Just in Case: A Trickster Tale and Spanish Alphabet Book

author: Yuyi Morales

illustrator: Yuyi Morales 

Roaring Brook Press, 2008

preschool-up 

Mexican

Just in case young readers may have forgotten from Morales’ earlier book, Just a Minute: Señor Calavera, the dapper-yet-befuddled, bicycle-riding Mr. Death—who couldn’t quite figure out whether or not the elderly Grandma Beetle was really his friend—has indeed been invited to her birthday party.

The day has arrived, and now his friend Zelmiro the Ghost reminds Señor Calavera to get Grandma Beetle a present. His advice: “The best present to give a friend is the thing she would love the most.” As Señor Calavera frantically searches through the Spanish alphabet and collects gifts—un Acordéon (“an accordion for her to dance to”), Bigotes (“a mustache because she had none”), un Chiflido (“a whistle he trapped in a bag”)—Zelmiro counsels his friend to look again, “just in case…”

As with Just a Minute, Pura Belpré Award-winner Morales’ luminous jewel-toned spreads, in acrylics and mixed media on paper, are filled with action and perfectly capture both the whimsy of the Mexican cultural icons and the rollicking humor in the story. Here is “una Historieta, a one-of-a-kind comic book” that contains a scene from Just a Minute. Here are “Quince años, fifteen more years of life,” illustrated by a lovely quinceanera on a cake. Here are “Cosquillas, tickles to make her laugh”—in a brightly decorated box.

But when Señor Calavera loses control of his bicycle (on the hill where Zelmiro had been buried and where he is now planting flowers) and all the presents are ruined, he quickly has to figure out what Grandma Beetle really would love the most. “Perhaps? Maybe? ¡Quizás!” Of course!

Youngest listeners and readers will appreciate the predictable-for-some, surprising-for-others, and totally heartwarming ending. They will want to hear Just in Case, which complements the celebrations of el Día de los Muertos, over and over. Yuyi Morales is a treasure, and Just in Case is highly recommended.

—Beverly Slapin
(published 7/6/14)

Mama’s Milk / Mamá me alimenta

author: Michael Elsohn Ross

translator: Aurora Hernandez

illustrator: Ashley Wolff

Tricycle Press, 2007

preschool-grade 2

This lovely little story-poem shows the youngest listeners, in words and pictures, how all mammals feed their young. Besides showing human mamas nursing their babies, Mama’s Milk incorporates an amazing amount of facts about mammals and their young. Did you know, for instance, that platypus babies are called “puggles,” and that kangaroos make pink milk? (This information is relegated to the back of the book, so as not to overwhelm the poem or the illustrations.)

Wolff’s lush illustrations, rendered in watercolor and ink on a palette of soft, natural colors, are presented across two-page spreads and on single pages framed by white borders. They’re calming and lovely; perfect for a quiet, restful story-poem that mostly shows animal families, both familiar (such as cats and foals) and less familiar (such as bats and river otters). At beginning, middle and end, there are human families of varying ethnicities, babies and children of varying ages, and two pages in which a daddy is present. Here, mama nurses her baby in the evening, while daddy snoozes next to her. Here, a little girl munches on a sandwich while she watches her mama breastfeed her infant sibling. Here, a father holds a toddler as they watch a mama hamster nursing her babies.

One of the most satisfying things for me is that the English and Spanish versions of each rhyming couplet are different. Rather than being a hokey “translation” that often makes the Spanish in a book for children seem like a mere afterthought, Hernandez’s Spanish is deep and nuanced; it flows beautifully and makes cultural sense. So, for instance, while an English couplet reads: “Cuddle little baby, take a rest/ Fall asleep on mama’s breast,” the Spanish reads: “Ven aquí a mi lado, ven aquí mi amor/ Quédate en mi pecho, duerme sin temor,” which in English would be: “Come here to my side, come here my love./ Stay at my bosom, sleep without fear.” As well, the title reflects two distinct cultures: In English, it’s Mama’s Milk and in Spanish, it’s Mamá me alimenta (“Mamá breastfeeds me”). Nicely done in both languages and highly recommended.

—Beverly Slapin
(published 7/4/14)

Elegy on the Death of César Chávez

author: Rudolfo A. Anaya

illustrator: Gaspar Enriquez

Cinco Puntos Press, 2000

grades 5-up 

Mexican American

And we have wept for him until our eyes are dry…

Here, brilliant novelist and seasoned Chicano activist Rudolfo Anaya pens for middle readers (and everyone else) an impassioned poem about grief, about mourning, about history and the greatness of a humble man of la gente—and ultimately, about hope for the future.

With a nod to Christianity, Shakespeare, Shelley and Whitman—and spot-on use of meter and repetition, combined with natural code-switching throughout the poem (“Across the land we heard las campanas doblando/ Ha muerto César; Ha muerto César”)—Anaya teams with Chicano artist Gaspar Enriquez to bring us a work of unparalleled clarity and beauty, a poem of honoring and love for a person whose untimely passing was a blow to the Raza community and to the world.

As an elegy for a humble leader, la gente’s hero, it moves from grief (“this earth he loves so well is dry and mourning”), to hope (“his disciples know he is not dead/ for in the dawn we see the morning star/ el lucero de Dios”), and finally, to a continuation of the struggle against oppression (“throughout Aztlán we call the young to gather: Rise, mi gente, rise”).

That Anaya’s poem and Enriquez’s artwork “lack subtlety” (as one reviewer wrote) is an understatement: there is no pretense here, no couching of either emotion or motive. This is an elegy, to be sure; it’s also a cry for action and unity, to rise against injustice and oppression.

Enriquez’s airbrushed mixed-media collage artwork, presented as a series of old snapshots, is built from existing photos, some from the United Farm Worker archives. As such, his art both communicates a feeling of familia y comunidad and complements Anaya’s poetry. Here, amid farm worker flags, the US flag, and Aztec symbols, is a weeping Virgen de Guadalupe (“you starved your body so we might know your spirit”). Here is a handcuffed farm worker, tendrils from a cluster of grapes framing his hands and the cop’s gun (“a scourge on the oppressors of the poor”). Here are agricultural workers, bent over in the backbreaking labor of harvesting onions (“this man who was a guide across fields of toil”). Here are farm worker children—superimposed over an image of a crop duster and a newspaper headline—whose lives are threatened by cancer-causing pesticides (“children uneducated in a land grown fat with greed”). Here are a group of cholos, the young people with whom Enriquez works, contemplating unity (“rise not against each other, but for each other”).

Helpful additions, especially for classroom and school libraries, include a chronology at the end of the book, which is made into a beautiful poster on the inside of the dust jacket, and a heartfelt note from Anaya about César’s life and work. At the end, Anaya implores young people:

Build the house of justice, the poem says in the end. Each one of us has a role in building that house. Each one of us must make a commitment to build a better society. Yes, we must organize. We must work together. We must fight against oppression. In this way we honor César and all the good men and women who have struggled to better our lives.

In a classroom or school library, Elegy can provide a multiplicity of thoughtful exercises. Pairing Elegy with Carmen Bernier-Grand’s excellent César: Sí, Se Puede! Yes, We Can! can elicit discussion of contrasts and similarities in the ways that poetry can be used to describe oppression and call for struggle, and students can try out different forms of poetic writing to express their feelings about family and community. Contrasting the art in Elegy with Yuyi Morales’ art in Kathleen Krull’s Harvesting Hope: The Story of Cesar Chavez and Ilan Stavans’ Cesar Chavez: A Photographic Essay can support discussion and art activities around the topic of symbolism and realism in art. Both Spanish speakers and Spanish language learners can look at the power of code-switching and idiomatic Spanish in poetry and try this technique in writing about their own lives. As well, non-Spanish speakers can use Elegy to examine the use of metaphor in poetry and discuss what kinds of writing resonates with them. And finally, all students can be asked to think deeply and describe their personal commitments (in writing or art or both) to “build the house of justice.”

Bravo, Rudolfo and Gaspar and Cinco Puntos Press! Elegy on the Death of César Chávez is an amazing work that’s highly recommended.

—Beverly Slapin and María Cárdenas
(published 6/30/14)

César Chávez: A Photographic Essay

author: Ilan Stavan 

Cinco Puntos Press, 2010

grades 5-up 

Mexican American

“We draw our strength from the very despair in which we have been forced to live,” César Chávez once said. “We shall endure.”

In the evocative cover photo, César and an elder agricultural worker embrace each other. As both look directly into the camera, the elder’s right arm rests on César’s right shoulder, while César’s right hand supports the elder. Reflected in the elder’s eyeglasses are the images of agricultural workers and supporters holding signs and banners of protest. In this excellent photographic essay, carefully selected black-and-white archival photos combine with honest and accessible text to present for middle readers the story of the life and struggles of a courageous person—and the people who struggled with him.

In his introduction, Stavans is clear and to the point: “Chavez needs to be re-introduced to the young,” he writes, “as a model in the larger fight against poverty and corporate abuse. It is crucial to reinstate him to the rightful place he deserves in United States history: as both a voice for and a champion of the oppressed.” Although the tactics of non-violent resistance of such leaders as Mahatma Gandhi and Martin Luther King, Jr., became César’s trademark, his heroes also included Emiliano Zapata and other Mexican revolutionaries. Indeed, César was an agricultural worker, and a local, national, and international leader as well.

At the same time, he is not an icon and was far from a superhero. Rather, César was a humble person, a common man of la gente who, together with activists Dolores Huerta, Fred Ross, and other organizers—and with thousands of agricultural workers and supporters—accomplished the all but impossible: they garnered recognition of, and won human and civil rights for, some of the most impoverished and exploited workers in this country.

Most of the black-and-white photos here are from the Farm Workers Archive, many taken by agricultural workers themselves, rather than by professional photographers. These compelling photos have an intimate look that’s reminiscent of a family album.

Some of the photos are, indeed, family snapshots. Here is six-year-old Cesario with his sister on the family farm near Yuma, Arizona. Here is César’s eighth-grade graduation photo, a snapshot of the 17-year-old in the Navy, and César and Helen with six of their own children.

But it’s the agricultural workers and their struggle that are at the heart of this photographic essay. Here is César as a young organizer speaking at a small meeting in what appears to be a classroom in the early 1960s, and at a much larger open-air rally in the 1970s. Here are agricultural workers engaging in the backbreaking labor of gathering melons, harvesting onions, and thinning rows of lettuce. Here is a 1950s photo of workers using the crippling short-handled hoes, which became a symbol of their particular exploitation. And here is a family of striking farm worker parents and children picketing the Gilroy Garlic Festival.

Especially moving are the photos of César breaking his 25-day fast in 1968, during a mass attended by some 8,000 farm workers; and of his 1993 funeral procession in Delano, in which some 40,000 mourners marched.

And although the book is essentially about César Chávez, Stavans would have been remiss had he not included Dolores Huerta. Indeed, there are pages of photos and text here about Dolores, an organizer in her own right, who co-founded the National Farm Workers Association, who led the huge grape boycott and negotiated contracts with the large growers, who campaigned for the 1973 Agricultural Labor Relations Act, and who survived a vicious beating at the hands of the San Francisco police in 1988.

Stavans, who himself emigrated from Mexico, organized the photos semi-chronologically, with the sequence broken whenever necessary to provide visual consistency. The evocative black-and-white photos he chose lend themselves to discussion, not only about the movement, but also about the hard work of the people in the fields—combined, they give a sense of familia, of comunidad, something not often seen in photographic essays. 

With an all-inclusive chronology at the end, César Chávez: A Photographic Essay is a must-read for all middle schoolers—not “just” Mexican American students—and an excellent introduction to what it is to be involved in social activism. Highly recommended.

—María Cárdenas and Beverly Slapin
(published 6/28/14)

Note: For further research, students can be directed to the United Farm Workers website (http://www.ufw.org/_page.php?menu=research&inc=history/07.html), which contains a wealth of information, including history, key campaigns, victories, photos and worker voices.

Mr. Sugar Came to Town / La visita del Sr. Azúcar

author: Harriet Rohmer

author: Cruz Gomez

translator: Rosalma Zubizarreta

illustrator: Enrique Chagoya

Children’s Book Press / Lee & Low, 1989

kindergarten-up 

Mexican American

About 25 years ago, I taught afterschool classes for migrant children through the Santa Clara County Office of Education. During some of these classes, migrant college students visited and performed puppet plays about the importance of proper nutrition and the dangers of smoking. My children loved the puppet plays, especially because young people who could have been their older sisters and brothers performed the plays. The puppets were kind of magical for the young children, who could see that the puppets were on someone’s hands, yet they were able to suspend disbelief and pay attention to the message. These puppet plays came to mind as I read Mr. Sugar Came to Town.

Mr. Sugar Came to Town is adapted from a puppet play by Cruz Gomez, Bárbara García, Jesus Gaytan and Jeff Steinhardt and produced by the Food and Nutrition Program of the Watsonville, California Rural Health Clinic as part of its outreach program to agricultural workers and their families.

In the book, a character named “Mr. Sugar” arrives in town and quickly gets a young brother and sister addicted to junk food. They get sugar highs and lows, put on a huge amount of weight, and get in trouble in school. Grandma saves the day by pulling off Mr. Sugar’s mask and revealing the ugliness of Mr. Sugar and his junk food. Mr. Sugar disappears “in a cloud of sugar smoke” and the family celebrates: “They ate rice and beans, chiles and meat, fruits and vegetables from the garden.” And Mr. Sugar goes on to try to addict innocent little kids elsewhere.

Since they were performed in the migrant camps, these puppet plays were for whole families to enjoy together. The evil Mr. Sugar, probably cackling as he distributes his addictive substances to the unsuspecting little kids; the children stuffing their faces and blowing up like balloons; grandma’s confronting Mr. Sugar, struggling with him and pulling off his mask to reveal his ugly face—the shows were fun and there were nutrition lessons to supplement them. But reduced to a children’s book, it’s all just blah.

While the intention here is to teach young children about the dangers of eating too much sugar, it’s didactic and exaggerated and doesn’t give the message of moderation or balanced eating.

The problem with food and obesity in this country—and worldwide—is that agribusiness corporations widely advertise junk food, and aim these commercials specifically at young children. And poverty is not a small issue, either: When I was teaching preschool, I visited a parent who told me that she gave her children cookies and milk in the morning because that’s all she was able to afford.

The Spanish, which is not incorrect but is an almost exact literal translation, is blah as well. It doesn’t hold its own as a story; rather, it replicates the humdrum English version. Chagoya’s illustrations, rendered in multicolored pencil and pastel, complement the story as well.

If Mr. Sugar Came to Town / La visita del Sr. Azúcar were accompanied by a puppet show and some curriculum about nutrition education, maybe there would be some value in it. But it’s not and, as such, I cannot recommend it.

—María Cárdenas
(published 6/27/14)

Just a Minute: A Trickster Tale and Counting Book

author: Yuyi Morales 

illustrator: Yuyi Morales

Chronicle Books, 2003, 

preschool-up 

Mexican

With his sugar-skull face and Día-de-los-Muertos outfit consisting of a bowler hat, wristwatch, and braces to hold his teeth in, Señor Calavera is polite yet insistent. It’s time, he says, for Grandma Beetle to come along with him. Pues, Señor Calavera will soon to find out that Grandma Beetle has other plans—she’s staying around for a while, and Mr. Death will just have to wait—“just a minute.”    

From the first double-page spread—in which a grinning Señor Calavera tips his hat to the left and Grandma Beetle, with a bemused expression on her face, nods to the right—young readers, especially Mexican and Mexican American children, will guess that something hilarious is about to happen. The scene is set: Señor Calavera’s not hiding who he is, and Grandma Beetle has no intention of going with him. The only one who seems frightened is a little black-and-white kitten, who runs away—or hides, or tries to appear large—on every spread.

And Señor Calavera, impatiently checking his watch, waits. He waits “just a minute,” while Grandma sweeps ONE (UNO) house, “just a minute,” while she boils TWO (DOS) pots of tea, “just a minute,” while she prepares THREE (TRES) stacks of tortillas, “just a minute,” while she slices FOUR (CUATRO) fruits, “just a minute,” while she melts FIVE (CINCO) cheeses, “just a minute,” while she cooks SIX (SEIS) pots of food, “just a minute,” while she fills SEVEN (SIETE) piñatas with candy, “just a minute,” while she arranges EIGHT (OCHO) platters of food on the table, and “just a minute,” while her NINE (NUEVE) beautiful grandchildren come through the door to celebrate her birthday. And when everyone is seated, Grandma pulls up a chair for—¿puedes adivinar quién?—guest number TEN (DIEZ), a very happy Señor Calavera himself, whose expression says he can’t believe he’s actually been welcomed to join the festivities.

Here, prestigious award-winner Yuyi Morales renders her beautiful, lively artwork in acrylics and mixed media on paper. In rich, warm colors and bold geometric shapes that bring to mind the bright Mexican murals, here is a working kitchen with chile peppers strung together, well-used ollas on the stove, a humongous cast-iron pot with stew bubbling over, baskets of corn and an old corn-grinder, hand-painted wooden chairs, and gorgeous piñatas, hanging from the ceiling.

And here is Grandma Beetle. She’s a strong, dark, round-cheeked, zaftig Indian woman with sparkles in her gray hair and in her eyes as well. She’s single-handedly enjoying her work: grinding corn, wielding a machete to slice a watermelon, filling piñatas, carrying the huge ollas to the table. And all the time, she’s laughing, laughing, laughing, and sometimes sneaking winks to her child audience. Her nine grandchildren—ethnically mixed, some with darker complexions and dark, straight hair; some with lighter complexions and curly hair; and two with red hair—are reflective of a large, loving Mexican family. And the expressions on Señor Calavera’s face (um, skull)—as he grows more and more impatient—are priceless. All of the artwork is warm and lovely, especially that of the grandchildren, surrounding Grandma with hugs as Señor Calavera makes his exit.

Just a Minute, which complements the celebrations of el Día de los Muertos—is way more than “just” a well-executed counting book—it’s a treasure that will charm readers, young and old alike, and is highly recommended.

—Beverly Slapin
(published 6/16/14)

Side by Side: The Story of Dolores Huerta and Cesar Chavez / Lado a Lado: La Historia de Dolores Huerta y César Chávez

author: Monica Brown
translator: Carolina Valencia
illustrator: Joe Cepeda
HarperCollins, 2010
grades 2-4
Mexican American

To the best of my knowledge, Side by Side/ Lado a Lado is the only bilingual picture book about the decades-long collaboration between César Chávez and Dolores Huerta, leaders of a labor struggle that organized thousands of the most impoverished workers in the US into an unstoppable force. Indeed, in the 1960s, “¡Sí, se puede!” and “¡Viva la causa!” were battle cries for human rights and social justice.

The story begins with double-page spreads showing Dolores’s story on the left and César’s on the right-hand side. Here, young readers will see how their childhoods differed: Dolores is a talker while César is a listener; Dolores is an activist while César is an agricultural worker; Dolores’s family takes care of others while César’s family’s life is difficult. As adults, Dolores teaches migrant farm worker children while César labors in the fields. When the two meet years later, their life experiences become their organizational and philosophical strengths as they join forces to fight for justice in the fields.

A helpful author’s note, geared to parents, teachers, and older readers as well, provides further historical information—such as the immigration act of 1986, and victories including collective bargaining, health benefits, pensions, and farmworker clinics—to supplement the picture book format.

Cepeda’s mixed-media paintings—using oils, acrylics and collage on a bright palette of blues, oranges, yellows, greens and browns—are expressive and dramatic. Here are agricultural workers trying to escape the poisonous fumes of a plane spewing pesticides. Here are Dolores and César together, standing on a flatbed truck, speaking to a few somewhat-interested listeners. Here is César during his 26-day hunger strike, weakly looking out the window, while Dolores rallies the workers. And here is César’s funeral, with thousands of farmworkers and supporters honoring him.

Unfortunately, weaving Dolores’ and César’s stories together in this parallel style sometimes results in inconsistency and oversimplification. For instance, “Dolores saw that Cesar had great faith…Cesar saw that Dolores had great courage.” In fact, both César and Dolores had great faith and great courage. Another problem is that a major struggle—perhaps one of the most famous United Farm Worker struggles—is described here inaccurately. On a spread depicting an organizing meeting, the text reads:

Cesar and Dolores asked people to stop buying grapes from California because the poisons the growers used there were making the workers sick. People listened, and the grapes rotted on the vines. The farmworkers won! They got a safer place to work, and the grapes became safer for people to eat.

Here, the Delano strike, boycott, and secondary strike against California growers of table grapes—a massive struggle that lasted for five years—is collapsed into what appears to be one meeting. On the following spread, which depicts the 340-mile march from Delano to Sacramento, the text says that the purpose of the march was “to demand that workers get paid enough to live on.” But this famous march, in fact, occurred during the grape boycott, not after it was over, and it encompassed many demands, not just one.

Nevertheless, Side by Side is one of the few picture books that demonstrate that César Chávez did not work alone and that Dolores Huerta was more than a political sidekick. Along with Carmen T. Bernier-Grand’s César: ¡Sí, se puede! / Yes, We can!, Kathleen Krull’s Harvesting Hope: The Story of Cesar Chavez, and Sarah Warren’s Dolores Huerta: A Hero to Migrant Workers, Side by Side / Lado a Lado is a valuable addition to a collection of picture books that bring the courageous struggles of migrant agricultural workers to an early elementary audience. Recommended.

—Beverly Slapin
(published 6/10/14)

My Very Own Room / Mi propio cuartito

author: Amada Irma Pérez

translator: Consuelo Hernández

illustrator: Maya Christina González

Children’s Book Press / Lee & Low, 2000

grades 2-up 

Mexican, Mexican American

When we were kids, we slept four in a bed; the girls slept in one bed and the boys in another. Living with ten people piled into a small house was just our reality. For me, there was no place to be by myself, to read, to do my homework; it was a common occurrence to see my homework stuck to the table or with milk spilled on it, and there was no such thing as quiet in our house.

For a large traditional Mexican family such as ours, it was a matter of both culture and economics: family and friends came and went, and people either shared space with relatives or lived in made-over garages. There wasn’t much room, so children usually slept together in one or two beds and sometimes on the couch or on the floor.

My Very Own Room reminded me of my impossible wish. The narrator is a nine-year-old girl who shares a room with five brothers and imagines her own space “with my own bed, table, and lamp—a place where I could read the books I loved, write in my diary, and dream.” How she transforms a storage closet into a perfect, private space shows, not only her own determination and resourcefulness, but how her family joyfully pitches in and helps out. Here’s a bed from Tío Pancho, who is returning to Mexico. Here’s a white ceramic glass lamp from the Blue Chip store, for redeemed Blue Chip stamps. Here are several paint cans, each with a little paint in it that when blended, makes a gorgeous magenta color for her walls. And here are lots and lots of books, borrowed from the library.

González’s art, in oil pastel on a rich palette of bold, warm colors, complement the story. I especially like the image of the whole family licking Blue Chip stamps, the swirls of the paint colors coming together, and finally, “the luckiest, happiest little girl in the whole world,” falling asleep under a blanket of books in her very own room.

Hernández’s idiomatic Spanish translation reads as well as the English, so both hablantes and English-speakers can enjoy this warm story of a little girl who is part of a loving family and finds a way to acquire her own space. Based on the author’s own family story, My Very Own Room / Mi propio cuartito is highly recommended.

—María Cárdenas
(published 3/27/14)

My Aunt Otilia’s Spirits / Los espíritus de mi tía Otilia

author: Richard García

translator: Jesús Guerrero Rea

illustrators: Robin Cherin, Roger I. Reyes

Children’s Book Press / Lee & Low, 1986

grades 2-up 

Puerto Rican

My Aunt Otilia’s Spirits reminds me of the stories of spirits and ghosts told to us as children. These stories are common in Latino cultures; children have a fascination with ghosts and spirits and because of the oral tradition of telling ghost stories, some for teaching lessons, some for preventing bad behavior. As a teacher, I read this story around Halloween and el Día de los Muertos until the classroom library copy became too worn to use.

Here, Tía Otilia comes to visit. Our reality is that, when people show up and there’s limited space, you just have to move over; so Aunt Otilia sleeps in the bed with her nephew. And every night that she’s there, there’s a shaking and knocking on the walls. “It’s just my spirits,” she tells him. “Go to sleep, Demonio.” (It’s sometimes misunderstood by cultural outsiders, but we often use derogatory-sounding nicknames such as “Demonio,” “Gordo,” “Flaco,” and even “Burro” as endearments with our children.)

One night, Demonio puts gum in his ear so he won’t hear Tía Otilia’s voice and he can stay awake. He hears a rattling noise and here are Aunt Otilla’s bones coming out of her body and flying out the window—but her body remains in the bed! When he jumps out of bed, he knocks the pieces of her body to the floor and she flies out the window.

In Latino cultures, there are always spirits hanging around; there’s always a family member who hears voices or talks about spirits or has some kind of otherworldly gifts. So it’s not unusual for unusual things to happen. As Garcia writes, “[M]y Aunt Otilia was accompanied by bed shakings and wall knockings wherever she went. However, this was not regarded as unusual in my family, or a cause for much concern. The supernatural had a natural place in our life.”

Rea’s idiomatic Spanish translation reads as well as the English, so the story will resonate for Spanish-speakers and English-speakers alike. For instance, “I really caught a spanking for chasing my Aunt Otila away” becomes “me dieron unas buenas nalgaras por asustar a mi tía Otila,” which is a more visual statement.

Cherin’s and Reyes’ artwork is executed in acrylics and ink on a bright palette using lots of primary colors, and the bold handwritten text incorporated into the design adds to the book’s attractiveness. I especially love the picture of Aunt Otilia’s skeleton, carrying a handbag, flying out the window, while her suitcases have a spirit of their own; and I can just imagine Demonio’s anxiety as he tries to put his aunt back together after knocking her body parts off the bed. Kids break things, but not usually their relatives.

But all’s well that ends well: “[A] month later,” Demonio tells us, “we got a postcard from Puerto Rico. Aunt Otilia said she enjoyed her visit and was fine, although she felt a little mixed up.”

My Aunt Otilia’s Spirits / Los espíritus de mi tía Otilia provides the space to talk about children’s fears and nightmares, as well as ghost stories that children have heard in their families. For teachers, it’s an opportunity for class discussions about people’s beliefs about spirits in a positive way. It’s highly recommended.

—María Cárdenas
(published 3/27/14)

Spoon for Every Bite / Una Cuchara Para Cada Bocado

author: Joe Hayes

translator: Joe Hayes

illustrator: Rebecca Leer

Cinco Puntos Press, 2005

grades 2-up 

Mexican

In my family, we ate tortillas at every dinner meal, fresh off the comal. Sometimes we ate tortillas for breakfast and lunch as well. If there were any tortillas left over, we would reheat them for another meal, but my dad refused to eat them unless they were freshly made.

I was the oldest of eight kids and it was my job to help my mother make the tortillas. She and I cooked them as the family ate; we had to keep getting up to make more and I don’t remember ever being able to sit down for a whole meal. One day I decided that my younger sisters and brothers would only be allowed two tortillas per meal; that way I wouldn’t have to keep getting up. My dad, though, got as many as he wanted, so my idea was short lived.

There are many versions of the old Mexican joke involving tortillas. The one we were told involves an argument between Moctezuma and Cortés, but sometimes it’s between a peasant and a conquistador. Generally, the argument begins with one person saying to the other, “I know someone who eats each bite with a different spoon.” In any case, the underdog wins.

In Hayes’ hyperbolic morality tale, a young couple, so poor that they own only two spoons, asks a wealthy neighbor to be the godfather of their baby. Saving up enough to buy a third spoon, they invite him for dinner. But he mocks their poverty, bragging that he could use a different spoon every day of the year if he wanted to. When the couple tells him that they know someone who uses a new spoon for every bite, their obsessed neighbor buys so many spoons that he goes broke. The couple introduces him to their friends, who scoop up their beans with—tortillas. Having bested extreme arrogance with cultural common sense, the couple plans to sell the mean-spirited neighbor’s discarded spoons, thereby assuring themselves that “they would live the rest of their days in comfort.”

Hayes’ Spanish version reads as well as the English, so that both Spanish-speakers and English-speakers can learn and enjoy the idioms of the other language. Leer’s artwork is rendered in pastels on a palette that reflects the colors of Southwestern flora, fauna, and architecture. I especially like the facial details—the Mexican aristocrat’s out-of-control handlebar mustache and his look of horror when he finds out he’s been had, his servants’ bemused expressions at their boss’s extravagance, the couple’s loving and semi-conspiratorial glances at each other. Perfect.

Sometimes when a joke or a riddle is stretched out into a story containing characters and dialogue, the turns and twists become contrived. Here, my problem is suspending my disbelief that the poor couple doesn’t eat tortillas, because to do so would have given away the punch line. Maybe there are Mexicans who don’t eat beans with tortillas; I haven’t met any.

Nevertheless, the story resonates with me—arrogant rich people getting their comeuppance from poor people just makes me feel warm inside. A Spoon for Every Bite / Una Cuchara Para Cada Bocado is recommended.

—María Cárdenas
(published 3/27/14)

Sammy and Juliana in Hollywood

author: Benjamin Alire Sáenz

Cinco Puntos Press, 2004

high school-up

Mexican American

The Hollywood of Sáenz’s first novel for young adult readers is a ragged barrio of Las Cruces, New Mexico, where Sammy Santos and his friends live in the year 1969. Toward the end of his junior year of high school Sammy begins to notice classmate Juliana Ríos, whose self-confidence in the face of racist teachers inspires Sammy. Juliana, however, hides a desperate home situation that results over the summer in her violent death.

Afterward, Sammy wonders if he will ever love another girl again. His mother died years earlier, and over the next year, Sammy endures more losses—a neighbor’s husband, a best friend drafted and then killed in Vietnam, another friend dead of a heroin overdose, two gay classmates brutally beaten and then driven out of town by bigoted whites. Along with the troubles, however, comes Sammy’s political awakening, when he and his friends campaign for a change in student government, organize a strike against strict dress codes, and pass out armbands against the war. These struggles give Sammy and his friends a sense of hope and purpose and bring him closer to his father as well.

Sáenz is an acclaimed poet, and his story sings in the language of young people who move effortlessly between English and Spanish and use both languages to understand their world. The emotions expressed are honest and powerful—true to the characters’ culture and time period, yet so deeply felt that teenagers of all backgrounds today can identify themselves and their friends in the unforgettable cast. There are many priceless moments when the teens stand up to authority figures, showing that resistance is possible and hope exists in the bleakest of circumstances. One of the most memorable is when Sammy, five weeks from graduation, stands up to a dictatorial school administrator, Colonel Wright, who tries to shut down the student protest against the war on Vietnam:

He grabbed my arm. I hated the warmth of his hand. “Pifas is dead,” I said. And he let go of me. He knew who I was talking about. He’d read it in the newspaper, he’d seen a picture of Pifas’ mother kissing his coffin, clutching a flag—clutching a flag instead of clutching a son. God. “Epifánio Jose Espinosa was killed in action. In Viet Nam. Epifánio. They brought him home. Not all of him, Colonel. They couldn’t find his hands. Blown clean off. His hands, Colonel, they stayed in Nam. His hands stayed there, Colonel. Say it. Goddammit! Say his name for me.” He grabbed my arm again and started dragging me toward the office. But I wasn’t going to let him. I pulled away from him. I was stronger. He knew I was stronger. “Epifánio,” I said. “His name meant epiphany. It’s what happens at the end of a story or poem when something is revealed. It means we’ve learned something.”

As I reread sections to finish up this review, I am in tears. Sammy & Juliana in Hollywood is that strong, that good. Highly recommended.

—Lyn Miller-Lachmann
(published 3/26/14)

Grandma Fina And Her Wonderful Umbrellas / La Abuelita Fina y sus sombrillas maravillosas

author: Benjamin Alire Sáenz 

translator: Pilar Herrera

illustrator: Geronimo García

Cinco Puntos Press, 1999

preschool-up 

Mexican American

Grandma Fina just loves her tattered old yellow umbrella that keeps her cool on warm sunny days. As she walks through the community and chats with each of her neighbors, no one says anything about Grandma Fina’s umbrella because no one wants to hurt her feelings. But everyone’s thinking the same thing. Then, when her relatives and neighbors throw her a surprise birthday celebration, Grandma Fina receives—nine new umbrellas! Still favoring her old yellow umbrella, Grandma Fina takes the others to the community center and gifts them to her friends. 

Garcia’s cartoon illustrations, on a bright palette of mostly purples, greens, oranges and yellows, complement the story and add to its hilarity. And young readers and listeners will enjoy matching the umbrellas to their respective donors and trying to find the bluebird on practically every other page.

Herrera’s idiomatic Spanish translation follows the English text in simplicity, repetition and rhythm; allowing both hablantes and English speakers to enjoy the story. Each two-page spread contains blocks of English text in black print and Spanish in green. On two pages in the predominantly English blocks where Grandma Fina talks with her daughter, their endearments are appropriately in Spanish, the translation of which can be inferred.

As a read-aloud, this solid bilingual early reader—with its predictable plot and hilarious ending—will encourage youngsters to explore colors, friendships, relationships, neighbors, the meaning of “community,” and a host of other topics. I can see a teacher stopping every few seconds so that the children can yell, “Wonderful!” or “¡Maravilloso!”—the word that connects the ebullient Grandma Fina with the story and each of her neighbors.

In a society in which the mass media portray everything as disposable and old people as useless as torn umbrellas, Grandma Fina And Her Wonderful Umbrellas / La Abuelita Fina y sus sombrillas maravillosas is a refreshing replacement. Highly recommended.

—María Cárdenas
(published 3/20/14)

¡El Cucuy! A Bogeyman Cuento in English and Spanish

author: Joe Hayes

translators: Teresa Mlawer, María Cristina López, Sharon Franco, Honorio Robledo

illustrator: Honorio Robledo

Cinco Puntos Press, 2001

grades 3-up 

Mexican

When I was a girl, I used to tell scary stories to my younger brothers and sisters. I made a lot of the stories up, just for the pleasure of scaring them. But it never occurred to me to tell them a Cucuy story because Cucuy was real, out there somewhere.

Our parents would warn us of the Cucuy to frighten us into good behavior when we were misbehaving or about to misbehave: “If you’re bad, the Cucuy will come for you.” The Cucuy was also lurking in the dark, waiting to grab us up, so we would not want to be out alone at night or wander too far away from our parents. The lesson was that it’s dangerous out there—you’d better behave or else!

The power of the Cucuy is that it grabs you and takes you away—it separates you from your family forever. Sometimes, if it’s hungry and your behavior was really bad, it’ll eat you! But my parents never threatened to call the Cucuy to come and get us—and I can’t imagine any Latino parents who love their children doing this. What’s more, our parents never described the Cucuy; it was scarier that way. The Cucuy we feared never had a shape or form, except in our wildest imaginations; since it came from the oral tradition, it was more of a surreal “presence.”

In Hayes’s version, two lazy sisters refuse to help their dutiful youngest sister, who toils all day long, cooking and cleaning for their widowed father. After their father threatens to call the Cucuy on them if they don’t help, the girls, loudly dismissing the idea of Cucuy’s existence, become even more defiant. Their father makes good on his promise; the Cucuy arrives and takes the older girls away to his dark, spider-filled cave, where they have plenty of time to reflect on their bad behavior. A young goat herder rescues them, and the girls, scared out of their wits but knowing that their father and sister have also been searching for them, change their ways: “From that day on those two girls were the most polite and helpful girls living in that little town.”

This is not the purpose of a scary story. Scary stories, such as that of the Cucuy or bogeyman, frighten children into behaving. They don’t get a second chance. They don’t get to meditate on the error of their ways. There’s no time for remorse! They’re gone! That’s it!

The Spanish translation is idiomatic and poetic and very nicely done. For instance, while the English reads, “The boy put the girls on his burro and started down the winding path to the valley,” the Spanish reads, “El muchacho acomodó a las niñas en el burro y se fue rumbo al valle por la vereda retorcida.” Here, you can see the goatherd assisting the girls and helping them down the seriously winding path.

Robledo’s stylized acrylic illustrations, on a bright palette with background shading, aptly convey the terror of the grotesque Cucuy. Unfortunately, his other characters’ faces—also with bugged-out eyes and weird grimaces—are scary as well.

Besides the girls’ father actually giving them over to the Cucuy, my problem with Hays’ story is its artificially happy ending, done to “soften” the story. But many of our children hear and experience many scary stories—such as the threat of La Migra (ICE), a modern-day Cucuy that has nothing to do with bad behavior, but that often separates parents from their children. Scary stories are certainly not therapy, but they can give children an opportunity to talk with trusted adults and process their fears. 

As it stands, ¡El Cucuy! A Bogeyman Cuento in English and Spanish is not recommended.

—María Cárdenas
(published 3/15/14)