There is no them; there is only us

Andrea Cheng

Honeysuckle House

Front Street, 2004

Sarah Wu's best friend, Victoria, has suddenly moved away, leaving Sarah sad and confused. Ting "Tina" Liang has left her relatives and familiar world of Shanghai to join her mother in Cincinnati. The two girls overcome a host of social pressures and cultural stereotypes to form a young friendship. Along the way, Andrea Cheng invites us into the emotional lives of families with marital tensions, work-life pressures, and sibling rivalry. Her style is never dramatic, always authentic, which seemed to me to open up a space (like the "honeysuckle house" where Sarah and her friends plunge into imaginative play) to forgive oneself and one's family and to make more generous and loving choices.

For more on Andrea Cheng, click here to visit the author's website.

Globalized

Carolyn Marsden
Silk Umbrellas
Candlewick, 2004

The effects of globalization, however vaunted by some policy-makers, seem to me not all that different from those of imperialism. We see the impact in Carolyn Marsden's story of Noi and her family. When local, agricultural land has been sold to real estate developers, Noi's father can no longer farm. He becomes a bricklayer, whose uncertain cash income must be supplemented by her mother's mosquito nets and her grandmother's painted umbrellas. When even that proves insufficient, Noi's older sister Ting is sent to do factory work. Ting solders a minute part into a radio, hour after hour, day after day. Noi is horrified and frightened...and motivated. With help and encouragement from her grandmother, Noi learns to paint umbrellas, continuing a family tradition. Marsden weaves Thai words and culture into a thoughtful and engaging story of a young girl growing up in a changing world.

Ruby is growing up

Lenore Look (author)
Stef Choi (illustrator)
Ruby Lu: Star of the Show
Atheneum, 2011

With an epigraph from FDR's first inaugural speech, Lenore Look signals to us that the Great Recession has arrived at 20th Avenue South. But I was completely taken by Stef Choi's vaudeville cover illustration, and thus, it came as a shock when Ruby's father lost his job and the consequences of that loss quickly mounted. That gap between expectations and reality is all too depressingly familiar these days. But Ruby, her family, her friends and community rise to the challenges. Growing up entails losing things (no more show-and-tell), but also gaining things (haiku as a vehicle for expressing excitement, fear, and anger). The loss of steady income can lead to panic and despair, but it can also lead to creativity, pride, community spirit, and realization of one's humanity. It isn't easy, but Rudy earns rewards beyond riches for doing the right thing for the right reasons.

She saw using her seesaw

Linda Sue Park (author)
Jean and Mou-sien Tseng (illustrators)
Seesaw Girl
Clarion, 1999

Twelve-year-old Jade Blossom did not immediately grab my interest, but with each ensuing chapter, I found her more and more compelling. Born into an elite family (her father was an advisor to the Korean king), Jade enjoys tremendous advantages, a fine house, fine clothes, good food, and servants. But, her high status comes also with responsibilities and restrictions. She must wait on the men of her family, for example. When her closest friend and confident, her cousin Willow, marries into another family and moves away, Jade realizes just how difficult it is to hew to social expectations. She is desperate to escape the walls of her family's home, but this was forbidden to girls of her status. Jade must find a way to satisfy her curiosity and ambitions without bringing shame to her family. Linda Sue Park's story offers a glimpse into pre-modern Korean society, and while much is different for children growing up in many parts of the modern world, it nevertheless offers thoughtful instruction for meeting social challenges.

Dress up, fit in

Carolyn Marsden

The Gold-Threaded Dress

Candlewick, 2002

Kun Pa's outstanding Thai cooking earned Oy's family the opportunity to move to America. That's where Oy, who is known at school as Olivia, is trying to fit in. Liliandra, the school's "queen bee," chances to see a photograph of Oy dressed in a gold-threaded, pink silk dress, looking just like a princess. Already imbued with Oy's memory and identity, the dress becomes an object of desire, contention, and humiliation. With her parent's loving support, Oy perseveres and learns to distinguish between true and false friends. The Gold-Threaded Dress is a short read, and while it is not especially subtle, it does introduce some complexity in human experience. When we first meet the character of Frankie, for example, he erroneously teases Oy for her "Chinese" appearance; at the book's end, he introduces Oy to his Chinese grandfather, Yeh-Yeh.

More Compassion

Elizabeth Coatsworth (author)
Lynd Ward (illustrator)
The Cat Who Went to Heaven
MacMillan, 1958 (1st edition, 1930)

Elizabeth Coatsworth's tale of an old Japanese painter, his elderly housekeeper, and their sensitive cat, Good Fortune, is one of the most beautiful and deeply satisfying children's books I've read. Poor as they are, each member of this modest family demonstrates sincere concern for the others. After Good Fortune joins the household, a Buddhist priest comes to commission a painting on the subject of the death of Buddha. Over several days, the painter meditates, imagining himself as the Buddha, living a life of extraordinary privilege followed by strenuous seeking and finally awakening and teaching before expiring. Only after experiencing as fully as possible his subject, does the painter begin his artwork. In succeeding days, he imagines himself as the animals who come to witness Buddha's passage into nothingness. Again, the painter imagines himself as each creature before setting brush to silk. With each imagining, we are transported sympathetically into the world of sentient animals. At last, out of compassion for his dear cat Good Fortune, the painter adds the feline's image to the painting, going against tradition. When the priest sees the completed painting, he reacts with intense dissatisfaction. But ultimately, the painter's compassion is rewarded.

Coatsworth's writing, both poems in the housekeeper's voice and prose, is finely crafted, precise and loving. Here is a short excerpt: "He [the painter] thought of the fierceness and cruelty of tigers, he imagined them lying in the striped shadows of the jungle, with their eyes of fire. They were the danger by the water hole; the killers among the reeds." But soon, the painter sees a way to compassion for the beast. "It may be that this [the tiger's devotion to its cub] is the narrow pathway by which the tiger reaches to the Buddha. It may be that there is a fierceness in love, and love in fierceness." [51] Insights such as these abound in Coatsworth's wise and elegant words.

How Lattimore Writes about Little Pear

Eleanor Frances Lattimore
Little Pear: The Story of a Little Chinese Boy
Harcourt, 2005 (first published in 1931)


Mischievous Little Pear wanders the Chinese countryside around his rural home and makes all manner of funny, endearing, and useful discoveries. Eleanor Frances Lattimore's stories of Little Pear were first published in 1931, accompanied by her charming ink drawings. With chapter titles like "How Little Pear Lit a Firecracker" and "Little Pear Falls into the River and Decides to Be Good," the stories have the feel of Winnie-the-Pooh tales, filled with warm, caring characters. With minimal oversight from parents, Little Pear (like Pooh bear) are given wide latitude for exploration in a world populated by benevolent neighbors. Little Pear indulges in modest luxuries like tang-hulur (糖葫蘆, candied hawthorn berries on a stick), and he suffers mild pains as when he impatiently eats green peaches. The stories are idealized and can be easy targets for criticism, but that would be to miss the gentleness and generosity of heart that are the center of Little Pear's world.

Dream on

Jenny Hom (author)
Julia Kuo (illustrator)
Clara Lee and the Apple Pie Dream
Little, Brown, 2011

Third-grader Clara Lee lives in an idealized American small town, which celebrates autumn with the rather spring-sounding Apple Blossom Festival. The improbable name, with its implications of a beautiful and flourishing atmosphere, suits the story. Drawing courage from her grandfather and his auspicious dream interpretation, Clara Lee determines to rise to new challenges, from climbing the rope in P.E. class to competing for Little Miss Apple Pie. Her major competitor is Dionne, a descendant a founding father of their town. Dionne claims to be as American as apple pie, making Clara Lee uneasy about her Korean heritage and doubt her status as an American. The lesson of Jenny Hom's book comes as no surprise: what counts is an individual's integrity. A good friend must apologize when in the wrong; Little Miss Apple Pie must represent core American values. American myth-making lives on.

Rats!

Grace Lin

The Year of the Rat

Little, Brown, 2007

Like its predecessor (The Year of the Dog), Grace Lin's The Year of the Rat begins with the lunar new year feast and the observation that different cultures see rats differently, good and bad. For our heroine, known as Pacy to her family and Grace to others, the year brings difficult changes, most notably her best friend Melody moves to California. Grace feels isolated and alienated, and as a result behaves sometimes shamefully. Her family is there to support her, however, and their personal stories help Grace to learn empathy. The year brings surprising successes as she is affirmed as an artist, sticks up for the new Chinese kid in town (there was, for me, an interesting discourse around the word, "weird"), and begins building more meaningful relationships with the friends she had neglected.

  In the Chinese zodiac, the year of the rat begins a new cycle two years after the year of the dog. Thus, Grace is at the cusp of adolescence, and sorting through questions of self and social expectations is more complex. Lin handles these with, I can't help myself here, grace. And, of course, there's plenty of celebrations (wedding and moon festival sandwiched between lunar new year dinners) with their requisite delicious foods peppering the narrative.

More adventures with Alvin Ho

Lenore Look (author) and LeUyen Pham (illustrator)

Alvin Ho: Allergic to Camping, Hiking and Other Natural Disasters

Schwartz and Wade, 2009

  The multiphobic and charming Alvin Ho is back to conquer his fear of the great outdoors. With help from his Uncle Dennis and older brother Calvin, he puts together an over-the-top wilderness-emergency kit, complete with Batman ring. Sister Anibelly adds disarmingly good cheer, and Dad reliably offers Shakespearean swears and affable comfort to the anticipated camping mishaps. This sequel offers more quality family time, and a little less privileged, Cambridge-insider culture. LeUyen Pham's brisk and charming illustrations accompany Lenore Look's light and light-hearted story.

  For those new to Alvin Ho, the adventures begin with  Allergic to Girls, School, and Other Scary Things.

A year to grow

Andrea Cheng (author) and Nicole Wong (illustrator)
Only One Year
Lee and Low, 2010

Here are two things—a word and an image—that made Andrea Cheng's new chapter book about difference, family, and love one of the finest books I have read. The word is "weird," which is loaded with unspoken intimations of fear. She uses the word just once. Uttered by  a child's friend, it clearly polices the boundary between acceptable and dubious. Sharon, invokes her mother's reasoning to defend against the stinging charge, but it's clear that the ideas and emotions behind "weird" are not easily changed. Cheng has me on the alert now for this word. The image is a sliced apple, with some slices placed at one side of a plate opposite the others. Mama tells her children Sharon (4th grade), Mary (1st grade), Di Di (a preschooler), and us that the slices may be far apart but like family in the US and family in China, they make one circle. One circle that nourishes its members, as Di Di gobbles down the apple. The image captures the book's narrative and its themes.

There is much more to recommended Only One Year—from the thoughtful treatment of the difficult decision to send Di Di to live with his grandparents in Shanghai for a year to the recurring images of childhood play that transform everyday objects and activities into opportunities to stretch the imagination and to express love. The book is refreshingly devoid of cynicism and status markers. It challenges us all to overcome our fears and egos, to forgive ourselves and others, and to make meaningful relationships with each other.

For more about author Andrea Cheng, go to her website: http://www.andreacheng.com/home

Ruby Lu's debut

Lenore Look (author) and Anne Wilsdorf (illustrator)
Ruby Lu, Brave and True
Simon and Schuster, 2004

A nautical and expressive someone (Hemingway?) once wrote that the most interesting journey includes a thousand tacks. For this blog, I'm reading in a manner circuitous and non-sequential. The name Ruby Lu has a lovely rhythm and sound to it, rather like Poe's Annabel Lee, and you'll probably remember her from an earlier review of the sequel book here. Ruby Lu, Brave and True doesn't have the same consistent flow of the later book, but there are satisfying moments when everything—actions, dialogue, meaning—does come together. The theme of magic tricks, sleights of hand, and performance run through the book, but these scenes are less captivating than, say, Ruby's clever and reinforcing combination of learning Chinese (Cantonese dialect) and learning to drive. Much of the book seemed like a series of loosely-linked skits for the purpose of introducing characters, added but not joined and in a constant state of flux. The pace and content settle into a comfortable stride with the anticipated arrival of Ruby's cousin, Flying Duck. There is much, including the Glossary, that (in retrospect) takes an embryonic form, waiting for Ruby Lu, Empress of Everything to develop fully.

Finding Her Voice

Grace Lin
The Year of the Dog
Little Brown, 2006

Pacy, as she is known to her family, also has an American name, Grace; and the dual names emblematize the theme of identity, which percolates throughout The Year of the Dog. Grace, both the character and author Grace Lin, is uneasy but still gracious in fielding that oh-so-vexing question, "What are you?" Grace is Chinese, but also Taiwanese and, as her mother helpfully insists, American. What alternatives are at hand to that question? I am reminded of geographer and humanist Yifu Tuan's response to the sister question, "Where are you from?" He honestly and willfully replies, "Earth." Is there another way around questions such as these? How about replacing them with a more personal and interesting, "What is your name, and what do you like to do?" Will that day come?
  But I digress. The Year of the Dog takes us from one Lunar New Year to the next, during which time Pacy/Grace tries to find her calling. Loyal readers will not be surprised when a story about ugly vegetables crops up. But, there are satisfying surprises, particularly in the short stories told by Pacy/Grace's mother. They speak to the time and distance that the family has traveled, and to the integrity and ingenuity of individuals within the family.
  Much of the book is satisfying, and I would agree that Lin has achieved her goal of writing a book that she wishes was around when she was growing up (I wish it were, too). She even tackles the difficult issues of cultural authenticity when Pacy/Grace is confronted by Taiwanese speaking peers at a Chinese/Taiwanese/American family camp. My one lingering question concerns Pacy/Grace's friend, Becky Williams, who seemed to be left somewhat thoughtlessly by the wayside as Pacy/Grace pursues a new friendship with Melody Ling, whose similarities make the two girls "almost twins." Is there an unintended message here?

Alvin Ho, Boy

Lenore Look
Alvin Ho: Allergic to Girls, School, and Other Scary Things
Schwartz and Wade, 2008

I had previously reviewed two other books by Lenore Look (Uncle Peter's Amazing Chinese Wedding  and Ruby Lu, Empress of Everything), and I was primed to enjoy this one about Alvin Ho. I especially looked forward to reading about adventures of a Chinese-American boy. I was charmed by Alvin, who, with all of his eccentricities, reminded me of Woody Allen. And, toward the end of the book, Alvin does visit with a psychotherapist, marking a turning point in his young life. Not because, but despite the therapist visit, Alvin makes admirable progress in coping with his many "allergies," standing up to a bully, choosing to play with his real friends, and all-around becoming a gentleman. The book is funny, but all the witticisms (which come fast and furious) eventually left me feeling a little deflated. In addition, Alvin's environs, the comfy uber-American Cambridge of Thoreau and Alcott and the Boston Red Sox, also left me a little cold. Look's snappy writing keeps entertaining, but the west coast in me couldn't help wondering by the end if there wasn't more there there. Although Alvin is a second-grader, the writing seems better suited for the slightly to much older, who can appreciate the humor in, say, a classmate named Hobson, "who always gives you a choice."

X-cultural X-mas

Pauline Chen
Peiling and the Chicken-fried Christmas
Bloomsbury, 2007

'Tis the season for lots of folly. It's a joyful time, sure, but we get a lot of mixed messages about what to want, what to give, how to feel, and so on. Pauline Chen's fifth-grade heroine, Peiling, longs to have Christmas, like everyone else. She convinces her Taiwanese-American family to celebrate the holiday for the first time, and predictably, it doesn't quite live up to her expectations. The theme of Chen's sympathetic story is identity, and readers with a literary bent will appreciate the embedded play, "The Prince and the Pauper," in which Peiling co-stars. Plot and characters are somewhat conventional, even the quirkiness of Peiling's teacher Miss Rosenweig is conventional. I also have an overly keen radar for things my mom would say, think, or want—that's just the baggage that comes with being an ABC—and there were moments when Peiling set it off. Perhaps this was deliberate, as Chen may get her tween audience to think about their parents' point of view, flawed but motivated by their best intentions. Light and warm and comforting...like a cup of instant milk tea.

Lessons in children's books

I just finished Lenore Look's Ruby Lu, Empress of Everything, and Ruby taught me a thing a two. First, I need to refine my categories. Ruby Lu fits more comfortably in the category of "chapter book," which means that Ling and Ting properly belongs to "early reader."  Second, and more importantly, I learned a little bit about, well, everything. Over the course of about a year, third-grader Ruby must adjust to the immigration and integration of her cousin Flying Duck and their family into her household, while also overcoming her fears of school notes and swimming and apologizing (what's the fear of apologizing? losing face, bruising the ego, call it what you will, but there's fear there). Oh, and did I mention that Flying Duck is deaf, so we readers also get to learn about Chinese sign language and American sign language. There are lessons in here, dare I say, for everyone, and Look's light touch makes the learning a delight. Don't forget to read "Ruby's and Flying Duck's Amazing and Awesome Glossaries," too, loaded with PSAT words like aquaphobia, veterinary phenomena like parvovirus, Cantonese veggies like gailan, and the Rapa Nui word for hello to one or more people, Iorana koe and Iorana korua, respectively.

Lenore Look (author) and Anne Wilsdorf (illustrator)
Ruby Lu, Empress of Everything
Atheneum Books, 2006