Firekeeper's Daughter

by Angeline Boulley

New Normal, which is what I call what happens when your universe is shaken so badly you can never regain the same axis as before. But you try anyway.

someone dies, everything about them becomes past tense. Except for the grief. Grief stays in the present.

Guy Lies are the things guys declare in the heat of the moment, which fade with time and distance.

“It’s hard when being Native means different things depending on who’s asking and why,” he says. “And to some people, you’ll never be Native enough,” I add. “Yeah. It’s your identity, but it gets defined or controlled by other people.”

“Kindness is something that seems small, Daunis, but it’s like tossing a pebble into a pond and the ripples reach further than you thought.”

When you love someone, but don’t like parts of them, it complicates your memories of them when they’re gone.

If the community were an ill or injured person, the FBI would cut out the infection or reset the bones. Amputate if necessary. Problem solved. I’m the only person looking at the whole person, not just the wound.

Wisdom is not bestowed. In its raw state, it is the heartbreak of knowing things you wish you didn’t.

“Love means wanting you to have a good life, even if I’m not in it.