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.

Tale of Two "Dictators": Fidel Castro’s Cuba // Augusto Pinochet’s Chile

Both of these titles can serve as a caveat to librarians who are likely to purchase poorly-researched and poorly-written cookie-cutter books in order to serve the needs of homework-driven students.

All of the volumes in the Twenty-First Century’s “Dictatorships” series highlight “nondemocratic forms of government.”[1] In each volume, the bold, blocky design consists of jarring red, black and olive graphics that surround mainly black-and-white photos. On the cover of each is a color photo or artistic rendition of the individual “dictator”—except for Fidel Castro’s Cuba. Here, the cover represents Fidel[2] by an ominous black silhouette; the book is, indeed, the shadow of Fidel as seen from the myopic view of the world according to the Cuban exile community in Miami.[3]

Last Summer of the Death Warriors // Secret in Their Eyes (El Secreto de sus Ojos)

Many of the global conflicts we face today are the result of a cycle of violence and revenge that go back many generations. For instance, Ivo Andric’s classic novel, The Bridge on the Drina, translated from Serbo-Croatian and published in the United States in 1977, portrays generations of a Bosnian family from the late 1500s to the start of the First World War. Hatreds from medieval times have reproduced themselves over and over again, touching off the carnage in Europe in 1914 and again following the breakup of the former Yugoslavia in the early 1990s.

We see the same pattern in other political conflicts. A wronged party, unable to gain recourse from local, national, or international judicial systems, turns to violence. Those in power, or those targeted by the violence, respond with force, leading to further acts of violence in retaliation.

And on it goes.

We see the same patterns in our personal lives—neighbor pitted against neighbor, an argument in school that spirals out of control and leads to a fight with dozens of teenagers involved. And we wonder at what point could the violence have been stopped, the cycle broken.

I have been thinking about these issues ever since reading Francisco X. Stork’s novel, The Last Summer of the Death Warriors, and a couple of weeks later seeing the Academy Award-winning film The Secret in Their Eyes. In both cases, an act of violence destroys the life of a character, and in both cases, a character chooses to break the cycle.

author: Francisco X. Stork

Scholastic, 2010

grades 9-up   

Mexican American

 The Last Summer of the Death Warriors is loosely based on the classic tale of Don Quixote, but from the point of view of the idealistic knight’s humble squire. Pancho Sanchez finds himself in an orphanage following his father’s death in an industrial accident and, a few months later, the death of his developmentally disabled sister under suspicious circumstances. The angry Pancho was supposed to have been sent to a reformatory following a fight in a foster home in which he seriously injured another boy, and he expects that soon enough, he will be going to prison for a very long time. The reason is that he has pledged to hunt down and kill the man who took sexual advantage of his sister and caused her death.

Given a second chance at the orphanage, Pancho meets D.Q., an Anglo boy with terminal brain cancer. D.Q. is writing “The Death Warrior Manifesto,” his principles of living the time he has left to the fullest. As D.Q. is forced to undergo harsh chemotherapy at the bequest of his estranged mother—who brought him to the orphanage when she had a nervous breakdown following her husband’s death—Pancho becomes D.Q.’s helper and friend. Watching D.Q. struggle to achieve a life worth living, falling in love for the first time with the beautiful Marisol (who also happens to be D.Q.’s love interest), and remembering the wisdom of his late father, Pancho comes to realize that his own life may be worth living. He sees that an act of violence will destroy his chance for a future; as he writes to his sister: “After you died I didn’t care much for life. Now I think we need to take care of it.” And how he deals with the sex offender is equally remarkable.

In The Last Summer of the Death Warriors, the system doesn’t work for Pancho—in large part because he is poor and Latino and the man responsible for his sister’s death is Anglo and middle class. The failure of the judicial system in a vicious rape/murder is at the heart of The Secret in Their Eyes, an Argentine film that won the Academy Award for Best Foreign-Language Film in 2010. Once again, people denied recourse to a system trusted to be fair and consistent are tempted to take justice into their own hands.

director: Juan José Campanella

2009

rated R 

Argentinian

 The Secret in Their Eyes follows a police investigator, Benjamin Esposito, as he pursues this vicious crime against a beautiful newlywed. Almost immediately after her death, two construction workers—one an immigrant from Bolivia, the other a poor Argentine—are brought into the police station. Visiting them in their cell, Esposito knows their confessions have been coerced, and with the help of the victim’s husband, he tracks down the real criminal. The young widower, Ricardo Morales, asks what the punishment will be. “Life in prison,” is the answer. Less than a year later, though, the criminal is released, due to his cooperation with authorities and his skill at hunting down “subversives” on the eve of Argentina’s Dirty War.

But one of the first “subversives” the released criminal hunts down is Esposito himself, who barely escapes Buenos Aires with his life. Morales is a second target, but in a brilliant twist, Morales (whose name foreshadows the role he plays in the film) exacts the justice that Argentina’s justice system—which goes from incompetent to corrupt to a perpetrator of crimes against humanity—is unable to accomplish.

Both of these creative works demonstrate the key role that a functioning judicial authority plays in breaking the cycle of violence. In the absence of such an authority, the pressure falls on individual peacemakers who make the conscious choice not to escalate the hatred. Recommended.

—Lyn Miller-Lachmann
(published 4/9/13)

Under the Mesquite

author: Guadalupe García McCall

Lee & Low, 2011

grades 7-up 

Mexican American

 In 2012, the American Library Association announced the winners of the Youth Media Awards, an event one colleague compared to opening a pile of holiday gifts. The “gift” that made me the happiest this year was the Pura Belpré Award for Writing, which went to Guadalupe García McCall’s debut novel-in-verse Under the Mesquite, one of the most achingly beautiful novels I’ve read in a long time. It is a story from the heart, not written to fit into a marketing category but to remember, to honor, and to bear witness.

In Lupita’s freshman year of high school, her beloved mother is diagnosed with uterine cancer. Over the next three years, the budding poet and star student who is the oldest of eight children, chronicles the ups and downs of her mother’s chemo treatments, remission, relapse, and desperate journey from Eagle Pass, Texas, to Galveston in search of a miracle cure. Lupita’s father drains the children’s college accounts to finance his wife’s treatment, and when he accompanies her to the medical center in Galveston for several months, Lupita struggles to control her seven siblings, some of whom withdraw while others rebel and begin to hang out with a fast crowd. Without their father’s regular income and with their savings gone, the eight children go hungry and must beg food from neighbors in their impoverished Mexican-American community. Despite all their love, prayers, and devotion, Mami dies. Lupita finds solace and resolution on a visit to relatives in Mexico, and she comes to realize that she must follow her dreams of higher education and writing rather than continue to sacrifice everything for her family.

Under the Mesquite combines beautiful poetry and a compelling story. The reader sees Lupita’s talent, and her poetry invites us into her rich internal life. It expresses her love for her mother, her dedication to her family, her changing relationships with friends, and her dreams for herself. The poems are layered in meaning and contain words of wisdom passed down through generations: “…while friends / are the familia we choose / for ourselves, we still have to work / at staying close.” The condensed language of the poetry gives this novel emotional power and is perfectly suited to a story about a large, close family thrown into crisis by a mother’s diagnosis of cancer.

A hallmark of great literature is its ability to reveal “between the lines” a culture, a time period, and the struggles facing individuals and communities at that time. As I read Under the Mesquite, I could not help but think of the family impoverished by Mami’s medical bills, the emptying of eight children’s college accounts—their ticket to a brighter future—and children forced to scavenge for food and clothing. Texas has the highest rate of people without health care in the country, leaving thousands of families to make the choice to let loved ones die for lack of funds or face poverty and homelessness in an effort to save them.

I hope that the prestigious Pura Belpré Award, given to the best book written and illustrated by an author of Latina/o heritage, helps to give Under the Mesquite a wide readership. This book is truly a gift. Highly recommended.

—Lyn Miller-Lachmann
(published 4/9/13)

Yeny and the Children for Peace

author: Michelle Mulder

Second Story Press, 2008

grades 4-7 

Colombian

Yeny is the new kid in her elementary school in Bogotá, Colombia. Her family has recently fled the violence of the grupos armados in their rural village and is now living with her aunt and cousins. Her uncle has been kidnapped, and from time to time her aunt and cousins go to the radio station to broadcast messages to him. At school, Yeny ends up the seatmate of the class bully and has trouble making friends until she hears about a meeting of children who want to organize a peace carnival. Yeny’s father discourages her from attending, but he is torn between wanting to keep his children safe and wanting them to have friends in their new home. Will Yeny persuade her father to let her take part in the children’s campaign for peace? Will this effort by Colombia’s youth make a difference in a nation torn by civil strife, gangs, and narcotraficantes?

Mulder has written a fictional tale based on the real-life efforts of the Colombian Children’s Movement for Peace. Readers will come to understand why this remarkable youth-run movement is a perennial candidate for the Nobel Peace Prize. Black-and-white photos of the children taking part in the organization’s activities lend increased realism to the story; there is also a glossary of Spanish words as they are used in Colombia. The subplot involving the bully promises more drama than it delivers, but the story overall is engaging and hopeful. The author’s enthusiasm and affection for the country and its people shows through. Recommended.

—Lyn Miller-Lachmann
(published 4/9/13)

Wild Book

 

author: Margarita Engle

illustrator (cover): Yuyi Morales

Harcourt, 2012

grades 4-up 

Cuban

It is 1912, a chaotic time following Cuba’s war for independence from Spain and the subsequent US occupation of the island. It’s a time of lawlessness, including white race riots against the island’s African-Cuban population and rampaging kidnappers who carry off children for ransom. It is at this time in this place that we meet 11-year old Josefa de la Caridad Uría Peña, called “Fefa” by her family and “Fefa la fea” by her sisters when they are taunting her.

Fefa’s family, like most Cuban families here, is mixed: Her father’s “daring” ancestors were Basque, her mother’s were Indian and the “musical” Canary Islanders, and her cousin’s African parents had been enslaved. “When I ask Papá to explain,” Fefa says, he tells her, “If you don’t have blood / from one tribe, you have it / from another—El que no tiene / sangre del Congo / tiene del Carabalí.”

“I am glad to know / that I am part bird-person,” she says, “because birds come in all colors, / and they belong to many tribes. / Maybe I should just sing / pretty bird songs at school, / instead of struggling to read / OUT LOUD.”

Engle’s lyrical free verse, an elegant economy of words, paints a picture from the life of her maternal grandmother as a young girl living with her large extended family on a farm in the Cuban countryside in the early 20^th century. Fefa has been diagnosed with “word blindness” (dyslexia) and, every day, she struggles with her “word fear.” “Fefa will never be able / to read, or write, / or be happy / in school,” the doctor tells her mother.

But Fefa’s mother is not having any of it. She gives Fefa a book with blank pages—a “wild book”—in which to practice writing. “Think of this little book / as a garden,” she suggests to her daughter. “Throw the wildflower seeds / all over each page, she advises. / Let the words sprout / like seedlings, / then relax and watch / as your wild diary / grows.”

“When I listen as Mamá reads / OUT LOUD,” Fefa says, “I imagine / the height of my own wild hopes.” Encouraged by her mother’s love of poetry, especially the poems of the great Nicaraguan poet, Rubén Darío—and not without struggle—Fefa opens her wild book and writes one bold word: “Valentía.” Courage. “Maybe if I claim / my own share of courage / often enough, it will appear.”

All that Fefa is, goes into her wild book, and young readers will see her blossoming as do the wild flowers in her book. “My drifts of verse,” she says, “are free words, / wild and flowing. / The world is filled / with things that flow, / like water, / feelings, / daydreams, wind…”

And, months later, when her family is threatened, it is Fefa’s ability to decipher the mystery of the written word—“I tell what I know. / I fly to the truth of words”—that saves them.

On the gorgeous cover painting, by talented, multiple award-winning Yuyi Morales, is a young, happy, confident Fefa, her brown eyes smiling and arms open to the world, wild orchids in her hair and a bird superimposed on her face. On her lap is her wild book, a beautiful wild garden, with leaves and tendrils and buds growing out of it, framing the child. She is holding her pencil loosely in her left hand, allowing it to create all the beautiful words in her beautiful wild book.

And there is a wild caimán in front of Fefa’s book, looking directly at the reader and smiling its wild caimán smile, confident that it will not wind up on her family’s dinner table this day.

I’m tempted to copy the entirety of The Wild Book into this review. It’s that beautiful. Highly recommended.

—Beverly Slapin
(published 4/9/13)