Tecumseh was a warrior and leader of the Shawnee who fought against the increasing expansion of American influence as the Shawnee and other tribes were being displaced, if not exterminated. By allying with the British during the War of 1812, Tecumseh secured a promise that the lands of his people would be rightfully returned upon the defeat of the Americans. Tecumseh would fall in 1813 at the Battle of the Thames in Ontario. Centuries later, the Sons of Tecumseh grew weary of the broken promises of the Canadian government. While those indigenous who lived on First Nation reserves were given certain benefits and protections, those who lived in the city were left out in the cold.
The Wolves of the Train and the City of Trash by J. Almeida is the second installment in the Train Trilogy. Readers are introduced to an allegorical world aboard the Train. This train seems to represent civilization and humanity’s history, philosophy, and the future unfolding across intersecting timelines. The Anti-Train is the opposing temporal reality. As Nihilo narrates the story, central figures are introduced: Sophia, who represents wisdom; Elenchus, who represents the pursuit of truth; Sagan, whose travels reveal the City of Trash in a future devastated state; and Ajadja, a blind philosopher who guides Nihilo by discussing topics from wisdom, time, and God to truth and the future of humanity. The Four Wolves of the Train are presented in the form of four sons born from a violated womb: Arnald Politics, Sosthenes Religion, Ricardo Money, and Flavian Art. They seem to symbolize the very things that can corrupt society. Ideological division contrasts with the pursuit of truth, while the mysterious structure of the Train reveals a world where the past and future continually intersect.
Certain books speak to me more strongly than others, and the reason for this differs from book to book. With Andrew J. Gregor’s new novel, Roscoe, what moved me was the writer’s attempt to give voice to a terribly marginalized—if not the most marginalized—portion of our population. On the streets and in his early sixties, Roscoe tells his hardscrabble story from a first-person perspective that does not attempt to sugarcoat anything. With no one to count on and nowhere to go, the seriousness of his situation is palpable right away: “I don’t have an I.D. That’s what makes a person in America. You got to have an I.D. … My stomach does its squeaking thing to say it’s hungry. I have $11.34 in my wallet. Anyways, back to, you know–what they call civilization.”
