Race to the Sun

“Davery’s mom is African American and his dad is Navajo, and small-minded people like Laurie can’t fathom that folks can be part of two cultures—ignorance like that is another reason Davery and I both left our old public school and transferred to ICCS.”

Nizhoni’s reference to a classmate’s racism at her own school works to reject an exclusionary paradigm that would gatekeep what it means to be “really” Navajo. Roanhorse reinforces this refusal to make Davery prove that he is Navajo “enough” through her inclusion of Davery as an essential helper in Nizhoni’s quest.

“Like it’s hard to say Nih-JHOH-NIH.”

Even as Davery asserts that Nizhoni’s name isn’t difficult to pronounce, he provides a guide for readers on how to pronounce it, pointing to the novel’s investment in teaching non-Native or non-Navajo readers how to pronounce Navajo names, with an eye toward generating greater knowledge and acceptance of Indigenous language and culture.

“It does pain me to hurt youngsters, it really does. But best to do it now, before you grow up and truly become a problem.”

Mr. Charles’s excuse for killing a child demonstrates the corruption of his logic. By excusing his crime via claims that Nizhoni will later become a problem, he both dismisses the capability of children and reveals himself as interested in his own gain and devoid of any sense of ethics or fairness. His desire to destroy Nizhoni and Mac also establishes him as an enemy of Cultural Inheritance and Preservation.

“I also hear Mac helpfully volunteering that I once had to attend a Saturday anger management class at my old school for punching Elora Huffstratter in the nose. But Mac neglects to mention that Elora Huffstratter, a white girl, said my mom left us because I was a dirty Indian. Then she made war-whooping noises like something out of a bad Western. So, as far as I’m concerned, Elora totally had it coming. I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

Roanhorse often characterizes Nizhoni as struggling with anger. In this passage, she contextualizes Nizhoni’s anger as a reasonable response to racism. The novel positions racist rhetoric as a form of violence—one that requires equal force to fight, foreshadowing Nizhoni’s future task of fighting and killing monsters as another form of necessary violence.

“But if Dad doesn’t believe me, what am I supposed to do? His boss can lie all he wants, but when I told the truth, I got punished.”

Nizhoni laments the powerlessness children experience in a world where adults are conditioned to believe the word of other adults over that of children—even their own children. From Nizhoni’s perspective, the comparative freedom of adults puts children at a pronounced disadvantage. The powerlessness Nizhoni feels catalyzes her emotional arc to access her own power.

“You must put a stop to this enemy, and not only for your own sake, but also for your people. If you are brave enough, and determined enough, I will do what I can to help. Are you willing to try?”

Mr. Yazzie here frames Nizhoni’s quest as one that will benefit her and also have benefits far beyond her. It is this community benefit, combined with the sense of destiny, that convinces Nizhoni to undertake it, signaling her movement away from a self-centered worldview toward a more expansive and empathetic sense of her responsibility to her community.

“Woman Abducted by Cat-Headed Alien; Says His Name Was Marty

‘Fake news,’ I murmur.”

Roanhorse employs the catchphrase “fake news,” originally popularized as a slogan for a conservative political viewpoint, to evoke a broader sense of bias and tendency to sensationalize in media stories in a “post-truth” era. Within the context of the narrative, Nizhoni’s skepticism reflects an inherent critique of a dominant culture that disregards and devalues the perspective and experience of marginalized communities.

“Who are the police going to believe? Some random brown kid, or a famous executive with his blond hair and a fancy suit that reeks of money?

No adult is going to buy this story.”

Nizhoni’s assessment that the police will not believe her reflects a perspective of law enforcement as embodying implicit racial and socio-economic bias supported by her lived experience. Nizhoni’s experiences have taught her to expect that the police hold racist attitudes toward Navajo children, underscoring the distrust of the police prevalent in many Indigenous communities (and those of other marginalized groups).

“‘As for the talking,’ Mr. Yazzie continues, ‘all animals can talk. It’s just that they speak a language most humans don’t bother to learn.’”

Mr. Yazzie’s insistence that animals can speak rejects the paradigm that places humans as superior to animals in intelligence, reflecting the novel’s characterization of Navajo culture as one that views animals as partners, rather than subordinates.

“I vow to practice speaking my language more often in the future.”

Nizhoni’s promise to herself to practice speaking Navajo suggests her growing awareness of the importance of her Cultural Inheritance and Preservation to her personal growth. Her reference to Navajo as “her” language shows that she is already committed to seeing herself through a lens that celebrates her cultural identity.

“It feels like there’s a heavy weight slung over my shoulders, and that weight is making me tired and hungry. Give up, it whispers. Why try so hard? No one will notice if you quit. No one really cares. You’re only a kid, after all. You can’t really fight monsters.”

Nizhoni experiences self-doubt as a physical sensation, foreshadowing the ways in which her confidence will affect her physical fighting abilities against the monsters as the book continues. Roanhorse reflects Nizhoni’s journey toward stepping into her own power in her physicality and energy level.

“How am I supposed to find a perfect shell when each step breaks some? It seems impossible. Even more impossible than fighting monsters. At least that’s exciting. This is just hard.”

On her quest, Nizhoni faces one of the central struggles of adulthood: reckoning with obstacles that are not exciting or dramatic, but rather characterized by mundane difficulty. The novel asserts that part of growing up is realizing that you don’t need to have all the answers and choosing to persevere. Nizhoni achieves victory in the tedious task by allowing her belief that she will succeed to fuel her.

“Why don’t you just pretend you’re a hero for a while, and let me carry the burden of believing in you? […] It’s scary to have people expect something from you.”

Through Łizhin’s offer to carry the burden of self-confidence, Roanhorse acknowledges the difficulty and constant effort involved in self-belief—the very thing the novel defines as essential to success in the battle with monsters. Nizhoni learns that self-confidence may be as difficult as a physical battle and that learning to depend on others is an equally essential skill, underscoring the novel’s thematic interest in the strength of communal support and identity.

“‘Don’t undervalue good instincts,’ Łizhin says. ‘Trusting your gut will keep you safe when others tread recklessly.’”

Roanhorse emphasizes Łizhin (and, by extension, the other guardians’ and heralds’) role as a helper by reminding Nizhoni of the power of her instincts—something she has implicitly known throughout the novel, given that her monster-sensing powers are based on instinct. Łizhin’s perspective underscores the novel’s vision of a hero not as someone who stands alone but as someone who needs support to augment their natural abilities.

“Do not hold back, and do not be afraid to sacrifice. The things that mean the most to us often have the most power. If my part of the gift costs me nothing, then it would mean nothing.”

Black Jet Girl emphasizes the power of true sacrifice over nominal sacrifice. The gesture, she suggests, of giving a gift is not in the item itself but in the willingness of the giver to forsake something they value for another. Black Jet Girl’s lesson ultimately helps Nizhoni reckon with her parents’ motivations and decisions, pointing to the novel’s thematic interest in Absent Parents.

“‘That was really impressive,’ [Davery] says. ‘You’re strong.’

‘For a girl?’ I say sarcastically.

‘No. For anyone. It was…cool.’”

Nizhoni’s instinctual sarcastic response to Davery’s praise of her strength highlights the ways in which she has been inundated with the cultural message that girls are inherently less strong than boys. Davery’s response pushes back against the misogyny of this messaging, which helps build Nizhoni’s confidence.

“‘You know,’ Davery says, ‘we’ve survived red-eyed monsters, rocks that want to crush us, and reeds that want to slice us into deli meat, but I think I’m more afraid of what’s behind these doors.’

‘High school kids,’ we both say at the same time.”

Nizhoni and Davery’s fear of high school kids illustrates the significance of physical and emotional maturation in adolescent life. In Nizhoni and Davery’s view, high school kids have more power and autonomy than middle schoolers and also represent their inevitable future, one in which they don’t yet know what to expect from themselves.

“I can’t believe she chose to fight the monster over staying with her family.”

Nizhoni acknowledges the primary obstacle she faces when it comes to forgiving her mother, highlighting the novel’s thematic interest in Absent Parents. Though, like her mother, Nizhoni has also been called to fight monsters, she cannot quite accept that her mother had to leave her children behind to do so (in contrast to Nizhoni, who seeks to rescue her father and who brings her brother along on the journey). The novel never fully resolves this tension, suggesting that Nizhoni begins to accept complexity and ambiguity as an inherent part of maturity.

“Why me? I want to wail. Is this what I get for wanting to be someone special?”

In the course of her arc, Nizhoni, who has long wished for popularity and acclaim, confronts the downside to being “special,” and the unique challenges it poses. In her lower moments, Nizhoni blames herself both for wanting such a special role, not feeling adequate to the task. The journey to overcome this sense of inadequacy and embrace her own self-belief forms an essential tenet of the novel’s definition of heroism.

“‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ I say, embarrassed. ‘I’m still learning.’

Nizhoni shows humility in admitting that she is still learning, acknowledging that this lack of knowledge is something she is not proud of—suggesting that the process of growth can be both difficult and uncomfortable. Her growing desire to learn more about her cultural background indicates its importance in her sense of self.

“Without Mac and Davery here to share the experience, this hero business feels overrated. I know I have to be responsible, but it makes my stomach ache.”

In contrast to her previous desire to be special or popular, Nizhoni recognizes that true fulfillment comes from having a close community of people who care about her. Roanhorse suggests that Nizhoni’s ability to embrace her independence is connected to and encouraged by the knowledge that she is never truly alone when she is supported by her family, her allies, members of her cultural community, and her connection to her cultural heritage.

“‘Not to be rude, but if the Holy People already know how to defeat monsters, why don’t they do it themselves?’

‘HOW DARE YOU?’ Jóhonaa’éí erupts, his voice echoing through the chamber.

‘It’s just a question,’ I insist, ignoring his bluster.

‘The monsters threaten humans,’ Mr. Yazzie explains. ‘They don’t bother the Holy People. While they may provide some assistance, it’s up to the humans to fight their own battles.’”

Nizhoni’s question highlights the genre expectations of classical myth—that humans must fight in mythic battles. It also illustrates a child’s curiosity and desire to understand why things work the way they do.

“‘We all must change with the times,’ Jóhonaa’éí says, not unkindly. ‘These children are different from their ancestors […] The ways of the Diné are not static but alive and ever-changing.’”

In rebutting Mr. Yazzie’s complaint about excessively modern weapons, Jóhonaa’éí clarifies the novel’s expansive and ever-evolving perspective on Cultural Inheritance and Preservation—its importance demands that it remain static. Instead, Roanhorse frames Navajo children as having an equal right to shape the trajectory of Navajo culture.