Buffalo dreamer

Violet Duncan

Book - 2024

When twelve-year-old Summer visits her family on a reservation in Alberta, Canada, she begins experiencing vivid dreams of running away from a residential school like the one her grandfather attended as a child and learns about unmarked children's graves, prompting her to seek answers about her community's painful past.

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jFICTION/Duncan Violet
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Children's Room New Shelf jFICTION/Duncan Violet (NEW SHELF) Due Nov 19, 2024
Subjects
Genres
Novels
Published
New York : Nancy Paulsen Books 2024.
Language
English
Main Author
Violet Duncan (author)
Physical Description
110 pages ; 22 cm
Audience
Ages 10 and up
ISBN
9780593624814
Contents unavailable.
Review by Booklist Review

Past and present converge in Duncan's novel about an extended Canadian Cree family spending vacation time together. Summer, from the U.S., has traveled to her mother's homeland, where she's looking forward to being with her cousin, collecting sweetgrass and wild berries, swimming, and riding her horse. However, just after crossing the border, she locks eyes with an elderly Cree woman and begins having disturbing dreams of a girl running away from a residential school that Indigenous children were once forced to attend, cutting them off from family and culture. The dreams blend, and reflect on, local and family history. Nearby is an old school whose grounds are being dug up as a gruesome secret is exposed. Using Summer's dreams to spur them toward learning about the school and their grandfather's youth, the girls also join a protest of what the school represents, and Summer once again crosses paths with the woman, Buffalo Dreamer, who has haunted her sleep. This story of maturation and involvement in community will appeal to readers interested in the past and in present-day social action.

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

Twelve-year-old Summer is excited to leave Arizona and visit her family on the Cree reservation in Northern Alberta, where she will ride horses and enjoy fish fries with her cousin, kokom, and mosom, who attended a residential school as a child. Shortly before reaching the reservation, however, Summer begins experiencing vivid, persistent dreams about a girl from the past struggling to escape a nearby residential school where, in Summer's waking world, a crew has begun searching for recently discovered unmarked graves. In the dream narrative, the girl, who identifies herself as Buffalo Dreamer, is given the name Mary at the school, which is attempting to separate students from their Indigenous heritage. Buffalo Dreamer moves quickly in her escape attempt, taking back paths to avoid detection until she's caught in a snowstorm. Suddenly, the dreams stop, leaving Summer to wonder if she survived. Plains Cree and Taino author Duncan juxtaposes Summer's intense dreams with the low-conflict nature of her everyday life, which includes detailed descriptions of Native traditions such as picking sweetgrass, making for a brief look into Indigenous customs and history. Ages 10--up. (Aug.)

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by School Library Journal Review

Gr 5--6--Callingbull (Enoch Cree)--the first Indigenous woman to win Miss Universe Canada in July 2024--makes her audiobook debut, seamlessly capturing all the moods of 12-year-old Summer, from tween attitude to awestruck respect and wonder. Summer's family road-trips annually from Arizona to Northern Alberta to visit their Canadian Cree family. Lately, she's been haunted by vivid dreams of a girl called Buffalo Dancer, who might be in terrible danger. The visit coincides with a commemorative march confronting the horrors of residential schools, created to destroy Indigenous families and their cultures. "I wish I knew more about it, but a lot of my history is like this--hard to learn about because most people don't want to talk about it." Silence is no longer an option. VERDICT Duncan's (Plains Cree and Taino) 2024 National Book Award finalist nod means libraries should prepare for increasing demand in all formats.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Horn Book Review

Twelve-year-old Summer is excited for her annual visit to her maternal grandparents and extended family on a Cree reservation in Canada. After crossing the border, Summer falls asleep in the car and dreams that she is a young Cree girl trying to escape a residential school. Shortly after she wakes up, she and her mother pass the residential school the government once forced her mosom (grandfather) to attend. The strange dreams continue while she's on the rez; Summer learns that the young Cree girl's name is Buffalo Dreamer, but the school calls her Mary. When Summer tells her cousin Autumn about her dreams, the two decide to investigate what became of Buffalo Dreamer. Along with providing a glimpse into life on a Cree reservation today, Duncan's middle grade-friendly narrative introduces readers to the devastating impact of residential schools. For example, readers learn that Mosom had to learn Cree customs from his wife because the school prohibited him from engaging in them. The chapters that follow Buffalo Dreamer reveal the dangers of trying to escape from the school. An author's note adds personal context; a glossary (unseen) is appended. Nicholl Denice MontgomerySeptember/October 2024 p.72 (c) Copyright The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review

Drawing inspiration from her own family's experiences, Duncan (Kehewin Cree/Taino) tells the story of an Indigenous girl who confronts hard truths one summer. Twelve-year-old Summer, her brother, Sage, her mother, who's Cree, and her father, who's Apache, are visiting Summer's maternal grandparents, who live on the Cree reservation in northern Alberta. Though Summer enjoys her time with her extended family--picking sweetgrass, fishing, listening to stories--she's been having strange dreams about an Indigenous girl named Buffalo Dreamer fleeing in the night. Unmarked graves of children have been found at a nearby residential school, and many members of the community are grappling with the abuse they faced there--including Summer's Mosom (grandfather), who rarely talks about the experience. Summer learns more about how Indigenous children were forced into residential schools by the Canadian government. Are her dreams connected to this painful history? At a community rally and, later, a powwow, survivors acknowledge their wounds and begin to help one another heal. Duncan shines a light on a devastating aspect of Indigenous history, never sugarcoating the topic yet leaving readers with hope. Her writing is seamless, tight, and immersive, making stellar use of sensory descriptions, and she braids important truths into her captivating narrative: "We are the living proof of our ancestors' resilience and the strong spirit of our people." Compelling yet heartbreaking--and essential reading for all young people. (glossary, author's note)(Fiction. 10-14) Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

2 Our Annual Trip Finally, we're on the last leg of the three-­day trip to the reserve where Mom grew up. Since we come up every summer, Mom doesn't need a map to get us from Arizona to Northern Alberta, where her rez is. All winter I look forward to this trip and to getting to see my mom's side of the family. My dad is a member of the San Carlos Apache Tribe, and most of the year we live close to his side of the family in Phoenix, plus my mom teaches at the nearby university. Dad is a producer and can work anywhere in the world; that's how I want to work when I grow up, but more on the tech side. Before we turn onto the highway, Mom nods to her phone. "Hey, sweetheart," she says. "Text Dad and let him know we made it across." I start to text, but Dad calls before I can hit Send. "Hi, Yaya! Where's Mom?" Only my dad and my mosom call me Yaya. It's a nickname from way back when I was a baby--­my first word was supposedly yaya . "She's right here!" I say, turning on the speaker button. "Hi, babe!" Mom yells. "We made it across the border. We should be at Kokom and Mosom's house tonight just in time for dinner." "Oh, good! Text me when you get there. Travel safe, my loves!" "Dad!" I say quickly, before he hangs up. "When are you coming?" "I have this last project to finish up this week, and it's an all-­nighter," Dad says with a sigh. "Then I'll fly up so we can all drive home together." "Cool! Well, don't stay up all night, Dad! Take care of yourself." I sort of feel like Mom, and I look over to see her smiling. "I won't," Dad answers. "Help Mom if she needs you, and keep an eye out for deer! Is little man awake?" I turn around and face the back seat of our SUV. Sage sits behind Mom with his tablet attached to the back of her seat like in an airplane. His movie is paused now and he's staring out the window. "Ya, he's right here!" I say, pointing the phone in his direction. "Hi, Dad! I'm helping Mom look out for deer too," Sage yells into the phone. "Good man!" Dad yells back. "Okay, drive safe, love you all, byeeee!" The phone call ends, and I put the phone back into its dashboard holder. I look at Sage again. His dark brown hair is in two braids, and he wears a red bandana wrapped around his head like the elders. His big brown eyes hold mine, and a goofy smile stretches across his face. "What? Why are you looking at me?" "Because you're so cute," I tease him. "Doesn't it feel great to be done with school for the year? I can't wait to sleep late. You should try it!" I say, shaking his skinny leg. "I like getting up early in the morning with Mom," Sage says. "Aww," Mom coos, "and I love that too." Mom and Sage have been super close ever since he was a baby and she kept him wrapped up in his cradleboard on her back whenever she cooked or cleaned. Every time she took him out, he would cry and cry until she put him back in his cradleboard. It was his favorite place to be. I turn around and settle in for the last leg of our trip. Everything gets slower once we're in Canada. The speed limit slows to fifty miles per hour and the roads get narrower. And in about eight hours, when we arrive at the rez, I'll be stuck with the world's slowest internet. It is a coder's worst nightmare, and I love to code--­I'm in the tech club at school, and we're developing a few techniques to improve digital illustrations with a stylus. Good thing there's so much I look forward to: being with family, taking in some powwows, and riding Luna, the horse my uncle gifted me with last summer. Luna's coat is a beautiful light brown, and she has a white crescent on her forehead that looks like a small moon, which is why I named her Luna. Her mane and tail are golden brown, and at the end of last year, she let me braid a pink ribbon in her tail. "I still can't believe she let you ride her!" my mom says when I tell her that I can't wait to see Luna. "Remember how Uncle Lawrence had been working with her all spring? And claimed that she still wasn't rideable?" "Yep," I say. "I guess I have the secret touch! I just walked right up to her, and she let me put her tack on and bit in her mouth." "Well, our mouths sure dropped to the floor when you came out of the horse shelter riding the 'unrideable' horse." Mom starts laughing. "Did I ever ride a wild horse before?" I ask. "When you were little, you rode with Uncle and Mosom on the horses they worked on--­the ones they trusted. But never completely on your own until Luna." "When I ride her, it feels like we've known each other forever," I say. "Yes, it's like that sometimes," Mom says. I sit back and daydream about riding Luna as I stare out at the wide blue sky. The gentle sway of the car feels so nice, I don't even feel myself fall asleep. 3 A Dream of Freedom The air was hot and stale in the alcove where I was hiding. My heavy wool dress was making my neck itch, and my outgrown leather shoes pinched my pinkie toe, numbing it to where it felt like small stabs of pins and needles. I was trying hard to stay quiet but couldn't stop my heart pounding. And I couldn't stop my mind racing either. I'm never going to make it. I shuddered at that thought, so I made myself think of home, the songs, the smells, the safety. You are going to make it home, I reassured myself. You will sing with Delores again. You'll see if Sunny had her winter colt. You'll make it home. My eyes started to tear up at the thought of all I'd missed. Stop it! I told myself. You need to see, stay alert, get your head right. Tap-­tap-­tap. The sound of clicking heels got louder and louder. Ducking down farther, I prayed. I am a coyote's shadow, I am the wind, you don't see me. I heard the soft jingle of keys. I hated those keys. Keys that locked away our food. Keys that locked doors to keep us in or keep us out. Keys reminding us of who holds the power. Anger snapped my mind straight. I would escape! My legs were strong enough to carry me on this journey. I had the food that Ann and I squirreled away before she disappeared a week ago. Ann was always so scrappy and bold. Almost weekly she would get thrown in the isolation bin for speaking our language or not keeping in line straight. But they had never kept her in isolation after nightfall, and when she was gone overnight, the nuns said she ran away. And now her mattress was folded in half, with new linens pressed and folded on top, waiting for another girl to take her place. Every day I hoped to see Ann walk in, shrug, and smile that brave and defiant smile at me. But she didn't come back, and our planned date to escape our boarding school before the winter snowstorms was quickly approaching. "Ann ran away without you," the older girls all said. But I knew Ann wouldn't do that. Plus, she left behind her heavy winter sweater and her beautiful wool blanket. She had stumbled upon her blanket while cleaning the stockroom. It had been stolen from her years earlier when she arrived at the school, and Ann was so happy to reclaim what was taken from her. She stitched an A on a corner of it and hid it in the attic. At night we would sneak up and stroke its soft fabric and dream of what we would do when we made it home. The blanket was the first thing we had packed in our travel sack. Oh, Ann, I'm so scared. I wish you were with me--­you're the brave one. When the tapping heels and jingling keys finally passed by, the school was quiet again. Okay, it's now or never, I told myself. I needed to leave now, before the teacher's next round checking to make sure no kids were out of bed. I reached for the key I snatched the day Ann went missing and cracked the front door open. I could only open it so far before it made that awful screech, and I slinked through the tight space. My hands were so sweaty when I tried to lock the door that I dropped the key, making a loud TING . I froze. Surely someone would hear! Oh no! Into the isolation bin I'll go for sure! I waited a minute, then two, and when no one came, I took off. It was beautiful outside with the moonlight turning everything into different shades of blue. The cold wind bit at my unprotected face and hands. I shivered but already felt so much more alive. I traveled through the shadows across the field to find the burlap sack Ann and I had packed and the boots and hat I had taken from the nurse's infirmary. The boots felt ice cold from being outside when I slipped my feet into them. Into the bag I packed the too-­small leather shoes I had been given three years ago, when I first arrived. You'll warm up when you start moving, I told myself. Now go! They'll be coming for you soon! The thought jolted me, and I raced to the hole in the fence Ann and I had discovered when we made this escape plan. For you, Ann, I reminded myself, âsowahamakew Ann. Excerpted from Buffalo Dreamer by Violet Duncan All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.