The "house made of dawn" in the novel's title is both an allusion and a metaphor. The prologue further elaborates on the house:
There was a house made of dawn. It was made of pollen and of rain, and the land was very old and everlasting. There were many colors on the hills, and the plain was bright with different-colored clays and sands. Red and blue and spotted horses grazed in the plain, and there was a dark wilderness on the mountains beyond. The land was still and strong. It was beautiful all around.
Momaday draws the line "house made of dawn" directly from a Diné healing prayer known as the "Night Chant." Recited as part of a larger ceremony, the prayer is intended to heal more than individual illnesses. It calls for harmony among the earth and all of its people, including humans, animals, plants, and more. In the context of the prayer, the "house made of dawn[, ... ] of pollen and of rain" is the entire natural world that houses the earth's people and gives them the resources they need to survive and create more life. The prayer calls for recognition of the beauty with which the earth surrounds all its people
Momaday quotes sections of the prayer in multiple places throughout the book. This passage from the prologue establishes the "house made of dawn" as a metaphor more specifically for Walatowa, the Jemez Pueblo, and Abel's family. Dawn is not only the sunlight that shines down on the crops, but also the ever-returning hope that Abel and Francisco can keep their people and their home alive in a world made sick by industrial colonialism.
For a long time, Abel believes the modern world has grown too sick to heal. He himself feels beyond healing after World War II. He mourns and flees the Jemez Pueblo because he does not believe either he or the Pueblo can live up to Francisco's hopes. Finally, on the morning of Francisco's death, Abel runs through the valley and realizes that it is all still here. The "many colors on the hills" and the "different-colored clays and sands" represent the patchwork nature of the community. Abel, Father Olguin, Angela St. John, and others have wandered in and out of Walatowa. Their eclectic nature and vibrancy is part of what makes the place beautiful. The horses further represent the valley's resilience and adaptability. Horses went extinct in North America thousands of years ago and were not reintroduced until Spanish colonists brought them over in the 15th century. By the time Francisco and Abel are living in Walatowa, the horses are central to their people's culture. As Abel runs through this "house made of dawn" on the morning of Francisco's death, he embodies a rising hope for a future where Walatowa may change, but where it is still possible for it to heal alongside the people who call it home.
Abel's name is an allusion to the biblical story of Cain and Abel, the sons of Adam and Eve. In Chapter 8, Milly's account of her childhood helps demonstrate the significance of the allusion, turning the entire novel into an allegory:
The earth where we lived was hard and dry and brick red, and Daddy plowed and planted and watered the land, but in the end there was only a little yield. And it was the same year after year; it was always the same, and at last Daddy began to hate the land, began to think of it as some kind of enemy, his own very personal and deadly enemy.
In the Bible, Cain tends crops while Abel tends sheep. God appreciates Abel's offerings more than Cain's. Jealous, Cain kills his brother. It is the first act of "fratricide," or the murder of one brother by another. God curses Cain, telling him that any land he tries to work will now be rendered infertile by Abel's spilled blood.
In House Made of Dawn, Abel is the murderer. By giving his protagonist the name of the original murder victim and then putting a knife in his hand, Momaday creates a puzzle for the reader. What does the imperfect allusion mean? Does Juan Reyes Fragua represent Cain, and is the novel simply a reversal of the traditional story? This explanation does not quite make sense, especially because Momaday tells the reader very little about Fragua's motivations. If anything, Fragua's albinism turns him into a red herring of a villain: Abel hates him for his Whiteness and the power it seems to give him, but Fragua only looks White. He was born on the reservation and is likely of mixed heritage, just like Abel.
Milly's account of her impoverished childhood helps the pieces fall into place. The "dry and brick red" soil her father was always trying to work hints at the red, blood-soaked soil Cain was left with after he killed his brother. Abel never has a direct interaction with Milly's father. However, as a White farmer trying to tame the land and growing to hate it, he represents the archetype of White colonial settlers who have treated native ecosystems and communities like enemy combatants. For centuries, White colonists have tried to stamp out American Indian communities that are more "favored" by the land because they understand how to work with it instead of against it. Abel may be a murderer, but White colonists are the people who first killed their "brothers" and are left with a landscape they do not know how to care for. In the allegory, they are the true Cain.
At the same time, the allegory revisits the questions of what it means to be a victim (like the biblical Abel) and what it means to be a perpetrator (like the the biblical Cain). At no point does the Abel of the novel die neatly like his namesake, transforming into an eternal victim. Nor is Milly's father directly violent to Abel. They both live through trauma, they both perpetrate harm, and they both carry the burden of guilt, conscious or unconscious. This Abel and this Cain represent the way modern American life goes on in the wake of the original colonial "fratricide." Contrary to the story White colonists tell, the American Indian "brother" survived the encounter. Abel's challenge, which he carries out imperfectly, is to bear the ongoing sting of betrayal from White "brothers" who do not even notice that he is still alive.