Tayo

Character Analysis

Tayo is a wounded hero. He hasn't been feeling very well ever since he got back to Laguna from the Pacific Island where he fought in WWII. And it's no wonder: he watched his cousin die and survived the Bataan Death March.

If Tayo were alive today, we'd probably say he was suffering from PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder), a condition that affects a lot of American soldiers who served in Afghanistan, Iraq, and Vietnam. But since this novel is set in the 1940s, the army doctors call Tayo's condition "battle fatigue" (IV.4). (And if he'd fought in World War I, it would have been called "shell shock.")

Silko wants to avoid using a western medical term for Tayo's problem. That would make it seem like his sickness was an individual ailment, when she wants to make the point that it's a societal one. So she doesn't give it a name. Tayo's sickness is way too complex for any acronym.

When we first encounter Tayo, he is confused and disoriented. He can't think in a straight line, a fact that's reflected in the structure of the narrative itself. Notice how the story jumps around in time? Well, that's how Tayo's brain is working right now. No wonder it's hard to figure out what's going on.

It's very significant that Tayo is of mixed race. His hazel eyes act as a constant reminder to his friends and family that his father was white. Tayo's half-white parentage makes him different from all the other guys he grew up with on the reservation, which causes him a whole lot of angst.

It's also a source of resentment for some characters, like Auntie and Emo, and therefore a source of shame for him. Tayo's feelings are complicated because, like many Native Americans during this period, he has been taught to feel ashamed of his Native culture and resentful or envious of white culture. Working through these feelings is a major part of Tayo's development as a character.

Tayo's mixed heritage makes him a great protagonist, because it allows him to relate to and criticize aspects of both white and Native culture. His cluelessness about Laguna rituals makes the text accessible for readers who aren't a part of that culture. For example, when old Ku'oosh says to Tayo: "Maybe you don't know about some of these things," he's doing more than just acknowledging Tayo's absent white father. He's also allowing us, the readers, to learn about Laguna tradition alongside Tayo. How generous of him.

Despite his early ignorance, Tayo is eventually immersed in Laguna culture and even becomes initiated into the community at the novel's end. It's significant that Tayo relates much more to his Laguna heritage than his white heritage. From his perspective, white culture is fatally flawed. It's totally disconnected from the earth and promotes death and destruction. On the other hand, Laguna culture (and other Native traditions) promotes life and respect for the earth. Let's see…death and destruction versus life and respect. If we had to choose, we'd probably go for the latter too. What about you?

That doesn't mean it's perfect, though. Tayo's Laguna half allows him to criticize Laguna culture as only an insider could. Tayo makes the critique that Native Americans need to stop feeling ashamed of their identity and stop trying to emulate white culture—it just ain't working.