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)

The Long Journey of Mister Poop / El Gran Viaje del Señor Caca

author: Angéle Delaunois
illustrator: Marie Lafrance
translator: Daniel Zolinsky
Cinco Puntos Press, 2007
preschool-up

Here, our wolf-guide—sometimes wearing a lab coat and stethoscope, sometimes sporting a chef’s toque, sometimes waving a pointer—takes young readers on a tour of the human body from the inside, pointing out and explaining the bodily processes that transform food into poop. Lafrance’s hilarious pastel illustrations—on a bright palette of mostly yellows, reds, greens and, um, browns—complement Delaunois’ kid-friendly scientific text that even contains the sound effects of digestion! Zolinsky’s Spanish—sometimes placed above and sometimes placed below the English—is a hoot as well.

My young granddaughters (who are excited about reviewing for DE COLORES), middle-schoolers Amelia Edosia and Maribel Linda, couldn’t believe their eyes: A book about poop? Caca? Popó? Really? Maribel laughed because she initially thought that “el gran viaje del Señor Caca” was about “someone named ‘poop’ who was going places.” (The faceless Señor Caca is carrying a satchel and wearing a hat, which is actually a piece of apple core.) And Amelia thought it was funny because “we don’t usually talk about this stuff.”

As they started reading, they saw Doctor Wolf offering an apple to a little girl and telling the teeth to get to work (¡Vamos, dientes! ¡A trabajar!). Maribel noticed that each double-page spread contains both dialogue from Wolf to the little girl, as well as an informative sentence in Spanish and English that explains the particular process. Both reviewers were initially grossed out (“ugh!”) at the illustration of Chef Wolf stirring vegetables in a stomach but began to be impressed at the sight of little enzyme-fishes gobbling up the food and changing its texture. Maribel remarked that “the enzymes turn the food particles into a sort of compost and the stomach is like a compost bin, sucking out the good stuff.”

And now, for the evaluation.

Amelia: “I think El Gran Viaje is important because you can learn something about your body. And it’s funny, too, especially the Spanish. I think the words ‘popó’ and ‘caca’ are funnier than ‘poop.’ I like the drawings because they show things like the intestines being measured off. It’s sort of like a big ruler so you get the idea that the intestines are very long. I like that better than just telling you a fact, like the intestines are very long.”

Maribel: “I think this book is good because you learn about things you didn’t know like how your body actually turns food into poop. For example, you eat something and maybe a few days later it comes out and stinks because it’s been up in your body for days and all the good stuff has been sucked out and used. Poop is what your body doesn’t need.

“I think the drawings are very good because young children can look at them and see what’s in their bodies. I like the pictures of Chef Wolf—he’s leading the story like a teacher and a guide leading you on your journey. For instance, he’s in the stomach and he’s got scuba gear, and he’s grocery shopping in the intestines while the blood and organs take what they need.

“I also like that It’s really funny because it’s teaching real things in a cartoon way and textbooks are boring. I understood this stuff when I read about it in a textbook, but that’s because my teacher went over it a hundred times. But I like this one better because I just studied the digestive system and this was easy and fun.”

Amelia: “I like to look at this kind of book because it has information to read and the pictures show me what’s next.

“I learned about digestion, that the stuff you eat has to do with how you feel. We eat healthy because we want to be strong. Our bodies need all this stuff —vitamins and minerals—so we can live healthy. Mom gives us an option—a sandwich or fruit or vegetables, and once in a while, we eat junk like at McDonald’s and then I get a stomachache. I learned to eat healthier and not eat too much junk food.”

Maribel: “I’m on the wrestling team and losing or gaining weight depends on what you eat. You can eat some carbs but mostly you have to eat fruits and vegetables. Some foods make me feel crummy before a wrestling match. I can tell the difference when I eat certain foods. Eating pancakes before wrestling, for instance, doesn’t give me strength, but fruits and vegetables do.”

And the verdict:

Judy: The Long Journey of Mister Poop / El Gran Viaje del Señor Caca is highly recommended.

Maribel: El Gran Viaje del Señor Caca is highly recommended.

Amelia: The Long Journey of Mister Poop is highly recommended.

We’re all disappointed that this excellent, funny book is currently out of print, and encourage the publisher to bring it back!

—Judy Zalazar Drummond, Amelia Edosia and Maribel Linda
(published 6/15/17)

Spirit of the Maya: A Boy Explores His People’s Mysterious Past

author: Guy Garcia

photographer: Ted Wood

Walker, 1995

grades 3-6

Maya

Palenque is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen; the small valley is green and lush and the buildings look like they were designed to fit each into its own space. There is a great sense of history here, calm and tranquil and one imagines that it would be a lovely place to live. It is this place that Guy Garcia chose for a contrived, illogical photo-story of a Mayan boy, “exploring” “his people’s mysterious past.”

Kin lives traditionally with his family, yet whines about helping his mother, wants to speak Spanish instead of the Mayan language, and wants to cut his hair short “but his father won’t let him because it’s traditional for the Lacando’n to wear their hair long.”

Inspired by a book, Kin goes off to the temples, by himself, a tourist in his own people’s traditional lands and sacred places. He wonders what each thing he sees represents—“Those large carved heads over there—are they pictures of Maya priests or of the Sun Gods?”—and then answers himself like a scholar. To illustrate Garcia’s travelogue, Kin jumps over a gap in a wall, climbs a narrow stairway, lies on what he thinks could be Pacal’s tomb, and generally acts more like a white kid in an MTV video than a Mayan child in his own territory. Kim is depicted as so ignorant that it takes a tourist to direct him to Pacal’s tomb.

This tour makes him feel lonely and Kin tells his father “he never wants to come back.” But after seeing his own likeness in a huge head sculpture of Pacal, Kin can “for the first time in his life, know how it feels to be a king.”

A traditional Mayan child would not think or behave in such a culturally ignorant way. A traditional Mayan father would not send a child to “explore” the temples by himself. And no traditional Mayans worth their salt would neglect to pass on their history and culture to their children. This book is insulting. Not recommended.

—Judy Zalazar Drummond
(published 4/13/13)

This review first appeared in A Broken Flute: The Native Experience in Books for Children, edited by Doris Seale and Beverly Slapin (AltaMira Press, 2005). We thank the publisher for permission.

Hands-On Latin America: Art Activities for All Ages

 

author: Yvonne Y. Merrill

Kits Publishing, 1997

grades 3-up 

Mexica, Inca, Maya

I can’t imagine why anyone would want to use this book. There’s no information on the pieces children are being taught to make. Any child or teacher with an inquiring mind would ask: Where were the originals of these pieces made? Who made them? For whom were they made? What were their uses? As a teacher who does project-based teaching, I found myself looking for at least photos of the original pieces and any kind of information to answer these questions. And as an Indian woman, I can't in good conscience tell my culturally diverse students that they’re “Latin American art pieces.” That is just not enough.

The food page in particular ranks up there in bad taste. I teach my students that what people ate and thrived on was what grew in their areas and that the availability of food was usually why people came to a certain area. The author's statement—“Here are some of the foods that were new to the world with the Spanish conquests”—is ungrammatical and confusing and sets the tone for the European-American “us-versus-them” perspective that permeates the entire book.

A few glaring misses: The map shows the continent of South America, Central America and a little of Mexico, but does not include the United States or Canada when in fact, some of the art work is purely North American, north of Mexico—the luminarias for instance. The Mexica (Aztec) symbols are referred to as “designs” when in fact each had and has great importance relating to specific aspects of a belief system. The historic pieces relating to belief and ritual—such as Mexica headbands, medallions and rattles—are shown as craft objects, devoid of meaning, easily constructed out of paper, pasta, paint and canning lids. Each design on each piece had a specific meaning; rituals associated with them were sometimes known by all, sometimes known only by initiates. In any event, they were not simply things for children to copy and play with.

To give this book “educational” value, Merrill has incorporated what she considers important to know on several full pages and after many of the craft instructions. These “facts” mostly range from strange to unintelligible to ridiculous. In a paragraph labeled “Health Care and Hygiene,” there is some useful information, followed by this:

The New World natives had an impressive knowledge of the human body, derived largely from human sacrifice and body dissection. Mesoamerican “surgeons” used sharp obsidian knives and were skilled in drilling for brain injuries.

Sacrificed bodies were considered holy and were not defiled by dissection, nor were they used for educational purposes. The “impressive knowledge” in science and medicine was derived from the need to better the human condition, and trephining was done to relieve pain and pressure on the brain. By surrounding the word “surgeons” with quotes, Merrill implies that people were not surgeons, but rather “primitive” people poking around with sharp instruments.

A page about the Maya is illustrated with a drawing of a person’s head, with arrows pointing to “knotted hair,” “crossed eyes,” “filed pointed teeth filled with jade,” “sloped forehead,” and “tattoos.” Above the drawing, Merrill writes, “[A]rcheologists know the Maya had an unusual beauty code.” Her use of the word “archeologists” is incorrect; people who interpret archeological finds to theorize about their cultural relevance are called “cultural anthropologists.” There was always a purpose or reason for everything that was done; in this case, it might have been beauty, spirituality, status or class. Using the term “unusual” here is patronizing, as is “beauty code.” The picture Merrill shows may well be that of someone belonging to a warrior society, possibly jaguar, whose members personified certain cultural icons. In any event, it’s made to look like a frivolous beauty style filtered through a modern European sensibility. This is not a good thing to do.

In “New World Influences,” Merrill writes: “Though their governing power was quickly eliminated, the New World resources and knowledge forever changed the European lifestyle.” Can anyone tell me what this means? Finally, my favorite “doesn't-quite-make-it” quote: “In most cases they called themselves by their indigenous name: the Chimus or Chancas of the Inca empire, the Mixtecs or Toltecs of the Aztec empire.” What else on Earth would they call themselves? Would they use Spanish names they had never heard?

The “Art Today” section is surprisingly good, mainly because there is no history to mess with. Most of the items are highly visible in modern culture and have become popular to display and make. However, there are better sources for teaching students that include photographs of actual pieces with accurate histories that allow children to learn about the original peoples of this hemisphere in a respectful, non-racist way. Not recommended.

—Judy Zalazar Drummond 
(published 4/13/13)

This review first appeared in A Broken Flute: The Native Experience in Books for Children, edited by Doris Seale and Beverly Slapin (AltaMira Press, 2005). We thank the publisher for permission.

Montezuma and the Aztecs

authors: Mathilde Helly and Rémi Courgeon

Holt, 1996

grades 7-up

Mexica

This title is part of Holt’s “W5” (who, what, when, where, and why) history series, originally published in France under the title Cortés et son temps. The stated goal of the series is to bring history to life for young readers, and the text brings in culture as well as history and biography.

Beginning with the Chinese epigraphy, “A picture is worth a thousand words,” the mostly full-color illustrations include photography, drawings, maps, cartoons, modern paintings, and antique prints. The text of each double-page spread covers a different topic, ranging from aspects of Mexica (Aztec) cultural and spiritual life, to the establishment of Tenochtitlán, to the military campaigns of Cortéz and the exploitation of the Yucatán peninsula, to the lives of Moctezuma (the correct spelling) and Cortéz themselves.

Unfortunately, the goal of this book is belied by the sloppy writing and editing, inconsistent and illogical design, and most important, the condescending Eurocentric perspective that stereotypes and demonizes every aspect of the powerful and rich Mexica culture. A few of the more egregious examples:

• The cover bears the legend, “Quetzalcoatl, Huitzilopochtli, and other words you can’t pronounce.” We can pronounce these words just fine. To whom does the “you” refer? Certainly not to Mexica children.

• On the first page is a photo of a “Mexican salad.” The salad, in a large clay bowl, consists of tomato, corn, beans, peppers, and pieces of cactus—with the thorns on. While nopales are part of the traditional Mexican diet, do the authors really think they were/are eaten this way? Also in the salad are cards with very odd statements from children and adults about Mexica people, such as: “It was hot where the Aztecs lived so they ate chili.” What is the point of this?

• A headline for one of the spreads says, “The Gods Are Like Germs: They Are Countless, Invincible, and Hyperactive.” The accompanying text does nothing to explain what this might mean. The illustration shows a naked Mexica man kneeling, looking into a microscope. Although the Mexica honored many, many aspects of nature, how is referring to them as “hyperactive” and “germs” in any way educational? And while the Mexica were technologically advanced for their time, they did not have microscopes.

• Another headline, “Eat Your Heart Out,” leads one of several gory references to blood sacrifice, accompanied by an equally gruesome set of images. Here, the text reads in part:

The body was cut up: the skin stuffed with cotton, went to decorate the façade of the palace where the priests lived; the right thigh went to the emperor; the head was impaled on a stake; the blood was smeared on the statues of the temple. The rest was eaten by the family of the man who had captured the victim or was thrown to the wild beasts kept in the palace….[T]he smell of decaying flesh and coagulated blood was masked by copal incense.

What was the source for this? We don’t know. It was likely based on turn-of-the-14^th Century Catholic apologists for the destruction of the Mexica empire. Human sacrifice was an important part, but not the only aspect, of Mexica culture and cosmology. How can putting this inflammatory and prurient text alongside a sarcastic headline encourage any serious interest in the study of such a complex culture?

• The section called “The Garland Wars: They Only Sound Pretty” is accompanied by the cartoon image of a grinning Jaguar warrior, down on one knee, presenting to a smiling Olive Oyle lookalike a bouquet—of severed limbs. The Flowery Wars, as they are more commonly known, were an institution in which the sole purpose was to settle land disputes between neighboring nations by seeing who could take more captives. The emphasis was—unlike today’s warfare—not on killing the enemy but on attaining a higher rank and recognition from one’s own people.

• “The Aztecs Never Discovered the Wheel, But Their Children Played with It Every Day,” says another headline, which is accompanied by a photograph of an Mexica toy with four wheels. What does this incongruous headline mean, then?

• At Moctezuma's crowning, after self-mutilation ceremonies, the authors state that “he had sacrificed several quail on the altar; then with a gold incense burner he had waved incense toward the four corners of the earth to symbolize his power and authority.” At the beginning of indigenous events, now as then, whether it is a birth, wedding, planting a garden, or dinner, there is an honoring of the four directions—and Mother Earth and Father Sky—to ask their blessings for the undertaking at hand. Power and authority rest easily only on those who honor the givers of life, and not even Moctezuma would have put himself above the forces of nature.

• Perhaps the most offensive image is the one that accompanies the section on Doña Marina or La Malinche. It is a color photo of a beautiful young Indian woman (most probably from Guatemala— which is nowhere near Mexico City—and most probably Maya, not Mexica). Over her mouth are placed the words, “Translation by Doña Marina” as if she were wearing a gag. What is this image supposed to suggest to our daughters—that they should be silent? That their role in life is blind obedience to those who would “conquer” them? The text states that Doña Marina was Cortez’s willing “mistress and closest advisor,” but in fact, there are many stories in our culture about La Malinche and no one knows for sure what the truths are.

Although there are Mexica scholars in Mexico today—and over fifty variants of the original Mexica language, Nahuatl, that are still being spoken by over a million people—there is nothing in this book from a Native point of view. The racism in the artwork and text is just appalling; page after page after page suggest to young readers that the Mexica were conquered because of their savagery and backwardness. Further, there is no attribution for any of the illustrations, no source notes, and no recommended bibliography. Apparently, the authors do not expect young readers to do further research on any of the many topics covered here.

In a review of the “W5” series for the Minneapolis Star Tribune, Professor Jane Resh Thomas of the University of Minnesota writes:

A species of seductive, expensive, glitzy, inferior nonfiction has emerged. Reference books for kids ought to exemplify clear thinking and principles of excellent writing. But a competent teacher would reject a student paper modeled after Montezuma and other titles in this series.

We couldn’t have said it better. Not recommended.

—Judy Zalazar Drummond and Marco Palma
(published 4/13/13)

This review first appeared in A Broken Flute: The Native Experience in Books for Children, edited by Doris Seale and Beverly Slapin (AltaMira Press, 2005). We thank the publisher for permission.

Beneath the Stone: A Mexican Zapotec Tale

author: Bernard Wolf
photographer: Bernard Wolf
Orchard, 1994
grades 4-6
Zapotec

Wolf’s photographs here are absolutely wonderful. I know these people. There is a real feeling of the family, at home, at work, and in the marketplaces of Oaxaca.

A few things particularly bother me, however. When Leo and his father have kept poverty at bay by selling their tapetes—I do this myself at the local flea market—they visit Monte Albán, the Zapotec city that was a thriving metropolis and trading center about 2,500 years ago. His father tells Leo “that the Zapotecs leveled the entire top of this mountain to build this city. How did they do that? he wonders. No one knows.” This disbelief comes more from the author than from Leo’s father, who would have known that the Zapotecs had sophisticated technology and were incredibly talented builders. And Wolf states that from the mountaintop of Teotitlán, “It is believed that, either by signal fire or reflected light, the ancestors ‘spoke’ to the Place Beneath the Stone.” Here, Wolf’s use of quotation marks around the word “spoke” tells the child reader, “but it really wasn’t so,” which trivializes the complex belief system of a people.

In the marketplace, the reader is treated to photos of all kinds of delicious food, and then we see that even “fried grasshoppers!” are sold here. It is a fact that insects are eaten all over the world; they are an important and cheap source of protein. But here, Wolf’s use of an exclamation point signals otherness, weirdness to young readers, who will invariably think that it is “yucky” for people to eat grasshoppers.

Finally, Wolf’s section on Zapotec history is fairly accurate until the end, where he says that life for Mexico’s “diverse Indian cultures has vastly improved. In spite of lingering racial prejudice, these people are treated with some respect now. Most importantly, they are left to pursue their own life-styles and traditions.” The Zapatista Revolution in Chiapas belies this; one need only read the newspaper to see that Indigenous rights have been negated for many years and are being fought for on a daily and continuous basis. Not recommended.

—Judy Zalazar Drummond
(published 4/13/13)

This review first appeared in A Broken Flute: The Native Experience in Books for Children, edited by Doris Seale and Beverly Slapin (AltaMira Press, 2005). We thank the publisher for permission.

Mayeros: A Yucatec Maya Family // Pablo Remembers: The Fiesta of the Day of the Dead

 

author: George Ancona

photographer: George Ancona

Lothrop, 1997

grades 3-5 

Maya

The family in Mayeros is related to George Ancona through his mother. Here, he writes with love of family, knowledge of history, and accuracy that can only come from a personal relationship.

Ancona’s photographs are stunning, clear and natural, and respectful of their subjects. He transmits a sense of history and continuation of a strong and vibrant culture in a very interesting way: inserted into a photo of his Yucatec relatives in front of their house is a photo of a carving of an almost identical house over the entrance to a temple at Uxmal; right next to a drawing on an old Mayan dish of a woman making tortillas on a metate is Doña Satulina grinding spices on a stone metate; an ancient Mayan drawing of a god using a planting stick to plant maize is next to a photo of Don Elias planting in the same way; and next to a photo of Armando carrying firewood using a tumpline is a reproduction of a Mayan calendar figure using a tumpline.

Ancona ends his book by showing his nephews back at school after working on the milpa and spending a week at festival, studying hard, not only for their future, but because their people have always valued education. This he demonstrates with an illustration of a Mayan scribe drawing on a codex, from a painting on a vase. Ancona makes sure the reader knows the Maya had a complete and rich library—thousands of years of history, science, and legend—which the Spanish burned in an attempt to destroy their books and language and thus destroy their culture. As Ancona shows, their attempt failed.

author: George Ancona 

photographer: George Ancona

Lothrop, 1993

grades 3-5 

Mexican American

All elementary and middle school teachers in America should have Pablo Remembers on their shelves, ever at the ready to pull out at the end of September. That would give them a full month to prepare their students to understand and participate in el Día de los Muertos, beautifully defined in George Ancona's photojournalistic essay.

The photographs of a healthy, happy, confident Mexican family show solidarity with the past in a way I have seldom seen. Ancona does not poke fun at the idea of dead relatives coming to visit; rather, he puts it in perspective: “For Pablo, this year's celebration is especially important. His abuelita, his grandmother, died two years ago and he misses her very much. But through the loving intimacy of the fiesta, he knows he will celebrate her memory again and again throughout his life.”

Ancona also gives historical background, tracing this festival, or fiesta, back to ancient Egyptian times, then to Rome and Spain, and to this hemisphere, where “the celebration of the Day of the Dead grew from the blending of Aztec beliefs about death with Catholic beliefs that the Spanish conquistadors brought to the people of Mexico.” Both books are highly recommended.

—Judy Zalazar Drummond
(published 4/13/13)

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

These reviews first appeared in A Broken Flute: The Native Experience in Books for Children, edited by Doris Seale and Beverly Slapin (AltaMira Press, 2005). We thank the publisher for permission.

Discovering the Inca Ice Maiden: My Adventures on Ampato // A Gift for Ampato

author: Johan Reinhard

National Geographic, 1998

grades 4-6 

Inca

Incredibly detailed, close-up photos of a frozen Incan mummy, a 14-year-old who lived about 500 years ago, send shivers up my spine. I don't think I'll sleep well tonight, picturing the little frozen girl clutching her dress tightly to her body. Why was she buried on the rim of a volcano? Was it human sacrifice, as the author states and describes in great detail? Or was it something else? I feel like he's taking me on an invasive tour of this young woman's death, relishing the blood-curdling “sacrifice” aspect of the whole tour de ice force.

Young readers will love Discovering the Inca Ice Maiden; it is easy to read, almost as if the author were telling a tale to a fourth- or fifth-grader, and the gruesome pictures will totally capture their interest. Strange that violence, mutilation, and human sacrifice are what make our children want to read. And it is this kind of information that the education system mandates in their social studies frameworks.

Reinhard takes us step by step on this “discovery” (I think “encountering” is a better word). It reminds me of Donald Johanson's writing about “Lucy,” the “Australopithecus Afarensis” woman he encountered in Hadar, Ethiopa. He stumbled on Lucy’s remains in much the same way Reinhard stumbled on the “Ice Maiden” by being in the right place at the right time, or as Johanson says, “I guess I'm just lucky. Luck plays a big part in this business.”

I found myself studying the many maps and photographs with a magnifying glass to sift through the grains of pumice, the volcanic ash, and the ice floes to see if I could uncover anything myself—the photographs from the National Geographic team are that clear and compelling.

Several years ago in Tampa, Florida, I toured an exhibit that had been confiscated as part of a smuggling plan gone awry. It was being displayed for a short time before being sent back to Cuzco. All of this is to say: What is the right way to handle cultural invasion? Ask a “leading authority” about human sacrifice in ancient Inca civilization? Send the mummy to Johns Hopkins for x-ray techno-games-analysis? Hurry back to the site to make sure no other “robber” gets the prize before “you” can cart it down the mountainside? You know, ethical things like that. Still, the story is compelling and I couldn't put it down. But I am pretty sure I'm going to have nightmares involving feathers and gold and silver statues—all very, very cold. Recommended with caveats.

  

author: Susan Vande Griek, Susan 

illustrator: Mary Jane Gerber

Groundwood Books, 1999

grades 5-8 

Inca

It was only a matter of time—one year, to be exact—before Reinhard’s finding found its way into a young adult novel. It happened in A Gift for Ampato, Susan Vande Griek’s heavy-handed, badly written, Eurocentric recreation of Inca society 500 years ago.

Timta and her friend Karwa are both selected to be “chosen ones,” young girls groomed for life in the sacrifice pool of the Great Inca. Chosen to become the ultimate sacrifice, Timta does not want the honor, saying to her friend,

I cannot see myself among the gods, Karwa. I only want to stay here among my people and the llamas in this stony valley. Oh, Karwa, you are so good, so believing, so sure of things. Why can't I be like that?

Karwa lets her off the hook by answering,

I think we are each as we are, Timta. What is right for me maybe is not what is right for you, no matter what the priests or women say. I would gladly go to the gods for my people, for you. Can you see that, Timta? Do you understand? I would go for you.

At the same time, Riti, whose own daughter had been sacrificed the last time the gods were angry (the volcano was letting off minor eruptions) has had it with these people. She packs up her things, loads them on her llamas, and is leaving for the coast when she meets up with the runaway Timta, saves her from the guards, and together they head down the mountain to a new life away from human sacrifice and false gods.

Maybe young Inca women were rebellious of family and society in those days. Maybe they did run away from responsibility. Maybe they did think of themselves as individuals rather than as members of a highly defined society. Maybe they would let a friend take their place at the most important event in their lives. Maybe they did possess the same values as modern American middle-class teenagers who are products of over-permissive parenting and a materialistic culture. Or, more likely, maybe the author decided that young readers couldn’t possibly relate to teenage members of a society in which emphasis is placed on the welfare of the group rather than that of the individual. In any case, this book just doesn’t work. 

Why is the idea of human sacrifice seen as something to which today’s young people cannot relate? Why are gory details that both fascinate and repel young people—and set into a fake social context—seen as worthwhile reading? If this concept were discussed in terms relevant to young people—like Buddhist monks who believe in something so deeply that they are willing to give their lives; or like young men being sent off to die in wars they do not understand—maybe then the term “human sacrifice” would make more sense. Not recommended.

—Judy Zalazar Drummond
(published 4/11/13)

These reviews, in a slightly different form, first appeared in A Broken Flute: The Native Experience in Books for Children, edited by Doris Seale and Beverly Slapin (AltaMira Press, 2005). We thank the publisher for permission.

Children of Guatemala // The Children of the Sierra Madre // Children of Yucatán // The Grandchildren of the Incas

author: Jules Hermes

photographer: Jules Hermes

Carolrhoda Picture Books / Lerner Publishing, 1997

grades 2-4 

Maya

Children of Guatemala is an interestingly uneven book. It is not blatantly patronizing or ignorant; the author is really working at being an observer, even though he constantly shows his frame of reference—downtown Minneapolis. For example, he says that “[t]he market offers a break from everyday work and gives friends a chance to catch up on the latest news.” Jules! No, wait! The market is the goal! The object of the week's labors! The place to sell what you produce, to trade for essentials, to buy what you need to feed your family! Then, it is a place to hear the news, to catch up on important events, and, always, a place to socialize. It's not the mall!

On the other hand, Hermes is not afraid to discuss political situations, from the horrible 1990 massacre by the government in Santiago Atitlán, to the 80,000 Maya who have been brutally murdered by their own government since 1978, the longest “civil war” ever. He also talks about the lack of government support for public education and shows teachers and students picketing for quality education.

Hermes ought to have mentioned Rigoberta Menchú, the Mayan hero who won the Nobel Peace Prize for her unflagging quest to educate the world about Guatemala’s genocide against its indigenous peoples. That would be the logical extension for study from this beautifully photographed book. Marginally recommended.

author: Frank Staub

photographer: Frank Staub

Carolrhoda Picture Books / Lerner Publishing, 1996

grades 3-5

Tarahumara

In Children of the Sierra Madre, Staub highlights the U.S. influence on Latin America, using as an example the Tarahumara who live in the Sierra Madre region of Mexico near Chihuahua. He describes a strong class system in this region, ruled by the “white” Mexicans with the “Mestizos” doing all the work, even though many of his photos show “white” Mexicans and Mestizos doing just about same thing. I don't know, as a Chicana, I think we’re all pretty much a mixture of whoever landed on our shores or stormed up our creeks.

Staub obscures the issues of the theft of Tarahumara land and impoverishment of the people by presenting fact as opinion: “[M]any Tarahumara want to live apart from Mexicans, whom they think of as intruders in their land.” He describes the Tarahumara, rather than as the freedom fighters they have always been, regarded by most Mexicans with awe because of their steadfast opposition to colonialism, as merely “wanting to stick to the old ways.”

Staub’s discussion of Tarahumara religion is useful as a model of why one ought not to interpret a culture one doesn’t understand. He says, “Many Tarahumara have combined Catholicism with their traditional religious beliefs. They believe the Christian god is the same as their god, called Onoruame (Great Father) or Repa Beteame (He Who Lives Above).” Way wrong. Part of the Tarahumara’s self-imposed isolation is to worship the gods they choose. The Catholic Church reluctantly had to let the Mestizos as well as the Indigenous population maintain their own gods, as long as they took the form of the Catholic ones. For example, the Virgin of Guadalupe, with her dark skin and close ties with the people, is not the Virgin Mary; she is the people’s representation of Tonatzín, the goddess of home and hearth, and is only one of the aspects of Cuatlique, the Mother of the Gods. The church let that one slip by because forcing Guadalupe out would have caused mass revolt; it was easier to “say” she was the Virgin Mary. Every church in Mexico has at least one statue of the Virgin of Guadalupe, usually where Jesus should be; in small churches there often is no statue of Jesus at all. This book is terrible. Not recommended.

 

author: Frank Staub

photographer: Frank Staub

Carolrhoda Picture Books / Lerner Publishing, 1996

grades 3-5 

Maya

Children of Yucatán is a travel guide rather than a children’s book, highlighting the exotic in dress, food, marketplaces, and of course, “ruins.” To the Maya, these “ruins” are temples, holy places that, despite the best efforts of the conquistadores and the Catholic Church, have endured.

Deeply embedded throughout the text is an attitude of paternalistic superiority and colonialist arrogance. Here is but one example out of many insulting passages:

One reason the people of Yucatán treat their ancestors with such respect is that they have provided their grandchildren with an important source of income. People come from all over the world to see the wonderful stone structures the ancient Maya left behind. And when visitors come, they spend money on food, hotels, and souvenirs.

This is one of the worst racist, elitist, patronizing, and paternalistic attitudes toward another culture I have seen in my 48 years of teaching. Not recommended.

author: Matti A. Pitkanen

photographer: Matti A. Pitkanen

Carolrhoda Picture Books / Lerner Publishing, 1991

grades 2-4 

Inca (Quechua, Aymara)

The photographs in The Grandchildren of the Incas are stunning; they are of people being themselves, looking into the camera more with pride than with fear. They are a gritty look at how the Quechua and Aymara have been able to survive Spanish conquest. Many continue traditional ways, living in the mountains, herding sheep, llamas and alpacas, and of course, farming the rugged slopes of the Andes Mountains.

The text is, for the most part, clear and accurate, especially about farming and herding. I found it curious, though, that the author tells us that almost every man, woman, and child wears a hat, but doesn’t mention the extreme cold and the need to protect the head from hypothermia, even though everyone wears sandals. He also mentions people leaving their mountain villages to work as servants in the cities to “make more opportunity for” themselves, but does not say that they are trying to help their families survive.

What bothers me most is the glossing over of the Spanish conquest. When Pitkanen says that “[n]ow the treasures are gone and so are many of the Inca's buildings,” the brutal manner in which the Inca Empire was destroyed and the people forced into slavery, with the survivors thrust into abject poverty, comes off as trivial. To his credit, the author mentions that the Inca fought back and that, “[d]uring the last half of the 20th century, the Quechua have begun to work together to make some changes. They have regained some of the land that was taken from them, and they are starting to demand that the people in government pay attention to their needs.”

Overall, I would use the book, mainly for its realistic photos: an unromantic look at a people struggling for survival. But I would direct students to look up Tupac Amaru and read about indigenous resistance movements. They might learn a lot about what was done in the name of Christianity and the people who are still fighting for their lives. Marginally recommended.

—Judy Zalazar Drummond

(published 4/11/13)

These reviews, in a slightly different form, first appeared in A Broken Flute: The Native Experience in Books for Children, edited by Doris Seale and Beverly Slapin (AltaMira Press, 2005). We thank the publisher for permission.