The best parts of [Silko's] memoir recount moments that many desert dwellers will instantly recognize: the near-ecstasy that comes when a cloud decides to open up and spatter a little rain on the ground, the feel of shuddering summer heat on the skin, "how luxurious it feels to move through this yellow dawn light." … Silko writes of many things, with affectionate portraits of friends and family and sharply observed notes on history, personal and universal. … But apart from dropping a tantalizing hint or two … she avoids the one subject that students of her work have been wanting her to address: her development as a writer, one who is now considered among the best Native American novelists.
—The Washington Post