Rata-pata-scata-fata: A Caribbean Story

author: Phillis Greshator

illustrator: Holly Meade 

Star Bright Books (1994, 2005)

African-Caribbean, preschool-grade 3

Rata-pata-scata-fata was originally published in 1994 and re-released in 2005, ten years before the advent of the #OwnVoices movement, which began on Twitter in 2015. #OwnVoices is a campaign advocating for the rights of authors and illustrators to tell their own stories aligned with their identities. #OwnVoices asks the questions: Whose voices are being written and illustrated? Whose voices are being published? Whose voices are being promoted? Whose voices are being heard?

#OwnVoices was not the first such movement. Since 1994, the Cooperative Children’s Book Center of the School of Education at the University of Wisconsin-Madison has collected and documented books for children and teens by and about Black, Indigenous and People of Color (BIPOC). Each year, CCBC releases a list of “Diversity Statistics,” a helpful guide for educators, publishers, and others in the field.

All of this doesn’t mean that every single published children’s book used in libraries and classrooms is required to have the #OwnVoices and CCBC imprimaturs. But it helps. It is within this context that Phillis Greshator and Holly Meade’s picture book, Rata pata scata fata: A Caribbean Story is reviewed.

Illustrator Holly Meade’s brightly colored torn-paper collages, with white borders surrounding the characters, trees, foliage, and land areas, are gorgeous. Entirely double-page spreads convey the expanse of the tropical Caribbean land and leave plenty of room for the characters as well. Young Junjun and his mother are close, and realistically portrayed. She is warm and loving and very, very busy. He is active and likes to play. They are part of the land and the land is part of them.

It’s the story that is problematic. Junjun’s mother wakes him and asks him to do a few chores while she does the laundry. Instead, he stays home, leans against a tree, and chants, “rata-pata-scata-fata”—while wishing for the chores to get done by themselves. They do: A fish flops out of a fisherman’s basket and into Junjun’s arms. The family goat returns home. A big wind fills Junjun’s basket with tamarinds. And each time, Junjun lies to his mother. Finally, when his mom asks Junjun to fetch some water from the well, he convinces her to chant “rata-pata-scata-fata”—and rain fills the empty rain barrel. The chores have done themselves and all is well.

Here’s what young readers might well take away from this story:

African-Caribbean people are lazy.

African-Caribbean people—children and adults—are superstitious. 

African-Caribbean people are magical.

African-Caribbean children get away with lying to their parents.

Imagine a teacher’s reading Rata pata scata fata aloud in a mixed classroom. How might white students in this classroom react? Might they laugh and applaud—while the stereotypes of Black children and their families become embedded in their psyches? How might Black children in this classroom react? Might they laugh and applaud like everyone else—or might they slump in their chairs, embarrassed? In any event, yet another micro-aggression will have been launched at them and the psychic damage will eventually take its toll.

Despite Holly Meade’s gorgeous artwork, Rata pata scata fata is not recommended. 

—Beverly Slapin

(published 7/28/2012)

Thank you to my friend and colleague (not to mention dedicated librarian) Betsy Bird.

21 Cousins // 21 Primos

author: Diane de Anda

illustrator: Isabel Muñoz

Star Bright Books, 2021

Mexican, Mestizo

grades: preschool-up

Against a brightly colored background of blue sky, growing greens, and festive papel picado, the 21 cousins—with 21 hair textures, styles and colors; and 21 complexion tones ranging from chocolate to café con leche—sit, stand, wave, laugh, and make funny faces for the cover shoot. 

On the frontispiece, the young narrators—grade-schoolers Alejandro and Sofia—stand on a stairwell, talking with each other. They’re about to introduce readers to each of their 21 cousins. Young readers will see that this book is, in effect, a “photo” album, with one page for each member of this diverse, loving family. 

The first spread, which contains black-and-white wedding photos—of Abuelo Pedro and Abuela María in 1953; Abuelo Juan and Abuela Marta; and tías Rosa María and Juanita as teenagers—are together a testament to the family’s mestizaje. As with all mixed families, relatives “look different in many ways.”

Alejandro and Sofía invite young readers to meet their “primos and primas.” Some of them: Cousin Enrique (“Kiki”) is a football player who has “long, strong legs.” Cousin Elena, whose nickname is “Guera” (“Whitey”) because she is light-complected, wants to teach in English and Spanish. Twins Tony (who plays soccer) and Tonia (who plays basketball) are tall. Young Teresa, who’s called “Morena” because she has “milk-chocolate skin,” likes to jump rope. Baby Miguel has no hair yet, so his nickname is “Pelón (“Baldy”). Martina (“Teenie”) is a gymnast.

Some adult readers from outside the culture may find offense at some of the nicknames the relatives give each other. Don’t. Loving teasing among close friends and relatives is indigenous to Mexican culture and to other cultures as well.

Lesser authors would have called undue attention to some of the relatives for their disabilities or differences. Diane de Anda doesn’t. Rather, she sometimes mentions a disability as one element of a child’s life, and then lets it go. For instance:

Eight-year-old Beto “goes to a special class in school. He has Down syndrome. Sometimes he needs our help to do things.” Alejandro and Sofía make sure that readers also know that Beto has fun playing games with them and sharing their favorite flavor of ice cream, dulce de leche. Another page shows Maricela, who “can spell words in Spanish and English” and “won the third-grade spelling bee.” That Maricela uses a wheelchair is shown but not even mentioned. Rather, everyone “cheered when she rolled up the ramp to get her trophy.” 

In the final spread at the end of Alejandro and Sofía’s introduction to each family member, the two pose for a family portrait—in which they welcome cousin number 22, Baby Christina. 

Using a bright spectrum of colors, soft strokes, and a lot of background detail, Isabel Muñoz created her vibrant, expressive artwork on a digitally manipulated “canvas.”  

Writing and illustrating a children’s picture book that describes the lives of 21 individuals in a family—and holds the attention and imagination of very young children—is no easy task. But Diane de Anda and Isabel Muñoz have pulled it off, seemingly effortlessly.

Diane de Anda’s outstanding writing and Isabel Muñoz’s gorgeous artwork give new meaning to the term, “We are all related.” 

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

—Beverly Slapin

(published 7/27/2021)

Alicia's Happy Day / El Día Más Feliz de Alicia

author: Meg Starr

illustrator: Ying-hwa Hu

illustrator: Cornelius Van Wright

translator: María Fiol

Star Bright Books, 2002 

Puerto Rican

In this bilingual edition of Alicia’s Happy Day (translated as Alicia’s Happiest Day), the Spanish is an excellent reimagining of the English with rich cultural details throughout. Here, the translator is instrumental in transforming the story, assigning the child protagonist a measure of autonomy absent in the English-only version and the English text here. 

Alicia is a strong, self-sufficient young girl, a Puertorriqueña who lives with her family in the large Puerto Rican barrio in East Harlem. Today is her birthday, and her family, friends and community bless her. They wish for her all good things, large and small. Among them:

Que todas las banderas ondeen en tu honor (“May all the flags wave in your honor”)

Que las palomas se inclinen para saludarte (“May the doves bow to greet you”) 

Que rías con todas tus ganas sin que nadie te interrumpa…(“May you laugh deep and rich with no one getting in your way…”)

Without going into overtly descriptive details, all of these good wishes bring life to the story, and it’s Ying-hwa Hu’s and Cornelius Van Wright’s gentle illustrative work in soft, realistic watercolors that defines Alicia, her family and her barrio. They portray a warm Puerto Rican community where everyone knows everyone, and the doves and squirrels in the park (in their own languages) bless Alicia on her happiest day. 

María Fiol’s excellent Spanish translation is a great improvement on the original English text, which was left unchanged. For instance, every sentence in Spanish (except for the first one in the story) begins with “que,” in this context a blessing that expresses a wish or hope. After the first few pages, the Spanish text maintains this warm, hopeful feeling, and the sometimes weak English (although the hope is understood) switches from hope to fact. For example, returning to the doves: (Que las palomas se inclinen para saludarte), the English text reads, “And pigeons bow shiny necks to you.”

Throughout this story, the Spanish implies: May you see a shooting star. May you have an extra scoop on your ice cream cone. May you be blessed.

At the time Alicia’s Happy Day was first published (2002), it represented a move towards more diverse publishing. In this bilingual edition, Alicia’s Happy Day / El Día Más Feliz de Alicia (translation: Alicia’s Happiest Day) is a better story for the Spanish.

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

—Beverly Slapin 

(published 7/23/2021)