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

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)

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)