Mona Susan Power Interview, plus links to author biography, book summaries, excerpts and reviews

An interview with Mona Susan Power

Mona Susan Power on the story behind A Council of Dolls

A Council of Dolls began as a short story project. I often write stories—this one meant to explore a childhood dream of becoming a ballerina like my idol, Maria Tallchief. I desperately wanted pointe shoes as a little girl, even though they're not safe for children younger than twelve and our family operated on a pinched budget. Some nights as I lay awake, I would pray and pray for the miracle of finding pink pointe shoes under the bed the next morning. I wholeheartedly believed that such glorious magic was possible! Of course, the shoes never materialized, but a fiction writer can manifest anything in our pages! So I outlined a story about a little girl very much like myself when I was seven years old, who has an emotionally distant mother. She shares her dream with the mother and is scolded for being so fanciful. Yet the next week, the girl wakes to find the beautiful shoes tucked beneath her bed, nestled in a crumpled box. The girl wonders whether the gift arrived via magic, or through the actions of her mother. I pulled out a notebook and began to write ... but as my hand moved across the page, the pointe shoes never made an appearance. Instead, there was Ethel, a chubby-cheeked adorable baby doll, the Black version of Ideal's Tiny Thumbelina. My father had gone through a bit of a struggle to be allowed to purchase her from a Sears clerk in 1960s Chicago. The clerk steered him to a shelf full of white Thumbelinas. I was so glad he insisted on the doll who became my Ethel, because from my earliest memory I was keenly aware of racial prejudice, and felt Ethel would be a closer ally, given my Native American heritage. I carried her with me everywhere, told her my deepest secrets and fears, until soon she became a mother figure rather than playing the part of my child. I wrote this story about a girl and her doll, which was ultimately published in the Missouri Review, then moved on to other projects. A year later a dear friend read the story and mentioned that it could be spun into a novel. My imagination was once again caught up with a baby doll named Ethel.

Early on in the process of crafting the book, I realized that while I was unquestionably writing fiction, the world of the novel was very much informed and inspired by some of the actual dynamics and experiences of my family. I was raised hearing stories of my mother's childhood in Fort Yates, North Dakota, on the Standing Rock Sioux Reservation. She, and her siblings and parents, had all attended Indian boarding schools. Many of their experiences in these schools were deeply traumatic. The children always preferred being home with their families, and left for the distant institutions with heavy hearts. The entire system of attempted cultural and spiritual genocide couldn't help but damage young ones. Sometimes they were directly shamed, even brutalized, for mistakes or infractions, for not already speaking English. But the entire purpose of the school—to eradicate all traces of Native American heritage and lifeways— was in itself a devastating repudiation of who they were. My mother's stories were by no means always harrowing. Memories she shared of my ancestors instilled great pride in my Dakhóta lineage— descended as we are from a long line of hereditary chiefs, including Two Bear, my great-greatgrandfather, who was renowned for his wise counsel and desire to make the path easier for his people. She and my grandmother kept his spirit alive through their own dedicated community service and activism.

Originally I'd planned to write the novel in chronological order—beginning with the character of Cora, born in the late 1800s. Upon reflection, I realized that it could be more powerful to move backward in time: I hoped that readers who perhaps judged a parent in an early section of the book would look upon this same character with greater compassion, even admiration, seeing them as a child. Had I presented the story chronologically, by the time we arrive at Jesse's section in more contemporary times, the reader might be left with a lingering distaste for some of the parents. In my view, none of the parents in the story are villains, rather wounded survivors who love their children the best they can, preserving as much of their Native American heritage as possible in a world determined to obliterate it.

I completed the novel on May 26, 2021. Days later, in early June, news broke of the discovery of buried remains of Indigenous children near a former Indian residential school in Kamloops, Canada. This development reinforced my faith in the guiding impulse that pushed me to write A Council of Dolls. The act of writing stories so close to the bone was a healing, though highly emotional process. As I typed some pages, I didn't notice I was crying until after I completed the work session. I felt supported by ancestors whose legacy is a rich, sustaining foundation, still alive within me despite the assaults of colonization.

Unless otherwise stated, this interview was conducted at the time the book was first published, and is reproduced with permission of the publisher. This interview may not be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the copyright holder.