community

Little Brown

| ejessmurray

Marla Frazee’s LITTLE BROWN reminds me of when I used to teach college composition, attempting to engage students in big questions around issues that are almost impossible to track back to any satisfyingly clear origin. You can imagine my RateMyProfessor ratings.

When the “facts” of any emotional situation are buried, entangled, or complex, it’s all about being able to hold or imagine multiple perspectives, yeah?

In LITTLE BROWN, Marla Frazee deftly shows kiddos the vulnerability each aggrieved side brings to a point of potential reconciliation, and why the moment that ends a stalemate can be approached 1,000s of times before someone works up the courage to make it happen.

Little Brown wants to join the other dogs and nurse grievances. The other dogs can rely on group dynamics to avoid navigating a situation that might cause them to examine their behavior even when Little Brown makes it harder and harder for them to ignore him.

I think a lot about the competing pressures for and against “lessons” in picture books. Here, Frazee gives ample opportunity to consider things from all angles, with little readers drawing their own conclusions. Sometimes resolution’s for the birds.

The Night gardener

| ejessmurray

It never happens. But it could.

That mysterious, inexplicable encounter that cleaves the mundane and exposes something irrefutable and altering.

What’s even more magical is that the possibility, like a placebo, has its own generative effect.

You bet I’m talking about the action in the Fan Brothers‘ THE NIGHT GARDENER, which reminds me so much of Gabriel García Márquez‘s “The Handsomest Drowned Man in the World.” (One of my all-time favorite short stories, along with “Yours,” by Mary Robison and anything by Lucia Berlin. Treat yourself to a cuppa and a quiet hour.)

William, the ostensible MC, like so many heroes and heroines, is parentless, living in a drab orphanage. Until the mysterious, itinerant Night Gardener arrives. Using form, or art, he shares a profound kindness and act of love, helping William and his fellow townspeople shake off their stupor, to begin living again, or for the first time.

Art, in the Fan Brothers’ story, is taken in through the eye but also passed down through the hands, and draws us out of one way of being and into another.

Art is folky, democratic. Put talent aside–the truth is that like Andy Warhol’s Coke, art belongs to everyone and anyone can do it. It can fill a lack. It can’t be our mother, but the magic is it can mother us.

i am a bird

| ejessmurray

There’s something so satisfying when simple premises get at big truths, like Hope Lim and Hyewon Yum‘s I AM A BIRD.

In this story, a father bikes his daughter around their town on the way to dropping her off at school. She loves birds and enjoys the people they meet on their way. Except one.

Things I love about this book:

1) Fathers and daughters–is it just me, or do we not see enough of these indomitable duos?

2) After noticing someone she hasn’t seen before, someone who looks a little different from the people she’s used to, maybe a little more reserved, a little worn thin, the girl comes out and says something that I think is so perceptive and smart:

“Daddy, I don’t like her.”

The dad offers up a response that challenges the girl’s reaction. But the girl won’t be placated, and Hyewon Yum does some nifty things with the art when the girl wonders if the woman is not as harmless as the dad says.

The girl and woman eventually find a point of connection and thaw toward each other, which is essential for the kinds of interactions we want our kids to have, and the MC learns a lesson that expands her world – imo, the very best kind. How often do we allow kiddos to express their gut reaction, their dislikes and suspicions? It’s a fine line, for all the obvious reasons, but this story handles it superbly. Letting the MC struggle, and keeping the antagonist aloof – not everyone has to think you’re cute, kid! – to eventually bring them together through common ground. Caw caw, my friends, cheep cheep.

MI PAPI TIENE UNO MOTO/MY PAPI HAS A MOTORCYCLE

| ejessmurray

True story: my in-laws, who were high school sweethearts and live in the midwestern factory town they grew up in, used to ride their motorcycles with my now-husband nestled on the gas tank in front of one of them, where he would fall asleep.

The family loves this story, because it’s youth, because they got away with something. Because it’s emblematic of what feels like, from the present, a freer past.

The first time I read Isabel Quintero and Zeke Pena’s MY PAPI HAS A MOTORCYCLE, I was struck by how much it reminded me of my in-laws and by how much I thought they would love this book. The working class ethos, the motorcycle as the object that brings father and child together as well as connects them to their larger yet close-knit community. And especially the lovingly drawn community – if the passage about the city always being with the young MC didn’t seal the deal, the part about food always tasing better at abuelita’s would!

The short-and-sweet of it: When MC Daisy’s carpenter dad gets home from work, the two set off on a joyful cruise around their city, affirming their deep connection through ritual and celebrating their immigrant neighborhood, in part by noticing what’s changed and changing. Tomorrow we ride again!

As a believer in We Need Diverse Books (vision, “A world in which all children can see themselves in the pages of a book”) I love how this book celebrates Latinx culture. Kiddos who live on our block can see themselves in these pages. That’s essential, non-negotiable.

And I also adore what creators from marginalized or underrepresented groups have known and said all along—books that champion marginalized or underrepresented groups are also another way to reflect all of our communities, to find the commonalities while those who are learning about the culture turn new words over on our tongues, discover holidays and traditions, and share the celebration of music or food, and the most universal of all languages – love.

My husband’s hometown has changed a lot over the years. The immigrant community is much larger, and some people struggle with that. Isabel Quintero’s book makes me think that if we could tell everyone to bring their classic cars, their motorcycles and meet in the park to share this book between them, something transformative could happen. And then maybe we could talk about PHOTOGRAPHIC and Graciela Iturbide – an incredible artist.