Dear Miss Karana

By Eric Elliot

Unlocking the mystery of the lone woman from Island of the Blue Dolphins

While reading Island of the Blue Dolphins at school and learning about the real woman stranded on San Nicolás Island, ten-year-old Tíshmal begins writing emails to "Miss Karana" in hopes of talking to her spirit. When she arrived on the mainland of Southern California, Miss Karana spoke a language that no one could understand even back then, and all that remains is a recording of the song she sang when she was found on the island. Tíshmal realizes that some of the words sound very similar to Chamtéela (Luiseño), the language spoken on her reservation. As she writes to Miss Karana, Tíshmal becomes more and more resolved to understand the lone woman's song.

The only person able to help her is a grouchy great uncle, Wéh Powéeya ("two tongues"), the last living person fluent in the language of their ancestors from the belly button of the ocean: the islands including San Nicolás. Together, Tíshmal and Wéh Powéeya must discover what the lone woman said long ago in order to help her spirit finish the journey West.

Developed in accordance with fourth grade Common Core State Standards, Dear Miss Karana tells a compelling story of family, determination, and cultural perseverance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Heyday
• Release date: Jan 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9781597143318

Book preview

Words

DEAR MISS KARANA,

Hello, Miss Karana. My name is Tíshmal. My whole bedroom is decorated with hummingbirds. I have a hummingbird bedspread, hummingbird sheets, and hummingbird towels. I also have hummingbird earrings and barrettes, and my favorite dress has hummingbirds all over it. I even have a hummingbird-shaped scrapbook that I put all my favorite things in, like movie and concert ticket stubs, notes, and pictures. I bet you can’t guess why I love hummingbirds so much. It’s because in my language my name, Tíshmal, means hummingbird. We call our language Chamtéela.

In case you haven’t guessed, I am a girl, and I am ten years old. My mom and dad named me Tíshmal after they first held me in their arms. They said that the second I was born, my eyes started darting around like two little hummingbirds searching for a flower to stick their beaks into. They were going to name me Epiphany, after my mom’s great-aunt, but the minute they saw me, they knew I was much more of a Tíshmal than an Epiphany. Plus, my eyes are green like a hummingbird’s feathers, and I have a red birthmark on my neck, just like a male hummingbird’s red throat. I’m glad they named me Tíshmal because Epiphany sounds like an old lady’s name.

Oh, and I go to a school called Hewéesh. That’s a Chamtéela word too. It means hope and joy. I am in fourth grade, and right now we are reading your book. It’s called Island of the Blue Dolphins, but you already knew that. I am writing to you because I want to be your friend, and because your island is not too far from my home up here in the hills. My teacher says you were a real person stuck out on your island all alone for a long time. Real people need real friends. I want to be your real friend, Miss Karana.

First of all, Miss Karana, I want to let you know how sorry I am that strangers came and killed so many of your people back when you were all living together out on your island. I am sorry, too, that you had to live alone on your island for so many years, back when there were no phones or bathrooms or anything. I think that it was very brave of you to jump off the rescue boat to stay behind with your little brother. That took real guts, Miss Karana! And, I am very sorry that your little brother died. What was his name again? I have a little brother named 'íswut, and I would be sad, too, if he died. 'íswut means wolf in our language.

'íswut annoys me sometimes. He is always trying to, you know, pass gas on me when I’m lying in bed. Yuck! Once he even cooked my doll in the microwave. That smelled really bad too. That’s why I say his name should be Şísqila, not 'íswut. In my language, şísqila means stinkbug. Actually, his name should be Şísqila Junior, because he learned how to use his stinkbug powers to annoy me from our mom. She’s always sneaking up on my dad and doing you-know-what right next to him too. My dad and I aren’t like that. I’m a nice young lady, and Dad is a gentleman.

Here’s what I don’t like: bugs, but especially spiders, olives, sweating, plain acorn mush without gravy and without at least some kind of meat, grapefruit, and movies with lots of blood in them. But what I really hate the most is having to clean up the bathroom, when 'íswut is always the one who leaves a mess and never puts his things away. He never puts the lid back on the toothpaste, and he always squeezes it from the middle, not from the end like you’re supposed to.

In the book, it says that dogs killed your brother. When I read that I thought, They can’t be Indian dogs, because our rez dogs fight with each other but they listen to us, especially when we talk to them in Indian! I wonder how the dogs on your island got so un-Indian. But anyway, if my little brother wasn’t around, I’d be sad. That’s why, since you are probably an orphaned little mockingbird, I would like to be your e-friend. By the way, in my language, we call lonely people orphaned little mockingbirds.

My mother found your email address on the web. I know SHE was the one who created this address. Now, let’s see if she remembers to log in and write me back, pretending to be you. She probably won’t because she never even checks her own email. Anyway, even though it isn’t a real email address, if you haven’t gone West yet maybe you will be able to read what I’m writing to you in my emails.

You see, I figure you’re a spirit. My dad always talks to spirits, to people who haven’t gone West yet. He’s always over at the táaxanash with his voice recorder. Táaxanash is our word for cemetery. He says spirits talk nicer to him