Pura's Cuentos: How Pura Belpré Reshaped Libraries with Her Stories

author: Anette Bay Pimentel

illustrator: Magaly Morales

Abrams Books for Young Readers

grades 3-up 

Puerto Rican

On the cover, a tiny green coquí sits on the floor in front of an exuberant, multiethnic group of young children. All eyes are focused on the new librarian, Pura Belpré, as she performs traditional Puerto Rican stories. They are stories she had learned as a child from her Abuela, and, since they had not been published, she transmits them as her Abuela did. In the upper corners, Perez the Mouse and Martina, the beautiful cockroach who loves him in one of Belpre’s stories—are also watching her perform. 

Before Pura Belpré arrived in Harlem, during “storytimes” in public libraries full of books for children, librarians showed the books and read the stories. But there were no storybooks for children from Puerto Rico and none in Spanish. So the young librarian traveled the city, from Harlem to the Bronx to the Lower East Side, lighting her storytelling candle and performing her stories in Spanish and English. Hers may have been the first of library “storytimes” without books.

Magaly Morales’ bright, digital full-color illustrations—including the title’s lettering—are joyous and inviting. On an interior double-page spread, an exuberant Pura practices grand gestures while she dances across the pages and sings to the animals in her stories—who join her. On another page, her characters watch from above as children surround her.

When the young librarian does not see Puerto Rican children in the library, she goes into the barrio to recruit. A double-page spread shows Pura in a park where Puerto Rican children are playing. Across the two pages, she calls out to them: “¡CUENTOS!”

That Pura’s Cuentos contains words and phrases—and some dialog—in untranslated Spanish, affirms the language and honors young Spanish-speaking readers as well. In one spread, an exhilarated young girl hands a stack of books to her mom and tells her, “¡Nos contó historias de Puerto Rico!” 

In this country, a large percentage of the population (roughly 25%) speaks Spanish and, like Pura Belpré herself, Pimentel acknowledges and affirms—and targets—her audience of Spanish-speaking readers and their cultures. Like Pura Belpré, she wants them to go to the library and read and learn more. As well, she pushes young readers who do not speak Spanish to gather the contextual cues to understand what has been said without having been told. 

On the next-to-final spread,—with a coquí on her shoulder and a crowing gallo at her side, Pura is writing the story of Perez and Martina. To her right, Perez and Martina themselves are dancing on the completed pages:

Abuela’s story… Pura’s story … the children’s story … becomes a book. Because Pura Belpré always knew that many stories worth telling aren’t in books. Not yet.

Many of Pura Belpré’s cuentos are still in print, others are anthologized, and still others are worth a search.

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

—Beverly Slapin

(published 6/19/2021)

[Note: The Pura Belpré Award, established in 1996, is presented annually to “a Latino / Latina writer and illustrator whose work best portrays, affirms, and celebrates the Latino cultural experience in an outstanding work of literature for children and youth.”]

My Big Sister // Mi hermana mayor

author: Samuel Caraballo

illustrator: Thelma Muraido

Piñata Publications / Arte Público Press (2012) 

preschool-grade 2 (Puerto Rican)

On the cover, a young boy offers his older sister a small bunch of flowers he has just picked along the road. His eyebrows are slightly raised as he looks up at her. As their hands meet, she accepts his gift with a smile. 

In this gentle, bilingual story that centers the loving relationship between young Pablito and his big sister, the child shows and tells young readers all that Anita does for him while their parents work in a factory, where they “sew jeans for the whole world.”

Throughout an ordinary day, Pablito is full of enthusiasm.

Anita wakes him up, and applauds while he ties his own shoes “with lightning speed.” After Pablito gobbles up his “hot, creamy oatmeal with raisons,” Anita walks him to the school bus, where she “plants a kiss” on his cheek and he greets the driver. After school, Anita sits with him as he does his homework; then they play a round of soccer with some neighborhood boys, come home and have dinner, and get ready for a nighttime story (which happens to be Monica Brown’s Clara y la curandera, illustrated by Thelma Muraida) and bed. After Pablito falls asleep, his parents return and praise Anita for taking care of him, “because,” as Pablito says, “¡ella es era hermana mayor que cualquier hermanito querría tener!” (“She is that big sister that any little brother would want to have!”)

In working class Puerto Rican neighborhoods, it’s common that both parents have to work at low-wage factories while older siblings care for the younger children. This is one way that they are allowed to demonstrate responsible behavior and it creates a strong family bond.

Since Pablito narrates his relationship with his big sister—his experiences—he doesn’t mention that Anita goes to school after she puts him on the bus and picks him up on her way back. However, young readers will notice that Anita carries two backpacks—the bigger one is hers and the smaller one belongs to Pablito. 

Anita has a lot of responsibilities, but they do not include cooking. Rather, at dinnertime, she and Pablito enjoy a delicious, nutritious, and traditional festín de sobras—a feast of leftovers. 

Caraballo is a talented storyteller and poet who composes first in Spanish and then in English. Since every Spanish-speaking culture or region has its own dialect, including local names for plants and animals, people’s names, and the ways in which words or phrases come together, Mi hermana mayor is full of Puerto Rican modismos. For instance, while Pablito picks “buttercups” for Anita, in Caraballo’s Puerto Rican Spanish they’re “botoncitos de oro”—little gold buttons. 

Muraida’s full-bleed, earth-toned pastel and colored pencil illustrations reflect the warm relationship between the young boy and his older sister, who cares for him while their parents “sew jeans for the whole world.” 

On the first spread, expressionless images of a line of factory workers at their sewing machines recede into a rounded earthy background that gives the impression of “the whole world.” Across a “road” is a sketchy image of a town with faceless inhabitants. They are all wearing jeans. 

Mostly single page illustrations on the right and spare text on the left—with the English and Spanish texts separated by spot details—depict Pablito’s and Anita’s day. By their expressions, it’s clear that the two are devoted to each other. And on almost every page, their tiny Chihuahua accompanies them.

It’s important to note that, although Pablito and Anita’s parents work at low-wage jobs, the family is not impoverished. They live in a tree-lined Puerto Rican neighborhood of small, single-family houses, they have curtains on the windows and furniture and books and family photographs.

Samuel Caraballo’s engaging bilingual story of a day in the lives of loving family members, and warmly illustrated by Thelma Muraida, will appeal to young readers—both Spanish- and English-speakers. 

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

—Beverly Slapin

(published 12/27/20)

Míl gracias a mi amiga, Judy Zalazar Drummond, who is also a great fan of Samuel Caraballo’s.

Mis abuelos y yo / My Grandparents and I

author: Samuel Caraballo

illustrator: D. Nina Cruz

translator: Ethriam Cash Brammer

Piñata Books / Arte Público Press, 2004

preschool-grade 2 

Puerto Rican

The title page shows a small framed photo of a smiling young boy and his abuelos. Next to it sits a little frog in a tiny pool of water. He is el coqui, the national symbol of Puerto Rico. (Throughout the story, astute youngsters will catch sight of several more coquis.)

Together, Caraballo’s evocative, rhyming Spanish text and Cruz’s detailed, full-bleed ink-and-watercolor illustrations convey the warmth and joy of a young Puerto Rican child’s loving relationship with his abuelos.

The cover illustration depicts the youngster, playing with his abuelos, who appear on just about every spread. The three of them—with varying skin tones and hair color and textures—reflect the Puerto Rican people and their colonial and Indigenous heritages. 

Cruz’s soft portrayal of the child and his abuelos is warm and lovely. On just about every page, the elders are embracing or holding hands, smiling at each other and their nieto. Together, the three enjoy the simple things: cooking, playing in the garden, walking on the beach, watching the moon lighting up the horizon, strolling through the museums, taking photos of cruise liners (one of which is named “el coqui”). And the child’s abuelos enjoy watching their young nieto pretend to lead a chorus of birds in the park.

In Caraballo’s first verse (which comes around full circle to end the story) and Cruz’s first spread, the child sits cross-legged on his bed. His neat room is full of meaningful stuff, including a stereo, an enormous wooden box to store his toys, a pet goldfish, a large book entitled Puerto Rico, sports equipment, and a clock (whose face is the open mouth of a coqui!). 

The child embraces the framed photo duplicated from the title page. With a wide smile, he introduces his abuelos to his new friends, the young readers:

Mis abuelos son mi vida,

mi manojito de rosas,

mi música preferida,

mis prenditas más valiosas.

My grandparents are my life,

my little bundle of roses,

my favorite music,

my most valuable good-luck charms.

(reviewer’s translation)

Caraballo’s beautiful, poetic, rhyming Spanish will appeal to young Spanish-speakers as well as English-speakers who want to learn Spanish. Unfortunately, the English translations, while relying on the same imagery, seem awkward—sacrificing nuance for rhyme and failing to capture Caraballo’s lyrical feeling: 

My grandparents are my universe.

They are my rosy bouquet,

my favorite musical verse,

and my most prized treasure.

Here, in Spanish, the young child describes Navidad (Christmas) with his family: 

Las fiestas de Navidad

celebramos bien juntitos

cantando de felicidad,

abriendo los regalitos.

During Navidad fiestas

we all celebrate together

singing of joy,

opening the gifts.

(reviewer’s translation)

However, the published English translation maintains the rhyming cadence at the cost of meaning for child readers:

During Christmas gaity,

we sing together happily,

we celebrate our unity,

we open presents thankfully.

Caraballo is an outstanding poet who typically composes in Spanish, and then in English—so that each version reads smoothly and maintains its own integrity. Unfortunately, the translation here lacks this important connection to the author’s Spanish version. A warm story of a young child and his loving grandparents (in Spanish).  

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

—Beverly Slapin

(published 11/15/20)

Note: In working on the translations, I phoned some Spanish-speaking friends and colleagues about the meaning of one particular word. It took many phone calls until one said, “I’ve known that word since I was a child!” and told me what it was. I found out that not all Spanish speakers know everything about Spanish.—BHS

Estas manos: Manitas de mi familia / These Hands: My Family’s Hands

author: Samuel Caraballo

illustrator: Shawn Costello

Piñata Books / Arte Público Press, 2014

grades 2-up

Puerto Rican

In soft, gentle verse—each of which centers on the hands of a particular relative in her extended Puerto Rican family—a young narrator describes the love and loving care her family gives her. In Spanish and English, with each poem accompanied by a full-page portrait, she honors her mamá, papá, hermano, hermana, abuela and abuelo.

Samuel Caraballo is an outstanding poet who composes in Spanish and then in English, so each version maintains its own integrity. As a child narrator (in the first part) speaks of how the hands of her relatives care for her, young readers see a loving, nurturing family. And as the young woman narrator (in the second part) speaks of how her hands care for them, the circle completes itself. 

Tus manitas, ¡las más tiernas!

Cuando tengo miedo, ellas me consuelan.

Cuando tengo hambre, siempre me alimentan.

Cuando tengo sed, me sirven el agua más fresca.

Abrigo me dan cuando tiemblo de frío.

¡Mamá, tus manitas son como pétalos de rosas!

Your hands, the most tender!

When I’m scared, they soothe me.

When I’m hungry, they always feed me.

When I’m thirsty, they give me the most refreshing water.

They give me warmth when I shiver with cold.

Mom, your hands are like rose petals!

As the girl grows into a young woman, she promises to give back all the love that she has received from the hands of her family:

Prometo que un día, cuando sea ya una mujer, mis manos les han de devolver ese cariño tan grande que de ustedes siempre he tenido.

I promise that one day, when I become a woman, my hands will return all the love you’ve always given me.

And as a mature woman, she fulfills her promise to reciprocate the gift of love and caring her relatives have given her. Astute young readers will notice the parallels between, for instance, how the young child’s mother has nurtured her and how she, now a mature woman, nurtures her elderly mamá:

Mamá, cuando sientas temor, mis manos te darán consuelo.

Cuando tengas hambre, estarán ahí para darte tu alimento y servirte el agua fresca que sacie tu sed.

Mis manos serán tu abrigo en el invierno más frío.

Mom, when you feel scared, my hands will soothe you. 

When you feel hungry, they will be there to feed you and to serve you fresh water to quench your thirst.

My hands will be your warmth in the coldest winter.

Utilizing acrylics and pastels on brown chipboard paper, Costello’s impressionistic artwork is soft and appealing, and complements the gentleness of Caraballo’s poetry. The people of Puerto Rico often refer to themselves as “la gente del arco iris” (people of the rainbow) and here, Costello beautifully presents the family as ethnically mixed with varying skin tones and hair colors and textures. 

With a spacious design that will draw in young people, the text page on the left shows the Spanish at the top and the English at the bottom, and centers a miniature illustration that references the evocative, full-bleed rendering on the right. In the back matter, a section defines the cultural representation of the symbols in each poem: roses represent tenderness, the mahogany tree represents strength, the blooming oak tree represents friendship, white lilies represent happiness, and there’s a note about the sacred ceiba tree. 

In Estas manos: Manitas de mi familia / These Hands: My Family’s Hands, the talents of bilingual poet Samuel Caraballo and artist Shawn Costello beautifully come together to create an honoring of extended families everywhere. 

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

—Beverly Slapin

(published 10/30/20)

[Note: Unfortunately, the choice of past tense in the back matter description of the ceiba tree and the people for whom it is sacred leaves the impression that these peoples no longer exist. It reads (in English):

The ceiba tree was one of the sacred trees of the Taíno and Mayan cultures. For those cultures, the ceiba tree was the tree of life and wisdom. The Taínos and Mayas believed that the ceiba tree was the center of the universe that held up the sky. (emphases mine)

When Piñata Books reprints Caraballo’s beautiful story-poem, I strongly suggest that an accurate and respectful description be substituted. Something like this: 

To the Taíno and Maya peoples, La Ceiba is the sacred tree of life and wisdom. La Ceiba is so strong that she has outlasted countless storms, floods and hurricanes. It is said that she is the center of the universe and holds up the sky.—BHS]

Mis papitos: Héroes de la cosecha / My Parents: Heroes of the Harvest

author: Samuel Caraballo

illustrator: Obed Gómez

Piñata Books / Arte Público Press, 2005 

grades 1-5

Puerto Rican

Front and center in the cover illustration, the first thing young readers will see—and possibly look at for a long time—is a child, struggling to fall asleep. His body cannot relax because he is worried. In suspended consciousness, he sees his parents, at dawn, walking to work. They are looking straight ahead and their chins are slightly raised. Papi, his left hand on Mami’s shoulder, is holding a rake. Mami, her right arm on Papi’s back, is pointing toward the east, beyond the early rays of sunlight shining on them, and a white dove hovers overhead. Framing the boy in his bed are baskets, cut sugarcane, and lots of laughing fruits and vegetables. 

Gómez’s artwork, utilizing black ink and watercolor on a muted palette of mostly yellows, purples, browns, and reds, beautifully reflect the art deco style of the 1950s and are symbolic of the farmworker struggle. Full-bleed illustrations appear on the right side, and a detail from the painting separates the Spanish and English texts on the left. The white dove appears on almost every page.

The child, whose parents labor in the fields, sees their exhaustion every day when they come home. And the next day, they take on this grueling work again, and the next day, and the next.

¡Zum! ¡Brun! ¡Trac! ¡Ras!

Mañana, bien tempranito,

continuarán la cosecha.

Zoom! Vroom! Sap! Scratch!

Early tomorrow, once again,

they’ll return to the harvest.

This child sees his parents as “héroes de la cosecha”—heroes of the harvest.

In words and pictures, in reality and in a child’s imagination—every page speaks to the difficult lives of the agricultural workers and their families. At the same time, his voice reimagines his parents’ experiences and, in his mind, constructs a better world. He acknowledges the good in his family’s life—including their devotion to him and his younger sister—and transforms what’s not good. 

In this child’s fantasy world, everyone is happy, everyone has enough, and everything has volition. He imagines, for instance, that the fruits and vegetables and the cut sugar cane, happy to be harvested, jump into the baskets and boxes by themselves. And,

¡Ja, ja!

Gozan las fresitas

al sentir el toque de las manos.

Ha, ha!

The strawberries enjoy

the feel of my parents’ hands.

That a child of farmworkers narrates the story honors the children of farmworkers and other working children as well. In forefronting this child’s voice, Caraballo’s unrhymed tercets, in Spanish and English (each with its own pattern and flow), complement the dream style of the boy’s imagination and deflect his harsh reality. The first line creates a sound, the second identifies the sound, and the third expands his mental picture.

Rather than translating, Caraballo typically writes in Spanish first and then rewrites in English, so each version flows naturally and neither is an exact “translation” of the other. 

As Gómez infuses bright yellows into every scene of the child’s parents at work, young readers will feel the blazing sun beating down on them.

Gómez’s final illustration replicates the one on the cover. The child is still trying to sleep, but sleep still does not come easy. His body is still tense. His hands still grip his blanket. Laughing vegetables continue to surround him, his parents are once again off to work at dawn, and the little white dove still hovers overhead. Young readers who initially might have wondered about the laughing fruits and veggies on the cover will, by the final illustration, understand their symbolism and significance. And they will empathize with this loving mom and dad, toiling in the fields, day after day, under a sweltering sun. 

¡Zum! ¡Brun! ¡Trac! ¡Ras!

Mañana, bien tempranito,

continuarán la cosecha.

Zoom! Vroom! Sap! Scratch!

Early tomorrow, once again,

they’ll return to the harvest.

In short, profound Spanish and English verses and evocative images, Samuel Caraballo and Obed Gómez beautifully depict a farmworker family’s child, desperately trying to create a world that is much better than the one he and his family inhabit. For now, it’s his only survival technique. 

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

—Beverly Slapin

(published 10/24/20)

Tiny Travelers: Mexico Treasure Quest // Tiny Travelers: Puerto Rico Treasure Quest

authors: Steven Wolfe Pereira and Susie Jaramillo

illustrators: Susie Jaramillo, Mei Li Tan and Magali Reyes McDonald

Encantos Media Studios, 2019

preschool-grade 3 

Mexican, Puerto Rican

Tiny Travelers is a fun series of board books for travelers of all ages. Aimed at young audiences from preschool-grade 3, readers voyage to different countries and are introduced to various cultural traditions, culinary histories and a sense of geographical places worth visiting.

For my own tiny travel, I chose to read Mexico and Puerto Rico. The authors and illustrators introduce both countries in captivating ways that invite youngsters to take in and embrace the cultures. Each spread contains information presented in one or two quatrains, along with a small “did you know?” fact and a “can you find?” question that engage young readers to connect more fully with the cultures. In addition, this design uses a minimum of space that allows plenty of room for the bright, vibrant digitally “painted” illustrations. 

Mexico begins with a map of the country and lets children know that the quest is not for gold “but another special kind.” Given Mexico’s colonial history, this is a subtle reminder of the past, something that older students can research. Moving forward in curiosity and celebration exhibits page upon page of bright illustrations with multiethnic children of varied complexions interacting in diverse parts of Mexico. Emulating the “Where’s Waldo?” concept is an indigenous dog—“xoloitzcuintli”—who can be found on just about every spread.

Youngsters learn about traditional foods, cultural icons, music and famous places in Mexico. (And it’s also refreshing to see tiny details that Mexican children will note, such as a girl mariachi.) Throughout the text, connections are made with various cities or regions that invite further investigation later. The final pages include a world map that puts Mexico in context with the rest of the world. This book was an engaging read for this aging “tiny traveler.”

From Mexico, this traveler flew to Puerto Rico. As with Mexico, readers learn easy Spanish greetings and are transported to the capitol, San Juan, for a celebration. The legendary monster, “Vejigante,” shows up a few times and, of course, everyone is partying and he’s one of the musicians. But just in case, the text reads “If you see a monster, don’t be afraid! People love wearing masks of the Vejigante…”

The repeating cultural motif—on every spread—is PR’s beloved national symbol, the tiny coqui (whose loud, chirping call sounds like its name), hiding out, partying, sunbathing at the beach, watching TV, flying a kite… I’m reminded of a dicho: “Soy de aquí como el coquí.” It literally means, “I am from here, like the coquí.” 

The nearby island of Vieques lends a note of local biological beauty with a bioluminescent bay. This occurrence is in direct contrast with the island’s colonial history of the United States military presence, so is a welcome natural beauty addition. The reader continues discovering beaches, “coco frios” (cool coconut juice), culturally relevant sports such as boxing and outdoor spots for kite-flying such as El Morro on San Juan Bay.

My one suggestion for this series is that the names of places visited be included on each map. Map searching is less important for the preschoolers, but second-and third-graders could happily cross-reference towns on the map.

Although both Mexico and Puerto Rico follow a formula in describing the places and cultures, there is little that is formulaic in the Tiny Traveler series. Rather, as these gorgeously illustrated board books introduce young people to each place and culture, they nurture a healthy curiosity and encourage youngsters to want to know more. As well, Mexican and Puerto Rican children will see themselves as belonging to a land that is part of their own rich heritage. 

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

—Rose Veda Berryessa

(published 9/10/20)

[Note: One of the “Did You Know?” entries tells young readers that “Puerto Rico has officially been a territory of the United States since 1898, making all Puerto Ricans American citizens.” This is true. However, the people of what’s currently known as Puerto Rico have been struggling for independence—first, from the Spanish Empire from 1493 to 1898, and since 1898, from the United States. In this review, I refer to Puerto Rico as a country. ¡Que viva Puerto Rico libre!--RVB]

Marcus Vega Doesn't Speak Spanish

author: Pablo Cartaya
Viking, 2018
grades 7-up
Puerto Rican

Narrated by a six-foot-tall, 180-pound eighth-grader, Marcus Vega is variously known as the “Mastodon of Montgomery Middle,” the “Springfield Skyscraper,” the “Moving Mountain,” the “Terrible Tower.” You get the picture. “Most kids clear out of the way when I walk down the hall,” he tells readers. 

Knowing how hard his single mom works to support him and his younger brother and how she worries, Marcus uses his size to build what becomes a booming “profit center”—for a small fee (which he secretly stashes into his mom’s Cookie Monster jar), he provides a “walking service,” protecting a group of kids from bullying as they go to and from school. 

Marcus for sure does not fear bullies and, in fact, makes a point of not taking short cuts in order to avoid them. This does not sit well with a notorious bully, who particularly aims his ire at the seemingly most vulnerable, including Marcus’s younger brother, Charlie, the first kid with Down syndrome to attend Montgomery Middle. When the bully pushes Marcus to the brink by calling Charlie the “R” word, Marcus slams him—and gets suspended.

Marcus and Charlie are very close, and Charlie is a refreshingly well-developed character. Like many children with Down syndrome, he is outgoing, cheerful, likes to joke around with his friends and relatives, has favorite stories and TV programs, and is liked by his teachers and the other students. His mixed program of general education and special education classes includes speech therapy, occupational therapy, physical education and art; and while Marcus does homework during his brother’s sessions, he does not hover.

Marcus’s and Charlie’s mom works as an airline gate agent, sometimes morning and sometimes night shifts. While she refers to her sons as her “all-star team,” she stresses about income and not having enough time with them. 

In order to “regroup,” mom decides to take the boys to Puerto Rico for spring break—where the boys were born, and to reconnect with their absent dad’s side of the family. For Marcus, it may be a chance of finding and getting to know his father. (Unanswered emails are an indication for readers that this reconnection may not go well, but they’re no clue for the ever-hopeful Marcus.)

Unlike his dad’s Puerto Rican relatives, and his mom, who is not Latina but is a fluent Spanish-speaker, Marcus, who was born in Puerto Rico but doesn’t speak Spanish, wonders if where he’s from determines who he is.

As mom and Marcus and Charlie reconnect with their large, exuberant Puerto Rican farm family, they see “corridor after corridor” of gardens everywhere, and each garden has its own story: when and why it was built, whose responsibility it is, what it grows—tomatoes, yucca, a guanabana tree, achiote. Or, as Marcus notes, “the theme is weird-looking fruit no one has ever heard of … Nobody in my school would go near these.”

Here, the boys learn about the realities of farm life—everyone works hard and there are few complaints. Tío Ermenio explains, for instance, that when the toilet is flushed, the shower turns freezing cold.

And when a problem arises, everyone knows what has to be done and someone does it. After a sudden, loud gunshot “cracks the air and echos through the mountains,” Tía Darma returns, hands her large pistol to someone, and comments about the weather before she matter-of-factly tells the stunned children that she has just “said good-bye to a sick cow.”

Yet, despite the incomparable beauty of the land and the generosity and humor of his Puerto Rican relatives, our city-boy Marcus remains non-plussed: “A sleepover at our cow-murdering great-aunt’s farm in the middle of nowhere with little singing frogs ‘co-keeing’ everywhere. What’s not adventurous about that?”

Marcus’s father turns out to be the reason no one talks about him. He’s a self-involved jerk who probably never thought twice about abandoning his family. 

Five days later, Marcus, Charlie and mom have returned. As Marcus pores over the many photos he had taken and emails them to a friend, he chooses a file name: “Familia.”

Marcus is changing. His familia has changed him. He’s more thoughtful. He likes to “visit the bodega next to the train and say hola to the lady at the counter. She speaks Spanish too fast, but I’m learning to understand her better.” He takes photos of “everything that makes up this tiny town that’s forty-five minutes from a big city and four hours away from an incredible island.”

I think of the book Charlie picked up at the airport, Proud to Be Boriqua. The author writes about the little singing frogs that I heard on Darma’s farm. The coquí. He says, “Soy de aquí como el coquí.” It literally means, “I am from here, like the coquí.” From Puerto Rico. He belongs somewhere. I’ve been feeling the same way. I won’t be croaking songs into the night like the tiny little frogs do. But it’s nice to feel like I’m finally part of something that’s way bigger than me.

With spot-on code-switching and non-italicized Spanish words and phrases, and with clearly transmitted dichos—traditional, usually rhyming, “sayings” that hold encoded teachings—Marcus Vega Doesn’t Speak Spanish is a deeply satisfying story of family relationships, of growing up, of coming to know who you are and where you fit in. Marcus doesn’t speak Spanish yet, but, in his time, he will. And for now, he understands it.

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

—Beverly Slapin

(published 8/22/20)

Abrazos a mi colega y amiga, Judy Zalazar Drummond.

Estrellita se despide de su isla / Estrellita Says Good-bye to Her Island // Estrellita en la ciudad grande / Estrellita in the Big City

author: Samuel Caraballo

illustrator: Pablo Torrecilla

Piñata Books /Arte Público Press 2002, grades 3-6

Puerto Rican

Both of these stories transported me back to Puerto Rico. Years ago, as our plane began its descent into San Juan Airport, almost everyone began singing, “En mi viejo San Juan.” This beautiful song, written by Noel Estrada in 1943, begins, “En mi viejo San Juan, cuantos sueños forje en mis noches de infancia,” which means that Puerto Rico never leaves us, not even in our dreams.

The first story, Estrellita se despide de su isla, is a poem, a love song from a child to her island. From the window of the giant plane, the sorrowful child says, “¡Adiós mi preciosa isleta, pedazo de mi corazón!” (“Goodbye, my precious little island, darling piece of my heart!”) In the detail on the left and full illustration on the right, the child’s green eyes and brown hair reflect the rich greens of the land and the browns of the mountain, and the blue wisps and tendrils of her hair hold the blues of the sea and sky. 

As readers turn the pages, the airplane is high in the sky, shrinking, going north. And the child is storing in her memory her home, her town, the beach, the coquis (national frogs) in her hands and her hair and on her bed, the rooster, the wind drying the laundry on the line, the hibiscus flowers and the little white goat in the mango tree. And being with her friends, and the street musicians and people dancing plena and the aroma of hot coffee. 

The child’s name is Estrellita. It means “little star.” She doesn’t know when she will return, but she will always remember “tus cielos, tus ríos, tus encantos / con los que el pintor sueña, / y las gloriosas notas de mármol / de tu exquisita canción caribeña.” (“Your skies, your rivers, your charm / All of which the painter dreams, / And the glorious marble notes / Of your exquisite Caribbean song.”)

And most of all, she will hold in her memory “el tierno, angelical abracito / de mi abuelita Panchita / quien, como tú, es mi amorcito, / mi luz y mi valiosa perlita!” (“the tender, angelic hug / Of my grandma Panchita / Who, like you, is my little love, / My light and my precious little pearl!”) Here, as they hug, grandma’s dress is patterned with hibiscus on a background of blue, and the blue highlights in her hair reflect the sky and the sea. 

author: Samuel Caraballo

illustrator: Pablo Torrecilla

Piñata Books /Arte Público Press  

2008

grades 3-6

Puerto Rican

In Estrellita en la ciudad grande / Estrellita in the Big City, the child and her dad have arrived in Brooklyn, “la ciudad grande.” Estrellita hasn’t unpacked yet, because she has something more important to do. In the small hotel room, she’s covered the bed with a brightly colored quilt that she has brought from home, and a small hibiscus plant—in a pot—sits on the window sill. Now, sitting at the edge 
of the bed, Estrellita looks down at the telephone she holds in her hand. She’s waiting and waiting. The phone finally rings, and lágrimas de felicidad (“happy tears”) flow from Estrellita’s eyes. 

On the other end is Estrellita’s abuelita, and their conversation is deep. In PR, abuelita is still selling fritters to pay her bills and still going fishing, she jokes—to keep herself young! Estrellita tells her abuelita that her dad is out with Tío Carlitos and Tía Luisa for a job interview, and hopes to find an apartment soon. She can’t wait, Estrellita tells her abuelita, to have her own room—“¡Para acostarme en mi cama y soñar con el día en que te vuelva a ver¡” (“To lie in my bed and dream of that day when I get to see you!”) But before her abuelita begins to cry, Estrellita tells her her “New York stories.” These include seeing the at-first unreadable signs and billboards, the Verrazano Bridge, the skyscrapers that look like giant mirrors, the elevators and escalators, and even giant food—“Los perros calientes medían un pie de largo. Los pretzels eran tan grandes como las panderetas y ¡los vasos de refresco eran más grandes que la cubeta que usas para la carnada!” (“The hot dogs were one foot long, the pretzels as big as tambourines, and the cups of soda bigger than your bait bucket!”)

Caraballo wrote both stories in Puerto Rican Spanish with Puerto Rican references. The language is good and authentic, informal “people” language, el sonido de la gente. Later, Caraballo wrote the English versions, and neither is a direct translation of the other. Either way, children and those who read the books with them will feel “at home” and comfortable. 

Estrellita’s description of the city is detailed. It’s what a kid would say or write, noticing facts that everyone would be interested in. When she’s in the subway, she notes that there are candy bars and clothing and shoes for sale, and there are people playing kettle drums and congas. 

While Estrellita describes the sights and sounds of the city to her abuelita, young readers can look to the visual details separating the Spanish and English texts on the left-hand page—most are of Abuelita on the phone, sitting on her old cane-woven seat on the beautiful Puerto Rican beach, quiet and peaceful—looking out at the sea and talking with her beloved nieta. This contrast is what the song is about—even though you leave and you’re in a new place, you’ll always have the memory of the hibiscus, the beaches, the coquís. 

Both Estrellita se despide de su isla and Estrellita en la ciudad grande place the Spanish title above the English on the covers and position the Spanish text at the upper part of each left page, with the English on the lower part. The languages inside are separated either by a detail of the illustration that appears on each facing page (in Estrellita se despide de su isla), or a detail that represents a contrast between “home” and “away” (in Estrellita en la ciudad grande.) This technique signals to young readers that Estrellita and her family are Spanish-speakers, that the English is a translation—and that home is never far away.

Torrecilla’s full-bleed paintings, rendered in marker and opaque-toned gouache, complement the Spanish and English texts and convey shades of meaning as well. In Estrellita se despide de su isla, he uses swirling colors to accentuate the brightness and beauty of Puerto Rico’s symbols: the hibiscus, (the national flower) the coquí (the national frog), and the beaches (the national treasure). Torrecilla’s artwork also portrays the everyday joys: musicians playing on the streets while folks dance, the laughter and fun, the rich smell of coffee—the real feel of beauty and life in Estrellita’s PR. 

And in Estrellita en la ciudad grande, his “New York” colors are more subdued and shadowy—the huge rectangular buildings with people on the ground, looking up; or on a roof, taking photos. And the darkened underground subways, with people running to catch their trains. And the musicians, of course. The illustrations here show the contrast between the full-bleed on the right, and the detail that divides the Spanish from the English text on the left. When Estrellita is next to the Empire State Building, the insert on the left depicts a house on the beach or small fishing boats. In contrast to the Puerto Rican countryside, Torrecilla captures the complexity and intensity of the city. Everything’s bigger in the city. But when they are walking around Brooklyn to get to know the city, she eats empanadas de carne, una papa relleno y una croqueta, just like in PR. And when she goes into a music store, she teases her grandmother, asking her what song they are playing. After two guesses, Estrellita tells her: they’re playing “En mi viejo San Juan”! 

The beaches and beach-front homes, both in the bleeds and in the inserts, seem to flow from the artist’s hands. Estrellita is leaving her beloved abuelita and everything she knows and loves; at the same time, although Estrellita longs for her PR home, in Brooklyn she finds a multiethnic, intergenerational place where she can laugh and dance and be happy—and still be free to long for her home. 

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

—Judy Zalazar Drummond

(published 9/20/19)