Can we read? No. 38
Good morning! It’s a rainy spring day here and I can’t say I mind. The trees are lush and swollen and it’s this capacity for generous green that I always forget is possible. I’m reading Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times by Katherine May (of course I am reading a book about literal and metaphorical winter right when summer is about to arrive) and I’ve learned — though I knew it before, this time I’m hearing it in a different way — that the processes of trees is the perfect analogy for periods of feast or famine, those highs and lows, peaks and dips we all experience but that our culture has somehow deemed unnatural and something to be avoided lest we be seen as morally weak at best, or mentally unstable. What I mean right now, this morning, is that I appreciate trees — their spectacular, unfailing beauty as well as their ability to rest and conserve their resources and wait with the certainty of beings that are billions of years old and so, so much wiser than we are.
Looking out the window in front of me I can see our biggest birch towering above, waving in the wind (which I take personally, as a greeting just for me) and it helps me remember how grateful I am to be here, writing this and sending it out in the world and hoping that it impacts someone, somewhere. What a privilege. Thank you for reading.
Ma’ii and Cousin Horned Toad by Shonto Begay (1992)
The beauty of coyote tales — apart from their inherent teachings, their inventiveness, and their humor — is how deeply children seem to identify with and delight in his trickster soul. Like Anansi — another traditional trickster, whose impossible escapade recounted by Verna Aardema I covered in my Spotlight On: Folk and Fairy Tales, Part 2 — coyote is sometimes brave, sometimes lacking courage, but always the vehicle through which rich instruction and wisdom are conveyed in an entertaining and refreshing way. This Navajo tale from Begay, who is Diné himself and was first told this story by his grandmother, is a classic — and utterly hilarious — example of these robust stories. Here we find Coyote — called Ma’ii (Ma-EEH) — hungry but unwilling to do the work of the farm that belongs to his cousin, Horned Toad. Horned Toad is generous in sharing his corn with Ma’ii despite the latter’s shortcomings, but because of these shortcomings, eventually Ma’ii decides to eat Horned Toad in order to take over his farm. What would be the end for another other animal is just the beginning for clever Horned Toad, who teaches Ma’ii several lessons from inside Ma’ii’s stomach — the more Ma’ii tries to get rid of and otherwise destroy Horned Toad to suit his own selfish ends, the more comfortable and at-home Horned Toad becomes. Finally Horned Toad’s lessons are too painful (if not pointed) for Ma’ii, leaving the reader with a satisfying sense of justice toward those who take what doesn’t belong to them and behave ungratefully. This didactic tale, rendered in wonderfully active illustrations fascinating to children (Horned Toad inside Ma’ii’s stomach is a huge draw), is light-hearted, very funny, and superbly told.
Dear Juno by Soyung Pak, illustrated by Susan Kathleen Hartung (1999)
“Juno watched as the red and white blinking lights soared across the night sky like shooting stars… [he] wondered where they came from. He wondered where they were going. And he wondered if any of the planes came from a little town near Seoul where his grandmother lived, and where she ate persimmons every evening before bed.” So begins the sweet and tender story of a little boy and his grandmother across the ocean, told through the stories they write (her) and draw (him) to one another. This book is especially good for a pre-reader, since Juno himself cannot read but understands his grandmother’s letters immediately upon opening them just by looking at the small doodles she includes and — thought it’s not stated but understood — the strength of their bond. Intergenerational and/or grandparent stories have a special place in my heart, especially when they are well done, and this one is — Pak’s prose hits such a genuine note one would be forgiven for thinking a little boy had actually authored this book, a warm and subtle sense supported by Hartung’s illustrations, made with oil paint glazes on sealed paper and then blotted and manipulated for effect. This is an own-voices title before “own voices” was a thing — it’s heartfelt and truly lovely.
When I Am Old With You by Angela Johnson, illustrated by David Soman (1990)
Speaking of grandparent titles (I didn’t notice until I began writing this issue that I’d grouped three of them together here, so we’re just going to roll with it), this warmhearted story from Angela Johnson is gold in that category. I’m a big fan of Johnson’s — I’ve covered other titles from her issue No. 33 and my special editions on winter and spring — and it’s for all the reasons on full display here: the relationships she depicts, whether familial (like in Do Like Kyla) or with oneself (like in Lily Brown’s Paintings) are incredibly real, grounded in all sorts of everyday details, and deeply loving. This title is less a story and more a monologue on the part of the granddaughter, one in which she is telling her patient grandfather — in exactly the kind of stream-of-consciousness narration young children are capable of — all the things they are going to do together in the future: “When I am old with you, Grandaddy, I will sit in a big rocking chair beside you and talk about everything.” The grandfather never speaks or responds in the text but his feelings about the situation and this sweet child are written all over his face: as he listens to every word she says there’s no doubt how much he cherishes her. This subtext is due in large part to Soman’s deeply saturated, masterful watercolors but not entirely: Johnson’s clever trope of explaining the grandparent-grandchild relationship without ever explicitly spelling it out is amazing, and kind of perfect. This is a beautiful book, lush in every way, and would make a fine addition to any new grandparent’s bookshelf, or a gift to that grandchild themselves.
My Grandma and Me by Mina Javaherbin, illustrated by Lindsey Yankey (2019)
Though there have been a welcome spate of children’s books featuring Muslim characters with covered heads in the past few years (I reviewed Mommy’s Khimar by Jamilah Thompkins-Bigelow in issue No. 20 and Under My Hijab by Hena Kahn in issue No. 36), it’s rarer to find ones that depicts older women — grandmothers — and stories from an Iranian perspective.
Though her grandmother’s chador is not the focus of this narrative, it is a natural part of this little girl’s story of growing up in Iran and her close relationship with her grandmother: “…my grandma lived with us. I followed her everywhere. When she swept, I swept. When she cooked, I cooked. When she prayed, I prayed like her.” (The page where the girls climbs up and lies on her grandmother’s back when the older women is kneeling face-to-the-ground in prayer is particularly moving.) The girl has a friend, Annette, whom she spends time with when their grandmothers — best friends themselves — do the same. Here Javaharbin does an excellent job showing the coexistence of two faiths in Iran: Annette’s grandmother does not cover her hair and prays for her friend to go to heaven when she is at church; the little girl’s grandmother covers her hair with many colorful chadors she makes herself and prays for her friend to go to heaven when she in at the mosque. These messages of harmony, loyalty, and love are subtle but powerful, which would be enough their own but are strengthened by Yankey’s exquisite mixed media illustrations (the images in this book are my favorite part and make me think this is what might result if medieval manuscript illuminations got together with etchings and had a baby). The story ends with a paragraph so touching it brings tears to my eyes every time: “In this big universe full of many moons, I have traveled and seen many wonders, but I’ve never loved anything or anyone the way I loved my grandma.” I get it, 1000%, and my kids do too. If there’s a grandmother in your life in any form, don’t miss this one.
In gratitude,
Sarah