author:
Susan Lowell
illustrator:
Jim Harris
Scholastic,
1996
preschool-grade
3
In
transporting the “Three Little Pigs” story from Europe to the American
Southwest, “where Native American, Mexican, and Anglo cultures blend together,”
Lowell morphs the pigs into javelinas and recasts the big bad wolf as Coyote.
Trotting
away to seek their fortunes (mama isn’t even around to wave goodbye), the first
little porker builds his house out of tumbleweeds and the second relies on
somewhat stronger saguaro ribs. The hungry four-legged pursuer, of course,
huffs and puffs and easily destroys both domiciles, and the piglets find refuge
with their sister, who has resourcefully built her house out of sturdy adobe
bricks. No one gets killed, no one even gets seriously hurt, the javelinas live
happily ever after and Coyote is left to howl at night.
Harris’s
artwork, executed in watercolor, gouache, and colored pencils on bristol board,
uses an earth-toned palette that reflects the colors of the desert. As well,
you can see practically every stiff, bristly hair on the cowboy-clad piglets,
as well as the black-tipped guard hairs and narrow muzzle on skinny Coyote.
But
rather than enhancing the story by moving its locale and inserting elements of
Southwestern flora, fauna, and material culture, Lowell’s contrived literary
treatment, including pronunciation prompts, disrupts the rhythm and confuses
the story (italics below mine).
The
second little javelina walked for miles
among giant cactus plants called saguaros (sa-WA-ros). They held their ripe red
fruit high in the sky. But they made almost no shade, and the little javelina
grew hot.
Then he came upon a Native American
woman who was gathering sticks from inside a dried-up cactus. She planned to
use these long sticks, called saguaro ribs, to knock down the sweet cactus
fruit.
The
second little javelina said, “Please, may I have some sticks to build a house?”
“Ha’u,” (ha-ou) she said, which means
“yes” in the language of the Desert People.
I’m
baffled by the Spanish translation, which seems neither literal nor
idiomatically authentic. The piglets’ refrain, “Not by the hairs of my
chinny-chin-chin!” for instance, comes out as “¡Ni por las cerdas de mi
bar-bar-barilla!” which means nothing. Some of the translations don’t quite
connect, either. For example, “(The giant cactus plants) held their red, ripe
fruit high in the sky” becomes “los gigantescos cactus saguaros que mostraban
orgullosos sus frutas rojas,” which would translate as “the giant saguaros
cactuses that proudly displayed their red fruit.” And, there are outright
mistakes. When one of the piglets asks a brick-maker for “a few bricks” to
construct her house, he responds:
“Si,” answered the man, which means “yes” in Spanish, the
brick-maker’s language.
And
the translation?
—Yes—le contestó el señor, que como saben, quiere decir “si”
en ingles.
Well-told
folk tales, even the most outlandish ones, have a “magical realism” that
requires a suspension of disbelief. Children know, for instance, that javelinas
don’t really dress in human clothes,
speak English (or Spanish), leave their mothers and go out to “seek their
fortunes.” At the same time, children allow
themselves to believe, for the
purposes of this story, that a javelina could build a particular kind of house
in order to outwit a single-mindedly hungry coyote.
Lowell’s
adding elements to the story that reflect the cultures of the Southwest—while
leaving intact the story’s essential European underpinning—throws a “cultural
blanket” over the European folktale. To try to attach so much specificity about
peoples and their material cultures—without the cultural knowledge—makes it
even harder for a story to work.
In
introducing the three little javelinas’ pursuer, Lowell writes,
Then
along came a coyote. He ran through the desert so quickly and so quietly that
he was almost invisible. In fact, this was only one of Coyote’s many magical
tricks.
So, the
big bad pursuer of the three little javelinas is not just a coyote, a predatory animal who can run through the desert quickly
and quietly and happens to have a thing for javelina meat, but Coyote, a Being
who can run through the desert quickly and quietly because he’s full of tricks
and magic as a device to embellish the story with more Southwestern cultural
material. Except for the European literary rule of three.
Coyote is
not just a trickster. Coyote is a religious/spiritual
Being, a cultural icon who demands respect. There is always the knowledge—a
cultural backdrop from the teller to the audience and back—of who Coyote is and
what Coyote represents. Without this depth of comprehension and cultural understanding,
Coyote becomes a buffoon—a big bad wolf turned into a “trickster” who gets his
comeuppance from a trio of young pigs. When you take an important part of
someone’s spiritual and cultural heritage without acknowledging it, it’s called
“cultural appropriation” and it’s never OK.
Los Tres Pequeños Jabailíes / The Three Little Javelinas is not recommended. For an awesome alternative, pick up
Bobbi Salinas’ The Three Pigs: Nacho,
Tito, and Miguel / Los Tres Cerdos.
—Beverly
Slapin
(published 3/14/14)
(published 3/14/14)
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