Frank Waters: Visionary Novelist

America's greatest contemporary novelist?

Frank Waters mythical sociologist.

The Publishing of The Man Who Killed the Deer.

The Writing of The Man Who Killed the Deer.

The Inspiration for The Man Who Killed the Deer

The Novel as Dharma.

A Novel of Transcendental Silence.

America's greatest contemporary novelist?

Who is the finest undiscovered writer in America? My nomination is Frank Waters, the novelist, mystic, cultural anthropologist, historian and editor who died this past year. Undiscovered isn't quite correct, however. A native of the celebrated artist colony in Taos, New Mexico, Waters has garnered a strong reputation in the Southwest as well as a healthy cult following, but as yet hasn't acquired the national and international reputation he deserves. I say as yet, because I have confidence it will come; even such rhetorical institutions as Melville and Faulkner were out of print and unread until academia rediscovered them.

Frank Waters mythical sociologist.

Audiences perhaps know Waters best through his cultural works on Southwestern Indians that suggest the mythical studies of the late Joseph Campbell. The Book of the Hopi is undoubtedly the most well known of this series and is closely associated with Pumpkin Seed Point, an account of Waters' life with the Arizona Hopi while writing the previous book. Masked Gods is similar to the Book of the Hopi on the Navaho and Pueblo Indians with connections to the Taoists, Buddhists, and the Hindus. Mexico Mystique: The Coming Sixth World of Consciousness traces the origin of Middle America back to the Aztecs and Mayans, while Mountain Dialogues attempts to find a spiritual center for modern life rooted in the relationship between humanity and nature embodied within the ancient cultures. One other non-fictional book of note is The Earp Brothers of Tombstone, a biographical account of Wyatt Earp and his family from the highly biased view of Wyatt's sister-in-law. This book served as the basis for the two modern film interpretations of the Earp family, Tombstone and Wyatt Earp that were released in 1995.

The Publishing of The Man Who Killed the Deer.

Most interesting to me are Waters' fictional works, unsurpassed at least in the second half of the twentieth century. His most famous novels include, the spiritual and ecological People of the Valley, The Yogi of Cockroach Court, the large Colorado saga Pike's Peak, the clash between spirituality and the Atomic bomb in The Woman of Otowi Crossing, and Water's masterpiece The Man Who Killed the Deer. For many this is the work they associate with Frank Waters. The Man Who Killed the Deer has gone through numerous editions and a host of printings; however, in Waters' own words, its1942 publication was "a complete flop." The novel fortunately began to gain a word-of-mouth reputation as good fiction will do, not unlike the miraculous movement of the mid-century that revived Tolkien's moribund Ring Trilogy. The novel survived almost solely through the efforts of Alan Swallow, the founder of Swallow Press. His credo, says Waters, "was simple: to publish only the books he believed in, and to keep them in print whether they sold well or not." Through his efforts, other American editors discovered it and then the world press. The novel, although never a best seller, has never been out-of-print since Swallow championed it.

The Writing of The Man Who Killed the Deer.

As interesting as its publication history is, the writing of The Man Who Killed the Deer is even more so. Most writers have a few works that simply outshine the rest, and when asked about them they often say such works were the easiest to compose. The sage and Vedic scholar Maharishi Mahesh Yogi explains that literature is not a labored activity, "it is a spontaneous outburst of the connectedness of the reality of both the heart and the mind." Bernard Malamud said when he wrote "The Magic Barrel," far and away his best short story, that he just went down to the library's basement and the whole thing came out. Waters' account of his finest novel is similar:

My own reaction to its miraculous longevity contains no trace of false modesty. The book has never seemed "mine." It is an independent entity, with a life of its own, which has quietly made its own way . . . The story did not have to be contrived; it unfolded, like a flower, its own inherent pattern. The words came easily, unbidden, as the flow of ink from my old, red Parker. I don't mean to imply that it was anything like "automatic writing," whatever that is. Simply that it seemed impelled by the unconscious rather than by rational consciousness.

The Inspiration for The Man Who Killed the Deer

Waters had accidentally wandered into the Taos courtroom one day when an Indian was being tried for poaching a deer. Not long after, while looking into his shaving bowl three men suddenly became reflected in his mind's eye: an old governor of the Pueblo community, an officer in the forest service, and an Indian trader. These three men represented the forces against whom MartinianoÑthe man who killed the deerÑwould have to contend. This was the inception from which this wonderful novel flowed. Amazingly when it went to print not a single word was changed. Waters would eventually get to know the man on whom the novel was based, but neither ever brought the subject up. The novel, although written by a white man, remains an inspiration to the Pueblo people as an accurate record of their traditional, spiritual ways.

The Novel as Dharma.

The Man Who Killed the Deer is best described as a novel about dharma. Martiniano, the novel's hero, had been selected by the federal government to attend what the Indians call the away school in order to attain a modern education. What Martiniano's education has done for him is to alienate him from both the white and the Pueblo cultures. He cannot live among whites because he is an Indian, and he does not fit in with the Pueblo people because he has skipped his cultural upbringing. Symbolic of his alienation is the act of killing the deer in which Martiniano breaks both the white man's law of poaching and the Indian law for not making ritual preparations prior to the hunt. The plot of the novel is Martiniano's search for a faith, not a religious faith, just something to believe in. He seeks this faith through marriage, "the peyote road," and through farming. However, in each endeavor he is haunted by the deer spirit which eventually guides him back into harmony with his tribe and harmony with nature, or dharma.

A Novel of Transcendental Silence.

The Deer unfolds with a balance and unity that rivals the best fiction of this or any other century. More impressive than its story, however, is the novel's poetic spirituality. Everything the Pueblo people do is to develop their spiritual connection to nature. They do not punish Martiniano because he is a social misfit that threatens their society; they punish him much in the same way that karma does to correct an inappropriate action. The tribe wants Martiniano to know the peace and harmony of operating in tune with the subtle laws of nature. To do so he must discontinue his egoism.

Nothing is simple and alone. We are not separate and alone. The breathing mountains, the living stones, each blade of grass, the clouds, the rain, each star, the beasts, the birds, the invisible spirits of the airÑwe are all one, indivisible. Nothing that any of us does but affects us all.
He must also learn to give back the white man ways, for he cannot be both an Indian and a white man without being a fragmented soul. Therefore, through a system of rewards and punishments the tribe leads Martiniano towards self-revelation. Deep silence exists at the heart of their spirituality which harmonizes all life, like the silence generated by the council convened to hear Martiniano's trouble: "A Council meeting is a strange thing. . . . [It is] one-half talk and one-half silence. The silence has more weight." During the meeting no one interrupts the speaker, no one criticizes, only the silence accuses; it brings out the truth. When a speaker finishes,

still no man speaks. Each waits courteously for another. And another until all the silence is one silence, and that silence has the meaning of all. So the individuals vanish. It is all one heart. It is the soul of the tribe. A soul that is linked by that other silence with all the souls of all the tribal councils which have sat here in the memory of man.
Martiniano steadily becomes reunited with this silence, and in doing so he learns to act from its deepest source. He uses this silence of his own consciousness, the silence that is indistinguishable from nature, to rescue the lost child of his friend Palemon, to revive his marriage, to find a faith, and at the end to finally know peace.

--Terry Fairchild, contributing editor

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