Iron Lake

“He knew he should probably just leave and close the door behind him. But there had been the shot, and now he felt something in the stillness of the house from which he couldn’t turn, a kind of responsibility. As he stood with the door wide open at his back and the wind blowing through, he glanced down and watched the tendrils of snow creep across the bare, polished floor and vine around his boots like something alive. He knows that a terrible thing had happened. He knew it absolutely.”

The image of snow growing and entrapping Paul as he is going into the judge’s house reflects his sense of foreboding. Krueger firmly locates his characters in the very specific environment of Minnesota—its harsh constraints are elements in the plot, and the environment often reflects the moods of the characters. Here, the environment is actually reaching into the house as snow blows through the open door. Paul’s perspective gives this phenomenon life, creating suspense and unease.

“He walked away and stood staring at the rows of legal books, tomes that attempted to spell out justice, something he no longer believed in. He fought against the hopeless, cornered feeling they gave him.”

From the beginning of the novel, Cork struggles with the way justice intersects with law enforcement. His faith in the law’s moral compass has been shattered by the spearfishing protest violence. Throughout the story, Cork’s loss of faith causes him to nearly commit murder as revenge.

“A lot of the whites in Aurora were quite happy to see Joe John fall. Indians, they said with great satisfaction. Drunks. It didn’t matter that Joe John had given Aurora some shining moments, that the signs posted at the town limits proclaiming ‘Home of the Warriors, State Basketball Champions’ was entirely due to Joe John’s talent, and that Joe John had suffered a significant disappointment through no fault of his own. That he was Indian explained it all.”

The fictional Iron Lake’s white and Anishinaabe communities are deeply divided. The white population’s reaction to Joe John’s tragedy reflects confirmation bias; they apply a racist stereotype to Joe John and imply that his fate was a foregone conclusion because of his race. In addition, Krueger highlights the pervasive microaggressions via the fact that the basketball team is called the Warriors—a stereotype-based reference to the area’s Indigenous past.

“He waited a moment before driving away, trying one last time to see if anything moved among the trees. Because he could have sworn someone there had called his name.”

Cork has just left Darla’s house after telling her and Tom that Judge Parrant is dead. He thinks he hears someone calling his name, drawing a connection to the Windigo, which will become a motif (see Symbols & Motifs). Throughout the novel, Cork gets closer and closer to becoming the Windigo.

“Gambling, Cork had come to understand, affected some people in an odd way. Not unlike fishing. Fishermen would drive their pickups and four-wheelers out onto thin ice rising their necks just to catch a damn fish. Some gamblers took the same kind of chance at a blackjack table.”

The new casino has caused Cork to rethink his attitudes about gambling, which he now recognizes as a source of addiction. Further, he puts the risks inherent to gambling in a context that is specific to the region. Although the comparison to ice fishing seems humorous at first, for the fishermen, the risk on thin ice can literally mean death, showing that Cork now understands the danger addicted gamblers face.

“Sam Winter Moon gave a single, slow nod. ‘There’s danger in acting,’ he said. ‘There’s also danger in sitting still, Cork. The law’s finally on the side of The People. If we sit, what have we gained? Seems to me that if trouble comes, it won’t be our doing.’ ‘It never was,’ Cork replied. ‘But it’s always The People who suffer in the end, regardless of right.’”

Before the spearfishing confrontation that resulted in Sam Winter Moon’s death, Cork is nervous enough to want to call the whole thing off. However, as Sam points out, this is about more than fishing—it is about reclaiming their rights. Cork’s response shows that he recognizes the truth of what Sam is saying, but Cork doesn’t have any faith in the outcome—a feature of his character.

“Cork understood that, in a way, laying most of the blame for the tragedy on his shoulders had made the casino possible. Sandy Parrant could never have convinced the white population of Tamarack County to approve the land sale if they’d perceived the Anishinaabe to have been responsible for Stanley’s death. And Blackwater could never have convinced them that it was Cork’s incompetence rather than the greed and anger of the whites that had caused the death of Sam Winter Moon. Jo’s fortunes had risen with the Anishinaabe’s and through her association with Sandy Parrant, whose own political star was well on the rise. Cork tried not to be bitter over it. In the end, prosperity had come to almost everyone in the county—red and white. What was one man’s life, or two or three, compared to the welfare of so many?”

Cork knows that after the spearfishing violence, he lost his position as sheriff to establish the uneasy truce that allowed for the casino to be built. Cork’s multiracial heritage means that he is connected to both the Anishinaabe and white communities, and yet is still somewhat of an outsider in both, making him the perfect scapegoat. His calm acceptance of this role illustrates his moral compass; he has internalized the Anishinaabe attitude toward beneficial self-sacrifice.

“The Wisdom Tree was an ancient, isolated white cedar—normally a swamp tree—that grew on the very tip of a point of rocky land jutting into Lake Superior. The whites called it the Witch Tree because it grew out of solid rock and had no visible means of sustenance. It was said to be as old as The People themselves and was sacred.”

The Wisdom Tree is sacred to the Anishinaabe people, and the fact that the white community calls it “the Witch Tree” shows the cultures’ relative relationships to the environment: One sees wisdom in nature, while the other sees supernatural malevolence. The Wisdom Tree is also connected to the community in a different way—Wanda Manydeeds has a tattoo of it on the upper slope of her breast. It is that tattoo that later allows Cork to identify Wanda in a photograph having sex with Father Tom.

“If it was true, as Henry Meloux said, that he’d heard the Windigo call his name, he understood why now. Because it felt exactly as if his heart had just been torn out of him and devoured.”

Jo has just told Cork, in no uncertain terms, that their marriage is over. Cork’s heart lies with his family and the loss of it connects him metaphorically to the Windigo, an ogre with a frozen heart. Cork feels a strange kinship with the Windigo, as he feels his own heart growing colder.

“‘The night I took you into town you went to the casino, but not to gamble. You wanted to talk with Russell Blackwater. Did you hear the Windigo call his name? Is that why you walked into town in the middle of a blizzard? To warn him?’ The old man took the cigarette from his lips and looked at Cork appreciatively. ‘The whites were wrong to kick you out as sheriff.’”

Throughout the novel, Henry is Cork’s guide and mentor. Beyond this role, however, Henry is also fiercely intelligent and serves as a sounding board for Cork’s investigation. This exchange shows Cork’s investigative abilities and highlights how seriously Cork takes Henry’s insight. Cork is moving toward Acceptance of Heritage and Community; this allows him to give credence to Henry’s information about the Windigo, which in turn leads to him solving several crimes and uncovering a web of corruption.

“In the language of the Anishinaabe, December was called Manidoo-Gizisoons. The month of small spirits. […] Cork wished there were a forecast for his spirit. He felt the dark and the cold penetrating deep in him. He wondered when there would be warmth again, when there would be light.”

Celebrated on December 21, the winter solstice is the shortest day of the year. In northern Minnesota, this means dropping temperatures and an increase in blustery winter weather, with an average of eight hours of sunlight each day. “Small spirits” is a reference to how people feel during this time of darkness and also a reflection of Cork’s inner life—another instance in which Krueger uses the environment to reflect a character’s state of mind.

“He looked at his hands. Big hands. How useless a man’s hands were, he thought, when it came to fixing the important things. ‘Things fall apart,’ she said in a small voice. ‘The center will not hold.’ He gave her a questioning look. ‘Yeats,’ she explained. ‘W. B.’”

Jenny is interested in poetry and uses these famous lines from “The Second Coming,” a poem by W. B. Yeats, to reflect her feelings about their family’s struggles. She is 14 years old, old enough to understand how her parents’ divorce will affect the family. Cork’s reflection about his “useless” hands illustrates his feelings of inadequacy as he tries to figure out how to best help his daughter.

“Power had many sources besides charisma. Money was one. Although Robert Parrant had been a wealthy man, Cork figured it would have taken a hell of a lot more than even the judge had to maintain his hold on a population as independent as that of the Iron Range. Power also came from leverage. The bloody folder with the judge’s doodling all over the over, the folder that held such graphic evidence of Jo’s infidelity, that was one kind of leverage, and was certainly in keeping with the character of the judge. It was entirely possible that the judge’s death had something to do with that kind of leverage.”

Although the local authorities rule that the judge died by suicide, Cork has been suspicious about this conclusion. With the discovery of the judge’s handwriting on Jo’s manila folder, Cork identifies a potential motive for the judge’s murder: revenge for being blackmailed. Although Cork knows that the judge wielded outsized power in the county, only now does he see the kind of leverage the judge had been using.

“In the bathroom, he studied himself in the mirror. He looked old, a decade older than a week before. His eyes were dark circled, his face puffy. There seemed to be a brutish aspect in his appearance that he’d never recognized before, and he felt a cold, abiding despair sunk all the way to his bones. Who was this man staring at him? What was he becoming?”

Cork’s physical appearance matches the interior transformation that he is going through. The “brutish” features and the “cold” that “sunk all the way to his bones” show his continued transformation into Henry Meloux’s description of the Windigo. Throughout the novel, Cork is challenged to keep his humanity in the face of injustice, struggling with the need for revenge.

“The bottom line was that people who leaned too heavily on someone else were setting themselves up for a terrible fall, and they had no one to blame in the end but themselves for the hurt they suffered. Cork had learned the hard way. And he vowed it would not happen again.”

Although these thoughts are ostensibly about Jo, as Cork is studying the photographs of her and Sandy, they also pertain to his grief over Sam Winter Moon’s death. Cork’s instinct is to retreat from love and connections to avoid pain. However, in a moment of dynamic character growth, he will realize his love for Molly, showing that he cannot avoid his loving and nurturing nature.

“A bird fluttered onto a branch of a birch at the edge of the clearing where the cabin and other buildings stood. It caught Cork’s eye mostly because of the flash of color on its breast. A robin. Middle of winter and there was a robin still about, apparently plump and healthy. […] The robin was a good spirit, manidoo, that warned of danger or the nearness of enemies or of the approach of a maji-manidoo, evil spirit. Cork looked at the robin, out of place in that bitter winter landscape, and returned to the Bronco.”

Throughout the novel, Krueger references Anishinaabe cultural knowledge, especially about nature. Because Cork has some of this cultural lore, he understands the importance of the robin and returns to his truck for his rifle. Later, when he hears its calls stop and start, he knows that someone else is in the area; his sensitivity to his Anishinaabe heritage saves his life.

“Cork let himself into Molly’s cabin with the key under the back steps. After he hung his coat by the back door, he went upstairs and took four Advil from the container in the bathroom cabinet. […] He had to lay down for a while. He looked for a place to hide the bag and finally made room under the logs in the woodbox next to the fireplace. Then he made his way upstairs and lay down on Molly’s bed and promptly went to sleep.”

Even though he has broken off their relationship, Cork returns to Molly’s cabin every time he is hurt. There, he feels safe enough to relax because—although Cork doesn’t realize it yet—Molly’s house is home to him. However, the investigation threatens this place of peace: He hides the negatives at her house, imperiling her safety. His choice to do so eventually leads to Molly’s death.

“‘I’m not what you’d call a brave man,’ he assured her. She sighed, her breath making the hair at the back of his neck shiver. ‘Maybe not, but you’re stubborn, and that’s just as bad.’”

Cork’s statement that he is not a “brave man” stands in stark contrast to his actions throughout the novel. However, the modesty that causes him to say it is very characteristic. Whether it is bravery or stubbornness, the end result is the same, and Molly’s comment shows that she understands the danger of both.

“People died around him, but he was immune. There was no justice. He should have died long ago. Maybe if he had, Molly would still be alive. And Sam Winter Moon and Arnold Stanley, and God only knew who else. He remembered a line he’d heard once, from an ancient text it seemed. ‘I am become death…’ That was him.”

The line Cork remembers is from the Bhagavad Gita, famously quoted by Robert Oppenheimer, the inventor of the atomic bomb. Cork feels responsible for Molly, Sam, and Arnold’s deaths; here, at his darkest moment, he feels as if he should be the one dead.

“Jo cursed the old man. Cursed him because he’d made her afraid. […] She wasn’t backed into a corner anymore. She had hope. But something unexpected had accompanied the hope. Fear. Fear so overpowering it made her tremble violently as if she were bitterly cold. She’d never been so afraid. She knew what it was now to be paralyzed by cowardice, because she didn’t think she could move.”

Jo finds it easier to act when she is angry and thinks she is going to die. Now, when Henry protects her, she suddenly sees the possibility of survival and it makes her afraid. However, throughout the novel, Jo is characterized as fearless, fighting for the rights of her clients. This trait eventually overcomes her uncharacteristic fear; in the end, she saves Cork’s life, as well as Henry’s and her own.

“In the moonlight, he cast a huge shadow on the ice. Cork saw the old man suddenly in a kind of vision, as if beholding in the long black shadow the real Meloux, a great hunter spirit, silent and powerful. Cork was very grateful to have the old man on his side.”

Throughout the novel, Henry Meloux has been by Cork’s side, mentoring and guiding him. Cork knows that the old man is tough and independent, but this new vision of Henry as a person imbued with an almost supernatural capability and spirituality shows that Cork was still underestimating him. At the climax of the novel, Henry saves Cork and Jo and Cork understands and sees Henry’s true nature.

“Cork stood dead still on the lake. The urgency of fleeing had vanished. In its place was a deep calm, and around that calm, like an aureola around the dark center of an eclipse, blazed a fierce resolve to be done with it. To kill the Windigo, Meloux had said, you must become a Windigo, too. A man was never just a man. A man was endless possibility waiting to become.”

Cork’s transformation into a Windigo, with a heart of ice, is nearly complete. It is the only thing that makes it possible for Cork to face down Sandy’s Cherokee, holding only a knife. This scene shows how far Cork must go to bring down a killer, letting go of his fear.

“He closed his eyes and began to sing, words Cork didn’t understand. But he knew what it was about. The song of the dead. Henry Meloux was singing his fallen enemy onto the Path of Souls.”

Now that Henry has been revealed to him as a “great hunter spirit” (428), Cork sees the other man in a new light. Henry shows Sandy the respect that he would show any defeated foe by helping his spirit begin his walk to the Land of Souls. Throughout the novel, Henry’s behavior is an anchor for Cork, and here, Henry reminds him of Sandy’s humanity and therefore his own, bringing him back from nearly becoming a Windigo.