The Lost Journals of Sacajewea

The much-mythologized Indigenous woman takes control of her own narrative in this “formally inventive, historically eye-opening novel” ( The New York Times ). In my seventh winter, when my head only reached my Appe’s rib, a White Man came into camp. Bare trees scratched sky. Cold was endless. He moved through trees like strikes of sunlight. My Bia said he came with bad intentions, like a Water Baby’s cry. Among the most memorialized women in American history, Sacajewea served as interpreter and