Showing posts with label Inhabit Media. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Inhabit Media. Show all posts

Wednesday, December 18, 2024

Highly Recommended: THE PENCIL by Susan Avingaq and Maren Vsetula




 The Pencil
Written by Susan Avingaq (Inuk) and Maren Vsetula (not Native)
Illustrated by Charlene Chua (not Native)
Published in 2019
Publisher: Inhabit Media
Reviewer: Jean Mendoza
Review Status: Highly Recommended


After Debbie and I published our list of the best books we read in 2024, I came across a forgotten gem that will have a place on our 2025 list, though it's an older title. The Pencil by Susan Avingaq and Maren Vsetula had been hiding between two larger books on my shelf for a few years. Published in 2019, it's one of those "little" stories that seems simple but offers a lot to think about. 

Here's what the publisher, Inhabit Media in Nunavut (part of what's currently called Canada) says about it:
Susan loves watching her anaana write letters to people in other camps. Anaana has one precious pencil, and she keeps it safe in her box for special things. One afternoon, Anaana leaves the iglu to help a neighbour, and Susan and her siblings are left with their ataata. They play all their regular games but soon run out of things to do -- until Ataata brings out the pencil! As Susan draws and draws, the pencil grows shorter and shorter. What will Anaana think when she comes home?
This is one of AICL's "short and sweet" reviews -- a brief summary and four reasons we recommend the book.

Reason #1 to recommend The Pencil: Family situations children and adults can relate to.

Many a child has run out of things to do while waiting for something to happen. Many an adult has wondered what fun ideas they can offer next. Maybe that's less of a problem in these days of screens and apps, but even those can lose their charms after awhile.

It's too cold to go outdoors, and as the text and illustrations imply, the family does not have a lot of possessions. Susan reveals a truth that many families experience: "It was nice to spend some time with Ataata. Sometimes he even let us do things Anaana didn't let us do..." The illustration shows him telling a scary story. 

To keep his children occupied after they exhaust their repertoire of indoor fun, Ataata has to think outside the box -- or in this case, inside the box of Anaana's special things. He takes out her only pencil and last sheet of paper. 

Those two precious objects open up a world of engagement. Susan, Rebecca, and Peter enchant each other and Ataata with their drawings. I especially like the way the authors express Susan's delight as she begins to draw.  

When Anaana returns, she's dismayed at first to see what happened to her pencil.  (I could recall similar feeling, arriving home and seeing what our crew had been up to.) She reminds the family, "We won't be able to get another until we return to the trading post" -- which obviously is not something they can do every day. But Anaana also sees what a positive experience it was for them. She smiles, praises their drawings, and is glad they had a good time. 

Reason #2: The storytelling -- words and pictures

The Pencil is based on Susan Avingaq's childhood experiences. Contemporary sources I found say that iglus aren't used much as homes any more, but they remain an important part of Inuit cultural history. 

The plot and setting may seem uncomplicated, but the storytelling -- text and illustrations together -- feels masterful. The narrator and the other characters are very likable. Subtle details in the illustrations and text convey important details. An ulu, a specialized knife, is shown. One of their sled dogs who is outside wants Anaana's attention when she leaves the iglu, and when she returns. These are not indoor dogs. The children wear what might seem like a lot of clothing for people who are indoors, and they warm their hands over a small, contained fire, suggesting a cool indoor temperature. 

Few other furnishings are depicted. The pencil commands the reader's attention on the pages where it appears, just as it holds the attention of the characters. The end papers are also part of the story, featuring child-like drawings the three siblings showed their mother. 

The narrator says, "Our iglu was a very cozy place. We didn't have much, so our parents told us to use what we had wisely," but there is no sense that the family is deprived. The illustrations are full of joy, comfort, and affection. And I love the final illustration: a full moon shines down on the small community of iglus, their ice windows glowing in the night.

The story ends with the narrator remarking that "something as small as a pencil" had brought the family joy. She says she would always remember Anaana's reminder to use things wisely and take care of what they did have.

Reason #3: "Food for thought" 

This is a story about a resourceful family. Anaana's absence is an aspect of the community's resourcefulness -- women who know about having babies are a resource for women who are having them. Susan and her siblings use all their play resources (dolls, games) to keep themselves entertained while she's gone, and Ataata resourcefully produces the pencil and paper just in time. 

Teachers or caregivers sharing this story could ask children about times when they have been resourceful.
What might they do for fun if they had to stay indoors and not go anywhere? What if they had no phones or screens? What might they need to do to get along with the people with them?

The narrator makes two key points at the end of the story: that small, simple things can bring much joy, and that it's important to wisely use the things we have. People accustomed to a society of Plenty (perhaps Too Much), may think Susan and her family have "too little." It would be interesting to ask elementary-age kids to talk about small things that have brought them happiness, and about what "enough", "a lot" and "too little/few" mean to them. 

For an expanded perspective on those ideas, Richard Van Camp's wonderful May We Have Enough to Share would be a good companion book. 

Reason #4: The potential for further research and learning

Sharing The Pencil with children outside of an Arctic environment might require laying some groundwork. I have the impression that curricula in Canada include factual information about Inuit culture and history, but many children in the US may not have access to such knowledge. In fact, they may be exposed to stereotypes and misinformation instead. There's a teacher's guide for grades K-3 that looks very helpful.

The glossary at the back defines and gives pronunciations for Inuktitut words used in the story, such as qulliq (oil-burning lamp) and inuksuit (traditional stone marker). You could also introduce some other children's books with reliable information about life in the Arctic, such as How to Build an Iglu and Qamutiik: Inuit Tools and Techniques (by Solomon Awa) or Inuksiutiit: Inuit Tools. Both are published by Inhabit Media, and provide stereotype-free facts about items depicted in The Pencil.  

Related activities could include drawing with pencils, and acting out the story. This is one of those books that makes me wish to be back in the classroom!
     
        
The Pencil was published shortly before the COVID pandemic. I can imagine it brightened the days for children and families homebound during the worst of it, and would be an inspiration now for those stuck indoors because of winter weather. Teachers, librarians, parents -- get this book and the others I mentioned, and enjoy them with the kids!  




Thursday, November 26, 2020

Recommended: In My Anaana's Amautik by Nadia Sammurtok



In My Anaana's Amautik
Written by Nadia Sammurtok
Illustrated by Lenny Lischenko
Available in English and Inuktitut
Published by Inhabit Media
Publication Year 2019
Reviewed by Jean Mendoza
Review Status: Highly Recommended

A while back, Victoria J Coe tweeted that Teresa Peterson's Grasshopper Girl is a "huggable book." What a great descriptor -- some books are just that! And we need those, in these strange times when hugging people we love can actually be dangerous. 

Another example of a book you might want to hug is In My Anaana's Amautik by Nadia Sammurtok (Inuit). It offers peaceful illustrations of an adorable baby in snuggly situations, with loving word-images about the comfort and joy of being carried and cared for. What's more huggable than that? 

The book begins with a two-page illustration of a child's hand reaching toward a large sun that shines brightly over an Arctic landscape (by Lenny Lischenko, not Native) and these words:
In my anaana's amautik, I feel warm. The warmth of her skin feels like sunshine, keeping me safe from the cold. I love being in my anaana's amautik.
"Amautik", pronouced "a-MOW-tick," is defined in the brief glossary as "a pouch in the back of a woman's parka where a baby can be carried".

Every page of text begins with the words "in my Anaana's amautik," followed by sensory images of something the child loves to do, and ends with "my Anaana's amautik." That repetition makes it easy for toddlers or preschoolers to chime in when their adult pauses there in reading, once they're familiar with the book.

Some of the imagery is rooted in a specific environment: "Her breathing feels like ocean waves gently rolling in and out." But many images have a more universal feel, and are always linked to the natural world: "Her scent reminds me of flowers in the summertime."  It's a love poem, really, about caregivers and their little ones. 

In My Anaana's Amautik shows us how a baby's fundamental and lasting sense of security and well-being is woven from sensory experiences large and small. Family members, like the mother in the book, often provide such comforts without even thinking about it. (I'm smiling right now, remembering that one of our "grands" says they would sometimes "forget" their favorite blanket at our place, so we would mail it back to them. When they open the package, "It smells like Grandma's house.")

But worries can keep parents and caregivers from being "in the moment" with little ones: "Am I doing enough? Am I doing something wrong? Am I giving my baby a chance at a good future?" 

Where do we find our own sense of security as adults, as people with responsibility for generations to come? The mother in In My Anaana's Amautik is right there in the same experiences the baby is having, though from a different perspective. To me, this says that as adults, we can find and accept the comfort available in what the earth offers us: warm sunlight, rolling waves, lovely sounds, objects soft to the touch, a tender new life. We often overlook such things, take them for granted. But when we allow ourselves to be in the moment with them, maybe we can touch that sense of security, of being gently hugged and cradled in an amautik.     

In her 2016 review of  We Sang You Home (by Richard Van Camp), Debbie wrote of "feeling loved by words" or "loved by a book." For so long, there were no books that showed Indigenous children receiving such loving care.  In My Anaana's Amautik joins We Sang You Home and other titles like Grasshopper Girl and My Heart Fills with Happiness in putting unconditional familial love at the center. (And Inhabit Media makes it available in Inuktitut as well as English -- more love for Indigenous languages, and Indigenous kids.)