The way 'Bad Cree' builds its plot made me think the author started with character rather than concept. I could feel the narrative orbiting around a handful of people whose private histories
collide, and each collision seemed deliberately
Chosen to expose a different facet of the community portrayed. Instead of unfolding linearly, the story hops between perspectives: a grieving parent, a skeptical cop, a young activist, and an elder who remembers
older treaties. That mosaic approach lets the plot unfold as both investigation and revelation; clues are emotional as much as factual.
Stylistically, the book feels indebted to both Indigenous oral tradition and modern, fragmented storytelling. There are sections that read like recorded testimonies, others that are dreamlike reveries. The influences seem practical — field interviews, old court transcripts — and artistic — novels like '
heart of darkness' or films like 'Twin Peaks' in the way normalcy peels away to reveal something uncanny. Ultimately, the inspiration felt moral: a need to tell how everyday injustices accumulate into narrative violence. For me, the most
powerful part was how the plot forces you to reckon with silence — and then refuses
to let you stay comfortable with your assumptions.