Shihab Nye, Naomi. 1999. Habibi. New York: Simon Pulse. ISBN 978-0689825231.
This is poet Naomi Shihab Nye's first novel, and Liyana, the book's tween narrator, clearly has Shihab Nye's gift for language and poetic sensibility. Snippets of Liana's poetry begin each chapter. They not only offer extra insight into Liyana's feelings, but add to the story's beautifully-evoked setting.
The story begins with Liyana, her brother Rafik, and her parents moving from St. Louis to Jerusalem, where her father grew up. It's an adjustment for everyone in the family, including Dr. Abboud, who had believed that tensions between Israelis and Palestinians had lessened while he had been in the US. Details of daily family life are rich and plentiful, and when Liyana's first boyfriend, an Israeli boy named Omer, visits her family, we get the sense that the Abbouds are not only ready to call Jerusalem home, but are also ready to move ahead into a challenging future.
One of my favorite things about this book is the relationship between Liyana and Rafik. Without ever being sappy, they're two of the warmest and wittiest siblings I've ever read about. ("Are you sick?" Liyana asks when Rafik vomits in their hotel room on arrival. "No, dope-dope, that's how we say hello in my language," Rafik says wearily.)
While this book will be a great introduction to Palestinian culture for kids who are unfamiliar with it, it also makes clear that Jerusalem is a mix of many cultures. Liyana goes to an Armenian school where her friends jokingly turn her last name into "Abboudian" so it matches theirs. Rafik is one of the few boy students at a Quaker girls' school. When the family has Christian evangelists over for dinner, the guests understand that the Abbouds are American but assume that they're Jewish.
Violence and political tensions are clearly present, but usually as background to the events of everyday life, as they have to be for residents of Jerusalem who are trying to live as normally as possible.
I was surprised by my reaction to the fact that the Abbouds stay in Jerusalem at the end of the book, and I realized that I had assumed all along that they would move back to the US. There is a genre of "tourist" fiction in which the American expatriates experience a foreign culture and then go back home, but this book is a more realistic portrayal of the immigrant experience. Dr. Abboud has always missed his home, and as he tells Liyana, some, all, or none of the family might go back to the US in the future. Jerusalem is their home, at least for the forseeable future, not a tourist destination to visit and leave.
I would recommend this book to our sizable group of youth patrons who like the Royal Diaries series. It's got a lush setting they're probably unfamiliar with, a tween narrator, and a touch of romance, while being something new and not formulaic!
In the New York Times Book Review, Karen Legget says, "Adolescence magnifies the joys and anxieties of growing up even as it radically simplifies the complexities of the adult world. The poet and anthologist Naomi Shibab Nye is meticulously sensitive to this rainbow of emotion in her autobiographical novel, Habibi…. Habibi gives a reader all the sweet richness of a Mediterranean dessert, while leaving some of the historic complexities open to interpretation."
Legget, Karen. New York Times Book Review. Qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/Habibi-Naomi-Shihab-Nye/dp/0689825234/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/102-5676480-3776938?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1186084804&sr=1-1.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Emma and Meesha My Boy
Considine, Karen. 2005. Emma and Meesha My Boy: A Two Mom Story. Illustrated by Binny Hobbs. Two Mom Books: twomombooks.com. ISBN 1-4134-1600-4.
I chose this book when I read a reader review of it on Amazon.com. Reviewer Amy says that most of the GLBT picture books she sees "are fairly predictable and don't have much to offer outside of being a story about gay families." This reminded me of what some of our textbook authors have said about the need for stories that meet the needs of members of a parallel culture rather than just stories that explain the parallel culture to kids from the dominant one. As Amy points out, Emma and Meesha My Boy is rare because it treats the fact that Emma has two mothers as a detail of the story rather than the plot in itself.
Emma is a lively preschooler - a little too lively for Meesha the cat, since Mommy and Mama are always having to tell her not to pick him up, dress him in her clothes, or paint his fur. Eventually she realizes that there are lots of things she can do with Meesha that won't cause anyone to say "no" - like petting him and giving him food and water.
Occasionally the rhyming text doesn't scan, making it sound like the author was making an effort to make her sentence end in the right syllable regardless of what it actually said. But most of the time the text is appealing and bounces along between Emma's experiments and her moms' "Don't do that!"s.
The cartoon-style illustrations aren't anything spectacular, but they work - especially poor Meesha's facial expressions as Emma plays with him. There's only one false note - when Emma is trying to put shoes on Meesha and Mommy yells "Watch out for his claws!" with a big grin on her face. (It's strange especially since Meesha's expression is highly alarmed.)
On the book's website, www.twomombooks.com, Considine says, "The story is not about being different or unique, it makes no big deal of the lesbian moms. They just are everyday parents guiding her to be nice to the cat. In this fashion, it celebrates the lesbian mom family as it is, living ordinary lives."
While neither the writing nor the illustrations are what I would normally consider high-quality, the fact that this book tells a story that kids in two-mom families will be able to identify with makes it worthwhile to add to a collection. And since it's Considine's first book (she self-published it and is selling it through her website and on Amazon), there may be more and better books from her in the future.
On the back jacket, a review by Rosie O'Donnell says, "I read it - I loved it - Chelsea reads it every night."
Amazon.com. "Emma and Meesha My Boy." http://www.amazon.com/Emma-Meesha-My-Boy-Story/dp/1413416004/ref=pd_bbs_1/102-5676480-3776938?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1186080616&sr=8-1.
Two Mom Books. "About the Author." http://www.twomombooks.com/author.html.
I chose this book when I read a reader review of it on Amazon.com. Reviewer Amy says that most of the GLBT picture books she sees "are fairly predictable and don't have much to offer outside of being a story about gay families." This reminded me of what some of our textbook authors have said about the need for stories that meet the needs of members of a parallel culture rather than just stories that explain the parallel culture to kids from the dominant one. As Amy points out, Emma and Meesha My Boy is rare because it treats the fact that Emma has two mothers as a detail of the story rather than the plot in itself.
Emma is a lively preschooler - a little too lively for Meesha the cat, since Mommy and Mama are always having to tell her not to pick him up, dress him in her clothes, or paint his fur. Eventually she realizes that there are lots of things she can do with Meesha that won't cause anyone to say "no" - like petting him and giving him food and water.
Occasionally the rhyming text doesn't scan, making it sound like the author was making an effort to make her sentence end in the right syllable regardless of what it actually said. But most of the time the text is appealing and bounces along between Emma's experiments and her moms' "Don't do that!"s.
The cartoon-style illustrations aren't anything spectacular, but they work - especially poor Meesha's facial expressions as Emma plays with him. There's only one false note - when Emma is trying to put shoes on Meesha and Mommy yells "Watch out for his claws!" with a big grin on her face. (It's strange especially since Meesha's expression is highly alarmed.)
On the book's website, www.twomombooks.com, Considine says, "The story is not about being different or unique, it makes no big deal of the lesbian moms. They just are everyday parents guiding her to be nice to the cat. In this fashion, it celebrates the lesbian mom family as it is, living ordinary lives."
While neither the writing nor the illustrations are what I would normally consider high-quality, the fact that this book tells a story that kids in two-mom families will be able to identify with makes it worthwhile to add to a collection. And since it's Considine's first book (she self-published it and is selling it through her website and on Amazon), there may be more and better books from her in the future.
On the back jacket, a review by Rosie O'Donnell says, "I read it - I loved it - Chelsea reads it every night."
Amazon.com. "Emma and Meesha My Boy." http://www.amazon.com/Emma-Meesha-My-Boy-Story/dp/1413416004/ref=pd_bbs_1/102-5676480-3776938?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1186080616&sr=8-1.
Two Mom Books. "About the Author." http://www.twomombooks.com/author.html.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Small Steps
Sachar, Louis. 2006. Small Steps. New York: Delacorte. ISBN 978-0385733144.
Fans of Sachar's Holes will be pleased to know that Stanley Yelnats isn't the only one to get a life for himself post-Camp-Greenlake. In Small Steps we see Armpit taking the eponymous steps - finishing high school, getting a landscaping job (he already knows how to dig holes), and becoming friends with his neighbor Ginny, a ten year old with cerebral palsy. Then Armpit and Ginny attend a concert by teen idol Kaira Deleon and end up on stage. A friendship with the friendless star, who's not used to taking small steps, threatens to upset Armpit's equilibrium in more ways than one. But Armpit triumphs and all three kids achieve a satisfying happy ending.
I was initially worried about Ginny's character because I was afraid she would end up being the stereotype of the Saintly Handicapped Child who teaches the main character to be a better person. But Sachar doesn't go there. For one thing, Armpit already is a better person - at least, a better person than most people realize. Ginny accepts him for who he is, just as he accepts her, and that's what makes the two of them friends.
Sachar's descriptions of the accomodations Armpit and Ginny make for her disability are matter-of-fact, as is the discussion of the insensitive questions people ask about Ginny. And in a twist that's unfortunately probably true-to-life, it's the difference in their color - Armpit is African-American and Ginny is Caucasian - that Sachar portrays as causing the most dismay to strangers. Although she isn't the protagonist of the story, Ginny is a well-rounded character with a fully developed personality who isn't defined by her disability.
Small Steps won the ALA Schneider Award for "artistic expression of the disability experience." The ALA said, "Armpit’s humorous adventures portray the unexpected friendship between a recently released juvenile delinquent and 10-year-old Ginny, who has cerebral palsy, as they help each other take incremental steps towards a brighter future. "Small Steps" shows that friendship comes in many shapes, sizes, ages, and abilities."
Ironically, in our library Newberry winners like Holes can be difficult to find because they're displayed in their own section rather than with juvenile or youth fiction. I would use this opportunity both to highlight Small Steps and get Holes out where people can see it, and display both books together in a high-traffic area!
ALA. "The Schneider Family Book Award Application/Nomination." http://www.ala.org/ala/awardsbucket/schneideraward/schneiderfamily.htm.
Fans of Sachar's Holes will be pleased to know that Stanley Yelnats isn't the only one to get a life for himself post-Camp-Greenlake. In Small Steps we see Armpit taking the eponymous steps - finishing high school, getting a landscaping job (he already knows how to dig holes), and becoming friends with his neighbor Ginny, a ten year old with cerebral palsy. Then Armpit and Ginny attend a concert by teen idol Kaira Deleon and end up on stage. A friendship with the friendless star, who's not used to taking small steps, threatens to upset Armpit's equilibrium in more ways than one. But Armpit triumphs and all three kids achieve a satisfying happy ending.
I was initially worried about Ginny's character because I was afraid she would end up being the stereotype of the Saintly Handicapped Child who teaches the main character to be a better person. But Sachar doesn't go there. For one thing, Armpit already is a better person - at least, a better person than most people realize. Ginny accepts him for who he is, just as he accepts her, and that's what makes the two of them friends.
Sachar's descriptions of the accomodations Armpit and Ginny make for her disability are matter-of-fact, as is the discussion of the insensitive questions people ask about Ginny. And in a twist that's unfortunately probably true-to-life, it's the difference in their color - Armpit is African-American and Ginny is Caucasian - that Sachar portrays as causing the most dismay to strangers. Although she isn't the protagonist of the story, Ginny is a well-rounded character with a fully developed personality who isn't defined by her disability.
Small Steps won the ALA Schneider Award for "artistic expression of the disability experience." The ALA said, "Armpit’s humorous adventures portray the unexpected friendship between a recently released juvenile delinquent and 10-year-old Ginny, who has cerebral palsy, as they help each other take incremental steps towards a brighter future. "Small Steps" shows that friendship comes in many shapes, sizes, ages, and abilities."
Ironically, in our library Newberry winners like Holes can be difficult to find because they're displayed in their own section rather than with juvenile or youth fiction. I would use this opportunity both to highlight Small Steps and get Holes out where people can see it, and display both books together in a high-traffic area!
ALA. "The Schneider Family Book Award Application/Nomination." http://www.ala.org/ala/awardsbucket/schneideraward/schneiderfamily.htm.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Project Mulberry
Park, Linda Sue. 2005. Project Mulberry (audiobook). Narrated by Mina Kim and Linda Sue Park. New York: Random House. ISBN 0-307-24536-5.
Julia Song is excited about doing a project for her 4-H like club WGGL with her best friend Patrick. Then the project they settle on turns out to be raising silkworms - something she thinks is "too Korean." When Julia perseveres, deciding that she can't let Patrick down, she has a chance to think a lot of things through - from sustainable farming to prejudice to how to treat her pesky younger brother.
And that's why this story works. Park uses a light touch and portrays the inside of Julia's head as a complex place rather than a one-note song. Julia is as capable of worrying about whether she'll ever complete her collection of state quarters as she is worrying about whether it's true, as she suspects, that her mother is prejudiced against blacks. Overall the story is more uplifting and funny than ponderous. In the end, although all Julia's questions aren't answered, we're left with the feeling that Julia and Patrick are quite capable of tackling any more projects that come their way.
Julia and her parents seem very believable as a contemporary second and first-generation immigrant family. Julia's father, in particular, makes it clear to listeners that Korea is a modern country, a mix of cities and farmland like the US is. And the idea that members of one parallel culture might be prejudiced against another is handled well, with no one coming across as a one-dimensional bad guy but with no easy answers solving everything by the end of the book, either.
A very cool feature of this audiobook is Julia's discussions with Park in between the chapters (Park reads her own parts). As the author herself points out, this is an extra feature that some listeners who are only interested in the story can skip. But kids who are interested in writing will be enthralled by Park's struggles to write the story as it's unfolding.
Listening Library (Random House) made a great decision in casting Mina Kim as Julia. (I still wish they had gotten a Korean actor to narrate Park's A Single Shard, despite the fine narration in the Listening Library recording of that title.) She carries off Julia's many moods as if she remembers perfectly well what it's like to be a tween.
I would display this audiobook prominently at the beginning of summer, when families are vacationing and need CDs for long car trips! Parents and middle-schoolers will both like it, and I think even younger kids will be enthralled by the discussion of the silkworms (and by Julia's younger brother).
AudioFile says, "Kim's tones mirror the contrasts of the bubbly child and the moody teen, the forced brightness of her smile and the uncertainty of her inner voice, the kindness she shows to Mr. Dixon and the impatience she has toward her younger brother. Further, Julia's conversations with author Park between the story chapters, telling the story of the story, are always right. They're delivered in the tones and petulant voice of a teenager who wants life, and her story, to go her way." This recording won the AudioFile Earphones Award.
AudioFile. Qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/Project-Mulberry-Linda-Sue-Park/dp/0307245349/ref=sr_1_1/102-5676480-3776938?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1185072639&sr=1-1.
Julia Song is excited about doing a project for her 4-H like club WGGL with her best friend Patrick. Then the project they settle on turns out to be raising silkworms - something she thinks is "too Korean." When Julia perseveres, deciding that she can't let Patrick down, she has a chance to think a lot of things through - from sustainable farming to prejudice to how to treat her pesky younger brother.
And that's why this story works. Park uses a light touch and portrays the inside of Julia's head as a complex place rather than a one-note song. Julia is as capable of worrying about whether she'll ever complete her collection of state quarters as she is worrying about whether it's true, as she suspects, that her mother is prejudiced against blacks. Overall the story is more uplifting and funny than ponderous. In the end, although all Julia's questions aren't answered, we're left with the feeling that Julia and Patrick are quite capable of tackling any more projects that come their way.
Julia and her parents seem very believable as a contemporary second and first-generation immigrant family. Julia's father, in particular, makes it clear to listeners that Korea is a modern country, a mix of cities and farmland like the US is. And the idea that members of one parallel culture might be prejudiced against another is handled well, with no one coming across as a one-dimensional bad guy but with no easy answers solving everything by the end of the book, either.
A very cool feature of this audiobook is Julia's discussions with Park in between the chapters (Park reads her own parts). As the author herself points out, this is an extra feature that some listeners who are only interested in the story can skip. But kids who are interested in writing will be enthralled by Park's struggles to write the story as it's unfolding.
Listening Library (Random House) made a great decision in casting Mina Kim as Julia. (I still wish they had gotten a Korean actor to narrate Park's A Single Shard, despite the fine narration in the Listening Library recording of that title.) She carries off Julia's many moods as if she remembers perfectly well what it's like to be a tween.
I would display this audiobook prominently at the beginning of summer, when families are vacationing and need CDs for long car trips! Parents and middle-schoolers will both like it, and I think even younger kids will be enthralled by the discussion of the silkworms (and by Julia's younger brother).
AudioFile says, "Kim's tones mirror the contrasts of the bubbly child and the moody teen, the forced brightness of her smile and the uncertainty of her inner voice, the kindness she shows to Mr. Dixon and the impatience she has toward her younger brother. Further, Julia's conversations with author Park between the story chapters, telling the story of the story, are always right. They're delivered in the tones and petulant voice of a teenager who wants life, and her story, to go her way." This recording won the AudioFile Earphones Award.
AudioFile. Qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/Project-Mulberry-Linda-Sue-Park/dp/0307245349/ref=sr_1_1/102-5676480-3776938?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1185072639&sr=1-1.
Tea With Milk
Say, Allen. 1999. Tea With Milk. New York: Houghton Mifflin. ISBN 0-395-90495-1.
I love the saturated colors and the open space in Allen Say's artwork. They're very different from the more common brights, pastels, and crowded pages of many children's books. Say's books give me the feeling that I'm looking into an old picture album. That's the perfect impression to have when reading Tea With Milk.
Tea With Milk is the story of how Say's mother and father met. It's also the story of Say's mother's decision not to follow the Japanese tradition of marriage arranged through a matchmaker, but to get a job and live on her own, more like the young women she knew when her family lived in California. Together, Say's parents make choices - and ultimately, make a home - by realizing that it's up to them to decide how to incorporate the culture they know into their lives.
In some ways, this book could come across as stereotypical. Knowing English is the way Say's mother gets a better job, and following American customs, not traditional Japanese ones, brings the couple together. But the story isn't a one-sided pro-American one. The western business suits and skyscrapers in Osaka, where Say's mother gets a job, point to the fact that japanese culture isn't locked into some mythical past, but grows and changes like any other. And when any culture changes, people change with it.
The point of Tea With Milk isn't to bash tradition. It's both respectful and hopeful - for Say, a look at his own past, and for the reader, a look into what life was like in the changing times of this particular time and place.
I would display this book with other true stories of author's families in earlier times, like Tomie De Paola's 26 Fairmont Avenue books.
Publisher's Weekly says, "Through choice words and scrupulously choreographed paintings, Say's story communicates both the heart's yearning for individuality and freedom and how love and friendship can bridge cultural chasms."
Publisher's Weekly. Qtd in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/Tea-Milk-Allen-Say/dp/0395904951/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/102-5676480-3776938?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1185071948&sr=1-1.
I love the saturated colors and the open space in Allen Say's artwork. They're very different from the more common brights, pastels, and crowded pages of many children's books. Say's books give me the feeling that I'm looking into an old picture album. That's the perfect impression to have when reading Tea With Milk.
Tea With Milk is the story of how Say's mother and father met. It's also the story of Say's mother's decision not to follow the Japanese tradition of marriage arranged through a matchmaker, but to get a job and live on her own, more like the young women she knew when her family lived in California. Together, Say's parents make choices - and ultimately, make a home - by realizing that it's up to them to decide how to incorporate the culture they know into their lives.
In some ways, this book could come across as stereotypical. Knowing English is the way Say's mother gets a better job, and following American customs, not traditional Japanese ones, brings the couple together. But the story isn't a one-sided pro-American one. The western business suits and skyscrapers in Osaka, where Say's mother gets a job, point to the fact that japanese culture isn't locked into some mythical past, but grows and changes like any other. And when any culture changes, people change with it.
The point of Tea With Milk isn't to bash tradition. It's both respectful and hopeful - for Say, a look at his own past, and for the reader, a look into what life was like in the changing times of this particular time and place.
I would display this book with other true stories of author's families in earlier times, like Tomie De Paola's 26 Fairmont Avenue books.
Publisher's Weekly says, "Through choice words and scrupulously choreographed paintings, Say's story communicates both the heart's yearning for individuality and freedom and how love and friendship can bridge cultural chasms."
Publisher's Weekly. Qtd in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/Tea-Milk-Allen-Say/dp/0395904951/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/102-5676480-3776938?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1185071948&sr=1-1.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
When the Circus Came to Town
Yep, Laurence. 2002. When the Circus Came to Town. Ill by Suling Wang. New York: Harper Collins. ISBN 0-06-029325-X.
Yep says in a preface that this wonderful book is based on a real event that happened in Trembles, Montana in the early 1900s. He says, "I would never have dared try to make up a multicultural tale like this." The story absolutely works, however, and is all the more inspiring because it's true.
Ursula is a spunky and imaginative girl who leads all the rest of the children in her tiny Montana town in pirate adventures. Then a bout with smallpox leaves her with a scarred face and she refuses to come out of her room. Because her parents couldn't run their stagecoach station and still nurse Ursula while she was ill, they have hired a Chinese man named Ah Sam as the station's cook. Ah Sam gradually draws Ursula out of hiding but can't convince her to leave her house. When Ursula includes Ah Sam in their family's Christmas, he responds by bringing her a circus - in the form of his cousins, acrobats and circus performers. Then, when the Ah family is snowed in and can't leave town to celebrate Chinese New Year in Chinatown, the town celebrates Chinese New Year with them.
Ah Sam is a well-rounded character whose cultural markers ring true for his time and place. A particularly effective scene involves a rude customer tripping Ah Sam on purpose and telling Ah Sam to apologize. He does, but the stagecoach driver immediately points out that it isn't because Ah Sam is afraid - it's because he could be killed for hitting a white man. Yep shows Ah Sam being both angry and unafraid, rather than being a stereotypical "meek Asian."
Yep sensitively explores the issue of prejudice. Ursula's own term for prejudiced people is "donkeys," and she decides that it's the same donkey people who laugh at her scarred face and treat Ah Sam badly because he's Chinese. While this helps her feel that she isn't alone, it also activates her old Pirate Ursula instincts. Like a wily pirate, she realizes that when the heartache of discrimination can't be eliminated, it's possible to rise above it.
The townspeople are a believable multicultural group on their own, including the Schultz family, who are recent immigrants, Tom, who is a Sioux, and people whose names sound French or Cajun, German, and English.
Publisher's Weekly says, "Bolstered by themes of compassion, community and tolerance, this story is among Yep's most assured. With dry humor and a keen ear for dialogue, the author includes deft characterizations and offers a window onto Asian-American history and culture. Wang, who illustrated Yep's The Magic Paintbrush, contributes detailed b&w drawings that underscore the volume's more serious themes."
This story has enough plot twists and adventure to make an excellent read-aloud. I would also display it for Chinese New Year, especially since it's based on a true story!
Publisher's Weekly. Qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/When-Circus-Came-Town-Laurence/dp/0064409651/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/102-5676480-3776938?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1184716728&sr=1-1.
Yep says in a preface that this wonderful book is based on a real event that happened in Trembles, Montana in the early 1900s. He says, "I would never have dared try to make up a multicultural tale like this." The story absolutely works, however, and is all the more inspiring because it's true.
Ursula is a spunky and imaginative girl who leads all the rest of the children in her tiny Montana town in pirate adventures. Then a bout with smallpox leaves her with a scarred face and she refuses to come out of her room. Because her parents couldn't run their stagecoach station and still nurse Ursula while she was ill, they have hired a Chinese man named Ah Sam as the station's cook. Ah Sam gradually draws Ursula out of hiding but can't convince her to leave her house. When Ursula includes Ah Sam in their family's Christmas, he responds by bringing her a circus - in the form of his cousins, acrobats and circus performers. Then, when the Ah family is snowed in and can't leave town to celebrate Chinese New Year in Chinatown, the town celebrates Chinese New Year with them.
Ah Sam is a well-rounded character whose cultural markers ring true for his time and place. A particularly effective scene involves a rude customer tripping Ah Sam on purpose and telling Ah Sam to apologize. He does, but the stagecoach driver immediately points out that it isn't because Ah Sam is afraid - it's because he could be killed for hitting a white man. Yep shows Ah Sam being both angry and unafraid, rather than being a stereotypical "meek Asian."
Yep sensitively explores the issue of prejudice. Ursula's own term for prejudiced people is "donkeys," and she decides that it's the same donkey people who laugh at her scarred face and treat Ah Sam badly because he's Chinese. While this helps her feel that she isn't alone, it also activates her old Pirate Ursula instincts. Like a wily pirate, she realizes that when the heartache of discrimination can't be eliminated, it's possible to rise above it.
The townspeople are a believable multicultural group on their own, including the Schultz family, who are recent immigrants, Tom, who is a Sioux, and people whose names sound French or Cajun, German, and English.
Publisher's Weekly says, "Bolstered by themes of compassion, community and tolerance, this story is among Yep's most assured. With dry humor and a keen ear for dialogue, the author includes deft characterizations and offers a window onto Asian-American history and culture. Wang, who illustrated Yep's The Magic Paintbrush, contributes detailed b&w drawings that underscore the volume's more serious themes."
This story has enough plot twists and adventure to make an excellent read-aloud. I would also display it for Chinese New Year, especially since it's based on a true story!
Publisher's Weekly. Qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/When-Circus-Came-Town-Laurence/dp/0064409651/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/102-5676480-3776938?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1184716728&sr=1-1.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Sees Behind Trees
Dorris, Michael. 1996. Sees Behind Trees. New York: Hyperion. ISBN 0-7868-0224-3.
The back jacket of my copy of this book says it takes place "before Pocahontas"; reviews say the setting is sixteenth-century America. But Sees Behind Trees seems to me to have more in common with Lois Lowry's books The Giver and Messenger than with conventional historical fiction. In all three of these books, the authors create a setting that's conventional on the surface and mystical underneath. In Sees Behind Trees, the setting comes close to being a character itself, playing a vital role in the climactic events of this mesmerizing story.
Sees Behind Trees' weak eyesight has left him unable to do things like shoot a bow, but taught him to pay attention to his hearing to such an extent that he seems to be able to see things that others can't. When the community becomes aware of his gift at his naming ceremony, wheels start turning in the mind of Gray Fire, an elder and the twin brother of the weroance, the leader of the community. Gray Fire has never been able to forget a mystical place he calls the "land of water," a place he discovered once but could never find his way back to. He believes that Sees Behind Trees, with his special talent, can lead him back.
Even this plot could turn out to be a conventional adventure story, but it isn't. The land of water holds more secrets even than Gray Fire suspects, and Sees Behind Trees must confront not only the ones he encounters there, but the ones he encounters when he returns home.
Dorris is apparently of Modoc ancestry, according to his Wikipedia article. However, Elizabeth Cook-Lynn, a respected Native American scholar, refused to accept his writing in the journal she edited because she disputed his claim of Native American ancestry. In her recent book Anti-Indianism in Modern Ameria, she includes a chapter titled "A Mixed-Blood, Tribeless Voice in American Indian Literatures: Michael Dorris." (Unfortunately, I couldn't find this book on ebrary or Net Library, so I couldn't read the chapter for myself.)
Knowing this intensified the doubts I already had about the story. Unlike the Bruchac's picture book, which had excellent authors' notes, and Cynthia Leitich Smith's novel, which she wrote in detail about on her own blog, this story had no information placing it in time, place, or tribe except for a dedication saying that Dorris is "endebted to" Helen Roundtree for her book The Powhatan Indians of Virginia. Dorris says he recommends the book "to all who wish to learn more about the peoples imagined in these pages." This raises more questions than it answers, since it seems to suggest that Dorris might not have known any more about this tribe or its history than he read in Roundtree's book.
On top of this, an incident in the book sticks in my mind. On their travels, Gray Fire and Sees Behind Trees come across a family that doesn't speak their language and apparently comes from another tribe. Sees Behind Trees is incredulous: "Do you mean that there are people besides us? Actual people?" He has to be talked out of thinking that the strangers are ghosts.
This seemed bizarre to me. I could believe that a young man might not have seen strangers before, but not to know that there were real people besides the ones he lived with? To me it made everyone in Sees Behind Trees' community seem crazily primitive and unintelligent. It's the kind of detail that I would only accept with some kind of explanation and historical corroboration.
The question of authority in writing multicultural books for children is a thorny one. In this case, however, my best judgment is that I wouldn't include this book in a collection of Native American literature for young people. As a fantasy, it's first-rate. There's just not enough evidence to convince me that it's not only a fantasy.
In the New York Times Book Review, Nancy Cardozo says ""Sees-Behind-Trees" is a fine example of a rite-of-passage novel that can be read as metaphor or message."
In a starred review, Booklist said the book has "the gravity of legend" and continues, "Dorris once again demonstrates that he is a brilliant and deeply humane writer whose words can show you something you have never seen."
Amazon.com Online Reader. Anti-Indianism in Modern America.
Booklist. Qtd. in Powells.com. http://www.powells.com/biblio?show=TRADE%20PAPER:NEW:9780786813575:4.99#synopses_and_reviews.
Cardozo, Nancy. January 19, 1997. "Children's Books." New York Times Book Review. http://www.nytimes.com/books/97/01/19/reviews/970119.cardozo.html?_r=2&oref=slogin&oref=login.
Wikipedia.org. "Michael Dorris." http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michael_Dorris.
The back jacket of my copy of this book says it takes place "before Pocahontas"; reviews say the setting is sixteenth-century America. But Sees Behind Trees seems to me to have more in common with Lois Lowry's books The Giver and Messenger than with conventional historical fiction. In all three of these books, the authors create a setting that's conventional on the surface and mystical underneath. In Sees Behind Trees, the setting comes close to being a character itself, playing a vital role in the climactic events of this mesmerizing story.
Sees Behind Trees' weak eyesight has left him unable to do things like shoot a bow, but taught him to pay attention to his hearing to such an extent that he seems to be able to see things that others can't. When the community becomes aware of his gift at his naming ceremony, wheels start turning in the mind of Gray Fire, an elder and the twin brother of the weroance, the leader of the community. Gray Fire has never been able to forget a mystical place he calls the "land of water," a place he discovered once but could never find his way back to. He believes that Sees Behind Trees, with his special talent, can lead him back.
Even this plot could turn out to be a conventional adventure story, but it isn't. The land of water holds more secrets even than Gray Fire suspects, and Sees Behind Trees must confront not only the ones he encounters there, but the ones he encounters when he returns home.
Dorris is apparently of Modoc ancestry, according to his Wikipedia article. However, Elizabeth Cook-Lynn, a respected Native American scholar, refused to accept his writing in the journal she edited because she disputed his claim of Native American ancestry. In her recent book Anti-Indianism in Modern Ameria, she includes a chapter titled "A Mixed-Blood, Tribeless Voice in American Indian Literatures: Michael Dorris." (Unfortunately, I couldn't find this book on ebrary or Net Library, so I couldn't read the chapter for myself.)
Knowing this intensified the doubts I already had about the story. Unlike the Bruchac's picture book, which had excellent authors' notes, and Cynthia Leitich Smith's novel, which she wrote in detail about on her own blog, this story had no information placing it in time, place, or tribe except for a dedication saying that Dorris is "endebted to" Helen Roundtree for her book The Powhatan Indians of Virginia. Dorris says he recommends the book "to all who wish to learn more about the peoples imagined in these pages." This raises more questions than it answers, since it seems to suggest that Dorris might not have known any more about this tribe or its history than he read in Roundtree's book.
On top of this, an incident in the book sticks in my mind. On their travels, Gray Fire and Sees Behind Trees come across a family that doesn't speak their language and apparently comes from another tribe. Sees Behind Trees is incredulous: "Do you mean that there are people besides us? Actual people?" He has to be talked out of thinking that the strangers are ghosts.
This seemed bizarre to me. I could believe that a young man might not have seen strangers before, but not to know that there were real people besides the ones he lived with? To me it made everyone in Sees Behind Trees' community seem crazily primitive and unintelligent. It's the kind of detail that I would only accept with some kind of explanation and historical corroboration.
The question of authority in writing multicultural books for children is a thorny one. In this case, however, my best judgment is that I wouldn't include this book in a collection of Native American literature for young people. As a fantasy, it's first-rate. There's just not enough evidence to convince me that it's not only a fantasy.
In the New York Times Book Review, Nancy Cardozo says ""Sees-Behind-Trees" is a fine example of a rite-of-passage novel that can be read as metaphor or message."
In a starred review, Booklist said the book has "the gravity of legend" and continues, "Dorris once again demonstrates that he is a brilliant and deeply humane writer whose words can show you something you have never seen."
Amazon.com Online Reader. Anti-Indianism in Modern America.
Booklist. Qtd. in Powells.com. http://www.powells.com/biblio?show=TRADE%20PAPER:NEW:9780786813575:4.99#synopses_and_reviews.
Cardozo, Nancy. January 19, 1997. "Children's Books." New York Times Book Review. http://www.nytimes.com/books/97/01/19/reviews/970119.cardozo.html?_r=2&oref=slogin&oref=login.
Wikipedia.org. "Michael Dorris." http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michael_Dorris.
Friday, July 13, 2007
Rain Is Not My Indian Name
Smith, Cynthia Leitich. Rain is Not My Indian Name. 2001. New York: Harper Collins. ISBN 0-688-17397-7.
With a dead mother, a dead best friend, and cultural prejudice all figuring into the plot, it seems as if Rain is Not My Indian Name would hardly be able to transcend being a stereotypical “problem novel.” But because of Cynthia Leitich Smith’s deft handling and big heart, it does. Instead, it’s a nuanced portrait of a wise and thoughtful young woman, both specific and universal, that leaves readers satisfied and maybe a little wiser themselves.
The plot revolves around both Rain’s struggles with her best friend’s death and a summer technology program for Native American youth that Rain’s aunt wants the city to pay for. But there’s much more going on even than that. The book is a slice of life, with all that entails, rather than a neat and self-contained sequence of events. At the end we sense that Rain has reached a new place even as some of the plot threads go on without being resolved, just as they would in real life.
Rain employs shifting cultural markers throughout her story. At times she refers to herself as Indian, but she also points out that the only “Indian” family in her town is from India. She struggles with whether or not to purchase a dreamcatcher, wondering if it’s a fakelore souvenir. She doesn’t know as much as she wants to about her own heritage. At times, the biggest cultural influence on her actions isn’t a Native American culture, but generic small-town American. This multivalence rings true. People within a parallel culture don’t somehow absorb the culture whole at birth, but must choose when and how to embody their culture, sometimes changing their choices at different times in their lives.
In her blog, Smith points out that the book shows an “emphasis on engineering and technology, which cuts against the stereotype of the Native primitive.” She also says that it’s one of the first contemporary-fiction books with a “mixed blood” protagonist in which being Native American isn’t in itself the conflict in the book. (August 21, 2004.)
This story would provide lots of food for thought and discussion in a teen book club. Many kids of mixed heritage, whatever that heritage is, will find Rain's observations to ring true.
In School Library Journal, Carol Edwards says, “There is a surprising amount of
humor in this tender novel. It is one of the best portrayals around of kids whose heritage is mixed but still very important in their lives.”
School Library Journal. Qtd. In Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/Rain-Not-My-Indian-Name/dp/0688173977/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/102-5676480-3776938?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1184354651&sr=1-1.
Smith, Cynthia Leitich. August 21, 2004.Cynsations. “Rain is Not My Indian Name.” http://cynthialeitichsmith.blogspot.com/2004/08/rain-is-not-my-indian-name.html.
With a dead mother, a dead best friend, and cultural prejudice all figuring into the plot, it seems as if Rain is Not My Indian Name would hardly be able to transcend being a stereotypical “problem novel.” But because of Cynthia Leitich Smith’s deft handling and big heart, it does. Instead, it’s a nuanced portrait of a wise and thoughtful young woman, both specific and universal, that leaves readers satisfied and maybe a little wiser themselves.
The plot revolves around both Rain’s struggles with her best friend’s death and a summer technology program for Native American youth that Rain’s aunt wants the city to pay for. But there’s much more going on even than that. The book is a slice of life, with all that entails, rather than a neat and self-contained sequence of events. At the end we sense that Rain has reached a new place even as some of the plot threads go on without being resolved, just as they would in real life.
Rain employs shifting cultural markers throughout her story. At times she refers to herself as Indian, but she also points out that the only “Indian” family in her town is from India. She struggles with whether or not to purchase a dreamcatcher, wondering if it’s a fakelore souvenir. She doesn’t know as much as she wants to about her own heritage. At times, the biggest cultural influence on her actions isn’t a Native American culture, but generic small-town American. This multivalence rings true. People within a parallel culture don’t somehow absorb the culture whole at birth, but must choose when and how to embody their culture, sometimes changing their choices at different times in their lives.
In her blog, Smith points out that the book shows an “emphasis on engineering and technology, which cuts against the stereotype of the Native primitive.” She also says that it’s one of the first contemporary-fiction books with a “mixed blood” protagonist in which being Native American isn’t in itself the conflict in the book. (August 21, 2004.)
This story would provide lots of food for thought and discussion in a teen book club. Many kids of mixed heritage, whatever that heritage is, will find Rain's observations to ring true.
In School Library Journal, Carol Edwards says, “There is a surprising amount of
humor in this tender novel. It is one of the best portrayals around of kids whose heritage is mixed but still very important in their lives.”
School Library Journal. Qtd. In Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/Rain-Not-My-Indian-Name/dp/0688173977/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/102-5676480-3776938?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1184354651&sr=1-1.
Smith, Cynthia Leitich. August 21, 2004.Cynsations. “Rain is Not My Indian Name.” http://cynthialeitichsmith.blogspot.com/2004/08/rain-is-not-my-indian-name.html.
How Chipmunk Got His Stripes
Bruchac, Joseph, and James Bruchac. 2001. How Chipmunk Got His Stripes. Ill by Jose Aruego and Ariane Dewey. New York: Dial Books. ISBN 0-8037-2404-7.
The fact that the father-and-son Bruchacs, who are both Abenaki, are used to telling stories out loud is evident in this spirited book. It retains the flavor and rhythm of an oral story and practically begs to be read out loud.
Chipmunk's legend, told by Native Americans of several different East Coast nations, involves a boastful bear who thinks he can stop the sun from rising and a small squirrel who calls him on his boast. Unfortunately, the squirrel can't resist teasing Bear when Bear turns out to be wrong, and the squirrel's narrow escape leaves him branded with stripes - turning him into Chipmunk.
With the themes of boasting and teasing, this story is bound to strike a chord with kids, and it's no wonder that James Bruchac says in the introduction that he's told the story to children "hundreds of times." The story's provenance is clearly explained in the authors' notes so that teachers and parents can be confident that it's an authentic Native American story rather than "fakelore."
The cartoon-style watercolor and ink illustrations are colorful and generally appealing, although I thought that the characters' facial expressions were consistently hard to read. Except for Bear's grumpy scowl and Chipmunk's wide-eyed fright, it's hard to tell what emotions the rest of the animals are meant to be showing (and in some cases, even hard to tell whether they're meant to be smiling or not).
Publisher's Weekly says, "The prose occasionally falters," but I didn't agree with this at all. PW's examples of faltering prose ("Everyone was happy except for one animal. That animal was Bear.") were invariably the times when I could most hear the voice of a storyteller telling the story out loud, and I wondered if the reviewer was judging by the standards of written rather than oral prose. PW also said "Aruego and Dewey(Antarctica Antics) create lush landscapes, but Bear and Brown Squirrel are uncharacteristically bland, often featuring the same facial expressions repeatedly."
In contrast, Grace Oliff, a reviewer in School Library Journal, called this book "...polished, cohesive, and energetic. While the story begs to be told, Aruego and Dewey's vibrantly hued trademark watercolors add significantly to the humor. A priority purchase for most collections."
And the Oyate review of this book says, "The Bruchacs’ rendition of this old story of how little Brown Squirrel becomes Chipmunk just jumps off the pages.... The youngest listeners will be begging to hear this one over and over."
Given what I saw as sub-par illustrations, and the wonderful oral quality of the story, I would definitely choose to read this story aloud, or possibly even memorize it so that I could tell it without the book. It would be great fun to invite kids to participate on the choruses of "The sun will not come up, hummph!" and "The sun is going to rise, oooh!"
Oliff, Grace. School Library Journal. Qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/How-Chipmunk-Stripes-Picture-Puffins/dp/0142500216/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/102-5676480-3776938?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1184334751&sr=1-1.
Oyate. "Preschool and Up: From Joseph Bruchac (Abenaki) and James Bruchac (Abenaki)." http://www.oyate.org/catalog/preschool.html.
Publishers Weekly. Qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/How-Chipmunk-Stripes-Picture-Puffins/dp/0142500216/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/102-5676480-3776938?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1184334751&sr=1-1.
The fact that the father-and-son Bruchacs, who are both Abenaki, are used to telling stories out loud is evident in this spirited book. It retains the flavor and rhythm of an oral story and practically begs to be read out loud.
Chipmunk's legend, told by Native Americans of several different East Coast nations, involves a boastful bear who thinks he can stop the sun from rising and a small squirrel who calls him on his boast. Unfortunately, the squirrel can't resist teasing Bear when Bear turns out to be wrong, and the squirrel's narrow escape leaves him branded with stripes - turning him into Chipmunk.
With the themes of boasting and teasing, this story is bound to strike a chord with kids, and it's no wonder that James Bruchac says in the introduction that he's told the story to children "hundreds of times." The story's provenance is clearly explained in the authors' notes so that teachers and parents can be confident that it's an authentic Native American story rather than "fakelore."
The cartoon-style watercolor and ink illustrations are colorful and generally appealing, although I thought that the characters' facial expressions were consistently hard to read. Except for Bear's grumpy scowl and Chipmunk's wide-eyed fright, it's hard to tell what emotions the rest of the animals are meant to be showing (and in some cases, even hard to tell whether they're meant to be smiling or not).
Publisher's Weekly says, "The prose occasionally falters," but I didn't agree with this at all. PW's examples of faltering prose ("Everyone was happy except for one animal. That animal was Bear.") were invariably the times when I could most hear the voice of a storyteller telling the story out loud, and I wondered if the reviewer was judging by the standards of written rather than oral prose. PW also said "Aruego and Dewey(Antarctica Antics) create lush landscapes, but Bear and Brown Squirrel are uncharacteristically bland, often featuring the same facial expressions repeatedly."
In contrast, Grace Oliff, a reviewer in School Library Journal, called this book "...polished, cohesive, and energetic. While the story begs to be told, Aruego and Dewey's vibrantly hued trademark watercolors add significantly to the humor. A priority purchase for most collections."
And the Oyate review of this book says, "The Bruchacs’ rendition of this old story of how little Brown Squirrel becomes Chipmunk just jumps off the pages.... The youngest listeners will be begging to hear this one over and over."
Given what I saw as sub-par illustrations, and the wonderful oral quality of the story, I would definitely choose to read this story aloud, or possibly even memorize it so that I could tell it without the book. It would be great fun to invite kids to participate on the choruses of "The sun will not come up, hummph!" and "The sun is going to rise, oooh!"
Oliff, Grace. School Library Journal. Qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/How-Chipmunk-Stripes-Picture-Puffins/dp/0142500216/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/102-5676480-3776938?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1184334751&sr=1-1.
Oyate. "Preschool and Up: From Joseph Bruchac (Abenaki) and James Bruchac (Abenaki)." http://www.oyate.org/catalog/preschool.html.
Publishers Weekly. Qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/How-Chipmunk-Stripes-Picture-Puffins/dp/0142500216/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/102-5676480-3776938?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1184334751&sr=1-1.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Off and Running
Soto, Gary. 1996. Off and Running. Ill. by Eric Velasquez. New York: Delacorte. ISBN 0-385-32181-3.
Gary Soto's novel Off and Running captures protagonists Miata, Ana, Rudy, and Alex at a time in life that will resonate with a lot of readers - the stage when you can't believe how completely foreign the opposite sex is, and you can't figure out why you're so preoccupied with them either. Soto's characters are true to life and quickly seem like kids you might know. His descriptions of school and family life in a predominately Hispanic area include rich details, such as his narration of a quinceanera celebration.
Fifth-graders Miata and Ana are running against their schoolmates Rudy and Alex in the school elections. Miata wants to get rid of the graffiti and plant flowers to beautify the school. Rudy wants longer recess and more ice cream. The story unfolds through Miata's eyes as she plans her campaign and thinks about what she will do as president. Refreshingly, Soto avoids the overdone device of boys-against-girls and vice versa, and all four kids remain friends throughout the campaign, which ends in a way that satisfies everyone.
It's very clear why Soto is considered an exemplary author of multicultural children's books. The cultural markers in this story feel both abundant and authentic, from the music (Cielito Lindo and Donna) to the popularity of baseball and soccer. Hispanic characters are shown in a variety of occupations: the school principal, Miata's teacher, construction workers, a zookeeper, an elderly woman who used to be the mayor of her town in Mexico, and even the zookeeper's alter ego, a magician named Senor Gomez the Magnificent.
Erik Velasquez' illustrations are slightly dated, but that's something that can't be helped in realistic fiction. Soto's writing is often poetic, like when Miata eats an animal cracker shaped like a lion by putting "the lion to sleep on the bed of her pink tongue" (67).
I would read the first chapter of this book as a book talk and then give kids a chance to check it out. I think it's a story that would be very easy for kids of all ethnicities to appreciate.
Anne Connor said in School Library Journal, "This book offers an engaging look at student politics. But, more importantly, it is a realistic, warm portrayal of a Latino school in California: the kids, their families, and traditions. A humorous, light, good-natured story about everyday life in one community that will have great appeal for kids everywhere."
Connor, Anne. School Library Journal. Qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/Off-Running-Gary-Soto/dp/0440414326/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/104-1796065-2716726?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1183145578&sr=1-1.
Gary Soto's novel Off and Running captures protagonists Miata, Ana, Rudy, and Alex at a time in life that will resonate with a lot of readers - the stage when you can't believe how completely foreign the opposite sex is, and you can't figure out why you're so preoccupied with them either. Soto's characters are true to life and quickly seem like kids you might know. His descriptions of school and family life in a predominately Hispanic area include rich details, such as his narration of a quinceanera celebration.
Fifth-graders Miata and Ana are running against their schoolmates Rudy and Alex in the school elections. Miata wants to get rid of the graffiti and plant flowers to beautify the school. Rudy wants longer recess and more ice cream. The story unfolds through Miata's eyes as she plans her campaign and thinks about what she will do as president. Refreshingly, Soto avoids the overdone device of boys-against-girls and vice versa, and all four kids remain friends throughout the campaign, which ends in a way that satisfies everyone.
It's very clear why Soto is considered an exemplary author of multicultural children's books. The cultural markers in this story feel both abundant and authentic, from the music (Cielito Lindo and Donna) to the popularity of baseball and soccer. Hispanic characters are shown in a variety of occupations: the school principal, Miata's teacher, construction workers, a zookeeper, an elderly woman who used to be the mayor of her town in Mexico, and even the zookeeper's alter ego, a magician named Senor Gomez the Magnificent.
Erik Velasquez' illustrations are slightly dated, but that's something that can't be helped in realistic fiction. Soto's writing is often poetic, like when Miata eats an animal cracker shaped like a lion by putting "the lion to sleep on the bed of her pink tongue" (67).
I would read the first chapter of this book as a book talk and then give kids a chance to check it out. I think it's a story that would be very easy for kids of all ethnicities to appreciate.
Anne Connor said in School Library Journal, "This book offers an engaging look at student politics. But, more importantly, it is a realistic, warm portrayal of a Latino school in California: the kids, their families, and traditions. A humorous, light, good-natured story about everyday life in one community that will have great appeal for kids everywhere."
Connor, Anne. School Library Journal. Qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/Off-Running-Gary-Soto/dp/0440414326/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/104-1796065-2716726?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1183145578&sr=1-1.
Dona Flor
Mora, Pat. 2005. Dona Flor. Ill. by Raul Colon. New York: Alfred A. Knopf. ISBN 0-375-82337-9.
Dona Flor is an original Latina character in the vein of traditional tall-tale heroes like Pecos Bill or Paul Bunyan. She's so tall that she can dig a riverbed with her thumb, hug the wind, and grab snow off a mountaintop to wash her face. When a puma is frightening the people and animals in her village, it's up to Dona Flor to do something. But because the puma is tricky and because Dona Flor has such a big heart, the solution isn't what readers might first expect.
Colon's illustrations in muted blues, yellows, and browns are a perfect match for this story, which seems like it could have come from a book today's great-grandparents enjoyed when they were children. The people in the illustrations are wearing what look like clothes from the 1800s - trousers and hats for the men, long skirts and rebozos for the women. The village buildings are adobe, and the landscape of mountains and mesas looks like it could be in New Mexico.
Although I loved the illustrations and the idea of the story, the story itself leaves something to be desired. Mora seems to be divided between telling the story of the puma hunt and just listing things that Dona Flor can do because she's so big. The effect is to make Dona Flor sound like she's not very bright, as she keeps stopping in her search for the puma that everyone is so scared of to do other things that don't seem to be nearly as important. Then she goes back to the search when she hears the puma again, as if she's forgotten all about it until it roars.
Even so, the story is heartwarming, the ending is a nice suprise, and Dona Flor is just as captivating a character as those in traditional tall tales.
There is no glossary for the interlingual Spanish words, but they are mostly either clear from context or repeated in English. The only other cultural markers are the building and clothing style and Dona Flor's tortillas. Its not clear whether all the villagers are Latino/a or whether some of them are Caucasians who speak Spanish. (And the animal characters aren't either one, although they speak Spanish too!)
In Booklist, Gillian Engberg says, "Mora strengthens her economical, poetic text with vivid, fanciful touches: the villagers use Flor's colossal homemade tortillas as roofs, for example. Colon's signature scratchboard art extends the whimsy and gentle humor in lovely scenes of the serene heroine sweet-talking the animals or plucking a star from the sky. A winning read-aloud, particularly for children who can recognize the intermittent Spanish phrases."
I do think this book would be fun to read out loud. If kids didn't recognize the Spanish, they could practice guessing the words from context. It would also be neat to use this book in a Spanish lesson, gradually replacing the English words with more and more Spanish words and retelling the story.
Engberg, Gillian. Booklist. Qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/Dona-Flor-Belpre-Illustrator-Awards/dp/0375823379/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/104-1796065-2716726?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1183140911&sr=1-1.
Dona Flor is an original Latina character in the vein of traditional tall-tale heroes like Pecos Bill or Paul Bunyan. She's so tall that she can dig a riverbed with her thumb, hug the wind, and grab snow off a mountaintop to wash her face. When a puma is frightening the people and animals in her village, it's up to Dona Flor to do something. But because the puma is tricky and because Dona Flor has such a big heart, the solution isn't what readers might first expect.
Colon's illustrations in muted blues, yellows, and browns are a perfect match for this story, which seems like it could have come from a book today's great-grandparents enjoyed when they were children. The people in the illustrations are wearing what look like clothes from the 1800s - trousers and hats for the men, long skirts and rebozos for the women. The village buildings are adobe, and the landscape of mountains and mesas looks like it could be in New Mexico.
Although I loved the illustrations and the idea of the story, the story itself leaves something to be desired. Mora seems to be divided between telling the story of the puma hunt and just listing things that Dona Flor can do because she's so big. The effect is to make Dona Flor sound like she's not very bright, as she keeps stopping in her search for the puma that everyone is so scared of to do other things that don't seem to be nearly as important. Then she goes back to the search when she hears the puma again, as if she's forgotten all about it until it roars.
Even so, the story is heartwarming, the ending is a nice suprise, and Dona Flor is just as captivating a character as those in traditional tall tales.
There is no glossary for the interlingual Spanish words, but they are mostly either clear from context or repeated in English. The only other cultural markers are the building and clothing style and Dona Flor's tortillas. Its not clear whether all the villagers are Latino/a or whether some of them are Caucasians who speak Spanish. (And the animal characters aren't either one, although they speak Spanish too!)
In Booklist, Gillian Engberg says, "Mora strengthens her economical, poetic text with vivid, fanciful touches: the villagers use Flor's colossal homemade tortillas as roofs, for example. Colon's signature scratchboard art extends the whimsy and gentle humor in lovely scenes of the serene heroine sweet-talking the animals or plucking a star from the sky. A winning read-aloud, particularly for children who can recognize the intermittent Spanish phrases."
I do think this book would be fun to read out loud. If kids didn't recognize the Spanish, they could practice guessing the words from context. It would also be neat to use this book in a Spanish lesson, gradually replacing the English words with more and more Spanish words and retelling the story.
Engberg, Gillian. Booklist. Qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/Dona-Flor-Belpre-Illustrator-Awards/dp/0375823379/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/104-1796065-2716726?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1183140911&sr=1-1.
Mice and Beans
Ryan, Pam Munoz. 2001. Mice and Beans. Ill. by Joe Cepeda. New York: Scholastic. ISBN 0-439-18303-0.
Rosa Maria is a sprightly Hispanic grandmother with red glasses and a beehive hairdo. She's busy getting her little house ready for her granddaughter's birthday party. The preparations take all week, and at every step something goes missing - a cloth napkin, Rosa Maria's favorite spoon, feathers from the pinata, a birthday candle, and lots of moustraps. Rosa Maria has set the traps because, as her mother always said, "Where there's room in the heart, there's room in the house, except for a mouse."
Where could everything be disappearing to? And who could have put the candy in the pinata when Rosa Maria forgot? The illustrations tell the story by showing us the mouse family that Rosa Maria hasn't noticed - including a grandmother mouse in a pink apron and red glasses. Finally, when the party is over, Rosa Maria discovers the mouse hole. And she remembers that her mother's dicho wasn't "except for a mouse" after all.
Both the story and the illustrations are upbeat and full of zest. Rosa Maria looks on the bright side no matter what happens. (When one of the seven birthday candles goes missing, she makes a number seven out of the six candles that are left.)
Cepeda's illustrations are colorful and often funny (the turkey pinata is always watching the action, and so is the person in a picture on the wall). And, of course, the illustrations add the subplot of the mouse family making their own party preparations. The illustration on the last page of the story seems like a punch line as we see inside the mouse hole and discover what's happened to Rosa Maria's missing items.
It's not clear exactly where the story takes place; Rosa Maria lives in a generic suburban house with a yard, although she shops at a bakery with adobe walls and a tile roof. The interlingual Spanish sounds natural, even when it is sometimes repeated in English; since Rosa Maria is talking to herself throughout the story, it sounds like she's just repeating herself for emphasis.
One of the best things about this book as multicultural literature is that it has a plot! Although Rosa Maria's granddaughter has a birthday party with a pinata, Ryan doesn't bring out the pinata symbol to illustrate the differences between Catalina's birthday and some ideal "regular American" birthday party. Instead, all the cultural markers in the story arise naturally as part of the plot and are treated as regular parts of life.
I would recommend this book to anyone looking to expand their collection of multicultural books. Although it could easily be displayed with other books by Hispanic authors, I would also display it with other books that have subplots going on in the pictures, like Detective Donut and the Wild Goose Chase.
Booklist says, "The story is charming, but what makes it special is the quiet authenticity of the Hispanic characterizations."
Booklist. Qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/product-description/0439701368/sr=1-1/qid=1183139033/ref=dp_proddesc_0/104-1796065-2716726?ie=UTF8&n=283155&s=books&qid=1183139033&sr=1-1.
Rosa Maria is a sprightly Hispanic grandmother with red glasses and a beehive hairdo. She's busy getting her little house ready for her granddaughter's birthday party. The preparations take all week, and at every step something goes missing - a cloth napkin, Rosa Maria's favorite spoon, feathers from the pinata, a birthday candle, and lots of moustraps. Rosa Maria has set the traps because, as her mother always said, "Where there's room in the heart, there's room in the house, except for a mouse."
Where could everything be disappearing to? And who could have put the candy in the pinata when Rosa Maria forgot? The illustrations tell the story by showing us the mouse family that Rosa Maria hasn't noticed - including a grandmother mouse in a pink apron and red glasses. Finally, when the party is over, Rosa Maria discovers the mouse hole. And she remembers that her mother's dicho wasn't "except for a mouse" after all.
Both the story and the illustrations are upbeat and full of zest. Rosa Maria looks on the bright side no matter what happens. (When one of the seven birthday candles goes missing, she makes a number seven out of the six candles that are left.)
Cepeda's illustrations are colorful and often funny (the turkey pinata is always watching the action, and so is the person in a picture on the wall). And, of course, the illustrations add the subplot of the mouse family making their own party preparations. The illustration on the last page of the story seems like a punch line as we see inside the mouse hole and discover what's happened to Rosa Maria's missing items.
It's not clear exactly where the story takes place; Rosa Maria lives in a generic suburban house with a yard, although she shops at a bakery with adobe walls and a tile roof. The interlingual Spanish sounds natural, even when it is sometimes repeated in English; since Rosa Maria is talking to herself throughout the story, it sounds like she's just repeating herself for emphasis.
One of the best things about this book as multicultural literature is that it has a plot! Although Rosa Maria's granddaughter has a birthday party with a pinata, Ryan doesn't bring out the pinata symbol to illustrate the differences between Catalina's birthday and some ideal "regular American" birthday party. Instead, all the cultural markers in the story arise naturally as part of the plot and are treated as regular parts of life.
I would recommend this book to anyone looking to expand their collection of multicultural books. Although it could easily be displayed with other books by Hispanic authors, I would also display it with other books that have subplots going on in the pictures, like Detective Donut and the Wild Goose Chase.
Booklist says, "The story is charming, but what makes it special is the quiet authenticity of the Hispanic characterizations."
Booklist. Qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/product-description/0439701368/sr=1-1/qid=1183139033/ref=dp_proddesc_0/104-1796065-2716726?ie=UTF8&n=283155&s=books&qid=1183139033&sr=1-1.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Back Home
Pinkney, Gloria Jean. 1992. Back Home. Illustrated by Jerry Pinkney. New York: Dial. ISBN 0-8037-1169-7.
This warm, understated picture book tells the story of Ernestine, who takes a train to visit her aunt, uncle, and cousin in the country for the first time. She wants to prove herself to her cousin Jack, who teases her for not knowing about life on a farm. Before it’s time for Ernestine to leave, the two of them come to an understanding and it’s clear that Ernestine will be glad to return to the farm next summer.
The Pinkneys emphasize family ties, an important theme in African-American culture and literature. Although Ernestine has never visited these relatives before, she knows things about them (like the name of her uncle’s truck, Ole Lizzy) because she has heard stories about them, presumably from her mother. Ernestine reacts with pride and pleasure when she’s told that she looks like her grandmother. On the last day of her visit, the family goes to church and then takes Ernestine to put flowers on her grandmother’s grave.
Speech patterns reflect the rural south, such as “pulled the door to” for shutting the door and “give some sugar” for giving a kiss. The style of speech is consistent throughout the story, both in the sections of dialogue and in the narrator’s words, making it seem natural and authentic.
The book is full of Jerry Pinkney’s watercolor and colored-pencil illustrations, often taking up most of a two-page spread. Details in the pictures add depth to the story, such as the picture of Ernestine arriving at her aunt and uncle’s house barefoot, holding her fancy shoes; the luggage tag buttoned to her dress while she’s on the train, presumably because she’s a child traveling alone; the family portraits on the bedroom wall; and the picture of a beautiful ripe peach when Ernestine is helping her aunt can peaches.
The clothing in particular is very detailed and reflects the late 1930s or early 1940s down to the prints on the fabric of Aunt Beula’s dresses. The cover, showing an African-American Pullman porter helping Ernestine down from the train, is a nice touch that gently highlights the importance of this particular job at a time when it was one of the highest-paying jobs open to African-American men.
Shirley Wilton said in School Library Journal, “This is more a reminiscence than a plotted story, warm with Southern summer and family affection, a vignette of times gone by and roots rediscovered. Jerry Pinkney's full-page watercolors complement this account of a young girl's journey several decades ago. Their sketchy, impressionistic style softens the rural poverty and strengthens the genuine family feelings that greet Ernestine. Like Donald Crews's Bigmama's (Greenwillow, 1991), Back Home draws on personal history and celebrates the lives of an African-American family.”
I would display this book with Snapshots From the Wedding by Gary Soto, another warm family book from a different culture which also happens to have a lot going on in the illustrations!
Wilton, Shirley. School Library Journal. Qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/Back-Picture-Books-Gloria-Pinkney/dp/0140565477/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/102-5676480-3776938?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1182712960&sr=1-1
This warm, understated picture book tells the story of Ernestine, who takes a train to visit her aunt, uncle, and cousin in the country for the first time. She wants to prove herself to her cousin Jack, who teases her for not knowing about life on a farm. Before it’s time for Ernestine to leave, the two of them come to an understanding and it’s clear that Ernestine will be glad to return to the farm next summer.
The Pinkneys emphasize family ties, an important theme in African-American culture and literature. Although Ernestine has never visited these relatives before, she knows things about them (like the name of her uncle’s truck, Ole Lizzy) because she has heard stories about them, presumably from her mother. Ernestine reacts with pride and pleasure when she’s told that she looks like her grandmother. On the last day of her visit, the family goes to church and then takes Ernestine to put flowers on her grandmother’s grave.
Speech patterns reflect the rural south, such as “pulled the door to” for shutting the door and “give some sugar” for giving a kiss. The style of speech is consistent throughout the story, both in the sections of dialogue and in the narrator’s words, making it seem natural and authentic.
The book is full of Jerry Pinkney’s watercolor and colored-pencil illustrations, often taking up most of a two-page spread. Details in the pictures add depth to the story, such as the picture of Ernestine arriving at her aunt and uncle’s house barefoot, holding her fancy shoes; the luggage tag buttoned to her dress while she’s on the train, presumably because she’s a child traveling alone; the family portraits on the bedroom wall; and the picture of a beautiful ripe peach when Ernestine is helping her aunt can peaches.
The clothing in particular is very detailed and reflects the late 1930s or early 1940s down to the prints on the fabric of Aunt Beula’s dresses. The cover, showing an African-American Pullman porter helping Ernestine down from the train, is a nice touch that gently highlights the importance of this particular job at a time when it was one of the highest-paying jobs open to African-American men.
Shirley Wilton said in School Library Journal, “This is more a reminiscence than a plotted story, warm with Southern summer and family affection, a vignette of times gone by and roots rediscovered. Jerry Pinkney's full-page watercolors complement this account of a young girl's journey several decades ago. Their sketchy, impressionistic style softens the rural poverty and strengthens the genuine family feelings that greet Ernestine. Like Donald Crews's Bigmama's (Greenwillow, 1991), Back Home draws on personal history and celebrates the lives of an African-American family.”
I would display this book with Snapshots From the Wedding by Gary Soto, another warm family book from a different culture which also happens to have a lot going on in the illustrations!
Wilton, Shirley. School Library Journal. Qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/Back-Picture-Books-Gloria-Pinkney/dp/0140565477/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/102-5676480-3776938?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1182712960&sr=1-1
The First Part Last
Johnson, Angela. 2003. The First Part Last. New York: Simon Pulse. ISBN 0-689-84923-0.
The First Part Last is a brilliant book that completely deserves its Printz Award and Coretta Scott King Award. The main event that drives the plot is the discovery by the narrator, Bobby, that his girlfriend is pregnant. This is the part of the review where I would normally discuss how well the author handles the difficult subject, but what makes this book so excellent is that Johnson never makes you feel like she’s “handling” a “subject” at all – she’s telling a story about people, people who feel real and who react in ways that reflect their unique characters.
Bobby, at sixteen, is raising his infant daughter Feather. There are plenty of people who want to help – from his father and older brother to his former baby-sitter who now sits for his daughter. But as his mother points out, Bobby is the one who’s ultimately responsible for Feather, and that means that Bobby has to grow up quickly. There’s the requisite talk about how tired Bobby is and how Feather manages to pee the minute after he’s changed her diaper. But Johnson also captures the intense bond between Bobby and his daughter. Bobby says, “I’ve never been closer to or loved anybody more than I love Feather” (96), and we know it’s true.
The book is divided into short sections titled “Then” and “Now.” Roughly, “Then” is before Feather’s birth and “Now” is afterward, although it’s a little confusing at first, especially if (like me) you tend to skip chapter titles. And when then and now converge at Feather’s birth near the end of the novel, the rest of the story takes on even deeper meaning.
Johnson's cultural markers seem to me to be authentic and accurate, from the descriptions of Bobby's neighborhood (ethnic restaurants of all kinds, people calling to each other in the street late at night when the clubs close) to the main characters (his girlfriend's cowrie-shell bracelet). Among the characters there is a diversity of occupations and income levels.
Bobby's narrative reads as if he's talking, using "'cause" for "because" and "hangin'" for "hanging." It sounds natural and unforced.
The only thing I didn’t like about this book was the back jacket blurb on my copy. It described Bobby as “a classic urban teenager.” It made me think of a pastor I used to work for who pointed out to me whenever he thought that white people were using “urban” as code for “black.” “For instance,” I remember he said once to a white pastor whose church was all white, “your church is an urban church.”
“Oh, no,” the other pastor said, looking flustered. “My church isn’t urban.”
“It’s in the middle of town,” my pastor said. “’Urban’ means pertaining to a city. It doesn’t mean ‘black.’”
I can’t imagine the person who wrote the back jacket copy on my book describing Mia Thermopolis of the Princess Diaries books as an “urban teenager,” even though she lives in the middle of New York City. Since I’m sure Angela Johnson wasn’t responsible for the jacket copy, this one false note doesn’t reflect on the excellent story of The First Part Last.
Because I really liked the front cover picture – a young man in dreadlocks holding a baby – I think I would use this book to start a discussion about book jackets and how well or badly they work as advertisements for the book inside. I would definitely include the jackets for Megan Whalen Turner’s excellent Thief trilogy. (A recent Horn Book article pointed out that while the text indicates that the characters have dark skin and Turner says she pictures them looking like Sherpas, the people in the cover art are definitely Caucasian.)
In School Library Journal, Miranda Doyle said this novel was “brief, poetic, and absolutely riveting,” but thought that the plot twist revealed toward the end was “melodramatic.”
Doyle, Miranda. School Library Journal. Qtd. In Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/First-Part-Last-Angela-Johnson/dp/0689849230/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/102-5676480-3776938?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1182707377&sr=1-1.
The First Part Last is a brilliant book that completely deserves its Printz Award and Coretta Scott King Award. The main event that drives the plot is the discovery by the narrator, Bobby, that his girlfriend is pregnant. This is the part of the review where I would normally discuss how well the author handles the difficult subject, but what makes this book so excellent is that Johnson never makes you feel like she’s “handling” a “subject” at all – she’s telling a story about people, people who feel real and who react in ways that reflect their unique characters.
Bobby, at sixteen, is raising his infant daughter Feather. There are plenty of people who want to help – from his father and older brother to his former baby-sitter who now sits for his daughter. But as his mother points out, Bobby is the one who’s ultimately responsible for Feather, and that means that Bobby has to grow up quickly. There’s the requisite talk about how tired Bobby is and how Feather manages to pee the minute after he’s changed her diaper. But Johnson also captures the intense bond between Bobby and his daughter. Bobby says, “I’ve never been closer to or loved anybody more than I love Feather” (96), and we know it’s true.
The book is divided into short sections titled “Then” and “Now.” Roughly, “Then” is before Feather’s birth and “Now” is afterward, although it’s a little confusing at first, especially if (like me) you tend to skip chapter titles. And when then and now converge at Feather’s birth near the end of the novel, the rest of the story takes on even deeper meaning.
Johnson's cultural markers seem to me to be authentic and accurate, from the descriptions of Bobby's neighborhood (ethnic restaurants of all kinds, people calling to each other in the street late at night when the clubs close) to the main characters (his girlfriend's cowrie-shell bracelet). Among the characters there is a diversity of occupations and income levels.
Bobby's narrative reads as if he's talking, using "'cause" for "because" and "hangin'" for "hanging." It sounds natural and unforced.
The only thing I didn’t like about this book was the back jacket blurb on my copy. It described Bobby as “a classic urban teenager.” It made me think of a pastor I used to work for who pointed out to me whenever he thought that white people were using “urban” as code for “black.” “For instance,” I remember he said once to a white pastor whose church was all white, “your church is an urban church.”
“Oh, no,” the other pastor said, looking flustered. “My church isn’t urban.”
“It’s in the middle of town,” my pastor said. “’Urban’ means pertaining to a city. It doesn’t mean ‘black.’”
I can’t imagine the person who wrote the back jacket copy on my book describing Mia Thermopolis of the Princess Diaries books as an “urban teenager,” even though she lives in the middle of New York City. Since I’m sure Angela Johnson wasn’t responsible for the jacket copy, this one false note doesn’t reflect on the excellent story of The First Part Last.
Because I really liked the front cover picture – a young man in dreadlocks holding a baby – I think I would use this book to start a discussion about book jackets and how well or badly they work as advertisements for the book inside. I would definitely include the jackets for Megan Whalen Turner’s excellent Thief trilogy. (A recent Horn Book article pointed out that while the text indicates that the characters have dark skin and Turner says she pictures them looking like Sherpas, the people in the cover art are definitely Caucasian.)
In School Library Journal, Miranda Doyle said this novel was “brief, poetic, and absolutely riveting,” but thought that the plot twist revealed toward the end was “melodramatic.”
Doyle, Miranda. School Library Journal. Qtd. In Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/First-Part-Last-Angela-Johnson/dp/0689849230/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/102-5676480-3776938?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1182707377&sr=1-1.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
The Land
Taylor, Mildred. 2001. The Land. New York: Penguin Putnam. ISBN 0-8037-1950-7.
The Land is a prequel to Taylor's Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry. It tells the story of the childhood and young adulthood of Paul-Edward Logan, Cassie Logan's grandfather. According to the author's note, many elements of Paul-Edward's life are also taken from the real life of Taylor's great-grandfather.
In the rural south just afer the Civil War, Paul-Edward's father is a white landowner; his mother was one of his father's slaves and continues to work for him now that she is free. Unlike many children born in the same circumstances, Paul-Edward is raised and educated more or less alongside his half brothers who are white - but it is clear that he is not considered their equal. (He calls his father "Mr. Edward," and lives in his mother's cabin rather than his father's house.) As Paul-Edward grows, he recognizes the impact of racism even within his own family, and finally he strikes out on his own to make his own life.
The novel divides naturally into two sections: Paul-Edward's childhood years, in which he comes to terms with his identity and how society views him, and his early adulthood in which he must use all the wits and skills he has developed to get by in a hostile world. As the title suggests, the thread that ties the plot together is Paul-Edward's love of the land and his desire to own land of his own.
Taylor makes sure that the reader, like Paul-Edward, faces the fact that in the world she depicts, racism isn't just a matter of whether one individual likes another. While all the characters make choices about how to act, Taylor also portrays racism as an institution that limits the choices any individual, black or white, can make. There are clear good guys and bad guys here, but there are also many shades of gray.
This isn't an easy book to read, but it's compelling. I would use it in a parent-child book group, because I think parents would have as much to say about Paul-Edward's mother and father as kids would have to say about him. There's a lot of food for thought and discussion in this wonderful book.
The Land won the Coretta Scott King award and was one of Amazon.com's Best of 2001. Publisher's Weekly said, "Like any good historian, Taylor extracts truth from past events without sugarcoating issues. Although her depiction of the 19th-century South is anything but pretty, her tone is more uplifting than bitter. Rather than dismissing hypocrisies, she digs beneath the surface of Paul-Edward's friends and foes, showing how their values have been shaped by social norms.... Taylor fans should hasten to read this latest contribution to the Logan family history, and newcomers will eagerly lap this up and plunge into the author's other titles."
Publisher's Weekly. Qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/Land-Mildred-D-Taylor/dp/0142501468/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/102-5676480-3776938?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1182379395&sr=1-1 .
The Land is a prequel to Taylor's Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry. It tells the story of the childhood and young adulthood of Paul-Edward Logan, Cassie Logan's grandfather. According to the author's note, many elements of Paul-Edward's life are also taken from the real life of Taylor's great-grandfather.
In the rural south just afer the Civil War, Paul-Edward's father is a white landowner; his mother was one of his father's slaves and continues to work for him now that she is free. Unlike many children born in the same circumstances, Paul-Edward is raised and educated more or less alongside his half brothers who are white - but it is clear that he is not considered their equal. (He calls his father "Mr. Edward," and lives in his mother's cabin rather than his father's house.) As Paul-Edward grows, he recognizes the impact of racism even within his own family, and finally he strikes out on his own to make his own life.
The novel divides naturally into two sections: Paul-Edward's childhood years, in which he comes to terms with his identity and how society views him, and his early adulthood in which he must use all the wits and skills he has developed to get by in a hostile world. As the title suggests, the thread that ties the plot together is Paul-Edward's love of the land and his desire to own land of his own.
Taylor makes sure that the reader, like Paul-Edward, faces the fact that in the world she depicts, racism isn't just a matter of whether one individual likes another. While all the characters make choices about how to act, Taylor also portrays racism as an institution that limits the choices any individual, black or white, can make. There are clear good guys and bad guys here, but there are also many shades of gray.
This isn't an easy book to read, but it's compelling. I would use it in a parent-child book group, because I think parents would have as much to say about Paul-Edward's mother and father as kids would have to say about him. There's a lot of food for thought and discussion in this wonderful book.
The Land won the Coretta Scott King award and was one of Amazon.com's Best of 2001. Publisher's Weekly said, "Like any good historian, Taylor extracts truth from past events without sugarcoating issues. Although her depiction of the 19th-century South is anything but pretty, her tone is more uplifting than bitter. Rather than dismissing hypocrisies, she digs beneath the surface of Paul-Edward's friends and foes, showing how their values have been shaped by social norms.... Taylor fans should hasten to read this latest contribution to the Logan family history, and newcomers will eagerly lap this up and plunge into the author's other titles."
Publisher's Weekly. Qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/Land-Mildred-D-Taylor/dp/0142501468/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/102-5676480-3776938?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1182379395&sr=1-1 .
Sunday, June 10, 2007
The Shadows of Ghadames
Stolz, Joelle. 1999. The Shadows of Ghadames. New York: Delacorte. ISBN 0-385-73104-3.
Malika is a twelve-year-old Berber girl living in Libya in the late 1800s. She is ambivalent about growing up and following upper-class women’s traditions, which dictate that she must never again leave her house - except to visit with other women in the separate women’s city that is formed by the rooftops of everyone’s houses. When the women of her household shelter an injured man, he teaches her to read. In the process Malika comes to realize that there are many ways to travel and that some of them will be open to her as long as she chooses them to be.
Stolz’ description of the rooftops of Ghadames is vivid and appealing. She avoids easy moralizing about the place of women in society; one of the things I appreciated about the book is that the author presents various views on the subject, all held by likeable women who we can respect.
It’s unclear from the text that this story takes place in the nineteenth century, which I suppose is realistic; it’s not as if real people normally go around announcing what century it is. However, I wish that Stolz had found a way to give us that information, because without reading the author’s note at the end, readers will find it easy to think that this is a description of how people live in Libya today.
I was particularly glad to read this book because I knew so little about the culture already. When I read historical novels set in periods and places I know more about, I don’t have to rely so much on cues in the text; this book reminded me of the strategies kids will need to find meaning in context when they’re reading about unfamiliar times and places.
In Booklist, Gillian Engberg writes, “The story of an outsider who unsettles a household and helps a young person to grow is certainly nothing new, and some of the lessons here are purposeful. But Stolz invigorates her tale with elegant prose and a deft portrayal of a girl verging on adolescence. The vivid backdrop is intoxicating, but the story's universal concerns will touch readers most: sibling jealously, confusion about adult customs, and a growing interest in a world beyond family.”
I agree with what Engberg says about the universal themes of this novel. I think this would be a great book for discussion in a class or book club for that reason. Especially in a diverse group of kids, everyone could learn about what’s universal about growing up and what’s particular to various cultures and time periods.
Engberg, Gillian. Booklist. Qtd in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/Shadows-Ghadames-Joelle-Stolz/dp/0440419492/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/104-8764502-2619128?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1181334582&sr=1-1.
Malika is a twelve-year-old Berber girl living in Libya in the late 1800s. She is ambivalent about growing up and following upper-class women’s traditions, which dictate that she must never again leave her house - except to visit with other women in the separate women’s city that is formed by the rooftops of everyone’s houses. When the women of her household shelter an injured man, he teaches her to read. In the process Malika comes to realize that there are many ways to travel and that some of them will be open to her as long as she chooses them to be.
Stolz’ description of the rooftops of Ghadames is vivid and appealing. She avoids easy moralizing about the place of women in society; one of the things I appreciated about the book is that the author presents various views on the subject, all held by likeable women who we can respect.
It’s unclear from the text that this story takes place in the nineteenth century, which I suppose is realistic; it’s not as if real people normally go around announcing what century it is. However, I wish that Stolz had found a way to give us that information, because without reading the author’s note at the end, readers will find it easy to think that this is a description of how people live in Libya today.
I was particularly glad to read this book because I knew so little about the culture already. When I read historical novels set in periods and places I know more about, I don’t have to rely so much on cues in the text; this book reminded me of the strategies kids will need to find meaning in context when they’re reading about unfamiliar times and places.
In Booklist, Gillian Engberg writes, “The story of an outsider who unsettles a household and helps a young person to grow is certainly nothing new, and some of the lessons here are purposeful. But Stolz invigorates her tale with elegant prose and a deft portrayal of a girl verging on adolescence. The vivid backdrop is intoxicating, but the story's universal concerns will touch readers most: sibling jealously, confusion about adult customs, and a growing interest in a world beyond family.”
I agree with what Engberg says about the universal themes of this novel. I think this would be a great book for discussion in a class or book club for that reason. Especially in a diverse group of kids, everyone could learn about what’s universal about growing up and what’s particular to various cultures and time periods.
Engberg, Gillian. Booklist. Qtd in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/Shadows-Ghadames-Joelle-Stolz/dp/0440419492/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/104-8764502-2619128?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1181334582&sr=1-1.
Friday, June 8, 2007
Danny the Champion of the World
Dahl, Roald. 1975. Danny The Champion of the World. New York: Puffin. ISBN 0-14-032873-4.
Danny and his father have been everything to each other since Danny’s mother died when he was a baby. Telling bedtime stories, making kites and balloons, Danny’s father is, in his words, “the most marvelous and exciting father any boy ever had” (8). The warm, loving relationship they share doesn’t change a bit when Danny discovers his father’s secret hobby: poaching the pheasants off the estate of their rich and nasty neighbor. Danny comes to his father’s rescue, first saving him from discovery and then thinking of a plan that makes the people in town hail him as “the champion of the world.”
This book isn’t as well known as Charlie and the Chocolate Factory or James and the Giant Peach. Fans of those books will find the resourceful Danny to be reminiscent of Dahl’s other protagonists, although they might be surprised that this book is realistic fiction and not fantasy. The plot allows for plenty of adventure, and, in case any adults reading it miss the point, Dahl includes a postscript: “A stodgy parent is no fun at all! What a child wants – and deserves – is a parent who is SPARKY!” (198)
Because the book is over thirty years old, young American readers might be confused about which unfamiliar elements are due to its setting in England and which are due to its age. But the details of hunting (and poaching) pheasant and trout - and everything Danny’s father, “a true countryman,” teaches him about the English countryside – are likely to be new and therefore interesting to urban and suburban readers. And the descriptions of food – roasted pheasant with bacon and breadsauce, meat pie with hard-boiled eggs in it, and “toad in the hole” – are dramatic enough to inspire intrepid cooks to look up recipies so they can try them too.
Although this book is technically about an illegal prank, the impression I was left with was of the wonderful loving relationship between Danny and his father. The Association of Children’s Librarians said that this book “leaves the reader with a warm, cozy feeling,” and I agree.
I think this would be a great book to read aloud a chapter at a time. I would also display it with other “sparky parent” books like Down the Dragon’s Tongue by Margaret Mahy and Skateboard Mom by Barbara Odanaka.
(Review quote from book jacket)
Danny and his father have been everything to each other since Danny’s mother died when he was a baby. Telling bedtime stories, making kites and balloons, Danny’s father is, in his words, “the most marvelous and exciting father any boy ever had” (8). The warm, loving relationship they share doesn’t change a bit when Danny discovers his father’s secret hobby: poaching the pheasants off the estate of their rich and nasty neighbor. Danny comes to his father’s rescue, first saving him from discovery and then thinking of a plan that makes the people in town hail him as “the champion of the world.”
This book isn’t as well known as Charlie and the Chocolate Factory or James and the Giant Peach. Fans of those books will find the resourceful Danny to be reminiscent of Dahl’s other protagonists, although they might be surprised that this book is realistic fiction and not fantasy. The plot allows for plenty of adventure, and, in case any adults reading it miss the point, Dahl includes a postscript: “A stodgy parent is no fun at all! What a child wants – and deserves – is a parent who is SPARKY!” (198)
Because the book is over thirty years old, young American readers might be confused about which unfamiliar elements are due to its setting in England and which are due to its age. But the details of hunting (and poaching) pheasant and trout - and everything Danny’s father, “a true countryman,” teaches him about the English countryside – are likely to be new and therefore interesting to urban and suburban readers. And the descriptions of food – roasted pheasant with bacon and breadsauce, meat pie with hard-boiled eggs in it, and “toad in the hole” – are dramatic enough to inspire intrepid cooks to look up recipies so they can try them too.
Although this book is technically about an illegal prank, the impression I was left with was of the wonderful loving relationship between Danny and his father. The Association of Children’s Librarians said that this book “leaves the reader with a warm, cozy feeling,” and I agree.
I think this would be a great book to read aloud a chapter at a time. I would also display it with other “sparky parent” books like Down the Dragon’s Tongue by Margaret Mahy and Skateboard Mom by Barbara Odanaka.
(Review quote from book jacket)
Thursday, June 7, 2007
Hunwick's Egg
Fox, Mem. 2005. Hunwick’s Egg. Illustrated by Pamela Lofts. San Diego, California: Harcourt, 2005. ISBN 0-15-216318-2.
Hunwick is a rabbit-eared bandicoot. He inhabits a desert landscape with other native Australian animals like the emu and the echidna. But he’s apparently a little lonely, because when a storm turns up a beautiful egg, he takes it home, cares for it, and waits for it to hatch. All the other animals worry about what will happen next. Fortunately, Hunwick loves his egg just the way it is.
As far as the plot goes, this story could take place anywhere, with different animals taking the roles. (In fact, Tad Hills’ Duck and Goose is similar.) What makes the story a fun introduction to another country for American students is the beautiful artwork by Lofts, depicting Australian flora and fauna and landscapes. Although the animals are anthropomorphized a little, anyone who saw Lofts’ watercolors would easily be able to recognize the real creatures they correspond to. (Certainly Hunwick bears little resemblance to the bright orange Crash Bandicoot of videogame fame, the only other fictional bandicoot the audience is likely to be familiar with!)
I didn’t think Fox’s story was outstanding in itself. The ending made me think of the old adage “Show, don’t tell”: I wanted to see Hunwick figuring out that his “egg” wasn’t going to hatch instead of just being told that he had. Still, the illustrations lift this book above the typical and make it fun and worthwhile.
In School Library Journal, Linda Walkins says, “This slightly offbeat story with a universal message about the power of friendship is accompanied by glowing watercolor pencil illustrations in orange, pink, and violet tones that showcase the flora and fauna of the Australian landscape, adding an interesting element to this charming title.”
I would display this book with Caroline Arnold’s Australian Animals so that people who enjoyed the story could find out more about the real animals that populate it.
Walkins, Linda. School Library Journal. Qtd. In Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/Hunwicks-Egg-Mem-Fox/dp/0152163182/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/104-8764502-2619128?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1181252122&sr=1-1.
Hunwick is a rabbit-eared bandicoot. He inhabits a desert landscape with other native Australian animals like the emu and the echidna. But he’s apparently a little lonely, because when a storm turns up a beautiful egg, he takes it home, cares for it, and waits for it to hatch. All the other animals worry about what will happen next. Fortunately, Hunwick loves his egg just the way it is.
As far as the plot goes, this story could take place anywhere, with different animals taking the roles. (In fact, Tad Hills’ Duck and Goose is similar.) What makes the story a fun introduction to another country for American students is the beautiful artwork by Lofts, depicting Australian flora and fauna and landscapes. Although the animals are anthropomorphized a little, anyone who saw Lofts’ watercolors would easily be able to recognize the real creatures they correspond to. (Certainly Hunwick bears little resemblance to the bright orange Crash Bandicoot of videogame fame, the only other fictional bandicoot the audience is likely to be familiar with!)
I didn’t think Fox’s story was outstanding in itself. The ending made me think of the old adage “Show, don’t tell”: I wanted to see Hunwick figuring out that his “egg” wasn’t going to hatch instead of just being told that he had. Still, the illustrations lift this book above the typical and make it fun and worthwhile.
In School Library Journal, Linda Walkins says, “This slightly offbeat story with a universal message about the power of friendship is accompanied by glowing watercolor pencil illustrations in orange, pink, and violet tones that showcase the flora and fauna of the Australian landscape, adding an interesting element to this charming title.”
I would display this book with Caroline Arnold’s Australian Animals so that people who enjoyed the story could find out more about the real animals that populate it.
Walkins, Linda. School Library Journal. Qtd. In Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/Hunwicks-Egg-Mem-Fox/dp/0152163182/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/104-8764502-2619128?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1181252122&sr=1-1.
Monday, April 23, 2007
The Giver
Lowry, Lois, read by Ron Rifkin. 2001. The Giver. Listening Library. ISBN: 080726203X.
The Giver is not only an excellent story but also an example of what youth fantasy can be at its best: a guide for life that illuminates the way ahead through the power of imagination.
Jonas lives in a well-ordered society in which the elderly are respected, children are cared for, and no one goes hungry. He believes, as everyone seems to, that following the rules of his community is the most reasonable way to live. Then he turns twelve and is given his adult job – to hold all the memories of times past as the Reciever.
He learns from the former Reciever – now called the Giver – both by experiencing memories of the past and by observing what really goes on around him in the community every day. What he discovers changes him to the point that he must choose between what his society has created and what they’ve given up.
I think that part of the reason this book is so powerful and so popular is that even though the story is fantasy, Jonas’ experience is what many sensitive kids go through at about his age. Jonas’ discovery of the dark side of his society is not so different from our kids’ finding out about the dark side of our own. It can seem as crazy to our kids that the adults in their lives don’t do more about our problems - or at least act more outraged about them - as it does to Jonas that his parents accept what he comes to see as unacceptable in his culture. Of course, growing up is about recognizing our limitations as well as about confronting our problems. Part of what’s so wonderful about this book is that kids can see themselves in Jonas’ journey and, through fiction, begin to think about what they can and should do in their own lives.
Ron Rifkin’s narration of this audiobook was only average. He seemed to stumble over his words a few times. And while it’s terrific when a narrator is actually a voice actor talented enough to give each character a different voice (here I’m thinking of Jim Dale’s wonderful narrations of the Harry Potter audiobooks), I don’t think there’s anything wrong with not doing that if you can’t pull it off. Rifkin’s attempts made Jonas sound whiny and the Giver sound like he had a cold.
Although I wasn’t crazy about the audiobook version of this title, I definitely think The Giver should be in every children’s collection. After I found out that Lowry’s sequel Messenger continued the story of Jonas, I checked it out and read it too, and I thought it was excellent. I would display Lowry’s trilogy together - The Giver, Gathering Blue, and Messenger – because I think there are other people besides me who read The Giver when it was first published and don’t realize that it’s part of a trilogy.
AudioFile says, “Winner of the 1994 Newbery Award, Lowry's story sparks emotion and response from adults and children alike. This is a compelling prospect for family listening.”
AudioFile. Qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/product-description/080726203X/sr=1-1/qid=1177340662/ref=dp_proddesc_0/103-0423122-5982232?ie=UTF8&n=283155&s=books&qid=1177340662&sr=1-1.
The Giver is not only an excellent story but also an example of what youth fantasy can be at its best: a guide for life that illuminates the way ahead through the power of imagination.
Jonas lives in a well-ordered society in which the elderly are respected, children are cared for, and no one goes hungry. He believes, as everyone seems to, that following the rules of his community is the most reasonable way to live. Then he turns twelve and is given his adult job – to hold all the memories of times past as the Reciever.
He learns from the former Reciever – now called the Giver – both by experiencing memories of the past and by observing what really goes on around him in the community every day. What he discovers changes him to the point that he must choose between what his society has created and what they’ve given up.
I think that part of the reason this book is so powerful and so popular is that even though the story is fantasy, Jonas’ experience is what many sensitive kids go through at about his age. Jonas’ discovery of the dark side of his society is not so different from our kids’ finding out about the dark side of our own. It can seem as crazy to our kids that the adults in their lives don’t do more about our problems - or at least act more outraged about them - as it does to Jonas that his parents accept what he comes to see as unacceptable in his culture. Of course, growing up is about recognizing our limitations as well as about confronting our problems. Part of what’s so wonderful about this book is that kids can see themselves in Jonas’ journey and, through fiction, begin to think about what they can and should do in their own lives.
Ron Rifkin’s narration of this audiobook was only average. He seemed to stumble over his words a few times. And while it’s terrific when a narrator is actually a voice actor talented enough to give each character a different voice (here I’m thinking of Jim Dale’s wonderful narrations of the Harry Potter audiobooks), I don’t think there’s anything wrong with not doing that if you can’t pull it off. Rifkin’s attempts made Jonas sound whiny and the Giver sound like he had a cold.
Although I wasn’t crazy about the audiobook version of this title, I definitely think The Giver should be in every children’s collection. After I found out that Lowry’s sequel Messenger continued the story of Jonas, I checked it out and read it too, and I thought it was excellent. I would display Lowry’s trilogy together - The Giver, Gathering Blue, and Messenger – because I think there are other people besides me who read The Giver when it was first published and don’t realize that it’s part of a trilogy.
AudioFile says, “Winner of the 1994 Newbery Award, Lowry's story sparks emotion and response from adults and children alike. This is a compelling prospect for family listening.”
AudioFile. Qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/product-description/080726203X/sr=1-1/qid=1177340662/ref=dp_proddesc_0/103-0423122-5982232?ie=UTF8&n=283155&s=books&qid=1177340662&sr=1-1.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
TWU Student Research Symposium
I have a poster presentation at the TWU Student Research Symposium today, and I've included the URL of this blog so that people can leave questions or comments here! (The presentation itself is here.)
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Kira-Kira
Kadohata, Cynthia, read by Elaina Erika Davis (2005). Kira-Kira. Listening Library. ISBN 978-0307281869.
I wanted to like this book much more than I did, not least because the audiobook narration by Elaina Erika Davis was hands-down the best of any of the audiobooks I’ve listened to this semester. Davis gets right into the head of point-of-view character Katie – her rapturous intonation of the name of the (imaginary) love of Katie’s life, one Joe-John Abondondalarama, cracks me up every time – and she seems caught up in the story as she does things like give Katie and her sister progressively stronger southern accents as they spend more time in Georgia. She even sings a lullabye in Japanese.
Unfortunately, the story doesn’t live up to Davis’ narration. It’s not a horrible story. A lyrical reflection on growing up in a loving Japanese-American family in the 1950s, it’s full of Katie’s often funny asides, her older sister Lynn’s zest for life, and a supporting cast of well-rounded characters.
But there’s no plot. Any number of things seem as if they could be the conflict around which a plot will coalesce - the family’s efforts to save enough money to buy a house, Lynn’s worsening illness – but it never happens. Katie is a passive recorder of impressions rather than an active main character. And not only that, but she doesn’t even seem to be aware which events are important. Case in point: Lynn has been rushed to the hospital and Katie’s aunt and uncle have come to stay with her. They play Scrabble to pass the time until a phone call from the hospital causes her aunt to burst into tears. Not only does Katie give more air time to her attempts to spell a word with her letters than she does to Lynn, she never wonders either aloud or internally why her aunt is crying. Of course, denial is a common reaction to a family member’s illness. But a novel in which the narrator stays in denial right up to the end seems more appropriate for a grown-ups’ book club than for middle-grade readers.
Some adults might find this book interesting for its portrayal of a time and place. I maintain that most kids want plot – which includes a protagonist who’s actively engaged in making things happen, whether the protagonist is a child or an adult. Reflective memoirs looking back on childhood and analyzing the events are the province of adult readers who think of childhood as something to analyze, rather than kids who are busy living it.
In School Library Journal, Barbara Wysocki writes, “This novel has the immediacy of an autobiographical account of love and loss and presents insightful glimpses of questionable labor practices and post-World War II discrimination against Japanese-Americans. Most important, it will be meaningful for individual listeners, useful for classroom discussions, and an asset in school and public library collections.” While I agree about the insights into discrimination and unfair labor practices, I wouldn’t highlight this book in a youth collection.
School Library Journal. Qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/Kira-Cynthia-Kadohata/dp/0307281868/ref=ed_oe_a/103-0423122-5982232?ie=UTF8&qid=1176842448&sr=1-1
I wanted to like this book much more than I did, not least because the audiobook narration by Elaina Erika Davis was hands-down the best of any of the audiobooks I’ve listened to this semester. Davis gets right into the head of point-of-view character Katie – her rapturous intonation of the name of the (imaginary) love of Katie’s life, one Joe-John Abondondalarama, cracks me up every time – and she seems caught up in the story as she does things like give Katie and her sister progressively stronger southern accents as they spend more time in Georgia. She even sings a lullabye in Japanese.
Unfortunately, the story doesn’t live up to Davis’ narration. It’s not a horrible story. A lyrical reflection on growing up in a loving Japanese-American family in the 1950s, it’s full of Katie’s often funny asides, her older sister Lynn’s zest for life, and a supporting cast of well-rounded characters.
But there’s no plot. Any number of things seem as if they could be the conflict around which a plot will coalesce - the family’s efforts to save enough money to buy a house, Lynn’s worsening illness – but it never happens. Katie is a passive recorder of impressions rather than an active main character. And not only that, but she doesn’t even seem to be aware which events are important. Case in point: Lynn has been rushed to the hospital and Katie’s aunt and uncle have come to stay with her. They play Scrabble to pass the time until a phone call from the hospital causes her aunt to burst into tears. Not only does Katie give more air time to her attempts to spell a word with her letters than she does to Lynn, she never wonders either aloud or internally why her aunt is crying. Of course, denial is a common reaction to a family member’s illness. But a novel in which the narrator stays in denial right up to the end seems more appropriate for a grown-ups’ book club than for middle-grade readers.
Some adults might find this book interesting for its portrayal of a time and place. I maintain that most kids want plot – which includes a protagonist who’s actively engaged in making things happen, whether the protagonist is a child or an adult. Reflective memoirs looking back on childhood and analyzing the events are the province of adult readers who think of childhood as something to analyze, rather than kids who are busy living it.
In School Library Journal, Barbara Wysocki writes, “This novel has the immediacy of an autobiographical account of love and loss and presents insightful glimpses of questionable labor practices and post-World War II discrimination against Japanese-Americans. Most important, it will be meaningful for individual listeners, useful for classroom discussions, and an asset in school and public library collections.” While I agree about the insights into discrimination and unfair labor practices, I wouldn’t highlight this book in a youth collection.
School Library Journal. Qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/Kira-Cynthia-Kadohata/dp/0307281868/ref=ed_oe_a/103-0423122-5982232?ie=UTF8&qid=1176842448&sr=1-1
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Looking for Alaska
Green, John (2005). Looking For Alaska. New York: Puffin (reprint). ISBN 978-0142402511.
I had read John Green’s newest book, An Abundance of Katherines, before I started Looking for Alaska, so I expected Looking for Alaska to feature witty, literate teens thinking deeply about their place in the world. (John Green might have honed his skill for dialogue by working, as he does, on NPR’s All Things Considered.) It does: Miles (nicknamed “Pudge” because he’s skinny) and the friends he makes at the coed boarding school he decides to attend at the start of the novel. But Miles and his crew have a darker story to tell, one that’s full of the allure of the forbidden, whether it’s smoking or alcohol or sex.
The title explains the plot of the story; Alaska Young is one of Miles’ classmates, enigmatic, attractive, and with her own dark past. Looking for the real Alaska behind her moods and masks becomes more and more critical to Miles as the story goes on, until he and his friends are forced to create their own bittersweet resolution in the absence of the answers they seek.
I suppose that YA books don’t have to have believable adult characters; I’m not sure I thought real adults were believable until I was in my twenties. Still, if I could change one thing about this book it would be the way the adults are portrayed. Except for one touching moment of humanity, the principal is an over-the-top tough-guy caricature who seems to exist to provide a target of opportunity for Miles and his friends. Miles’ religion teacher is the sarcastic-but-caring crusty academic straight from central casting, and he seems to exist to give the author a reason (and Miles a vocabulary) to bring themes from the world religions into the story. Even if Miles himself (who is the narrator) doesn’t see the adults as three-dimensional characters, I would have appreciated some hints that there’s more to them than Miles thinks.
There are funny moments – usually comic asides delivered by one or the other of the characters. Overall, though, Green captures a certain way of looking at the world in adolescence – the slightly frantic, claustrophobic feeling that the only possible time to figure out who you are and what life is about is right now, before you turn into one of those alien adults.
This book won the Michael Printz Award and a host of other honors, including being named to ALA Best Books, The New York Public Library’s Books for the Teen Age, and School Library Journal Best Books. It was also an ALA Quick Pick for reluctant YA readers. And thanks to An Abundance of Katherines, Publisher’s Weekly no longer has to worry about its review, which said, “Readers will only hope that this is not the last word from this promising new author.”
I’d use this book with other Printz Award winners in a display to highlight the award, which I think is still not as well known as the Newbery or Caldecott. I might do something like the San Antonio Public Library main branch does in their youth area – poster-sized book talks on the walls with color reproductions of the books’ covers. Having a paragraph-long blurb describing the book seems to pique kids’ interest more than just having the book on display.
Amazon.com. “Looking for Alaska.” Accessed April 10, 2007 from http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/product-description/B000BPG2ME/sr=1-1/qid=1176231693/ref=dp_proddesc_0/103-0423122-5982232?ie=UTF8&n=283155&s=books&qid=1176231693&sr=1-1 .
Publisher’s Weekly. Qtd in Amazon.com http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/product-description/B000BPG2ME/sr=1-1/qid=1176231693/ref=dp_proddesc_0/103-0423122-5982232?ie=UTF8&n=283155&s=books&qid=1176231693&sr=1-1 .
I had read John Green’s newest book, An Abundance of Katherines, before I started Looking for Alaska, so I expected Looking for Alaska to feature witty, literate teens thinking deeply about their place in the world. (John Green might have honed his skill for dialogue by working, as he does, on NPR’s All Things Considered.) It does: Miles (nicknamed “Pudge” because he’s skinny) and the friends he makes at the coed boarding school he decides to attend at the start of the novel. But Miles and his crew have a darker story to tell, one that’s full of the allure of the forbidden, whether it’s smoking or alcohol or sex.
The title explains the plot of the story; Alaska Young is one of Miles’ classmates, enigmatic, attractive, and with her own dark past. Looking for the real Alaska behind her moods and masks becomes more and more critical to Miles as the story goes on, until he and his friends are forced to create their own bittersweet resolution in the absence of the answers they seek.
I suppose that YA books don’t have to have believable adult characters; I’m not sure I thought real adults were believable until I was in my twenties. Still, if I could change one thing about this book it would be the way the adults are portrayed. Except for one touching moment of humanity, the principal is an over-the-top tough-guy caricature who seems to exist to provide a target of opportunity for Miles and his friends. Miles’ religion teacher is the sarcastic-but-caring crusty academic straight from central casting, and he seems to exist to give the author a reason (and Miles a vocabulary) to bring themes from the world religions into the story. Even if Miles himself (who is the narrator) doesn’t see the adults as three-dimensional characters, I would have appreciated some hints that there’s more to them than Miles thinks.
There are funny moments – usually comic asides delivered by one or the other of the characters. Overall, though, Green captures a certain way of looking at the world in adolescence – the slightly frantic, claustrophobic feeling that the only possible time to figure out who you are and what life is about is right now, before you turn into one of those alien adults.
This book won the Michael Printz Award and a host of other honors, including being named to ALA Best Books, The New York Public Library’s Books for the Teen Age, and School Library Journal Best Books. It was also an ALA Quick Pick for reluctant YA readers. And thanks to An Abundance of Katherines, Publisher’s Weekly no longer has to worry about its review, which said, “Readers will only hope that this is not the last word from this promising new author.”
I’d use this book with other Printz Award winners in a display to highlight the award, which I think is still not as well known as the Newbery or Caldecott. I might do something like the San Antonio Public Library main branch does in their youth area – poster-sized book talks on the walls with color reproductions of the books’ covers. Having a paragraph-long blurb describing the book seems to pique kids’ interest more than just having the book on display.
Amazon.com. “Looking for Alaska.” Accessed April 10, 2007 from http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/product-description/B000BPG2ME/sr=1-1/qid=1176231693/ref=dp_proddesc_0/103-0423122-5982232?ie=UTF8&n=283155&s=books&qid=1176231693&sr=1-1 .
Publisher’s Weekly. Qtd in Amazon.com http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/product-description/B000BPG2ME/sr=1-1/qid=1176231693/ref=dp_proddesc_0/103-0423122-5982232?ie=UTF8&n=283155&s=books&qid=1176231693&sr=1-1 .
Friday, March 30, 2007
Bud, Not Buddy
Curtis, Christopher Paul (1999). Bud, Not Buddy. New York: Delacorte. ISBN 0-385-32306-9.
Bud, Not Buddy is a rarity – a laugh-out-loud funny Newbery winner. Bud is a vibrant character who stays firmly on the bright side of his challenging circumstances, and his “rules” for life, sprinkled throughout the first-person narrative, are both funny and profound.
It’s the middle of the Great Depression, and Bud is being sent to yet another foster home. His mother is dead, but he’s convinced that his father is the great African-American musican Herman Calloway, leader of the Dusky Devastators of the Depression!!!!!! (Six exclamation points come with the name, at least on the flyer that Bud uses as a clue.) Bud runs away to track down his father, and then actually does find Herman Calloway and his band. There’s kindness, misunderstandings (often hilarious), and of course, great music. Any depression I might have been feeling was definitely devastated by the time I finished the book!
Curtis does an excellent job of staying in Bud’s point of view yet still explaining things that modern readers might not understand. Of course segregation is a fact of life to Bud, and Curtis demonstrates it through details that Bud would genuinely be expected to notice and comment on, not things that are so familiar to him that he wouldn’t mention them. In the process, Curtis brings home not only the reality of racism but the ingenuity that it took to overcome it – by strategems like sending the one white band member to book gigs for white audiences who would refuse to hire the band if they knew they were black.
One of the best things about this book is that two of the most interesting characters – Negro Baseball League pitcher Lefty Lewis and Herman Calloway himself – are based on Curtis’ maternal and paternal grandfathers. In an afterword, Curtis tells their real-life stories and shares photos of the men (and the Dusky Devastators of the Depression!!!!!!, the real name of Curtis’ grandfather’s actual band). Knowing that a search into family history has the potential to turn up such great stories is bound to make at least some readers of this book interested in finding out more about their own families.
Bud, Not Buddy is a Publisher’s Weekly Best Book. PW says, "While the harshness of Bud's circumstances are authentically depicted, Curtis imbues them with an aura of hope, and he makes readers laugh even when he sets up the most daunting scenarios.”
I would pair this book with The Journal of Biddy Owens by Walter Dean Meyers (from the My Name is America series) for readers who want to know more about the Negro Leagues and read about another optimistic, resourceful hero like Bud.
Publisher’s Weekly. Qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/o/ASIN/0440413281/ref=s9_asin_title_3-hf_favarpcbss_2238_p/103-0423122-5982232?pf_rd_m=ATVPDKIKX0DER&pf_rd_s=center-1&pf_rd_r=10CT73B2PE3DC8NQVMT4&pf_rd_t=101&pf_rd_p=278240701&pf_rd_i=507846.
Bud, Not Buddy is a rarity – a laugh-out-loud funny Newbery winner. Bud is a vibrant character who stays firmly on the bright side of his challenging circumstances, and his “rules” for life, sprinkled throughout the first-person narrative, are both funny and profound.
It’s the middle of the Great Depression, and Bud is being sent to yet another foster home. His mother is dead, but he’s convinced that his father is the great African-American musican Herman Calloway, leader of the Dusky Devastators of the Depression!!!!!! (Six exclamation points come with the name, at least on the flyer that Bud uses as a clue.) Bud runs away to track down his father, and then actually does find Herman Calloway and his band. There’s kindness, misunderstandings (often hilarious), and of course, great music. Any depression I might have been feeling was definitely devastated by the time I finished the book!
Curtis does an excellent job of staying in Bud’s point of view yet still explaining things that modern readers might not understand. Of course segregation is a fact of life to Bud, and Curtis demonstrates it through details that Bud would genuinely be expected to notice and comment on, not things that are so familiar to him that he wouldn’t mention them. In the process, Curtis brings home not only the reality of racism but the ingenuity that it took to overcome it – by strategems like sending the one white band member to book gigs for white audiences who would refuse to hire the band if they knew they were black.
One of the best things about this book is that two of the most interesting characters – Negro Baseball League pitcher Lefty Lewis and Herman Calloway himself – are based on Curtis’ maternal and paternal grandfathers. In an afterword, Curtis tells their real-life stories and shares photos of the men (and the Dusky Devastators of the Depression!!!!!!, the real name of Curtis’ grandfather’s actual band). Knowing that a search into family history has the potential to turn up such great stories is bound to make at least some readers of this book interested in finding out more about their own families.
Bud, Not Buddy is a Publisher’s Weekly Best Book. PW says, "While the harshness of Bud's circumstances are authentically depicted, Curtis imbues them with an aura of hope, and he makes readers laugh even when he sets up the most daunting scenarios.”
I would pair this book with The Journal of Biddy Owens by Walter Dean Meyers (from the My Name is America series) for readers who want to know more about the Negro Leagues and read about another optimistic, resourceful hero like Bud.
Publisher’s Weekly. Qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/o/ASIN/0440413281/ref=s9_asin_title_3-hf_favarpcbss_2238_p/103-0423122-5982232?pf_rd_m=ATVPDKIKX0DER&pf_rd_s=center-1&pf_rd_r=10CT73B2PE3DC8NQVMT4&pf_rd_t=101&pf_rd_p=278240701&pf_rd_i=507846.
Lincoln: A Photobiography
Freeman, Russell (1987). Lincoln: A Photobiography. New York: Clarion. ISBN 0-89919-380-3.
As a biography subject, Abraham Lincoln can’t really be said to need more exposure. Perhaps it’s because of this that Russell Freeman’s biography is so immediately engaging. Freeman begins his book by acknowledging that, paradoxically, it’s very difficult to know what this supposedly well-known president was really like. People who knew Lincoln said he was funny and animated and even handsome when he was speaking, something that the serious posed photos of the day couldn’t capture. And Lincoln was a very private person. In the end, what we think we know about Lincoln might be obscuring what Lincoln was really like. The legend of Lincoln “hides the man behind it like a disguise” (2).
Freeman tries to lift the mask by, among other things, including the words of Lincoln’s friends and family as well as news reports of the day. I loved Mary Todd Lincoln’s comment on portraits of her and Lincoln: that they were precious to her because they were “taken when we were young and so desperately in love” (26). And many kids (and I, too) can relate to the fact that one of his law partners once found a bunch of Lincoln’s papers marked “When you can’t find it anywhere else, look here” (37).
Of course, any biography of Lincoln has to discuss the Civil War. If this book bogs down at all, it’s in the sections where Freeman tries to summarize major battles and their implications in a few pages. I found myself either wanting to know more detail so that I could make sense of the information (were the northern generals really as incompetent as they sound? Why?) or not to hear about it at all.
But the sections that discuss the war’s effect on Lincoln are the most poignant of all. His lament at the loss of life is illustrated with a series of pictures taken each year from 1861 to 1865, in which he seems to age at least ten years. It’s a vivid reminder that Lincoln wasn’t an icon but a real human being.
I think kids can understand Freeman’s premise that what we think we know about a person can keep us from really knowing them. Freeman uses a more complex vocabulary than in many of the books we’ve examined so far, but the text is broken up by photos on nearly every two-page spread, helping readers to picture the people and events Freeman is discussing. (I found the documents in Lincoln’s own handwriting to be particularly amazing.) The book includes three appendices: well known quotes by Lincoln, a listing of historical landmarks related to Lincoln, and a bibliography for further reading. Any one of these could fire kids’ imaginations and make them interested in knowing more.
Publisher’s Weekly said, “This Newbery Award-winning study of our 16th president is highly readable and meticulously organized.”
As an activity for this book, I would love to try something I used to do with my students when I taught college. (Not very many things would carry over to grade schoolers, but this might!) I would bring in several fictional books set in the same time period, like the Addy books in the American Girls series, or Pink and Say by Patricia Polacco. Then I would ask the kids to pretend to be any of the fictional characters and react to one of the events in the book as if they were that character. They could write their reaction, act it out, draw it, or whatever their character might actually do. It’s a surprisingly tough thing to do, since it means putting yourself into someone else’s mindset, but the results can be amazing and something to really be proud of!
Publisher’s Weekly. Qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/Lincoln-Photobiography-Russell-Freedman/dp/0899193803/ref=ed_oe_h/103-0423122-5982232?ie=UTF8&qid=1175206639&sr=1-1 .
As a biography subject, Abraham Lincoln can’t really be said to need more exposure. Perhaps it’s because of this that Russell Freeman’s biography is so immediately engaging. Freeman begins his book by acknowledging that, paradoxically, it’s very difficult to know what this supposedly well-known president was really like. People who knew Lincoln said he was funny and animated and even handsome when he was speaking, something that the serious posed photos of the day couldn’t capture. And Lincoln was a very private person. In the end, what we think we know about Lincoln might be obscuring what Lincoln was really like. The legend of Lincoln “hides the man behind it like a disguise” (2).
Freeman tries to lift the mask by, among other things, including the words of Lincoln’s friends and family as well as news reports of the day. I loved Mary Todd Lincoln’s comment on portraits of her and Lincoln: that they were precious to her because they were “taken when we were young and so desperately in love” (26). And many kids (and I, too) can relate to the fact that one of his law partners once found a bunch of Lincoln’s papers marked “When you can’t find it anywhere else, look here” (37).
Of course, any biography of Lincoln has to discuss the Civil War. If this book bogs down at all, it’s in the sections where Freeman tries to summarize major battles and their implications in a few pages. I found myself either wanting to know more detail so that I could make sense of the information (were the northern generals really as incompetent as they sound? Why?) or not to hear about it at all.
But the sections that discuss the war’s effect on Lincoln are the most poignant of all. His lament at the loss of life is illustrated with a series of pictures taken each year from 1861 to 1865, in which he seems to age at least ten years. It’s a vivid reminder that Lincoln wasn’t an icon but a real human being.
I think kids can understand Freeman’s premise that what we think we know about a person can keep us from really knowing them. Freeman uses a more complex vocabulary than in many of the books we’ve examined so far, but the text is broken up by photos on nearly every two-page spread, helping readers to picture the people and events Freeman is discussing. (I found the documents in Lincoln’s own handwriting to be particularly amazing.) The book includes three appendices: well known quotes by Lincoln, a listing of historical landmarks related to Lincoln, and a bibliography for further reading. Any one of these could fire kids’ imaginations and make them interested in knowing more.
Publisher’s Weekly said, “This Newbery Award-winning study of our 16th president is highly readable and meticulously organized.”
As an activity for this book, I would love to try something I used to do with my students when I taught college. (Not very many things would carry over to grade schoolers, but this might!) I would bring in several fictional books set in the same time period, like the Addy books in the American Girls series, or Pink and Say by Patricia Polacco. Then I would ask the kids to pretend to be any of the fictional characters and react to one of the events in the book as if they were that character. They could write their reaction, act it out, draw it, or whatever their character might actually do. It’s a surprisingly tough thing to do, since it means putting yourself into someone else’s mindset, but the results can be amazing and something to really be proud of!
Publisher’s Weekly. Qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/Lincoln-Photobiography-Russell-Freedman/dp/0899193803/ref=ed_oe_h/103-0423122-5982232?ie=UTF8&qid=1175206639&sr=1-1 .
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
A Single Shard
Park, Linda Sue, read by Graeme Malcolm. 2002. A Single Shard. Listening Library. ISBN 978-0807207017.
In twelfth-century Korea, the orphaned Tree Ear lives under a bridge with his de facto guardian, the homeless Crane Man. Crane Man shares with Tree Ear not only his meager physical possessions but also his much greater stock of kindness and wisdom. Life is hard but manageable – except that Tree Ear longs to learn how to make the celadon pottery for which his village is known.
While spying on Min the potter, Tree Ear breaks a pot and in reparation becomes Min’s quasi-apprentice… except that in a society in which jobs are passed on from father to son, Tree Ear will never be allowed to follow in Min’s footsteps. When Min’s chance at gaining an important royal commission depends on Tree Ear’s efforts, Tree Ear must apply Crane Man’s lessons and test his own character on a harrowing journey.
Park evokes the historical setting with descriptions of clothing and food. In a story that centers around the art of ceramics, it makes sense that Park describes the process of making celadon pottery in detail, from digging the clay through firing in a communal village kiln. Historical facts arise naturally in the story and don’t seem forced. And while readers won’t be able to identify personally with what seems like Tree Ear’s main obstacle – the fact that custom won’t allow him to take up a profession that hasn’t been handed down in his family – the truth is that Park broadens the issue believably until the book is about identity, belonging, and what makes us who we are.
All of the historical fiction I read as a child was set either in Europe or America. I enjoyed experiencing a novel that was set not only in a different part of the world, but also in a time period that doesn’t often get treated in historical fiction for young people.
Graeme Malcolm does a good job of narrating this audiobook by Listening Library, changing his accent and tone subtly to differentiate among the different characters. I did wonder why the producers didn’t choose a Korean narrator for the story. It’s not as if there aren’t Korean actors to choose from!
I think it would be really neat to set up an audiobook listening station like the ones music stores have to let people preview albums. If I could do such a thing, I’d put the first disc of this audiobook on it along with other excellent historical audiobooks like Lizzie Bright and the Buckminster Boy or LeVar Burton’s recording of The Watsons Go to Birmingham, 1963.
Francesca Goldsmith writes in School Library Journal, “This book will engage both individual readers and discussion groups; the audio version makes it accessible to a broader audience, while giving style and substance to those who have read the print version.”
Goldsmith, Francesca. School Library Journal. Qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/Single-Shard-Linda-Sue-Park/dp/0807207012/ref=sr_1_1/103-0423122-5982232?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1175042647&sr=8-1 .
In twelfth-century Korea, the orphaned Tree Ear lives under a bridge with his de facto guardian, the homeless Crane Man. Crane Man shares with Tree Ear not only his meager physical possessions but also his much greater stock of kindness and wisdom. Life is hard but manageable – except that Tree Ear longs to learn how to make the celadon pottery for which his village is known.
While spying on Min the potter, Tree Ear breaks a pot and in reparation becomes Min’s quasi-apprentice… except that in a society in which jobs are passed on from father to son, Tree Ear will never be allowed to follow in Min’s footsteps. When Min’s chance at gaining an important royal commission depends on Tree Ear’s efforts, Tree Ear must apply Crane Man’s lessons and test his own character on a harrowing journey.
Park evokes the historical setting with descriptions of clothing and food. In a story that centers around the art of ceramics, it makes sense that Park describes the process of making celadon pottery in detail, from digging the clay through firing in a communal village kiln. Historical facts arise naturally in the story and don’t seem forced. And while readers won’t be able to identify personally with what seems like Tree Ear’s main obstacle – the fact that custom won’t allow him to take up a profession that hasn’t been handed down in his family – the truth is that Park broadens the issue believably until the book is about identity, belonging, and what makes us who we are.
All of the historical fiction I read as a child was set either in Europe or America. I enjoyed experiencing a novel that was set not only in a different part of the world, but also in a time period that doesn’t often get treated in historical fiction for young people.
Graeme Malcolm does a good job of narrating this audiobook by Listening Library, changing his accent and tone subtly to differentiate among the different characters. I did wonder why the producers didn’t choose a Korean narrator for the story. It’s not as if there aren’t Korean actors to choose from!
I think it would be really neat to set up an audiobook listening station like the ones music stores have to let people preview albums. If I could do such a thing, I’d put the first disc of this audiobook on it along with other excellent historical audiobooks like Lizzie Bright and the Buckminster Boy or LeVar Burton’s recording of The Watsons Go to Birmingham, 1963.
Francesca Goldsmith writes in School Library Journal, “This book will engage both individual readers and discussion groups; the audio version makes it accessible to a broader audience, while giving style and substance to those who have read the print version.”
Goldsmith, Francesca. School Library Journal. Qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/Single-Shard-Linda-Sue-Park/dp/0807207012/ref=sr_1_1/103-0423122-5982232?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1175042647&sr=8-1 .
Friday, March 9, 2007
The Universe
Simon, Seymour. 1998. The Universe. New York: Morrow. ISBN: 978-0688153014.
This beautiful book starts with a poetic thought: “The universe is everything that exists, now and in the past….. You are truly part of the universe. Every atom, every particle within you, is billions of years old.”
And with that thought to intrigue them, readers are off on a tour of space, illustrated with gorgeous photographs taken through telescopes. Simon starts with an explanation of the Big Bang and then explains the formation of our solar system. Then he takes readers farther out on grander scales – describing the birth and death of stars, the Milky Way and other galaxies, and finally, black holes and quasars.
The last page of the book is as intriguing as the first, as Simon lists questions about the universe that are still unanswered, and concludes, “[W]ith the Hubble Space Telescope and other new methods of gathering information, we are just at the beginning of a golden age of discovery. No one knows what fantastic places we will see.” In a review in School Library Journal, John Peters says, “This book, along with the others that it leads to, will give children the solid background they will need to understand - and perhaps even participate in - those discoveries.”
Simon’s gift for making informational writing come to life is evident here, as he strives to make readers feel like they are “truly part of the universe.” He gives plenty of comparisons to help readers understand the enormous scales he’s describing (the distance between the earth and the moon is over ten trips around the world!). He also makes it clear how much scientists still need to learn, explaining that the process of discovery itself leads to new questions. This book seems likely not just to give kids facts but to get them excited about the process of scientific discovery and interested in doing it themselves.
Last year at our library, I made a display of space books on April 12th (the date Yuri Gagarin was the first human being to go into space, in 1961). Since all the spring holidays tend to be over by then, it’s a good time for something different, and “Yuri’s Night” has been gaining ground slowly as a global space holiday. This year I’ll make sure to include this book in the selections!
Peters, John. School Library Journal. Qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/Universe-Seymour-Simon/dp/0688153011/ref=sr_1_82/103-0423122-5982232?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1173471844&sr=1-82 .
This beautiful book starts with a poetic thought: “The universe is everything that exists, now and in the past….. You are truly part of the universe. Every atom, every particle within you, is billions of years old.”
And with that thought to intrigue them, readers are off on a tour of space, illustrated with gorgeous photographs taken through telescopes. Simon starts with an explanation of the Big Bang and then explains the formation of our solar system. Then he takes readers farther out on grander scales – describing the birth and death of stars, the Milky Way and other galaxies, and finally, black holes and quasars.
The last page of the book is as intriguing as the first, as Simon lists questions about the universe that are still unanswered, and concludes, “[W]ith the Hubble Space Telescope and other new methods of gathering information, we are just at the beginning of a golden age of discovery. No one knows what fantastic places we will see.” In a review in School Library Journal, John Peters says, “This book, along with the others that it leads to, will give children the solid background they will need to understand - and perhaps even participate in - those discoveries.”
Simon’s gift for making informational writing come to life is evident here, as he strives to make readers feel like they are “truly part of the universe.” He gives plenty of comparisons to help readers understand the enormous scales he’s describing (the distance between the earth and the moon is over ten trips around the world!). He also makes it clear how much scientists still need to learn, explaining that the process of discovery itself leads to new questions. This book seems likely not just to give kids facts but to get them excited about the process of scientific discovery and interested in doing it themselves.
Last year at our library, I made a display of space books on April 12th (the date Yuri Gagarin was the first human being to go into space, in 1961). Since all the spring holidays tend to be over by then, it’s a good time for something different, and “Yuri’s Night” has been gaining ground slowly as a global space holiday. This year I’ll make sure to include this book in the selections!
Peters, John. School Library Journal. Qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/Universe-Seymour-Simon/dp/0688153011/ref=sr_1_82/103-0423122-5982232?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1173471844&sr=1-82 .
Thursday, March 8, 2007
Ice Cream: The Full Scoop
Gibbons, Gail. 2006. Ice Cream: The Full Scoop. New York: Holiday House. ISBN 978-0-8234-2000-1.
This book, with its clear description of the ice-cream making process and its ice-cream-hued illustrations, is both fun and informative. Gibbons begins by describing the invention of ice cream (in China 3000 years ago!) and following its various permutations through the ages up to the advent of the hand-cranked ice-cream maker in 1841. Then she describes the modern ice-cream making process from start to finish. Throughout the book, labels on the cheerful cartoon-style illustrations give more information, such as describing the parts and functions of the ice-cream maker.
The design of the book is simple but clever. A repeating pattern of colored tiles – the logo for the “Full Scoop” ice-cream company – runs across the bottom of each two-page spread. It’s repeated on the lids of the ice-cream cartons being made at the factory and the truck that delivers the ice cream to the store.
Kids at the target age of this book might not understand everything Gibbons describes (what are emulsifiers, anyway?), but there’s plenty here to keep them interested and informed.
There is one area where Gibbons’ facts might not be totally accurate – the hotly-contested matter of who invented the first ice-cream cone. Gibbons tells the story of a waffle vendor at the St. Louis World’s fair who made his waffles into cones when the ice-cream vendor next door to him ran out of cups. This is one version of the story, the claimant in this case being a man named Ernest Hamwi who was selling crisp waffles called zalabias. But there are at least five other people at the World’s Fair alone who also claimed to have invented the ice-cream cone, among them Abe Doumar, who said he put ice cream in his zalabias and sold them as “Syrian ice-cream sandwiches,” Nick and Albert Kabbaz, who might have invented the ice-cream cone while working for Hamwi, a man named Charles Robert Menches, and a man named David Avayou, who said he got the idea from seeing people eating ice-cream out of paper cones while he was in France (Powell 2006). No one has ever been able to prove who was telling the truth.
I would use this book in an ice-cream themed event, maybe including a tour of the Blue Bell Creamery in Brenham (yum). Unlike Gibbons, I would tell the story of all the people who claimed to have invented the ice-cream cone and have the kids decide which they think is the most plausible.
In Booklist, Jennifer Matson says, “Adding to the author-illustrator's reliable oeuvre of informational picture books, this will provide solid support for ice cream-themed field trips or classroom projects.”
Matson, Jennifer. Booklist. Qtd. in Amazon. com. http://www.amazon.com/Ice-Cream-Scoop-Gail-Gibbons/dp/0823420000/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/103-0423122-5982232?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1173392670&sr=1-1.
Powell, Marilyn. 2006. Ice Cream: The Delicious History. New York: Overlook Press. Pages 145-149.
This book, with its clear description of the ice-cream making process and its ice-cream-hued illustrations, is both fun and informative. Gibbons begins by describing the invention of ice cream (in China 3000 years ago!) and following its various permutations through the ages up to the advent of the hand-cranked ice-cream maker in 1841. Then she describes the modern ice-cream making process from start to finish. Throughout the book, labels on the cheerful cartoon-style illustrations give more information, such as describing the parts and functions of the ice-cream maker.
The design of the book is simple but clever. A repeating pattern of colored tiles – the logo for the “Full Scoop” ice-cream company – runs across the bottom of each two-page spread. It’s repeated on the lids of the ice-cream cartons being made at the factory and the truck that delivers the ice cream to the store.
Kids at the target age of this book might not understand everything Gibbons describes (what are emulsifiers, anyway?), but there’s plenty here to keep them interested and informed.
There is one area where Gibbons’ facts might not be totally accurate – the hotly-contested matter of who invented the first ice-cream cone. Gibbons tells the story of a waffle vendor at the St. Louis World’s fair who made his waffles into cones when the ice-cream vendor next door to him ran out of cups. This is one version of the story, the claimant in this case being a man named Ernest Hamwi who was selling crisp waffles called zalabias. But there are at least five other people at the World’s Fair alone who also claimed to have invented the ice-cream cone, among them Abe Doumar, who said he put ice cream in his zalabias and sold them as “Syrian ice-cream sandwiches,” Nick and Albert Kabbaz, who might have invented the ice-cream cone while working for Hamwi, a man named Charles Robert Menches, and a man named David Avayou, who said he got the idea from seeing people eating ice-cream out of paper cones while he was in France (Powell 2006). No one has ever been able to prove who was telling the truth.
I would use this book in an ice-cream themed event, maybe including a tour of the Blue Bell Creamery in Brenham (yum). Unlike Gibbons, I would tell the story of all the people who claimed to have invented the ice-cream cone and have the kids decide which they think is the most plausible.
In Booklist, Jennifer Matson says, “Adding to the author-illustrator's reliable oeuvre of informational picture books, this will provide solid support for ice cream-themed field trips or classroom projects.”
Matson, Jennifer. Booklist. Qtd. in Amazon. com. http://www.amazon.com/Ice-Cream-Scoop-Gail-Gibbons/dp/0823420000/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/103-0423122-5982232?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1173392670&sr=1-1.
Powell, Marilyn. 2006. Ice Cream: The Delicious History. New York: Overlook Press. Pages 145-149.
Thursday, March 1, 2007
Shipwreck at the Bottom of the World
Armstrong, Jennifer. 1998. Shipwreck at the Bottom of the World. New York: Crown Publishers. ISBN 0-517-80013-6.
In February I was fortunate enough to take the online class “Bringing History to Life at Your Library,” taught by Jennifer Armstrong. Although most of her examples came from Photo By Brady, a book about the Civil War, she did spend a little time discussing Shipwreck at the Bottom of the World. Just hearing her mention the amazing true story made me want to read the book, and I’m glad I did.
Shipwreck at the Bottom of the World tells the story of explorer Ernest Shackleton’s failed attempt to lead the first expedition to cross the continent of Antarctica. Before the explorers could even reach land, their ship was trapped in ice and crushed. Shackleton and his men survived the shipwreck and five months of living on the antarctic ice, and then, even more incredibly, Shackleton and a small crew sailed one of the ship’s boats through the Atlantic Ocean to an island with a whaling station so that the rest of the men could be rescued.
In her class, Armstrong explained the process by which she uses photos and other period information to gain a picture of a historical event. She examines details in pictures for clues about the weather, the time of year, whether the photo is candid or posed, and what each person might have been doing immediately before or after the photo was taken. She examines period texts for more concrete details: sights, sounds, smells, and even tastes. All of this helps Armstrong find a connection with the people who were there, so that she can imagine feeling what the people who were present must have felt.
I think that this process must have been easier for Armstrong in Shipwreck at the Bottom of the World because of the amount of documentation of the trip. Each man on the expediton kept a diary (Shackleton had sold the rights to their accounts prior to the trip to raise collateral), and the expedition photographer, Frank Hurley, documented the voyage with photos, many of which are included in the book. Armstrong often quotes from the diaries. She doesn’t give a source for all her quotes, especially when she is quoting conversations between two or more men – one example is Shackleton’s nightmare, when the boat’s crew has finally reached land and he shouts in his sleep that a wave is going to crush them - but with everyone in the crew keeping diaries, it’s easy to imagine that these conversations might have been reported in one diary or another.
The book is largely organized as a chronological account of the expedition, although Armstrong also includes facts about Antarctica and explanations of things that might otherwise be puzzling, like why exactly the weather is so bad and the sea is so dangerous. She makes the science interesting with comparisons and a lively writing style – the largest iceberg on record was as big as Belgium – and, in contrast, she reports the experience of the men with an understated dignity that perfectly matches the tone of their own diaries.
Additional material in the book includes detailed plans of Shackleton’s ship, the Endurance, a map of Antarctica with the track of the expedition superimposed, and a bibliography.
This is a brilliant book that I think many people, both kids and adults, can appreciate. I would use it in a display on explorers and adventurers, along with books like Team Moon by Catherine Thimmish and Russell Freedman’s The Adventures of Marco Polo. The stunning photos would also make good subjects for a drawing class for older kids.
Kirkus Reviews says, “This unbelievable story is enhanced by the vigorous prose; from the captivating introduction through the epilogue, it is the writing as much as the story that will rivet readers. The black-and-white photos, taken mostly on glass plates by the expedition's photographer, Frank Hurley, survived along with the men and are of exceptional quality.”
Kirkus Reviews. Qtd in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/product-description/0375810498/ref=dp_proddesc_0/103-0423122-5982232?ie=UTF8&n=283155&s=books .
In February I was fortunate enough to take the online class “Bringing History to Life at Your Library,” taught by Jennifer Armstrong. Although most of her examples came from Photo By Brady, a book about the Civil War, she did spend a little time discussing Shipwreck at the Bottom of the World. Just hearing her mention the amazing true story made me want to read the book, and I’m glad I did.
Shipwreck at the Bottom of the World tells the story of explorer Ernest Shackleton’s failed attempt to lead the first expedition to cross the continent of Antarctica. Before the explorers could even reach land, their ship was trapped in ice and crushed. Shackleton and his men survived the shipwreck and five months of living on the antarctic ice, and then, even more incredibly, Shackleton and a small crew sailed one of the ship’s boats through the Atlantic Ocean to an island with a whaling station so that the rest of the men could be rescued.
In her class, Armstrong explained the process by which she uses photos and other period information to gain a picture of a historical event. She examines details in pictures for clues about the weather, the time of year, whether the photo is candid or posed, and what each person might have been doing immediately before or after the photo was taken. She examines period texts for more concrete details: sights, sounds, smells, and even tastes. All of this helps Armstrong find a connection with the people who were there, so that she can imagine feeling what the people who were present must have felt.
I think that this process must have been easier for Armstrong in Shipwreck at the Bottom of the World because of the amount of documentation of the trip. Each man on the expediton kept a diary (Shackleton had sold the rights to their accounts prior to the trip to raise collateral), and the expedition photographer, Frank Hurley, documented the voyage with photos, many of which are included in the book. Armstrong often quotes from the diaries. She doesn’t give a source for all her quotes, especially when she is quoting conversations between two or more men – one example is Shackleton’s nightmare, when the boat’s crew has finally reached land and he shouts in his sleep that a wave is going to crush them - but with everyone in the crew keeping diaries, it’s easy to imagine that these conversations might have been reported in one diary or another.
The book is largely organized as a chronological account of the expedition, although Armstrong also includes facts about Antarctica and explanations of things that might otherwise be puzzling, like why exactly the weather is so bad and the sea is so dangerous. She makes the science interesting with comparisons and a lively writing style – the largest iceberg on record was as big as Belgium – and, in contrast, she reports the experience of the men with an understated dignity that perfectly matches the tone of their own diaries.
Additional material in the book includes detailed plans of Shackleton’s ship, the Endurance, a map of Antarctica with the track of the expedition superimposed, and a bibliography.
This is a brilliant book that I think many people, both kids and adults, can appreciate. I would use it in a display on explorers and adventurers, along with books like Team Moon by Catherine Thimmish and Russell Freedman’s The Adventures of Marco Polo. The stunning photos would also make good subjects for a drawing class for older kids.
Kirkus Reviews says, “This unbelievable story is enhanced by the vigorous prose; from the captivating introduction through the epilogue, it is the writing as much as the story that will rivet readers. The black-and-white photos, taken mostly on glass plates by the expedition's photographer, Frank Hurley, survived along with the men and are of exceptional quality.”
Kirkus Reviews. Qtd in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/product-description/0375810498/ref=dp_proddesc_0/103-0423122-5982232?ie=UTF8&n=283155&s=books .
Friday, February 23, 2007
Out of the Dust
Hesse, Karen. 1997. Out of the Dust. New York: Scholastic Press. ISBN 0-590-36080-9.
I have to admit that when I read this book over winter break, my first thought was something along the lines of, “Oh, no.” I had just been reading Jon Sciezca on why boys don’t read, and the fact that the 1997 Newbery Award had gone to a (1) grim (2) free-verse (3) historical novel (4) about a girl (5) with nothing funny and no action sequences in it seemed like a quintuple-whammy to any boys out there hoping to find something they’d like to read.
Which isn’t to say the book isn’t excellent. Billie Jo, the protagonist, is tough as nails while still able to articulate the pain of her incredibly difficult life in Oklahoma during the Depression. The imagery conveys a sense of the time and place and, most of all, of the relentless dust that slowly smothers everything, including hope. Billie Jo's teacher even gives a lesson in why the Dust Bowl happened: farmers overproducing to pay for new equipment bought to produce for markets in Europe that no longer exist.
I think it would be a stretch for most kids to identify with Billie Jo’s stoic acceptance which leads to inner transformation: kids approve of action and want their books' protagonists to overcome obstacles more spectacularly. And I think kids will naturally have even more trouble understanding the longings and frustrations of Billie Jo’s parents. This isn’t because Hesse doesn’t portray them well: she does. But kids aren’t familiar with the mid-life examen or the responsibility of making and providing for a family. While Billie Jo comes to an understanding of her father by the end of the novel, I wonder how many young readers can follow her there, and I wonder how much the story is diminished by not really understanding the adult characters.
I would provide this book for much older readers, in high school or college. I think it could easily be an excellent adult novel and would probably find a more appreciative audience that way. Every book with a child protagonist doesn’t automatically have to be a children’s book, after all.
Kirkus reviews said, “[T]his is an unremittingly bleak portrait of one corner of Depression-era life. In Billie Jo, the only character who comes to life, Hesse (The Music of Dolphins, 1996, etc.) presents a hale and determined heroine…. The poem/novel ends with only a trace of hope; there are no pat endings, but a glimpse of beauty wrought from brutal reality.”
Kirkus Reviews, qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/product-description/0590360809/ref=dp_proddesc_0/103-0423122-5982232?ie=UTF8&n=283155&s=books .
I have to admit that when I read this book over winter break, my first thought was something along the lines of, “Oh, no.” I had just been reading Jon Sciezca on why boys don’t read, and the fact that the 1997 Newbery Award had gone to a (1) grim (2) free-verse (3) historical novel (4) about a girl (5) with nothing funny and no action sequences in it seemed like a quintuple-whammy to any boys out there hoping to find something they’d like to read.
Which isn’t to say the book isn’t excellent. Billie Jo, the protagonist, is tough as nails while still able to articulate the pain of her incredibly difficult life in Oklahoma during the Depression. The imagery conveys a sense of the time and place and, most of all, of the relentless dust that slowly smothers everything, including hope. Billie Jo's teacher even gives a lesson in why the Dust Bowl happened: farmers overproducing to pay for new equipment bought to produce for markets in Europe that no longer exist.
I think it would be a stretch for most kids to identify with Billie Jo’s stoic acceptance which leads to inner transformation: kids approve of action and want their books' protagonists to overcome obstacles more spectacularly. And I think kids will naturally have even more trouble understanding the longings and frustrations of Billie Jo’s parents. This isn’t because Hesse doesn’t portray them well: she does. But kids aren’t familiar with the mid-life examen or the responsibility of making and providing for a family. While Billie Jo comes to an understanding of her father by the end of the novel, I wonder how many young readers can follow her there, and I wonder how much the story is diminished by not really understanding the adult characters.
I would provide this book for much older readers, in high school or college. I think it could easily be an excellent adult novel and would probably find a more appreciative audience that way. Every book with a child protagonist doesn’t automatically have to be a children’s book, after all.
Kirkus reviews said, “[T]his is an unremittingly bleak portrait of one corner of Depression-era life. In Billie Jo, the only character who comes to life, Hesse (The Music of Dolphins, 1996, etc.) presents a hale and determined heroine…. The poem/novel ends with only a trace of hope; there are no pat endings, but a glimpse of beauty wrought from brutal reality.”
Kirkus Reviews, qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/product-description/0590360809/ref=dp_proddesc_0/103-0423122-5982232?ie=UTF8&n=283155&s=books .
Thursday, February 22, 2007
A Dime a Dozen
Grimes, Nikki. 1998. A Dime a Dozen. Ill. by Angelo. New York: Dial Books. ISBN 0-8037-2227-3.
The title of this book of autobiographical poems about Nikki Grimes’ childhood comes from what her mother said when Grimes said she wanted to be a writer: writers are “a dime a dozen.” Through these poems, the narrator explores what it means to differentiate herself from the other members of her family and chart her own course. Examining everything from the color of her skin and texture of her hair to the way to make potato salad, she tries - sometimes with confidence and sometimes uncertainly - to be herself as well as embracing the positive qualities of her family.
The family members – sister, mother, father, and grandmother – are well-rounded characters (the grandmother, arguing about the right way to peel potatoes, is especially well done). The black and white illustrations by Angelo add to the characterizations with touches like the father’s iconic beret. The themes are universal while the details offer a realistic portrayal of African-American culture.
The poems themselves are short, some free verse and some more heavily rhymed. They often deal with a particular moment that nevertheless has a larger meaning in the narrator’s life and quest for self-definition. I would read selections from this book aloud over a period of several days so that children could get the feel of the narrator’s experience – but not too many at once, so we could all have time to think over the meaning.
Shawn Brommer, writing in School Library Journal, calls this “A quietly profound, heartfelt work.”
Brommer, Shawn. School Library Journal. Qtd in Amazon.com.
http://www.amazon.com/Dime-Dozen-Nikki-Grimes/dp/0803722273/sr=1-2/qid=1172185293/ref=pd_bbs_sr_2/103-0423122-5982232?ie=UTF8&s=books.
The title of this book of autobiographical poems about Nikki Grimes’ childhood comes from what her mother said when Grimes said she wanted to be a writer: writers are “a dime a dozen.” Through these poems, the narrator explores what it means to differentiate herself from the other members of her family and chart her own course. Examining everything from the color of her skin and texture of her hair to the way to make potato salad, she tries - sometimes with confidence and sometimes uncertainly - to be herself as well as embracing the positive qualities of her family.
The family members – sister, mother, father, and grandmother – are well-rounded characters (the grandmother, arguing about the right way to peel potatoes, is especially well done). The black and white illustrations by Angelo add to the characterizations with touches like the father’s iconic beret. The themes are universal while the details offer a realistic portrayal of African-American culture.
The poems themselves are short, some free verse and some more heavily rhymed. They often deal with a particular moment that nevertheless has a larger meaning in the narrator’s life and quest for self-definition. I would read selections from this book aloud over a period of several days so that children could get the feel of the narrator’s experience – but not too many at once, so we could all have time to think over the meaning.
Shawn Brommer, writing in School Library Journal, calls this “A quietly profound, heartfelt work.”
Brommer, Shawn. School Library Journal. Qtd in Amazon.com.
http://www.amazon.com/Dime-Dozen-Nikki-Grimes/dp/0803722273/sr=1-2/qid=1172185293/ref=pd_bbs_sr_2/103-0423122-5982232?ie=UTF8&s=books.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Mammalabilia
Florian, Douglas. 2000. Mammalabilia. San Diego, CA: Harcourt. ISBN 0-15-202167-1.
This picture book of mammal poems, illustrated by the author with paintings done on primed brown-paper bags, is a great choice for kids who claim not to like poetry. The poems feature animals from the familiar (bear, fox, giraffe) to the unusual (rhebok, tapir, ibex). They are short (some only two or three lines), heavily rhymed, and often funny.
Some of Florian’s poems are concrete or have concrete elements, like “The Porcupine” and “The Lemurs.” One, “The Zebras,” is a puzzle, along with its accompanying picture – can you see as many zebras in the painting as the poems’ narrators can? In all cases the whimsical pictures are as much of a commentary on the animals as the poems are. In an illustration for “The Mule,” a poem with the last line “Rule of the mule: stay,” the mule in question is literally rooted to the ground, its four legs becoming tree trunks, one with a woodpecker perched and pecking on it.
I can’t imagine this book not being a hit or not lending itself to all kinds of activities. For one thing, the technique of painting on a brown-paper bag is easy to accomplish, meaning that kids can illustrate their own animal poems in the same style as the book. I can imagine grouping the poems into categories with kids – Which poems feature animals talking about their lives? Which poems feature someone else talking about the animal? Would the animal say the same thing about itself that the narrator did, if it were doing the telling? (Maybe the rhebok doesn’t think its “Main/ claim to fame/ is its name”!) I can also imagine integrating this book into lessons about animals, pairing the poem about the animal with facts about its life.
Barbara Chatton, in School Library Journal, calls this book “a zoological garden of delights.”
Chatton, Barbara. School Library Journal. Qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/product-description/0152050248/ref=dp_proddesc_0/103-0423122-5982232?ie=UTF8&n=283155&s=books
This picture book of mammal poems, illustrated by the author with paintings done on primed brown-paper bags, is a great choice for kids who claim not to like poetry. The poems feature animals from the familiar (bear, fox, giraffe) to the unusual (rhebok, tapir, ibex). They are short (some only two or three lines), heavily rhymed, and often funny.
Some of Florian’s poems are concrete or have concrete elements, like “The Porcupine” and “The Lemurs.” One, “The Zebras,” is a puzzle, along with its accompanying picture – can you see as many zebras in the painting as the poems’ narrators can? In all cases the whimsical pictures are as much of a commentary on the animals as the poems are. In an illustration for “The Mule,” a poem with the last line “Rule of the mule: stay,” the mule in question is literally rooted to the ground, its four legs becoming tree trunks, one with a woodpecker perched and pecking on it.
I can’t imagine this book not being a hit or not lending itself to all kinds of activities. For one thing, the technique of painting on a brown-paper bag is easy to accomplish, meaning that kids can illustrate their own animal poems in the same style as the book. I can imagine grouping the poems into categories with kids – Which poems feature animals talking about their lives? Which poems feature someone else talking about the animal? Would the animal say the same thing about itself that the narrator did, if it were doing the telling? (Maybe the rhebok doesn’t think its “Main/ claim to fame/ is its name”!) I can also imagine integrating this book into lessons about animals, pairing the poem about the animal with facts about its life.
Barbara Chatton, in School Library Journal, calls this book “a zoological garden of delights.”
Chatton, Barbara. School Library Journal. Qtd. in Amazon.com. http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/product-description/0152050248/ref=dp_proddesc_0/103-0423122-5982232?ie=UTF8&n=283155&s=books
Wednesday, February 7, 2007
Mufaro's Beautiful Daughters
Steptoe, John (1987). Mufaro’s Beautiful Daughters. New York: Lothrop, Lee, and Shepard Books. ISBN 0-688-04046-2.
Mufaro’s Beautiful Daughters, a Caldecott honor winner and a Reading Rainbow book, is a gorgeous book with lush illustrations that depict the landscape and architecture of Zimbabwe. John Steptoe retells a traditional variant of the Cinderella story about two sisters, one kind and one haughty, who must travel to the great city to be considered as a wife for the king. On the journey they show their true colors, and kind Nyasha, not conceited Manyara, is chosen to be the queen.
Elements in the story that children might recognize from other fairy tales include the test to see who is worthy to be queen, the friendly animal who keeps the main character company (in this case, a snake), the old woman whose advice the good sister takes and the bad sister ignores, and the kind but clueless father who doesn’t notice the rivalry going on between the sisters.
I put my face right up to the pages of this book to try to see how Steptoe created the gorgeous images. I was glad to see in a School Library Journal review that my guess was right – they are watercolor with two different colors of pen, blue and black. I’m anxious to try this technique out myself!
Details in the illustrations include beautiful plants and animals and buildings based on the Great Zimbabwe Ruins.
Mufaro’s Beautiful Daughters is also an excellent multicultural book because of its accurate portrayal of the culture of Zimbabwe and because it is a folktale collected from people living in the region. (There is even a pronunciation guide to help those who are reading the story aloud.) It’s particularly bracing as a counterpoint to the thousands of books in which the princess is a blonde, blue-eyed white girl in a pink dress!
Helen Williams, writing in School Library Journal, says, “The expressive drawings of people and events enhance the story and serve to strengthen readers' familiarity with traditional African culture. A magnificently illustrated book, filled with rich textures and vibrant color, and a story that will satisfy young romantics as well as those with a strong sense of justice.”
While looking online I found some gorgeous pictures of a production of a play based on this story by the Lexington Children's theater. I think this would make a good story for children to produce as a play, with the pictures to inspire their costume designs!
Mufaro’s Beautiful Daughters, a Caldecott honor winner and a Reading Rainbow book, is a gorgeous book with lush illustrations that depict the landscape and architecture of Zimbabwe. John Steptoe retells a traditional variant of the Cinderella story about two sisters, one kind and one haughty, who must travel to the great city to be considered as a wife for the king. On the journey they show their true colors, and kind Nyasha, not conceited Manyara, is chosen to be the queen.
Elements in the story that children might recognize from other fairy tales include the test to see who is worthy to be queen, the friendly animal who keeps the main character company (in this case, a snake), the old woman whose advice the good sister takes and the bad sister ignores, and the kind but clueless father who doesn’t notice the rivalry going on between the sisters.
I put my face right up to the pages of this book to try to see how Steptoe created the gorgeous images. I was glad to see in a School Library Journal review that my guess was right – they are watercolor with two different colors of pen, blue and black. I’m anxious to try this technique out myself!
Details in the illustrations include beautiful plants and animals and buildings based on the Great Zimbabwe Ruins.
Mufaro’s Beautiful Daughters is also an excellent multicultural book because of its accurate portrayal of the culture of Zimbabwe and because it is a folktale collected from people living in the region. (There is even a pronunciation guide to help those who are reading the story aloud.) It’s particularly bracing as a counterpoint to the thousands of books in which the princess is a blonde, blue-eyed white girl in a pink dress!
Helen Williams, writing in School Library Journal, says, “The expressive drawings of people and events enhance the story and serve to strengthen readers' familiarity with traditional African culture. A magnificently illustrated book, filled with rich textures and vibrant color, and a story that will satisfy young romantics as well as those with a strong sense of justice.”
While looking online I found some gorgeous pictures of a production of a play based on this story by the Lexington Children's theater. I think this would make a good story for children to produce as a play, with the pictures to inspire their costume designs!
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark
Schwartz, Alvin. 1981. Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark. Ill. by Stephen Gammell. New York: HarperCollins. ISBN 0-06-440170-7.
When I first opened the reading list for class I wasn’t sure why Scary Stories was in the “Traditional Literature” section. But when I read the book I understood. Schwartz didn’t write these stories; he compiled them from various collections and from stories told to him. Some of them are very old folktales, some are urban legends, but none have identified authors.
The stories have many characteristics of traditional literature. We don’t find out much about the characters, and the settings are similarly sketchy – often just “a haunted house” or “a field” or “near a lake.” The payoff in reading them comes from the resolution of the simple plot. And despite the title, the resolution is as likely to come in the form of a joke or a gross-out as a real atmospheric scare. (Witness the end of “Wait Till Martin Comes” or “The Slithery-Dee” for examples.)
The black-and-white illustrations by Gammell strike just the right note to accompany the stories. Many of the illustrations are nods to the stories’ roots in history; the hearse illustrating “The Hearse Song,” for instance, looks like it’s from the same era as a Model T. The paperback edition I checked out of the library has a shiny silver cover with an actively-decomposing, running man on it – sure to give street cred to any kid who is seen carrying the book around.
There’s a section of notes at the end of the stories and an introduction at the beginning. The introduction seems targeted to young readers, giving pointers on how best to tell a scary story. The notes seem geared more for adults, although kids who’ve read the book and who don’t balk at words like “publications” and “antecedents” might find that the notes are interesting for the extra details – and even a couple more stories, told briefly – that they include.
This book would be great in a Halloween display, with its eye-catching (not to say freaky) cover art. Booklist says, “Sure to provoke chills along the spine” (book jacket).
To say that this book and its two sequels are very popular at our library is a huge understatement. It’s difficult to turn the pages of the copy I read because they’re so worn down. Louisa May Alcott once wrote that her goal was for her books to have the dirtiest covers of any books in the library. By that measure this book is a big success!
When I first opened the reading list for class I wasn’t sure why Scary Stories was in the “Traditional Literature” section. But when I read the book I understood. Schwartz didn’t write these stories; he compiled them from various collections and from stories told to him. Some of them are very old folktales, some are urban legends, but none have identified authors.
The stories have many characteristics of traditional literature. We don’t find out much about the characters, and the settings are similarly sketchy – often just “a haunted house” or “a field” or “near a lake.” The payoff in reading them comes from the resolution of the simple plot. And despite the title, the resolution is as likely to come in the form of a joke or a gross-out as a real atmospheric scare. (Witness the end of “Wait Till Martin Comes” or “The Slithery-Dee” for examples.)
The black-and-white illustrations by Gammell strike just the right note to accompany the stories. Many of the illustrations are nods to the stories’ roots in history; the hearse illustrating “The Hearse Song,” for instance, looks like it’s from the same era as a Model T. The paperback edition I checked out of the library has a shiny silver cover with an actively-decomposing, running man on it – sure to give street cred to any kid who is seen carrying the book around.
There’s a section of notes at the end of the stories and an introduction at the beginning. The introduction seems targeted to young readers, giving pointers on how best to tell a scary story. The notes seem geared more for adults, although kids who’ve read the book and who don’t balk at words like “publications” and “antecedents” might find that the notes are interesting for the extra details – and even a couple more stories, told briefly – that they include.
This book would be great in a Halloween display, with its eye-catching (not to say freaky) cover art. Booklist says, “Sure to provoke chills along the spine” (book jacket).
To say that this book and its two sequels are very popular at our library is a huge understatement. It’s difficult to turn the pages of the copy I read because they’re so worn down. Louisa May Alcott once wrote that her goal was for her books to have the dirtiest covers of any books in the library. By that measure this book is a big success!
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