Merci Suárez Changes Gears

author: Meg Medina

Candlewick Press, 2018 

grades 4-7 

Cuban American

It’s the beginning of Mercedes (Merci) Suarez’s sixth grade year, and right away she notices big changes. There’s a new boy in class, just moved to South Florida from Minnesota, and Merci has been assigned to be his Welcome Buddy, but wealthy, popular classmate Edna Santos has set her sights on him. Merci’s older brother Roli has his driver’s license and will soon be leaving for college. Most ominous of all, though, are the changes in Merci’s beloved grandfather, Lolo, who forgets more and more, and now has begun to act strangely—fighting with loved ones and wandering off into traffic. All the older people in Merci’s extended family—all of whom live in three small adjacent houses they call Las Casitas—seem to know what’s going on but won’t tell her.

In this eventful year, Merci encounters bullying, feeling out of place because her private-school classmates can buy things her lower middle class family cannot, family responsibilities that keep her from trying out for sports teams (despite her athletic ability), and facing Lolo’s decline. More than anything else, Merci wants a new bicycle, but all her efforts to make money (or win a contest with a cash prize) end in failure. Nonetheless, the family that takes away is also the family that gives her more than she can imagine as they come together to understand and address a sad situation with no solution. In this novel for middle grade readers, veteran author Medina portrays a close-knit Cuban American family and the diversity of South Florida’s Cuban American community. Her use of humor leavens the serious subject matter while foreshadowing perils to come. For instance, in describing Roli’s attempts to drive, she writes,

Roli has only had his license for a few weeks and already we’ve lost a mailbox and two recycling bins to his skills behind the wheel. Even our cat, Tuerto, has learned to hide when he hears the jingle of car keys.

A determined, engaging protagonist and likeable, true-to-life secondary characters—not only Merci’s lovable family but also her classmates who sometimes hurt her yet have their redeeming qualities—make Merci Suarez Changes Gears a solid and satisfying read. 

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

—Lyn Miller-Lachmann

(published 8/22/18)

This review first appeared in The Pirate Tree (thepiratetree.com). We thank The Pirate Tree for permission.

Burn Baby Burn

author: Meg Medina

Candlewick Press, 2016 

high school-up 

Cuban American

Between spring 1976 and summer 1977, the “Son of Sam” shooter David Berkowitz killed or wounded 13 New Yorkers, young couples who were sitting in their cars, in parks, or on the street. Until his arrest on August 10, 1977, no one knew who the shooter was. For more than a year, terrified New Yorkers suspected their neighbors and even members of their own families.

Meg Medina perfectly captures this climate of fear and suspicion in her new YA novel Burn Baby Burn, beginning with 17-year-old protagonist Nora López’s panicked walk home at night with her best friend, Kathleen, and their encounter with a stranger who turns out to be an undercover police officer and a friend of Kathleen’s father, a fireman. The policeman brings them home with a warning, but that’s only the beginning of Nora’s troubles. Her younger brother Hector, spoiled and excused by their single mother, has gone from truancy and disrespecting teachers to arson and domestic violence. Still, Nora and her mother refuse to tell anyone. They’re afraid of what the neighbors will think, and they search for every shred of evidence that Hector will pull his life together.

At work—a full-time job Nora juggles with school because she plans to move into her own apartment—she is attracted to the new guy, Pedro, but they have no place to go, lest they become victims of the mysterious killer whom Nora fears may be her own brother.

Compounding Nora’s isolation is the baggage her mother brings as an immigrant from Cuba. Nora’s mother was one of the first wave to leave after the revolution, and she idealizes what her life was like there in comparison with what she now faces with two teenage children, a vanishing job in a factory that makes audiotapes, and an ex-husband who is constantly behind in paying child support. 

Although Nora finds a potential mentor of sorts in her downstairs neighbor, Black activist Stiller, Nora’s mother labels Stiller a “comunista,” and tries and partially succeeds in keeping Nora away from her.

In Nora, Medina has created a strong, memorable female protagonist who wants to become a carpenter and plays a major role in holding her family together. Yet the responsibility is always more than she can handle, for she cannot be expected to “save” or protect the community singlehandedly from a dangerous sociopath who batters both her and her mother. She struggles with both fear and guilt that contribute to her being silent too long, and her dilemmas will resonate with readers who harbor difficult secrets.

Vivid writing conveys with authenticity and interest the New York City of the 1970s, when economic distress, crime, drugs, and social unraveling threatened to destroy so many working-class neighborhoods. The Son of Sam killings and the July 13-14 blackout, fires, and looting were the best known examples, but the struggles played out in hundreds of thousands of homes, schools, workplaces, and streets.

As well, Medina’s dialogue skillfully blends the Spanish and English of a family in which some members are bilingual and some are not. For instance, while a fireman probes the neighbors about a suspicious fire, Nora condenses the conversation for a shaken Mima:

“¿Qué dijo el hombre?" Mima whispers.

“They’re investigating,” I say.

Mima crosses herself.

And when Stiller offers to bring Hector, who is in a drug-induced stupor, to the hospital:

“Es una borrachera, na’mas,” Mima insists, although I don’t smell any alcohol on him at all. Then she turns to me: “Nora1” Her voice is sharp. “Tu hermano.”

An excellent author’s note places the story events in the larger historical context, explains what is fact and fiction, and offers respect to the victims of these horrific crimes. Burn Baby Burn is highly recommended.

—Lyn Miller-Lachmann

(published 3/27/16)

A somewhat different version of this review appeared in The Pirate Tree (www.thepiratetree.com).

Tía Isa Wants a Car // Tía Isa Quiere un Carro

author: Meg Medina

illustrator: Claudio Muñoz 

translator: Andrea Martinez-Wells (Spanish version) 

Candlewick Press, 2011

preschool-grade 3 

Cuban American

“Tía Isa wants a car.” That’s the refrain on almost every page uttered by our young Latina narrator, who lives with Tía Isa and her brother, Tío Andrés, in a small apartment building in the city. The car she wants is a huge 1950s gas-guzzler with no air conditioning and a bad radio. But it’s un pisicorre “the same shiny green as the ocean that lapped outside my bedroom window,” says Tía Isa. It’s un pisicorre to take them to the beach, and large enough to hold all three plus Mami and Papi when they arrive here from their island home. But Tía Isa, who has a low-paying job and sends “helping money” to the family, has little hope to purchase this “dream car.” This is a close community, however. Neighbors provide odd jobs for the child—stacking oranges in the fruit store, feeding la vieja María’s semi-feral kitties, secretly teaching the librarian some Spanish—and before long, her “secret money sock has grown into a giant money sausage,” with enough to purchase their dream car.

Our narrator, Tía Isa, Tío Andrés, and their neighbors, are familiar people with whom young readers will easily identify. Medina seamlessly incorporates Spanish words and phrases into the story, reflecting the language mix of first-generation English-learners. For instance, Tía Isa says she wants “un pisicorre…to take us to the beach.” When her young niece presents Tía with the money she has saved, Tía “leaves two pink lip marks on my forehead from her besito.” Even their new pisicorre “speaks” Spanish—when Isa revs it up, the “motor cranks with a puff of genie smoke,” and rather than hearing the sound, “vroom, vroom, vroom, vroom” the two hear, “arroz, arroz, arroz, arroz.”

Medina’s vivid imagery—Tía Isa smells of lemon pies from the bakery in which she works, Tío Andrés’s work boots are “muddy like ogre shoes,” the air on Tía’s island smells of "wet palm fronds and mud,” the used car lot smells of tar—provide evocative detail that will engage young readers and listeners. Muñoz’s soft illustrations, in pencil, watercolor and ink, on a subdued palette of tinted pastels, complement the lively imagery of the story itself. I especially like the details of the car, and the expressions on everyone’s faces are priceless. No less importantly, Muñoz’s art mirrors the story rather than extending it, so that both beginning readers and hablantes, perhaps with some help, can easily follow the narrative.

Unfortunately, Medina’s adept and sometimes playful combining of Spanish and English in Tía Isa Wants a Car is not reflected in the Spanish version, Tía Isa Quiere un Carro, which seems to be flattened. Rather than following the code switching of the English version (“Un pisicorre,” she says, “to take us to the beach!”), Martinez-Wells stays exclusively with Spanish (—¡Un pisicorre! ¡Para que nos lleve a la playa!).

In one scene, Tía Isa offers a fistful of dollars to a used car salesman. Her face and body language say that she’s struggling. His arrogant posture says he doesn’t care. The English version reads:

“How much, mister? How much?” Tía Isa repeats in the few English words she knows. She shows him her envelope. “Not enough,” the man tells us again, shaking his head.

And the Spanish version reads:

—¿Cuánto sale, señor? ¿Cuánto?—repite tía Isa en el poco inglés que domina. Tía Isa entrega el sobre. — No es suficiente—dice el hombre otra vez sacudiendo su cabeza.

By using an entirely literal Spanish translation, Martinez-Wells misses the opportunity to show how Tía Isa is both struggling with, and learning, English.

Although the struggles of immigrant families to reunify often have a lot in common, the issues of various immigrant, migrant and refugee groups—depending on countries of origin, histories, politics, and social and cultural dynamics—can be vastly different from each other. Although it’s not explicitly stated, it’s clear that Tía Isa Wants a Car is situated in the Cuban-American community in Miami, and the family’s “island home” is Cuba. I think it’s important that young readers—and even very young listeners—encounter stories that have specific contexts and settings so that they can be able to deal with the complexities in their own lives, their communities and their schools. 

Nevertheless, Tía Isa Wants a Car is an engaging story of hard work and resourcefulness; but most importantly, about love of family, being part of community, and never letting go of your dreams. It’s recommended. Unfortunately, the text of the Spanish version, Tía Isa Quiere un Carro, will not be as appealing to young hablantes.

—Beverly Slapin

(published 9/11/15)

Mango, Abuela, and Me // Mango, Abuela y Yo

author: Meg Medina

translator (Spanish version): Teresa Mlawer 

illustrator: Angela Domínguez 

Candlewick Press, 2015 

grades 1-up

Young Mia has a problem—her Spanish-speaking abuela has just arrived from the countryside to live with her and her family; and Mia, who speaks English only, cannot communicate as quickly and effectively as she wants to. Which means that, although the two are developing a warm, loving relationship, the bedtime stories Mia wants to hear will just have to wait. Mia, in her exuberance, has an idea that sort of works: she attaches English labels to everything in sight—even her pet hamster’s cage—and a the two play “hear and say.” And, as they go about their daily activities, Abuela teaches her some Spanish words as well. A slow process for a little girl, with limited success.

But wait! Abuela has brought with her a red feather, dropped by a wild parrot who lived in her mango tree back home—and Mia has an idea that just might work! Convincing her mom to purchase a parrot they meet in a pet store—whom they name “Mango”—soon results in a close relationship becoming even closer and a newfound almost-bilingualism in the household.

Domínguez’s artwork, rendered in a blend of ink, gouache, and marker—“with a sprinkling of digital magic”—is perfect. The warm and vibrant colors, on a palette of mostly pinks, blues, yellows and oranges, complement the warmth of the story; and, unlike too many picture books that feature Latina/o characters, Domínguez varies the skin tones to reflect those of a real family. I especially like the illustration of a bemused Papi in the background, scratching his head, while Abuela offers a piece of banana to Mango, and the three—Abuela, Mia, and Mango—happily chatter away in Spanish, English and Squawk-ish.

Athough Abuela’s little house, the seashore, palm trees and parrots hint at the Cuban countryside, Medina chose not to specify where she comes from. “For very young children,” she told me, “I like to offer them what feels familiar—a city, Abuela’s town, the pet shop, the school. I think that leaving room for the child’s imagination allows her to place herself more easily in the story.”

Mlawer’s outstanding translation (in the Spanish version) is idiomatic and warm, capturing the nuances of the story and setting, and of how this particular family speaks and feels. For instance, “She comes to us in winter, leaving behind her sunny house that rested between two snaking rivers” becomes, “Ella llega en invierno, dejando atrás su casa soleada que descansa entre dos ríos zigzagueantes.” When Papi tells Mia, “Abuela belongs with us now,” in Spanish it becomes, “Ahora el lugar de Abuela está con nosotros.”

This understated, evocative little story of patience and love, intergenerational relationships, bilingual language learning, and adapting to change, is a treasure that will resonate with the youngest listeners, who will want to hear it again and again. Mango, Abuela and Me // Mango, Abuela y Yo is highly recommended.

—Beverly Slapin

(published 9/3/15)