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Ways of Knowing: Kieran Kalls Rice interviews Jason Pearce

Thank you for this highly intriguing story, Jason! It was a true joy to read. My first question is about humour. I thought “Binding Arbitration” was extremely funny. As someone who attempts to write humour, I’m curious about your approach to writing satire, specifically, how you solicit feedback/figure out when the humour is working and when it’s not landing how you want it to land.

I’ve always been the class clown, and grew up surrounded by people who used irony, hyperbole and wordplay to express everything from admiration to shock. That same inclination follows me when I sit down to write, to the extent that my first drafts are littered with jokes that don’t work, sometimes taking away from more serious themes. We’ve all heard that old chestnut about “killing your little darlings” when editing. For me, those darlings are failed comedy bits.

Of course, plenty of humorous elements survive my initial cut. That’s where writing mentors and peer critiques come in. I’ve benefited greatly from programs like the Audible Indigenous Writers’ Circle and Calgary’s Alexandra Writers’ Centre. I have trusted people who tell me when a joke is too distracting, ruining the tone or simply not landing.

If anything, I find it difficult to avoid humour and used to worry it compromised my ability to write darker fiction. But then I attended a panel discussion led by Drew Hayden Taylor. Drew described humour as one of the distinguishing features of the Indigenous horror subgenre. Since then, I let my comedic side run free.

I’m also curious to hear about your approach to embedding your writing with a critique of colonialism without falling into moralizing territory and/or hammering the reader over the head with such a critique. I bring this up because I think you’ve struck a really good balance in this story and it’s something that I’m constantly thinking about and trying to figure out for myself.

It comes down to humour again. No one wants to be preached to or told their preconceptions are wrong. But if we shine a comedic light on those biases, the audience should recognize that absurdity for themselves. It requires an appreciation for irony, but it’s a tool as old as storytelling itself.

I also go back to the basic principle of “show don’t tell.” “Binding Arbitration” targets the notion that institutionalized religion is somehow more legitimate than Indigenous tradition. I could waggle my finger and put folks on the defensive, but it’s more effective to simply show them the beauty of our ways of knowing. To my mind, that is what Indigenous storytelling does best: show us things that make sense of the world we hold so dear.

Is this a story you would ever return to in the future or consider expanding out? While I felt the story was concise and the narrative arc was fully formed, I also wanted more and could see this story as a novel-length work!

I’m done with this specific story, but we have not seen the last of Kluskap in my work!

Kluskap is arguably the most central character in Mi’kmaw tradition, even more so than Creator. His interactions with the physical and spirit world teach us everything from geography to winter safety to paleontology. The characters in my forthcoming novel use his stories to navigate the rivers and bays of Ktaqmkuk (Newfoundland), and the plot would be very different without them.

I’m currently working on a second novel which more directly features Kluskap as a character, similar to “Binding Arbitration.” This February, I will be traveling to Unama’kik (Cape Breton) for Mi’kmaw language immersion. While there, I will also consult elders and knowledge keepers on how to present Kluskap respectfully, while preserving his trickster humour.

I have never been to Ktaqmkuk (Newfoundland), and my knowledge about Mi’kmaw culture and politics, frankly, is lacking (our respective territories are on the opposite sides of Turtle Island, after all!). Could you talk about your experience growing up as a Mi’kmaw person in Elmastukwek (Bay of Islands, Newfoundland & Labrador), and also your experience of coming to Ontario?

It was very rural and, in many ways, idyllic. My cousins and I built camps in the woods, caught brook trout and picked berries. Moose was basically the fifth food group. But beyond the bucolic bliss, it was quite difficult to identify as Mi’kmaw at that time.

When Newfoundland joined Confederation in 1949, the settler government declared that the Mi’kmaq were settlers from the Maritime provinces. This lie was debunked by oral history and archeological evidence, but it took its toll. Many members of my grandparents’ generation internalized that colonial racism and refused to acknowledge their ancestry, even though it was quite readily apparent.

I was fortunate that my mother raised me to celebrate my roots. Not everyone had that advantage. Today, the Newfoundland Mi’kmaq are taking important steps to reclaim their lost culture and history. I’m privileged to serve as Chair of the Ktaqmkuk Mi’kmaw Fluency Project, so that reclamation process is very top of mind for me!

I first moved to “the mainland” in 1997 and have lived in British Columbia, Alberta, Manitoba and Ontario. It’s been wonderful meeting people and communities from across Turtle Island. I’ve always felt welcome wherever I visit and embraced as part of the wider Indigenous family. That means more to me than words can fully express.

As someone of mixed English and Indigenous descent, I sometimes find myself in an undercover role where people see a dark-haired white person and share blatantly racist views. It isn’t pleasant, and thankfully, it’s increasingly rare. But it does keep me aware of what so many people across Turtle Island deal with to this day. It reminds me why I write, and the kinds of stories I want to share.

Could you tell us about your forthcoming novel? Also, what are you working on now/ thinking about writing next?

The Place of Coming and Going (working title) will be released by House of Anansi Press in Fall 2027. It’s a work of magical realism that follows two separate but converging journeys.

After finding himself unemployed in modern-day Calgary, Marten returns to Newfoundland to look after his Uncle Jack, a 150-year-old giant who talks in riddles. Laskuwaq is a young Mi’kmaw woman fleeing colonial genocide in nineteenth century Unama’kik (Cape Breton). Each character is haunted by visions and voices from a world very different from their own. By embracing those differences, Marten and Laskuwaq learn to transcend time and join forces against an ancient threat.

More recently, I started work on a new novel which builds on the themes of “Binding Arbitration.” It features a certain 2000-year-old deity who convinces his father to let him return to Earth. God doesn’t want his only begotten son attracting media attention, so he sends him to Brunette, Newfoundland, a fictional Mi’kmaw community who lost its culture and language to colonialism. Things heat up when our friend Kluskap escapes from Limbo, which the archangel Gabriel describes as “a Guantanamo Bay for pagan demigods.”

 

 

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