Wednesday, April 01, 2009

SLJ Article: "Straight Talk on Race" by Mitali Perkins

April 1, 2009. A new issue of School Library Journal is up. It includes "Straight Talk on Race," by Mitali Perkins.

There's much to think about (and respond to) in her article. For now, I point you to this portion of the article, where Mitali discusses her novel, The Sunita Experiment.

After the novel was published, a reviewer chastised me for the “unnecessary exoticization” of my protagonist. Here’s how I ended the story, with Sunita championing her South Asian heritage by trying on a saree and modeling it for the guy she likes:

“You look… just like I thought you would, Sunni,” he whispers when she reaches him. “Are you sure you’re still Sunita Sen and not some exotic Indian princess coming to cast a spell on me?”

“I’m sure, Michael,” she tells him, giving him one of her trademark smiles just to prove it.

I fumed, but, dang it, the reviewer was right. Exotic Indian princess? What was I thinking? Enduring a twinge of shame, I moved on and tried to learn from my mistake.

When my publisher decided to reissue the book in 2005, I was asked if I wanted to make any changes. “Yes!” I shouted, pumping my fist.

Here’s how the book, renamed The Not-So-Star-Spangled Life of Sunita Sen, ends now:

“You look… just like I thought you would, Sunni,” he whispers when she reaches him. “Are you sure you’re still the same Sunita Sen? The California girl?”

“I’m sure, Michael,” she tells him, giving him one of her trademark smiles just to prove it.

Thank goodness for second chances.



Mitali's self-disclosure is important. And rare. For her disclosure, I am grateful. I can point to it as an example of an author accepting and incorporating criticism, using that criticism to grow. To make the book better. To give the reader something better than was there before.

Years ago when Ann Rinaldi's My Heart is On the Ground came out, I approached her at an NCTE conference, introduced myself, and started talking. I wanted her to revisit that book, rethink it, maybe even rewrite it. I wanted her to join me in a conference panel where we could talk about mistakes and growth. I imagined how much the industry could change. Ann Rinaldi is a leading writer. She's got lot of fans. It seemed to me such a wonderful opportunity.

She didn't see it that way. She drew back from the table where she was sitting, pulling away from me. She listened to me and said no, and, that she'd never write another book about American Indians again.

Part of me was really glad that she said she would never write another one, but part of me was disappointed over a lost opportunity.

That Mitali is openly writing about her decision means a lot. Thank you, Mitali.

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Research Study on Effects of Subtle Discrimination

Yesterday, a comment was submitted to "Jan Brett and Sherman Alexie" posted here on December 31, 2007. In that post, I compared Brett's The Three Snow Bears to Alexie's The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian. Both were on the New York Times best seller list. Brett's book objectifies and dehumanizes American Indians; Alexie's book does not. In his book, readers come to know the life of a Native teen, with its ups and downs, its richness and its hardships. Beautiful, brutual, honest.

Teresa (the person who submitted the comment yesterday) did not like the critique of Brett's book. Here's what she said:

You mention, "in The Three Snow Bears, we have another book in which an author/illustrator puts Native clothing on animals, effectively de-humanizing American Indians." Animals and cartoon characters are constantly pictured in clothing worn by Americans of all races. I don't feel dehumanized by animals in children's books wearing jeans and t-shirts. Nor do I think you would even blink if you saw a book in which animals were dressed in traditional European, African, or Asian clothing. I'm a big fan of Sherman Alexie's books and also of Jan Brett's beautiful illustrations. Your over-sensitivity loses me here.


Her comments reflect how difficult it is to recognize subtle forms of racism. I hasten to say that I don't think Teresa is racist. She is not able to see what I am trying to help her see, but that does not mean she is racist.

This morning in ScienceDaily I read an article about a study on subtle discrimination that may help understand why it is hard for some to see problematic depictions of American Indians as inappropriate or hurtful. The article is called "Racism's Cognitive Toll: Subtle Discrimination is More Taxing on the Brain." It summarizes research done by Jessica Salvatore and J. Nicole Shelton, two psychologists at Princeton. Here's a couple of key excerpts:

The problem is that we have limited cognitive resources, so when we are solving one problem, we have difficulty focusing on another at the same time. Some psychologists reason from this that subtle racism might actually be more, not less, damaging than the plain antipathy of yesterday, sapping more mental energy. Old-fashioned racism--a "No Negroes Allowed" sign, for example--is hateful and hurtful, but it's not vague or confusing. It doesn't require much cognitive work to get it. But if you're the most qualified candidate for a job, and know it, and still don't get the job for some undisclosed reason--that demands some processing.


That last line, about being qualified for a job, points to the research study itself. Participants in the study were either black or white. The researchers created a situation in which participants observed fair and unfair hiring decisions and then took the Stroop test that tests capacity for mental effort. Salvatore and Shelton's research question was to see if experiencing subtle racism interfered with mental capacity:

It did, at least for blacks, and more than the overt racism did. As reported in the September issue of Psychological Science, black volunteers who had witnessed unfair but ambiguous hiring decisions did much less well on the Stroop test, suggesting that they were using all their mental resources to make sense of the unfairness.

Interestingly, white volunteers were more impaired by overt racism than by the more ambiguous discrimination. Salvatore and Shelton figure this is because whites rarely experience any racism; they do not even notice the subtle forms of racism, and are thrown off balance when they are hit over the head by overt acts. Many blacks, by contrast, have developed coping strategies for the most hateful kinds of racism; it's the constant, vague, just-below-the-surface acts of racism that impair performance, day in and day out.


So. Let's go back to Teresa's comment, and let's think about children in classrooms, observing racism in books, classroom materials, etc.

Teresa can't see the problems in Jan Brett's book. It takes work to subtle forms of racism. Again, this is not an attack on Teresa. Her comments are representative of a lot of people (I'd say the majority of people) who resist critiques like those found on this site.

Racism, whether it is overt or subtle, is costing us in ways we may not realize. Research studies like the one by Salvatore and Shelton may help us revisit and rethink our views about books like The Three Snow Bears.

What does this mean for the classroom?

A lot of people argue that we should teach books like Little House on the Prairie because it allows us to talk about attitudes people had "at that time." I think that is a good use of the book, but only with students who are much older. I suggest that book be read in high school and college, not elementary school. And I will also note that the majority of lesson plans on LHOP do not address the racist attitudes in the book.

I do wonder, though, if upon the conclusion of a discussion of LHOP, the Stroop test were given, how the students would fare?

UPDATE, MARCH 31, 2009 - 4:30 CST
Mitali Perkins has an article about race in the April issue of School Library Journal. Anticipating push-back on her article, she blogged about it today, referencing my post. If her article is accessible online, I'll link to it here.

Monday, March 30, 2009

Erdrich's PORCUPINE YEAR in SLJ's "Battle of the (Kids') Books"


School Library Journal launched their first annual "Battle of the (Kids') Books" today. Among the contenders for "the Baddest Book of Them All" is Louise Erdrich's The Porcupine Year. The judges selected sixteen books they deem "the very best" published in 2008.

I'm not at all sure how this will work. Take a look at the bracket. Porcupine Year is matched up with The Hunger Games.

NOTE: Hunger Games is not about King Arthur as previously said here. That was an error on my part, pointed out in a comment (below). Hunger Games is "a gripping story set in a postapocalyptic world where a replacement for the United States demands a tribute from each of its territories: two children to be used as gladiators in a televised fight to the death" according to the Publisher's Weekly review.

According to info at SLJ, the pairings are random. Forgive my lack of sports knowledge. Is that how the Sweet Sixteen is done? Random?

So... in that bracket, it looks like author Ellen Wittlinger will choose between Porcupine Year and The Hunger Games. Reading through the blogosphere, there's a lot of cheering going on for this Battle of the (Kids') Books competition. There is some resistance, too. One blogger writes that the same books are getting more attention, that there are other books that could benefit from attention.

I'm glad Louise's book is included. It is definitely a terrific read. If you want a signed copy, order one from her store, Birchbark Books.

Sunday, March 29, 2009

James Rumford's SEQUOYAH: THE CHEROKEE MAN WHO GAVE HIS PEOPLE WRITING


[Note: This review may not be published elsewhere without written permission from its author, Beverly Slapin. Copyright 2008 by Beverly Slapin. All rights reserved.]

Rumford, James, Sequoyah: The Cherokee Man Who Gave His People Writing, illustrated by the author and translated by Anna Sixkiller Huckaby (Cherokee). Houghton Mifflin, 2004; unpaginated, color illustrations; grades 1-4.


On a family road trip to California to visit the redwood trees called Giant Sequoia, a father relates the story of the origins of the Cherokee syllabary and the perseverance of its creator, Sequoyah. Sequoyah is portrayed as an otherwise ordinary man, a metalworker, who undertook the daunting task of setting speech to paper so that the Cherokee language would not “fade away.” Neither ridicule nor harassment from his contemporaries—not even the destruction of his home by arson—could stop Sequoyah from creating the syllabary widely used in Cherokee writing today.


Rumford’s text, reminiscent of traditional storytelling, is concise and evocative. Each paragraph in English is followed by a parallel in Cherokee by Anna Sixkiller Huckaby. The book design, format and illustrations are a thing of beauty and perfectly complement this story within a story. The tall, slim format and mostly dark brown and forest green accents honor both the stately Giant Sequoia trees and the man, Sequoyah, whose name they bear. The bold-lined artwork—done with ink, watercolor, pastel and pencil on drawing paper adhered to a rough piece of wood, then “rubbed” with chalk and colored pencil—remind one of 19th-Century woodblock prints. The Cherokee writing serves both as an example of what Sequoyah accomplished, and as a beautiful design element that completes the wholeness of the book.—Beverly Slapin

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This book is available from Oyate.

The Cherokee Nation website has a page about Sequoyah.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Chad Solomon's THE ADVENTURES OF RABBIT AND BEAR PAWS

[Note: This review may not be published elsewhere without written permission from its author, Beverly Slapin. Copyright 2008 by Beverly Slapin. All rights reserved.]








Solomon, Chad (Ojibwe), and Christopher Meyer, The Adventures of Rabbit and Bear Paws. Little Spirit Bear Productions, 2008, color art by Chad Solomon, grades 3-up


Modeled on the popular Asterix Adventures, these Ojibwe-centric graphic novels—two, so far—are set in eighteenth Century colonized North America. The protagonists are Ojibwe brothers dealing, in their inimitable ways, with their land-hungry new neighbors. Rabbit is a shrewd, cunning little guy, a headstrong kid who often confuses bravery with bravado. His younger brother, Bear Paws, is way larger and stronger, kind of gullible, and always ready to pull Rabbit out of a scheme-gone-awry. The two are good, likable kids, sprinkling themselves with spirit powder to transform into animals, trying to get out of trouble, trying to get out of chores, and generally remembering the old stories and the traditional lessons they impart. In “The Sugar Bush,” our young heroes encounter a troop of bumbling British soldiers who don’t speak Ojibwe and have no idea how to live on the land. In “The Voyageurs,” Rabbit and Bear Paws embark on what might be the single strangest journey in the history of the fur trade.


Young readers will enjoy following the adventures of Solomon’s and Meyer’s energetic young characters, and the joking and ironic word-plays between the Ojibwe adults and children and animals. Solomon’s appealing artwork is uncluttered, with light, bright colors and minimal inking; the font is a good size for the dialogue and the panels are easy to follow. And, no matter what happens, Rabbit and Bear Paws’ breechclouts stay remarkably in place.—Beverly Slapin

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The Adventures of Rabbit and Bear Paws is available from Oyate.