Eden Robinson did something weirdly magical back in 2017. She didn't just write a book; she captured a specific, gritty, smoke-filled version of the Canadian West Coast that felt so real you could practically smell the salt air and the "magic" cookies. Son of a Trickster isn't your typical YA coming-of-age story. It’s messy. It’s loud. It’s soaked in the reality of poverty and the weirdness of Indigenous mythology colliding with a modern, broken world.
If you've spent any time in the Pacific Northwest or Northern BC, you know the vibe.
Jared, the protagonist, is just a kid trying to keep his family from imploding. He’s sixteen, he’s a pot cookie dealer, and he’s basically the only adult in his household. His mom, Maggie, is a force of nature—prone to violence, fiercely protective, and deeply troubled. His dad is a deadbeat. And then, there are the crows. The crows that talk.
What Son of a Trickster actually gets right about Indigenous storytelling
A lot of people come to this book expecting a Percy Jackson-style romp through "Native myths." They’re usually disappointed, or at least, they're caught off guard. Robinson, a member of the Haisla and Heiltsuk First Nations, doesn't treat the Trickster figure (Wee'git) as a museum piece.
In this world, the supernatural is annoying. It's intrusive. It’s not some grand, shimmering destiny; it’s a terrifying realization that your biological father might not even be human. Robinson leans heavily into the "Trickster" archetype—not as a hero, but as a chaotic, often amoral entity.
The Haisla influence and the "Gothic" vibe
The setting of Kitimat, British Columbia, is central to why the book works. It’s a company town. It’s rainy. It’s isolated. Robinson uses the geography to mirror Jared’s internal state. You see, the Haisla land is beautiful, but the industrial presence of the Alcan smelter creates this weird juxtaposition.
Honestly, it’s "Indigenous Gothic."
It’s a subgenre that Robinson basically pioneered. It takes the tropes of Gothic literature—dark secrets, crumbling homes, supernatural dread—and transplants them into the colonized landscape of Canada. Jared’s house isn't haunted by Victorian ghosts; it’s haunted by the intergenerational trauma of the residential school system and the literal monsters from Haisla oral tradition.
Why Jared is the most relatable "hero" in years
Most protagonists in teen fiction have some kind of special spark from page one. Jared doesn't. He’s a "fixer." He pays the bills. He makes sure his mom doesn't kill anyone. He takes care of his elderly neighbors.
He’s a good kid in a bad spot.
- He's an empath, which is both his superpower and his curse.
- He uses substance use as a coping mechanism, which the book handles with brutal honesty.
- His loyalty to his family is his biggest weakness.
The way Robinson writes Jared's internal monologue is incredible. It’s fast-paced. It’s funny. It’s heartbreaking. You’re rooting for him to just catch a break, but the universe—and the Trickster—has other plans.
The relationship between Jared and Maggie is probably the most complex mother-son dynamic in modern Canadian lit. Maggie isn't a "good" mother by traditional standards. She’s dangerous. She keeps a nail gun for protection. But she loves Jared with a ferocity that is genuinely moving. It’s a portrayal of maternal love that acknowledges how addiction and trauma can warp it without erasing it.
The Trickster Trilogy and the CBC adaptation controversy
You can't talk about Son of a Trickster without mentioning the rest of the series: Trickster Drift and Return of the Trickster. The story grows exponentially. What starts as a small-town drama turns into a cosmic battle involving skin-switchers, ancient feuds, and the literal end of the world.
Then there’s the TV show.
Trickster, the CBC adaptation, was a massive hit. It looked great. Joel Oulette was perfect as Jared. But then, things got complicated. The show’s co-creator and director, Michelle Latimer, faced a huge controversy regarding her claims of Indigenous ancestry. It was a mess. The CBC ended up canceling the show after just one season, despite its massive popularity and critical acclaim.
It was a gut punch for fans.
We were finally seeing a high-budget, gritty Indigenous sci-fi/fantasy show on a major network. To have it collapse because of "Pretendianism" was a tragedy for the cast and crew who put their hearts into it. However, the books remain. And in many ways, the books are better because they can go places a TV budget just can't reach.
Addressing the misconceptions: Is it "Young Adult"?
Labeling Son of a Trickster as YA is... debatable.
Sure, the protagonist is a teenager. Yes, there are coming-of-age themes. But the content is heavy. We’re talking about extreme violence, drug culture, and some pretty dark psychological horror. It’s often shelved in the adult fiction section of libraries, and for good reason.
Robinson doesn't talk down to her audience. She assumes you can handle the grit.
The humor is what saves it. If this book were just a "misery memoir" disguised as fiction, it would be unreadable. But Jared is funny. The dialogue is snappy. Even the talking crows have a sense of humor, even if it is a bit macabre.
How Robinson flips the script on the "Chosen One" trope
Usually, in fantasy, being "the chosen one" is a gift. For Jared, being the son of a Trickster is a nightmare. It means his blood is literally magic, which makes him a target for things that want to eat him. It means he can't trust his own senses.
It’s a subversion of the trope.
Jared doesn't want to save the world. He wants to finish high school and make sure his rent is paid. This groundedness is what makes the supernatural elements feel so much more impactful. When a man-sized otter shows up, it’s terrifying because it’s happening to a kid who just wanted to get high and watch Netflix.
Real-world impact of the Trickster series
The success of these books opened doors. Before Robinson, "Indigenous Literature" was often pigeonholed into specific, often tragic, boxes. Robinson proved that you could write about Indigenous identity while also writing a kick-ass, genre-bending thriller.
Since the publication of the trilogy, we've seen a surge in "Indigiqueer" and Indigenous futurism stories. Authors like Cherie Dimaline (The Marrow Thieves) and Rebecca Roanhorse are part of this wave, but Robinson is the matriarch of the movement.
She showed that our stories can be messy. They can be weird. They don't have to be "inspirational" in the way white audiences often expect.
What you need to know before reading
If you’re diving in for the first time, here is the deal.
- Don’t expect a linear plot. It meanders. It follows the logic of a dream (or a nightmare) sometimes.
- Pay attention to the animals. In Robinson’s world, animals are never just animals.
- Brush up on the setting. Kitamaat (the Haisla community) and Kitimat (the town) are two different but intertwined places. Understanding the tension between them helps a lot.
- Prepare for the cliffhanger. The first book ends on a massive "what the hell?" moment. Have Trickster Drift ready to go.
The trilogy is a commitment. It’s a journey through the dark woods of the soul, but with a really great soundtrack and some of the best prose you’ll ever read. Robinson’s ability to jump from a description of a brutal fight to a beautiful, lyrical passage about the Pacific Ocean is unmatched.
Final thoughts on Jared’s journey
Son of a Trickster is a landmark of Canadian literature. It’s a book that refuses to be one thing. It’s a horror story. It’s a comedy. It’s a social commentary on the way Canada treats its Indigenous youth.
Most importantly, it’s a story about survival.
Jared survives his parents. He survives the supernatural entities hunting him. He survives himself. In a world that feels increasingly chaotic, there’s something deeply comforting about a protagonist who is just as confused as we are but keeps moving forward anyway.
Your next steps for exploring the Trickster world
- Read the source material: Start with Son of a Trickster, then move immediately to Trickster Drift and Return of the Trickster. Don't skip the second book; it’s where the world-building really explodes.
- Listen to Eden Robinson: If you can find an audiobook narrated by her, or watch her interviews, do it. Her laugh is infectious, and hearing her talk about these characters adds a whole new layer to the experience.
- Support Indigenous creators: If you enjoyed the themes of the book, look into the works of Joshua Whitehead or Billy-Ray Belcourt. They are pushing the boundaries of Indigenous storytelling in similar, though distinct, ways.
- Visit (Respectfully): If you ever find yourself in Northern BC, take the drive to Kitimat. See the mountains. Feel the dampness. It’ll make the books feel even more visceral.
The Trickster is still out there. Jared is still fighting. And the crows are definitely still talking. You just have to know how to listen.