Stella Díaz Has Something to Say

author: Angela Domínguez

illustrator: Angela Domínguez 

Roaring Brook Press, 2018 

grades 3-5 

Mexican American

Third-grader Estrella (Stella) Díaz has a lot of things to say, especially when she’s talking about her interests, which revolve around marine life. As an emerging bilingual child, she sometimes uses Spanish pronunciation for English words or phrases—or, at times, substitutes similar-sounding words. Stella often gets frustrated, and her feelings of inferiority are compounded each time Jessica, the “mean girl,” makes fun of her. And when she has to read aloud, Stella’s stomach gets tied up in knots and she can barely talk at all.

Once a week, Stella takes “speech” lessons, where she is rebuked for using a Spanish word and is taught “to speak properly. This means how all the letters and words are supposed to sound in English,” she tells the reader. “At least that’s what my speech teacher, Ms. Thompson, says.” 

By emphasizing “properly” here, Stella silently calls out her speech teacher’s loaded judgment. Although Ms. Thompson’s insistence may seem like a small thing, this kind of teaching squelches the self-image and creativity of children who are dual-language learners. 

And when Stella discovers her status as a “legal alien,” she pictures “all these spiny, crawly, deadly aliens, the ones people run away from,” which, of course, makes her feel even more that she doesn’t belong. “I wouldn’t be an alien if I were living in Mexico,” she thinks, “I’d be natural there.” If she becomes a citizen, she asks herself, will she finally feel normal?

Born in Mexico City and raised in Chicago, Stella lives with her awesome mom, an executive at a radio station and dynamite cook besides, who speaks Spanglish at home; and her older brother, funny, good-natured, middle-schooler Nick. Evenings after dinner, the three play card games and sometimes dance to salsa music, which is “different from chips and salsa,” Stella explains. Her parents are divorced, and Stella says that her dad, who lives in Colorado, doesn’t know how to be a dad: he doesn’t keep promises, he’s never around, and he doesn’t send money. 

Stella has a best friend, Jenny, who is Vietnamese American. They like each other, in no small part because, as cultural “outsiders,” they have much to share. In some ways, Jenny, who is bolder than Stella, is her alter-ego; and Stella sometimes imagines—after a particularly embarrassing time being harassed by mean-girl Jessica—going back in a Fantastic Time Machine and telling Jessica off or having Jenny talk for her. 

As Stella navigates third grade—culturally and emotionally supported by her mom and extended family; encouraged in developing her artistic talent by her innovative classroom teacher, and acknowledged by the school librarian, who greets her in Spanish—she succeeds in making friends and becomes “professional” at ignoring bullies, creates her first book and a poster for the third grade spelling bee, and makes it to the semifinals. And, in a costume she’s created and standing in front of her handmade submarine, Stella introduces herself as Jacques Cousteau and makes an amazing class presentation on sea life. 

At the end of the day, Stella says:

I grab my cheeks because my face hurts from smiling so much. I just can’t stop! Not only did I speak out loud in front of the whole class, I did it well. Today, I really lived up to my name. I really was an Estrella.

This warm story of family and community encompasses a variety of cultural markers as well as mostly contextualized Spanish words and phrases. It would have been good, though, had Domínguez chosen not to italicize the Spanish. This style should be used only for emphasis. 

Domínguez’s appealing ink-and-pencil, mostly spot illustrations (and several full-page illustrations as well) provide visual context for youngsters moving from picture book to chapter book, and young readers might also recognize some of them from her previous picture books. In one particularly moving illustration, Stella lies down on her living room rug. Her limbs are spread out and she’s sadly staring into space. She’s emotionally exhausted after yet another day of defending herself from the school bullies. 

Domínguez inserts herself into the story as a children’s book author in a library performance, in which she reads a book she’s written in Spanish and English, and talks about how she dealt with her own language-acquisition challenges—“She read even more and made herself write all the time. Then she decided that’s what she wanted to do when she grew up.” Stella is beyond impressed. “Don’t tell anyone,” she tells her beta fish, Pancho, “but I might want to be an author one day.”

In an Author’s Note that maintains her story’s narrative voice, Domínguez discloses to young readers which parts of Stella Díaz Has Something to Say are based on her own childhood. And she advises them: “Never forget that you’re so much stronger than you realize. You’ll be surprised by what you can accomplish.”

Young readers—especially immigrant children, and those who are struggling with challenges involving language acquisition and fluency and the frustrations of being misunderstood—will easily relate to our young protagonist. So will everyone else. Stella Díaz Has Something to Say is *highly recommended for all home, classroom and library collections.

Addendum / Update: On page 119 of the ARC (proofreader copy), Stella says, “I can feel my heart beating like war drums in my chest.” To many readers, this may seem like an innocuous comment, but to many others, it’s a hurtful stereotype of Native peoples. I want to thank Angela Domínguez and her editing and publishing team for offering to change this line in the second printing and paperback editions of this book. The change will read, “I can feel my heart pounding like drums in my chest.” It’s a quick and easy, but very important, fix. 

—Beverly Slapin

(published 1/6/18; revised for addendum, 1/11/18;
revised for cover update, 1/15/18)

Marta! Big & Small

author: Jen Arena 

illustrator: Angela Domínguez 

Roaring Brook Press 2016 

preschool-grade 2

In this super-sweet Spanish-English picture book of perspectives and opposites, a beyond-adorable little girl—with hair tied back and dressed for action and comfort in a plain white t-shirt, with purple shorts and sneakers and a matching backpack—traverses through a tropical jungle-like scenario, where she is compared to all the creatures she encounters. 

Domínguez’s art, which she begins with pencil sketches on illustration board, on top of which she glues tissue paper and then digitally adds layers of color, are in perfect partnership with the limited text. The book is elegantly designed, with mostly double-page spreads that contain lots of white space.

Rather than the often-used, obnoxiously italicized Spanish words, here the English and Spanish are placed in different fonts that balance each other: the English in an unadorned black sans serif and the Spanish in a playful orange display font. 

The smooth repetition that begins each spread with a particular animal’s perspective of Marta in Spanish, followed by the English (with the adverb “very” inserted between duplicate adjectives, the happy result of which joins the two languages and slows down the reading), is rhythmic and natural—and at the same time, hilariously overdramatic. 

On each double-page spread, Marta and one of her particular characteristics is shown in relationship to a particular animal. On one, for instance, there is a lion roaring, and children will see only the beast’s huge mouth and little Marta, covering her ears. And on four spreads, youngsters will learn that, to a huge snake, Marta could be—(¡Ay, que no!)—“sabrosa. Tasty, very tasty…” But when she outwits the reptile by scampering up a nearby tree, the disappointed snake has to admit that she is “ingeniosa. Clever, very clever.” 

One of the final spreads, in which English predominates, “summarizes” the story in six mini-drawings that show how Marta and each animal are different. Another is a glossary in which the Spanish predominates. It’s headed by, in English, “Marta is” and “Marta meets.” And between these two is a spread in which our young protagonist is at home, in her own little “art studio” of sorts, with all that she needs to create her own story. A butterfly has landed on her finger, and she’s smiling widely.

The balanced mix of Spanish and English here is delightful and unlike many picture books created for young children, Marta! Big & Small contains no explanatory text. It’s a fun read-aloud, perfect for bilingual classrooms of hablantes learning English and English-speakers learning Spanish—or, even better, in an environment where children are encouraged to call out a word or phrase they know or can intuit from the pictures. 

“Marta is una niña…an ordinary girl,” the story begins. And it ends with: “And clever, very clever, like una niña.” Indeed, there is nothing ordinary about this clever story, the art, or the use of language. Marta! Big & Small is *highly recommended for all home, library and classroom collections.

—Beverly Slapin

(published 12/26/17)

How Do You Say? / ¿Cómo se dice?

author: Angela Domínguez

illustrator: Angela Domínguez 

Henry Holt, 2016 

preschool-up

When two young giraffes—one who speaks Spanish and one who speaks English—discover each other at an acacia tree that provides a “delicious! / ¡sabrosa!” leafy meal for both of them and they can share water from the same small pond as well, they become instant friends. On elegantly designed double-page spreads that contain lots of white space—and a total of 24 words—the two see the tree (“Food!” / “¡Comida!”) hesitantly meet (“Hello?” / “¿Hola?”), discover everything they have in common, and, after their feast and a lively fiesta, they, of course, join together for a siesta. This last spread contains no white space, just the two giraffe bodies, leaning into each other amid a tangle of balloons, blissfully asleep.

Domínguez told me that her artwork in How Do You Say? is similar to her Lola Levine covers. For the giraffes, she began with pencil sketches on illustration board, on top of which she then glued tissue paper and digitally added layers of color. She painted the leaves, balloons and party hats with gouache and marker on illustration board, and then digitally “cleaned up” these images as well. An imaginative use of limited text, white space, and contrasting colors makes this sweet little book beyond adorable. 

Each double-page spread highlights the two young animals—or parts of them—as they meet, greet, and celebrate each other and their world. How Do You Say? / ¿Cómo se dice? is a gentle, sweet little book with a light-hearted message about similarities, differences and friendships that cross cultural barriers that are, after all, imaginary. Indeed, the youngest hablantes who may be learning English, bilingual kids, and children who don’t speak Spanish (yet) will love this—maybe as a group in a conversation about friendship during snack time and just before nap time. As Domínguez writes on the inside front jacket, “We may speak different languages, but friendship is universal!” / “¡Podemos hablar differentes idiomas, pero la amistad es universal!” Highly recommended.

—Beverly Slapin

(published 9/3/17)

María Had a Little Llama / María Tenía una Llamita

author: Angela Domínguez

illustrator: Angela Domínguez

translator: Angela Domínguez

Henry Holt, 2013 

preschool-grade 2 

Peruvian

Here, Domínguez brings 19th-Century American schoolteacher, Sarah Josepha Hale’s nursery rhyme, “Mary Had a Little Lamb,” into modern-day Peru, where “Mary” becomes “María” and her faithful lamb is a llamita. Beautifully and conscientiously executed in intention, art and translation, María Had a Little Llama / María Tenía una Llamita is a picture book that “shows” rather than “tells” a particular child’s world that in some ways is the same as, and in other ways is different from, those of children who may be reading it.

María is an Inca-Peruvian girl who loves her pet llama and her pet llama loves her—so much so that, while the other llamas (and a few sheep as well) trot off the other way, Maria’s llamita follows her to school. The children are amused of course, but her beloved llama has to wait patiently outside (rules, you know), while the teacher explains the close relationship between the girl and her pet.

While the English text follows Hale’s original poem word for word, Domínguez’s Spanish translation is conversational and charming, and keeps a rhythm that will appeal to hablantes and young bilingual readers as well. 

Effectively employing mixed media consisting of watercolor, gouache, inks and colored pencil on an earthy palette, Domínguez reserves the more opaque inks and gouaches to center María and her bright red hat—as well as her solid white llama—while using the flatter watercolors for the backgrounds. This works especially well, for instance, in depicting the vast blue-green Andes mountains on all of the spreads that show the land.

Domînguez presents physical and cultural details in a subtle, organic way. As an Inca-Peruvian child, Marîa’s traditional outfit consists of a plain woolen poncho and skirt, a bright red chullo (a woolen cone-shaped hat with earflaps), and a pair of ojotas (sandals made from recycled tires). On her way to school, she also carries a bright purple cloth bookbag on her back. In the classroom, María’s teacher wears a traditional embroidered Quecha jobona (wool jacket) and montera (basket-hat). She also wears eyeglasses. On her desk are a stack of books and a globe, while the children sit at desks and write on paper with pencils. While these are important visual cues for young readers in the US to absorb, Domínguez’s illustrations do not depict cultural anomalies. Rather, they show an everyday mix of old and new in a rural Peruvian village.

Domínguez’s careful attention to detail shows throughout. Here are children and adults in a mixed-grade classroom who vary in age, dress and complexion tones. Here is María’s home village, with tile-roofed houses and an open-air marketplace. Here are the animals—llamas and sheep, free and corralled—of different sizes, shapes and colors. Here is a group of musicians in the background, who vary in ethnicity, gender and body types.

Some of my favorite illustrations: 

María’s llama is patiently waiting outside—“But still he waited near and lingered patiently about” / “Pero ella se quedó cerca esperando pacientemente…”—sitting on the grass, ever smiling as llamas do, while clocks float in the background to mark the slow passage of time. 

Domínguez depicts “everywhere” (“And everywhere that María went, the llama was sure to go” / “Y a donde María iba, la llama la seguía”) as a roughly drawn map of Peru that focuses on the Inca Trail: the Andes, Cuzco, the rivers and the sacred Machu Picchu. This spread spans the top half, while the bottom half shows María and her llamita, always together. This is María’s world. This is everywhere.

The final spread opens to a scene of llamas looking on from inside a corral as musicians play traditional musical instruments, which include quena (flute), guitarrón, and arpa indígena (harp); and children, with smaller instruments, wave. In the background are the Andes and forefronted is María, playing her zampoña (pan pipe) and dancing, her llamita dancing beside her. Some of the children are wearing contemporary clothing and some are dressed traditionally; their hairstyles as well reflect their ethnic and cultural mixes. Everyone is smiling, llamas included. It’s a scene of pure joy, one to which young readers will keep returning. 

A well-deserved Pure Belpré Honor Book, María Had a Little Llama / María Tenía una Llamita is highly recommended.

—Beverly Slapin

(published 7/11/17)

Sing, Don’t Cry

author: Angela Domínguez 

illustrator: Angela Domínguez 

Henry Holt, 2017 

preschool-up

Mexican, Mexican American

Ay, ay, ay, ay.

canta y no llores.

porque cantando se alegran,

cielito lindo, los corazones.

Ay, ay, ay, ay.

sing and don’t cry.

because singing gladdens

the heart, sweet lovely one.

When people think of a “Mexican” song, “Cielito Lindo" is one of the first that comes to mind. It’s a positive song, a unifying song, a song of hope and a new morning.“Cielito Lindo” goes back to the 1880s and remains the single most popular mariachi song in Mexico. In restaurants, mariachis enter singing it, and people stop eating and, swaying back and forth, sing the refrain.

My friend and colleague, Judy Zalazar Drummond, told me that her uncle had been a mariachi, and that “Cielito Lindo” was always the song that brought everyone together. She remembers her mother’s singing it all the time and, in Mexico, “someone always picked up the guitar and played it.” It’s an easy song and was the first song she learned as a child. It’s a pretty song, she told me, and always gave her a good feeling.

Domínguez’s story, she writes, was inspired by the refrain in “Cielito Lindo” and by her mariachi grandfather, who turned to music after a serious childhood accident. She centers this poignant story—narrated by a child who fondly remembers Abuelo and the lessons he taught his grandchildren during his annual visits from Mexico—on the healing powers of song and a positive outlook and love of family and community. 

Her artwork—pencil drawings on tissue paper on illustration board, digitally colored in Photoshop—beautifully complements the story’s gentleness. There are two different, both calmly subdued, palettes here: more sepia tones for  “past memories” and slightly brighter, mostly greens, blues, browns and yellows for “present moments.” And I’m impressed as usual by Domínguez’s use of varied skin tones and hair colors, as well as rich details such as bricks on buildings, leaves on trees, a banner of papel picado fluttering in the breeze, the fabric of a couch and balls of yarn in a basket. 

Domínguez has made sure that, although she doesn’t center Abuelo’s disability (he probably would not have wanted her to), it’s clear that it changed his life. So, in four illustrations placed throughout, is a story within the story. The first three are rendered in sepia tones, representing the past. Here is a worried mom, standing over her child’s bed. He is in pain. Here is the child, viewed from behind, leaning on crutches and looking out the window. His friends are waving to him, but he can’t go out. Here is a young man, joyfully singing and playing his guitar. A crutch leans against the couch. And finally, in full color, here is an older man—Abuelo—standing up, exuberantly holding his guitar and smiling at his grandchildren. They are hugging him and his arms are open wide in an exchange of love. 

Domínguez’ spare text virtually frames all of her illustrations and hints at their content: “Some things may be lost forever / it’s true.” / “But maybe that makes room / for new and wonderful / things to be found.” This story showing technique cannot help but engage young readers and listeners and encourage them to imagine, and maybe share their own stories. 

And finally, there’s this:

“When you are misunderstood,

and when people are unkind,

remember—sing, don’t cry,

even if it is only in your soul.”

There is one problem—and it’s major: Domínguez’s lovely story and beautiful art, informed by a Mexican song, about a Mexican American family with a Mexican abuelo who is a mariachi, was published in an English-only format. It certainly should have been bilingual, and I hope that the next printing will be. In the meanwhile, just as a stopgap, perhaps Domínguez and/or the publisher will insert a translation into each book as it comes off the press. Nevertheless, Sing, Don’t Cry is highly recommended.

—Beverly Slapin

(published 6/7/17)

Lola Levine Meets Jelly and Bean // Lola Levine and the Vacation Dream

author: Monica Brown 

illustrator: Angela Domínguez 

Little, Brown (2017) 

grades 1-3 

Peruvian American

Are you ready, world? Lola Levine is back! Lola Esther Levine, our energetic, super-smart, opinionated, eye-rolling, list-making, diario-keeping, not mean, Peruvian-Catholic-Jewish drama queen—is a second-grader who loves soccer, swimming, and climbing trees—and abhors the color pink. Oh, and she super-dislikes making sure that her kindergartner brother, Ben, doesn’t run off and create havoc the moment she turns her back. Which happens a lot.

In Lola Levine Meets Jelly and Bean, Lola’s journalist-mom and artist-dad have agreed that now that school has let out for the summer, it might be a good time to welcome a new family member—and the long-awaited kitty-cat countdown begins! There’s so much to do, including a mom-guided library visit to find out everything there is to know about cats and a dad-guided plan to develop and construct a cat play structure. Finally, the big day arrives and there’s no question about which kitty is coming home from the shelter: Jelly Levine.

But when Lola discovers that Ben is allergic to cats, both children find out that lying is never okay. Rather than return Jelly to the shelter, they sadly agree to search for a new home for her. The problem is resolved as Lola’s super best friend’s mother, aka Principal Blot, agrees to adopt Jelly as a second cat and Lola gets to visit whenever she wants to. And, as Lola begins to think that things couldn’t get better, dad and Ben have been visiting the shelter and come home with the family’s new puppy—whom they have named “Bean” (in honor of “Jelly.”)

Lola’s exuberant and imaginative narratives, which include information-rich diario entries, letters and conversations—as well as the questioning of everything—will totally engage young readers. Here, during swim lessons, 

[W]e spend each lesson practicing different strokes—today we focus on the backstroke and the breaststroke. I like the breaststroke because I imagine I’m a frog swimming in a swamp looking for flies and insects to eat. I also dog-paddle in the water and ask the teacher why there isn’t a cat paddle or a cat-stroke. She doesn’t have an answer for me. 

Domínguez’s appealing gray-scaled illustrations beautifully reflect the ethnic mix of the community’s children and adults, as well as Lola’s and Ben’s mixed parentage: While Lola’s straight dark hair and brownish complexion more resemble Mom’s, younger brother Ben’s light curly hair and fair complexion look more like Dad’s. I especially like the scenes where all are together.

author: Monica Brown 

illustrator: Angela Domínguez 

Little, Brown (2017) 

grades 1-3 

Peruvian American

In Lola Levine and the Vacation Dream, dad has sold lots of his paintings at an art show so the Levine family gets to visit “fun and awesome” Tía Lola—Lola’s namesake and “favorite aunt in the whole wide world”—who lives in Lima, Peru. Lola’s teacher, Ms. García, assigns her to write a couple of short reports about Peru—which is great because writing is Lola’s thing. Plus, Lola will “get to speak Spanish all day!”

Here, young readers will find lots of well-placed information, seamlessly incorporated into the story. For instance, in one of Lola’s reports, young readers will encounter the great Quechua archeologist, Julio César Tello; and in others, she writes about fútbol, llamas, and Pachacamac (the Temple of the Sun). 

While Lola questions, for instance, why students wear uniforms and why the school has a dirt field rather than a big playground with grass, the fact that she’s bilingual is a matter of her upbringing, so there are no inappropriate “fish-out-of-water” scenarios here. Rather, Brown presents the information in a way that works for young readers without disrupting the flow:

“Welcome to the class, Lola,” he says in Spanish. “I’m Mr. Sanchez.”

One of the students says, “Hola, Lola!” and then everyone starts saying it. I like the way it sounds.

“Where are you from”? a girl asks in Spanish. “The United States,” I reply. 

However, the fact that the Spanish words and terms in Lola’s narrative are unnecessarily italicized breaks the rhythm. Note to publishers and editors: Please italicize words and phrases—including foreign terms—only if they’re supposed to be emphasized. And in the case of “Hola, Lola!” the greeting should have begun with an initially inverted exclamation mark so it would look like this: “¡Hola, Lola!”

As Lola and her family eat Peruvian mangoes, tour the Mercado Indio, pet llamas, climb the Temple of the Sun, and see other palaces and pyramids, young readers will also discover how many zeros are in ten million (the population of Lima), the national colors of Peru, the history of fútbol, and the local historic spaces. 

Mom’s and Tía Lola’s discussion of the Temple of the Sun (with Lola and Ben) is, for the most part, excellent:

Mom: “There have been indigenous peoples living in Peru for over eleven thousand years. But around five hundred years ago, Europeans from Spain came and wanted to conquer the indigenous peoples and take their gold and use their land.”

Tía Lola: “But even though many died, and the Spanish destroyed this temple and stole the gold, indigenous people are strong, and we found ways to survive. We’re still here.”

Lola: “We’re smart and creative people,” I say, and I feel proud that I am Peruvian.

However, there was an opportunity lost here. The Inca, who built Pachacamac and other sacred structures, chose these sites for astrological reasons. It was the center of their world. Rather than referring to these sites, throughout the story, as “ruins”—which is colonialist language created to lessen their power—we should be teaching their existence as ongoing history. These amazing stone structures, like the people, are still here. 

In this story, Lola could have referred to the Temple of the Sun as a “ruin”—because that’s how she may have heard it described—and Tía Lola could have explained that, although it looks like a “ruin,” it’s actually a temple, one of many holy places that have, despite the efforts of the Spanish conquistadores to destroy them, endured. 

The morning after the family returns home, Lola finds a surprise. Not another trip to Peru, but a breakfast of bagels from Biff’s; and from the new grocery store, “a big bowl of delicious mangos that glow yellow, orange, and red. (Lola reads) the sticker on one of them and it says GROWN IN PERU.”

Except for the lost opportunity in describing Pachacamac, Lola Levine Meets Jelly and Bean and Lola Levine and the Vacation Dream are absolutely delightful and highly recommended.

—Beverly Slapin

(published 5/2/17)

Lola Levine Is Not Mean (2015) // Lola Levine, Drama Queen (2016)

author: Monica Brown 

illustrator: Angela Domínguez 

Little Brown 

grades 1-3

Peruvian American

Watch out, world! Here comes Lola Esther Levine, a super-smart, exuberant Catholic-Peruvian-Jewish-American second-grader: a diario writer, poet, soccer player and drama queen who practices Spanish and speaks her mind in breathless (mostly know-it-all) spurts. Lola eschews the dominant elementary-school mores: her super best friend is a boy, and she feels strongly that “boys and girls should look however they want.”

Aware that she may be regarded as opinionated (which she is), our young protagonist makes sure to insert the phrase “in my opinion” into much of her narration. She has other endearing self-imposed limitations as well: Because her mom has told her that “hate” is a strong word and she’d rather her daughter didn’t use it, Lola creates a reasonable substitute (e.g., “Cauliflower is another food that I dislike very much”). One of the other things she dislikes very much is the longer form of her name, “Dolores,” because, in Spanish, it translates as “pain.”

Lola and her bratty younger brother, Ben, have inherited their arts and smarts from “the most awesome (parents) in the whole wide world”: Dad is an artist who encourages creative expression, and Mom is a newspaper writer who has, as Lola says, “lots of opinions about words.”

When Lola, who is known school wide as a fierce goalie, gets in trouble for slide tackling and accidentally hurts a classmate in a recess soccer game, she acquires the rhyming nickname “Mean Lola Levine,” which she dislikes very much. How Lola—with a little help from her best friend and a science project that involves burying worms in garbage with her worst enemy—conquers being bullied, is a main theme of this first in a series of chapter books for young readers.

Domínguez’s spare black-and-white drawings nicely reflect the ethnic mix of the community’s children and adults, including the Levine children’s mixed parentage: While Lola’s straight dark hair and brownish complexion more resembles Mom’s, her younger brother Ben’s light curly hair and fair complexion looks more like Dad’s. I especially like the image of the family, sitting around the small dinner table, on which is dinner: matzo ball soup, Peruvian chicken, and flan.

Although Brown seamlessly weaves foreign terms such as diario, tía, buenos días, café con leche, bubbe and shalom into Lola’s narrative, the fact that they’re italicized breaks the rhythm. Note to publishers and editors: Please italicize foreign terms only if they’re supposed to be emphasized.

In Lola’s second adventure, she confides to her diario that her thoughts are “like monkeys jumping up and down in (her) head” and “sometimes (her) monkeys are swinging from trees.” Here, the otherwise fearless youngster has to audition for the class play in front of EVERYONE and, though she’s a fiercely competitive soccer player, Lola can’t decide whether she likes acting class, or what to perform for the audition. With her mom’s help—which consists mainly of answering questions with questions—Lola decides to perform a monologue about the great activist and organizer, Dolores Huerta.

Lola turns out an awesome rhyming monologue that lends her the confidence she needs for the audition. But it’s not enough—overcome with stage fright, she freezes and is assigned a non-speaking part, as Squirrel #2. And, as the curtain rises on opening night, Squirrel #2 finds herself in the middle of yet another disaster, something that appears humiliating and unfixable. Until her bubbe, as bubbes do everywhere, literally comes to the rescue. What happens is both hilarious and heartwarming, and I’m tempted to disclose the ending, which I won’t. (OK, let’s just say that Lola’s facility for quick thinking and extemporaneous rhyming—combined with that of her bubbe—comes in handily during the play.)

Lola Levine, Drama Queen—as with its predecessor, Lola Levine Is Not Mean—will resonate with young listeners and readers who will look forward to Lola’s next adventure (which I’d be willing to bet will have a rhyming title as well). Both books are highly recommended, in my opinion.

—Beverly Slapin

 (published 2/6/16)