Evans, I. M. Singing grass: A novel. BookBaby.
Reviewed by Peter Stanley PhD, Retired Counselling Psychologist, Tauranga
Published in ShrinkRAP, the newsletter of the New Zealand College of Clinical Psychologists, Spring, 2021
Ian Evans will be familiar to many readers as he was a professor of clinical psychology at both Massey University (Wellington) and the University of Waikato in Hamilton. Possibly less well known is that, in addition to being a psychology practitioner and a leading academic, Ian has authored five novels. Singing Grass is his most recent work and it is an interesting read with lots of literary allusions and Kiwi connections. The setting for this book is mainly the “gently pretentious tourist town” (p. 8) of Taos in the US state of New Mexico. The plot of this book is unusual as it is about a patient called Christopher Carson who assumes the identity, and who partially lives the life story, of his historical namesake Kit Carson. Critically for the story, Christopher sets out to educate his competent and self-assured psychologist about the terrible things that white people have done to the indigenous peoples of America. There is also a coterie of women characters in this book (some of whom have past and present forms as well) and a genogram can be helpful to remember exactly who’s who. The persistent questions in the novel are about how Christopher Carson and Dr Richard Young (the clinical psychologist) are coping in their heads. There is a lot of speculation as to whether the present-day version of Kit Carson has a dissociative disorder or a factitious disorder, or even whether he is a reincarnation. Meanwhile, under Christopher’s tutelage, Richard progressively unravels and he is eventually admitted to a psychiatric ward where he is heavily medicated. It is concluded that Dr Young probably has the DSM-5 version of PTSD which can be occasioned by exposure to the suffering of others.
My ancient Abrams (1957) would classify Singing Grass as a didactic work of fiction at least, as it is intended “to demonstrate, or to present in an impressive and persuasive form, a moral, religious, or other thesis or doctrine” (p. 24). Certainly, the choice of characters and the development of the plot are structured here to provide a broad and detailed expose of the plight of the American Indians at the hands of white American settlers and their successors. The first incomers were the conquistadors, the Catholic priests, the trappers, and “syphilitic purveyors of spirits without spirit” (p. 182). Next to invade, were the white pioneers who pushed westward and who assumed that the frontier land was essentially free for the taking. Owner resistance was eliminate by man hunters like Kit Carson and a militia who were known to have decorated their caps with Indian body parts. According to the present book, an array of colonising presumptions and stereotypes have since arisen and by these means America has sanitised its violent past. What the reader may find of special interest is the ways that indigenous beliefs, traditions, and cultural identity can be triggered by major earthworks, agriculture, Winchester rifles, anglicized names, objects in museums, and the expropriating of Native American symbols and art.
In addition to presenting a primary theme, writing a novel is great way of expressing your views about all sorts of other things, and readers who are psychologists will enjoy the many observations (direct and embedded) that Evans makes about the practice, rituals, and pitfalls of therapeutic and academic psychology. Importantly, “Doing psychotherapy isn’t a cakewalk you know” (p. 286), and there’s a lot more to it than “the purchase of friendship” and “listening pseudo-attentively to the inconsequential troubles of the worried well” (p. 9). There is an informative analysis in Singing Grass of the “unscripted intellectual juggling acts” of therapy, which posit the clinician as a tango dancer (choreographing a partnership for change), as a scientist (probing for causes and influences and applying principles), as an engineer (assessing capacity to take on new information), and as a driver who constantly assures the patient that they are doing it all themselves. This work is not for meddlers and muddlers, but who would want “some quack with crystals and mindfulness and inkblots and other b.s.”? (p. 13). Interestingly, Freudian contributions are mostly sympathetically received; while CBT is in the foreground, with some significant reservations around power and truth (‘who’s to judge my thoughts as rational or irrational?’). Also included in the insider fun is a plug for “good old-fashioned contingency management” (p. 171), and especially for primary school children whose teachers prefer diagnoses like ADHD or Aspergers rather than addressing their own poor classroom management strategies.
Evans depicts his women characters as having superior capacities to men. Foremost, women have special understandings, and can frankly communicate amongst themselves, because of a shared vulnerability. Female feelings and sensitivities need consideration “and rousing to life like blowing gently on the embers of a campfire at the end of an evening when you want just to toast a few marshmallows” (p. 150). In relationships, they can choose who to be, including a “good-little-wifey role”, when a man isn’t an “obnoxious, dominating, misogynistic pig” (p. 119). Meanwhile, modern-day blokes are automatically expected to assume a new version of the ‘white man’s burden’ and to be responsible for all of the transgressions of white men of previous ages. Richard Young is a natural fall guy in this regard, and his credentials include being a pale male, being educated and middle class, caring about what other people think, and having a guilty secret (which isn’t a sex offence for a change). The problem is that Richard’s consciousness raising may mostly represent the heightened sensitivities and cognitive distortions that can accompany depression and other psychological problems of living. Maybe there are risks in having so much psychology, and human exigencies, in a didactic novel. Mind you, when Richard has regained his composure, he turns away from clinical psychology and towards culturally-informed interventions in the community. The principal protagonist has also become aware that the women in his life “were now strong, and he was weak” (p. 306). What goes around comes around, and all’s well that ends well, perhaps.
Reference
Abrams, M. H. (1957). A glossary of literary terms. Holt, Rinehart and Winston.