I think I first read this book about fifteen years ago. I didn’t really like it at the time. In fact, one my best friends had said Erdrich was her favorite author, but I couldn’t really appreciate the stories in this book. None of them were happy. I was haunted by the death of June Kashpaw. I identified with her too strongly, trying to cover the unravelled part of her best pink shell.

Now I read Eridrich and Alexie and find my New Mexican family in the Chippewa and Spokane people they depict.

This book is brilliant. Precious, magical, dreamy. As serious as commodity flour.

The title story is rare. The final story has left me with a foolish grin.