
Tommy Orange had never read a book about what it means to be a Native American in a big city. In a conversation with The New Yorker’s fiction editor, Orange says that urban Native writers like himself—he is a member of the Cheyenne and Arapaho tribes of Oklahoma, and grew up in Oakland, California—may feel their own experience to be inauthentic, compared to stories set on the reservation. Orange’s début novel, “There, There,” follows a small cast of Native characters whose lives converge at a powwow at the Oakland Coliseum. Plus, Vinson Cunningham on the particular joys of a New York wedding, complete with metal detectors.
Loading summary
David Remnick
From One World Trade center in Manhattan, this is the New Yorker Radio Hour, a co production of the New Yorker and WNYC Studios.
Welcome to the New Yorker Radio Hour. I'm David Remnick.
Tommy Orange
You get down to the train platform and appreciate the cool wind or breeze or whatever you call the rush of air the train brings before it arrives, before you even see it or its lights, because of how much it cools your sweaty head.
David Remnick
That's a young writer named Tommy Orange, reading from his new novel. There. There.
Tommy Orange
You find a seat at the front of the train. The robot voice announces the next stop by saying. Or not saying, exactly, but whatever it's called when robots speak. The next station is 12th Street, Oakland City Center. You remember your first powwow? Your dad took you and your sisters after the divorce to a Berkeley high school gym where your old family friend Paul danced over the basketball lines with that crazy light step, that grace. Even though Paul was pretty big and you never thought of him as graceful before. But that day you saw what a powwow was, and you saw that Paul was perfectly capable of grace and even some kind of Indian specific cool, with footwork not unlike breakdancing and the effortlessness that cool requires.
David Remnick
Tommy Orange's book is a remarkable debut novel about identity and belonging. He sat down recently with Deborah Treisman, the New Yorker's fiction editor.
Tommy Orange
So, yeah, I was not a reader. I didn't do well in school. I didn't really much care. I didn't really even have curiosity about most intellectual things. And then I became a musician and I went to school for sound engineering and came out of that with no job prospects and got a job at a used bookstore in Oakland. It's right outside Oakland, San Leandro. And there was a moment I was on break from the bookstore and I was parked outside of a donut shop eating a donut and reading Confederacy of Dunces. And I realized what the novel could do. And, you know, in that moment, I knew I wanted to write one. And I wrote really weird stuff for a while. That was not. I don't even know if you could call it fiction or nonfiction or. Once I realized that I was going to include details about my own life, I think my writing changed and took on more form and moved away from experimentation.
David Remnick
And at some point, you found your way to the Institute for American Indian Arts in Santa Fe and you did an MFA program there.
Tommy Orange
I did. I was about halfway through the novel at that point.
David Remnick
And now you teach there?
Tommy Orange
I do, yeah.
David Remnick
Was that your first exposure to other Native American writers.
Tommy Orange
Yeah. And, you know, I didn't read a lot of the Native canon because it was reservation based, and it kind of made me feel less Native reading it. So I read a lot there, and I love it. I think a more important piece was feeling like I was a part of a community of Native writers. And there's a sense there that you don't have to explain yourself, you don't have to explain your culture, and everyone knows your context. So the freedom to write into something that's more, particularly your voice, it's easier to access that because you don't have a lot of people that don't understand your experience at all. And this is for people of color in general. There can be a sense of, wait, you need to catch us up to where you're going to start. And instead of having to do that, you can just sort of start where you want to.
David Remnick
The New Yorker published a chapter from the book back in March. And at the time, you told me that one of your main reasons for writing the book was that there were no novels out there about urban Native Americans. Why do you think that is?
Tommy Orange
Well, since then I've been told by people that there are books. So I don't want to offend anybody by, yes, I am the only one that did it, but I couldn't find, you know, so it's, It's. They're not prevalent. I think it's related to a struggle for authenticity and feeling like you're native enough. Growing up in the city, that's my only guess, is that there's a sense of not feeling like you're a part of something. So not feeling like you can give voice to something specific like that. And I think because most of the what's in books and movies is reservation based, I think you don't feel like you're writing like a Native if you're not writing about the reservation.
David Remnick
Now, in your case, you grew up, you have a white mother and a Native American, Cheyenne, Arapaho father. Did people ever guess what your two cultures were? I mean, did they know?
Tommy Orange
Never guessed. Right. No, I. If I was in like the fruit veil in the. Around a Mexican community, they spoke Spanish to me first every time. And in high school, I was. I was called racial slurs for being Chinese. I don't. I never felt accepted in white spaces, and I didn't. Haven't really felt accepted in Native spaces either necessarily. I mean, now I am, and I've worked in the urban Indian community in Oakland for many years, and I feel a Part of it, for sure, but people always wonder. This just happened just this week. I was doing a signing and people came up to me and said, are you Native? And the follow up question after I say yes was, and this is important, the well that comes before, well, how much? And I'm like, you know, I get why people ask because there's been a lot of fraudulent stuff and people want the real thing. But there's. There's just so many gradations. There's a big range of what it can mean.
David Remnick
The format of the book is to tell the story of a whole kind of panorama of characters who have quite different voices and they're told in different ways. The chapter we did is told in the second person. So at what point did you. Was that always the structure for the book in your mind?
Tommy Orange
I knew two things very early on, and that was I was going to have a bunch of Native lives converge at a powwow in Oakland. And that it was gonna be multi voiced or polyphonic or however you wanna say it. And that is because. Because we struggle against, like a monolithic view of our culture. And what it means to be Native has meant one very old, tired thing. So I wanted to show the dynamic range. I wanted to write characters that were different ages and were into different things that have to do with pop culture. And wanted to try to do it in a modern way on purpose, to resist that monolith.
David Remnick
There's. I won't give away the end of the book, which is a great sort of symphonic ending, but these characters do come together at the powwow. And there are a lot of things happening at the powwow. There's dancing, there's all kinds of arts happening sort of simultaneously. Is that what it's like? Have you been to one of these huge events?
Tommy Orange
I haven't been to the big ones because there isn't. There isn't a big Oakland powwow. Yeah, There's a small one at Laney College, this junior college near downtown Oakland. But there is that going on. There's. People make beautiful jewelry, they sell their art, they sell food. There's drums, there's dancing. It's a contest. You're trying to win money. And I just thought it's a perfect microcosm for urban Indian life because it's inter tribal. This. This is one of the things that makes urban Indian life different than reservation life. Because usually on a reservation you're one tribe. And people came to cities on relocation and started up families and met other people, other people from Other tribes and made kids who. Now, you can't ask them to necessarily just identify with one.
David Remnick
And it's not attended by white people. It's not a performance of Indianism for sort of tourists.
Tommy Orange
Yeah, not at all. I mean, you'll see white people with cameras, and you get sort of a sense that, you know, you fear what their intentions are or how are they looking at us. But it's definitely not for non Native people. It's for us.
David Remnick
Yeah. There's been some talk about the idea that there is a Native renaissance in the arts these days. Do you think. Do you see that around you?
Tommy Orange
Definitely. And you could attribute it to, you know, the pipeline everyone saw visibly on tv, this horrific scene of people praying and getting shot by rubber bullets and that bringing, you know, the idea that we're still here up for people. And you could talk about it as a reaction, a sort of counter reaction to Trump and all that he represents, because he's very anti Indian. He's been pretty open about that. I think these are all factors. I hope that the renaissance isn't one of these waves, because it happened in the 70s and it happened in the 90s. I hope it's not just a temporary thing. I hope we can build something sustainable.
David Remnick
Do you see a lot of talent in the people you teach at the iaia?
Tommy Orange
Yeah, there's a, you know, a class just graduated with a ton of talent. Like, it made me feel like our class wasn't, you know, you were the warmup. Yeah, I mean, it's a. It's a new program. There's. It's only, I think, five years in, so it's. I think it's. It's coming into its own, and the students are. I think there's going to be a lot of good writing that comes out of it.
David Remnick
So you have some competition.
Tommy Orange
Yeah.
Vincent Cunningham
Okay.
David Remnick
Well, thank you so much.
Tommy Orange
Thank you.
David Remnick
Tommy Orange talking with Deborah Treisman of the New Yorker.
Vincent Cunningham
We are gathered here today for the wedding.
David Remnick
I'm David Remnick, and you got to get the champagne out now because in.
Vincent Cunningham
A minute we're going to a wedding. Why this couple should not be married. Let them speak now and forever hold their peace.
David Remnick
It's the New Yorker Radio Hour.
Vincent Cunningham
I now pronounce you married. You may seal your vows with a kiss.
David Remnick
You're listening to the New Yorker Radio Hour. You know, there's a job opening in Washington right now. It sounds like a terrific job with interesting colleagues and a lifetime tenure. They're already interviewing a candidate, but it might not be too late to throw your hat in the ring?
Paul Rudnick
Here's Paul Rudnick application to be a Supreme Court Justice 1. Why do you want to be a Supreme Court justice? A Job security. B It will look good on Tinder, especially the photo in which I'm flirtatiously unzipping my robe just a bit. C I enjoy riding jet skis, taking long walks and telling women what they can and can't do with their bodies. 2. True or false, it's inappropriate for the personal religious beliefs of a justice to inform his or her legal decisions unless God tells that justice in a dream. You're the only smart one. I mean, look around. 3. In cases involving powerful business interests, how will you balance the rights of an individual against the economic heft of a corporate giant? A I'll think, well, when was the last time an individual offered me free 24 hour delivery? B I'll ask the attorneys representing the corporate interests if Time Warner is really offering cocaine and prostitutes to try to lure customers back. C I'll ask Justice Ruth is it worth getting Netflix when all I want to watch is Kimmy Schmidt and all the episodes of Friends? 4. Who or what is Merrick Garland? A An exit on the Long Island Expressway. B. Not a Mexican. C The best name for a riverboat gambler since Gaylord Ravenail. 5. If you're confirmed as a Supreme Court justice, what would you like your legacy to be?
Tommy Orange
A.
Paul Rudnick
He or she bravely remained on the court for three three years after being declared legally dead. B He or she was the first justice to sit on one of those inflatable exercise balls instead of a chair. C He or she introduced a more egalitarian system of jurisprudence to the nation by concluding every decision with the words, or maybe not.
David Remnick
Application to be a Supreme Court Justice By Paul Rudnick playwright, novelist and New Yorker contributor for over 20 years. I'm David Remnick, and we're going to finish up the show for today with a wedding. Now, weddings, especially summer weddings, bring to mind a scene that's so specific it's almost a cliche. The embossed invitation, the bouquets held by the young kids, the rice, the white tent, all following months of agonizing over every detail. But if you live in New York, where a catered meal of rubber chicken and maybe an asparagus could set you back a few hundred dollars per person, the quintessential wedding is a little different. It's a City hall wedding. You and your loved ones parade down to the municipal building, a huge skyscraper. You go through Their metal detector. You buzz right through. And then you have a moment before a judge. It lasts no more than a moment. But Vincent Cunningham, a staff writer at the New Yorker, and his fiance just did it, and it's a memory. Well, let him tell you.
Renee Chung
I grew up imagining a wedding that would happen at a church, certainly by a pastor or priest or something like that. The scriptures that I had always heard about marriage would be like, you know, recited love is patient, love is kind, things like this.
Vincent Cunningham
I had not given much thought to what my wedding might be like.
Renee Chung
That's Renee, my fiance.
Vincent Cunningham
I just knew that I didn't want it to be big.
Renee Chung
I think in the end, we got married at City hall because we'd been engaged for a long time. Neither of us had the stamina to plan something on a grander scale. And we thought that we could make this a lot of fun.
Vincent Cunningham
And so that's. We went with that.
Renee Chung
Yeah. So it's the day of our wedding. We are here early. And so it hasn't opened yet, but people are still, like, waiting in line.
Tommy Orange
We made it here.
Vincent Cunningham
Yeah, we have a good spot in line.
Renee Chung
Yeah, my mom's on her way outside. There's this, like, crazy bustle of people. These, like, lawyers headed to the courts. Yes, sir. You looking for a bouquet? Flower guy selling flowers and a bunch of photographers looking for clients. It's kind of a madhouse.
Tommy Orange
Oh, you need a wedding bouquet?
Renee Chung
Oh, yeah, yeah, I got it right here. I got a white one. I can make another color. I got Calla L tracking her car right now. My mom's on her way. She's telling me she's in a car, but I just. I want to make sure she gets there in time so that we can all go through the metal detectors together. Together says 11 minutes. This feels like a very modern wedding problem. Like, let me look on the map where. And meanwhile, I'm thinking in the back of my head that I don't want to cry in a couple minutes when this actually happens. I couldn't go to sleep when I fell asleep first. I was like, I don't think I really fell asleep until like, 3:30. It's like to get married at City hall is, in some ways to acknowledge the fact that it. It really is a legal contractual matter. Right. It's totally not unique. Everybody's here to do the same thing that you're doing. Everybody is going to take a number in the same way that you are. So at the same time, it's very beautiful. It's very generic. Now I'm just like, really wondering why people choose to get married here as opposed to other ways. What was the decision like?
Tommy Orange
I think this is the simplest way.
Renee Chung
The simplest way.
David Remnick
You know, we are foreigners.
Vincent Cunningham
They're trying to adapt ourselves into like.
Tommy Orange
A different area, like a different culture.
David Remnick
So, yeah, do something new, you know, different than what traditional people do all the time.
Tommy Orange
I mean, we're doing it sort of for practical reasons, so. Needs health insurance. Yeah. I mean, this is more of a formality. It wasn't meant to be something that was super special. It's still supposed to be paperwork. But it still does feel kind of special, you know, now it allows us to figure out being as a family unit. So we really want to think about how to increase that family unit with either kids or more dogs. That was the first thing I thought of was Sadie, our dog at home. And I'm like, well, now she'll have.
Renee Chung
You know, married parents.
Tommy Orange
Yeah, so.
Vincent Cunningham
So we've been friends for 16 years.
Renee Chung
Yep. When Renee and I met, I found out very quickly because I asked very quickly that Renee had a boyfriend at the time. But I was always sort of trying. I kissed Renee once, I remember, on a subway platform. And she. She was like, it's. She was like still dating someone. It was inappropriate. And her lips did not move. And it was just like we were friends and it was just like, okay, all right, fine. But you know what? I planted a seed that day.
Vincent Cunningham
Yeah. It's beautiful. What is happening? Fancy. Oh, we're moving.
Renee Chung
We're finally through the line and we've got Renee's mother, my mother, Renee's brother, Renee's sister, and my daughter with us. And then at the end of the line, we're just. There's this metal detector. They have like the airport magnetometers and stuff.
Vincent Cunningham
It's very TSA feeling. But you're in a dress and stilettos or some people are wearing full on gowns.
Renee Chung
It's kind of an incongruous thing. I don't think many people think about getting checked for, for weapons on their wedding day. And then once you've given your ID and you've got this number, it's just the nicest DMV you've ever been in. You know, it's like these sort of gold fixtures and big pretentious looking lights, but it's still like the display of, you know, a 65. Pick up your tab, you know, and there's also like a lady there telling us to.
Vincent Cunningham
I don't even know how to describe her she. She commanded the room immediately. Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Good morning.
David Remnick
Welcome to the marriage room.
Renee Chung
Yeah, she's like half. Half Catskills comedian, half. Like, TSA agent.
Vincent Cunningham
Yes, absolutely.
Renee Chung
Yeah.
Vincent Cunningham
Rule number one, no contraband. Rule number two, no contraband. Rule number three, no contraband.
Renee Chung
And she's also clearly seen a knife.
Vincent Cunningham
Yes.
Renee Chung
She's like, also. No, more like out of nowhere, she's like, no knives here, please.
Vincent Cunningham
Are we ready? Steady, Go.
Renee Chung
Okay, Station line. So we walk in, and there is. There's a podium. At some point, the officiant just comes into the room.
Tommy Orange
There's this.
Renee Chung
This people. Second.
Tommy Orange
Renee.
Vincent Cunningham
Renee and Vincent.
Tommy Orange
Yeah.
Vincent Cunningham
All right, come on up, you two. Are you guys exchanging wedding rings today?
Renee Chung
We are.
Vincent Cunningham
All right, bring the rings up, please.
Renee Chung
Thank you.
Vincent Cunningham
Face each other there. And she tells us to face each other and hold hands.
Renee Chung
I. We were just looking at one. I was just like. We're staring at one another. We just, like, in this depth state. As I suspected, while I'm holding Renee's hand and looking at her, I'm also feeling my eyes start to sting.
Vincent Cunningham
We are gathered here today for the wedding ceremony of Renee. It was. It was. I don't mean to sound dramatic, but it was sort of otherworldly. Yeah, I kind of blacked out.
Renee Chung
I. I did too.
Vincent Cunningham
Let them speak now Grab a hold.
Renee Chung
Their peace what is so striking to me is that everything else seems so different than other weddings I've been to. Then all of a sudden, you're up there and you're hearing and saying these things that you've heard at every wedding. Suddenly you're a player in this thing that is very much like a form that you've seen before.
Vincent Cunningham
Renee, do you solemnly declare that you date Vincent to be your spouse? I do. You promise to love.
Renee Chung
Sometimes, I guess, you get worried about what makes something sacred and important. And it's strange. You realize that so many of the forms that you think take to contribute to that. All of it, all the veils and lace and all at the bottom of it are these sets of very simple promises.
Vincent Cunningham
Do you solemnly declare that you take Renee to be your spouse?
Renee Chung
I do.
Vincent Cunningham
Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and keep for as long as you both shine?
Renee Chung
I do.
Vincent Cunningham
Please place the ring on her finger as a symbol of your progress.
Renee Chung
Because you tend to see any kind of ceremony or spectacle, you tend to see from the outside in. You tend to think outside that the trappings of it are what give it its power. But standing in this room, you realize that the thing that there is a power in the thing itself. You know, deciding to partner yourself with someone for life, it really does kind of convince you, like, that is a tremendous thing.
Vincent Cunningham
Then by the power vested in me by the laws of the state of New York, I now pronounce you married. You may seal your vows.
Renee Chung
Thank you so much. What was your name?
Vincent Cunningham
Alisa.
Renee Chung
Alisa, nice to meet you. Thank you for marrying us.
Vincent Cunningham
Thank you. Thank you.
Renee Chung
All right, I need a group picture.
Tommy Orange
With all of you right here.
David Remnick
Vincent Cunningham, a staff writer at the New Yorker. And we just heard from his new wife, Renee Chung. That's the New Yorker Radio Hour for today. Next week, Patrick Keefe brings us an extraordinary story about a notorious gangster in Amsterdam and the sister who decided to betray him. I hope you'll join us. I'm David Remnick. See you next time.
The New Yorker Radio Hour is a co production of WNYC Studios and the New Yorker. Our theme music was composed and performed by Meryl Garbus of Toon Yards, with additional music by Alexis Cuadrado. This episode was produced by Alex Barron, Emily Bottin, Ave Carrillo, Rhiannon Corby, Jill Duboff, Karen Frillman, David Krasnow, Louis Mitchell, Sarah Nix, Maithelee Rao, Steven Valentino and Richard Yeh, withheld from Susan Morrison, Emma Allen, Michelle Moses, Emily Mann and Jessica Henderson. The New Yorker Radio Hour is supported in part by the Tsarina Endowment Fund.
Episode: Tommy Orange and the Urban Native Experience
Date: July 31, 2018
Host: David Remnick, co-production with WNYC Studios and The New Yorker
Featured Guest: Tommy Orange (interviewed by Deborah Treisman, The New Yorker fiction editor)
This episode delves into the life, work, and perspective of Tommy Orange, a debut novelist whose book There There explores the underrepresented world of urban Native Americans. Through a thoughtful reading and intimate conversation, the episode illuminates the complexities of identity, belonging, and community for Native Americans living in cities, as well as the creative journey behind Orange’s critically acclaimed novel.
Early Relationship with Reading and Writing
"There was a moment I was on break from the bookstore and I was parked outside of a donut shop eating a donut and reading Confederacy of Dunces. And I realized what the novel could do. And, you know, in that moment, I knew I wanted to write one." — Tommy Orange [01:47]
Transition from Experimentation to Personal Storytelling
Academic Development and Community
"...you don't have to explain yourself, you don't have to explain your culture, and everyone knows your context...the freedom to write into something that's more, particularly your voice..." — Tommy Orange [03:08]
A Need for Urban Native Stories
"I couldn't find...They're not prevalent. I think it's related to a struggle for authenticity and feeling like you're native enough. Growing up in the city, that's my only guess..." — Tommy Orange [04:14]
Complex Identity and Belonging
"If I was in...around a Mexican community, they spoke Spanish to me first every time. And in high school, I was...called racial slurs for being Chinese...But people always wonder...are you Native? And the follow up question after I say yes was...well, how much?" — Tommy Orange [05:13]
Multiple Voices, Rejecting the Monolith
"Because we struggle against, like a monolithic view of our culture...I wanted to show the dynamic range. I wanted to write characters that were different ages and were into different things that have to do with pop culture." — Tommy Orange [06:36]
Significance of the Powwow Setting
"It's a perfect microcosm for urban Indian life because it's inter tribal. This...makes urban Indian life different than reservation life. Because usually on a reservation you're one tribe...people came to cities on relocation...Now, you can't ask them to necessarily just identify with one." — Tommy Orange [07:36]
Community vs. Touristic Performances
David Remnick: "And it's not attended by white people. It's not a performance of Indianism for sort of tourists."
Tommy Orange: "Yeah, not at all...it's definitely not for non Native people. It's for us." [08:28]
On a Cultural Renaissance
"I hope that the renaissance isn't one of these waves, because it happened in the 70s and it happened in the 90s. I hope it's not just a temporary thing. I hope we can build something sustainable." — Tommy Orange [09:05]
The Next Generation of Native Writers
"...a class just graduated with a ton of talent. Like, it made me feel like our class wasn't, you know, you were the warmup." — Tommy Orange [09:53]
On Writing from Lived Experience:
"Once I realized that I was going to include details about my own life, I think my writing changed and took on more form and moved away from experimentation." — Tommy Orange [01:47]
On Questions of Authenticity:
"There's just so many gradations. There's a big range of what it can mean." — Tommy Orange [05:13]
This episode shines a light on a vital, frequently overlooked facet of American identity—the urban Native experience. Tommy Orange's thoughtful reflections on culture, authenticity, and artistic expression reveal both the difficulties and richness inherent in his community's modern life. His novel and this conversation mark a significant contribution to pushing the conversation about Native American life—and American literature—forward.
For more information on Tommy Orange and his work, visit: The New Yorker - Tommy Orange
Note: Subsequent segments (Supreme Court Justice sketch and wedding story) follow in the full episode but are unrelated to Tommy Orange’s feature.