work. She has trouble connecting with baby, Dawn. She is separated from her community and feels lost.
What I loved most about this novel is how it plays with a classic horror premise — is everyone trying to kill me, or is this just in my head?
You can see more than a glint of horror on the cover of the Canadian edition.
And Then She Fell has the most elegant structure. Slowly, it peels back the layers as Alice finds that the problem isn’t hers, but far more terrifying — it’s embedded in every part of society around her.
Pocahontas’s warning from the TV screen proves pivotal. I don’t want to spoil the plot, but as Alice slowly unwinds, it becomes clear that hers is the only sane reaction.
This book is such a ride. It’s harrowing, disturbing, and brilliant. By the end, it’s a hopeful book.
And the stars are there for the most important reason. They show a way through.
P.S.
A much-loved song, this dancer, Marie-Louise Hertog, changes the way I hear it.
I was on The Current talking about tree planting, they wrote up a story. I loved hearing from fellow guests, Megan DeGraff, a planter and supervisor, and John Innes, a specialist in forestry management from the University of British Columbia, had hopeful things to say about what we can do.
A beaver was born in London, the first in 400 years.