Sasha taqʷšəblu LaPointe discusses new essay collection

Sasha taqʷšəblu LaPointe, a Coast Salish author from the Nooksack and Upper Skagit Indian tribes, sees her great-grandmother as the quintessential storyteller. “It was her gift, not mine,” she writes in her new book “Thunder Song” — a collection of intimate, meditative essays woven together with metaphors, unabashed honesty and the echoes of spirit songs sung by generations of Coast Salish women.

“In our longhouse ceremonies, songs hold a spiritual power,” LaPointe says of spirit songs in her book. “There are certain songs for prayer, for healing.”

Outside of her family, the community most important to LaPointe was always the punk scene. LaPointe fell in love with punk as a kid in her trailer on the Swinomish Reservation — making mixtapes on a boombox, listening to haunting melodies and Kathleen Hanna of Bikini Kill screaming the lyrics to “White Boy.” Her book explores how she was drawn into the punk world and how it gave her a haven.

“I really feel like the pull was rooted in chosen family,” she says. “A lot of the folks that gravitate towards the punk scene are looking for that. And I was inspired by it. Punks and artists were fiery and passionate about things.” LaPointe is a member of the punk band Medusa Stare. 

LaPointe wears two silver customized name necklaces, one in English and one in her Indigenous language of Lushootseed. She was given her traditional Skagit name, taqʷšəblu, after her great-grandmother Vi taqʷšəblu Hilbert, a linguist who helped preserve the Lushootseed language. In 2006, Hilbert commissioned an orchestral work performed by the Seattle Symphony at Benaroya Hall. She believed that Indigenous songs had the power to heal the world. She died in 2008 at 90 years old. 

When asked what her traditional name means, LaPointe jokes and laments that elders and anthropologists confirmed it doesn’t mean anything.

“I feel really ripped off in this because I want to say it means something so cool. Like ‘woman who runs with wolves,’” she says. “But no, it doesn’t mean anything.” 

Since entering her 30s, carrying this name proudly means carrying her great-grandmother’s legacy within her, a responsibility but also a gift — one she now embraces. “It was a name that always made me feel like I had a lot to live up to,” LaPointe says. “I’m a very different person than my great-grandmother, but I want to make her proud.”

LaPointe’s “Thunder Song,” despite being an essay collection, is just as much autobiographical as LaPointe’s first book “Red Paint: The Ancestral Autobiography of a Coast Salish Punk,” which came out in 2022.

“There’s so much memoir and personal narrative in the essays that I think some of them absolutely do start off right where ‘Red Paint’ left off,” LaPointe says.

“Red Paint” was a true confessional, exploring trauma and how it shaped her with a magnifying glass held up to the most vulnerable parts of her childhood and adult life. “Thunder Song” is LaPointe’s call out to the world, a love letter to the Pacific Northwest, an Indigenous riot grrrl manifesto, a time machine to her great-grandmother and the story of her heart dealing with the collective historical trauma that continues to besiege Indigenous people.

“The world is a truly messed up place right now,” she says. “And I think in those moments — the protests, the pandemic, the forest fires — there was a lot of collective anxiety and trauma, and this collection is part of how I could make sense of it.”

Growing up on the Swinomish Reservation, LaPointe lived in the middle of the woods but was enamored by the city. She imagined moving to Seattle and becoming a music journalist or an artist. A runaway at 13 with a court-approved emancipation at 15, eventually, she spent much of her late teens and early 20s living, working and performing in Seattle. 

At 25, she was at a crossroads. Her grandparents had given her a college brochure and she had also been asked to go on tour with a circus band.

“It felt like an assignment from my great-grandmother coming through from the spirit world,” LaPointe says. “She was like, ‘We know you want to go join the circus — but go pursue an education.’”

She decided against going on tour and moved to Santa Fe, N.M., to enroll at the Institute of American Indian Arts. After graduating in 2014, LaPointe moved back to Seattle. She now splits her time between Washington and Southern California — where her partner, Blaine, lives — but she cannot stay away from her Tacoma home for too long. “I have to come back and recharge,” she says. “Being in my Coast Salish territory, literally my ancestral homelands, feels really powerful and significant to me.”

In “Thunder Song,” LaPointe traverses both trauma and tender joyous moments with fearlessness and grace. She talks about sexual assault, abortion, miscarriage and how love depleted and defeated the women in her ancestry.

She expertly crosses between her contemporary influences and Native heritage as she details her obsession with “The Little Mermaid” and the story of the Maiden of Deception Pass, who sacrificed herself for her people, or the story of the Basket Ogress, who could make children disappear, alongside the reality of missing and murdered Indigenous women who are forgotten. 

With special care to the people closest to her, this collection gives LaPointe space to explore past and present relationships including significant moments with her mother, who she, at times, has had a tumultuous relationship with. LaPointe says she was anxious when she showed her mother a draft of the essay detailing their story. 

“We were on one of our walks. She was like, ‘It was so powerful. It was really beautiful. It was right. I’m so proud of you,’” LaPointe says. “That felt like a good ‘mom blessing’ because that [essay] was not easy. I was shaking in my boots.”

Throughout the book, LaPointe narrates how she wades through the various intersections of her identity as a queer, mixed heritage woman, as an artist, as a writer, as a daughter and as a friend.

“Of course, I’m tribally enrolled but I contain multitudes,” she says. “Our traditional languages and stories are really important to me, but so is making mixtapes and going to rowdy punk shows.”