Theodore C. Van Alst, Jr.
Author of Never Whistle at Night: An Indigenous Dark Fiction Anthology
About the Author
Image credit: Photo Source: https://native-voices.com/blog/theodore-c-van-alst-jr/
Works by Theodore C. Van Alst, Jr.
Never Whistle at Night: An Indigenous Dark Fiction Anthology (2023) — Editor — 1,646 copies, 26 reviews
The Faster Redder Road: The Best UnAmerican Stories of Stephen Graham Jones (2015) — Editor — 11 copies
Associated Works
Red Line: Chicago Horror Stories — Contributor — 2 copies
Tagged
Common Knowledge
- Canonical name
- Van Alst, Theodore C., Jr.
- Gender
- male
- Occupations
- Professor and Chair of Indigenous Nations Studies
Director of the School of Gender Race and Nations - Short biography
- Theodore C. Van Alst, Jr. is Professor and Chair of Indigenous Nations Studies and Director of the School of Gender Race and Nations at Portland State University. His mosaic novel about sort of growing up in Chicago, Sacred Smokes, winner of the 2019 Tillie Olsen Award for Creative Writing, is now in its second printing. His next work, Sacred City, was published in fall 2021, also by the University of New Mexico Press, who released his edited volume The Faster Redder Road: The Best UnAmerican Stories of Stephen Graham Jones. He is the creative editor for Transmotion (a journal of postmodern Indigenous studies). His fiction and photography have been published in The Raven Chronicles, Red Earth Review, The Journal of Working-Class Studies, Unnerving Magazine, The Rumpus, Electric Literature, and Yellow Medicine Review, among others.
- Places of residence
- Chicago, Illinois, USA
- Map Location
- USA
Members
Reviews
What a stellar read! This thing is raw, unflinching and feels a bit like getting hit over the head with a frying pan. What I love the most about Van Alst Jr's prose, is that it pulls you right into the world he's creating on the page. Like it or not, you're walking the trenches with him, seeing through his eyes, reacting to the world with his conscious. I've never read anything quite like it. Loved every single word.
Go read it. Immediately.
Go read it. Immediately.
Those who believe leaders are born did not mature into adulthood in an urban setting.
Because cities require orderly movement of inhabitants, they are often compared to the human circulatory system; roads and rail are the arteries and veins needed to move people, the lifeblood, to and from.
Set in 1979 among Chicago’s infamous train cars, The El is a semi-autobiographical account of life in America’s most segregated city. It features Teddy, the spiritually superstitious de facto leader of show more a street gang sect, and it moves as quickly as an engine whipping around concave curves.
Short in stature, an avid reader, and a weed smoker, Teddy is the product of a broken home. Although he lives with a father who is responsible enough to meet Maslow’s minimum, defining the same man as accountable to anyone not featured on a liquor label is a stretch.
The eldest of three, he is a bit of a looker, but his mother’s cold nature has Teddy convinced that women are not yet worth the effort. Studious enough to willingly return to school after dropping out, he is often mistaken for an immigrant despite being an Indigenous American and native to the city.
A deep thinker struggling with being placed in the seat of authority, he is further troubled by being tasked with safely escorting the mixed-race group into and through rival territory for a mandatory city-wide unification summit.
Filled with vivid descriptions of Chicago’s collection of neighborhoods, its commentary on the paradox of being one of the most diverse, yet racially segregated, is spot on. Gritty, immersive, and accurate, astute readers will not miss the symbolic representations of how minorities are affected by the rate, rhythm, and modulation of seemingly disconnected urban journeys.
Authentic in its representation of how everyone, especially those with starched collars, is, by default, gang-affiliated, this work challenges readers to reconsider the constraints and systemic factors that influence choice and identity. Because of its realistic portrayal of urbanized Indigenous Americans, readers should not expect a narrative filled with historical context or syllogisms about life on the plains.
This work explores the need to form conventional sub-communities to navigate invisible and visible threats. It blends dialogue and action with introspective snatches into opposing views on institutionalized challenges resulting from socialized neglect to provide glimpses into discriminatory poverty.
Written by Theodore C. Van Alst, Jr., an enrolled member of the Mackinac Bands of Chippewa and Ottawa Indians, it’s a refreshingly overdue portrayal of strength in diversity. If the reality of culture shock is allegedly limited to immigrants, readers are cautioned to consider that Indigenous Americans were present when Columbus landed.
Infused with references to a non-race-based hand-to-mouth existence, readers with a strong appreciation for immersive experiences prevalent in cities will appreciate the accurate representations of humanized hardship. Others may reconsider the additional factors that make it easy to label one behavior criminal, yet when exhibited by those less “othered,” it's labeled resilience. show less
Because cities require orderly movement of inhabitants, they are often compared to the human circulatory system; roads and rail are the arteries and veins needed to move people, the lifeblood, to and from.
Set in 1979 among Chicago’s infamous train cars, The El is a semi-autobiographical account of life in America’s most segregated city. It features Teddy, the spiritually superstitious de facto leader of show more a street gang sect, and it moves as quickly as an engine whipping around concave curves.
Short in stature, an avid reader, and a weed smoker, Teddy is the product of a broken home. Although he lives with a father who is responsible enough to meet Maslow’s minimum, defining the same man as accountable to anyone not featured on a liquor label is a stretch.
The eldest of three, he is a bit of a looker, but his mother’s cold nature has Teddy convinced that women are not yet worth the effort. Studious enough to willingly return to school after dropping out, he is often mistaken for an immigrant despite being an Indigenous American and native to the city.
A deep thinker struggling with being placed in the seat of authority, he is further troubled by being tasked with safely escorting the mixed-race group into and through rival territory for a mandatory city-wide unification summit.
Filled with vivid descriptions of Chicago’s collection of neighborhoods, its commentary on the paradox of being one of the most diverse, yet racially segregated, is spot on. Gritty, immersive, and accurate, astute readers will not miss the symbolic representations of how minorities are affected by the rate, rhythm, and modulation of seemingly disconnected urban journeys.
Authentic in its representation of how everyone, especially those with starched collars, is, by default, gang-affiliated, this work challenges readers to reconsider the constraints and systemic factors that influence choice and identity. Because of its realistic portrayal of urbanized Indigenous Americans, readers should not expect a narrative filled with historical context or syllogisms about life on the plains.
This work explores the need to form conventional sub-communities to navigate invisible and visible threats. It blends dialogue and action with introspective snatches into opposing views on institutionalized challenges resulting from socialized neglect to provide glimpses into discriminatory poverty.
Written by Theodore C. Van Alst, Jr., an enrolled member of the Mackinac Bands of Chippewa and Ottawa Indians, it’s a refreshingly overdue portrayal of strength in diversity. If the reality of culture shock is allegedly limited to immigrants, readers are cautioned to consider that Indigenous Americans were present when Columbus landed.
Infused with references to a non-race-based hand-to-mouth existence, readers with a strong appreciation for immersive experiences prevalent in cities will appreciate the accurate representations of humanized hardship. Others may reconsider the additional factors that make it easy to label one behavior criminal, yet when exhibited by those less “othered,” it's labeled resilience. show less
Picket Fence be Damned
When searching for the ideal photograph of a domestic terrorist, it is doubtful that a matriarch represents such an image.
Glitter is more than microplastic in disguise. Like McMansions, its superficial flash has the potential to shift attention away from what may be less glamorous. At first glance, life in White Hills perfectly aligns with all that Marissa, the featured protagonist, hoped to manifest.
Accomplished by way of hypergamy, she is unaware that status show more exchange is an invisible and more prevalent form of discrimination. Isolated from her humble beginnings and bored with shopping and endless trips to the salon, Marissa struggles with making meaningful connections but is excited to learn that she is pregnant.
Anxiety reminds her that being a childless couple was mutually agreed upon, yet she eagerly ambushes her husband, Andrew, at the local (good ole boys) club. A sports venue staffed with scantily clad waitresses, it is dark and becomes more unwelcoming after she allows her nationality to slip.
A blistering critique of inherent evil, this character-driven tale of a trophy wife examines the threshold of desire and sacrifice. Readers are placed in the lead bumper car and bounced between assimilation and imposter syndrome until it is evident that the latter is the focused effect of the former.
Written by Rebecca Roanhorse, a dual-race woman of Black and Ohkay Owingeh Pueblo descent, as part of the Never Whistle at Night Anthology, this tightly packed piece uses tension to subtly suggest that domestic violence is an offshoot of generational brutality and one aspect of colonization inherent in Western DNA.
An allegorical tale of the horror that resides at home, it asks readers to contemplate the logic surrounding societal beliefs that marital unions between Caucasian men and minority women are a form of self-harm.
Fans of Native American folklore will appreciate the depth of details. Readers faced with the daily challenges of vacillating between belonging and failure to belong may question whether cultural identity can be erased. Others may learn that relinquishing control is not the lesser of lack of control.
Rating 5 of 5 stars show less
When searching for the ideal photograph of a domestic terrorist, it is doubtful that a matriarch represents such an image.
Glitter is more than microplastic in disguise. Like McMansions, its superficial flash has the potential to shift attention away from what may be less glamorous. At first glance, life in White Hills perfectly aligns with all that Marissa, the featured protagonist, hoped to manifest.
Accomplished by way of hypergamy, she is unaware that status show more exchange is an invisible and more prevalent form of discrimination. Isolated from her humble beginnings and bored with shopping and endless trips to the salon, Marissa struggles with making meaningful connections but is excited to learn that she is pregnant.
Anxiety reminds her that being a childless couple was mutually agreed upon, yet she eagerly ambushes her husband, Andrew, at the local (good ole boys) club. A sports venue staffed with scantily clad waitresses, it is dark and becomes more unwelcoming after she allows her nationality to slip.
A blistering critique of inherent evil, this character-driven tale of a trophy wife examines the threshold of desire and sacrifice. Readers are placed in the lead bumper car and bounced between assimilation and imposter syndrome until it is evident that the latter is the focused effect of the former.
Written by Rebecca Roanhorse, a dual-race woman of Black and Ohkay Owingeh Pueblo descent, as part of the Never Whistle at Night Anthology, this tightly packed piece uses tension to subtly suggest that domestic violence is an offshoot of generational brutality and one aspect of colonization inherent in Western DNA.
An allegorical tale of the horror that resides at home, it asks readers to contemplate the logic surrounding societal beliefs that marital unions between Caucasian men and minority women are a form of self-harm.
Fans of Native American folklore will appreciate the depth of details. Readers faced with the daily challenges of vacillating between belonging and failure to belong may question whether cultural identity can be erased. Others may learn that relinquishing control is not the lesser of lack of control.
Rating 5 of 5 stars show less
Never Whistle at Night is one of the strongest horror anthologies I've read in years. (Admission: I rare read anthologies. I'll read a couple in a collection and then move on. So the fact that this one made me want to finish the entire book is high praise coming from this lazy critic.) The quality is remarkably consistent. Most of the twenty-six stories are genuinely good, with several being excellent, and the collection does an impressive job of blending Indigenous folklore, history, and show more modern life into a wide variety of horror styles. While there are recurring themes of colonialism and generational trauma, the stories rarely feel repetitive, and each author brings a distinct voice and perspective.
The clear standout for me was Kushtuka by Mathilda Zeller, which is worth the price of the book on its own. It's tense, atmospheric, morally complex, and leaves just enough ambiguity at the end to make it linger in the mind long after it's over. Several others (such as White Hills, Snakes Are Born in the Dark, Uncle Robert Rides the Lightning, Behind Colin's Eyes, and Quantum) were also top notch, whether for their originality, emotional impact, or sheer creepiness.
There were only two stories that didn't work for me. The Ones Who Killed Us felt pretentious and overwritten, more interested in its flowery language than in telling a compelling story (imo). Sundays was my least favorite by a wide margin. It struck me as amateurish and out of place alongside the much stronger work surrounding it. That said, those two disappointments stand out precisely because the rest of the anthology is so consistently good. show less
The clear standout for me was Kushtuka by Mathilda Zeller, which is worth the price of the book on its own. It's tense, atmospheric, morally complex, and leaves just enough ambiguity at the end to make it linger in the mind long after it's over. Several others (such as White Hills, Snakes Are Born in the Dark, Uncle Robert Rides the Lightning, Behind Colin's Eyes, and Quantum) were also top notch, whether for their originality, emotional impact, or sheer creepiness.
There were only two stories that didn't work for me. The Ones Who Killed Us felt pretentious and overwritten, more interested in its flowery language than in telling a compelling story (imo). Sundays was my least favorite by a wide margin. It struck me as amateurish and out of place alongside the much stronger work surrounding it. That said, those two disappointments stand out precisely because the rest of the anthology is so consistently good. show less
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Statistics
- Works
- 8
- Also by
- 2
- Members
- 1,766
- Popularity
- #14,575
- Rating
- 3.9
- Reviews
- 30
- ISBNs
- 18