THE HIRED GIRL by Laura Amy Schlitz

Eds. note: Content in this post launched a discussion at Heavy Medal at School Library Journal. Please see A Native Perspective of The Hired Girl for an in-depth review that incorporates what I've said below. 

This is one of those posts people are gonna object to because it is one of the "one liners" -- which means that the book has nothing to do with Native people, but there is a line in it that I am pointing out.

It is "one line" to some, but to Native people or anyone who pays attention to ways that Native people are depicted in children's and young adult literature, those "one lines" add up to a very long list in which we are misrepresented.

Here's the synopsis for Laura Amy Schlitz's The Hired Girl, a 2015 book published by Candlewick (for grades 7 and up):

Fourteen-year-old Joan Skraggs, just like the heroines in her beloved novels, yearns for real life and true love. But what hope is there for adventure, beauty, or art on a hardscrabble farm in Pennsylvania where the work never ends? Over the summer of 1911, Joan pours her heart out into her diary as she seeks a new, better life for herself—because maybe, just maybe, a hired girl cleaning and cooking for six dollars a week can become what a farm girl could only dream of—a woman with a future. Newbery Medalist Laura Amy Schlitz relates Joan’s journey from the muck of the chicken coop to the comforts of a society household in Baltimore (Electricity! Carpet sweepers! Sending out the laundry!), taking readers on an exploration of feminism and housework; religion and literature; love and loyalty; cats, hats, and bunions.

Set in Pennsylvania in 1911, The Hired Girl has six starred reviews. It is currently listed at Amazon as the #1 bestseller in historical fiction for teens and young adults. Impressive. Hopefully, Schlitz and her editor will revisit the part of the book where a woman tells Joan "You, I think, are not Jewish." Joan responds:

"No, ma'am," I said. I was as taken aback as if she'd asked me if I was an Indian. It seemed to me--I mean, it doesn't now, but it did then--as though Jewish people were like Indians: people from long ago; people in books. I know there are Indians out West, but they're civilized now, and wear ordinary clothes. In the same way, I guess I knew there were still Jews, but I never expected to meet any.

Let's look closely at what Joan said.

The word 'are' in "I know there are Indians out West..." is in italics. I like that, because I often speak/write of the importance of tense. Most people use past tense when speaking or writing about Native peoples, but we're still here.

But then, Joan thinks "they're civilized now." Does that mean Joan buys into the idea of the primitive Indian who became "civilized" by contact with White people? Do the "ordinary clothes" they wear mean they're civilized?

I'm pretty sure people are going to say that--in asking those two questions--I'm not leaving room for people to do well, or try well, in their writing about Native people.

The fact is, this book is already succeeding and so are ones I've written about before. This post* isn't going to hurt it, but if it does give people (who read AICL) the opportunity to think about words they use in their own writing, that is a plus for all of us.

Native peoples in the U.S. were living in well-ordered societies when Europeans came here. We weren't primitive. Indeed, European heads of state recognized the Native Nations as nations of people. That's why there are treaties. Heads of state, then and now, meet with other heads of state in diplomatic negotiations. Saying "well, Joan didn't know that" is a cop out. She could have known it. Plenty of people did! She's a fictional character. She can know whatever Schlitz wants her to know.

__________
*Replaced "My lone voice" with "This post" in hopes that I'll find other writing that points to this particular passage.

Chapter-by-chapter notes on Erin Bowman's VENGEANCE ROAD

I'm reading an ARC (advanced reader copy) of Erin Bowman's Vengeance Road, published in 2015 by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt.

Here's my notes as I pick up and start to read Vengeance Road. Summary is in standard font. My questions, comments, observations are in italics.

Notes on August 23, 2015

The front cover: Cactus, skulls (human and animal), pistols.

Debbie's thoughts: This is a western. 

The back cover: Blurb tells me the story is about 18 year old Kate Thompson. Her father is killed "for a journal that reveals the secret location of a gold mine."

Debbie's thoughts: Hmmm... an old west story, something to do with gold mines. Anytime a story is about the west and mining, I wonder if it'll include the fact that those mines were on Native homelands. I wonder if it'll include the violence Native peoples endured by those who staked claim to those homelands. 

The map that appears on two pages, after the title, CIP, and dedication pages: Dated "Arizona Territory, 1877.

Debbie's thoughts: I don't see any Native spaces on the map. It has things like "Thompson Homestead" but I think it is fair to say the map erases Native presence from their homelands. Obviously, we're talking about point of view. I wonder who made the map? Was it made by someone in the story? Carlos Montezuma was born, in Arizona, around 1866. He was afraid to be kidnapped. By then, Native peoples were doing all they could to protect their homelands, AND, protect their families from being abducted and forced to work in mines. I'll need to get Ned Blackhawk's book, Violence Over the Land, out again if I need/want to say more about this! 

Chapter 1

Kate (the protagonist) is at the river "yanking a haul" on her Pa's plot of land, which she calls "the best plot of land 'long Granite Creek" (p. 1).

Debbie's thoughts: wondering how that plot of land came to be his? And what makes it best? I think yanking a haul means hauling water.  A search of Google maps tells me that Granite Creek is north of Prescott and southwest of Flagstaff. 

Smoke and yelping cause Kate to head to the house but it is too late. Her father is dead, swaying from a tree, and the house is on fire. She sees figures riding away and shoots at them. One falls. Scene switches to the Quartz Rock Saloon in Prescott (five miles away), where Kate, dressed like a boy, is watching the person who fell. She's sure he won't last long. She listens to conversation around her, which includes "a pair of uniforms from Fort Whipple" who are "hammering 'bout the Apache."

Debbie's thoughts: Apache. First mention of a tribe. That's important, but will there be context for the existence of that fort? And, context for why the Apaches are the subject of conversation?

The guy leaves the saloon. Kate follows him to an outhouse where she yanks open the door and points her pistol at him. He's inside it, sitting on a pot that is set into a wooden seat in the outhouse. He isn't using the outhouse for its purpose; he's sitting in there to look at his gunshot wound.

Debbie's thoughts: Small point, but a pot inside an outhouse? Doesn't make sense to me. 

He tells Kate that her dad had a secret, told to him and his friends by Morris, a clerk at Goldwaters. He won't tell her what that secret is. She shoots him.

End of chapter 1.

Debbie's thoughts: Bowman is using the shoot-em-up style of writing in a way that will definitely appeal to readers who like this style, but it is, so far, very much within the master narratives of US history. By that, I mean the praise of prospectors who set out to "strike it rich" on resources that belonged to someone else. Of course, that someone else is dehumanized in these stories. "Savage Indians," you know, who don't "properly use the land" -- which justifies what was done to them, in the name of capitalism and manifest destiny. Yeah, I didn't use caps for manifest destiny. Just don't want to right now.   

That's it for now. Other things to do before I start chapter 2, but hitting the 'publish' button on this. I'll be back.

__________________________________________________

Notes on August 24th, 2015:

Chapter 2

Kate heads to Goldwaters (a general store) and asks Morris (he's sweet on her) if anyone had been in to ask about her dad. Morris tells her yes, and asks her if anything happened. She doesn't answer, mulling over what he'd say if she did tell him. One option is to report her father's murder to Fort Whipple, but, Kate thinks "Whipple's soldiers protect settlers 'gainst Apache raids, not attacks from their own kind."

Debbie's thoughts: Apache raids. As before, good that Bowman is specific in naming a tribe, but again, context? Why would Apache's be raiding settlers? And, what about the use of "settlers" -- will Bowman provide more information on them? Again--how did they come by the land they're "settling" on?

Back at their house, Kate finds a few items, in a lunch box, that didn't burn in the fire. One of them is a photograph of her and her parents, with Kate as a baby. Her mother is Mexican. She recalls her father saying there wasn't a more beautiful woman in the territory. Gazing at the photo, Kate notes her mother's piercing eyes, high cheeks, and stern expression.

Debbie's thoughts: Hmmm... we could say that Vengeance Road merits a "diverse" tag because Kate is biracial. But--so far she hasn't struck me as identifying as biracial. Maybe that will come later. Another thought: Could a white man marry a Mexican woman in 1859? At that time, it was still called New Mexico Territory. It became Arizona Territory in 1862. And, I'm assuming Kate's parents were married. Small point: I'm curious about that lunch box. A quick look suggests there were lunch pails then. 

Kate thinks it is a blessing "in a way" that her mother died young, of consumption, because Prescott "ain't taking kindly to Mexicans lately." They're spat on, and "the cowardly part of me's happy" she (Kate) has skin "caught somewhere between his fair complexion and her golden bronze" (p. 14-15).

Debbie's thoughts: I guess thinking it is good her mother is dead fits in this "True Grit" style of writing. About that "golden bronze" skin: descriptions of skin tone are always fraught with layer upon layer of risk. In this case, I'm coming up short trying to imagine a golden bronze Mexican. "Golden bronze" sounds more like the words used to describe a fair skinned person who has a tan... like maybe a Spanish woman from Spain. In my experience, Mexicans, being Indigenous people, are darker than people from Spain. I'll also say that I feel like I'm on that slippery slope as I try to sort this out!

The lunch box also has a deed to their acreage, acquired through the Homestead Act, and a note from Pa telling her to go to Wickenburg and see Abe. It is something he's told her, over and over, as she's grown up. If something happens, go see Abe. Wickenburg is south, and Kate can't head there till the morning. Trying to go in the dark, she would need a light, and "fire's nothing but a beacon for the Apache" (p. 16).

Debbie's comments: Ah, yes. The Homestead Act of 1862, by which 160-acre plots of land in the "public domain" were made available to a head of household who would improve it. Recall what I said about who owned that land? Those Apache's were fighting for their homelands, also known as "public domain." 

Chapter 3

In the morning, Kate (still disguised as a guy) heads for Wickenburg. "Apache raids" aren't a "guaranteed occurrence" anymore and she "can't remember the last time a freighter lost a haul to a burnt wagon on account of Indians" (p. 20). She's following the Hassayampa, a river "that flows upside down" (p. 20). She says she "ain't fond of having to follow it" (p. 20) because Indians and crooks like the water. At one point she stops to let the horses drink and spots someone crouched on the trail, who she thinks is an Indian that is tracking her. Back on her horse, she heads on to Wickenburg, but stops in a saloon at Walnut Grove and learns where she can find Abe. She also asks about "a friend" who is really one of the guys who shot her dad, and finds out that the gang who killed her dad are called the Rose Riders. The people in the saloon think she's part of the gang and run her off. That night when she makes camp, two guys after a bounty on members of the Rose Riders try to get her but she kills one. The other takes off, but so does she.

Debbie's comments: Saying (again) that Apaches were defending their families and homelands. If you're interested in knowing more about Apaches during that time, see the transcript (or video) of the PBS series, We Shall Remain. Here's a quote: "Some miners were barbarous—poisoning the Apaches’ food with strychnine, cutting fetuses out of the bellies of pregnant women, selling Apache girls into slavery. When Americans decapitated a venerated Apache chief and sent his boiled skull back East as a gruesome trophy, they pushed Cochise too far." By the time of Bowman's story, many Apache's were on reservations. Geronimo resisted being put on a reservation and was captured in 1877. 

Chapter 4

Kate (she introduces herself as Nate) finds Abe's home, but he's gone (died two years prior). People there, however, know all about her dad and give her a letter from her dad that Abe had been keeping. It has details about a journal her parents found that led them to a cache of gold from a mine located in the Superstition Mountains.  The letter tells Kate to stay there, to live with Abe, but Kate sets out again, wondering why the Rose Riders killed her father rather than just beat him till he turned over the journal. They wanted the gold, and she thinks on what Pa said about gold making monsters of men and women.

Debbie's comments: As I read, I wonder about other works of historical fiction... are there stories wherein an oppressed people is ignored, for the glory of the oppressor? I know the answer, I suppose. Most children's books about Thanksgiving do that, too. Will I read, later in this story, how the miners are monsters, too, killing and raping Native women? Or is that fact not going to be part of this story?

Chapter 5

As she rides, someone fires (she thinks) at her. Turns out to be Jesse and Will (who she met at Abe's house), who fired a bullet into the sky to get her attention.  They want her to ride with them to Tucson to get some cattle but she doesn't want to do that. She tells them she's after the Rose Riders. They ride on together anyway.

Chapter 6

The three make camp for the night and take turns keeping watch for Apaches and the Rose Riders, just in case. She thinks back on what her dad taught her, including how to read. He made her read aloud from a book of poems. She thinks "Poetry don't make yer crops grow better or keep Apache from raiding yer land" (p. 53). They come across a burning carriage and remains of a family. The Rose Riders are responsible. They've left their mark, which is the image of a rose, carved into the forehead of the driver. It was also on Kate's dad's forehead.

Debbie's comments: Bad guys to watch out for are the Rose Riders who mutilate people, and, the Apaches. 

Chapter 7

The three camp again for the night, in the mountains where there's some pools, of water to bathe in. Kate declines the bath (the boys don't know she's a girl); the two boys get in the water. Kate goes for a walk, finds some "tribal markings" and heads back to camp, preferring awkwardness with the boys over "Apache arrowheads." At camp, the boys tell her what happened to their mother: "The Apache raided that afternoon." and "We'd murdered and pillaged their kind plenty, and when the federal troops went east to repel the Confederates invading New Mexico, I bet it looked like a surrender. Like we'd given up and it were time for revenge. Whatever the reason, the Apache rode through town and destroyed everything they could that day." Jesse saw what happened. Their mother was dragged off, and he watched her pull her derringer out and shoot herself in the mouth. he also watched them "scour and kill. Watched 'em drag women off."

Debbie's comments: Ok, a gesture towards violence whites did to the Apaches, but more striking is the graphic description of what the Apaches did. 

That is all for today. Hitting the "update" button.

______________________________________________

August 25, 2015

Chapter 8

The next day, Kate and the boys spend part of the day showing each other their shooting skills. When they start out again, they see two of the Rose Riders.

Chapter 9

The two groups exchange fire. Kate gets shot in the shoulder, falls, and hits her head hard as she falls. When the shooting stops, the boys take off her shirt to check her wound. They realize Nate is not a guy. They take her to Phoenix where a whore named Evelyn doctors her. When she wakes, she tells him what she's doing (seeking vengeance).

Chapter 10

Well enough to move around, Kate figures out the Rose Riders are in Phoenix, too. Kate, Will, and Jesse come up with a plan to kill Waylan (leader of the Rose Riders). Kate will put on one of Evelyn's dresses and make a fuss about wanting to play poker (women aren't supposed to do that). One of the Riders steps up and escorts her to a table. On the way to it, Kate trips. He catches her and the kicks what she tripped up on. It was "an Apache girl" who is on "all fours scrubbing the floorboards." He calls her a "goddamn injun." She says something in her language and gets kicked again. Around them, men snigger and Kate thinks about the difference in how they are treating her versus how they treat the Apache girl. The man gets ready to kick the girl again, and Kate puts her own leg out to stop him, saying that she'll scrub better if he isn't kicking her. She ends up taking the kick on her shin.

Debbie's comments: Some people will read that part of the book and think well of Kate. It is a good thing to intervene when someone is being abused, but this is also within the White Savior trope.  

As Kate continues to the table, she catches the girl's eye. She looks confused and suspicious, and Kate isn't sure why she intervened. She thinks "I wouldn't expect an ounce of kindness from an Apache if I was to fall into their hands and I reckon she don't expect much from us, neither." She can tell that her leg is bruising and thinks "That's the last time I help an Indian who don't even thank me."

Debbie's comments: Who is this Apache girl? What is her role in this story? Bowman is clearly setting out the conflict between "us" and "them." This makes me think Kate doesn't identify at all as Mexican. Not sure what to think about that... Apaches did, in fact, fight Mexicans, too, which means it makes sense for Kate to collapse her Mexican and American identities as an "us" who sees Apaches as "them." 

Kate joins Waylan at the poker table. As they play, the Apache girl refills drinks and empties ashtrays. Whenever she walks by the man who kicked her, he spits at her back.

Debbie's comments: Not sure this makes sense. One minute she's scrubbing floors, and the next she's serving drinks? Setting that aside, was this spitting part necessary? We already know that guy detests her. He kicked her and called her an injun, remember? 

Kate sees that Waylan has her dad's pistol. A bit later, Waylan puts the journal on the table as part of his bet. A fight breaks out, and a fire. Kate has the journal. As she heads for the door she hears "Help" and finds the Apache girl, who doesn't look like an Apache anymore. Now she's just a scared girl. Kate shouts at her to run towards her, through a burning doorframe but the girl won't. Kate leaves. Outside she thinks of the people who burned in the carriage (chapter 7). Finding a blanket and a water barrel, she pushes the barrel to the saloon and runs inside where she wraps the blanket around herself and the girl and brings her out.

Debbie's comments: Saves her again... 

Kate is ok but the Apache girl's palms are blistered. She looks at Kate with astonishment. Kate leaves her to find Jesse and Will. Together again at Evelyn's, they learn that the Rose Riders are on their way up to get them. They climb out a window, just in time.

Chapter 13

Kate and the boys ride out of town, with the Rose Riders chasing them. They find an abandoned house to hide in. Waylan tracks them to it, but the townspeople are tracking him. Waylan takes off. The townspeople leave.

Chapter 14

Kate and the boys take turns sleeping and keeping watch for Waylan. Kate and Jesse talk. Kate realizes she wants Jesse to be a person that Jesse trusts.

Chapter 15

In the morning, Kate studies the journal's maps and notes. They make a plan to head into the Superstitious Mountains but Will is worried about the ghost shooter. He tells Kate that the ghost shooter is a sharpshooter who is in the mountains, killing people who enter. Some say the sharpshooter is "an Apache spirit protecting their land" (p. 159).  As they ride towards the mountains they realize they're being followed by the Apache girl. Through the binoculars, Kate sees that "her hair's parted into two long braids, and they hang over her shoulders looking like suspenders."

Debbie's comments: Hmmm... So far no mention that living Apaches might be protecting their land. Just this spirit can do that. And this description of the Apache girl... braids. Why that detail? 

Kate rides over to the girl, who says she isn't following them, but that they're on the same path. Kate tells her to go back to the saloon but the girl says "I'm never going back to that saloon. I used to have family and purpose and hope. White Eyes came and took it. They marched my people to camps like a herd, commanded my life like they were my god" (p. 162).

Debbie's comments: Clearly, this Apache girl is emerging as a new character. A plus: Bowman gives her good English speaking skills. Wondering how the girl came to work in a saloon? Why isn't she on the reservation with the rest of her people? 

Chapter 16

The girl tells Kate that the Superstitious Mountains are "sacred land, not to be tampered with. Angry land. A guide might be useful." Kate thinks over what the girl might provide. She thinks the girl knows her way around and could be helpful, kind of like the Indians who become scouts at Fort Whipple. She wonders who is crazier: "the Indians who desert their own kind or the ones fighting an endless supply of uniforms" (p. 162).

Debbie's comments: Bowman's reference to those scouts indicates she's done some research... 

Kate asks the girl if she knows the area well, and she replies "My people move when it suits us. When White Eyes came, the men had gone west to what you call Fort McDowell, along the Verde, to retaliate against a recent raid. Us women and children stayed behind only to be rounded up by the very men ours went to fight. The lucky ones got away, the rest walked to a prison White Eyes called a reserve. I was fortunate to escape the march but was picked up and taken to that saloon to work" (p. 163).

Debbie's comments: Aha! Now we know why she was in the saloon. That said, kind of odd imagining an Apache girl, speaking to a white/Mexican girl, and saying "White Eyes." She could say "your people" couldn't she? I've got to see what the source of "White Eyes" is, too. And the attack the girl is recounting must be something that happened around 1867 (guessing she's about same age as Kate, and since she was girl, subtracting 10 which puts her at childhood, age 8). 

The girl is looking for others who might be in the mountains and asks Kate what she seeks in the mountains. Kate replies "justice." The girl says, again, that the mountains are sacred and that "if you wish to pray to Ussen, there is no better place." Kate repeats that name and the girl tells her "the creator of life" but Kate thinks "Heaven forbid she just call him God."

Debbie's comments: With her thought that the girl should say "God" instead of "Ussen," Kate is disdainful of the girl's religion. 

Kate tells the girl that she thinks the men who hung her Pa may be at the gold mine. The girl frowns, saying "It is one thing to pick up gold scattered on the ground and another to dig in Mother Earth's body for it. To do so will bring Ussen's wrath and awaken the Mountain Spirits. They will stomp and stampede, causing the ground to heave and destroy everything near."  Kate asks her if she means that mining causes earthquakes. The girl replies "The Mountain Spirits serve Ussen. They will bring ruin upon those who dig for gold. I cannot help you. Not if gold is what you seek."  Kate tells her she's after the men, not the gold. The girl decides she can help her but will leave if she comes across her own people, and she'll leave when they get to the mine and find the men "violating the earth" because "It is sacred land, not to be tampered with" (164-165).

Debbie's comments: Wonder about the source for all of that? Native peoples do, in fact, hold lands sacred. What I see here, though, sounds a bit romantic. It'll work, though, for readers who like that romantic Indian stuff. 

The girl says "I am Liluye" and that it means Hawk Singing. She thanks Kate for what she did for her at the saloon. Kate calls her Lil and hears her tell her horse "My name is not Lil, but it's a start" (p. 166).

Debbie's comments: Finally! The girl has a name. I put it into a Google search and found a variation of it on a baby names page. Here's a screen shot:

Here's another:

It is also in Kroeber's book, Arapahoe Dialects, Volume 12, as an Arapahoe word meaning chicken hawk singing when soaring. What is it, I wonder? Miwok? Arapahoe? In my quick look I can't find it noted anywhere as being an Apache word or name... 

That's it for now. Lot of research to do with notes I took today, but for now... other things to do. Hitting that update button... And, I'll be back!

Update: Feb 24 2016 - I have not yet finished reading this book, but based on what I've read so far, it is going onto the Not Recommended list.

POPCORN by Frank Asch

Eds. Note on July 31, 2017: This racist book is now available as a board book for the youngest readers. Racism sells. 

Eds. Note on March 11, 2023: There is a new edition coming out in summer of 2023 that replaces the Indian costume with a pirate one. Some info here: https://americanindiansinchildrensliterature.blogspot.com/2023/03/another-new-cover-for-frank-aschs.html 

Dear Editors at Aladdin/Simon & Schuster,

A reader of AICL wrote to ask me about Frank Asch's Popcorn. It is an older book (pub year 1979, from Parents Magazine Press) that I haven't written about before. As a former elementary school teacher, I do remember one of the books about Sam (the bear). Not this one, though. Perhaps I saw it and decided not to use it. With good reason. In it, Sam (the bear) is having a Halloween party. Here he is in his costume:

Source: http://i.ytimg.com/vi/_RDXFS33SaM/maxresdefault.jpg

Here's the old cover:

Source: https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5474/10652326993_4d45e9c8a1_b.jpg

And, here's the new one, published in 2015 by Aladdin/Simon and Schuster. The synopsis at Amazon tells us "This refreshed edition of a beloved classic features the original text and art with an updated cover." 

It must have made a fair bit of money for you, Aladdin, to be giving it to us again in 2015, with this "updated" cover---but it has racist material! Do you not follow any of the national conversations around stereotyping of Native people? Or, about mascots?

Giving children this book, in 2015, suggests that either you're ignorant of those conversations and the research studies about the harm of such imagery, or, you know about it and don't care.

It is definitely a Book to Avoid. And, it is definitely another book for AICL's "Foul Among the Good" page.

Any chance you can 'stop the presses' so to speak? Or maybe recall what you've already sent out?

Sincerely,
Debbie Reese
American Indians in Children's Literature

KAMIK'S FIRST SLED by Matilda Sulurayok and Qin Leng

Two years ago I read--and recommended--Kamik: An Inuit Puppy Story, a delightful story about a puppy named Kamik and his owner, a young Inuit boy named Jake. In it, Jake is trying to train Kamik, but--Kamik is a pup--and Jake is frustrated with the pup's antics. Jake's grandfather is in the story, too, and tells him about sled dogs, imparting Inuit knowledge as he does.

Today, I'm happy to recommend another story about Kamik and Jake. The author of Kamik: An Inuit Puppy Story is Donald Uluadluak. This time around, the writer is Matilda Sulurayok. Like Uluadluak, Sulurayok is an Inuit elder.

As the story opens, the first snow of the season has fallen. Jake thinks that, perhaps, he can start training Kamik to be a sled dog, but Kamik just wants to play with the other dogs. Of course, Jake is not liking that at all! Anaanatsiaq (it means grandmother) sees all this going down. She reminisces about her childhood, telling Jake how her dad taught her to train sled dog pups--by playing with them:

In her storytelling of those memories, Anaanatsiaq is teaching Jake. Then she fastens a small bundle on Kamik and suggests Jake take Kamik out, away from the other dogs, for a picnic. They set off walking.

After awhile, Jake opens the picnic bundle. Inside, he finds things to eat, but he also finds a sealskin and a harness.

Playtime training, then, is off and running!

Things get tense, though, when Kamik takes off after a rabbit in the midst of a darkening sky, and Jake realizes he hasn't taught him the command to stop. The rabbit, as you can see, gets away.

Jake is scared, but in the end, Kamik gets him home, where he learns a bit more about sled dogs and their sense of smell.

Through Kamik, Jake, and his grandparents, kids learn about Inuit life, and they learn some Inuit words, too. A strength of both these books is the engaging, yet matter-of-fact, manner in which elders pass knowledge down to kids. Nothing exotic, and nothing romanticized, either.

I highly recommend Kamik's First Sled, published in 2015 by Inhabit Media.

First thoughts on Robbie Robertson's HIAWATHA AND THE PEACEMAKER

When I get a book written by a Native person, my heart soars with delight.

In the mail yesterday, I got a copy of Robbie Robertson's Hiawatha and the Peacemaker, published in 2015 by Abrams.

For now, I'm focusing on the words. To start, I flipped to the back pages and read the two-page Author's Note, in which Robertson tells us that he was nine years old when he was told the story of Hiawatha and the Peacemaker. Here's the last paragraph in Robertson's note. When I read it, my delight grew:

Some years later in school, we were studying Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's poem about Hiawatha. I think I was the only one in the class who knew that Longfellow got Hiawatha mixed up with another Indian. I knew his poem was not about the real Hiawatha, whom I had learned about years ago, that day in the longhouse. I didn't say anything. I kept the truth to myself.. till now.

Robertson has done us all a huge service. Teachers and librarians everywhere can ditch all those books with "gitchee gumee" in them. With Hiawatha and the Peacemaker, young people can--as Robertson said--learn about the real Hiawatha. And, given that Robertson includes the fact that Peacemaker had a speech impediment, I think people within the special needs community will find Robertson's book an invaluable addition to their shelves.

I would love to be at the American Library Association's annual conference next week. At the closing session on Tuesday, June 30th, Robertson and Shannon will have a conversation with Sari Feldman, the incoming president of the association:

Before I sign off on this post (I'll be back with a more in-depth look at the book later), do make sure you get a copy of Sebastian Robertson's biography of his dad: Rock and Roll Highway: The Robbie Robertson Story! It is terrific.

A Missed Opportunity in Cynthia DeFelice's FORT

The L.A. Times  released their Summer Reading Guide earlier today. I glanced at the Kids list. I'm thrilled to see Engle's Enchanted Air on it, and Older's Shadowshaper, too. I found much to love in both of those books.

I noticed Fort by Cynthia DeFelice on the list, too. Fort? That's one of the story lines that often trades on stereotypes of American Indians. Does DeFelice do that? I don't know. I haven't read her book. From the synopsis, it doesn't sound like it has anything to do with Native peoples:

In this boys-will-be-boys summer story about friendship and revenge, eleven-year-old Wyatt and his friend Augie aren't looking for a fight. They're having the best summer of their lives hanging out in the fort they built in the woods, fishing and hunting, cooking over a campfire, and sleeping out. But when two older boys mess with the fort--and with another kid who can't fight back--the friends are forced to launch Operation Doom, with unexpected results for all concerned, in this novel about two funny and very real young heroes.

Curious, though, I ran the "look inside" search on Amazon, using "Indian" and found this on page 74:

The set up for that passage is this: the boys are hunting squirrels. They have to be very still. Flies land on one of the boys and he wants to swat at the one that lands on his nose. That's when he thinks about that movie. In the next paragraph, he sees that ants are crawling on him. The third paragraph starts out "It seemed like a long time went by." Finally a squirrel comes by and the story shifts to hunting.

Did that passage about Indians and ants need to be in the story? What does it add? When I read "a movie" in that excerpt above, I started looking for such a movie. I found lots of references to an episode in Sons of Anarchy when the "Wahewa" Indians bury a man up to his neck and let ants crawl all over him. I'm sure there's similar scenes in old western flicks.

But regardless of what movie that scene is in, what does it add to this story?

If I was editing the manuscript, I think I'd have suggested that the author cut that paragraph and the next one. She could go from being still (paragraph before that one with the Indian movie reference) to the one that started out "It seemed like a long time went by."

I titled this post "a missed opportunity" because another option to address that excerpt is that the author could have inserted stupid so that the excerpt reads "I sat as quietly as I could, remembering a stupid movie I saw..." or another sentence at the end, such as "That was a stupid movie. When are movie makers going to stop making movies like that?!"

Lest you be tempted to say "it is one line" -- please think about all the "one lines" about Indians there are in children's books, in movies, in songs, in grocery store items, in video games, on athletic team gear... It adds up! Those one lines introduce inaccurate information and reinforce inaccurate information, too.

Fort, published in 2015 by Farrar, Straus and Giroux, is not recommended.

Indian-as-spirit in SMEK FOR PRESIDENT by Adam Rex

Earlier this year, I did an analysis of the Native content in Adam Rex's The True Meaning of Smekday. I found the ways that Rex used Native characters and history to be troubling. Some see his parallels to colonization of Natives peoples as having great merit, but the story he tells has a happy ending. The colonizers (aliens called Gorgs from another solar system) do not succeed in their occupation of Earth. They are driven away.

Some people also think Rex cleverly addressed stereotypes in the way that he developed "the Chief" in that story, but I disagree, especially given many things he raised and did not address, like the drunken Indian stereotype.

And some people think that we can overlook all the problems with Native content because there are so few books with biracial protagonists. I disagree with that, too. Why throw one marginalized group under the bus for the sake of another?! That seems twisted and perverse to me.

One of the what-not-to-do cautions in the creation of characters of marginalized populations is "do not kill that character." In The True Meaning of Smekday, Rex killed "the Chief."

In Smek for President, Rex commits another what-not-to-do: use a Native character as a spiritual guide. That character? "The Chief." He died in the first book.

Smek for President opens with a series of cartoon panels that tell us what happened in The True Meaning of Smekday. Amongst the panels are these two. In the first one, we're reminded about "this guy everyone called Chief Shouting Bear."

Back in The True Meaning of Smekday, we learned that his name is actually Frank, but Tip (the protagonist in both books) just calls him "the Chief." She likes him--there's no doubt about that--but persists in using the dehumanizing "the Chief" throughout the book.

In the first book, Tip had a run-in with a Gorg. That run-in is depicted in the next panel in Smek for President:

See "the Chief" in the top panel, approaching that Gorg and Tip? He told that Gorg to leave Tip alone. As you see, the Gorg punched "the Chief" (accident is not the right word for what happened!), knocking him out. Tip and J.Lo (he's a Boov) took him to an apartment to get help. That's when Vicky (another character) asks if he'd been drinking.

Towards the end of The True Meaning of Smekday, "the Chief" dies.

But he appears again and again in Smek for President... 

On page 25, Tip and J.Lo are in their spaceship, flying to New Boovworld and looking out the window at Saturn. Tip thinks back to the time that "the Chief" took her and J.Lo to look at Saturn through a telescope. Here's that part (p. 25-26):

"My people called it Seetin," said the Chief. "Until the white man stole it from us and renamed it."

I turned away from the eyepiece and frowned at the Chief. "Until... what? How can that be true?"

The Chief was smirking. "It isn't. I'm just messing with you."

And now, as we skimmed over the planet's icy rings, I said to J.Lo, "I wish the Chief could have seen this."

He'd died over a year ago, at the age of ninety-four--just a few months after the Boov had left Earth.

That passage is another good example of the author taking one step forward and then two steps backward. By that, I mean that it is good to bring up the idea that Native lands were stolen and renamed, but the "just messing with you" (the humor) kind of nullifies the idea being raised at all. It may even cause readers to wonder what part of "the Chief's" remarks is not true. That his people had a different name for Saturn? That white people didn't really steal Indians?

Tip and J.Lo land their spaceship on New Boovworld. On page 74, Tip is inside an office. She hides by climbing into a chute that drops her in a garbage pit:

Back when the Chief was alive, he and I had all kinds of long talks. Arguments, sometimes. So I don't want you to think I'm schizophrenic or anything, but I occasionally imagine the Chief and I are having one of those talks when I need a little company. And I needed a little company.

"Hey, Stupidlegs," said the Chief.

"Hey, Chief," I answered, smiling. And I opened my eyes. He was to my left, standing lightly on the surface of the trash.

I know people will think it is nice that Tip would imagine an Indian person as the one she'd turn to when she's in need of company, but it is like that far too often!

People love Indian mascots. Indians were so brave, so courageous! Never mind that the mascot itself is a stereotype---we real Native people are told we should feel honored by mascots!

People love Indian spirits, too. Remember "Ghost Hawk" -- the character Susan Cooper created? He started out as Little Hawk but gets killed part way through the story. He stays in the story, however, as a ghost or spirit that teaches the white protagonist all kinds of things.

People love Indians that remind them of days long past, when the land was pristine. Remember Brother Eagle Sister Sky by Susan Jeffers? A white family laments deforestation and plants trees. Throughout the book, there are ghost-like Indians here and there.

People love scary Indian ghosts, too. All those stories where a house is built on an old Indian burial ground! Those angry Indian spirits do all kinds of bad things. Earlier this year I read a Nancy Drew and the Clue Crew story where Nancy was sure an angry Indian spirit was up to no good. And how about that angry Indian in the Thanksgiving episode of Buffy the Vampire Killer?

My point is that this trope is tiresome. If you see a review that notes this problematic aspect of Smek for President, do let me know!

IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF CRAZY HORSE by Joseph Marshall III

Joseph Marshall III is an enrolled member of the Sicangu Lakota (Rosebud Sioux) tribe. Born and raised on the Rosebud Sioux reservation, he is the author of several books about Lakota people. Last year, I read his The Journey of Crazy Horse: A Lakota History. I highly recommend it. In 2011, Marshall's book was selected for the One Book South Dakota project. Over 2400 Native high school students in South Dakota were given a copy of it. How cool is that? (Answer: very cool, indeed!)

Yesterday, I finished his In the Footsteps of Crazy Horse. First thing I'll say? Get it. Order it now. It won't hit the bookstores till later this year, but pre-order it for your own kids and your library. Like The Journey of Crazy Horse, it provides insights and stories that you don't get from academic historians.

To my knowledge, there is nothing like it for kids. Some of the reasons I'm keen on it?

First, it is set in the present day on the Rosebud Sioux reservation. Regular readers of AICL know that I think it is vitally important that kids read books about Native people, set in the present day. Such books provide Native kids with characters that reflect our existence as people of the present day, and they help non-Native kids know that--contrary to what they may think--we weren't "all killed off" by each other, by White people, or by disease, either.

Second, the protagonist, Jimmy McClean, is an eleven-year old Lakota boy with blue eyes and light brown hair. Blue eyes? Light brown hair?! Yes. His dad's dad was White. Those blue eyes and light brown hair mean he gets teased by Lakota kids and White ones, too.

Third, it is a road trip book! I love road trips. Don't you? In this one, his grandfather (his mom's dad) takes him, more or less, in the footsteps of Crazy Horse. Along the way, he learns a lot about Crazy Horse, who--like Jimmy--had light brown hair. When his grandfather is in storytelling mode, giving him information about Crazy Horse, the text is in italics.

Fourth, Jimmy's mom is a Head Start teacher! That is way cool. My little brother and my little sister went to Head Start! When I was in high school, I'd cut school and volunteer at the Head Start whenever I could. But you know what? I can't think of a single book I've read in which one of the characters is a head start teacher, but for goodness sake! Head Start is a big deal! It is reality for millions of people. We should have books with moms or dads who work at Head Start!

Fifth, Jimmy's grandfather imparts a lot of historical information as they drive. At one point, Grandpa Nyles asks him if he's heard of the Oregon Trail. Jimmy says yes, and his grandpa says (p. 29):

"Before it was called the Oregon Trail, it was known by the Lakota and other tribes as Shell River Road. And before that, it was a trail used by animals, like buffalo. It's an old, old trail." 

I love that information! It tells readers that Native peoples were here first, and we had names for this and that place.

Sixth, they visit a monument. His grandpa tells him that the Lakota people call it the Battle of the Hundred in the Hands, and that others call it the Fetterman Battle or the Fetterman Massacre. They read the inscription on the monument. See the last line? It reads "There were no survivors." That is not true, his grandpa tells him. Hundreds of Lakota and Northern Cheyenne survived that battle. It is a valuable lesson, for all of us, about perspective, words, who puts them on monuments, why those particular ones are chosen, etc.

Last reason I'll share for now is that Marshall doesn't soft pedal wartime atrocities. Through his grandfather, Jimmy learns about mutilations done by soldiers, and by Lakota people, too. It isn't done in a gratuitous way. It is honest and straightforward, and, his grandfather says "it's a bad thing no matter who does it."

The history learned by reading In the Footsteps of Crazy Horse and the growth Jimmy experiences as he spends time on that road trip with his grandfather make it invaluable.

In the Footsteps of Crazy Horse, with illustrations by Jim Yellowhawk, is coming out in November from Amulet Books (an imprint of Abrams). Pitched at elementary/middle grade readers, I highly recommend it.

Richard Van Camp's THE BLUE RAVEN

New this year (2015) is Richard Van Camp's graphic novel, The Blue Raven. Illustrated by Steven Keewatin Sanderson, the story is about a stolen bicycle, and, healing. Here's the cover:

The bike, named Blue Raven, belongs to a kid named Benji. He comes out of the library (how cool is that?) and his bike is gone (not cool!). Trevor, the older brother of a kid in his class, sees Benji and offers to help him find the bike.

This isn't just any bike (no bike is, really), but this one? Benji's dad gave it to him when he moved out of their house.

When Benji was born, his dad called him Tatso because his eyes were the same blue color as a baby raven's eyes. Tatso is a Tlicho word. It means Blue Raven.  And--it is the name his dad called the bike, too.

As you might imagine, it is very special to Benji.


We learn all that--and more--as Benji and Trevor drive around on Trevor's four-wheeler, looking for the bike. Trevor is Metis, but wasn't raised with Native traditions in the same way that Benji was. Indeed, there is a moment when Trevor mocks Benji. Confident in what he knows and bolstered by memories of time with members of the community, Benji counters Trevor, who is taken aback and a bit snarky. By the end of this short graphic novel, though, Trevor is with Benji at a gathering where Trevor is invited to dance and the two have agreed to keep looking for the Blue Raven.

Steven Keewatin Sanderson's illustrations are terrific! From anger over his bike being stolen, to the tears Benji sheds in the flashback parts of the story, to the community scenes at the drum dance, they are a perfect match for Van Camp's story. Keep an eye out for his work!

The Blue Raven, published in 2015 by Pearson, is part of its Well Aware series and sold as a package. However, it can be purchased directly from Richard Van Camp at his site. I highly recommend it.

HUNTERS OF CHAOS by Crystal Velasquez

Anytime someone writes a book--yes, even a work of fiction--that gets basic facts about Native people wrong, it is going to get a 'not recommended' from me.

It doesn't matter, to me, how well-written the story might be and it doesn't matter if the book itself has a protagonist or a cast of characters that are from a marginalized group or groups. Nobody in a marginalized group should be expected to endure the misrepresentation of their own people for the sake of another group. And, all readers who walk away with this misrepresentation as "knowledge" are not well served, either.

So, let's take a look at Hunters of Chaos. The synopsis, from Simon and Schuster:

Four girls at a southwestern boarding school discover they have amazing feline powers and must unite to stop an ancient evil in this riveting adventure.

Ana’s average, suburban life is turned upside down when she’s offered a place at the exclusive boarding school in New Mexico that both of her late parents attended. As she struggles to navigate the wealthy cliques of her new school, mysterious things begin to occur: sudden power failures, terrible storms, and even an earthquake!

Ana soon learns that she and three other girls—with Chinese, Navajo, and Egyptian heritages—harbor connections to priceless objects in the school’s museum, and the museum’s curator, Ms.Benitez, is adamant that the girls understand their ancestry. 

It turns out that the school sits on top of a mysterious temple, the ancient meeting place of the dangerous Brotherhood of Chaos. And when one of the priceless museum objects is shattered, the girls find out exactly why their heritage is so important: they have the power to turn into wild cats! Now in their powerful forms of jaguar, tiger, puma, and lion they must work together to fight the chaos spirits unleashed in the ensuing battle…and uncover the terrifying plans of those who would reconvene the Brotherhood of Chaos.

Intriguing? Yes. But... Soon after Ana arrives at the school, there's an earthquake that exposes the mysterious temple. Skipping ahead (for the moment), we learn that the school is (p. 110):

"...yards away from a thriving Native American community, descendants of the Anasazi people..."

For now, I am focusing on the word "Anasazi." For a very long time, that Navajo word was used to describe the people who lived in the cliff houses in New Mexico, Colorado, Arizona, and Utah. The word is no longer in use. Today, "Ancestral Pueblo People" is the phrase people use, because it is the right one to use.

Mesa Verde, Bandelier, Chaco Canyon and others are part of the National Park Service. If you click on those links, you'll see they use "ancestral Pueblo/Pueblo People" rather than "Anasazi."

For a long time, literature associated with those sites said that the "Anasazi" people who lived there had vanished. They didn't. Like any people, anywhere in the world, they moved to other locations when conditions changed. In recognition of that fact, the National Park Service and other government sites stopped using Anasazi and started using Ancestral Pueblo People instead. Another good example is the Bureau of Land Management's page, Who were the Ancestral Pueblo People (Anasazi?).

The massive amounts of literature that used "Anasazi" is probably why Velasquez used it in her book. I wish she had actually looked up the sites I linked to... she'd have avoided the problems in Hunters of Chaos. 

In Hunters of Chaos, Doli is Navajo. Back on page 53 (after they've learned about the temple), Lin (she's the Chinese character) and Doli have an argument. Lin has an expensive purse. Doli makes a sarcastic remark about it, and Lin tells her she's just jealous because she's poor and therefore doesn't belong at the school. Doli says (p. 53):

"I don't belong here?" [...] "You must have been asleep during assembly today. That temple back there means I'm the only one who belongs here."

"Oh, give me a break," Lin said, then sucked her teeth and flicked her hand dismissively. "I was wide awake during Dr. Hottie's speech, and he said the temple was Anasazi, not Navajo." 

Doli, completely unfazed, sighed as if she were tired of explaining the obvious. "The Anasazi were an ancient people who lived on this land. In other words, they were my ancestors. Anasazi literally means 'ancient ones' in Navajo."

So. Doli is Navajo. Some people say Anasazi means "ancient ones" and some say it means "enemy people." Whether it meant ancient ones or enemy people, the key thing is that it definitely did not refer to Navajo people. Interestingly, there is a place in the book where we read that Anasazi means ancient pueblo peoples. At that point in the book, the kids have organized an exhibit to show people what the school's museum has--including artifacts from that temple.

Among the people who come to the exhibit is a family from Doli's reservation (the community that thrives a few yards away from the school). A woman speaks to Doli in Navajo. Ana asks her what the woman said. Here's from page 129:

"She said she was glad she could come. They heard about the temple and are excited about it. She didn't think that the ancient Pueblo peoples were active here, so they are very interested in seeing what was found."

See that "ancient Pueblo peoples"? Does the woman think it is her Navajo ancestors?

The confusion between Navajo and Pueblo is a big deal. We're talking about two distinct nations of people.

There are other problems. On page 64, the anthropologist (Dr. Logan) says that Ancient Egyptians, the Ashanti people of West Africa, and the Anasazi worshipped cats. That's the first I ever heard of that said about Pueblo people!

And when Doli starts talking about shape shifting, she doesn't sound like she really grew up there (p. 158):

"Navajo folklore is full of stories about shape-shifters, but I'm not even sure the people on the reservation would believe me."

When the girls first shape shift, Doli says (p. 169):

"I'm glad it happened that way, and not how the Navajo legends say people usually become shape-shifters." [...] "They perform all kinds of evil rites to get the power. I'm talking witchcraft and murder."

When they try to shift later on purpose, they chant Navajo words that Doli taught them. And on page 240, Doli says a few words in Navajo that, she tells us, is a saying amongst her people that means "When you see a rattlesnake poised to strike, strike first." Is that a Navajo saying? I see it attributed to Franklin Delano Roosevelt, but I also find it on a bunch of "Indian proverbs" page, with it being attributed to Navajos. I'll keep digging on that saying. Maybe it IS a Navajo one.

Velasquez is working on a sequel to this book. I hope this confusion between two nations does not continue. Published in 2015 by Simon and Schuster, I cannot recommend Hunters of Chaos. 

Daniel Jose Older's SHADOWSHAPER

Last year I read Daniel Jose Older's excellent essay in Buzzfeed Books. Titled "Diversity is Not Enough: Race, Power, Publishing," it was shared widely in my social media networks. I started following him on Twitter, and learned that he had a young adult book in the works. By then I'd already read Salsa Nocturna and loved it. His is the kind of writing that stays in your head and heart.

I've now read his young adult novel, Shadowshaper, and am writing about it here. Older is not Native, and his book is not one that would be categorized as a book about Native peoples. There are, however, significant overlaps in Indigenous peoples. There are parallels in our histories and our current day politics.

Here's the cover:

The girl on that cover is Sierra, the protagonist in Older's riveting story. She paints murals. Here's the synopsis:

Sierra Santiago planned an easy summer of  making art and hanging out with her friends. But then a corpse crashes the first party of the season. Her stroke-ridden grandfather starts apologizing over and over. And when the murals in her neighborhood begin to weep real tears... Well, something more sinister than the usual Brooklyn ruckus is going on.

With the help of a fellow artist named Robbie, Sierra discovers shadowshaping, a thrilling magic that infuses ancestral spirits into paintings, music, and stories. But someone is killing the shadowshapers one by one -- and the killer believes Sierra is hiding their greatest secret. Now she must unravel her family's past, take down the killer in the present, and save the future of shadowshaping for generations to come.

That synopsis uses the word "magic." Older uses "spiritual magic" at his site. I understand the need to use that word (magic) but am also apprehensive about it being used in the context of Indigenous peoples and people of color. Our ways are labeled with words like superstitious or mystical--words that aren't generally used to describe, say, miracles done by those who are canonized as saints. It is the same thing, right? Whether Catholics or Latinas or Native peoples, beliefs deserve the same respect and reverence.

For anyone with beliefs in powers greater than themselves, there are things that happen that are just the norm. They're not mystical or otherworldly. They are just there, part of the fabric of life.

Anyway--that's what I feel as I read Shadowshaper. The shadowshaping? It blew me away. I love those parts of the book. We could call them magical, but for me, they are that fabric of life that is the norm for Sierra's family and community. When she starts to learn about it, she doesn't freak out. She tries to figure it out.

She does some research that takes her to an archive, which eventually leads her to a guy named Jonathan Wick who wants that shadowshaping power for his own ends.

That archive, that guy, that taking? It points to one of the overlaps I had in mind as I read Shadowshaper. 

Native peoples in the U.S. have been dealing with this sort of thing for a long time. Someone is curious about us and starts to pry into our ways, seeking to know things not meant for him, things that he does not understand but is so intoxicated by, that he has to have it for himself. It happened in the 1800s; it happens today.

But let's come back to Sierra. She's Puerto Rican. When she starts her research in the library at Columbia University, she meets a woman named Nydia who wants to start a people's library in Harlem that will be filled with people's stories. Pretty cool, don't you think? Nydia works there, learning all she can to start that people's library. Amongst the things she has is a folder on Wick. She tells Sierra (p. 50):

He was a big anthro dude, specifically the spiritual systems of different cultures, yeah? But people said he got too involved, didn't know how to draw a line between himself and his -- she crooked two fingers in the air and rolled her eyes -- "subjects. But if you ask me, that whole subject-anthropologist dividing line is pretty messed up anyway."

Sierra asks her to elaborate. Nydia says it would take hours to really explain it but in short (p. 51),

"Who gets to study and who gets studied, and why? Who makes the decisions, you know?"

I can't think of a work of fiction in which I read those questions--straight up--in the way that Older gives them to us. Those are the big questions in and out of universities. We ask those questions in children's and young adult literature, and Native Nations have been dealing with them for a very, very long time. I love seeing these questions in Older's book and wonder what teen readers will take away from them? What will teachers do with them? Those questions throw doors wide open. They invite readers to begin that crucial journey of looking critically at power.

Older doesn't shy away from other power dynamics elsewhere in the book. Sierra's brother, Juan, knew about shadowshaping before she did because their abuelo told him about it. When Sierra asks Juan why she wasn't told, too, he says (p. 110):

"I dunno." Juan shrugged. "You know Abuelo was all into his old-school machismo crap."

Power dynamics across generations and gender are tough to deal with, but Older puts it out there for his readers to wrangle with. I like that, and the way he handles Sierra's aunt, Rosa, who doesn't want Sierra to date Robbie because his skin is darker than hers. Sierra says (p. 151):

"I don't wanna hear what you're saying. I don't care about your stupid neighborhood gossip or your damn opinions about everyone around you and how dark they are or how kinky their hair is. You ever look in the mirror, Tia?"

"You ever look at those old family albums Mom keeps around?" Sierra went on. "We ain't white. And you shaming everyone and looking down your nose because you can't even look in the mirror isn't gonna change that. And neither is me marrying someone paler than me. And I'm glad. I love my hair. I love my skin."

I love Sierra's passion, her voice, her love of self, and I think that part of Shadowshaper is going to resonate a lot with teens who are dealing with family members who carry similar attitudes.

Now, I'll point to the Native content of Shadowshaper. 

As I noted earlier, Sierra is Puerto Rican. That island was home to Indigenous people long before Columbus went there, all those hundreds of years ago. At one point in the story, Sierra notices the tattoo on Robbie's arm. He asks her if she wants to see the rest of it. She does, so he pulls his shirt off (p. 125):

It was miraculous work. A sullen-faced man with a bald head and tattoos stood on a mountaintop that curved around Robbie's lower back toward his belly. The man was ripped, and various axes and cudgels dangled off his many belts and sashes.

"Why they always gotta draw Indians lookin' so serious? Don't they smile?"

Did you notice the tense of her last question? She asks, in the present, not the past. There's more (p. 126):

"That's a Taino, Sierra."

"What? But you're Haitian. I thought Tainos were my peeps."

"Nah, Haiti had 'em too. Has 'em. You know..."

"I didn't know."

That exchange is priceless. In the matter-of-fact conversation between Robbie and Sierra, Older guides readers from the broad (Indian) to the specific (Taino) and goes on to give even more information (that Taino's are in Haiti, too).

But there's more (p. 126)!

Across from the Taino, a Zulu warrior-looking guy stood at attention, surrounded by the lights of Brooklyn. He held a massive shield in one hand and a spear in the other. He looked positively ready to kill a man. "I see you got the angry African in there," Sierra said.

"I don't know what tribe my people came from, so it came out kinda generic."

It is good to see a character acknowledge lack of knowing! It invites readers to think about all that we do not know about our ancestry, and what we think we know, too... How we know it, what we do with what we know...

What I've focused on here are the bits that wrap around and through Older's wonderful story. Bits that are the warm, rich, dark, brilliant fabric of life. Mainstream review journals are giving Shadowshaper starred reviews for the story he gives us. My starred review is for those bits. They matter and they speak directly to people who don't often see our lives reflected in the books we read. I highly recommend Shadowshaper. Published in 2015 by Arthur A. Levine Books, it is exceptional in a great many ways.

Willa Strayhorn's THE WAY WE BARED OUR SOULS

Willa Strayhorn's The Way We Bared Our Souls opens with a deeply problematic scene. The characters in the story are inside a "ceremonial kiva" (p. 1). Chronologically, this scene is from the last part of the story Strayhorn tells.

Told from the viewpoint of Consuelo (called Lo for short), an "Anglo, not Hispanic" (p. 11) character, she is in this "ceremonial kiva" with three others. Missing is Kaya, "the girl who felt no pain" (p. 1).

Kaya, we learn later, is "Pueblo on her mom's side and Navajo on her dad's" (p. 66). Of course, she's got high cheekbones. She's not in that opening scene, because by the end of the story she's dead.

These teens go to Santa Fe High School, in Santa Fe, New Mexico. I'm from Nambe Pueblo, about 30 miles north of Santa Fe. It is where we went, as teens, to see a movie, eat out, etc. There's a lot of things in the novel that don't jib with the Santa Fe that I know, like the part where Consuelo sees the school mascot at a party (Santa Fe High's mascot is a demon, not a buffalo) and the part where Consuelo and Ellen are at the train depot and Ellen talks about wanting to hop a train to parts unknown (there's been no train service like that in Santa Fe for a very, very long time; the only train in recent times is the Railrunner, which is a commuter train that runs from Santa Fe to Albuquerque). There's other things, too, that yank me out of the story, but I want to focus on what Strayhorn does with Native culture.

They're in this kiva because of Consuelo. A week prior to that opening scene, she'd been to the doctor. Her likely diagnosis was multiple sclerosis. Understandably upset, she's gone for a drive. A coyote runs out in front of her car. She pulls over and is approached by a guy with "silky dark hair" named Jay. There's some chitchat and then (p. 28):

"What happened to your blood, dear?" he said.

And

"You're unwell, he said. You're... afflicted. Is it your blood, sweetheart?"

She tells him it is her brain (I cringed when I read "dear" and "sweetheart"). He can sense her pain and suffering and tells her that her (p. 29):

"...essential well-being is much deeper than the burden your body carries. You do not have to be tyrannized by your disease."

See that word, "burden"? Jay is going to suggest that Consuelo invite four friends to go through a healing ritual that will heal her energy and release her from her burden. The "powerful medicine" in this ritual "can eliminate your pain and disease and teach you to accept everything fate throws your way. With joy" (p. 33).

Of course, she agrees, and invites four kids from school to do it with her.

Along with Kaya is Thomas. He was a child soldier in Liberia and carries emotional trauma. Ellen is a drug addict and Kit is depressed over the accidental death of his girlfriend. Kit, by the way, is also the group expert on Native Americans, delivering mini-lectures here and there. His name (Kit) is a bit of a misstep. When I hear that name, I think of Kit Carson, the person responsible for removing the Navajo people from their homelands.

The ritual takes place at "Pecos Park" which is, in reality, Pecos National Historic Park. As a national park, it is protected from the very sorts of intrusion that happens in this story. People have been exploiting these sites for a long time, removing artifacts, defacing structures, and engaging in pseudo-rituals... just like the one Jay is doing in this book.

The kids don't know what this ritual involves. Some of the kids express skepticism about it and about Jay, too, but all partake, nonetheless. In it, Jay tells them his sacred name for the ceremony is "Walks with Coyotes" (p. 105). He chants, spits "sacred oil" on them, asks each one to talk about his or her burden, and then gives each one a totem that represents their struggle (p. 106). He does more chanting, and then throws some powder into the fire. The powder puts the fire out, leaving the kiva in complete darkness. Thomas gets the fire going again. Jay and Dakota are gone.

The kids go home. The next day, they realize that their respective burdens are gone, replaced by that of one of the others in the group. Consuelo now has Kaya's burden. She feels no pain.

Kaya has Thomas's emotional trauma, but she has the additional trauma of reliving the atrocities Native people experienced historically. She's in those moments several times. Those parts of Strayhorn's novel are gruesome, and the scene where Kaya dies is gratuitous.

Earlier this month, the Association of Writers and Writing Programs held its annual conference. At his session,* Varian Johnson posed a question to the audience: "Are you writing to exploit or enrich?"

"Are you writing to exploit or enrich?"

The events child soldiers in Liberia, and Native peoples in the U.S. experienced were horrific. Strayhorn may have felt she was bringing important history to life by writing this story, but it doesn't work for me. She is exploiting atrocity experienced by the child soldiers of Liberia, and, Native peoples, too. Who benefits from this? What lives are enriched by this?

Not Native kids, that's for sure, and I doubt that former child soldiers would feel empowered by reading The Way We Bared Our Souls. In fact, this feels very much like another author who didn't imagine not-White readers of her book. Did she know that Native readers are out here? Does she know that killing off the Native character is just a very bad move?

In an interview at RT Book Reviews, she was asked about the Native parts of the story:

The book also includes elements of Native American culture. Do you have personal ties to the culture or did you have to research the customs and practices?

Because I don't have personal, firsthand knowledge of any indigenous tribes, I felt a little wary about putting so much Native American history in the book. I didn't want to give the impression that I was trying to appropriate what wasn't mine. But that part of the country (the Southwest) is packed with fascinating history and ultimately I couldn't ignore it. I just hope that my deep respect for these New Mexico tribes shines through more than my ignorance. I did a lot of research for the book, and have actually been reading about America's indigenous peoples since I was a teenager and discovered my dad's beautiful books about them. I also had an extraordinary teacher in high school who'd studied Native American history and was sure that his students didn't neglect it even as he pumped us full of info about the founding fathers for the AP exam. But books and museums can't compare to firsthand knowledge, which I woefully lack.  

With that last sentence, she seems to gesture at an understanding that she's erred in her use of Native culture for this story. In reviews of her book, many view the burden-sharing as unique, but see problems in its execution. 

I'm certain Strayhorn felt she was enriching, not exploiting, as she wrote this book, but that interview suggests that she may have had niggling doubts that she didn't listen to. Some of this doubt can actually be seen in some of the things that Kit says. He wonders, for example, if Jay is a wannabe or a charlatan--both of which are exploitative. 

In the acknowledgements, Strayhorn thanks her editor, Liz Tingue at Razorbill. Razorbill, by the way, is part of Penguin, which means we have yet another book by a major publisher that does a poor job with Native content. 

Coming back to Johnson's question about exploitation, what is an editor's role? Do editors ponder the exploit/enrich question Johnson posed? When Tingue took Strayhorn's manuscript to the marketing department at Razorbill/Penguin, what was that conversation like? Honestly, I find myself cringing again as I imagine what was said. 

Willa Strayhorn's The Way We Bared Our Souls, published in 2015 by Razorbill (an imprint of Penguin Random House), is not recommended. 

___________________

*Thanks to Mindy Rhiger for her excellent report, Diversity at AWP15.

BLUE BIRDS by Caroline Starr Rose

In Caroline Rose Starr's Blue Birds, the two main characters are Alis, an English girl, and Kimi, a Roanoke girl. Set in July 1587, Blue Birds is a Lost Colony story.

Alis and her family come ashore at Roanoke. Among them is Governor White and his daughter. She is pregnant with Virginia (Virginia Dare is widely recognized as the first English person born in what came to be known as the United States).They are in the fourth English group that Kimi's people interact with. Before them, we read, there were three other groups. The first one took two Native men back to England: Mateo (a Croatoan) and Wanchese (a Roanoke).

With Alis's group is Manteo. Having spent the last few months living in London, he dresses like English people but still has long hair. Alis thinks of him as "that savage."

Kimi watches Alis's group. She thinks of them as "strange ones." Some of her people think they are "spirits back from the dead" and others say that they have "invisible weapons that strike with sickness after they've gone." Kimi's father told her they were "people like us, only with different ways." But, her father is dead.

Dead? Yes. Soon, we learn that Kimi's father, Wingina, was beheaded by the second group of colonists, and that Wanchese (he's her uncle) killed the people in the third group.

Did you catch that? The English beheaded her father. Yet, she's going to befriend Alis.

Possible? Yes. Plausible? I don't think so.

Why does she do this? Because she's lonely.

See, her sister died of disease brought by those English.

Did you catch that?! Her sister's death is due to the English. But... she's going to befriend this English girl?

Possible? Yes. Plausible? I don't think so!

And... Alis. When they land, she finds the bones of a man. She worries they may be the bones of her uncle, Samuel. Soon after that, one of the Englishmen (Mr. Howe) is killed, adding to her fear of the Roanoke people. She imagines them, waiting. Watching. Yet, she, too, is lonely enough to move past her fears. Is that possible? Yes. It is plausible? I don't think so!

Human emotions aside, let's look at the some of the ways the Roanoke people think and live.

It is a challenge to imagine how the people of a culture not your own, of a time not your own would think of you. In this case, we have a not-Native writer imagining how Native people think about English people. A good many non-Native writers lapse into a space where we (Native people) are shown as primitive and in awe of Europeans who came to Native lands. We see this in Kimi (Kindle Locations 367-370):

The English have great power,
mightier than we have seen
in the agile deer,
the arrows of our enemies,
the angry hurricane.
Able to blot out the sun.

There's other things that bother me about Blue Birds. One of the stereotypical ways of depicting Native people is how quietly they move, not making a sound. Kimi does that. Another stereotype is the way that Kimi thinks of Alis's wooden bird. Kimi thinks it is Alis's power:

I imagine her cowering in her village
without her power.
I want to see
her weakness.

She comes from brutal people,
yet is as loving
with her mother as we are.

Can both things we true?

That passage in Blue Birds gets at the heart of what I think Caroline Rose Starr is trying to do. Have two girls come to see past differences in who each one and her people are, to the humanity in both. She's not the first to do this. Children's literature has a lot of historical fiction like this... Sign of the Beaver is one; so is Helen Frost's Salt. 

When the two girls come face to face, Kimi thinks of her dad and sister's death. In her language, she tells Alis "You have brought us sorrow." Kimi sees that Alis is frightened by her words and thinks that balance has been restored.

The balance has been restored?! I think that's too tidy.

There are other things that don't sit well with me... the parts of the story where Kimi has a ceremony, marking her passage from child to woman is one. The parts where the Roanoke's are dancing around the fire at night, preparing for attack? That just reminds me of Little House on the Prairie! Indeed, Alis's mom reminds me of Ma!

As the friendship between the two girls continues, they worry for each other's safety. Kimi gives Alis her montoac (power, pearls given to her in that womanhood ceremony). In the end, Alis goes Native. That is, she chooses to live with Kimi. And when the English return, she looks upon them, crouching behind some reeds as she watches them.

That ending--with Alis living with Indians--parallels a theory about what happened to that Lost Colony. In the author's note, Starr tells readers about the Lost Colony. I'm glad to see that note but the story she told? Overall, for me it does not work, and it makes me wonder about the motivation to create friendship stories like this? They seem so more idealized than anything that might really happen between children of peoples at war. And, given that these stories are told--not by Native people--seems telling, too. Borne, perhaps, of guilt? Or what? I don't know, really.

Starr's Blue Bird, published in 2015 by G. P. Putnam's Sons (an imprint of Penguin Group) is not recommended.