The Unicorn Rescue Society: The Chupacabras of the Río Grande

author: Adam Gidwitz

author: David Bowles

illustrator: Hatem Aly

Dutton Children's Books, 2019

grades 3-7

Mexican, Mexican American

El Chupacabras is a mythical, hairless, blood-sucking creature in Mexican popular culture, known for its fondness for the blood of goats and other ruminants. The name comes from “chupar” (to suck) and “cabras,” (goats) and “chupacabras” can be both plural and singular.

As a way of getting their children and grandchildren to behave or keep them from running around at night, Mexican parents and grandparents often tell them frightening stories about El Chupacabras. This technique is not always successful.

El chup was first sighted in Puerto Rico in the late 1970s and then reappeared in the 1990s. At about that time, people in México started talking about them. By the early 2000s, el chup was more associated with México than Puerto Rico. (And there are now indications that el chup has crossed the border and set up camp en este lado.)

In this fast-moving, fourth book of the series, Peruvian professor Erasmo (“Mito”) Fauna (“Defende Fabulosa! Protege Mythica!”), “the most eccentric social studies teacher on the planet” and founder of the Unicorn Rescue Society (whose members are “sworn to protect all the creatures of myth and legend”)—enlists the aid of his young cohorts, Uchenna and Elliott, to investigate the accounts of something that may have crossed the México-Texas border and drained the blood from a cow’s body. 

As Uchenna explains to Elliott: 

[A] chupacabras is short and has spines down its back. It looks a lot like a bald coyote crossed with a porcupine. It hops on its hind legs, kinda like a kangaroo. Oh, and it has sharp, long teeth. Like needles. The chupacabras plunges them into a victim’s flesh and…

The three fly to Laredo and team up with two of the locals: Lupita and Mateo—and their parents, Dr. Alejandra Cervantes and her curandero husband, Israel—to solve the mystery and rescue a chupacabras pup (whom they name “Choopi”). 

As with actual bilingual speech patterns, there is no translation of Spanish words and phrases. When done well, this can be an excellent technique for children at this level: those who are bilingual get a smooth read, and those who don’t speak Spanish easily deduce the meanings.

Hablantes (native Spanish-speakers) will recognize regional dialects, accents and terminology here, as well as spot-on code switching, which implies fluency and thought in both languages as well as Indigenous roots. A Chicano radio DJ, for instance, warns his listeners in Tex-Mex: “Chequen sus cabras and cows, folks! Get them in the shade si no están muertos. It’s gonna be a hot one aquí en Laredo today!”

And Lupita’s and Mateo’s mom scolds her children: “¿Cómo pudieron?” she shouts at them. “I strictly asked you—”

Here, young and middle-grade readers will learn, among other things, the difference between intention and function, which begins with the professor’s beat-up single-propeller airplane’s being used as a car. This event segues into a struggle—at the human and chupacabras level—against a newly constructed border wall that cuts off the pack’s territory and disrupts their traditional feeding pattern. 

As the wall becomes the center of a socio-political storm that divides the community, the young people learn about the necessity of coming together to keep the chupacabras safe and achieve a measure of social justice as well. Although this lesson doesn’t come easily for our protagonists, young and middle-grade readers will be both entertained and instructed.

The usual characters are here—good guys and bad guys (some painted with a broad brush)—and there are also some whose long-held values begin to change. For the young members of the Unicorn Rescue Society, it’s the panic-stricken whining of a chupacabras pup—and the frantic calls of his desperate pack on the other side of the border wall—that will encourage young people on this side to investigate the horrors of real-life family separation at the wall.

Astute readers will also find hints at the so-called “Treaty” of Guadalupe-Hidalgo, the results of which are often remembered today: “We didn’t cross the border—the border crossed us!”

To create a children’s story that’s part-fantasy and part-reality—and that focuses on an important social justice issue, without polemic—is not an easy task. Bowles and Gidwitz have accomplished it with grace and style. 

This is not simply a “rescue.” Rather, the children and their families engage in—and model for young and middle-grade readers—participation as an act of solidarity. 

Now, more than ever, in these troubled times, it couldn’t be more needed. 

The Chupacabras of the Río Grande is not only a fast-paced story that will appeal to rescuers of all ages—it’s also a stereotype-busting lesson about the the issue of immigration and migration, the function of the border wall, the separation of families and the necessity of coming together to achieve a measure of social justice. 

And, if we listen closely to their whistling, we can hear the families of the chupacabras singing (in their own language): “¡Aquí estamos—y no nos vamos!”

*Highly recommended for all home, classroom and library collections. 

—Beverly Slapin

(published 3/23/20)

Gracias a mi amiga y colega, Rose Berryessa.

Skippyjon Jones: Transforming a Racist Stereotype into an Industry

author: Judy Schachner

illustrator: Judy Schachner

publisher: Dutton Children’s Books, 2007

kindergarten-grade 3

Mexican American

When I was a child, Isaac Bashevis Singer was my favorite storyteller, and he remains so today. Born in Poland at the turn of the 20^th century, Singer always wrote and published in Yiddish—because he thought that when all the Jewish souls came back, they’d probably like something good to read—and later edited his stories into English versions.

Some of my favorite of his children’s stories took place in the fictional stetl he called “Chelm,” in which all of the Chelmites, but especially the elders, were fools. His use of Yiddish—which I understood pretty well because it was the language my maternal grandma, my aunts and my mother spoke when they didn’t want me or my younger sister to understand what they were saying—was rhythmic, with a cadence that was easy to replicate. “Chelm” was pronounced with the gutteral “ch” and, although I never identified with the ridiculous elders—Gronam Ox, Dopey Lekisch, Zeinvel Ninny, Treitel Fool, Sender Donkey, Schmendrick Numskull, and Feivel Thickwit—I enjoyed their foolish solutions to everyday problems. In one story I remember, Chelm had a shortage of milk, so the elders, after much pondering and discussion, decided to call “water,” “milk” and “milk,” “water,” thereby making sure there would always be enough “milk” for everyone.

Singer’s Chelm stories showed children how not to solve problems by demonstrating Chelmite problem solving. The primary audience for his children’s stories was Jewish children, and he never mocked immigrant Jewish cultures or the Yiddish language itself. There were no fake dialects and no invented words or phrases. And even when Singer’s stories had been translated into English, the “Yiddishisms” remained intact.

Because he wrote his stories in his primary language and situated them in his own culture—and because Isaac Bashevis Singer was a brilliant writer, I doubt that this kind of work could be replicated by a linguistic or cultural outsider.

So, what does all of this have to do with Judy Schachner’s Skippyjon Jones books for children? It’s all about land, language, culture and community.

Skippyjon Jones did not appear in a vacuum. His cultural roots stem from other well-known stereotypes of Mexican people, nourished by NAFTA and the immigrant-bashing and modern English-only movements.

In 1953, “Speedy Gonzalez” came along. Speedy was a cartoon mouse who had the ability to run really fast and had an exaggerated Mexican accent. He wore an oversized yellow sombrero, white shirt and pants, and a red bandana, and ran circles around his nemesis, Sylvester the Cat (“the greengo poosygato”), while shouting, “Arriba! Arriba! Andale! Andale! YEE-HAH!”

In 1967, the “Frito Bandito” appeared on the scene. This cartoon mascot for Fritos Corn Chips was dressed as a “Mexican bandit” and sang, to the tune of the traditional Mexican song, “Cielito Lindo”: ¡Ay, ay, ay, ay! Oh, I am dee Frito Bandito. I like Frito's Corn Chips, I love them, I do. I want Frito's corn chips. I'll take them from you.”

In 1997, the Taco Bell Chihuahua was born. He was a real Chihuahua who was sometimes costumed as a Mexican revolutionary, sometimes as a sombrero-wearing “bandito,” and sometimes as just a street-smart Chihuahua. The main catchphrase of the ads was “¡Yo quiero Taco Bell!”

Speedy Gonzalez, the Frito Bandito, and the Taco Bell Chihuahua are gone now, but their legacy lives on in Skippyjon Jones, a cat who transforms himself into a Chihuahua and throws around made-up Spanish words that are condescending and mocking to Mexican and Mexican American people and the Spanish language.

In addition to a plethora of Skippyjon Jones books, skippyjonjones.com offers digital prints, iPad applications, sticker stories, sing-along puzzles, stuffed toys, hand puppets, party packs, tote bags, t-shirts, pajamas, costumes, and more. Indeed, Skippyjon Jones has transformed himself into a lucrative industry.

So, let’s get to the books. As an example and because this stuff gives me the dry heaves, I’ll review just one: Skippyjon Jones and the Big Bones.

Skippyjon Jones (the Siamese cat) wants to be a paleontologist, so he digs up his neighbor’s dog’s bones, puts on his cape and mask, emerges as “El Skippito Friskito,” and begins to sing:

Oh, my name is Skippito Friskito (clap-clap) / And I hunt for the dinosaur-ito (clap-clap) / With gigantico ears / That’s been buried for years / Under layers of sediment-ito.” (clap-clap)

Deep within his closet, the alleged fun begins, as Skippito meets up with his old friends, “los Chimichangos stinkitos.” They are toasting “los marshmallocitos prehistóricos” that are hard as rocas because they are “fossilitos.”

“Fossilitos, schmossilitos,” declared Poquito Tito, the smallest of the small ones. “We want to see los dinosaurios with our own ojos,” he said, pointing to his eyes. 

“¿Por qué? asked Skippito.

“Because, Bobocito,” said Don Diego, the biggest of the small ones, “We hear they are reelly, reelly beeg, dude!”

Hearing the news, the Chihuahuas go “insane-o” and sing:

Ding-a-ling, ding-a-long, ding-a-lito (clap-clap) / You are such a silly Skippito. (clap-clap) / You know what dogs think: / If it’s good it must stink! / Plus it’s great for the old snifferito! (clap-clap)

Soon, there’s an “earthquake-ito” and the Chimichangos begin to rumba around a “T. Mexito.” Skippito warns them that they “will be crushed like crispitos beneath the dinos’ toes-titos!” So Skippitito lets out a big “Jurassic-o bark,” and the “T. Mexito” thinks the Chihuahua is a “Skipposaurusito,” and the dinosaurs go “extincto.”

I’ll stop the narrative here. Schachner’s expressive acrylic and pen-and-ink illustrations, on a palette of bright, bold colors, would be very appealing, were it not for these godawful stories themselves.

I’m not sure why the reviewers from the major review journals find these books funny, and apparently think that made-up Spanish words are “Spanglish.” FYI, for those who don’t already know: Spanish is a complex language, with the same parts of speech as English, and with similar grammatical rules. Spanglish is a flexible language that jumps the barrier, a blend of Spanish, English, and sometimes Caló, a Chicano-based street language. The gifted Chicano poet, José Antonio Burciaga, often constructed poems in Spanish, English, and Spanglish—and sometimes entirely in Caló.

The bottom line: Adding “ito” to an English word does not make it Spanish. Further, you don’t just make stuff up and call it “Spanglish.” Mocking someone’s language and culture in this way is not “silly,” it’s racist. The Skippyjon Jones books and materials are insulting to Spanish-speaking children who are learning English, English-speaking children who are learning Spanish, and their parents and communities.

But more important, they prepare young children to accept immigrant-bashing, stop-and-frisk searches, the forced breakup of Mexican families, the impoverishment of farmworkers, and the racist campaign against the Mexican American students in Arizona.

Indeed, the Skippyjon Jones “industry” is a model for how racist stereotypes are marketed to young children. If Judy Schachner is capable of any shame, now would be a good time to post a public apology, shut down her business and turn over all of her profits to the courageous young Mexican American students in Arizona who are fighting to liberate themselves from the racist “education” they are receiving at the hands of the Tucson Unified School District.

Estos “Skippyjon Jones” títulos son muy estúpidos y racistas and way not recommended.

—Beverly Slapin
(published 4/6/13)