Debbie--have you seen SANTA CALLS by William Joyce?

A reader wrote to ask if I've read Santa Calls by William Joyce. I looked it up and here's what I found.

It was first published in 1993 by Harper Collins. In the years since then, Scholastic published it, it was made into a board book, and a Braille edition was published, too. Then in 2017, it was published again by Atheneum Books for Young Readers. There are videos of Joyce talking about this edition. I think his art is fine but the Native content of the story... not fine.

Using Amazon's look inside feature, I see that the main character is an orphan boy named Art Atchinson Aimesworth who lives with an aunt and uncle who run a Wild West Show. Art has a sister named Esther and his best friend is "Spaulding Littlefeets, a young Comanche brave." Here they are:

Let's talk about that illustration and the information we are given. It is good that Spaulding is dressed much like Art. He's wearing braids, which is fine but they are thin as can be. That's odd. What is not good? Spaulding's last name, "Littlefeets," is a mockery of Native naming. And, using "brave" instead of "boy" marks Spaulding as different. Most dictionaries state the the word "brave" is outdated or offensive. It would have been great if--for the 2017 edition--Joyce (the author/illustrator) had replaced brave with boy.

Also not great? Spaulding is wearing a headband. That's odd, too. Here's a look at that, from the next page:

The story is set in 1908, in Abilene Texas. Art receives a box from Santa Claus. Inside is a flying machine that Art, Spaulding, and Art's sister, Esther, put together. The basket they're supposed to ride in is broken, so they use Spaulding's canoe instead. Why did a Comanche have a canoe? Comanches are a Plains nation. I suppose he might have had a canoe, but a horse would have been more accurate. The kids could have figured out something to use instead of a canoe.

That's all I can see online. If I get a copy, I'll be back!

NOT RECOMMENDED: WILD BIRD by Wendelin Van Draanen

This post started out as a "Debbie--have you seen" one but turned into a Not Recommended one pretty quickly...

A reader wrote to ask if I've seen Wild Bird by Wendelin Van Draanen. It was published in 2017 by Knopf. Here's the book description:

3:47 a.m. That’s when they come for Wren Clemmens. She’s hustled out of her house and into a waiting car, then a plane, and then taken on a forced march into the desert. This is what happens to kids who’ve gone so far off the rails, their parents don’t know what to do with them anymore. This is wilderness therapy camp. Eight weeks of survivalist camping in the desert. Eight weeks to turn your life around. Yeah, right.

The Wren who arrives in the Utah desert is angry and bitter, and blaming everyone but herself. But angry can’t put up a tent. And bitter won’t start a fire. Wren’s going to have to admit she needs help if she’s going to survive.

The description has no mention of the Native content that Kirkus noted in their review and that prompted AICL's reader to write to me. Kirkus noted that content:

Traditional tales told by Mokov, an elderly Paiute who visits the camp... 

Hmm. Sounds like Wild Bird has a Native elder imparting wisdom, doesn't it? Let's look a bit more. Using the Google Books preview, I see that Mokov comes into the story in chapter 24 (it starts on page 101). My comments are marked in italics following each summary I do as I take a look at Wild Bird.

It is nighttime, Wren is in her tent, the other girls are sitting around a campfire when one of them squeals "Mokov!" Wren sees a man come out of the darkness. He's got "two long silver braids" and is wearing a leather vest, a dark green shirt, and pants and hiking boots that are just like the jailers who guard these girls in this camp. But, something about him seems different. The girls get to their feet. He greets them, and Dvorka (one of the girls at the camp) comes to get Wren for "Legend time. He's Paiute." What, Wren asks, is that?

Debbie's comments: I gotta say--girls "squealing" when he appears is kind of unsettling. And that name: Mokov. Is that a Paiute word? And his purpose? It does look like he's there to use Native stories to teach these girls.

On page 102, Dvorka tells Wren: "It's a Native American nation."

Debbie's comments: I like that Wren asks that question. It is an accurate depiction of the level of ignorance many (most?) people in the US have. If, for example, Dvorka had said "He's Native American" instead of "He's Paiute" -- Wren would know what Dvorka was talking about, but the author's "He's Paiute" is a good move. It makes Wren ask a question that is followed by very important information: the Paiutes are Native peoples of a particular nation. 

The girls offer Mokov food and drink but he says that the land has nourished him. Then he "spreads his arms" and asks the girls to sit and tell him how they've been. They talk about using rainwater to wash their hair with yucca root.

Debbie's comments: He spreads his arms?! I'm getting snarky pretty quick but that snark reflects my frustration with these kinds of representations of Native characters. Think about that movement for a minute. Who does that, for real? Remember--this is a campfire setting. In the White imagination, wise Indians do that sort of thing. You can probably recall an image or two or three, of that very thing. The one that comes to mind, for me, is Grizzly Bob! He's a good example. Grizzly Bob, of course, is not a Native character. He's just playing one at camp. (And that bit about land nourishing him plays into the stereotype of Native peoples being one-with-the-land.)



Mokov nods his approval, and then asks them about their quests. They look away, or down, telling him it isn't easy. One says she is still so angry. Mokov nods, then says (102):

Anger is a dry riverbed. You should follow it only if it leads you to the springs of forgiveness.

Debbie's comments: I feared it would go that way... along with that holding up of the arms is this wise-Indian-speak. It is not a good thing. It is a term that describes the ways that White Writers imagine Native people's speech to be. It is romantic in style, and the opposite of the "heap big" sort of thing that some writers do, but done this way, either one is stereotypical. Both are misrepresentations that get in the way of seeing Native people as people. 

Then the girls Mokov for a story. Wren wonders if the girls are serious. Dvorka says (p. 103):

"There's nothing like a story told by Mokov." Then she adds, "Traditionally, the full legends were only told in the winter or fall, but he thinks there's value in sharing shortened versions with us." She lowers her voice even further as we watch the others. "Most Native American tribes have nature-centered spiritual traditions where everything has life and the power to direct its energies. The humans and spirits in their stories often take on the forms of animals." She zeroes in on me. "Storytellers were the ones who passed along the tribe's history and beliefs. These are sacred legends, told in a traditional way. They are not to be ridiculed." 

The girls hold their breath, waiting for him to speak. "Even the fire is quiet" and "the smoke rises straight up." Then he tells the story.

Debbie's comments: Is there an author's note in this book, I wonder? Do we get a source for what Dvorka says? Is there a source for these "sacred legends" that Mokov is telling? 

Later in the book, another Native guy is the object of their adoration. This time, it is "Silver Hair." Turns out that he is Mokov's grandson. The girls, as Wren says, are definitely fawning over him. She is too, by the way, but is more subtle about it.

Debbie's comments: This White adoration of Native men is unsettling and reminds me of the too-many romance novels that have a white woman on the cover, in the embrace of a very sexualized Native man. Will Wren and Silver Hair (that name, by the way, is another problem). I know a lot of you will object to a "Not Recommended" tag when I haven't read the entire book, but come on! You see the problems, right? I hope so. Books like this one -- published by one of the Big Five publishers -- do a lot of damage. 

At last! A writer incorporates a critical take on LITTLE HOUSE ON THE PRAIRIE! The writer? Emma Donoghue.

That's a long title for a blog post, but that's what I want people to see right now.

In 2017, Arthur A. Levine (an imprint of Scholastic) published Emma Donoghue's The Lotterys Plus One. Though I've not had time to turn my notes on that book into a blog post, it is one of the rare instances in which a non-Native writer does ok in their depictions of Native content. Here's the description of The Lotterys Plus One (I highlighted the word 'multicultural'):

Sumac Lottery is nine years old and the self-proclaimed "good girl" of her (VERY) large, (EXTREMELY) unruly family. And what a family the Lotterys are: four parents, children both adopted and biological, and a menagerie of pets, all living and learning together in a sprawling house called Camelottery. Then one day, the news breaks that one of their grandfathers is suffering from dementia and will be coming to live with them. And not just any grandfather; the long dormant "Grumps," who fell out with his son so long ago that he hasn't been part of any of their lives. Suddenly, everything changes. Sumac has to give up her room to make the newcomer feel at home. She tries to be nice, but prickly Grumps's clearly disapproves of how the Lotterys live: whole grains, strange vegetables, rescue pets, a multicultural household... He's worse than just tough to get along with -- Grumps has got to go! But can Sumac help him find a home where he belongs?

See that "multicultural household" in the description? On the first page of the book, we get the details (I highlighted the word 'Mohawk'):

Once upon a time, a man from Delhi and a man from Yukon fell in love, and so did a woman from Jamaica and a Mohawk woman. The two couples became best friends and had a baby together. When they won the lottery, they gave up their jobs and found a big old house where their family could learn and grow... and grow some more.

The household, described by some as being hippy-like, is one where there's an awareness of societal ills, like racism. We see that Donoghue take a poke at Little House on the Prairie in the sequel The Lotterys More or Less (published in 2018).  On September 24, 2018,  Dr. Rob Bittner tweeted a photo from an advanced reader copy. The book has since been published. The passage he tweeted is on page 194:

She's trying to find that wonderful Christmas scene in Little House on the Prairie, but she keeps coming across racist remarks about savages, so she gives up.

Here's a screen cap of that passage:

"She" is nine-year-old Sumac. The word "savages" is used three times in Little House on the Prairie (note: the Christmas scene occurs earlier in the book than the passages below. Before then, the ways that Native peoples are characterized as less-than-human is racist):

• "...so many of those savages were coming together..." is on page 284
• "...at night they heard the savage voices shouting." is on page 286
• "...more and more savage warriors were riding..." on page 305

It is terrific to see that characterization described as racist. I wonder how readers will respond to it? Will they notice? Some will, for sure. Dr. Bittner did; I care enough to write a post about it, and I bet Native kids will notice it, too. If you have any thoughts on it or see people commenting on it, let me know!

Debbie--have you seen JOURNEY ON A RUNAWAY TRAIN (BOXCAR CHILDREN)?

A reader wrote to ask me if I've seen Journey on a Runaway Train, which is book one in a new set of books about the Boxcar Children. That series was created by Gertrude Chandler Warner. Journey on a Runaway Train is a 2017 title, written by Dee Garretson and JM Lee.

The description is a clear indicator why someone might ask me about it:

In this all-new very special mini-series, the Aldens have been recruited by a secret society to return lost artifacts and treasures to their rightful locations—all around the world! After finding a painted turtle figurine, the Aldens are introduced to the Silverton family and Reddimus Society, a secret guild whose mission is to return lost artifacts and treasures to the sites they were taken from. The Aldens board a private train to New Mexico to return the turtle to its original home, and they encounter enemies of Reddimus along the way! The trip is a success… but instead of returning home, there’s a last-minute change in plans. The Boxcar Children must continue the mission for the society and deliver more things, all around the globe!

My reaction to that: oh dear.

In the US, there is a law about returning remains and artifacts to the Indigenous people they belong to. That law is the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation (NAGPRA) Act, enacted on November 16, 1990. It came about due to the work of Indigenous people.

So... who is in the "Reddimus Society" in this new series? That matters to me because if not done carefully, this story could be a wreck of appropriation, misrepresentation and erasure. 

Poking around a bit, I see that the Boxcar children are headed to Acoma Pueblo. Again: oh dear!

How did the authors of this story decide that the turtle belongs at Acoma?

I'll see if I can get a copy of the book. When I do, I'll be back with a review.

Alia Jones Reviews nipêhon/I Wait, by Caitlin Dale Nicholson and Leona Morin-Neilson

Eds note: AICL is pleased to share this review of nipêhon/I Wait. The review is by Alia Jones. Her blog is Read It Real Good. 

****

nipêhon/I Wait by Caitlin Dale Nicholson and Leona Morin-Neilson is a follow up to their 2008 book Niwechihaw/I Help. This time, instead of a little Cree boy following his grandmother to pick rosehips, we meet a little Cree girl out with her grandmother and mother to pick wild yarrow.

This story is simple and the words are few and powerful and sweet; Nôhkom (grandmother) does something, then her granddaughter follows suit and finally the girl’s mother follows along. Everyone is connected. The story begins with Nôhkom standing outside their motorhome, getting her tools and bags ready to head out for the day. The little girl and her mother wait. I love how the author breaks her storytelling format to add some humor; after they pray, Nôhkom picks yarrow and granddaughter picks yarrow...but mom? The illustrations show us that she takes a moment to softly blow a bunch of yarrow flowers and then they wait for her!

Caitlin Dale Nicholson’s acrylic illustrations are thoughtful and gorgeous. I love how they dominate the page, with the story’s text taking up only a small space at the bottom. Her illustrations bring the reader along with the family on a warm summer day, where the greens and yellows of the grasses are vibrant against the blue sky. I really like how we can see the canvas underneath the paint; I think it gives the illustrations a really nice raw charm.

Every block of text in the story, from the jacket flaps to the acknowledgements at the back of the book, are written first in romanized Cree (Y dialect), then in Cree syllabics and finally in English. Niwechihaw/I Help did not include Cree syllabics. The inclusion of syllabics in this book is wonderful; it’s great for Native and non-Native kids to see. It’s also an important addition for young (and old!) Cree language learners.

nipêhon/I Wait is a very pretty celebration of Cree womanhood, family and joy! The little girl learns traditional ways from her elders all while having fun on a beautiful summer day (there’s a cute puppy too!). There’s even a recipe in the back of the book for yarrow tea. While preparing to write this review, I did some research on yarrow and enjoyed some tea with my own mother. Here is some of what I learned about yarrow and I encourage you to learn about it too:

Yarrow (Wâpanewask) is a traditional medicine with many, many uses; it’s well known as women’s medicine and is good for cleaning the blood. The flowers can be dried then crushed into powder and used as trap bait for lynx or marten. It’s also used as a smudge to keep mosquitoes away. [1] The whole plant can be used from the  roots to the leaves; chewed roots help relieve muscle sprains or strains and the leaves, when placed on wounds, can stop bleeding. Yarrow tea treats headaches, fever, hemorrhoids, nausea, colds, influenza, and more. [2]


Thank you to author/illustrator Julie Flett for sharing with me a memory tied to sweetgrass and for the Cree and Métis resources she shared as well. I recommend watching this beautiful short film created by her cousin Shannon Letandre called Nganawendaanan Nde'ing (I keep them in my heart):

Like the family in nipêhon/I Wait, Shannon spends time with her family (her grandfather in particular) collecting traditional medicine (weekay). In the film, she reflects on how she keeps her culture, family and traditions with her though she no longer lives at home, on her family’s land.

I hope you’ll take time to enjoy the beautiful book nipêhon/I Wait, a cup of warm yarrow tea and the lovely short film Nganawendaanan Nde,'ing (I keep them in my heart).

[1] Sagow Pimachiwin Plants and Animals Used by Mikisew Cree First Nation for Food,
Medicine and Materials: Public Version (Winnipeg, MB: Centre for Indigenous
Environmental Resources), 58.

[2] Belcourt, Christi, Medicines to Help Us: Traditional Métis Plant Use (Saskatoon, SK:
Gabriel Dumont Institute, 2007), 65.

A reader wrote to me to ask about a line in DEAR MARTIN, by Nic Stone

Update on Thursday, April 19, 2018: Nic Stone is working with her editor on that line. AICL thanks the reader who wrote to us, and, Nic Stone, too, for her understanding! 

Have you read Nic Stone's Dear Martin? Published in 2017 by Random House, it got favorable reviews, including a starred review from Booklist.

I haven't read it yet, but last week, I got an email from a Native reader who had started reading it. When she got to page 22, she was struck--not in a good way--by a class discussion the characters in the "Societal Evolution" class are having. The main character is Justyce McAllister, a 17 year old senior. He's a scholarship student at Braselton Preparatory Academy in Atlanta, Georgia. He's one of eight black students at the school.

Chapter three opens with Justyce walking into Societal Evolution class. The teacher ("Doc") writes "all men are created equal" on the digital chalkboard. He asks the class about the origin of those words. Jared says it is from the Declaration of Independence.

Here's the dialog. Earlier, we read that SJ is Sarah-Jane Friedman, who has been Justyce's debate partner since they were sophomores. She's likely to be the valedictorian (page 21-22):

Doc: Now, when we use our twenty-first-century minds to examine the quote within its historical context, something about it isn't right. Can you explain what I mean? 

Everyone: [Crickets]

Doc: Oh, come on, y'all. You don't see anything odd about these guys in particular making a statement about the inherent "equality" of men?

SJ: Well, these were the same guys who killed off the indigenous peoples and owned slaves. 

Doc: Indeed they were.

Jared: But it was different then. Neither slaves nor Indians--

Justyce: Native Americans or American Indians if you can't name the tribe, homie.

Jared: Whatever. Point is, neither were really considered "men."

Doc: That's exactly my point, Mr. Christensen. So here's the question: What does the obvious change in the application of this phrase from 1776 to now tell us about how our society has evolved?

[Extended pause as he adds the question to the digital chalkboard beneath the quote, then the scrape of a chair as he takes his regular seat in the circle.]

Jared: Well, for one, people of African descent are obviously included in the application of the quote now. So are "Native American Indians." 

Justyce: [Clenches jaw.]

It is SJ's comment that the Native reader wrote to me about. Let's look at it:

"Well, these were the same guys who killed off the indigenous peoples and owned slaves."

If you're a regular reader of AICL, you likely know why that line is a problem for a Native reader. Today, too many people think that all of us were "killed off" and that we no longer exist. That line reflects that idea--but it isn't true. We're still here.

As the conversation continues, Justyce corrects Jared's use of "Indians." That's great! Though I haven't read the book yet, it seems to me that Jared is a character who is meant to signify resistance to social change. That's reflected in the author's use of italics to emphasize Jared's use of "Native American Indians" in his reply to Doc.

Several writers have asked their publishers to make small changes to future printings of their books. In particular, those are instances in which an author used "low man on the totem pole" or "spirit animal." Their publishers agreed to their request.

Jared's comment that people of African descent and Native peoples are "obviously" included in "all men are created equal" might be how Stone intended for readers to understand that we're still here, but I don't think it is explicit enough to have readers move away from the vanished Indian idea.

In that conversation, Justyce corrected Jason. In future printings of Dear Martin, I think Stone could use Justyce to correct what SJ said, too. Or, she could modify what SJ says. What do you think? What kind of edits could be made?

Not recommended: ORPHAN TRAIN GIRL by Christina Baker Kline

In 2013, Christina Baker Kline’s Orphan Train was published. In 2017, a young readers’ edition came out. Here’s the description:

This young readers’ edition of Christina Baker Kline’s #1 New York Times bestselling novel Orphan Train follows a twelve-year-old foster girl who forms an unlikely bond with a ninety-one-year-old woman.

Adapted and condensed for a young audience, Orphan Train Girl includes an author’s note and archival photos from the orphan train era. This book is especially perfect for mother/daughter reading groups.

Molly Ayer has been in foster care since she was eight years old. Most of the time, Molly knows it’s her attitude that’s the problem, but after being shipped from one family to another, she’s had her fair share of adults treating her like an inconvenience. So when Molly’s forced to help an a wealthy elderly woman clean out her attic for community service, Molly is wary. 

But from the moment they meet, Molly realizes that Vivian isn’t like any of the adults she’s encountered before. Vivian asks Molly questions about her life and actually listens to the answers.

Soon Molly sees they have more in common than she thought. Vivian was once an orphan, too—an Irish immigrant to New York City who was put on a so-called "orphan train" to the Midwest with hundreds of other children—and she can understand, better than anyone else, the emotional binds that have been making Molly’s life so hard.

Together, they not only clear boxes of past mementos from Vivian’s attic, but forge a path of friendship, forgiveness, and new beginnings.

As the description indicates, there are two main characters in this story. The one of interest to me is the sixth-grade girl, Molly, who is Penobscot. She is named after Molly Molasses (p. 64):

…a Penobscot Indian born the year before America declared its independence. […] The Penobscots said Molly Molasses had powers, m’teoulin, given by the Great Spirit. People with those powers, her dad told her, could interpret what dreams meant, cure diseases, and tell hunters where to find game. It’s too bad Molly didn’t wind up with any of those powers herself. 

Kline's story is set in Maine. Molly spent her early years living on the reservation on Indian Island with her dad, who was Penobscot, and her mom (her identity is not specified, which means, she's white. You know--the default is always White). 

When she turned eight her mom made macaroni and cheese for the two of them and then they waited for Molly’s dad. Her mom tries calling his cell. He doesn’t pick up, but Molly hears her mom hissing into the phone “How could you forget your daughter’s birthday?”  After a while she goes to bed and wakes him when her dad is there, shaking her shoulder telling her to hold out her hand (p. 166-167):

She did, and he pulled three little cards out of the bag. On each one a small charm was wired into place. “Fishy,” he said, handing her the small pearly blue-and-green fish. “Raven.” The pewter bird. “Bear.” A tiny brown teddy bear. “It’s supposed to be a Maine black bear, but this is all they had,” he said apologetically. “I was trying to figure out what I could get you for your birthday. And I was thinking. You and me are Indian. Your mom’s not, but we are. So let’s see if I remember this right.” He moved over to sit on the bed and plucked the bird charm out of her hands. “Okay, this guy is magic. He’ll protect you from bad spells and stuff.” Then he picked up the teddy bear. “This fierce guy is a protector.” 

She laughed, relaxing. Her dad was home. Now her mom wouldn’t be mad anymore. Everything was all right, and it was okay that she’d had a birthday after all. 

“No, really. He may not look like much, but he’s fearless. And he’ll make you brave, too. All right. Now the fish. This one might be the best of all. He’ll give you the power to resist other people’s magic. How cool is that?”

She smiled sleepily. “But magic’s not real. Just in stories.” Her father’s face grew serious.  

“No, there’s a real kind of magic, Molly Molasses. You’re old enough to know about it now.” She felt a thrill that climbed up from her stomach, hearing her father say that. “It’s not like bad spells. It might be stuff that looks real good and sounds real nice. It might be—oh, I don’t know. Like maybe somebody telling you it’s okay to steal a candy bar from the Mini-Mart. You know it’s wrong to steal a candy bar, right? But maybe this person has a lot of magic and he’s saying, ‘Oh, come on, Moll, you won’t get caught. Don’t you love candy, come on, just one time?’” He wiggled the fish in his fingers and pretended that it was talking. “‘No, thank you! I know what you’re up to. You are not putting your magic on me, no sir, I will swim right away from you, y’hear?’”

Molly smiled. Her dad smiled back. “But now you’re protected from that sort of magic. Nobody can make you do stuff you don’t want to do. Nobody can tell you who you are, nobody but you.” 

Before then, her dad had given her a corn husk doll but she didn’t much like it. She would have rather had a Barbie doll. Two weeks after that birthday evening is the car crash. Her mom is having a hard time with his death, so, a case worker steps in, and six months later she's put into the foster system (p. 10): 

There weren’t any foster families on the reservation who could take her, so she ended up getting shuffled around before landing with Ralph and Dina.

That placement with Ralph and Dina is where this story takes place. There's a lot about emotional interactions Molly has with foster families and other children but almost nothing about emotions over her parents. She's snarky about her mom, but her dad is pretty much just... not in her head or heart. 

Molly’s social studies class is studying the Wabanaki Indians, and for the first time since she started at this new school, she’s interested because she’s learning things about the Wabanakis that she didn’t know. She’s angry, for example, when she learns about the treaties and how land had been taken from the Wabanakis, and how people called them “dirty, redskins, savages” (p. 125). When someone in the class says that the Wabanakis just have to deal with what happened, she raises her hand, tells them she’s part Wabanaki, and that (p. 125):

… what happened to the Native Americans wasn’t a fair fight. You can’t take everything away from someone, everything they own and care about, and then just say, ‘Deal with it.’ That’s not okay.”

****

That, in short, is pretty much all that Kline tells us about Molly and her identity. Orphan Train Girl is really about the girl who was, in fact, an orphan train girl. That girl, Vivian, is the other character in the story.  The book description tells us that Vivian asks Molly about her life, but there's very little of Molly's life in comparison to what Vivian tells her about her own life. Molly’s identity and purpose for being in this story is to provide a way for Kline to tell a story about Vivian.

In the Acknowledgements, Kline wrote that when she was writing this book, her mother was teaching a class at the University of Maine. That class was “Native American Women in Literature and Myth.” A final assignment was to (p. 226):

…use the Indian concept of portaging to describe “their journeys along uncharted waters and what they chose to carry forward in portages to come.” The concept of portaging, I realized, was the missing strand I needed to weave my book together.  

Kline’s mother used portaging for her own purposes. Kline apparently liked that idea so much that she had Molly’s teacher give Molly’s class that same assignment. They were to interview a parent or grandparent and (p. 63-64): 

… interview someone in your family. Someone older. Your mother or father, a grandparent, someone who’s lived through things you haven’t. And ask them about a time they had to take a journey of some kind. Maybe it was an actual journey, maybe just a change of life, trying something new. Ask what they took with them from their old life and what they decided to leave behind. You’ll turn the answers they give you into a report for the class.” 

And that, speaking frankly, is how a major publisher can turn a best seller into something that will bring in more money: adapt it for young readers and put it forth as if it is a Native story. It isn't. Orphan Train Girl is (if you can't tell), rubbing me the wrong way. 

But there's more. I think somebody read Orphan Train and told Kline that Molly's identity as a Native child being put into the foster system was a problem. Someone told her about ICWA. But, she (or perhaps--Sarah Thompson--the person who adapted the story for young readers) didn't incorporate any of that into the story. Instead, Kline put this in a note in the back (p. 227):

In a case like Molly’s, when a Native American family is not available to foster a child, the Tribal Court will allow her to be fostered to a non-Indian family.

She also says, in that note, that Donna Loring, a member of the Penobscot Nation read the manuscript (p. 227):

...advising me on issues related to the ICWA, and adding shading and nuance to some complicated questions about Native American symbols and laws.

As I noted, though, there's no ICWA in the story. I assume the "symbols" has to do with those charms that Molly's dad gave to her. But all in all, the story that Kline tells is one where she's using a Native character and Native content to tell a story that is--at its heart--about a White woman. It is a history Kline clearly wants to tell but she could have done that without this decorative use of Molly. 

In short: I do not recommend Orphan Train Girl. Published in 2017 by Harper, this is another instance of a book written by a non-Native writer who is using Native content (poorly) and getting published by a major publisher. For the sake of every child in the US, this has to stop. 

Not Recommended: TOMO EXPLORES THE WORLD (and the TOMO series) by Trevor Lai

A few days ago, I learned about Tomo Takes Flight by Trevor Lai. Published in 2017 by Imprint/Macbooks.com (Macmillan), it is part of a series. Based on suggestions that it has Native content, I decided I ought to take a look.

The first of Trevor Lai's Tomo books, Tomo Explores the World, was published in 2017. Two others are due out in 2018.

According to Animation World Network, Lai was born and raised in the area currently called Vancouver.* His parents are of "Hangzhou, Hong Kong and Taiwanese descent." In 2012, Lai founded UpStudios. Here's a couple of paragraphs from the article that help me think about his Tomo books.

Up Studios may be based in China, but Lai stresses that neither location nor nationality defines his company. He looks for universal stories rather than those based on Chinese culture or heritage. “We definitely consider the Chinese market for all [our properties] but they don’t necessarily have to launch here first,” he explains. “I’m really proud of the fact that we make shows as a Chinese company, and the success we have in the local market is wonderful. But, I think the international validation of the concept has to be, ‘Now its on the BBC, now it’s on CBC in Canada, and oh, by the way, it was created in China.’”

Indeed, some of his main achievements to date are with international publishers. In 2015, Bloomsbury Children’s Books signed another of his characters, Piggy, on a six-figure picture book series contract, the largest ever US debut deal for a children’s author in China. That was followed by a deal with Macmillan Children’s Publishing Group for a book series based on his explorer, Tomo.

A "universal" story can often fall into a very slippery (not recommendable) space. Tomo is a good example of that. Tomo is apparently meant to be a Native kid--but his nation--to Lai, doesn't matter. Tomo lives on a tiny island. Tomo's people fish. He doesn't like to eat fish, and he doesn't like to fish, either. Here's his dad:

Here's his grandfather (I'm wondering if this wise man with ear to ground is based on that Hollywood image of an Indian with his ear to the ground...):

Here's his great grandfather (do the Indigenous peoples of the area currently called Vancouver tell a traditional story about a fisherman taking a fish from a shark? If so, then Lai is appropriating an Indigenous story):

And here's Tomo:

Given that the author grew up in Vancouver and the Tomo books are about a fishing people, I'd at least expect the illustrations to reflect the art and culture of one of the Indigenous peoples in that area, but here's where that "universal" part gets the author in trouble. Instead of being specific, Lai gives kids stereotypes. In the illustrations I shared above, note the geometric designs on their clothing, the turquoise jewelry, the bear claw necklace, and the pendants they all wear (each with a unique image on them). That sort of imagery is throughout the book.

Lai's work is, I gather, doing quite well. That's good for his pocketbook, but not for children whose ideas of Indigenous peoples will be warped by the Tomo books. In short, I do not recommend the Tomo series of books by Trevor Lai.

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*Several weeks ago, I read a series of tweets from Indigenous scholars in Canada who are using "currently called" or similar phrases for places. While some will obviously find that sort of thing threatening, I think it is also accurate and a terrific way for us to remind readers that all these places were, and are, known by different names to the original peoples of the places currently known as the United States and Canada.

Recommended: How Devil’s Club Came to Be

By Miranda Rose Kaagweil Worl (Tlingit)
Illustrated by Michaela Goade (Tlingit)

2017, Sealaska Heritage Institute

Baby Raven Reads Education Program

Library bookshelves virtually overflow with “retellings” of Native American traditional tales “adapted” (stolen) by non-Native writers who then profit from something that’s intrinsically Muscogee, Lakota, Tsimshian -- something that’s not theirs to share. 

You may know that’s an abuse of tribal intellectual property, and that many Native nations now safeguard their traditional stories so that they (or many of them) can’t be shared with the general public. After so many of these stories were collected and disseminated without permission by non-Natives, keepers of the cultures created policies to stop the theft. Some stories are not to be shared, even among people of the nation that holds them, except in special circumstances.

So the following words caught my eye in the front matter of How Devil’s Club Came to Be:

“This is an original story by Miranda Rose Kaagweil Worl. Though inspired by ancient oral traditions that have been handed down through the generations, it is not a traditional Tlingit story.”

Info in the back matter tells us that both the author and illustrator are Tlingit. It also tells us their clans and Tlingit names. So it seems likely that they will not be misrepresenting Tlingit traditions in How Devil’s Club Came to Be. (We also see that Worl wrote this story when she was in high school.)

That statement, “This is an original story” and the detailed author/illustrator information may be part of the reason the Library of Congress designated Devil’s Club a “best practice honoree” in 2017. Readers can feel assured that the book’s Tlingit creators are NOT sharing a sacred or protected part of their culture.

The story starts with a sickness in Raven’s village. The shaman they look to for healing is nowhere to be found. Raven discovers that a terrible giant with a spiked club is kidnapping shamans. He tells his people that he’ll stop the giant – but then falls ill himself. He tells his niece that she must take over for him.

Raven’s Niece does her best to defeat the giant, but her plan fails. To escape, she jumps off a cliff – and finds herself among the Thunderbird people. Like her people, they are ill and missing their shaman. Their leader says they will help her. He drapes his Chilkat robe around her shoulders. The robe turns her into a Thunderbird. She finds the giant, shreds his deadly club, and drops him into the ocean.

She then becomes ill, but the voice of the Thunderbird clan leader directs her back to where she destroyed the club. There she finds an unfamiliar, spiky plant. She chews the inner bark and feels strong enough to get back home. She shares the medicine with her people, and they are cured. The plant (called S’axt in Tlingit and devil’s club in English), still “helps heal and protect us.”

Often I’m of two minds when authors create original stories based in oral traditions of their cultures. It was a bit disorienting to learn, as a child, that “The Ugly Duckling” and “Princess and the Pea” came from Hans Christian Anderson, and not from old Europe! But original stories that feel old can be engaging and worthwhile in their own right. How Devil’s Club Came to Be, with its uncomplicated plot and Miranda Worl's straightforward prose, has plenty of drama without seeming overwrought. It's easy to read aloud. Here's a sample:

The voice of the Thunderbird clan leader boomed in her head. She spread her arms outward, but they were no longer arms. They were the wings of a giant bird -- they were the wings of a Thunderbird.

Micheala Goade’s illustrations make dramatic use of color and line. Goade works in water color and India ink, then adds some digital elements. The end papers feature a misty green forest with black line drawings of large-leafed plants in the foreground – foreshadowing the arrival of something new in this ancient landscape. Raven is given a soulful expression that suits him in this incarnation. The giant and the Thunderbird people are depicted with the suggestion of traditional Tlingit formline designs. As for Raven’s Niece: the text doesn’t need the words confident, courageous, powerful and skilled to describe her, because the illustrations capture those traits.

Raven tells his niece
she must fight the
giant.

If you and the children you'll share Devil's Club with are not Tlingit, you’ll want to do some research first, to provide some background knowledge about where the story takes place and what Tlingit people say about themselves. Not being Tlingit, I may be missing some good resources to recommend here. But you can start by visiting the website of the Central Council of the Tlingit and Haida Indian Tribes of Alaska. There's more at the Chilkat Indian Village website. Also, you might want to look in your library for books with photos of devil’s club, the Alaska coast and temperate rain forest, and some traditional and contemporary Tlingit art. 

You might want to keep in mind that, although the Thunderbird is a popular image among non-Native people, it’s not part of every Indigenous nation’s heritage. Shaman is another concept that appeals to many non-Natives, but is poorly understood. Not all Indigenous peoples refer to their healers as shamans. If you've laid the groundwork by offering children tribally-specific information, they're less likely to generalize to all nations from this Tlingit story.

I recommend How Devil's Club Came to Be. You can buy it online through Trickster Company or Sealaska Heritage Institute.

Note to Tlingit readers: I might have missed important points related to How Devil’s Club Came to Be. If that’s the case, we’d be grateful if you’d respond with a comment!