Will There Be a Lap for Me?

The Story

Young kid Kyle loves sitting on his mother’s lap — but the lap is vanishing as his mom’s pregnancy progresses. The other laps available to him aren’t the same, snuggling next to his mom isn’t the same, and he’s afraid he’s not going to get his special place back. And then the baby arrives, and his mom is always busy with his new little brother. While it’s nice to stroke the baby’s soft skin while he’s nursing, it’s not the same. At the end, though, Kyle gets to reconnect with his mom and sit in her lap while the baby’s sleeping.

Intended Audience

Obviously aimed at older siblings as a new-baby preparation book, Will There Be a Lap for Me? also has an implied middle-class and USian and explicitly heteronormative audience, with a presumed stay-at-home mom (there are only two mentions of Kyle’s father: when listing the other laps that aren’t as good as his mother’s and when coming home with the new baby, whereas the mother is seen repeatedly doing shopping and parenting). Unlike most sibling-prep books, the family is Black, and they use public transportation and apparently-cloth diapers, and the mother is seen breastfeeding.

Reader age recommendations online range from infant-preschool to preschool-Grade 2. The text is simple, with only a few lines on each page, so it would likely be good for a child as young as two, and is just right for the Boychick (four years old), but more than a couple years older than that and they’d likely find it too baby-ish and simple.

Changes in the telling

Although ideally for our family and the Boychick the birth would take place at home, rather than at some unspecified “away” place, the only change I make in the reading of Will There Be a Lap for Me? is the line about the father’s lap. It’s written as “Daddy’s lap was too hard and bumpy”, and leads the section on all the other laps (daddy’s, grandma’s, and the babysitter’s) that aren’t adequate substitutes for mommy’s lap. Because we both don’t want to devalue fathers and fathering and want to honor the kid’s desire for his mother’s lap, I change this to “Daddy’s lap just isn’t the same.”

Right on!

I was thrilled to find this book when browsing the used bookshelves, because it’s hard enough to find a sibling-prep book that either doesn’t put me off with use of bottles or with misogynistic portrayals or that features nonwhite families — to find one that managed both was like hitting the jackpot. Written in 1992, some of the illustrations are dated (the father’s mustache cracks me up, for instance), but the portrayals of breastfeeding, babywearing (an apparently-white dad at the grocery store), and a teenage male babysitter far outweigh the clothing styles the Boychick is too young to know are passé.

But does it appeal? The Boychick’s take

Although the Boychick isn’t wanting to be read to as much these days, he’s allllll about the new baby, and so this book regularly falls in his top ten or so. He has no problems identifying with the nonwhite family, and loves to comment on the baby breastfeeding or getting his diaper changed. If anything, I think he’d like it more if it had more of the baby in it, but he’s still a fan nevertheless.

Buy it, Consider it, Skip it, or Compost it?

If you’re pregnant with a new baby in a heteronormative family, especially if you’re planning to breastfeed and have an assigned-boy child already, strongly consider it. Although I wouldn’t use it as the only sibling-prep text, it’s a valuable addition to any collection to acclimate a young kid to a new baby in the house and the changing relationship with hir mother.

Purchase at Powell’s Books or Amazon.com.

Your Take

Have you read Will There Be a Lap for Me? What do you think, and what do your kids think? Are there sibling preparation books, especially featuring non-white families, that you prefer? Do you have any questions after reading this review?

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Purchases made through the Powell’s and Amazon links offered here support this blog and compensate — quite minimally — my time and work as a blogger. I encourage you to support local, independent booksellers whenever possible, but if you’re to order online anyway, why not support an independent blogger?

Many people have not-exactly-complained about how the books reviewed on The Boychick’s Bookshelf are great, but too advanced for their six, twelve, twenty-four month old. So, to remedy that, here’s the first edition of a special Board Book Round Up: smaller reviews for smaller books, but more of ‘em at once.

To commence:

More More More, Said the Baby by Vera B Williams

The Boychick loved this book, once upon a time. It’s a trilogy of short stories, all with the same pace and many of the same words, in which we meet Little Guy and his father (both apparently white), Little Pumpkin and hir grandmother (apparently black and white, respectively), and Little Bird and her mother (apparently Asian or Latina). I love it for depicting a variety of caregivers — showing loving fathers to the Boychick is especially important to me — , a variety of races (including the apparently-white grandmother to black Little Pumpkin), and both the Boychick and I loved getting to act out the belly kisses and toe nibbles. As with many board books, it ends with Little Bird falling asleep and being put to bed, making it a good choice for nap or nighttime reading.

Downside: The text, while colorful and artistic, might be hard or painful to read for people with visual or focusing difficulties.

Peekaboo Morning by Rachel Isadora

Peekaboo Morning follows a black toddler through hir waking up, with visual clues leading to each next page, from “I see… my mommy” and daddy, through getting dressed, eating (and feeding hir breakfast to the dog), playing with toys, then going outside and greeting Grandma and Grandpa and a (apparently white) friend, and finally engaging the reader with “I see… you!” I wasn’t sure at first about getting the Boychick a book written in first-person with a non-white protagonist, fearing it might be appropriative, but I bought it anyway because books featuring families of color are so scarce, and it really is an enjoyable (if repetitious — but it makes it especially great for toddlers), quick read, with realistic paintings with enough detail to maintain interest over repeated viewings. It is very heteronormative, with a mommy and daddy, and grandma and grandpa, and very suburban (there is, truly, a white picket fence in one scene), but given the stereotypes of black families as urban and “broken”, I’m not sure that’s entirely a bad thing.

Downside: I’m reaching to find anything beyond the heteronormativity and repetitiousness (though again, that’s something of a plus when writing books for toddlers) to name as a downside. I will say that the painting of the dog looks like there is a smudge on the dog’s face, and it bugs me every time I look at it. But I have Issues.

Mommy, Mama, and Me – and – Daddy, Papa, and Me, both by Leslea Newman

These are two books, but a symmetrical pair, and we bought them together. Each is told from the perspective of the toddler-aged child of same-gender parents, describing how both Mommy and Mama or Daddy and Papa take care of hir, each alternately engaging complementary games or childcare duties. Besides the same-gender parents, these are fairly run-of-the-mill white suburban follow-the-child’s-day books, and the Boychick enjoys them. That very banality, though, is likely the point of the books: “Look, two-mother/two-father families are just like you!” or “we’re just like other (white, middle class) families!” This makes them a good intro to same-gender parents for the unfamiliar (and helped the Boychick accept that his friend with two moms did not, in fact, also have a dad), or normalizing books for kids who don’t get to see families like theirs very much, but also reinforces the white- and middle-class-ness of the “default family”.

Downside: In addition to the aforementioned issues (and I cannot emphasize enough the problems with only ever modeling white queerness), although each book stands well on its own, with many examples of gender-role breaking (especially in Daddy, Papa, and Me, as is expected in a culture that says toddler-parenting is women’s work), when I compare the two, there is a greater emphasis on play in Daddy, and more on nurturing in Mommy: Daddy ends with Daddy and Papa collapsing in exhaustion at the end of a park trip, Mommy with being tucked in and getting kissed goodnight. This relatively minor difference wouldn’t be problematic except that it reflects and reinforces cultural memes, that fathers are playful (and easily overwhelmed), and mothers are nurturing and organized.

Global Babies by The Global Fund for Children

The Boychick, along with every other child I’ve heard of who has been introduced to Global Babies, loved this book for its close-up, face-focused photographs of babies and toddlers from all over the world. Babies, in general, are fascinated by other babies, and this gooey-sweet simplistic text’d book fills that desire perfectly. The Boychick and I loved especially that so many of the babies are shown being worn: of the 16 total photographs, 7 are shown in or apparently in carriers (this does include one baby in a cradleboard being help up but not on a person). Each of the photos is labeled with the country the baby is from, and although two are from USA, this includes one white seemingly-middle-class baby, and one Native child (in the aforementioned cradleboard). Not all of the babies are smiling (or indeed, awake), which seems to increase the appeal; the young reader is able to study faces reflecting a variety of emotional and alertness states.

Downside: The text is far less interesting than the photographs, with sometimes just one word per two-picture page; I’m not sure the Boychick ever absorbed the “[all babies] are beautiful, special, and loved” message with it being read so slowly, interspersed with up to several minutes of studying the photos. There is something of a photo-safari feel to the book, though I think this is somewhat mitigated by the lack of depicting less-advantaged children as “pitiful” or “unhappy”, as many such projects do. I must also say that I know nothing of the Global Fund for Children beyond the noble goal printed on the back of the book (“…advancing the dignity of young people around the world.”), and cannot speak to its work, good or otherwise.

Everywhere Babies by Susan Meyers

(Note: Cover pictured is for the hardback edition of the book.)

I love this book almost as much as the Boychick does. There is more text than in many other board books (including all of the ones mentioned here), but the text has a brilliant bounce and simple (but not overly so) rhyming rhythm. The text loosely follows a diverse crowd of babies from birth to the first year, often with several scenes on each page depicting many different races of babies and configurations of families (including an apparently-single mom of twins, multiracial and multigenerational families, and a two-mom family). Although very Western and moderately sub/urban and middle-class, the wealth of diversity shown in what “Every day, everywhere babies” are doing helps make it a delightful read. It’s also a favorite in the attachment parenting community for explicitly showing and mentioning breastfeeding (and I love that the mom shown breastfeeding is a woman of color, fully dressed, passed out in a rocker holding a book) and babywearing.

Downside: Along with depictions of breastfeeding and babywearing — though the ring sling appears to be drawn by someone who has never actually worn a baby in one — are abundant depictions of bottles, pacifiers, and strollers, as well as less than ideal carriers, and a baby in a carseat not in a car; I’ve somewhat mellowed on this since first reading Everywhere Babies, but on some level it still bothers me: these things are all ubiquitous in the culture the Boychick is growing up in, and the more he — and everyone else — sees them, the more they become/are reinforced as the cultural defaults. (An astute reader will note, however, that I haven’t let this stop me from enjoying this book with the Boychick, but I do usually change the words to the “babies are fed” page, to skip bottle, spoon, and cereal feeding.) I am also irked that the final scene, which depicts a single baby at hir first birthday party, features an apparently all-white, heteronormative family. It doesn’t completely negate the racial diversity of the rest of the book, but it does, once again, ultimately center whiteness, and reinforcing the white family as default. Also note that there are no visibly disabled parents or children depicted, and no assistive devices beyond one cane half-hidden behind an old woman seated in a chair.

Summary

I would recommend any or all of these books as additions to a beginner anti-kyriarchy bookshelf; though a handful of books featuring racial and sexual diversity read to pre-literate and mostly pre-memory children are not going to subvert the dominant paradigm or counteract a culture of hate all by themselves, they’re not a bad way to start. Buy any of these or other titles online at Powells.com or Amazon.com and support your friendly neighbourhood blogger; or find or order them at a local independent bookseller.

Have you read any of these with your child, and what did you or s/he think? What are your favorite pro-diversity, anti-kyriarchy board books?

The Paper Bag Princess

The Story

“Elizabeth was a beautiful princess”, engaged to the snobbily-drawn Ronald — both of whom appear to be prepubescent — when a dragon comes, burns down her castle (and burns off her clothes! — at which illustration the Boychick accurately points out “she has no nipples!”), and whisks away her fiancé. Elizabeth dons the closest thing to a garment she has left — a paper bag — and sets off to find and rescue Ronald. When she tracks down the dragon’s lair (by following the trail of horse bones), she tricks the dragon with fawning praise into using up all his fire and then flying around the world so fast he promptly collapses asleep. The dragon now unarmed and unarousable, she slips past and frees the prince. Rather than being appropriately appreciative, Ronald declares her a mess, and tells her to come back after getting cleaned up when she is once again “a real princess”. Elizabeth retorts that his appearance is that of “a real prince”, but he is “a bum.” The final scene shows her skipping away — happily alone, still clothed in her paper bag –  into the sunset, and we learn “They didn’t get married after all.”

Intended Audience

Elizabeth and Ronald are both white, blond, and (obviously) class privileged — at least until Elizabeth’s castle burns down — so the annoyingly usual expected audience of middle class white families applies. More specifically, The Paper Bag Princess seems aimed at white girls who are already familiar with the princess narrative, but I wouldn’t say that’s necessary: while the Boychick hadn’t yet been exposed to that narrative, it didn’t hinder his enjoyment of the book.

Changes in the telling

My main problem with The Paper Bag Princess — apart from the white, blond characters — is when Elizabeth declares Ronald to be “a bum”. Although the meaning of “bum” as “buttocks” predates that of “tramp”/homeless/lazy person (and let’s just pause a moment to marvel and be disgusted at the conflation of “homeless” and “lazy”), and outside the USA the bottom definition reigns supreme (if, thanks to US cultural colonialism, not exclusive), its primary use in the USA is lazy/homeless, particularly in the “you are a” construction. (In fact, the Boychick protests when I use bum for butt — it’s the one Britishism he actively rejects.) And as long as that strong implication of, and conflation of, “lazy hobo” is there, I am not willing to use it as an insult. Thus in our readings, we’ve changed it to any number of other insults, including jerk, butthead, or — my Doctor Who fanatic’s favorite — “giant eyeball“.

My only other concern with the book, which I can’t do anything about, is the way Elizabeth uses flattery to outwit the dragon. I love that she defeats him nonviolently, with only her intelligence and words, but it bothers me a bit that she uses such a stereotypically feminine way of doing it. “Is it true” she asks, that he can burn up ten forests/fly around the world in ten seconds? And then, when he does, she plays every bit of the easily-impressed femme and proclaims it “magnificent”. While I don’t think there’s anything particularly wrong with what she did, I do wish that she could have used her quick wit to out-think the dragon in some other way, if only to show girls that relying (even in such a fabulously subversive manner) on the tropes of femininity isn’t the only way to get what they want.

Right on!

The above caveats aside, I adore the messages of this book: intelligence and character are far more important than appearance, vanity will lose you your lunch (or post-castle-entrée snack), don’t stick around with someone who can’t appreciate you for who you are, girls are entirely capable of doing the rescuing, and the princess doesn’t need to end up with the prince to be happy. It is, essentially, a second wave feminist wet-dream of a kids’ book, and I love it for that, even as I acknowledge its concurrent problems.

But does it appeal? The Boychick’s take

The Boychick really likes The Paper Bag Princess, though I will say that seems to have more to do with the dragon than with the feminist messages. His absolute favorite part is first whispering and then yelling “Hey dragon!” with Elizabeth, as she checks that he’s well and truly out of it before freeing Ronald — I would not read this book with him any time I needed him to be especially quiet! But it seems to be just right for the stage he’s at: enough of a story to be engaging, but not so long and involved he loses track.

Buy it, Consider it, Skip it, or Compost it?

Consider it. (Link goes to Powell’s; or buy through Amazon.) The white leading characters, the use of “bum” as a derogative (again, given that we are USian and it doesn’t really mean arse to the Boychick), and Elizabeth’s use of flattery stop me from offering it my highest rating, but I do still love and recommend it. And, as demonstrated by how involved the Boychick gets, it is simply fun, and as willing as I am to share with him not-so-fun selections, to have one that is so upbeat that also carries excellent messages I find worth the imperfections.

Your Take — and Your Chance!

Have you read The Paper Bag Princess? What do you think, and what do your kids think? What other books with strong female protagonists and subversion of the princess narrative do you know of, and would you recommend them?

AND! Because I was sent a copy by a fabulous reader (thank you!) after buying one myself and before taking it off my wish list, I have an extra — which means one of you gets to have a copy. Simply comment below to the effect of “please enter me!” by 11:59pm Pacific Daylight Time (UTC – 7) Friday the 27th of August 2010, and I will draw a name at random the next day. Winner will be contacted via the email used to comment, and will provide me with shipping information.

Anyone, anywhere in the world is welcome to enter — I only ask you to refrain if you already own a copy.

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Purchases made through the Powell’s and Amazon links offered here support this blog and compensate — quite minimally — my time and work as a blogger. I encourage you to support local, independent booksellers whenever possible, but if you’re to order online anyway, why not support an independent blogger?

Have a book you want me to review? Suggestions are always welcome, and books sent to me via my Wish List receive priority review status and are an excellent way to support and encourage the Boychick’s Bookshelf project.

My Two Grannies

The Story

My Two Grannies is about Alvina, a multiracial girl, and her two grandmothers, one from Trinidad (Vero) and one from Yorkshire (Rose), both of whom now live in the same city as Alvina and her parents. Alvina loves spending time with each of her grannies, and doing the things they did as girls in their very-different cultures. When her parents decide to go away on holiday for their anniversary, Granny Vero volunteers to take care of her — but Granny Rose objects, saying she’ll do it, and Alvina suggests they both come care for her.

Thus starts the conflict of the book, as each granny insists things be done her way, and Alvina, unable to choose between the grannies (and the cultures) she loves equally, chooses neither. Alvina, showing far more maturity than either of her grannies, suggests that they each take turns for a whole day, and we see what a day with Vero in the lead looks like (a trip to the zoo to see the animals she grew up with, playing Dominos, eating red beans and rice, and telling an Anansi story for bed), and one with Rose in the lead (feeding the ducks in the park, playing snakes and ladders, eating steak and kidney pie, and telling Jack and the Beanstalk at bedtime). Alvina loves both these days, and we see the not-leading granny also learning to appreciate different ways and foods.

Intended Audience

Unlike most of the books on the Boychick’s Bookshelf, My Two Grannies is aimed not at middle-class suburban USians but at middle-class more-or-less urban Brits. Although it never explicitly states the city that Alvina and her family live in, it’s clearly meant to be a UK city, and many word choices reflect British English, such as mum instead of mom and pudding instead of dessert. None of it is overt enough I think it would be inaccessible to non-UK-English readers, and British children (and Doctor Who fans like the Boychick) might appreciate having a book whose colloquialisms are familiar.

While one appreciative audience for this book might be another child trying to combine multiple heritages, multi-race or not, the story is also about learning to share, to negotiate, to take turns, and to appreciate other cultures and customs (equally applicable to the macro cultures of Trinidad v. Yorkshire and to the micro cultures of different households).

Changes in the telling

There’s nothing we change in reading this to the Boychick (in part because he already knows the Britishisms), but some readers might find it a bit repetitive or preachy. I don’t think there is anything in it that particularly needs to be “fixed” for it to be palatable to readers of the right levels.

Right on!

I picked this book up for its depiction of a multiracial child and a multicultural family, and brought it home for the lessons in the fine art of taking turns and navigating jealousies. I also adore the illustrations, especially that Granny Rose is fat, Alvina’s kinky hair is natural and loose, and her outfit is midriff baring but not at all sexualized or hyperfeminine.

But does it appeal? The Boychick’s take

I had some concerns the Boychick wouldn’t like this, because it’s about a multiracial girl with two grannies and he’s a white probably-boy with only one living grandma, but I needn’t have worried: he loves it. He likes hearing about the grannies’ childhoods, and gets excited when Alvina dances with each of her grannies, and he always takes great pleasure in pointing out the scenes where the grannies are cross with each other. He’s at the perfect stage where he can sit through the length, but doesn’t mind the repetition or not-particularly-subtle moralizing (taking turns = good!). He does, however, get quite annoyed that Alvina refers to Vero and Rose as “Granny V.” and “Granny R.”, and tries to correct us, but we use this as an opportunity to talk about nicknames and the many ways people are referred to.

Buy it, Consider it, Skip it, or Compost it?

Strongly consider My Two Grannies, especially for multiracial or multicultural children. Even if your child, like mine, is monoracial and doesn’t have multiple grandmothers, consider it anyway: the story is enjoyable, the drawings delightful, and the messages universal.

Your Take

Have you read My Two Grannies? What do you think, and what do your kids think? What other books do you know of with multiracial families, or that address sharing or jealousy in an engaging way?

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Purchases made through the Amazon links offered here support this blog and compensate — quite minimally — my time and work as a blogger. I encourage you to support local, independent booksellers whenever possible, but if you’re to order online anyway, why not support an independent blogger?

One

The Story

One by Kathryn Otoshi tells the story of a group of colors and their transformation/maturation into numbers. We are introduced to Blue, who is cool, and his friends Yellow, Green, Purple, and Orange. Then we meet Red, who is hot, and who bullies Blue. The other colors console Blue, but do not stand up to Red — which makes Red bigger and bigger, until he starts bullying all the colors, and “[t]hen everyone felt…a little blue.” And then One (who is grey) comes, and makes friends with Blue and the other colors, which angers Red, who bullies all the colors — but One stands up to him, which inspires the other colors to stand up, and turn from colored “blobs” (for lack of a better word) into colored numbers (2-5) as well. Finally Blue (who has become 6) also stands up to Red, who tries to roll over Blue/6, but all the color-numbers stand up to Red together, making Red very, very small. In the end, Blue/6 calls out to Red, and One declares “Red can count too”, and Red becomes 7. The last page declares: “Sometimes it just takes One.”

Intended Audience

Through the use of extremely simple (but beautiful) blobs of primary colors, One manages to avoid many of the culture-cues that might limit its appeal to marginalized audiences. It does seem more directed to shy children or bullying victims and bystanders than children who have problems with aggression, although I think it would do those children good to hear as well. It is also a simple and engaging story, and offers children, whether in an environment with bullying or not, exposure to colors and to counting 1-7.

Changes in the telling

There is nothing I change in reading this, although it does annoy me a little that all three major players (Blue, Red, and One) are “he”, and only one of the other colors (who do not initially stand up to Red) is gendered by pronoun use and is “she”. I’m not entirely sure how I feel about One being the only non-primary color, either (grey). And I have some ambivalence about the final message, as I go into below.

Right on!

I love so many things about this book. I love the beautiful paintings, which convey so much meaning and energy in a few simple strokes. I love the punny prose (yes, I am that kind of person). I love the use of color in the text, although I frequently find myself thinking it might be a hindrance to anyone with color deficiency in reading it. And I love the message that violence can be, and best is, countered not by passivity, but by active, unified nonviolence. The final message “Sometimes it just takes One” bothers me a little because in the story (and in real life, I would argue) although One acts as a catalyst, it does take all the color-numbers to counter Red’s aggression. But I like that it encourages children to be that One, who helps make a change for the better for everyone. I also love (though in a more ambivalent way) that Red is not kicked out or vanquished, but ultimately invited to be a part of the change as well.

(I am ambivalent because I dislike a zero-sum us-versus-them winner-and-losers attitude, but also dislike the idea that the victim/survivor has an obligation to reach out to hir aggressor. It’s not as simple as should-always-happen or should-never-happen, but depends on the particular dynamics and personal safety involved. If, as a single story must, one way must be picked, I do appreciate that One chooses reconciliation from a place of survivor-empowerment and strength.)

But does it appeal? The Boychick’s take

The Boychick is quite enchanted by this book. I think some of the concepts — of bullying, and standing up to bullying — might be a little advanced for him, but the story itself is compelling, he enjoys the appearance of the numbers, and it introduces the idea of nonviolent resistance in a not overly pedantic way. I think children both younger and older than he is (he’s a bit over three years old) would appreciate it, although it is recommended for 4-8 year olds; younger toddlers would find the bright colors on the plain white background appealing, and older children might appreciate the puns, such as the last line, the aforementioned “everyone felt… a little blue”, and Yellow’s declaration, upon her decision to stand up to Red and also “count” (transform into a number), of “Me Two!”

Buy it, Consider it, Skip it, or Compost it?

Buy it. One has a broad enough appeal, an engaging and amusing enough story, and an important enough message that I’d encourage anyone to add it to their own bookshelf.

Your Take

Have you read One? What do you think, and what do your kids think? What other books with anti-bullying or nonviolent protest themes have you read, and would you recommend them? Are there other books whose clever use of colors and numbers in an entirely separate story you’ve admired?

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Purchases made through the Amazon links offered here support this blog and compensate — quite minimally — my time and work as a blogger. I encourage you to support local, independent booksellers whenever possible, but if you’re going to order online anyway, why not support an independent blogger?

Sojourner Truth’s Step-Stomp Stride

The Story

Step-Stomp Stride is longer and more involved than most books we read with the Boychick. It starts off with an introduction of Sojourner Truth (“She was big. She was black. She was so beautiful.” is the line that opens the story, and that sold me immediately on the book.) The first half or so of the book goes back to tell her story all the way from her birth as a slave with the name Belle, being sold away from her family (“This was the ugly way of slavery.”), her betrayal by her “master” John Dumont, running waay and gaining her freedom with the help of Quaker Abolitionists, working on her own in New York City, and finally changing her name and setting off to tell her truth.

The next half is a story of her life as a speaker and activist, working against slavery and “the unfair treatment of black people and women.” It bogs down in the middle, particularly the page talking about learning the Bible and dictating her story to Olive Gilbert. The last 10 pages are about the 1851 women’s rights convention where she delivered the extemporaneous speech famously known as “Ain’t I a woman?”.

Intended Audience

This is a very American story. I think it might stand up in other cultures, but relies on a certain fluency in the cultural history of slavery, the underground railroad, North/South dynamics, and, as I go into below, cultural and Biblical Christianity.

Changes in the telling

My only qualm about this book is it — reflecting Sojourner herself and the culture she lived in — assumes one is fluent in and familiar with Christianity and the Bible. The antagonists’ (the male ministers at the meeting in Akron arguing against women’s rights) speeches and Sojourner’s rousing refutation alike reference Adam and Eve, Mary and Jesus, the Bible, and of course God. For a Christian family, no explanations need be made; for a non-Christian family like mine, it works as a starting point for conversations about (the dominant) religion and its role, for good and ill, in culture and politics.

Right on!

I love this book. Like, seriously. How can I not love a book that tells the story of a woman who was “Big. Black. Beautiful True.”?

I love that big and black and beautiful are three words being used together. I love that it talks honestly and simply about “the ugly way of slavery”. I love that equal time and weight are given to her work for women’s rights and abolition, and that they are portrayed as two sides of one important goal: freedom. And I love the words. They bounce, and flow, and stomp, and stride, and as I read them aloud my voice slides into a Southern cadence. I love that the heroine triumphs with words; that truth — and telling it boldly — is so esteemed and celebrated.

But does it appeal? The Boychick’s take

The Boychick likes this book, though it isn’t his favorite. He loses interest a bit in places, and he’s young enough that I feel compelled to point out and name each of the arguments that the ministers give as the offensive fallacies they are, because he doesn’t quite have the ability yet to process that what I am saying now will be refuted (and well) in another two minutes. In another year (he’s three years old), maybe two, I think he’ll “get” a lot more of the book, though he does enjoy it, especially the cadence of the prose, right now. Summary: He approves, but with a recommendation for slightly older children (maybe 4 or 5 and up).

Buy it, Consider it, Skip it, or Compost it?

Buy it, especially if you or your family live in or come from the USA. Read it to your 4 or 5 year old, have your grade-schooler read it to you, or buy it now and save it for when your little one gets older.

Your Take

Have you read Sojourner Truth’s Step-Stomp Stride? What do you think, and what do your kids think? Would you consider acquiring it now? Are there other books that address historical slavery and women’s rights you prefer? Do you know of any other children’s books about Sojourner Truth or her contemporaries, or similar figures from your culture?

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Purchases made through the Amazon links offered here support this blog and compensate — quite minimally — my time and work as a blogger. I encourage you to support local, independent booksellers whenever possible, but if you’re to order online anyway, why not support an independent blogger?

Being Friends

Karen Beaumont, pictures by Joy Allen

The Story

In a pleasantly rhyming first person narrative, we learn about two friends: one of whom, a white girl¹, likes jeans and caps and cookies and hanging upside down, the other of whom, a black or multiracial girl, likes gowns and crowns and cake and spinning around, but, as the oft-repeated refrain says, they “both like being friends.”

The art is realistic and delightful, with enough to explore in each scene to engage the reader but simple enough to be easily taken in. As a pet lover, I enjoyed spotting the dog and the cat (the girls’ pets) on nearly every page.

Intended Audience

By placing the narrative in the point of view of the white friend, this book, however subtly, others the black friend, making it a story aimed more at middle class² white families looking to encourage diversity than being a story by and for children of color.

That aside, I would highly recommend it, especially for girls. While they like doing different things, both the femme and the butch³ (the “princess” and the “chimpanzee”) are physically active (playing baseball, jumping on the bed, having pillow fights), academically engaged (“spelling C-A-T” and “counting 1, 2, 3″, and looking at the planets and stars with a telescope), artistic, and courageous (telling each other scary stories). Girls need to hear this message: that being “girly” or “tomboyish” means liking different clothes (and both are perfectly ok!), but it doesn’t have to limit the options of what we can do.

Changes in the Telling

The one page I would give much to be able to change is where the two friends express their “hate” for, respectively, peas and mushrooms, and their mutual desire for pepperoni pizza. I’ve tried to change this in the telling, but the Boychick has already learned to correct me with “hate” of vegetables. Since mushrooms and peas are two of the Boychick’s favorite foods, and he’s yet to have pizza without any vegetables on it (much less with pepperoni), I do not appreciate this book reinforcing the stereotype that kids don’t like veggies. (Some might not, but much as with gender stereotypes I’m convinced that cultural messages, such as this, play a far greater role than we generally acknowledge.)

Not something we can change, but I really wish there were a line explicitly acknowledging the races of the friends. “You are black and I am white” or “Your dad is black, mine is white, but both our moms are Jewish” or something that states what readers young and old will readily notice. Without this explication, the book becomes yet another brick in the “we⁴ don’t talk about race” wall that contributes to racism.

On the Bookshelf Because

Bought for the message of interracial friendship, kept for the messages gender expression diversity not limiting ability, enjoyed for the acknowledgment that everyone has both similarities and differences.

But Does It Appeal? The Boychick’s Take

I cannot tell you how much the Boychick likes this book. What’s more, even after reading it no less than three dozen times (between The Man and myself), we’re not yet sick of it either. The first day we had it, he wanted to read “the string book” (so called for the picture of the friends playing a string game on the cover) over and over again, and a week later, still requests it multiple times in a row. I think it’s safe to say the Boychick approves.

Buy it, Consider it, Skip it, or Compost it?

Consider it. The lack of explicit acknowledgement of race, the comments about food, and the white narrator stop me from wholeheartedly recommending it, but the positive messages on gender expression, the interracial friendship, and how much the Boychick simply adores it means you might want to consider adding it to your own bookshelf.

Your Take

Have you read Being Friends? What do you think, and what do your kids think? Are there other books with similar messages you prefer?

Note: This book was sent to us by a dear reader who purchased it off the Raising My Boychick wishlist.

10,000 Dresses

The Story

Bailey (a white girl of maybe 5-8 years old) dreams of a staircase of 10,000 beautiful dresses, each unusual and unique. She tells her mother, then father, then brother about her dreams, and asks each in turn to help her get one of the dresses she falls in love with, but each time she is rebuffed, because they say she’s a boy and “boys don’t wear dresses.” Discouraged, she runs away (“all the way to the end of the block”), and meets an older girl, Laurel, who is trying to sew dresses, but is disappointed because they each come out the same. Bailey shares one of her ideas with Laurel, and they make two dresses out of mirrors. Laurel declares that Bailey is “the coolest girl I ever met”, and asks Bailey if she can come up with any more dress ideas; Bailey assures her she “can dream up 10,000 dresses!”

Intended Audience

The intended audience for 10,000 Dresses is actually a little unclear to me; obviously transgender girls (those who like dresses, anyway) would appreciate seeing themselves mirrored in print, as Bailey and Laurel are mirrored in the dresses they make for themselves. But Bailey’s family are quite rude, even cruel (especially her brother, who declares her dreams of dresses “Gross!” and threatens her with violence — and for this reason might be unsuitable for survivors of abuse); therefore it doesn’t seem the type of book caring cis parents would buy for their daughter. That said, it serves as a simple, engaging introduction to being trans and the discrimination and misunderstanding transgender children (especially trans girls) can face, and that’s a message children both cis and trans (and as-yet-unknown) could do with hearing.

Also, Bailey and her family are white (which while not a problem by itself, is part of a pattern of the “default human” being white, straight, cis, etc, and only varying from that in one aspect at a time), and thus might be off-putting to children of color — especially trans girls of color, who are looking for role models for themselves.

The publisher suggests the book for 4-8 year olds, but I would suggest it for any child ready to move on from board books.

Changes in the telling

There is little we change or add when we read this out loud, but it is more reinforcing of gender norms than I’m entirely comfortable with; perhaps in an effort to make the message simple and clear for young children, it conflates inherent gender (that Bailey is a girl, despite her assignment at birth as “boy”) with a desire for a particular style of gender expression (wanting to wear dresses). Perhaps most girls — no more so trans girls than cis girls or vice versa — enjoy “girly” things, such as dresses, but I am always concerned when such desires are presented as absolutes: that Bailey wants to wear a dress because she is a girl, and she is a girl because she wants to wear dresses.

Further, although the book does an excellent job of reinforcing the message of Bailey’s girlhood despite her family’s protestations to the contrary, the assertion that “boys don’t wear dresses” goes unchallenged. Thus, in reading it to the Boychick, we usually add something like “Which is wrong, because boys can wear dresses too!” We also point out how cruel it is that they yell at Bailey when they say she doesn’t feel like a boy.

On the Bookshelf Because

There’s not a lot to contrast 10,000 Dresses to; this is the only picture book I have encountered explicitly about (and supportive of) a transgender child, and for that alone I would celebrate it. But further, it tells its message well, unwavering in referring to Bailey as a girl and using the appropriate pronouns (except in direct quotes from her family), and communicating what many adults make into an unnecessarily complex concept in simple, appropriate language, as when Bailey says “But I don’t feel like a boy.”¹

But does it appeal? The Boychick’s take

The first time we tried reading 10,000 Dresses (in the bookstore, along with a dozen other offerings), the Boychick didn’t want to finish listening to it; after we brought it home, however, he has been happy to read it and often requests it. I think one of the biggest barriers he had to it was simply that he’s unfamiliar with the concept of a “dress”, since no one he knows (including me) regularly (or, uh, ever) wears them. The pictures and cadence and repetition of the story draw him in, however, despite that initial barrier.

Buy it, Consider it, Skip it, or Compost it?

Buy it. For all its simplicity and faults, as (one of?) the only books about a transgender girl, and a well written and Boychick-approved one at that, it’s quite worth getting for your own bookshelf.

Your Take

Have you read 10,000 Dresses? What do you think, and what do your kids think? Are there other books with similar messages you prefer? Are there any other books supportive of transgender children you know of?

Warning: Although I’ve included links to the book listing on Amazon (any purchases through which will earn me some small percentage of the sale), I would put a strong trigger warning on that link, especially the reviews, due to much mis-gendering and cissexist language.

I thought it fitting to start this series with a book that, when it was born 21 years ago, created a controversy for its seemingly simple message that families come in many different configurations.

Heather Has Two Mommies

The Story

Heather’s favorite number is two. She has two pets, two arms, and two mommies: Mama Jane and Mama Kate. When Heather starts preschool at three years old, she realizes that other people have daddies and she doesn’t, which starts a conversation about who is in all the other children’s families. The teacher suggests everyone draw a picture of their family, and declares “Each family is special.”

The art is simple black and white (pencil or charcoal drawings, I’d guess) in a realistic style, with contributions from a five year old for the family drawings.

Intended Audience

Heather Has Two Mommies is not just for children with two mothers, although they might especially appreciate seeing a family that looks like theirs (or more so than most books). However, it is very obviously written by and for liberal/crunchy white families. Heather and her mothers are white, most of her classmates are white, and the children’s family portraits were all drawn by the same little girl (I suspect a black or Latino child’s self portrait, like David’s or Juan’s, would not be identical what a white child would draw — but I don’t know). The telling of Heather’s conception (with explicit references to doctor-assisted conception, and sperm, “womb”, and vagina), and home birth (attended by “a special nurse called a mid-wife”) might limit the appeal to families who adopted, birthed in a hospital, or grew by some other means. And while I giggle appreciatively at Mama Kate’s shirt in one frame, which declares “NO NUKES”, it communicates a very particular cultural affiliation that might put off some readers.

Changes in the telling

Perhaps the most obvious fail in Heather Has Two Mommies is the definition of a womb: “A womb is a special place inside a woman where babies grow.” In reading to the Boychick, we drop the special and add the very-important some: “A womb is a place inside some women where babies grow.” I don’t believe that kids are too simple to understand complexities like some, especially given that the topic of the book is that some kids have two mommies, some kids have one, and some kids don’t have any.

I also change around the retelling of Heather’s conception and birth a bit, not because I have a problem with the explicitness, but rather because it bugs me that it doesn’t go far enough. I replace “sperm” with the more accurate “semen” in “[the doctor] put some sperm in Jane’s vagina”, change “egg” to “ovum”, and add “and she didn’t get her period!” on the page about the early signs of Jane’s pregnancy. The Man downplays the “mid-wife”‘s role in the birth, and we’re both annoyed we can’t flip Jane over into a better position than “sitting in bed”.

Overall, however, especially given the length of the book, it requires relatively little on-the-fly rewriting to make it palatable to us.

Right on!

Things Heather Has Two Mommies gets right: the message of diversity of families, that “the most important thing about a family is that all the people in it love each other”¹. Shows families with same-sex parents, single parents, adoptive parents, and step parents. Class of six contains two children of color. One child’s “[brother] uses a wheelchair”, and the family portrait includes a picture of him in his chair, albeit in the background.

But does it appeal? The Boychick’s take

I was surprised how much the Boychick likes this book. Since it was one of his first non-board books, I was not expecting him to sit through it, considering its rather excessive length. But he not only sits through it all, he sometimes requests it multiple times in a row, and still be engaged by it. Perhaps this is because we acquired Heather Has Two Mommies around the time we started talking about sending him to preschool — for the first week after we bought it, he referred to it as “the room book”, a reference, I assume, to the “play group” room Heather goes to. Summary: The Boychick approves.

Buy it, Consider it, Skip it, or Compost it?

Consider it. The old-fashioned art and cultural references, the cissexism, and the explicit conception and birth descriptions mean Heather Has Two Mommies won’t appeal to everyone, but mostly it’s a story that’s held up remarkably well in the 21 years since its first publication.

Your Take

Have you read Heather Has Two Mommies? What do you think, and what do your kids think? Would you consider acquiring it now? Are there other books with similar messages you prefer?