What might “Lucy” say? What might the ancestors say? What might an Indigenous child feel? A review of SHARUKO: El Arqueólogo Peruano / Peruvian Archeologist Julio C. Tello

What might “Lucy” say?

On November 24, 1974, In the Afar Triangle region of Hadar, Ethiopia, paleoanthropologist Donald Johanson and some colleagues discovered—buried in sediment—a 3.2-million-year-old partial skeleton of a human ancestor. The skeleton was about 40% complete: skull, jaws and some teeth, some rib pieces, long bones from the arms and legs, part of a shoulder blade, part of a pelvis, and a knee and ankle. 

The size of the skeleton, according to scientists, indicated that it was female. 

The scientists named her “Australopithecus afarensis” and nicknamed her “Lucy” (after the popular Beatles’ song, “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds”).

We don’t know her real name, but we know some things about her. We know that she walked on two legs. We know that she had strong arms that were built for load-bearing and that her upper body was adapted for partial life in trees. We know that she had opposable thumbs. Teeth marks indicate that she was killed and eaten by a saber-toothed tiger. A lot of what we “know” about her is based on sophisticated technology—bone scans—and educated guesses. 

What we don’t know is this: What might “Lucy” say about strangers’ making plaster casts of her bones and taking them far away from her world? Might she say: “Leave me alone!”? Might she say: “Whatever, as long as you go away!”?  

My friend and colleague, Judy Zalazar Drummond (Cahuilla / Chicana) taught sixth grade for many years at Horace Mann Middle School. The school was a project-based experiment in child-centered learning, in which the students helped create the curricula and the teachers facilitated. This student-based research, she said, increases not only the interest but the school success rate. 

One year in particular, Judy remembered, the students had the opportunity of working with Donald Johanson.

One of Judy’s team members, the social studies teacher, had contacted Johanson for permission to use his materials. He loved what they were doing with his work, and, as Judy told me, “honored us by assigning a top researcher” who came in two days a week for a month with a set of Johanson’s casts of “Lucy’s” bones. He taught Judy’s students about the role of the scientist in learning and teaching about the ancient past. Her students worked in teams and the culminating project, she said, was called “the Lucy Fair.” Her students shined, she said—“they made books, they made a movie, they made posters, they prepared a presentation about archeological tools.”

“One of my students,” Judy told me, “said that this was the best year of his life. Another said she had become a pen pal with Tim White, one of Johanson’s students.” 

“The kids were all convinced that they could research and learn and become successful. They remember it to this day as being exhilarating and they say it began their lifelong quest for learning.”

What might the ancestors say?

The other day, a friend said to me, “Egyptians who want to learn about their culture have to go to the London Museum.” 

Every culture has some sort of funeral ritual(s). Sometimes they’re public, and everyone’s invited. Sometimes they’re mixed, for the community to share stories, songs and prayers. Sometimes they’re private, for family and close friends only. Funeral rituals are an ancient way of imparting and maintaining history and culture. 

European-based archeology poses large questions. If maintaining a people’s history is an important part of ancient burial rituals, is it ever permitted to dig into graves to learn about their culture? What do we learn from examining people’s bones and is uncovering the burials of a people’s beloved dead permitted if it’s used as a tool for discovering how they lived? What might the ancestors say? 

The modern fields of anthropology and archeology are rooted in colonialist ideology. My friend and colleague, Kelly Reagan Tudor (Lipan Apache) told me that she’s “heard horror stories from Indigenous students who’d had professors who treated them as a ‘field of study’ rather than as citizens of a living culture.”

Even outside of the classroom, she said, “it’s an unfortunate situation, where Indigenous individuals participate in things that are harmful to their own people. It’s still grave-robbing. It’s still looting the ancestors.”

There are cultural and Indigenous approaches to these fields. For many years, Indigenous people have struggled to repatriate the burial items currently on exhibit in museums. Since 1990, the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA) has provided a process for museums and federal agencies to return human remains, funerary objects, and other sacred cultural material. Still, looting continues—and the struggle continues. 

So what should a respectful archeologist do? As Kelly said, without hesitation: “Ask for permission and don’t assume that there are no living relatives. Look for clues from the past and leave them in their place.”

My friend and colleague, Rachel Byington (Choctaw), told me about Kurt Sampson, a white guy and an archeologist by trade, who is passionate about the protection and preservation of the effigy mounds. Working with guidance from the Ho-Chunk Nation in Wisconsin, Sampson organizes volunteers to take care of the mounds and make sure they’re not being overgrown. He advocates for them and provides knowledge for best-care practices.

In Iowa, Illinois and Minnesota as well, Native and non-Native people work together on cleanups and preservation and share what they’re learning.They respect the cultures who are connected with the mounds and their accompanying sacred ritual space and they know that the mounds deserve respect. 

In teaching people about the effigy mounds, Sampson engages with students and teachers, arguing that there’s a living culture connected to those mounds. And that the ancestors who are buried in them want the mounds to be left alone.

 Kingsley Bend Mounds, Wisconsin Dells, WI 

after Spring Cleanup, 2020 by Ho-Chunk Nation 

photo: Lucas Quackenbush, Effigy Mounds Initiative

What might an Indigenous child feel?

There are young people who travel with their class to a museum and see its exhibit of “prehistoric” skulls and clothing and blankets and pots. These young people might be awed by the beauty and age of the items in this exhibit and the knowledge and history that it holds. There are also young people who travel with their class to a museum’s “prehistory” exhibit and recognize that these “artifacts” come from—and belong to—their own families and tribal nations. They may be horrified to know that their families and their burial items are being used as objects to further “scientific knowledge.” And these young people might not feel empowered to speak up, so they remain silent. And they know that something needs to change.

My friend, Judy, remembers a particular incident “as if it were yesterday,” she said:

Our class went on a field trip to the Los Angeles County Museum of Natural History, and we came upon a staging with scenery and people. It was labeled “Early California Indians” and I kept looking at it. There were kids with sticks digging in the ground and our teacher said that that’s how they got their food, digging for worms, and that’s why they were called “Digger Indians.” It was a family scene, with other kids. I don’t remember what they were doing because I focused on this one kid and the words, Digger Indians and the teacher’s saying that’s what they were called. The picture in our textbook was the same picture from the museum.

I was so humiliated. I couldn’t look at anything else. I couldn’t say anything. It was like a blanket had been thrown over me. I just wanted to shrivel up and roll away. I don’t remember anything else. This has affected me all my life.

SHARUKO: El Arqueólogo Peruano / Peruvian Archeologist Julio C. Tello

author: Monica Brown

Spanish: Adriana Domínguez

illustrator: Elisa Chavarri

Children’s Book Press / Lee & Low Books, 2020

grades 4-up

Indigenous / Peruvian

In this well-researched and beautifully illustrated picture book biography of Indigenous Peruvian archeologist Julio C. Tello (1880-1947)—nicknamed “Sharuko” (Quecha for “brave”)—young readers will feel the “brave and curious” boy’s passion for exploration, his remarkable discoveries as a young man, and his accomplishments as the founder of modern Peruvian archeology.

In telling Sharuko’s story, Brown discusses the child’s growing up in the foothills of the Andes Mountains, his pride in his own indigeneity, and his dedication to Peru’s Indigenous history which led him on a path that would make him famous as the first Indigenous archeologist in the Americas—in a way that will resonate with young people. 

Chavarri’s appealing gouche and watercolor paintings are mostly double-page spreads, highlighting the Andean mountains in saturated yellows and muted greens. Several portray Sharuko as a child with his loving family and their small gray chihuahua on practically every page. Single-page illustrations of country people and city people focus on radiant brown faces of varying tones. One spread shows the violence of the invading Spaniards, destroying everything. Most depict an adult Sharuko (now “Julio”) exploring archeological sites and studying in the city, and, on a background of Indigenous Peruvian motifs, a Peruvian family admiring a statue of Julio C. Tello. 

One especially lovely and complex spread symbolically depicts the way Indigenous people keep oral teaching alive to pass on to future generations. Here, a wondrous Sharuko listens to his father’s accounts of history. While their pup naps next to them, father and young son sit on a colorfully woven rug. Although both remain in the present, they appear to be traveling across the sky, guided by the sacred condor who flies past Machu Picchu, to encounter three Indigenous people from long ago in their resplendent regalia, looking out at the reader. 

Endpapers show the stone heads taken from the Chavín de Huántar site and highlighted throughout are motifs of Paracas textiles.

As always, Domínguez’s excellent Spanish, which appropriately forefronts the English text, doesn’t disappoint. She pays careful attention to the rhythm and the spoken value of the narrative, and whenever necessary, she switches the order of phrases or words. For instance, while a section in English reads, 

For centuries, the Indigenous people of Peru were treated unfairly and faced discrimination. This started in the 1500s when Spanish soldiers invaded Peru. The Spanish were looking for gold, and when they found it, they claimed the land and its riches for themselves. They established control by killing many Native Peruvians and rejecting their belief systems. The Spanish destroyed temples and cities, all in the pursuit of wealth and power.

The Spanish reads:

Los indígenas del Perú fueron maltratados y discriminados por siglos. Esto comenzó en el siglo XVI, cuando los soldados españoles invadieron el Perú. Los españoles buscaban oro, y cuando lo encontraron, se quedaron con la tierra y su riqueza. Lograron el control matando a grandes cantidades de indígenas peruanos y rechazando sus creencias. Los españoles destruyeron templos y ciudades en su búsqueda de poder y fortuna. 

(“The indigenous people of Peru were mistreated and discriminated against for centuries. This started in the 16th century, when Spanish soldiers invaded Peru. The Spanish were looking for gold, and when they found it, they kept the land and its wealth. They achieved control by killing large numbers of Indigenous Peruvians and rejecting their beliefs. The Spanish destroyed temples and cities in their quest for power and fortune.”)

Sharuko is an honest and inviting telling of Julio C. Tello’s life and the passions that drove him to become world famous as one of the most important archeologists in all of the Americas. However, the many illustrations of the caves and burial grounds that he explored—containing the bones of his ancestors—are accompanied by text that normalizes—no, valorizes—what Tello did then:

“Nothing scared Sharuko, not even the skulls he and his brothers uncovered in ancient tombs.” (italics mine)

“There (at Harvard University) he focused on anthropology and archeology, learning more about the ancient peoples of the Americas through the study of bones, tools, and other items they left behind.” (italics mine)

“At the (Chavín de Huántar archaeological) site he found art, structures, and other evidence that proved the Indigenous Chavín culture had been established more than three thousand years ago, making it the oldest culture known in Peru.” (italics mine)

“Julio also discovered an ancient cemetery with mummy bundles that showed how the Paracas people honored those who had died.” In her Afterword, Brown writes that “(Tello) also unearthed ancient textiles and hundreds of mummy bundles on the Paracas Peninsula.” (italics mine)

Sharuko treats Tello’s work respectfully—almost reverently, yet uncritically. Tello’s story can be used as a teachable moment about the ethics of archaeology (then and now), and supplemented, perhaps with information about the care and maintenance of the effigy mounds. Sharuko can be utilized as a springboard to raise questions for important discussions about the science of archeology, the role of archeology in “discovering” prehistory and prehistoric peoples, the ownership of the burial sites and their contents, and the responsibility to respect a people’s cultural wishes. In this context, Monica Brown, Elisa Chavarri and Adriana Domínguez—and Children’s Book Press—will have contributed to the furtherance of an important discussion. 

But, as it stands, I cannot recommend SHARUKO: El Arqueólogo Peruano / Peruvian Archeologist Julio C. Tello on its own. 

The following questions are suggested for wider discussion of SHARUKO: El Arqueólogo Peruano / Peruvian Archeologist Julio C. Tello: 

What values inform your life choices? Your career choices?

Who owns the burial sites of Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples who are alive today? How do you know? 

Who owns the burial sites of Indigenous nations whose people are assumed to be long gone? How do you know?

Is the gathering of knowledge worth the desecration of graves? Why or why not?

And always consider: What might an Indigenous child feel?

—Beverly Slapin

(published 10/15/20, revised 10/17/20)

Muchísimas gracias a mis amigas y colegas, Rachel Byington, Judy Zalazar Drummond, and Kelly Reagan Tudor. And honor to Kurt Sampson. 

Sleeping With the Light On

author: David Ungar 

illustrator: Carlos Vélez Aguilera 
Groundwood Books / House of Anansi Press, 2020
grades 2-4
Guatemalan

In 1954, bombs rained down on Guatemala in a bloody coup d’etat.This first  covert CIA coup in Latin America overthrew the country’s elected President, Jacobo Árbenz, who had instituted agrarian reforms that gave land to impoverished peasants and ended exploitive labor practices. The coup greatly benefited the US agricultural giant, United Fruit Company, which traded in tropical fruit grown on Latin American plantations. The ensuing 36 years of what came to be known as the “Guatemalan Civil War” (1960-1996) claimed more than 200,000 lives, resulted in more than 45,000 missing, drove countless refugees to Mexico and the US, and wrecked the Guatemalan economy. 

For the terrified Guatemalan families, sleeping with the light on became their new normal.

Sleeping with the Light On is based on David Unger’s semi-autobiographical story, “La Casita: Forgetting Spanish,” first published in Spanish by CIDCLI Books in Mexico City (2012). Through the eyes of young Davico, it’s the story of a small Guatemalan family, how they deal with the terror of the unknown, and how the family’s tough choices land them in a new world where no one speaks Spanish, there’s plenty of food, and people sleep with the light off.

Davico, his slightly older brother Felipe, and their parents live on the second floor of La Casita, a small restaurant they are renting in Guatemala City in the early 1950s. Their life is typically middle class and, for Davico, something is always happening. Consuelo, the nanny, takes him to the market and prepares Sunday brunch. Augusto, the cook, and Otto, the waiter, play tricks on him that sometimes make him wet his pants. And Davico is fascinated with the restaurant’s huge glass tank of lobsters, each of whom he names: Don Quixote, Superman, Hannibal, King Arthur, and the largest, Genghis Khan. One by one, the lobsters disappear and are replaced. All but Genghis Khan. 

Suddenly, Davico’s family’s lives are interrupted. Airplanes are flying low overhead. Warning leaflets are raining from the sky. Sounds of guns and rifles are going off. Armies and tanks are filling the streets. Blackouts are taking place every evening. Davico’s and Felipe’s parents know exactly what is happening. They’ve survived “this nonsense” all before, in Germany. “This nonsense,” of course, is their child-friendly euphemism for the Nazi conflagration that the world had to end so those who survived could once again sleep with the lights off.

And because Davico’s family—along with thousands of others—recognizes this “nonsense,” they decide it may be time to pack up and leave everyone and everything they and their children know and love. As the boys bed down with their stuffed animals under the big wooden dining room table, Davico hears his parents whispering plans to go to “gringo-land.” The children will stay with an uncle while their parents take an airplane to this strange place to find work. 

When Davico goes downstairs to say goodbye to the lobsters, the tank has been drained and “all the lobsters are gone, including Genghis Kahn.”

“I should ask what happened to him,” Davico thinks, “but I don’t. Maybe someone bought him and ate him. I don’t want to know.”

While their parents are gone, Davico and Felipe stay with relatives. “We are in jail,” he says. 

We can walk around, but we can’t escape. We watch tons and tons of television, lots of Bugs Bunny and Elmer Fudd cartoons. But we don’t find them funny anymore.

Finally, the boys board an airplane to reunite with their parents. In Miami, the land is flat. There are no mountains or volcanoes. There are no roscas, espumillas or canillas de leche, the Guatemalan candies Davico loves. There are no black beans, yucca or plantains. The avocados are big and watery. And no one speaks Spanish. 

Davico promises his parents lots of things:

Not to speak Spanish at school.

Not to complain about the food.

To learn English.

And, before long, all he remembers of Spanish is:

Buenos días.

Tengo hambre.

Necesito hacer pipí.

Forgetting Spanish. This is what coming to the United States means to me.

Soon, Davico is “fitting in, learning to put ketchup on everything.” 

But, of course, he misses his home: “sleeping under the table when the lights go out,” “the blue and yellow papers (the warning leaflets) twirling in the sky and falling into the courtyard,” all the people who worked at La Casita. And he misses “the lobsters in the kitchen, with their warts and their hairy legs. Especially Genghis Kahn.”

Mexican artist Carlos Vélez Aguilera’s cover art—using a combination of watercolors, colored pencils and digital color—is, at first glance, calm. On a peaceful blue background, the boys, clutching their stuffed toy animals, sleep comfortably in their bed. The night table holds a battery lamp with a revolving shade on which “sun, clouds and waves [roll] across the light.” But above the title, astute readers may notice the ghostly images of an armored tank and an airplane in the dark blue sky. 

The dark interior art, rendered solely in graphite pencil and black ink, reflect the tone of the story as well. In one especially somber piece, the young brothers are in “bed” under the wooden dining room table. While Felipe is sound asleep, a wide-awake and worried Davico holds on to his little stuffed pig and hesitantly peeks over the blanket. The dining room is meticulous: there’s a chandelier, framed art hangs on the walls, the curtains are open and the carpet is swept, and on the main table sit an untouched bowl of fruit and a vase of flowers. 

In focusing on one child’s narrative, Sleeping with the Light On effectively tells the story of the thousands of children who have been forced to leave their home countries to escape war and invasion. It would be a treat to read this story in its original Spanish. 

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

—Beverly Slapin

(published 9/28/20)

That Girl on TV Could Be Me!: The Journey of a Latina News Anchor / ¡Yo Podría Ser Esa Chica el la Tele! El Camino de una Noticiera Latina

author: Leticia Ordaz
translator: Leticia Ordaz
illustrator: Juan Calle
Immedium,  2020
grades 2-4 
Mexican American

Leticia Ordaz remembers when, as a young girl, she watched the news and began to question why no one on TV looked like her. With encouragement from her hard-working parents—who had left school after the sixth grade in Michoacán, Mexico, to support their families; and later, had immigrated here to give their own children a better life—Leticia begins to imagine that she could realize her dreams and work as a newscaster.

Colombian illustrator Juan Calle’s brightly colored manga-influenced art (which has been trending with young people for years), digitally “painted” in Photoshop, transports the audience into the story. His illustration on the inside front cover, for instance, shows young Leticia, looking out at the reader. She holds a blank notebook and her expression radiates confidence. A sketch of a microphone floats nearby. Young readers know from the beginning that Leticia’s story has a positive ending. 

But it’s the images of Leticia’s family’s journey and hard work to encourage their children and give them a good life that especially stand out. In one, the family sits around a tiny dinner table as Papá, in work shirt and cap, tells the children stories about the difficulty of farm labor in Michoacán. 

In other images, Leticia tells readers about her timidity, her practicing to read out loud in front of the mirror at home, graduating from high school and enrolling at Sacramento State, breaking into broadcasting through an internship at a local news station, and how her dream career slowly unfolds. 

Here is Leticia accompanying reporters to snowstorms, practicing “standups” in rainstorms, covering Cowboy Poetry Day, becoming wrapped up by a snake at a country fair, being attacked by mosquitoes in an almond orchard, and covering the most destructive fire in California’s history. The first in her family to graduate from college, Leticia learns on the job to write, shoot and produce her own stories and on-air interviews. And when her dream job in Bakersfield opens up, she is home!

Ordaz’s non-literal Spanish translation is appealing. It’s the way people actually talk in their own languages. For instance, one of Leticia’s mentors, Lois Hart, tells the astonished young woman (in English):

“This is a tough business, and the starting pay is peanuts. On your first job you’ll have to be a one-man band, carry your own camera, and edit your own stories.”

In Spanish, Lois Hart’s warning is this: 

“Este es un negocio difícil y el sueldo inicial es apenas nada. En tú primer trabajo tendrás que hacer todo tú sola, llevar tu propia cámera y editar tus propios reportajes.” (“This is a tough business and the starting salary is hardly anything. In your first job you will have to do everything yourself, bring your own camera and edit your own reports.”)

Of course, Leticia Ordaz’s story is about overcoming obstacles. But, more than this, it’s about knowing who you are, acknowledging what you come from, and—with love and support from family and community—you just might go on to realize your dreams. 

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

—Beverly Slapin

(published 9/19/20)

Tiny Travelers: Mexico Treasure Quest // Tiny Travelers: Puerto Rico Treasure Quest

authors: Steven Wolfe Pereira and Susie Jaramillo

illustrators: Susie Jaramillo, Mei Li Tan and Magali Reyes McDonald

Encantos Media Studios, 2019

preschool-grade 3 

Mexican, Puerto Rican

Tiny Travelers is a fun series of board books for travelers of all ages. Aimed at young audiences from preschool-grade 3, readers voyage to different countries and are introduced to various cultural traditions, culinary histories and a sense of geographical places worth visiting.

For my own tiny travel, I chose to read Mexico and Puerto Rico. The authors and illustrators introduce both countries in captivating ways that invite youngsters to take in and embrace the cultures. Each spread contains information presented in one or two quatrains, along with a small “did you know?” fact and a “can you find?” question that engage young readers to connect more fully with the cultures. In addition, this design uses a minimum of space that allows plenty of room for the bright, vibrant digitally “painted” illustrations. 

Mexico begins with a map of the country and lets children know that the quest is not for gold “but another special kind.” Given Mexico’s colonial history, this is a subtle reminder of the past, something that older students can research. Moving forward in curiosity and celebration exhibits page upon page of bright illustrations with multiethnic children of varied complexions interacting in diverse parts of Mexico. Emulating the “Where’s Waldo?” concept is an indigenous dog—“xoloitzcuintli”—who can be found on just about every spread.

Youngsters learn about traditional foods, cultural icons, music and famous places in Mexico. (And it’s also refreshing to see tiny details that Mexican children will note, such as a girl mariachi.) Throughout the text, connections are made with various cities or regions that invite further investigation later. The final pages include a world map that puts Mexico in context with the rest of the world. This book was an engaging read for this aging “tiny traveler.”

From Mexico, this traveler flew to Puerto Rico. As with Mexico, readers learn easy Spanish greetings and are transported to the capitol, San Juan, for a celebration. The legendary monster, “Vejigante,” shows up a few times and, of course, everyone is partying and he’s one of the musicians. But just in case, the text reads “If you see a monster, don’t be afraid! People love wearing masks of the Vejigante…”

The repeating cultural motif—on every spread—is PR’s beloved national symbol, the tiny coqui (whose loud, chirping call sounds like its name), hiding out, partying, sunbathing at the beach, watching TV, flying a kite… I’m reminded of a dicho: “Soy de aquí como el coquí.” It literally means, “I am from here, like the coquí.” 

The nearby island of Vieques lends a note of local biological beauty with a bioluminescent bay. This occurrence is in direct contrast with the island’s colonial history of the United States military presence, so is a welcome natural beauty addition. The reader continues discovering beaches, “coco frios” (cool coconut juice), culturally relevant sports such as boxing and outdoor spots for kite-flying such as El Morro on San Juan Bay.

My one suggestion for this series is that the names of places visited be included on each map. Map searching is less important for the preschoolers, but second-and third-graders could happily cross-reference towns on the map.

Although both Mexico and Puerto Rico follow a formula in describing the places and cultures, there is little that is formulaic in the Tiny Traveler series. Rather, as these gorgeously illustrated board books introduce young people to each place and culture, they nurture a healthy curiosity and encourage youngsters to want to know more. As well, Mexican and Puerto Rican children will see themselves as belonging to a land that is part of their own rich heritage. 

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

—Rose Veda Berryessa

(published 9/10/20)

[Note: One of the “Did You Know?” entries tells young readers that “Puerto Rico has officially been a territory of the United States since 1898, making all Puerto Ricans American citizens.” This is true. However, the people of what’s currently known as Puerto Rico have been struggling for independence—first, from the Spanish Empire from 1493 to 1898, and since 1898, from the United States. In this review, I refer to Puerto Rico as a country. ¡Que viva Puerto Rico libre!--RVB]

Zorro and Quwi, Tales of a Trickster Guinea Pig // Love and Roast Chicken: A Trickster Tale from the Andes Mountains

Zorro and Quwi

author: Rebecca Hickox

illustrator: Kim Howard 

Doubleday, 1997 

preschool-up 

Peruvian

Love and Roast Chicken

author: Barbara Knutson

illustrator: Barbara Knutson 

CarolRhoda Picture Books, 2004 

preschool-up 

Andean, Peruvian

In the Author’s Note for Zorro and Quwi, Hickox writes that she based her children’s book on a cycle of tales called “The Mouse and the Fox,” which she found in Folktales Found Around the World (Univ. of Chicago Press, 1975). She rewrote four of the tales, in which she substituted a guinea pig for the mouse. In Peru, she writes, Quwi is the hero of many trickster tales, although a rabbit or mouse is sometimes used instead. Since I raised guinea pigs as a girl and now have a daughter who raises and shows them through her 4H cavy group, I couldn’t resist making this personable (though perhaps not quite so cunning) little creature the hero.

In the Author’s Note for Love and Roast Chicken, Knutson writes that, in the two years that she and her husband lived in Peru, she “learned many stories, including trickster tales that reminded (her) of the ones (she) knew from Africa.”

Then she writes:

A trickster tale tells about a small animal (or a person) who uses brains instead of force to compete against bigger, fiercer characters. In the Andes, the trickster is often a little gray fox, but one story has a guinea pig hero. I have heard and read this tale many times in Spanish—in a lovely, old Bolivian book; from a Peruvian guide in a mountain town; in a Bolivian children’s magazine; and from our friend, Edwin Sulca, a Peruvian weaver. It was never told the same way twice! In this book, I have combined and rearranged my favorite versions.

To reiterate: Hickox switched the “hero” in her stories from a rabbit or a mouse to a guinea pig because she “couldn’t resist making this personable…little creature the hero.” And Knutson switched the “hero” in her story from a “little gray fox” to a guinea pig, and “combined and rearranged (her) favorite versions” of the stories she heard and read.

Here, as in many “trickster stories for children” written and published by cultural outsiders, the authors removed the stories from their cultural contexts and reinterpreted, trimmed and customized particular cultural concepts to fit their needs and those of their perceived child audiences.

But tricksters are not one-size-fits-all, not even within specific cultures. Some tricksters vary within cultures, depending on what a particular Indigenous storyteller is teaching. Some tricksters often use bad behavior to hint at good behavior. Some tricksters succeed and some fail. Some tricksters don’t try to overcome anything; they’re just deceptive characters.

Tricksters are not necessarily heroes. Some tricksters are downright dangerous and the lesson is to keep away from dangerous characters.

Some tricksters grow and some shrink. Some tricksters appear in human or animal form and some tricksters change forms. Some tricksters are half-human and half-spirit. Some tricksters can maintain more than one gender or switch genders.

A lot of what may currently be called “trickster” tales are actually Indigenous cautionary tales that have been passed down through the generations. Just about every culture has its own “bogeyman” or “cucuy” story to keep kids from misbehaving or wandering off. Children from within the cultures who hear these stories from their elders know, without being specifically told, that something’s up. 

For the most part, guinea pigs are prey animals. Their natural instinct is to hide, and they can be very fast. But they are not tricksters.

For authors who are cultural outsiders to read or hear some versions of particular “trickster tales,” take them out of their cultural contexts, keep some parts and toss the others, rearrange the events and mix in a few italicized Spanish words or phrases (such as “bueno,” “mi amigo,” and “¡ay, caramba!”)—and then overlay the values of their own cultural outsider versions onto the specific culture from which the stories originated (e.g., “from the Andes Mountains”)—is the definition of cultural appropriation. 

Zorro and Quwi, for instance, begins: “In the mountains of Peru there was once a fox called Zorro…” Children who speak Spanish will know that “zorro” is not the fox’s name—it’s the Spanish word for “fox.” (So, to a Spanish speaker, it would read like, “there was once a fox called fox.”) And “Quwi” is the Quechua word for “guinea pig.” Similarly, Love and Roast Chicken begins, “One day in the high Andes Mountains, Cuy the Guinea Pig was climbing up and down the paths…” Again, “Cuy” is not the guinea pig’s name—it’s the Spanish word for “guinea pig.”

Both characters—“Zorro the Fox” and “Tío Antonio the Fox” resemble Coyote from the old “Coyote and Roadrunner” cartoons, and Cuy / Cuwi, of course, are stand-ins for “Roadrunner.” As well, astute older readers will discern elements of Cuwi’s / Cuy’s tricks in “Brer Rabbit,” “Henny Penny,” “Billy Goats Gruff,” and probably more European tales. 

Although the bright, stylized artwork, composition and book design in both titles are vibrant and gorgeous and totally child-friendly, both Zorro and Quwi: Tales of a Trickster Guinea Pig and Love and Roast Chicken: A Trickster Tale From the Andes Mountains embody all the elements of cultural appropriation. They’re not recommended.

—Beverly Slapin

(published 9/5/20)

Marcus Vega Doesn't Speak Spanish

author: Pablo Cartaya
Viking, 2018
grades 7-up
Puerto Rican

Narrated by a six-foot-tall, 180-pound eighth-grader, Marcus Vega is variously known as the “Mastodon of Montgomery Middle,” the “Springfield Skyscraper,” the “Moving Mountain,” the “Terrible Tower.” You get the picture. “Most kids clear out of the way when I walk down the hall,” he tells readers. 

Knowing how hard his single mom works to support him and his younger brother and how she worries, Marcus uses his size to build what becomes a booming “profit center”—for a small fee (which he secretly stashes into his mom’s Cookie Monster jar), he provides a “walking service,” protecting a group of kids from bullying as they go to and from school. 

Marcus for sure does not fear bullies and, in fact, makes a point of not taking short cuts in order to avoid them. This does not sit well with a notorious bully, who particularly aims his ire at the seemingly most vulnerable, including Marcus’s younger brother, Charlie, the first kid with Down syndrome to attend Montgomery Middle. When the bully pushes Marcus to the brink by calling Charlie the “R” word, Marcus slams him—and gets suspended.

Marcus and Charlie are very close, and Charlie is a refreshingly well-developed character. Like many children with Down syndrome, he is outgoing, cheerful, likes to joke around with his friends and relatives, has favorite stories and TV programs, and is liked by his teachers and the other students. His mixed program of general education and special education classes includes speech therapy, occupational therapy, physical education and art; and while Marcus does homework during his brother’s sessions, he does not hover.

Marcus’s and Charlie’s mom works as an airline gate agent, sometimes morning and sometimes night shifts. While she refers to her sons as her “all-star team,” she stresses about income and not having enough time with them. 

In order to “regroup,” mom decides to take the boys to Puerto Rico for spring break—where the boys were born, and to reconnect with their absent dad’s side of the family. For Marcus, it may be a chance of finding and getting to know his father. (Unanswered emails are an indication for readers that this reconnection may not go well, but they’re no clue for the ever-hopeful Marcus.)

Unlike his dad’s Puerto Rican relatives, and his mom, who is not Latina but is a fluent Spanish-speaker, Marcus, who was born in Puerto Rico but doesn’t speak Spanish, wonders if where he’s from determines who he is.

As mom and Marcus and Charlie reconnect with their large, exuberant Puerto Rican farm family, they see “corridor after corridor” of gardens everywhere, and each garden has its own story: when and why it was built, whose responsibility it is, what it grows—tomatoes, yucca, a guanabana tree, achiote. Or, as Marcus notes, “the theme is weird-looking fruit no one has ever heard of … Nobody in my school would go near these.”

Here, the boys learn about the realities of farm life—everyone works hard and there are few complaints. Tío Ermenio explains, for instance, that when the toilet is flushed, the shower turns freezing cold.

And when a problem arises, everyone knows what has to be done and someone does it. After a sudden, loud gunshot “cracks the air and echos through the mountains,” Tía Darma returns, hands her large pistol to someone, and comments about the weather before she matter-of-factly tells the stunned children that she has just “said good-bye to a sick cow.”

Yet, despite the incomparable beauty of the land and the generosity and humor of his Puerto Rican relatives, our city-boy Marcus remains non-plussed: “A sleepover at our cow-murdering great-aunt’s farm in the middle of nowhere with little singing frogs ‘co-keeing’ everywhere. What’s not adventurous about that?”

Marcus’s father turns out to be the reason no one talks about him. He’s a self-involved jerk who probably never thought twice about abandoning his family. 

Five days later, Marcus, Charlie and mom have returned. As Marcus pores over the many photos he had taken and emails them to a friend, he chooses a file name: “Familia.”

Marcus is changing. His familia has changed him. He’s more thoughtful. He likes to “visit the bodega next to the train and say hola to the lady at the counter. She speaks Spanish too fast, but I’m learning to understand her better.” He takes photos of “everything that makes up this tiny town that’s forty-five minutes from a big city and four hours away from an incredible island.”

I think of the book Charlie picked up at the airport, Proud to Be Boriqua. The author writes about the little singing frogs that I heard on Darma’s farm. The coquí. He says, “Soy de aquí como el coquí.” It literally means, “I am from here, like the coquí.” From Puerto Rico. He belongs somewhere. I’ve been feeling the same way. I won’t be croaking songs into the night like the tiny little frogs do. But it’s nice to feel like I’m finally part of something that’s way bigger than me.

With spot-on code-switching and non-italicized Spanish words and phrases, and with clearly transmitted dichos—traditional, usually rhyming, “sayings” that hold encoded teachings—Marcus Vega Doesn’t Speak Spanish is a deeply satisfying story of family relationships, of growing up, of coming to know who you are and where you fit in. Marcus doesn’t speak Spanish yet, but, in his time, he will. And for now, he understands it.

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

—Beverly Slapin

(published 8/22/20)

Abrazos a mi colega y amiga, Judy Zalazar Drummond.

Science Wide Open: Women in Biology // Las mujeres en la biología

author: Mary Wissinger 

illustrator: Danielle Pioli

series creator and editor: John J. Coveyou 

Science, Naturally! 2020

grades 2-5

Originally published by Genius Games, LLC (2016), the first of this series is republished by Science, Naturally! and two more are slated for next year. According to Genius Games, the Science Wide Open series “celebrates the true stories of women in science, while also teaching the basics of chemistry, biology, and physics,” with its goal being to “transform the narrative surrounding girls, women and science.” 

The publisher recommends the Science Wide Open series for ages 7-10. This is a mistake. Although the text and glossary are accessible for middle readers, second-graders for the most part do not yet have the skills to decode terms such as “metamorphosis,” “Linnaean system,” “transposons,” or “hypothesis.” As well, metaphoric text such as “Inside of every cell is an instruction manual called DNA” is bewildering to youngsters who take language literally (“You mean, we eat books?”) Similarly confusing is the anthropomorphizing of genetic material—DNA tells the body how to make cells and build body parts like muscles, bones, and skin. It also determines the color of your eyes and hair…

Second-graders generally look at (and begin to read) picture books. Middle readers prefer chapter books. 

Pioli’s stylized, computer-generated art employs solid, flat backgrounds that hold bright-colored details and large, clear, readable text. However, the only contemporary character in the book is a cartoonish “inquisitive young girl,” questioning a behind-the-scenes scientifically knowledgeable narrator. The child has oversize eyeglasses and over-the-top “girlie” expressions. She’s excited, puzzled, worried, baffled. In the two illustrations that show her using a magnifying glass, she’s holding it over one eyeglass lens—which makes no sense and distorts her face. Portraits of the five women scientists are stylized as well, but they’re not as frightening as the young girl.

Of the five scientists, two are German and three are from the U.S. Celebrating the discoveries of European and American women—and consistently using the term “people” as “all (European) people”—erases everyone else.

Here’s an example:

Almost a thousand years ago, Hildegard of Bingen wrote about biology and medicine. Back then, people didn’t understand that they could get sick from drinking dirty water.

Hildegard figured out that water should be cleaned first, and this stopped people from getting sick. She also studied how plants could be used as medicines, and shared her ideas so people could have better health. (emphases mine)

And here’s what the author erased:

For millennia, Indigenous peoples have understood and worked with complex scientific concepts and methods. Indigenous peoples were building aqueducts to bring clean water in and filter dirty water out. The Aztecs, for instance, and the Mayans before them, built and utilized aqueducts and they also had indoor bathrooms with flushing toilets.

In short, as the sister of a friend remarked,

“Native people had running water when Europeans were still pooping in their bedrooms.”—Laura Martinez, Lipan Apache, historian, in conversation

And Indigenous peoples have identified and used plants for all kinds of things—including medicines—for millennia. 

Beyond the damaging erasure of millennia-old Indigenous scientific knowledge, Spanish and bilingual young readers are dealt further insult with inadequate translations. A good Spanish translation has to be able to capture the author’s style and intent, and the deeper feelings that the author is trying to convey. A good Spanish translator may have to move sentences around to convey the proper meanings and language idiosyncrasies. 

The unnamed translator here is The Spanish Group, a document translation service. Children’s book publishers that contract with document translators—rather than with talented bilingual translators who care deeply about their work—receive poor outcomes. For the most part, that’s what happened.

First of all, Spanish is a gendered language, so the title—“Women in Biology”—should have been translated as “biólogas,” rather than “Las mujeres en la biología” (literally, “The women in biology,” which makes no sense here.) 

There are lots of mistakes. “What makes a butterfly?” is translated as “¿Cómo se hace una mariposa?” (“How do you make a butterfly?”) rather than “¿Qué hace una mariposa?”

“So… biology keeps me from getting sick?” is translated as “Entonces...¿la biología hace que no me enferme?” (“So—biology makes me not sick?”) rather than “Entonces ... ¿la biología evita que me enferme?”

“Just look at Jane Cooke Wright!” is translated as “¡Tan solo mira a Jane Cooke Wright!” While this is a correct literal translation, the Spanish implication uses “tan solo” (“only”) for “just.” But, in context, the “just” in the English means, “for example…” so a better translation would have been “por ejemplo…”

There’s nothing redeeming here. Both Science Wide Open: Women in Biology and Ciencia Abierta: Las mujeres en la biología are poorly planned and poorly executed. They’re not recommended.

Beverly Slapin

(published 8/16/20)

Muchas grácias a mis colegas Judy Zalazar Drummond, Ricardo Ramirez, Kelly Reagan Tudor, y Noam Szoke.  

Gustavo, el Fantasmita Tímido // Gustavo, the Shy Ghost

author: Flavia Zorilla Drago

illustrator: Flavia Zorilla Drago

Candlewick Press, 2020

preschool-up 

Mexican

Gustavo is a young ghost. He enjoys doing all “the normal things that paranormal beings do”—he can change his shape, make objects fly, pass through walls, and glow in the dark. And he loves playing beautiful music on his violin. But Gustavo is shy beyond words, and making friends is, well—more than terrifying. 

He’s so shy that no one else in his ghostly barrio notices him—even when he’s right in front of them in any of his many different forms: a balloon, a lampshade, a surfboard, a soccer ball, a sheet drying on a clothesline, a soap bubble, and one of Diego Rivera’s unfinished paintings.

This child of mixed parentage (dad is a ghost and mom is a skeleton) is secretly in love with Alma, “the prettiest monster in town.” She is popular and so is her name (it’s Spanish for “soul” or “spirit”)—and appropriately headless (with eyeglasses in front of where her eyes would be).

Gustavo finally musters the courage to overcome his timidity and organize a violin concert at the Día de los Muertos party—“next full moon” at the local cemetery—and sends invitations to all of the monsters in town. 

But no one shows up. So Gustavo does what he loves most—his music makes him so happy that he literally glows. Soon, everyone is there. Gustavo’s concert is a success and all of his paranormal neighbors want to be friends with him. “And they never stopped loving him.”

Zorilla Drago’s multimedia artwork—combined with, as she notes, “a bit of digital sorcery”—has a childlike quality as vibrant and playful as her storyline, and is loaded with folk, mythological, and (refashioned) pop-culture figures. Her palette consists of mostly flat, neutral colors alongside touches of Mexican pinks (seen on art, design, clothing and buildings all over México) and bright oranges (for cempazuchitl, or “marigolds”—the national flower that decorates ofrendas and cemeteries during Día de los Muertos celebrations). These two colors frame the awesome book jacket as well.

Besides Diego Rivera as a zombie, youngsters will encounter Posada’s La Catarina as a vain young skeleton; the gruesome beheaded Ichabod Crane as an adorable pumpkin-head boy, the Gingerbread Man, Disney’s Milo the Fish, an anime Catgirl, and many others. And (this took some research): Zorilla Drago depicted the International fútbol (soccer) star, Roberto López Ufarte, nicknamed “the Little Devil”—as a little devil.

There are also small images and details that will engage young readers, such as Edgar Allen Poe’s ever-present raven, a goldfish skeleton swimming in a fishbowl, a tiny Indigenous ghost-doll, strings of papel picado skulls, an ofrenda, a floating teapot pouring tea into a floating teacup, a skeleton violinist on a poster advertising “Danse Macabre,” and drawings and portraits of ghost families lining the walls. 

Yet with all of these illustrations to pore over, nothing is crowded. Rather, Zorilla Drago’s art and book design maintain their physical integrity and every detail is allowed its space. And there is nothing frightening here. After all, this is Gustavo’s barrio—his neighborhood, his culture, his people. All of the paranormal characters are normal ghosts or skeletons, and they are all smiling.

Young hablantes and English-speakers will love how Zorilla Drago’s rhythmic story and playful art come together in a soft, satisfying whole. 

Both in Spanish and English, as well as in the art, Zorilla’s Drago’s humor shines. In the English version, for instance, an ice cream vendor’s cart is brightly painted “EYE-SCREAM” and in Spanish, it’s “HELADOS YETI” (or “Yeti ice cream”).

In the story as well, neither the Spanish nor the English version is a direct translation of the other; rather each has its own rhythm and syntax. For example, while an English passage reads, “More than anything, he wanted to make a friend,” the Spanish reads, “Más que nada, soñaba con tener un amigo” (“More than anything, he dreamed of having a friend.”)

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

—Beverly Slapin

(published 8/3/20)

[Note: Although this awesome story and art, in Spanish and English, depicts an aspect of Día de los Muertos, it is not solely about this important cultural holiday. Around Día de los Muertos time, educators who might not be familiar with Mexican culture might want to supplement Gustavo, El Fantasmita Tímido // Gustavo, the Shy Ghost with George Ancona’s beautiful photojournalistic essay, Pablo Remembers: The Fiesta of the Day of the Dead (Lothrop, 1993).

—BHS]

Birdie’s Beauty Parlor / El salón belleza de Birdie

author: Lee Merrill Byrd

translator: Luis Humberto Crosthwaite

illustrator: Francisco Delgado

Cinco Puntos Press, 2020

preschool-up

Chicana

What do you do if you’re a little girl with a great imagination and not very much to do and the only person you have to play with at the moment is your grandma? And she’s all worn out. What do you do? You go through her drawers and dump all her makeup and everything else you need on her bed; you put a towel under her head to make sure she’s comfortable—and the grandma makeover is on!

Birdie’s Beauty Parlor / El salón belleza de Birdie uproariously depicts the close relationship between a patient, loving Chicana abuelita and her artfully ambitious young nieta.

Although Birdie’s Beauty Parlor / El salón belleza de Birdie is based on a true story about Lee Merril Byrd and her own granddaughter, Emma “Birdie” Byrd, fronteriza artist Francisco Delgado used his children, Citlali and Itzel, as models for bossy beautician Birdie; and his mother-in-law—whose many skills include relaxing under pressure—posed for Abue.

Delgado’s art— on a background spray-painted with thinned acrylic and illustrations filled in with colored pencil and acrylics—complements both Birdie’s entusiasmo sin fin and Abue’s paciencia sin fin. On one spread, for instance, Birdie is focused on pulling out one of her abuelita’s gigantic chin hairs while Abue is focused on not screaming. And on another illustration, Abue even allows her nieta to pinch her lips (¡Ay!) in order to apply the lipstick just-so. 

As always, Crosthwaite’s talent in idiomatic translation follows the hilarious tone of the story and illustrations while maintaining their rhythm and exuberance, so both young hablantes and English-speakers will laugh out loud at Birdie’s abuelita’s makeover. For instance, the rhyming English on the back cover tells young English-readers:

When Grandma’s ready to hit the hay, there’s still one game you both can play—Birdie’s make up will save the day!

And Crosthwaith’s rhyming Spanish speaks to young hablantes: 

Abue nada más se quiere acostar, pero todavía se puede jugar—maquillala bien y hazla brillar! 

(The direct English translation would be: “Grandma just wants to go to bed, but you can still play—put her makeup on and make her shine!”)

Together, Byrd’s riotous, no holds-barred story, Crosthwaite’s brilliant idiomatic Spanish translation and Delgado’s delightful illustrations are filled with humor and warmth and demonstrate the love between an exuberant little girl and her ever-patient abuelita. 

Finalmente, after treating her abuelita to a foot massage, putting earrings in her ears and expertly wrapping a bufanda around her head, Birdie holds up a mirror so both she and Abue can admire her handiwork.

Indeed, Abue’s face is a work of art: almost totally enveloped in rouge, her eyebrows and eyelids are purple, blue and yellow; white dots of talcum powder cover her chin, and bright, bright red lipstick fills much more than just her lips. ¡Birdie es la jefa¡

Now done with Abue, Birdie turns to the story’s young readers: “Who’s next?” she asks. “¿Quién sigue?”

As with Byrd’s and Delgado’s earlier Juanito Counts to Ten / Johnny cuenta hasta diez (2010), young hablantes who want to learn English and English speakers who want to learn Spanish will revel in this hilarious family story. 

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

—Beverly Slapin

(published 7/28/20)

[Note: With only the English title displayed on the cover, there’s no indication until the first story page that Birdie’s Beauty Parlor / El salón belleza de Birdie is bilingual. Whether this was an error or a design decision, it needs to be corrected in the next edition—BHS]