Pigs in Heaven, Turtle on Earth

July 21, 2024 Examiner Media

Review An assessment or critique of a service, product, or creative endeavor such as art, literature or a performance.

Pigs in Heaven, by Barbara Kingsolver, is the story of 6-year-old Turtle Greer, her mother Taylor, and the people they meet after a freak occurrence. Turtle sees a man tumble into a spillway at Hoover Dam, and her speaking up leads to the man being saved.

Turtle becomes something of a national hero, with an appearance on The Oprah Winfrey Show.

That sounds like a good thing, but it may not be.

Turtle was adopted by Taylor, a single mother, when the child, a member of Cherokee Nation, was thrust into her car as Taylor drove through Oklahoma. Turtle, who was then known as Lacey, came from a troubled family. She was abused. When her mother died, Turtle’s overwhelmed aunt asked Taylor, a random passerby, to take the child.

And so she did.

The wee girl would cling to her new mother like a snapping turtle, the mother thought, and the girl had a new name.

But a Cherokee lawyer wholly focused on keeping the tribe strong said the adoption was illegal. Annawake Fourkiller wants Turtle back within Cherokee Nation.

The book came out way back in 1993. “A novel full of miracles,” said Newsweek, back when what Newsweek said had a bit of influence.

It’s a fair statement. The novel is terrific.

It is notable how Pigs in Heaven is fully fueled by female characters–Turtle, Taylor, Taylor’s mother, Alice, and Annawake, among others. Indeed, the very last page of the book refers to “the family of women” that drives the plot. The male characters–Taylor’s flaky musician mate Jax, and Cash, Alice’s sort-of boyfriend with a direct link to Lacey–are well intentioned and likable, but not all that strong.

The Turtle case is a personal one for Annawake, who had her brother taken from the family when she was a child, and placed with a white family. When she first investigates Taylor and Turtle in Arizona, Taylor gets spooked–she adores her adopted daughter–and goes on the road, giving up her home and job and boyfriend in an effort to keep her daughter. Turtle, who is 6, is often left alone as Taylor ekes out a living.

Kingsolver does a lot of research into what life was like in Cherokee Nation, and paints an intriguing picture of that life. Cash, who is Cherokee, takes Alice, who is not, to a stomp dance.

Kingsolver writes:

“A dozen teenaged girls come out, checking each other seriously and adjusting side to side as they line up in a close circle around the fire. They’re all wearing knee-length gingham skirts and the rattling leggings made of terrapin shells filled with stones. Alice is taken aback by how much bigger these are than the training shackles Sugar showed her; they bulge out like beehives from the girls’ legs, below their dresses. They all begin to move with quick little double sliding steps, giving rise to a resounding hiss.”

I found myself wondering if Kingsolver–who does not seem to be indigenous, based on her GoodReads bio–could write a novel today about the Cherokee and their traditions, without the risk of being cancelled in these sensitive times. Perhaps not. But I’m glad she got this one in back in 1993.

You may be wondering why I decided to read a 31-year old novel. I’d never read any Kingsolver before, though I’d certainly heard her name, and read her positive reviews, for decades. I decided to take her on, and am not quite sure how I picked up Pigs in Heaven among her many other positively reviewed novels.

I’m glad I did. The book, a follow-up to The Bean Trees that can be read as a standalone, has a 4.00 rating, out of 5, on GoodReads. Several of Kingsolver’s novels are up in the 4 territory, including The Poisonwood Bible at 4.10 and Demon Copperfield at a shiny 4.5.

The reviews for Pigs in Heaven are, not surprisingly, favorable. The L.A. Times said, “That rare combination of a dynamic story told in dramatic language, combined with issues that are serious, debatable and painful…[it’s] about the human heart in all its shapes and ramifications.”

Much as I enjoyed it, I had a few issues. Turtle is a wonderful character, but her role decreases halfway through the book, as the less fun adults carry the story. And I wondered about the nickname Turtle. It’s sweet, but if you’re Taylor, trying to convince a child welfare leader that you are the rightful mother to the child you named Turtle, I’m not sure the name makes the best case for long-term motherhood. Would a child named Turtle in your 1st grade class get teased? She sure would.

But the moniker does make for a fun exchange between Turtle’s grandmother Alice and guy pal Cash. Alice notes that Turtle isn’t any more unique a name than others she’s heard around the reservation. The passage goes:

“She’s not a Lacey. Not for love or money. Her name’s Turtle.”

“Well, what kind of name is that?”

“What kind of name is Able Swimmer?” Alice fires back. “Or Stand Hornbuckle, or Flester Dreadfulwater?”

The Boston Globe called the book “immensely readable” and “warmhearted.” It is indeed.

Journalist Michael Malone lives in Hawthorne with his wife and two children.