Deborah Taffa on N. SCOTT MOMADAY (1934–2024)
The first and last time I met N. Scott Momaday, we were at the Santa Fe International Literary Festival. It was May 2023, and I was about to serve as a conversation partner for Colum McCann, the evening’s speaker. Mr. Momaday sat in a wheelchair to my left, ready to launch the festival with a reminder that language holds power and stories have a sacred root. The room hushed as he took the stage, powerful even in his frailty. His address was brief, his words powerful and plain-spoken. It was impossible not to notice his power as a Kiowa elder.
Yet he was more than a man from an Indigenous background. His poetry and prose were both specific and universal. His writing was bold in its imagery, far reaching in its wisdom, and it paved the way for an entire generation of Indigenous poets, novelists, and memoirists. Initially criticized for his first novel, House Made of Dawn ,he took the brunt of societal misunderstanding, breaking the critics’ words across his back, splintering the blow of harsh reviews for the rest of us to follow. He was rightly named the grandfather of the Native American Renaissance after winning the Pulitzer Prize for that novel, one that changed the literary landscape. With his modern style and creative vision, he pushed the timeline for Native representation forward.
A prolific author, Momaday wrote in all genres. He addressed both his Indigenous and American identities. He explored themes of splintering and belonging and did not shy away from the harsh realities of our shared “pan-Indian” existence. His impact on Indigenous literature is impossible to measure. He taught us to claim the English language, citing Robert Frost as an influence, even as he bent the concision he admired in Frost’s poetry to Indigenous values. He understood the power of stories to save the lives of our children. He taught us to write from the gut, to forgo a protective stance to dream and remember.
“We are what we imagine,” Momaday wrote. “Our very existence consists in our imagination of ourselves. Our best destiny is to imagine, at least, completely, who and what, and that we are. The greatest tragedy that can befall us is to go unimagined.”
February 27, 2024, would have been Momaday’s 90th birthday. It was also the publication birthday for [Indigenous author and Santa Fe International Literary Festival presenter] Tommy Orange’s second novel, Wandering Stars, and my Native memoir, Whiskey Tender. More Native writers will publish in the future, yet we all walk in the shadow of Momaday’s leadership. His death does not separate us from his teachings. Stories reach across generations, and Momaday’s power endures, ensuring that Native writers still unborn will benefit from his legacy for decades to come.
A citizen of the Quechan (Yuma) Nation and Laguna Pueblo, Deborah Taffa is director of the MFA in Creative Writing Program at the Institute of American Indian Arts in Santa Fe. She serves as editor in chief of the literary magazine “River Styx.” Her writing can be found in “The Rumpus,” “Boston Review,” “Salon,” “HuffPost,” and many other publications. Her memoir “Whiskey Tender” was released in February.