Excerpt from A Council of Dolls by Mona Susan Power, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Dad notices the glaring woman and lifts one of his eyebrows so high, it looks like it's going to run straight up his forehead and into his hair. I snicker, to let him know I notice he's trying to make me feel better.

"Some wasicuns can be very rude, can't they?" he asks, and I nod my head. "They love to watch us. But we don't care, do we?" I shake my head. "We've got nothing to hide." Then Dad smiles, and he's so handsome with his shining, happy eyes, I feel a swell of warmth inside.

Dad's use of that word in our language, "wasicun," reminds me of how few of them I know. If languages are alive and have a spirit, then English is my boss, while Dakota is more like a nice dream it's hard to remember. All you know is that something about it made you happy. Dad doesn't mind my questions, so I ask him: "How come you and Mama don't speak our language? Did you forget it, or is it against the law?"

My question makes Dad wince, and now I'm sorry I bothered him. I'm too curious for my own good. Though Ethel pats my hand to let me know she's on my side. She's pretty curious, too. Dad takes a sip of coffee like it will help him explain.

"That's a very intelligent, important question," he finally says, pressing his finger onto the table to pick up stray grains of sugar he brushes onto a napkin. Dad is so careful and neat. "The simple answer is that if you don't use a gift, like a language, eventually you'll lose parts of it, or most of it. But in our case, it wasn't due to laziness. We've had forces working to get rid of our culture and beliefs, our way of living, for many generations now. Wasicuns want us to be like them because..."

I can see Dad is going down like a man I saw in a movie—sucked into a hole of quicksand until even his hat disappeared.

"Oh, it's complicated. Because they want our land and resources, so they say we're backward people who don't know how to live right. That makes it easier to commit theft and push us around. Like bullies, you know? Great big dangerous ones on a massive scale." Dad holds his arms apart and I imagine Godzilla stomping the tipi villages I've seen in pictures, until everything is flat. "I guess there's no simple answer, after all." Dad winks. I must look too serious. "The bottom line is that Mama and I went to schools where we got in trouble for speaking any dialect of our language, where English was all that was allowed. So gradually, it won. We remember fewer words with each generation, which is a shame."

Excerpted from A Council of Dolls by Rory Power. Copyright © 2023 by Mona Susan Power. Excerpted by permission of Mariner Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.