THE ORIGINAL AMERICAN GODS
Changing Woman. Rock Crystal Boy. The Glittering World. The Hero Twins.
If those names don’t ring a bell, you’ve been missing out on some of the coolest mythology* anywhere. But don’t worry. Thanks to Rebecca Roanhorse and Race to the Sun, you’re about to plunge headfirst into the fabulous, scary, wonderful story world of the Diné, also called the Navajo. Even if you already know something about traditional Navajo tales, you’re going to squee with delight, because you have never experienced them like this before.
Meet Nizhoni Begay. (Her first name is pronounced Nih-JHOH-NIH and means “beauty.”) In many ways, she’s a typical New Mexico seventh-grader. She just wants to be good at something, to get some respect at school. Unfortunately, nothing works. Her bid for internet fame is a fail. Her chance to become a sports superstar ends with a basketball in the face. She can barely manage to hang on to her one good friend, Davery, and prevent her artsy younger brother, Mac, from getting beat up by his nemesis, Adrien Cuttlebush.
And as if that weren’t enough, Nizhoni has another small issue. Recently she’s been seeing monsters. Nobody else seems to notice, but Nizhoni is pretty sure that even Mr. Charles, the rich guy who is offering Nizhoni’s dad a new job in Oklahoma, is not human. Worse, it seems that Mr. Charles has sought out the Begay family because he considers Nizhoni some kind of threat.…
I love this story, and not just because it’s a funny, brilliant page-turner with unforgettable characters and an ingenious quest. The point of Rick Riordan Presents is to publish and promote great voices from cultures that have been too often marginalized or erased by mainstream culture. No one has suffered from this more than Native and Indigenous peoples. As Rebecca says in her author’s note, it’s important for Native kids to be able to see themselves in fiction, but it’s equally important for people from all backgrounds to read about Indigenous characters who aren’t just a collection of stereotypes or long-dead figures from the past. Native cultures are alive and well and vibrant. Their stories can tell you about the original American gods and heroes, those who inhabited and embodied the land for thousands of years before the Europeans brought over their interloping Zeuses and Aphrodites and what-have-yous.
I’ll tell you something I haven’t shared before: Piper McLean, the half-Cherokee character in my Heroes of Olympus series, was inspired by conversations I had with Native kids during school visits, of which I did hundreds over the years. They asked me repeatedly whether I could add a Native hero to Percy Jackson’s world. They wanted to see themselves reflected at Camp Half-Blood, because they simply never found themselves in popular kids’ books. Piper was my way of saying, “Absolutely! I see you. I value you. You can be part of my world anytime!”
But my perspective is not a Native perspective. It was one thing to include Piper as part of the heroic ensemble, to share Percy Jackson’s world with kids from all backgrounds and send a message that heroes can come from all sorts of places. It would be quite another thing to write entirely from a Native protagonist’s point of view about the mythology of his or her own culture. That sort of story needed to come from a Native writer, and I yearned to find books like that and put them into the hands of young readers, Native and non-Native alike. There are so many wonderful Indigenous mythologies. They deserve to be read, shared, and spotlighted.
For Native kids, seeing themselves reflected in books is critical. Seeing themselves reflected in the very authors who create those books is exponentially more empowering. I am thrilled that Rebecca Roanhorse agreed to write Race to the Sun for Rick Riordan Presents. It is a much-needed addition to children’s fiction, and I hope it’s the first of many!
For all kids, reading about other cultures’ mythologies is a way to expand their imagination and their empathy. There’s an old Czech proverb: Learn a new language, gain a new soul. Mythology is similar. The traditional sacred stories of every culture can offer us a new window onto the world—a new way of seeing and understanding. As a bonus, when written by someone as talented as Rebecca Roanhorse, mythology is wildly entertaining!
But I’ve said enough. I’ll let Nizhoni take it from here. Welcome to Dinétah. Keep your hands and feet inside the novel at all times, or some monster might bite them off. If you’re really good, maybe the Begay family will take you to Pasta Palace afterward for some Spaghettini Macaravioli!
* Just to be clear, when I use the word mythology, it is in its first and most basic sense, meaning stories about gods and heroes, not in its later, more secondary application as something false or made-up.
My name is Nizhoni Begay, and I can see monsters.
In fact, I’m looking at one right now.
The monster is a pale man with thin blond hair, slightly bulging eyes, and unusually red lips. He’s tall and skinny, and he has on a black suit and tie. (Monsters wear human skin more often than fairy tales would lead you to think. Scales and horns and claws are strictly for beginners. Trust me, I’m an expert on these things.)
This monster is sitting in the second row of the packed bleachers of my seventh-grade coed basketball game, looking completely normal. Normal except for the fact that he’s wearing a suit when everyone else is wearing a T-shirt that says GO, ISOTOPES! or GO, BEAVERS! depending on which team they’re rooting for. Normal except there’s a circle of empty space around him despite the gym being filled to capacity, like nobody wants to get close to him. Maybe they feel there’s something creepy about him, too, but they aren’t sure what it is.
I watch as a lady in a bright purple tracksuit moves in front of him, waving a red-and-black pom-pom dangerously near his face. Pretty sure if she keeps that up, she’s a goner. Monsters don’t take kindly to people invading their personal space.
Okay, I made that up. I don’t actually know how monsters feel about personal space, or whether they eat ladies in purple tracksuits, and I’m not so much an expert as much as a reluctant amateur. I mean, I’ve only been able to sense monsters for a few months. It started as a strange feeling while watching a lady massaging the avocados at the farmers’ market, and there was the definite bad vibe from the old dude with the scaly feet and Jesus sandals at the Taco Bell. And just like in those instances, every instinct I have is shouting at me that this guy in the bleachers is not normal.
The tiny hairs on the back of my neck rise. A chill—like the time my little brother, Mac, dumped a snowball down my shirt—shudders down my spine. Out of habit, I touch the turquoise pendant I have taped to my chest underneath my shirt. I’m not supposed to wear it during basketball games, but knowing it’s there helps me feel brave.
“Nizhoni!”
The way this school year has been going, trying to be brave has become almost a full-time thing. When I left my big public school and transferred to ICCS (short for Intertribal Community Charter School and pronounced icks), I really thought things would change for me. And by change, I mean I’d have lots of friends and be popular. After all, every student at ICCS is Native American, just like me. But I’ve been at ICCS for two years now and nothing is different. I’m still not popular, and I’m definitely not cool. I’m just—