Review for Noopiming: The Cure for White Ladies: Gentle Radicalization

Whenever I start a novel through Libby, I always look at how many pages there are and try to mathematically split up the novel into workable sections so I can finish it and write a review as soon as possible. The strategy never works out, but that’s beside the point. The point is, when I saw that Leanne Betasamosake Simpson’s Noopiming: The Cure for White Ladies was 379 pages on Libby, I figured it would take my slow eyes at least a week to finish it but was surprised by the experimental format that closely resembles another novel I read earlier this year, Thomas King’s Green Grass, Running Water. Some pages are only one sentence, some only a few. Some repeat the same few sentences for multiple pages, and an entire section shifts gears to read more as poetry. The point of it, I think, is for the words to be as full as they can be while taking up the least amount of space possible, similar to King’s strategy. Three-quarters of the way through, Simpson even notes that: “Mashkodiisiminag begins by saying that they learned this story from Thomas King and that it is not their story by any means.” However, though my opinion certainly does not matter in comparison to the author, I tend to think that this body of work is just an innovative and unique as King’s in different, yet equally brilliant, ways.

At its core, Simpson’s novel is about a love of the woods as the title word, noopiming, means “in the bush; in the woods; inland,” according to the Ojibwe online dictionary. And though the messages of each short scene are sometimes guarded, they often return in a spectacular, impactful way to some aspect of the land. If I’ve learned anything in the last two years, it’s that everything will always come back to the land. The stories themselves follow a group of genderless entities and animals as they all partake in human activities, perhaps to appeal to the reader and make something infinitely complex into a more understandable, digestible format. Regardless, every snippet further enhances a network within the novel and asserts numerous insights that, once you read them, seem like they should be obvious, but for the fact that they are not thought of nearly as often as they should be.

And though I say that this novel was a quick read, I should also note that it lasts as long as it needs to. I found myself consistently going back to the beginning, making the connection to which Ojibwe word correlated to the ones for nervous system, will, lungs, or brain amongst others. The online Ojibwe dictionary also became a close resource, just as Simpson notes in her acknowledgements. I found myself wanting to pronounce each Ojibwe word or phrase used in the novel out loud, as they so clearly have an abundance of meaning not only to the novel, but to the messages beyond it, too. The work happening with language and the intertwined messages of reclamation and healing through it is so profound to read, ergo the need to slow down, make the connections, and spell out the words into the Ojibwe dictionary search bar.

Also, I already briefly mentioned gender, but I wanted to return to it because it’s one of my favourite aspects of the book. The title itself mentions that the work is supposed to be a cure for white ladies, as though she wrote this for women like me to begin a process of decolonization through her words. It’s gracious to say the least. However, what I found interesting and honestly a little funny, was that throughout the book, Simpson does not specifically mention white women at all. Even her characters, akiwenzii, lucy, asin, and mindimooyenh amongst others, are consistently referred to as non-binary with the pronouns “they/them,” as Simpson also mentions their queerness and search for others like them more than once. It is as though the constant use of these specific pronouns is a gentle reinforcement that not only do they exist, they also stretch back in history far beyond that of which colonizers have documented. A gentle radicalization, as it were.

There is a tenderness at work here, through her intentional removal of both gender and humans. Again, I think it comes back to the land, and how parts of us have a connection to it that extends beyond the physical body; something that can really only be understood through ceremony and story, as Simpson demonstrates throughout Noopiming.

It is a beautiful novel that somehow manages to be careful, considerate, direct, assertive, gentle, and radical all at once. Before I read it, I noticed that someone I follow on Goodreads had also read and reviewed it with the caption that, if interested, you should read it because it’s an interesting read. Without throwing any kind of shade, I would say that this novel is well beyond the ambiguity of “interesting.” Leanne Simpson continues to be one of the coolest intellectuals I’ve read, who I continually look for in bookstores as she selflessly gives all of her readers tools in decolonization which she genuinely doesn’t have to yet continues to do. Noopiming is a clear reflection of that, and I definitely recommend it as required reading!