Naughty but nice

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Without Reservation:

Indigenous Erotica

Edited by Kateri Akiwenzie-Damm

Kegedonce Press

213 pages (sc)

$24.50

Without Reservation is a collection of poetry and prose by Aboriginal writers from Canada, the U.S., New Zealand, Samoa, and Australia, co-published by Canada's Kegedonce Press and New Zealand's Huia Publishers. The subtitle promises "erotica," which in the book trade means explicit sex stories written to arouse the reader. What the book actually delivers is stories and poems about love, loss, longing, and desire-with some humor and a little sex thrown into the mix.

The book features both male and female contributors, gay, straight and bisexual, and represents a broad range of cultures and territories, from Inuit and Plains Cree to Spokane and Chickasaw to Samoan and Maori. Without Reservation contains more poetry than prose-strange for a book of erotica-but that turns out to be a good thing, since the poetry is by far the strongest work.

Linda Hogan's poem "The Creations of Water and Light" begins the book, and sets the stage for the book's literary take on sexual love (as opposed to the decidedly less literary approach taken by most books of erotica). Lines such as "and when the bodies are pressed together,/ skin against skin,/ we can say we remember how ocean was formed" are simply lovely-and also not likely to set readers on fire.

After several fine poems, the book stumbles. Alootook Ipellie's prose piece "Summit with Sedna, the Mother of Sea Beasts" starts out promising-Ipellie describes the Inuit goddess Sedna as "feeling miserable and sexually bankrupt," and makes more than a few droll references to the sexual reputation of shamans-but in the end shows only male misunderstanding and fear of female sexuality. Not only does the author write that a woman needs to have an orgasm to "express intimacy," but also depicts a group of males who need to create a supernatural monster to tame female desire. Furthermore, Ipellie's piece insists that a woman needs a man to help her be sexual, when in fact what most women need is to learn how to pleasure themselves.

Joseph Bruchac's "Bad Meat" is also a misstep. This story reinforces the idea that female genitalia has a bad odor. In fact, it's interesting to compare "Bad Meat" with another Bruchac story, about Turtle's penis. The Turtle story is not disrespectful: it explains the ways of animals and illustrates human foibles by using the animal world as metaphor. "Bad Meat," on the other hand, is not only disrespectful, but unnecessary.

There are other failures: Witi Ihimaera's "Dio Mi Potevi" and Paul Seesequasis's "The Dance" are heavy with post-colonial theory that kills erotic thoughts upon contact.

But the book recovers with Gregory Scofield's yummy poems "Ochim His Kiss" and "More Rainberries (The Hand Game)," which refers to a lover's "sweet taste" and "muskeg." Although fairly tame, these poems are the book's first real erotica, and prove once again that Scofield-who has written several collections of poetry-is a master of the literary sex poem.

One of Sherman Alexie's poems compares human mating rituals to that of spawning salmon to illustrate how wondrous and exhausting it all is. In another, he writes about a male dancer who attracts every female's eye, but then turns the reader's assumptions upside-down by revealing that the dancer is gay. Alexie also turns the tables by writing two poems from the point of view of a voyeur instead of a participant. It's all good-and all still very literary.

The first explicit piece appears a third of the way into the book. Poet Thom E. Hawke may have a ridiculous pen name, but he can write real erotica. His poem "Powwow Moment" is hot and very nicely bothering.

Alas, it's reader interruptus, since it's a 30-page hike to the next piece of smut. Velvet Black's story "Tonight's the Night" is pedestrian and over-romanticized, but it's also obscene, which makes it good. After that, it's all over, and it's back tothe literary.

Marcie Rendon's short prose piece "Native Love" is funny and intimate. "Native Love" mines familiar cultural touchstones in a way that is somehow more real and better told than many of the other selections, making the reader smile in recognition.

In fact, there is lots of good stuff here: poems by Chrystos and Marilyn Dumont capture well the fire of sexual love. Daniel David Moses' poems are sad and lovely, and Randy Lundy's "Bikini Bar" honors the attraction the narrator has for a stranger. Hone Tuwhare's five poems are all amusing, and he has a nice way with language and rhythm. Dan Taulapapa McMullin's long poetry narrative "The Bat" is strange and beguiling. It's not erotica, mind you, but it's completely engaging. And Gloria Bird's prose poem "Creation Story" is short, sharp, and perfect.

But it is the poetry of Tiffany Midge that stands out above all others. "Sweetheart" is a mature reflection on adult relationships, and "First Snow of '96" conveys loss and rebirth in equal parts, painting a portrait of a suffocating love. The language and feeling in "Promises of Winter" is learned and mature. And "The Night Horse," which says that "only in the dark/ can we begin to see," is about the hard lessons of love. Midge's work is wonderful, and her seven poems are worth the book's purchase price alone.

It's too bad that editor Kateri Akiwenzie-Damm's introduction is so lacking in substance. It was a golden opportunity to discuss sexual dysfunction in Native communities, the eroticization of the "buck," the princess/squaw dichotomy, the subsequent voyeurism of non-Native readers, the relationship of modern erotica to traditional Aboriginal stories (many are quite naughty, although none are erotic), the co-publishing deal, or how material was selected. Still, the strength of the material means that Without Reservation is a worthy read.

Just don't expect to be aroused. If it's smut you want, you'd better stick to the non-Native stuff for now.