There There begins with a roar, and a gun. Orange writes powerfully about Native American oppression, while keeping a wry eye on how tradition can grow askew and crooked and out-of-place seeming. It’s a howl of a start, which only builds velocity in the first chapter where we meet one of the many Native American characters that There There centres around. At the start, Chekhov’s proverbial gun is hung on the wall, and it is clear Orange will deliver on Chekhov’s exhortation that the gun be fired. Before the firing, however, there are many strands to be woven, and many are complex, and lived-in, undeniably alive with human experience. In particular, I was struck by Edwin Black, who struggles with unfulfilled dreams, as well as constipation. This is an unusual pairing, but one that holds hope and despair and futility and resilience in an affecting balance. Orange hits his highest notes here, when he is writing the complexities of interactions, such as those between estranged sisters Jacquie and Opal who are doing the best that they can, which is not to say they are doing anything perfectly but they are trying in a deeply felt way. However, by my lights, in the novel’s final fifty pages, There There does falter. We always knew the powwow would be robbed, but in a book that thus far had been so fully imagined, so relentlessly nuanced, the events of the last pages didn’t seem to serve the full work of the book. There is a restless and angry and deeply felt force throughout There There and I wanted the last pages to turn me, amid the inevitable violence, to that deep longing and haunted question roiling beneath the surface. There There is so much about, as well as actively, reckoning, that the ending rang slightly hollow for me—slightly too coincidental, too one-note. In a novel that has so much to say, and says it with such thought and care, at the end, I wanted There There to say a little bit more. Still, There There dwells powerfully on identity and its fractures, on Native American relationship to land, and city, to living liminally and ambiguously, to shared feelings of sorrow and joy and hope and certainly all in, this is enough to highly recommend its reading.