David A. Robertson's 7 Generations: A Plains Cree Saga

Reviewed by Salma Hussain

(Portage & Main Press, 2025)

​David A. Robertson needs no introduction, but in case one lives under a rock, here it is: 

David A. Robertson is an Indigenous author from Winnipeg, Manitoba. He has published over 25 books across a variety of genres, is a two-time winner of the Governor General's Literary Award, as well as the Writers' Union of Canada Freedom to Read Award. Robertson's young adult and children's works are acclaimed bestsellers that are widely used in libraries and classrooms across Canada.

Robertson was also recently announced as the editorial director of a children's imprint for Penguin Random House Canada; the new imprint is called Swift Water Books and it focuses on providing a platform for Indigenous writers and illustrators.*

Robertson is a member of Norway House Cree Nation and lives in Winnipeg.

My review for the fifteenth anniversary of Seven Generations: A Plains Cree Saga (which compiles all four graphic novels of this series and provides a new afterword by Cherie Dimaline) is going to be a relatively short one. I’ll explain why at the end.

Note that Book 1 of Seven Generations was published in 2010 by Highwater Press. Highwater Press is an imprint of Portage & Main Press, a press dedicated to publishing stories by “emerging and established Indigenous writers.” Portage & Main Press have been independent, Canadian and women-owned since 1967.

Another interesting date to note is that the Truth and Reconciliation Committee’s Calls to Action were published in 2015.

Finally, we cannot forget that the last residential school in Canada closed in 1997. The second-last one closed in 1996.

Seven Generations is a graphic novel series that looks at intergenerational trauma, covering 150 years of history and focusing on both the deliberate spread of disease and the impact of the Indian Residential School system on Indigenous children, families and communities.

The series starts off intense—it is 2010 and a mom is reading the suicide note left by her teen son, Edwin, as he is rushed to a hospital. In an attempt to keep Edwin alive and grounded in the present, his mother begins to tell him about their history: the story moves to the early 1800s when blankets infected with smallpox were deliberately handed out to a vulnerable Indigenous population. The mother shares other stories—stories about ceremonies and traditions, such as the vision quest and thirst dance that kept their communities grounded and strong during difficult trials and events. She recounts and reiterates how family and community rallied whenever tragedy struck.

The panels move from the past to the present, and bodies and storylines overlap. We learn why Edwin’s father abandoned him as a baby: in a series of heart-wrenching panels, we learn that his father’s younger brother was abused at the residential school they attended. Edwin’s father’s guilt and rage from his brother’s death have tormented him ever since. The panels that illustrated this part of the story and the accompanying text caught in my throat and I felt the ground beneath my feet shift.

The abuse and injustice of residential schools is so terrible that it makes for difficult (yet imperative) reading. We cannot deny our history.

We cannot forget how easily people in power can and do abuse their authority. We cannot forget how important it is to create, develop and enrich checks and balances upon systems, institutions, communities, and yes, on individuals as well. Priests. Teachers. Doctors. Policy-makers. Lawyers. Politicians. Publishers. Writers. Readers. Each and every one of us must be held accountable for our actions and inactions. I will speak directly to other readers here—if we are not reading the tough, difficult, painful, powerful, beautiful stories from Indigenous writers in this country, then we are actively silencing them. If we fail to study the history of the treatment of Indigenous people in this country and the continuing aftermath, then we are part of the machinery that perpetuates evil and oppression. The guilt and rage should be ours to carry, not theirs. We cannot and must not fail in our duties toward reconciliation. This is Canada’s terrible legacy, and we must not look away.

This is a relatively short review because we all need to drop everything and order this special 15th anniversary edition that brings all four titles in the series together. They have been lovingly recoloured and relettered, and bookended with a new preface from Robertson and an afterword from bestselling author Cherie Dimaline.

Request it from your library, or better yet, buy a copy in solidarity. Support the long-standing work of this remarkable little press and this haunting, healing series.

Suitable for adolescents and adults alike.
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Heart-wrenching. Necessary. Powerful.

*Swift Water Books has two upcoming titles for 2026 that I am eagerly awaiting: a young adult novel by acclaimed writer Kim Spencer titled Here for a Good Time and a poem reimagined as a picture book: Canada: We are the Story by Richard Wagamese

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Salma Hussain writes poetry and prose. Her fiction has recently appeared in The Humber Literary Review, The Temz Review, Queen’s Quarterly, The Ex-Puritan and Prism International. Her young adult novel, The Secret Diary of Mona Hasan, about a young girl’s immigration and menstruation journey, was published by Penguin Random House in 2022. It was selected for ALA’s Rise: A Feminist Book Project List and shortlisted for the Geoffrey Wilson Historical Fiction prize. A chapbook of her poems from Baseline Press released this summer 2025. You can find her on Instagram: @salma_h_writes.