An engaging book with interesting, fully characters. Alexie explores lots of important questions, one of which is the various ways white people appropriate Native American culture, a problem I've been thinking about recently, so his perspective was timely and instructive. ( )

Legendary (isn’t he dead?) blues player Robert Johnson brings his accursed guitar to the Spokane Indian reservation. Although he has tried to abandon it several times before, it has always returned to him. This time however, it latches onto young Thomas Builds-the-Fire who finds himself the lead guitar player of a native band called Coyote Springs, under the tutelage of a mysterious woman called Big Mama. Big Mama says she taught Elvis how to sing and also watched the massacre of her people at Wounded Knee.

The band skyrockets from local to regional success and eventually has the opportunity of a record contract in New York City.

But all is not well on the reservation. People there resent Coyote Springs’ triumphs and failures alike. They are not fond of the band’s two white women groupies or that two of the band members are Salish.

This is an original, searing and sarcastic look at Reservation life, including the white people on the reservation (especially the Catholic church). It’s brutal, honest and original.

It’s also funny as all get out. Because, as the author postulates, if you can’t make fun of your problems, you are not Indian. ( )

Folksy and musical, I enjoyed the way this book wove together classic rock, modern Native American life, and darkly funny references to what we see as traditional Native American culture. ( )

Very interesting. I thought I wasn't into it in the beginning, but kept coming back. Couldn't stop reading. It immersed me completely in a dream-like world. Very effective. I think this one will linger for a long time. I'll seek out more of his work. He walks a very fine line between detailing poverty and getting you to empathise (rather than just sympathise), and does it well. I really appreciated that. ( )

Musical lyrics lead into each chapter of Sherman Alexie’s Reservation Blues, their voice growing convincingly stronger as the novel progresses, providing a powerful song above the tale. Magical realism threads chapters together like guitar strings playing the tune. And heavy shadows of alcoholism and abuse form a drum-beat underneath. Reservation Blues is probably the most musical novel I’ve read recently, appropriately as it’s a haunting tale of musicians, talent and betrayal.

Is talent a gift, a labor, or a curse? Is music the stuff of dreams or of nightmares? Is the reservation a haven or a prison? And is family a treasure or a millstone? This story, told through the eyes of a native American, is stark in its portrayal of ill-treatment at the hands of conquerors, yet beautiful in its magical sense of hope in the face of despair. Even as everything turns to dust, the voice of Big Mom waits, offering wisdom to those who will listen, practical help to those who will pause long enough, and sorrowful regret for those she knows will do neither.

With magical realism used to perfect effect, this novel contrasts Native myth with Catholic practicality, drunken folly with the follies of power, and story with reality. It’s oddly beautiful, haunting and evocative… and musical.

Disclosure: I’ve wanted to read it for ages and I was delighted to finally get my own copy. ( )