Ms. Halsell, all sympathy and empathy and soul, really feels for the wretched of the earth (you may also remember her sobby Soul Sister, 1969). Not content with that, she wants to be of them. . . uh, temporarily -- at least as long as it takes to get her material. So it was off to the reservation ""to live as an Indian among the Navajos and then to 'pass' as a Navajo among whites,"" but would another Indian ever ask if the Navajo lived in wigwams or tepees? No matter, she did sleep in a hogan, on the ground, in her clothes, where there was no bathroom (""I miss the luxury of sitting down on a commode""), maybe for a week or so, and some birdbrained tourist took her picture, just because she was wearing a Navajo blouse and skirt. But there were better days spent in a Holiday Inn and what passed for a town, where she met Betsy Yellowhair, a quasi-Anglicized opposite of the Indian ideal -- ""my type of woman. She knows how to better herself"" -- and they went, among other places, to a religious sing in which they were ""not really interested."" As the coup de grace there was a short-lived stint impersonating Betsy and working as a ""Navajo"" domestic with an affluent California family, both sides prejudging and sniping at one another from the very start. That was too harrowing to take, and Halsell fled into the night, distraught, although help was but a pay phone away. Dismayed at the insensitivity throughout we can only second the Indian who retorted angrily: ""What makes you feel you have the right to come here and study us?