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Today, I can count on my fingers those who are fluent Abenaki speakers.\\n Her title Seven Cities comes from her Bahá'í faith-\"The Seven Valleys,\" written in i860 in Persian by Bahá'u'lláh, the founder of this transnational religion-and the book's title story describes a woman who finds God on a series of buses from Cheyenne to Phoenix, as she flees a failed marriage. Sovereignty has a long history within Native American studies; but sustainability-usually used these days to invoke \"green\" concerns- has a place here too, for Native people's rights to continued cultural expression and distinctiveness go hand in hand with their maintenance of and relationships to their traditional land bases, even when those have been expropriated.

Senier examines futuristic Indigenous fictions. In these types of fictions healing and cure do not necessarily function as that tired disability trope, whereby the disabled character has to be fixed, eliminated or otherwise sacrificed. They are political necessities for entire tribal communities. They do not necessarily devalue disability or body-mind difference. They do evoke what Eli Clare calls \"brilliant imperfection,\" insofar as they have that capacity to \"bear witness to body-mind loss while also loving ourselves just as we are right now,\" as they \"understand restoration--both of ecosystems and of health--as one particular relationship between the past, present, and future.\" Clare's exploration is instructive, because the further scholars press into the intersections of race and disability, the more insistently we keep arriving at questions of holistic environments and ecologies, and of the colonial histories that have disrupted and damaged these lands and the bodies within them.

An illuminating volume of critical essays charting the diverse territory of digital humanities scholarship The digital humanities have traditionally been considered to be the domain of only a small number of prominent and well-funded institutions. However, through a diverse range of critical essays, this volume serves to challenge and enlarge existing notions of how digital humanities research is being undertaken while also serving as a kind of alternative guide for how it can thrive within a wide variety of institutional spaces. Focusing on the complex infrastructure that undergirds the field of digital humanities, People, Practice, Power examines the various economic, social, and political factors that shape such academic endeavors. The multitude of perspectives comprising this collection offers both a much-needed critique of the existing structures for digital scholarship and the means to generate broader representation within the field. This collection provides a vital contribution to the realm of digital scholarly research and pedagogy in acknowledging the role that small liberal arts colleges, community colleges, historically black colleges and universities, and other underresourced institutions play in its advancement. Gathering together a range of voices both established and emergent, People, Practice, Power offers practitioners a self-reflexive examination of the current conditions under which the digital humanities are evolving, while helping to open up new sustainable pathways for its future. Contributors: Matthew Applegate, Molloy College; Taylor Arnold, U of Richmond; Eduard Arriaga, U of Indianapolis; Lydia Bello, Seattle U; Kathi Inman Berens, Portland State U; Christina Boyles, Michigan State U; Laura R. Braunstein, Dartmouth College; Abby R. Broughton; Maria Sachiko Cecire, Bard College; Brennan Collins, Georgia State U; Kelsey Corlett-Rivera, U of Maryland; Brittany de Gail, U of Maryland; Madelynn Dickerson, UC Irvine Libraries; Nathan H. Dize, Vanderbilt U; Quinn Dombrowski, Stanford U; Ashley Sanders Garcia, UCLA; Laura Gerlitz; Erin Rose Glass; Kaitlyn Grant; Margaret Hogarth, Claremont Colleges; Maryse Ndilu Kiese, U of Alberta; Pamella R. Lach, San Diego State U; James Malazita, Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute; Susan Merriam, Bard College; Chelsea Miya, U of Alberta; Jamila Moore Pewu, California State U, Fullerton; Urszula Pawlicka-Deger, Aalto U, Finland; Jessica Pressman, San Diego State U; Jana Remy, Chapman U; Roopika Risam, Salem State U; Elizabeth Rodrigues, Grinnell College; Dylan Ruediger, American Historical Association; Rachel Schnepper, Wesleyan U; Anelise Hanson Shrout, Bates College; Margaret Simon, North Carolina State U; Mengchi Sun, U of Alberta; Lauren Tilton, U of Richmond; Michelle R. Warren, Dartmouth College.

In its early days, digital humanities (DH) saw some handwringing over the possibility that the scholarship was too heavily text-based, that we had somehow missed out on the much-vaunted spatial turn.1 In the subfield of DNAIS, many of the earliest and most prestigious projects tended to present collections of images—photographs of ethnographic objects or scans of colonial documents—in no small part because they emanated from major collecting institutions like the American Philosophical Society, the Smithsonian, and Yale University. Additionally, LA is a particularly Indian city because of mid-twentieth-century US government policies that forcibly relocated large numbers of Native people to urban areas as part of a large-scale project of termination and relocation. The Fernandeño Tataviam, who as of this writing still have an outstanding petition for federal recognition, have sustained their own tribal governance structures and successfully reclaimed many of their historical spaces through interpretive plaques and structures, as well as through gatherings and ceremonies. Each location brings up a window describing a specific Indigenous group, community organization, and/ or event—for instance, the meeting place of LA Comunidad Ixim, a Guatemalan Maya youth group; a Oaxacan basketball team; the 2010 police shooting of a K'iche' day laborer, Manuel Jamines Xum; and important contemporary figures (Jaime Blas, DJ Survive from Zoogocho).

[...] her poetry challenges readers to see all of New England as fundamentally Indigenous space, and it furthers an ongoing, nation-building literary project. South of the border, though, they never officially ceded title to their lands through treaties with the U.S. government; in America, therefore, the Abenakis do not have the reservations that, in painful paradox, make many groups more visible and intelligible to non-Natives, while permanently dispossessing Indigenous peoples of their larger land bases. [...] while Abenaki people are still very much present in Vermont, Maine, New Hampshire, and Massachusetts, a particular story about Abenaki flight has taken hold in the United States: that they fled for Canada, en masse, during the wars and epidemics of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.

[...]we've been supported and nourished by so many others, including the many tremendous authors we've been privileged to publish, and the brilliant editorial board and second readers who helped us edit and shepherd these essays to press. [...]in the interest of building relationships between scholars working in the US and Canada, we tried to grow a relationship between SAIL's sponsor, the Association for the Study of American Indian Literatures (ASAIL) and the more recently formed Indigenous Literary Studies Association (ILSA). During the height of COVID-19, these scholars assembled a vitally important collection of essays about pedagogy. With the planet entering full-fledged climate catastrophe, which Kyle Powys White has called an intensification of colonialism, teaching Indigenous literatures is arguably more urgent than ever.