This was not at all what I assumed it would be about, but still very powerful. America's history and present violence on full display. I suppose my only complaint is that I never did get used to the unusual cadence of the author's writing and had trouble keeping up with jumps in her timeline.

It took me quite awhile to get going with Toni Jensen's Carrry: A Memoir of Survival on Stolen Land, but I'm glad that I stuck through. It's a pretty striking memoir that has strong core centered on the author's experiences with/around gun violence. There's a strong sense of poetry throughout the essays, especially with an element of rumination that is evocative given the subject. Definitely unique and memorable.

Wow, wow, wow. This book was so powerful. I haven't hear anyone talk about it the last few years and I can only imagine it's because they don't know it exists. Will be purchasing for my home collection.

Excited to read and hear more from this author. I had never heard of her before, this was a great introduction to her life and work. Will recommend this to students and teachers.

This was such a haunting and beautiful memoir. The language was so poetic—it was gorgeous and I thought that it felt very raw and real. An excellent, well-told story.

“This isn’t a story, then, so much about being Indian in America or even being Métis in America. It’s a story about being those things and striving toward whiteness; it’s about the cost of that striving.” A must read. Memoir in essays is one of my favorite genres, and this might be at the top of my list. This book made me feel so many emotions it's hard to put them into a coherent review. Violence is a prominent theme in the essays, which makes it a difficult but important read.

Thank you to the publisher for my copy - all opinions are my own.

This is such a STUNNING collection of essays, memoir and history. Toni writes in such a poetic prose, that drew me in story to story. I chose to really slow down with this book, reading an essay and then taking time to sit with it before moving on, as each had so much to reflect on.

I love that Toni does not shy away from incredibly difficult topics, and the brutality of many of the topics is so necessary when speaking to the complexity of life.

Highly recommend this one, and certainly as a book to take your time reading.

I am sorry for not reviewing fully but I don’t have the time to read this at the moment. I believe that it wouldn't benefit you as a publisher or your book if I only skimmed it and wrote a rushed review. Again, I am sorry for not fully reviewing!

4★
“The men sway across the lot, drunk-loud, and one says to the other, ‘Hey, look at that,’ and you are the only that there. When the other replies, ‘No, I like the one in my room just fine,’ you are sorry and grateful for the one in an unequal measure.

Sixteen essays, stories, memories, history. Toni Jensen writes passionately about her America, from where she’s lived in Texas to Pittsburgh to Florida, Arkansas and places in between, including protesting at Standing Rock where these drunken men are. She’s a writer who teaches writing, and she’s a Métis who can pass for white and realises that gives her a privilege that darker women don’t have.

“This isn’t a story, then, so much about being Indian in America or even being Métis in America. It’s a story about being those things and striving toward whiteness; it’s about the cost of that striving.”

My Goodreads review includes a picture of the author.
Author Toni Jensen, from her homepage, tonijensen.com

She writes well and in different voices, but they are all her voice, even the opening excerpt, which is written in the second person – you. When ‘you’ drive the car, trying to dodge these men who are laws unto themselves, you can feel the terror of being a lone woman, particularly a Métis woman, in a place where the motel rooms are supplied with ‘the one in my room’.

There are people who try to help trace the traffickers. Because of television and news, I tend to be more aware of the girls and women being abducted or enticed (with false promises) from eastern European countries to the UK and elsewhere. In fact, I believe every country has its ‘underclass’ who are trapped and traded. She writes about her contribution to the tracing.

“In each place, each frackland, off each road, you wait until checkout to upload the photos of the rooms. In the year and a half of driving and talking and driving and talking, if you’ve learned nothing else, you’ve learned to wait. Because it is very, very difficult to sleep in a hotel room once you learn a woman’s gone missing from it.”

If you’re interested in how everyday tourists can help, here’s a link
https://edition.cnn.com/2017/02/09/tech/traffickcam-sex-trafficking/index.html

On the other hand, in another story, she knows her heritage has probably been a positive factor in her getting the job as a writing teacher.

“I had been hired, in part, because I was Métis, yes, and though no one said this aloud, all my invitations to faculty or donor events were occasions for people to query me about my Indianness, to query me about social or racial issues about which they felt a real, true Indian would have opinions. It was part of what was making me tired already.”

The stories are varied, but there is a recurring theme of abuse, mistrust, alcoholism, drug use, violence, guns, and poverty. I have to say I didn’t get much of a feeling of love, although there is definitely care and concern. There’s nothing much warm and fuzzy.

Jensen uses repetition to good effect, repeating initial clauses to introduce examples or thoughts to emphasise them. This is a long paragraph about her best girlfriend from school.

“Before we lose her, she will run track in the Junior Olympics. Her times will be close to qualifying her for the regular Olympics. Before we lose her, she will start with drinking and graduate to pills and return to drinking. Before we lose her, she will travel the world playing for the American Basketball League. Before we lose her, she will be the one I tell about my father, about what goes on inside our house. Before we lose her, she will be part and parcel of how I leave this place, and I will be complicit in how she does not. Before we lose her, I will be one of the first to take her to a party, to hand her a glass.”

To hand her a glass. It is an effective lead-up, isn’t it? We have the promise and the eventual downfall.

Other recurrences are birds and stained glass windows, which appear in many stories. In some, birds are featured (hunting, farming, bird-watching). Stained glass, on the other hand, seems to be mentioned as a welcome or redeeming feature in a otherwise uninteresting houses, and the light that filters through plays on walls, holding a baby’s attention.

I don’t think this is a metaphor for rose-coloured glasses, but I do get the impression that the stained glass and its effect on light somehow softens a bit of the ugliness of life. Gun violence is part of that ugliness. (Note the effective repetition again.)

“This year, in spring 2018, in the first week of classes, according to a new law, anyone who’s licensed can come to Kimpel Hall carrying a handgun, to my office, Kimpel 221, carrying a handgun, to my classroom carrying a handgun.”

I think the stories are more or less chronological, but within each she will refer back to incidents from her earlier life. She will speak of her “then-husband” (her “daughter’s father”) and then go back to their youth and talk about when one left to go to college. The general flow is natural.

Jensen writes about the legacy of being physically abused as a child, but she doesn’t elaborate on the details. It’s enough to know the kind of man her father was. She seems an interesting woman with a unique perspective on American life.

When I was a kid growing up in the States, the most we were aware of about “Indians” was a few tribal names from movies (Apaches, Cherokees, Navajo), some place names and works of art. A book like this is a valuable addition to make people like me more aware of the continued ignorance about and appalling treatment of First Nations people.

I read a fair bit by Australian aboriginal writers, but not by American indigenous writers. I hope this is getting plenty of publicity. I also hope (and expect) that Jensen will maintain her rage and continue the fight.
Thanks to NetGalley and Random House for the preview copy from which I've quoted.

Carry is a memoir in the form of essays. The author, Toni Jensen writes from the perspective of a Métis woman and a survivor of abuse. Her concern is violence: child abuse, domestic violence, police brutality, historical trauma, racism, mass shootings.

She chronicles her life and travels in these essays. No matter where she travels across the US, she encounters similar problems with violence in every space. The trauma is carried and she grows very concerned about the growing response being one where people have normalized the carrying of firearms and guns. Violent means to deter violent actions. Can we really heal if we continue to carry all these things?

This is a sort of memoir in essays from Métis author Toni Jensen. Throughout the collection(?) she covers topics including her childhood and family, teaching and writing, relationships, motherhood, environmental activism and more, all tied together with an overarching theme of exploring the realities and narratives around violence, and especially gun violence, in the landscape of America historically and today.

First, and very high on the list of things I loved about this memoir, I have to mention the writing. It was just phenomenal. There is poetry in the language of Jensen’s prose. And I love the way she uses definitions of words (Webster’s mainly, but other options, like Urban Dictionary, when Webster’s doesn’t have anything), exploring the various meanings of them, their origins, and the connections she makes between those definitions and the “real world,” the sometimes incongruence-ness of those textbook meanings with off-page realities. It’s really, for lack of a more sophisticated descriptor, cool. And it ties the chapters together stylistically, which is really necessary (I felt) since the topical/temporal ties of the essays seemed, at times, sporadic. That could have really bothered me, but I ended up being ok with it since the leaps sort of followed a natural thought-process, the way memories tend to ebb and flow into each other in understandable but not necessarily patterned ways. In summary here, the wordplay is masterful.

In contrast to the gorgeousness of the writing, many of the themes within Jensen’s memoir are anything but. In fact, this was often particularly difficult to read, as Jensen delves into violence in her own life, as well as violence in this country (America), in a way that profoundly illustrates how deeply that violence is rooted in our homes and lives. Taking a look in turn at all the parts of herself, as a female (daughter, partner, mother), a Métis woman, an educator, a person living in American, Jensen shows how violence has historically been enacted against all those aspects – in the country at large and against herself individually. It’s a striking and uncomfortable exploration, but an incredibly important one. The violence of America against Indigenous populations, against women, “domestically” (in quotations because I loved Jensen’s interrogation of why, when violence occurs in the home is the treatment of it/reaction to it changed?), on campuses, and in general, all based in motivations of racism/sexism/stereotypical (fragile) masculinity, has gotten to a point that is essentially too much to comprehend realistically, so we have inured ourselves to the reality of it, lost ourselves in the cycle of “ignorable until it’s tragic and then ignorable again” so that its now just part of the marrow of the country. Jensen questions that mindset, asking how we got here, and providing some background/context, some insight, some suggestion of change, but, mostly, challenging the reader to come out of the protective mental shell and join her in interrogating why this has to be our reality.

I particularly was interested in the look at the changing rhetoric in the social and political landscape of America from the 1970s to today that radicalized the “every man,” that she saw in her own father, creating the idea of a strong man with a gun to protect what is his, and how that led to mass and buy-in from rural communities who would actually benefit from the exact opposite policies. It’s a fascinating recent history that I don’t have much baseline knowledge in. Honestly, I am only recently starting to pick up nonfiction at all, so, for me, this discussion of the rise of gun violence in America and the way it centers within wealth/whiteness and the rhetoric that conflated gun ownership with manliness/protection at this level of analysis is new to me. I was, of course, aware of (and agreed with) the clear data and reality that increased access to guns = increased likelihood of gun violence (like, duh), but just have never read much that truly dissects it like this (and I’m sure that even this is a surface-level dissection, really). But the way Jensen wove the data and current events and larger issues into her own personal experiences with and exposure to domestic/interpersonal/state-sponsored/gun violence as a sort of case study in consequences really worked for me as a reader.

There is also a partial spotlight on environmental justice, the land, threatened by America (back to that theme of violence), being protected, as always, by Indigenous peoples. It wasn’t as large a piece of the memoir as the reflection on the land being stolen in the first place, and that heritage, but it was there.

Jensen uses exquisite composition to tell the story of violence in America, and her own story of violence. It is challenging and frightening, but necessary and compelling. I appreciated Jensen’s words, her vulnerability, her confrontation of the various narratives that become the dominant ones, the ones we don’t question, and asks us to really consider if this is how it has to be. And it’s powerful.

“See how science newly quantifies what some of us have long known – how historical and cultural trauma is lived in our bodies, is passed down, generation to generation, how it lives in the body.”

“It’s okay, I’ve learned, to love the things that make you, even if they also are the things that unmake you.”

“In our country, the myth of individualism pushes us to ignore structures that create tensions and pressures in individuals, yes, but also in families, in communities. But that’s not how people are made, in isolation, with only some notion of character or goodness to form them.”

“Who is served by our everyday American procedure of rendering general and passive our language about violence?”

“Whether a circumstance is acknowledged openly or formally or whether it’s denied, how a situation becomes one worthy of study, is mainly in how it does or does not intersect with or affect the lives of the wealthy.”

“More often than not, if someone describes a woman to me as difficult, I find that woman to be delightful or unusual or unorthodox. It’s a word most often used to censure women who live unconventional lives.”

“To memorialize correctly, language matters.”

“The taking by force of our land always has been twinned with the taking by force of our bodies.”

“If more wealthy Americans own guns than do those living in poverty, why do we have such difficulty fitting this fact into our collective gun narrative? Because when wealth and whiteness are combined, the narrative shifts most times towards plenty, toward goodness instead of lack or deformity. We’re unwilling to acknowledge abhorrent behavior from an heiress but expect it from a working-class man.”

“What does it mean to try to pass? What does it mean to pass without trying? With this act, how do we measure intent? With this act, this action, how much does intent matter?”

“How much grace is it possible to give to others when you move through the world with more than a small measure of safety – when this is safety you own but have not bought?”

“People who kill other people with guns have to have access to the guns. The more access, the more violence. We have in our country almost entirely unfettered access.”

“When you’re going to be called trouble anyway, your life then becomes your own. There’s liberation and loneliness both in this shift.”

I read this memoir over the course of months, and I think doing so really helped me absorb the material and the format. I found this book a really unique and cool look into what it means to be an indigenous woman in modern society. In particular, existing as a white passing Métis woman. Important topics like police brutality and gun violence area a huge part of this book, which occupies space somewhere between a traditional memoir and a collection of essays.

I think that whether or not you enjoy this will depend on whether this format works for you. For me, it was a win. I really loved being able to take in what felt like fully formed bites of content.

While it did take me time to get through, this is more a reflection of my own need to step away from difficult material sometimes than anything the author does poorly.

I would highly recommend this to anyone looking to expand their understanding of the modern indigenous experience.

I’m only going to post this here because it would be unfair anywhere else. I generally love memoirs but this one lost my interest and I struggled to get through it.
I just found myself not caring how this book ended and it didn’t pull me in.
Thanks to Netgalley and the publisher for this ebook. I’ve voluntarily given my review.

An absolutely stunning memoir of how our bodies hold onto trauma, the experience of being an indigenous woman in America, and how guns have affected our country.

The writing was so poetic and lyrical, I was in awe the entire time I read it. Highly recommend for those who loved “In The Dream House” by Carmen Maria Machado.

CARRY is a heart-wrenching, powerful, really brilliant memoir about the realities and complexities of living as an Indigenous woman in this society. It’s scathing at times, devastating at times, absolutely enraging at times, and a nuanced and valuable reflection. BIPOC and other colonially marginalized authors owe white readers nothing, and seeing so many Indigenous readers feeling seen and represented in this book speaks to Jensen’s skill at her craft and also the inherent value of uplifting Indigenous authors. This is not a story I’ll forget any time soon, and I’m really grateful to the publisher and NetGalley for this advance e-copy.

Tori Jensen's Carry: A Memoir of Survival on Stolen Land is a gripping memoir. I have been making a conscious choice to read more books by indigenous authors over the past year, so I was glad to have the opportunity to read Jensen's book.

Told in various essays, Jensen explores her various experiences with trauma and violence at the barrel of a gun. Ultimately, this is both a book about a life and a book about violence. And, that doesn't make for an easy read. But, is it an important read? Yes.

Many thanks to the author, publisher, and NetGalley for sharing this book with me. All thoughts are my own.

4 stars



I received an ARC of this book and I feel bad for how long it took me to finish it and get this review up. This is a good book, but I had to keep walking away from it.
This book is nonfiction. It is real also very real, in the Webster's 1.c(3) sense "behaving or being presented in a way that seems true, honest, or familiar, and without pretense or affectation."
It is the familiarity issue that caused me to take so long to get through this book. There are plenty of triggers in a book about violence, and while this book's summary may lead you to believe its primarily about gun violence, and that is hugely important, it also very much focuses on every day violence done to women, to Natives, to animals, and on and on. It is not an easy read.

It was well written and I liked how the chapters were set up; it felt poetic at times. The subject matter is serious and dark, and important. I didnt love the constant use of Websters dictionary definitions, but at least they were used consistently.

This was a beautiful, beautiful, beautiful read. I love memoir and personal narratives, and this just... kills it. It's also more than a memoir -- it's about the history of American violence in its many forms. Jensen is an outstanding writer, this was prose and poetry exactly how I like it.

Carry is a memoir from a Metis, white passing woman. Jensen shares her life story as an Indigenous woman and an academic, weaving in her experiences with domestic and family violence, and various personal and national instances of gun violence on stolen U.S. land.

The way that Jensen weaves personal stories and historical events is masterful and ambitious, all while going back and forth in time. I think this book had to have been so difficult to do well because of that - it could have gone wrong but never did once for me.

It's self aware. I love how revealing it is, of her own feelings and personal life, but also those involving her family. I can only be grateful to Jensen for trusting us with her story.

Nothing about it felt like a standard, linear, "ghost written" or phony memoir. It's authentic, unique, with real voice -- a story told with tenderness, love, intelligence, wisdom, and care. I felt completely absorbed in the narrative and the beauty of the writing. I finished the book feeling so strongly connected to the author.

I hope Toni Jensen keeps publishing more for us. I devoured this book and my life is richer for having read it. I don't know why this book isn't getting more attention (maybe it is and I'm missing it) -- but it's pretty damn extraordinary and I think people are missing out.

Thank you to #NetGalley and Ballantine Books for sharing a copy of this book with me in exchange for an honest review.

I read Carry a couple weeks ago but haven't posted anything about it yet because memoirs are just so hard to review. Fortunately, this one was beautiful, if not fun, to read. Toni Jensen goes beyond the traditional memoir. The chapters form a sort of interconnected essay format that splice her personal experiences with the relevant historical and contemporary context. Whether that be American imperialism as a Métis woman, gun violence as a teacher or class inequality as someone from a working class family. Through this lens the legacy of the country loses the tarnish of "oh, that was years ago" and brings it firmly into the immediate; a legacy that touches all inhabitants of America in ways we hardly recognize.⁣

More than just the content, Carry is also lovely to read. The prose is beautiful and the poetic use of repetition brings you back again and again to the most important themes. The writing itself is the sugar that helps the medicine go down.⁣ I'd recommend this to anyone that enjoys memoir. We could all use arming ourselves with more understanding and we must reckon with our legacy in order to move forward and this book is a great step in that direction.

One of my favorite books this year. Jensen artfully blends different types of violence in describing the circumstances of her own life and that of indigenous women across North America: gun violence, domestic violence, fracking. I recommend this book to those who enjoyed Heart Berries, Memorial Drive, and the work of Terry Tempest Williams.