Diametric Opposition: Jason Pearce interviews Kieran Kalls Rice

Kieran Kalls Rice

Fellow winter issue #233 contributor Jason Pearce talks with Kieran Kalls Rice about his short story, “Héyeqwels.” They discuss cultural theft and reclamation, expanding a short story into a longer work, and how the words of elders impact how you think, perceive, and write.

 

Kieran Kalls Rice is a writer of Coast Salish and Scottish-Settler descent and an MA in Creative Writing candidate at the University of Toronto. He is a member of Snuneymuxw First Nation. His writing project is a satirical novel about a group of Indigenous men in 1900s Guelph, Ontario, which explores questions about belonging, identity, the performance of ceremony, and cultural authenticity. Kieran co-founded and is the co-managing editor of Bobbi Lee, an academic and creative journal that publishes Indigenous writing, scholarship, and visual art. An excerpt from his novel won the 2025 Indigenous Voices Award for unpublished prose.


This story touches on familiar themes of cultural theft and reclamation, yet you bring freshness to those themes through settings, characters and tensions that are hauntingly real. Tell us a bit about your creative process in developing this story, from initial concept to final draft. Did you sit down with the intention of writing about these themes and craft the story accordingly? Or did the characters and setting arrive first?

My creative process began with a research project and a creative essay I wrote two years ago that focused on non-Indigenous museums and how they handle stolen Indigenous ceremonial materials. My essay was inspired by Gloria Cranmer Webster’s wonderful work and her talking about a “diametric opposition” she observed in museum conservation practises; the non-Indigenous method of preserving to infinity, versus the North-West Coast Indigenous method of leaving them outside to rot and then creating new ones. It was also inspired by the anger that I felt walking through non-Indigenous museums and seeing my community’s materials on display. After I was finished writing my essay, I still felt fascinated and angry enough to write a short story about the situation. I wanted to come up with a story that would express these diametrically opposed philosophies because I’m fascinated by the lack of understanding on both sides about the other’s actions and thoughts. All of this is to say that it was very intentional to write about these ideas, and in this case the theme came before the character and setting.

Continuing with the topic of creative process, what is your approach to coming up with such amazingly quotable sentences? My personal favorite is “We would hit them where it hurt, the prestigious things.” But there are many others which would function very well as teaser lines on a book jacket! Do these sentences come out while you’re narrating the action of the story, or do they occur to you when you’re in the middle of some non-writing activity? And how much crafting and revision goes into your sentences?

That’s extremely kind of you to say, Jason. I’m grateful that you engaged with my story so deeply. I don’t think I’m conscious of an approach, or at least, I don’t have a method which I use every time I write. For the line you quoted, my approach was to listen to my relatives and to think about how they speak. My intention was to evoke the highly particular way that my family and community speaks and thinks, which I feel is specific to that region (Vancouver, Vancouver Island), or at least, I’m unaware of people who speak and think in such a way in other places.

For the sentences, I think it’s a mix of both, sometimes it’s when I’m narrating the action, but probably more often, a line will strike me when I am outside moving my body, and then I have to frantically make a note of it on my Google Docs app before it’s too late and it disappears from my mind. As for revisions, if I’m being honest, my practise is rooted in obsession. I agonize over every last word and sound for months until I can’t bear to look at it anymore.

Another one of my favourite things about this story is the voice of the grandmothers. You introduce it early through quotes like “there is a right and a wrong time to cry” and give Grandma Ellen the final word with “héyeqwels.” But I also feel those ancestral voices throughout the story, in Hildah’s narration and the dialogue with Levi. How have the words of elders and other community members impacted you as a writer, in terms of how you perceive the world and the language with which you express that perception?

Thank you again for saying that about feeling the ancestral voices. It was my intention so I’m happy to hear you say that. I think the words and voices of my elders have impacted me a great deal because they’ve been my teachers and everything I know about the world and my writing practise I’ve learned from them; my parents, Harold Hyahtsa Rice and Dale Hamilton, the late Dr. Ellen White Kwulasulwut who was my Great Aunt, and Lee Maracle, whose voice and presence somehow, I feel, find its way into all of my writing. I got to take a class at U of T with Lee and the things she taught me in that class feel like foundational components of how I think, perceive, and write.

Returning to “héyeqwels,” I love how you made your title the thematic and structural anchor for the entire story. For those of us who aren’t familiar with your ancestral language, the meaning of the term almost serves as a dramatic question, and you return to that question so powerfully at the end. What is the significance of that “héyeqwels” for you personally and your community at large?

The meaning of the word is not significant to me at all, to be honest. I needed a word for the character to say and so I searched a Halkomelem dictionary until I found one that fit enough contextually and I liked the sound of. The significant thing, for me, is that neither Hildah or I speak Halkomelem because the Indian Residential School System stripped us of our ability to learn it. What is also significant to me is Hildah’s uncertainty and fearfulness about even asking what the word means, let alone asking a relative to teach them their language.

I’m going to cheat a little and recycle a question you asked me about my story: Have you given any thought to expanding this into a novel or other longer piece? While the ending is very complete and resonant, I do wonder what the future holds for Hildah and Levi. That’s obviously not a bad thing, but you definitely have more story to work with if you chose to.

I have considered it, yes. I am in the very beginning stages of starting a new project, so I’ve been thinking about what I want to write about next. But you saying that encourages me to revisit this story and think about what it might look like if it was expanded. I did feel like I crammed a lot of ideas into a very short work, so maybe it would work better as a longer thing. I have no idea. But thanks for saying that.

Final question: What’s next for Kieran Kalls Rice? What else are you working on?

I just finished a very shaky first draft of a novel which is a dark satire about a Native men’s big drum group. So I’m going to be working on revisions for that, after I have had an extended break and can stand to look at it again. I have a whole year for my MA to focus on nothing but writing starting in September, so I am considering a new project and how I could best use that time.

 

Jason Pearce

Jason Pearce