Tag: culture

Review of American Born Chinese by Gene Luen Yang

It’s that time of year again! Time for Multicultural Kid Blogs’ Read Around the World Series 2018! I’m excited to be participating in this epic global round up of amazing children’s books for my fourth year. I’ve found many wonderful picture books for my own daughter through this series such as Tales Told in Tents, a collection of folk tales from Central Asia, and Pretty Salma, a Little Red Riding Hood tale set in Ghana. I’ve been able to recommend some of my personal favorite YA reads such as The Star Touched Queen and The Hate U Give.

My first recommendation for this year is a Middle Grade graphic novel that can truly be enjoyed by any age: American Born Chinese by Gene Luen Yang.

If you believe children Need Diverse Books #WNDB, then check out the series homepage at Multicultural Kid Blogs for recommendations ranging from picture book to YA! Or check out the Read Around the World Pinterest page with all the recs from the past five years.

June 22, 2018
Review of The Sun is Also a Star by Nicola Yoon

Today is my last recommendation for Multicultural Kid Blogs Read Around the World Summer Series, but the series keeps going through August!

If you’re looking for amazing kid lit, from picture book to young adult, check out the series’ Pinterest page where you can read more than 100 recommendations of books from all over the world. https://www.pinterest.com/MKBlogs/read-around-the-world-summer-reading-series/

Or check out the series’ homepage! http://multiculturalkidblogs.com/read-around-world-summer-reading-series-2017/

July 28, 2017
Democracy By Cycle Rickshaw

Throwback to 2004 when I studied abroad in Jaipur, India. I remember that semester so vividly it doesn’t feel like 13 years ago. I wrote this essay in 2007 for the digital magazine Glimpse, which like my time in Jaipur is now a fond memory.

Walking down a street in Jaipur, India, I heard what had become a familiar recorded political message blasting out over loudspeakers. The message was imploring people to vote for a particular party in the upcoming election. I turned the corner, expecting to see one of what I had affectionately termed the “propaganda trucks.” But instead of a truck, I saw a man on a cycle rickshaw that looked about ready to fall apart at the next pothole it hit. The rickshaw had two loudspeakers, duct-taped to the handlebars, and dangling wires that crisscrossed back to a stereo, which was also secured to the rickshaw with duct tape. I watched the man pedal by, the squeaking of the rickshaw drowned out by the message blasting repeatedly from the speakers. I was so moved by one of the most humble, yet dedicated, displays of democracy I had ever seen that I decided to take advantage of being in India during a parliamentary election to research local political campaigns.

To begin my research, I followed a candidate during a day of campaigning in downtown Jaipur. A friend drove me to the market where the candidate was scheduled to make his first speech of the day. It was 7:00 a.m. and I was still brushing sleep from my eyes, but the market was already alive with people. A group of men was tossing heads of cabbage off a truck. Another group was passing some sort of melon down a line from a truck bed to the stand. Vendors were shouting, women were bargaining, chickens were clucking, and cows—well, they stayed quiet, but were standing resolutely in the middle of the street, inconveniencing everyone. The market was a swirl of activity amidst the brilliantly colored fruits and saris, making me feel as though I were walking through a kaleidoscope. A very noisy kaleidoscope. In the center of the market was a small stage decorated with marigolds, roses, and saffron and green Congress party banners.

The candidate arrived about 7:40 a.m., and by 8:00 he had given his speech and started a small riot in the market. The crowd that gathered during his speech had been completely passive, almost indifferent to what was being said, but at the end of the speech some aides brought out boxes of sweets. When the first sweet was handed to a woman in the front of the audience, the impassive crowd suddenly turned violent, surging forward as if on command. Elbows dug into rib cages. Shirts were ripped. People were shoved to the ground. The noise of the market was now drowned out by the yelling of people desperately groping for a single piece of candy. The aides tossed the boxes of sweets into the air over the crowd and hastily retreated. I don’t know whether the sweets actually ended up in anyone’s mouth, or whether anyone ended up getting hurt. I didn’t get the chance to find out. My friend grabbed my elbow, pulling me off the stage.

After successfully disrupting the daily routine of the market, it was off to a march and rally through the heart of downtown Jaipur. As I trailed behind the candidate I learned that a successful mobile political rally in India must include four things: 1) the previously mentioned “propaganda truck,” brightly decorated, and spewing party slogans through loudspeakers, 2) a group of school children with a sweet song to sing and rose petals to throw (if the kids can be in uniforms, they earn extra points on the “adorable scale”), 3) a memorable stunt of some kind that can be pictured in the newspaper, i.e. milking a cow, and 4) a passionate group of youths who can wave flags and chant nonstop for the entire three-hour walk. Combine these elements and a crowd of hundreds is guaranteed to have developed by the time a candidate has reached the platform where he will give his speech.

Some lovely school children who literally showered the candidate with rose petals. I’m sure it was purely their own initiative.

After walking in the intense Indian heat for over an hour, enough time for everyone to have giant sweat stains under their arms, we finally reached the platform. Some of the party leaders invited me to stand with them, and although standing on the stage put me a little closer to the campaign than I had wanted, I thought back to the small riot we had started in the marketplace earlier that morning and decided it was definitely better to be above the large crowd.

The candidate finished his speech and the cheering crowd parted to allow him to walk to one of the propaganda trucks and climb on top, where there was a microphone hooked up to the truck’s loudspeakers. One of the party leaders turned and asked me if I wanted to go on top of the truck too. I definitely did not want to go on top of the truck. I was there to research a campaign, not endorse the man. I thought it somewhat unethical, not to mention awkward, to stand with him on the truck.

I was explaining my feelings on the matter when I heard the candidate say “America” in the midst of a bunch of Hindi I didn’t understand. Hundreds of people simultaneously turned and looked at me. Well, so much for non-participatory observation. In a quick analysis of the situation I decided it might not be wise to insult the candidate in front of 300 of his supporters. My decision was helped by a path suddenly clearing in the middle of the sea of people and two leaders taking my elbows and propelling me to the ladder on the truck. With many reservations, I climbed onto to the truck’s roof and stood next to the candidate.

We drove around to the point I had absolutely no idea where I was. I admit to second guessing my earlier decision making at that point.

We spent the rest of the afternoon riding around stopping in every new neighborhood for the candidate to make a speech. The lack of seat belt, roof, walls or anything else designed to keep those of on top of the truck from falling off made it difficult for me to take notes. I spent most of the drive clutching the single, skinny guardrail that ran around the edge of the roof. I didn’t know where I was. I didn’t know anyone else in the truck. I didn’t know how I was getting back home. I was grateful to the candidate for letting me tag along but I found myself thinking it might have been better to research a topic that kept me in a library on solid ground.

Fortunately, I made it off the truck, with only one awkward moment right at the end when a party leader asked if I would say a few words about the candidate into the microphone. At first I thought he was kidding but he pulled out a piece of paper with a few sentences written in Hindi and told me he would teach me exactly what to say. I had started the day as an impartial observer and ended the day being asked to give a public endorsement over the loudspeakers. I was not about to support a perfect stranger or give a statement I didn’t even understand. At the risk of offending my hosts, I politely declined and climbed off the truck at the next stop.

While the campaigns I observed in India were similar in many ways to U.S. political campaigns, they were ultimately, unmistakably Indian. There were the superficial differences: the garlands, turbans, saffron and green banners, the traditional white dress worn by male candidates and the saris worn by women candidates. On a deeper level, the wide variety of political parties vying for power reflects the wide variety of ethnicities, religions and linguistic groups that all live within the world’s largest democracy. A three-hour walking tour is the only way to reach a constituency that does not own televisions or radios. While India currently celebrates its technological advances, I believe its greatest achievement is bringing democracy to one billion citizens—democracy that is delivered when necessary by cycle rickshaw.

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June 2, 2017
A Random Street in Rabat

This is a flashback to my first published essay! It appeared in 2007 in the now defunct digital magazine Glimpse, a National Geographic Imprint. It’s about the first day of my study abroad program in Rabat, Morocco in Sepetember, 2003. I’m feeling very old now.

A Random Street in Rabat

It did not take me long after announcing my study abroad plans to realize that “abroad” for most of the people I knew meant Western Europe or Australia. Any other country was not so much abroad as another planet. The first time I mentioned Morocco to family or friends there was usually a momentary pause as people first, tried to place Morocco on a map, and second tried to figure out why I wanted to spend a significant amount of time there. Australia they could understand. It has beaches and people with funny accents. Italy has pasta and Prada. The only thing Morocco has is a city named after a Humphrey Bogart film.

While many people didn’t know what countries Morocco borders they did know it is Islamic and predominantly Arab. This was cause for concern among friends and family. Being what one of my professors calls a “good liberal” I believed I was above the negative generalizations many of my friends and family made. When my less open-minded family and friends living sheltered lives in Georgia, asked why I would want to study in a country where I was likely to get assaulted simply for being American, I’d give an exasperated sigh and patiently (maybe ever so condescendingly) explain that “all Arabs are not terrorists and they do not spend their afternoons looking for Americans to beat with sticks.” I scolded my friends for being so ethnocentric as to believe Arabs were inherently more violent than Americans. I prided myself on avoiding the negative stereotyping of Arabs and Muslims many of my friends and family engaged in and as an open-minded, good, liberal, university student I arrived in Casablanca with my program group on September 2, 2003.

On September 3, I found myself all alone, completely lost, standing on a street corner in Rabat. That was the day of the Drop Off–the morning our program directors piled all 22 students on a bus, drove us around Rabat until we had no directional bearings whatsoever, and dropped us off one by one on random street corners throughout the city. Our first full day in Morocco and each of us was left stranded on a different street corner with no maps, no cell phones, and no idea how to even pronounce the street our hotel was on. The only thing we had was an assignment. Get back to the hotel by 1 o’clock. Welcome to Morocco and good luck.

As the bus pulled away it kicked up a huge cloud of dust, which settled adding to the already thick layer on the cars parked along the curb. Across the street was a clay wall, stretching as far as I could see in both directions. “Where am I?!” Panic is an interesting sensation and watching the bus pull away with the teachers and students I was convinced I would never see again, I got to experience heart-pounding, adrenaline-pumping, rational-thought-inhibiting, panic.

As I frantically looked around I noticed one opening in the wall flanked by two heavily armed Moroccan soldiers. I had heard stories about corrupt police officers in developing countries, about the actions of local military around the world who were supposed to be protecting refugees in various places, and decided the best direction to start walking would be away from the men with guns, uniform or no uniform. It would be much later before I realized this was my first decision in Morocco based entirely on a stereotype.

I walked down a few residential streets, which were of course deserted. Where were all those people I had seen out on the streets the day before? Where were the market streets I glimpsed through the bus windows bustling with people and literally humming with energy? I was desperate to find a person, and it appeared I had been dropped off on the only street in Rabat where no one was selling anything. I wanted to find people, and I wanted to find them before the band of angry Islamic fundamentalists rounded the corner and stoned me.

Yes, that was one of the many thoughts running through my head as I tried to keep myself together. Despite all my boasting about being above the negative stereotyping of Arabs many friends and family engaged in, as I stood on the sidewalk of an unknown street somewhere in Rabat, I was genuinely afraid I was going to be harassed, beaten, or worse by those “fanatical Arabs.” So much for being a good liberal who doesn’t stereotype. I was alone, in a completely foreign country, with no knowledge of the language, or the culture, or where in God’s name my hotel was–and in that panic I embraced the most negative, racist stereotypes that had ever been presented in Western media. I wanted to go back to the time when being liberal meant eating vegan chocolate cake and discussing Said’s definition of orientalism on the quad of my $34,000 a year university in Northwest Washington, DC. While I walked, my mind kept repeating, “What am I doing here? I’m a white girl from Snellville, Georgia USA, where all the teenagers wear ‘what would Jesus do?’ bracelets. Why didn’t I study abroad in London with all of my friends?”

After what seemed like forever, but of course in these situations is really only a minute or two, I found a street with stores, cafes and, most importantly, a group of women standing on a corner not far in front of me. I walked up to them and steeled myself for all the anti-American sentiment I was certain would come spewing forth. Then a funny thing happened. When I said the name of the main road near our hotel all the women started smiling and pointing. One woman in what looked like a long brown nightshirt (I later learned it is called a djellabah) and a cream hijab, took my elbow and guided me down the street so I could see where she was pointing. The others followed all smiling and telling me the way.

Visiting the beaches of Rabat with my homestay family! My little brother and sister for four months.

Unfortunately they were telling me in Arabic of which I knew not one word. I did, however, get the general direction, and I started walking that way. As I walked, it occurred to me the women had been nice. They had been helpful. Nobody had given me a mean look or angry gesture. They had read my body language, figured out I was lost, and pointed me in the right direction. I began thinking, “Maybe other people I meet would be nice too? Maybe I’ll get back to the hotel alive?” Things were looking up.

I approached a young couple walking down the street and they stopped and gave me very detailed directions in French smiling the entire time. It took about three sentences from the couple for me to realize that I had seriously overestimated my French skills on my program application, but I understood enough to get turned down the right street. I was getting closer and I had talked to two groups of people who had been more than happy to help me. The panic was slowly being replaced by a sense of confidence and a sneaking suspicion nobody was going to kill me along the way.

Finally, while I was standing on a corner with my facial expressions screaming, “I am totally lost,” a young man came up and asked politely in French if he could help. I explained that I was looking for my hotel and that I didn’t speak French all that well. He smiled and said slowly that he knew where the hotel was, it wasn’t far and he would walk me to it. And that is exactly what he did. I don’t where he had been going or what his afternoon plans had been, but this man took twenty minutes out of his day to walk some random and confused foreigner to the door of her hotel. I was grateful and shocked by how generous this man had been with his time.

As pleasantly surprising as this man’s generosity had been it was not the biggest surprise of the day. I was struck to the core when I walked into the hotel’s lobby and saw it was filled with students and all the Moroccans who had taken the time to help each of us find our way back. As we breathlessly shared our stories at increasing levels of volume, it became evident that every student made it back to the hotel through the generosity of complete strangers who were willing to take time out of their day to help another person. We had not experienced any kind of anti-American sentiment; in fact most of us had gotten incredibly positive reactions toward Americans. I hadn’t come across a flag or Bush effigy burning in the street. I had been in Morocco one full day and I had already had an exciting and liberating adventure, which introduced to many touchingly generous people and brought me face to face with my own hidden stereotypes.

When the rush of having successfully followed someone who knew exactly where he was going began to ebb I was forced to face the humbling fact of how quickly, and without any good reason, I had thought the worst of all the people around me. It turned out, after all my pre-departure pontificating I had at some point internalized the same negative stereotypes of Arab Muslims I was consciously trying to avoid. I knew the first step to ridding myself of these stereotypes was admitting I had them in the first place.

The program staff was amazing!!!

Recognizing and then confronting stereotypes is one of the most difficult parts of traveling to another country and it seems unfair that a person should be forced to do this while jet-lagged, sleep-deprived, and trying not to get lost every time she ventures out of her hotel, this last one being especially difficult when the street signs are written in a different alphabet. Unfortunately, travelers have no choice because it usually only takes landing at the airport to realize just how far off your preconceptions were. Failing to identify your own stereotypes and the information that led to their creation will be the cause of hair-pulling frustration and anger at the people for not being exactly the way you had imagined them in your head. While tenaciously clinging to stereotypes, particularly if they are negative, will also blind a person to the wonderful and fascinating realities and practices of any culture. Recognizing stereotypes for what they are, imagined realities based on limited information, and preparing yourself to leave them behind as you learn and observe the reality from within the culture, are essential in order to make the transition into a new culture.

This picture has nothing to do with the article except that it was taken during my semester in Morocco. I just wanted to share it.

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April 14, 2017
5 Amazing Brazilian Children’s Authors

When I first began shopping for children’s books in Brazil, I had a hard time finding books by Brazilians. It was crazy. I was in Saraiva, one of the major chain bookstores in Brazil, and I noticed the books I’d picked were all translations from American authors. So I began hunting for books by Brazilians. I picked up one book after another. Published in France. Published in the UK. Published in Italy. I picked up one with a Macaw on the front. Macaws are from the Amazon. It had to be Brazilian. Nope. Published in Columbia.

There are of course many amazing Brazilian authors writing for children, but despite amazing native authors and children’s lit community, I had to research and order books by Brazilians. My local chain bookstore in Vitoria was no help, which is just wrong.

So I’d like to introduce five of my favorite Brazilian children’s book authors. I’ve included links for English translations when available. Based on what Spanish speaking friends have told me, a native Spanish speaker should have no trouble reading the Portuguese, but I’d love to get more Brazilian kid lit translated into English. I’ll add it to the list of life goals.

ANA MARIA MACHADO

Machado was born in Rio de Janeiro in 1941 and has written over 100 books for children. In 2000, Machado won the international Hans Cristian Andersen Award, which designated her one of the greatest children’s authors in the world. She began writing in 1969 and wrote specifically for children because during the military dictatorship in Brazil, children’s literature along with poetry and song, “were amongst the few literary forms with which, through the poetic and symbolic use of language, you could make the ideas of a joie de vivre, individual freedom and respect for human rights known.” Some of her most famous books include A Menina Bonita do Laço de Fita, about a white bunny who desperately wants to become a beautiful black like the little girl next door and the advice she gives him, and Bisa Bia, Bisa Bel, about a girl’s internal dialogue with her great-grandfather and her own great-granddaughter. A Menina Bonita do Laço de Fita is available in English on Amazon.

CECILIA MEIRELES

Born in Rio de Janeiro in 1901, Meirelles published her first work at the age of 18, and she was every bit the genius you’d assume based on that fact. She’s known in Brazil primarily as a poet, but she was also a professor, journalist, painter, playwright, and fiction author. There aren’t many types of writing she didn’t publish in. She could do it all. Meirelles was one of the first women in Brazil to be recognized as a great literary voice. Some of her most famous works for children are “O Cavalinho Branco”, “Sonhos de Menina”, and “O Menino Azul”. The musicality of her lines is so strong, that “O Menino Azul” still sounded lovely when I read it aloud. (And as all adult learners of a second language know, nothing is harder to read aloud in a foreign language than poetry.) I haven’t been able to find any of her children’s works translated into English, but you can find many of her most famous poems translated in this anthology of Brazilian poets.

EVA FURNARI

Furnari is an Italian-Brazilian author-illustrator. I’ve been able to forgive her for hoarding so much talent (author-illustrators seem so unfairly awesome) because her characters are so delightfully quirky. Born in Rome in 1948, she moved to São Paulo at the age of two and has lived there ever since. She came to children’s books in the early 1980’s through art and initially worked exclusively an illustrator before creating her own characters and stories. One of her most famous characters is A Bruxinha Zuzu or Zuzu the Little Witch, who never quite seems to master the power of her magic wand. Many of Funari’s books are textless, including our favorite A Bruxinha Zuzu e o Gato Miú, and can be enjoyed regardless of what languages you read. One of her most famous and award winning stories, Felpo Filva, is available in English as Fuzz McFlops in both the US and UK.

SONIA JUNQUEIRA

Born in the state of Minas Gerais in 1945, Junqueira published her first book at the age of 37 and has gone on to write more than 100 children’s books. She worked as a professor and editor before becoming an author. My daughter and I discovered Junqueira through a book swap at school. My daughter, always the animal lover, picked up a book with a cute cat on the front porch. I was the first story in verse that was more poetry than story and I honestly wasn’t sure how well she’d like it. A Poesia na Varanda was a hit and inspired me to buy Where the Sidewalk Ends during our Christmas trip to the US. I haven’t found any English translations but many of her world are available outside Brazil in Portuguese through Kindle.

VERONICA STIGGER

Stigger is not really known as a children’s author. She’s a journalist, art critic, and writer primarily for adults known for challenging rules of genre and format in her work. Born in the state of Porto Alegre in 1973, Stigger began working as an essayist for radio and television. She then pursued a PhD in Art theory and Criticism and pursued research and various post-doctoral work before publishing her first collection of stories for adults in 2004. So not a career kid lit writer. However, one of her most recent books, Onde a Onça Bebe Água, Where the Jaguar Drinks Water, is one of the best books I’ve read for teaching empathy and seeing the world through a another’s eyes. In the story, Jaci is forced to consider the world from the perspective of the Jaguar he’s ends up dining with. Unfortunately, there isn’t an English translation of it or any of her books that I can find but several of her adults works do have Spanish versions available on Amazon.

March 31, 2017
20 Fabulous Picture Books with Diverse Female Protagonists

To celebrate International Women’s Day this week, I watched a lot of videos with infuriating facts. As a writer, book lover, and mother of a daughter, this one caught my attention. It made me get up and go straight to my daughter’s bookshelves.

One thing I can do right now to combat the publishing industry’s gender bias in kid’s lit is help spread the word about amazing picture books with female protagonists and encourage you to buy them. (Because sales matter!) And don’t buy them just for girls, please!

It’s important to read books with female protagonists to boys because reading about people different from ourselves teaches empathy. Shannon Hale, prolific author in every age group (her Princess in Black books appear on my list) wrote an amazing post about the dangers of not giving books with female protagonists to boys. Reading diversely also develops a realistic idea about the world which is filled with different kinds of people. I didn’t think twice about reading Peter’s Snowy Day to my daughter, despite the fact she is not a boy, black, or ever going to see snow outside her door. It’s a delightful human story and that’s what matters.

The books on my list are funny, exciting, and thought provoking stories that both girls and boys will enjoy. They’re set in countries all over the world and feature characters of different colors, languages, and cultures. The only commonality is that all the main characters are human female. (Sorry, Olivia. Female animal protagonists didn’t count for this list. You’re still totally awesome though!)

20 Fabulous Picture Books with Diverse Female Protagonists (In no order other than how I came to them on my daughter’s shelf)

Journey by Aaron Becker This stunning and wordless book, follows the adventure of a girl as she journeys to a fantastical land with the help of a magic crayon. There are enchanting forests, flying carpets, and bad guys on air ships!

Normal Norman by Tara Lazar illustrated by Stephen Britton This book is laugh out loud adorable as the narrator tries to define the word “normal” using a totally average orangutan. Things start to go wrong starting with Norman’s refusal to eat a banana and his preerence for pizza.

If You Give a Pig a Pancake by Laura Numeroff illustrated by Felicia Bond If you loved what happens when you give a mouse a cookie, check out what one little girl has to deal with when she caves to a pig’s demands.

Viva Frida by Yuyi Morales This is one of the most gorgeous books my daughter owns. The text (what very little there is) in both English and Spanish goes through the themes in Khalo’s work, such as live, imagine, create. The illustrations are bright and vibrant and straight out of a dream.

Paper Bag Princess by Robert Munsch illustrated by Michael Martchenko I’m not at all opposed to Princesses if they’re one among many different types of characters and take matters in their own hands like Princess Elizabeth. She has no intention of letting that dragon get away with burning down her castle and stealing her fiance.

The Rough Face Girl by Rafe Martin illustrated by David Shannon In addition to the beautiful illustrations, the heroine wins the day because of her character. She’s not pretty. She doesn’t have fancy clothes, but she sees the beauty and power in nature and understands what’s truly valuable. Yes, the book is about a young woman looking for a husband, but the message about character over appearance and clothes is an important one for all kids.

My Two Grannies by Floella Benjamin illustrated by Margaret Chamberlain In addition to featuring females both young and old, black and white, the book also deal with two different cultures mixing! Multicultural, multiracial, and female protagonists! There is no reason not to have this book on your kid’s shelf.

Pretty Salma by Niki Daly A Little Red Riding Hood tale set in Ghana. What I love about this version is that Salma redeems herself after getting tricked by coming up with the idea for how to scare away Mr. Dog and save Granny.

My Pet Dragon by Christoph Niemann Lin has lost her pet dragon! She has to go on an adventure to find him and along the way the illustrator cleverly introduces some Chinese characters. Of your kid isn’t going to be fluent in Mandarin at the end, but thank to this book my daughter is ware that not all languages use an phonetic alphabet like English.

Menina Bonita do Laço de Fita by Ana Maria Machado illustrated by Claudius A Brazilian story about a beautiful little girl who so captivates a neighboring bunny that he wants desperately to become black like her. She gives him all sorts of funny tricks to turn black. None of them work. Don’t worry if you can’t read Portuguese. There’s an English version on Amazon.

The Most Magnificent Thing by Ashley Spires illustrated by Mark Pett Yes, this book is about a girl who loves to build things (awesome!), but that’s not the reason I bought it. My daughter gets frustrated easily and goes from fine to throwing things in a heartbeat. Just like the girl in the story. If you know a kid who has trouble coping with frustration when things don’t work exactly right, this book is a MUST read.

The Girl Who Never Made Mistakes by Gary Rubenstein Similarly to The Most Magnificent Thing, this book is great for kids who stress about being perfectionists and have a hard time dealing when things don’t work exactly the way they wanted. Spolier alert: A mistake is eventually made and lessons are learned.

As Mil e Umas Historias de Manuela by Marcelo Weberson illustrated by Maluf Santiago Ok, I don’t think there’s an English version of this, but Portuguese and Spanish speakers (because really they’re almost the same language) will love this story of a girl who devours books. Literally. She consumes so many books, she literally becomes a book and the only cure is to write her own story using all the words she has inside of her.

Wave by Suzy Lee This is a gorgeous, wordless story about a curious girl, a sunny day, and a playful wave. Lee is a fantastic illustrator from South Korea and her primarily ink drawings are stunning. If your child loves the beach, she will adore this book.

Biscuit series by Alyssa Capucilli illustrated by Pat Schories This is a series of simple stories about a girl and her dog, Biscuit, because it’s not only boys who love their dogs. My daughter adores animals. We bought her first Biscuit story to go with a veterinarian costume. Now that she is starting to read, Biscuit books are great first readers.

Rosie Revere Engineer & Ada Twist Scientist by Andrea Beaty illustrated by David Roberts Diverse representation in children’s literature is so important and Beaty has written two amazing books that feature girls in STEM fields. They’re rhyming books and a joy to read aloud, and the illustrations are so much fun.

I Am Jane Goodall by Brad Meltzer illustrated by Christopher Eliopoulos At the end of the video above, the girls asks if the bookseller has any books about a girl going to Mars. Studies have shown that by 5 years old kids already think certain jobs are “for boys”. This book is part of the Ordinary People Change World series. It’s a delightful collection about real people from history in all different professions. Books feature Rosa Parks, Helen Keller, Amelia Earhart, Eleanor Roosevelt, Sacagawea and Lucille Ball for your budding activists, teachers, pilots, politicians, or comedians.

Mufaro’s Beautiful Daughters by John Steptoe I remember my teacher reading this book to my class in elementary school. It’s a Cinderella story but in this version both sisters are equally physically beautiful. It’s Nyasha’s generosity and respect for all creatures and nature that sets her apart from her selfish sister.

I Wonder by Annaka Harris illustrated by John Rowe I love this book about a mother and daughter on a walk wondering about…everything really. The book has a beautiful message. It’s ok to say, “I don’t know,” and the beauty of not knowing allows all to wonder about the mysteries of the universe.

The Princess in Black by Shannon & Dean Hale illustrated by LeUyen Phan This is an illustrated early chapter book and was one of the first chapter books my daughter stayed interested several nights in a row. I love Princess Magnolia, and I think her adventures fighting monsters would appeal to girls and boys. I love the message. You can enjoy a frilly dress at the tea party and also love wearing a mask and boots and fighting monsters. A kid doesn’t have to chose between sparkly tiaras and being a hero.

So those are a few of my favorite pictures books with female protagonists. When you get into chapter books…wow! There’s Matilda, El Deafo, Little Women, Island of the Blue Dolphin, Anne of Green Gable, Smile, and anything by Judy Blume. But that’s another list for another post.

Obviously there are so many more great picture books not on the list. If I’ve left off one of your favorites, please add it in the comments!! I’m always on the lookout for new additions to our library! Our copy of Goodnight Stories for Rebel Girls is on the way!

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March 10, 2017
A Different Part of the Pig: Volunteering in Croatia

Today is a Throwback Thursday post. I was cleaning out old files and discovered this essay I wrote about a memorable lunch with my homestay family while volunteering in Croatia during the summer of 2003. I wrote it in 2007 for a contest at a now defunct magazine. It was one of the first pieces of creative non-fiction I ever wrote and thought it would be fun to share because the question raised are some I still ask myself daily living in Brazil. (Also, this past week was Carnaval, so I haven’t had time to write anything new.)

A Different Part of the Pig

Koprivnica, Croatia

It was with something less than enthusiasm that I sat down for lunch next to my host sister. I had never quite understood what indigestion was, but after three weeks of eating plates of fried meat swimming in its own fat, I could now write an epic poem to its effects. Unfortunately, the small little village of Zdala, Croatia, where I was teaching, had only 600 people and no CVS with shelves of antacids to choose from. So, while I was thoroughly enjoying the rewards and challenges of teaching English to the local kids, the prospect of three more weeks of potatoes, bread and meat drowned in liquid fat made each meal a bit of a trial.

Zdala, Croatia

I was staying in Zdala with a generous family who had volunteered to house me while I was teaching. They weren’t receiving any kind of money or stipend for their trouble. I also knew from my walks around the village with my host sisters that no family in the village had resources to waste. Every house in Zdala had its own small farm and animals that supplied the staples for each meal. Knowing this, I couldn’t refuse to accept their generosity, even if it made my stomach feel like a beach ball blown up to the point of bursting. What would my host family think if I turned down the large helping of meat specially prepared for me and asked for a cucumber instead?

My adorable homestay sister

As I looked at the table that afternoon, it looked pretty much like every other lunch. Potatoes and onions, bread (which was homemade, amazing, and the one thing I was never sorry to see) and a large dish of meat stacked in the center of a shinning pool of grease. But there was something different on the meat this day. It was placed directly on top of the meat, like the star on a Christmas tree. A grayish, jiggly star. Oh no. I looked at my host mother and grandmother on the opposite side of the table. There was no way I could discreetly ask my host sister what it was that jiggled at the top of the meat tower. And I knew as the guest, I was going to be offered the first helping.

These amazing kids chose to attend English classes during their summer vacation!

That summer in Croatia was my first time living abroad, and the first time I had ever lived with a family other than my own. I was desperate to make a good impression. I wanted them to like me and not write me off as one of the arrogant Americans I had heard the cousin talk about. But I do not eat food that jiggles. I have had a lifelong no-jiggly-food policy. I believe that orange Jell-O is the worst food ever invented. I was sure my family would offer the jiggly thing to me, and I wasn’t sure I could tactfully refuse it on the grounds that it jiggled.

I was still staring at this piece of grayish, jiggly matter when Granny spooned it out and sure enough, offered it in my direction. I looked down at the offered spoon and saw them, two slits in the flat top of the fat. Oh God! It was a nose. I was being offered a pig’s nose. I looked across the table at Granny. Here was a sweet old woman, smiling kindly and holding out a large spoon with a pig’s nose nestled in it. I didn’t know whether to laugh or throw up.

Coming face to face—or, more accurately, face to nose—with a pig nose in a spoon, I knew it could be considered hypocritical to eat some parts of the pig but be repulsed by others. I was clearly the only one there who found a pig’s nose on the table unusual. I didn’t want to seem rude. I had come on my first trip abroad prepared to try new things. I was ready to be open-minded, but apparently not open-mouthed. I knew my family couldn’t afford to waste any part of the animal, but I couldn’t eat the nose. I wanted to adapt to Croatian culture, but I couldn’t deny who I was either. What level of discomfort was I supposed to be willing to accept in order to avoid offending my hosts? Where should I, or could I, draw the line?

As it turned out, I didn’t have to answer those questions on that day. My hesitation (and possibly the shade of green on my face) had tipped off my host family that I was not accustomed to eating this particular part of the pig. They started laughing, and my sister said I didn’t have to eat it if I didn’t want to. She didn’t like pig noses, either. But Granny loved them. And with that, Granny put the nose on her plate, scooped it up with her own spoon, and slurped it into her mouth. I knew I would never see Granny in the same way after that.

My family enjoyed teasing me with other animal parts over the next weeks, like a chicken beak in the soup. I was so thrilled they didn’t think I was rude that I didn’t even protest when a chicken’s foot was placed right on the middle of my plate. In retrospect, I could have saved myself some panic if I had just explained that where I come from, we don’t eat noses. After all, the family didn’t want me eating or doing anything I felt uncomfortable with.

I still struggle with the question of how far I should go in adapting to different cultures. There is a balance. I could not have expected my host family to provide me the exact same foods I had at home. It was impossible to make Zdala like home. Living in another country means being uncomfortable and trying things that are often scary. But at the same time, I cannot reject my own culture and my own feelings. How far should I go? Where do I draw the line? It changes. I haven’t found the balance yet. I do have one line that doesn’t move though. It’s just in front of the pig’s nose.

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March 2, 2017
My 10 Favorite Books in 2016

One of the best parts of being a writer is getting to read constantly and when someone raises an eyebrow at the four new novels that appeared in your joint Kindle library on the heels of three novels from the previous week getting to say “It’s for professional development.”

I’ve never done an annual review of favorite books, but while flipping through my Kindle library, I was struck by how many I want to reread (but will probably never find the time because there’s always a new book to read and I feel I should read every book at least once before I go back and start rereading).

I read some fantastic books last year. Some were beautiful. Some were powerful. Some were laugh out loud funny. And some were just lots of fun. Really the only thing all these books have in common is that they kept me up past my and everyone else’s bedtime, and left me alone in the silent living room with raw eyes at 2 in the morning.

Code Name Verity by Elizabeth Wein
Badass friends, pilots, and spies during WWII. This is one of the best historical fiction books I’ve ever read. It’s impossible to explain all the ways this book is so amazing without spoiling the whole thing, but a few are the friendship between Queenie and Maddie, the storytelling device (from the first page you know you’re reading a hand written confession to Nazi captors), and the fascinating and (based on the author’s notes about her research) accurate details about WWII. Actually, this book gets points for teaching me something entirely new about WWII, the women pilots of the RAF.

Between Shades of Gray by Ruta Sepetys
Equal parts brutal and gorgeous, this book tells the story of a fifteen year old Lithuanian girl ripped from her home by Stalin’s Soviet Union. It’s a harsh read. The scenes of desperation, torture, and brutality whether from the Soviet soldiers or the Siberian winter are heart stopping. The gorgeous prose in which Lina’s story is told only highlights the inhuman cruelty around her. I knew almost nothing about Stalin’s atrocities in Eastern Europe, which made this book so much more powerful. Lina’s story is based on the true stories of millions who’s lives were destroyed and then forgotten. It’s a necessary and powerful book.

And I Darken by Kiersten White
Vlad the Impaler reimagined as a vengeful, bloodthirsty princess. Do I need to say more? I can. The book reimagines the history of the Ottoman Empire not long before it takes Constantinople. I loved the original setting. I don’t think I’ve ever read an Ottoman Empire story and definitely not from the Ottoman side, which is where most of the story takes place as Lada is taken hostage the Ottoman court in exchange for her father’s support of the empire. The best historical fiction makes you want to learn more about the time and place of the story, and this book did exactly that. Vlad the Impaler’s name is both literal and extremely accurate.

Simon v. The Homo Sapiens Agenda by Becky Albertalli
I didn’t only read historical fiction last year. Simon is contemporary YA, and it is AMAZING! I’m not just saying this because it’s set in my and Albertalli’s hometown of Atlanta, and I totally understand Simon’s enthusiasm for the Varsity. Simon is one of the most authentic teen characters I’ve read. The blend of humor, anxiety, anger, and joy perfectly reflects the trials of high school. Simon’s life is thrown into turmoil when one of his emails is seen by another student who threatens to force Simon out of the closet if he doesn’t help the blackmailer hook up with one of Simon’s friends. If that wasn’t enough, there’s best friend jealousy and rehearsals for Oliver to worry about. (There’s no way Albertalli wasn’t in high school theater herself. It’s too true.)

If You Come Softly by Jacqueline Woodson
I do not recommend this book for anyone currently writing their own novel because you’ll finish this book and think “Why the hell even bother? There’s no way I can do this.” The prose is lyrical. The characters are beautifully drawn. It’s a simple and sweet retelling of a very old tale, the star-crossed lovers, Miah is black and Ellie is Jewish. I think high school is the only period in life where love, or better connection, at first sight is possible, and Woodson elegantly brings Miah and Ellie’s spark to life.

My Lady Jane by Cynthia Hand, Brodi Ashton, & Jodi Meadows
Laugh out loud historical fiction, reimagining, fantasy…don’t get too caught in the defining the genre. Apparently Lady Jane Grey was queen of England for nine days between Henry VIII’s son Edward and daughter Mary. Historians estimate she was between 16 and 17 when executed on Mary’s orders technically for high treason but really for having the awful luck of being young, female, and related to royalty during a power vacuum. The real story of Lady Jane was just too tragic for the authors who decided she needed to escape, save the throne of English, and have the ability to turn into an animal. It’s also hilarious.

The Star-Touched Queen by Roshani Chokshi
This breathtaking YA fantasy plunges readers into Indian mythology, as Mayavati attempts to forge her own destiny. Born a princess but shunned for a pretty terrible horoscope promising death and destruction, Maya battles prejudice, demons, and even the stars themselves to thwart her fate. For me, the story was a fascinating introduction to apsaras, pishachas, yakshinis, and so many other beings from Indian mythology. It’s pretty obvious at this point that I particularly love fiction which entertains and teaches me something new about the real world.

Ms. Marvel Vol. 5 by G. Willow Wilson
Ms. Marvel is the super hero the United States needs right now. American, Muslim, female, fangirl, with boundless youthful optimism to boot, Kamala Khan is one of the greatest teen characters in fiction right now. Wilson’s characters are the best representation of American Millenials that I have read. Period. Ms. Marvel is a giant punch in the face to all the Millenial haters. Even if you’re not a reader of comics, if you enjoy great characters and fun, you will love Ms. Marvel.

March Vol. I-III by John Lewis
Speaking of comics, you’d think by now everyone would know that comics and graphic novel formats aren’t just for stories about super powers, but amazingly there are still those left in the dark. March is a memoir about Congressman John Lewis’ time as a leader in the Civil Rights Movement during the 60s. Lewis was chairman of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC), which led the sit-in protests across the South. Lewis helped organize the March on Washington, but it was his stories from the front lines that took my breath. Lewis and his fellow SNCC volunteers were beaten at sit-ins only to return another only to be arrested just to go back out again. Lewis was locked inside a restaurant by an owner who left a fumigator running. He was one of the freedom riders and only missed being on a burned bus because he was beaten an arrested at an earlier stop. And to tell about the Birmingham Church bombing that left four girls dead and 21 children injured or Bloody Sunday, when hundreds of peaceful marchers were beaten by police while kneeling to pray, a picture is worth much more than 1,000 words.

1808: Flight of the Emperor by Laurentino Gomes
This book is the foundation of my current work in progress. I was imagining a pirate story in colonial Brazil and then I read about Dom João, the Prince Regent of Portugal who fled from Napoleon to Brazil and took a 10,000 member court with him. This is non-fiction, but all the major players are characters. The Court’s evacuation was so frantic, they left the entire royal library in crates on the docks in Lisbon. The Prince Regent is straight up comic relief from his cowering in the bedchambers during thunderstorms to his fear of crustaceans. And Rio de Janeiro is rampant with corruption, murder, and diamond smuggling. If you’re like me and never studied anything about Portugal in school other than Magellan was born there, I highly recommend this book and unbelievable story.

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February 20, 2017
10 Tips to Enjoy Rio de Janeiro

Alright, now that we’ve covered 10 ways to avoid trips to the police station and hospital in the last post, it’s time fill up all that vacation time with the second half of my list.

This one young tourist is feelin’ good after visiting Sugar Loaf and Praia Vermelha!

So cute!!!

11. Sugar Loaf or Pão de Açucar in Portuguese but that ão sound is crazy hard to make, so I think visitors to Brazil can be forgiven for using Sugar Loaf. In my opinion if you have a choice between Christ the Redeemer on Corcovado or Sugar Loaf, pick Sugar Loaf. The most crowded day I’ve been on Sugar Loaf involved 50% fewer people than my most crowded trip up Corcovado. (And let’s assume any day sightseeing during the Olympics will be in contention for “most crowded”.) Both sites have amazing views of Rio, but Sugar Loaf and Morro da Urca (the smaller mountain next to Sugar Loaf) have more space to wander around the forest, including a trail that wraps around the bottom of Morro da Urca and offers a great chance of seeing micos (the little marmosets you might remember from the movie Rio), blue butterflies, and all kinds of birds and other local animals. Yay, micos! Then you stop and have lunch at Praia Vermelha (Red Beach). That is a great morning!

It’s those same tourists again. This time visiting Praça XV in front of the Paço Imperial.

12. Arco do Teles You can go back to colonial Rio by walking around this street off of the square Praça XV. I recommend going for lunch and grabbing a prato feito, a daily set menu that usually includes a choice of meat, rice, beans, french fries, and salad. Then go back across the square to Arlequim, a fabulous music & book inside the Paço Imperial, the former Imperial Palace. The store is a great place to pick up books and music from Brazil and grab a coffee and dessert.

13. Walk Along Copacabana Pretty self explanatory. The rules for beach going apply. Wear your shorts, tshirt and flip flops, bringing a little cash tucked away. Work out attire is fine too. The sidewalk will be full of people jogging and riding bikes. Grab a coconut to drink and stop and watch a game of footvolley. It’s volleyball played with your feet and it’s awesome.

14. Confeitaria Columbo Oh man, go to the downtown (Centro) location late in the afternoon after you’ve spent the day walking and feel you deserve a generous reward. Confeitaria Columbo is a gorgeous Belle epoque cafe and both the decor and dessert are amazing. They do offer meals and salty snacks, but you’ll regret that choice when you see the desserts being delivered to other tables. I recommend the rabanada, a Brazilian version of french toast, or anything else on the menu honestly.

15. Juice Crawl A staple of Rio is restaurants and kiosks specializing in fruit juice. The variety of fruit available to be freshly squeezed is astonishing and I can promise, no matter how hard you try, you will not be able to try juice from every fruit on the menu. My cousin made the most valiant effort I’ve ever seen, and even after consuming 2.5 liters of liquid during a walk from Leblon to Ipanema, she’d not tasted a quarter of the fruits on the menus.

16. Jardim Botanico A beautiful Botanical Garden that offers a welcome chance to slow down and enjoy the tropical flora and fauna of Rio, including Tucans and parrots. There are beautiful plants there too, but I’m more of animal person. I remember the snack area having some super friendly stray cats, which my husband was a lot less thrilled about.

Two American tourists enjoying their informative yet enjoyable audio guides! Their big sister definitely did not order them to smile for this picture.

17. Museu Histórico Nacional If you like history or would just like to know something about Brazil other than it’s affinity for soccer and barbecue, visit the National History Museum. They have guided audio tours in a variety languages. You can hear Dom Pedro’s famous speech when he refused to to return to the Court of Portugal and declared himself emperor of an independent Brazil or learn about Princess Isabel who finally ended slavery in Brazil in 1894.

18. Churrasco If you eat beef, you need to do so while in Brazil. Find a churrasco. Just type “churrasco Rio de Janeiro” into Google. They’ll probably be one within two blocks of wherever you’re standing. Brazilian know how to cook meat and they cook every part of the cow. Go for lunch and then plan on laying down for the rest of the day.

19. Watch Some Capoeira I’m sure there will be groups playing capoeira in the parks and beaches during the Olympics. With the exception of açaí, I don’t think there is a more uniquely Brazilian export. Capoeira is a Brazilian martial practiced to music and dance. I wrote a post explaining the history and practice of capoeira. For now, I’ll just say if you see a circle of people wearing white, singing and clapping, while two people dance around each other in the middle, stop and watch for a few minutes.

20. Beer, Snacks, and a Lovely View at Bar Urca This is a more personal recommendation. Back in our childless Rio days, my husband and I lived very close to the Urca neighborhood, which sits just on the inside of Guanarbara in the shadow of Sugar Loaf. The neighborhood is quiet with beautiful houses and a magnificent view of the bay and Rio. Bar Urca is just across the street from the water. Late afternoon you should go grab a beer or soda, a basket of pasteis, take them to the stone wall overlooking the water, and enjoy the view and company. You won’t regret it.

That’s it. I’m out of suggestions and advice. There are of course so many more things to do and ways to get into trouble than I’ve mentioned in my post. I don’t surf, so I can’t advise on best beaches for waves. I’m not a thrill seeker and have never had any desire to go hang gliding in Rio, and I’m not much of a live music in a bar person. The city of Bossa Nova is wasted on me. But Rio is known for all of these things. Rio has a lot to offer tourists than the beach and a stomach bug.

You can see from the pictures, we’ve had family of all ages visiting Rio and Brazil for years and our biggest emergency has been running out of toilet paper in the apartment. With a little planning and a few precautions, Rio de Janeiro can be an amazing experience. Just leave the passport in the room and bring the bug spray.

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August 3, 2016