Established in 2006 by Dr. Debbie Reese of Nambé Pueblo, American Indians in Children's Literature (AICL) provides critical analysis of Indigenous peoples in children's and young adult books. Dr. Jean Mendoza joined AICL as a co-editor in 2016.
Kamik Joins the Pack was in my mail today. Adapted from the memories of Darryl Baker, who is Inuit, the story is the third in Inhabit Media's series featuring Jake and his pup, Kamik.
I first met Kamik in 2013, in Kamik: An Inuit Puppy Story. Jake had just gotten him. Course, Kamik has all the bountiful energy of a puppy---and Jake has all the frustration of a little boy trying to teach him this or that. Jake's grandpa helps him out, giving him perspective, and stories, too, about the importance of sled dogs. Then in 2015, Kamik's First Sled came out. In it, Jake wants Kamik to learn how to pull a sled. His grandma helps him.
This year, in Kamik Joins the Pack, Jake is visiting his uncle. That uncle has a great dog sled team and has won many races. Jake hopes that, someday, Kamik can be on a team like that. He's still a pup, and still learning.
Jake's uncle is getting ready to take his team out. He shows Kamik some of the things he does to make sure his dogs are in good shape. And he tells Jake about things dogs will do--like chewing on the harnesses and ropes. Knowing how to sew and braid so that he can repair chewed up ropes and harnesses, is important, too! There's other responsibilities, too. It seems like a lot of work to Jake, but his uncle is reassuring. Like Kamik, he'll learn, a bit at a time. As the story ends, Kamik is off, on a short run, with the pack.
As with the other Kamik books, I love the present-day setting, and the significant role extended family members play in Jake's life. In each one, Qin Leng's illustrations are vivid and lively. Endearing and accurate, the Kamik stories are terrific. If you don't have the first two, get them right away when you get Kamik Joins the Pack. As I'm writing, snow is falling outside. It is falling in a good many places in the US... it is wintertime! Perfect time for sharing stories.... about puppies and sleds.
Sweet! Sometimes, that exclamation (Sweet!) means something is endearing, and sometimes, it means something is way cool. Both meanings apply to Sweetest Kulu by Celina Kalluk, illustrated by Alexandria Neonakis.
Kulu is an Inuktitut term of endearment. The babe who is the sweetest kulu in this book is Inuit (Inuktitut is one of the languages spoken by Inuit people). I got it yesterday. The sense of peace and promise in Kalluk's book was just what I needed on a particularly trying day. See the cover?
Kalluk's words and Neonakis's art work beautifully together as we learn Inuit values in which people and animals coexist as caretakers of the land. In Kalluk's hands, this is not the stereotypical one-with-the-animals story that we see all too often.
This is a terrific book for those who have a newborn in the house... And for those of us who just need a book that rights the world for us, that reminds us of that world in all its richness.
Sweetest Kulu is another great book from Inhabit Media. By the way! If you're interested in Native music, you ought to add Kalluk to your playlist. She is a throat singer. Check out this video. She was performing in New York with a cousin. You MUST ALSO watch the set of short videos here.
Note (added May 27, 2014): Sweetest Kulu will be available in October. I reviewed it from a bound galley.
In December of last year, I passed along a portion of Erin Hollingsworth's review of The Giant Bear: An Inuit Folktale, by Jose Angutinngurniq. Earlier this week I was at the local library and, happily, found the book on the new books shelf. Of course, I checked it out and read it. I think it is terrific!
For starters, the book opens with a two-page foreword about Inuit stories that tell of giant creatures of long ago. One of those giant creatures is nanurluk, which means giant bear. The story in The Giant Bear is about how a hunter kills a nanurluk. The foreword provides a lot of context for the story, situating it within the people from whom the story originates. Second is the word iglu. It is one of four words (nanurluk is another) included in a Pronunciation Guide that follows the foreword. It means "A winter dwelling made with snow blocks" (n.p.). In parenthesis we see how the word is pronounced. For iglu, we see "igloo."
I'm taking time to point out iglu/igloo because this tiny bit of information is one of the reasons I think The Giant Bear is terrific. I'd love to see every book use iglu instead of igloo. If I was still teaching, in fact, I would physically alter "igloo" in books I had in my classroom, and I'd make sure I taught my students to use iglu instead of igloo.
Third is Eva Widermann's illustrations. Here's a gorgeous illustration from the book. It is the third reason that I'm so taken with The Giant Bear:
See how big the iglu is in comparison to the man and woman? That iglu is where they are living for this story. In another illustration, you see them inside where she is cooking and he's stretched out on a bench. Next time you see an illustration or a toy iglu that is out-of-scale, you could take a minute and point out that error. Below is an example from a Sesame Street coloring book. See what I mean?
Fourth is the story Angutinngurniq (the author) tells. The Inuit man in the story is out hunting one day and comes across what he recognizes as an aglu, which is a breathing hole in sea ice that is created or kept open by a marine animal. He knows that the nanurluk comes out that hole to hunt, too, and decides he has to take action to protect his winter camp (the iglu) from the nanurluk. His plan is a clever one that gives him an edge so that he can kill the nanurluk.
The method by which he kills the bear is what some people find troubling about the book. Using his harpoon, he stabs the nanurluk's eyes and nose when it starts to emerge from the hole. Without its ability to see and smell, it dies. Widermann accurately depicts that part of the story. Some think it is too graphic for a young reader, but that depends on the reader. Those for whom hunting is part of their experience won't struggle with it. That is precisely what Erin said in her review of the book at the Goodreads site. Here's her review again:
This book combines a great story with terrific art. I cannot praise it enough. As to the reviewers who found it too violent, the polar bear is the largest land carnivore and it hunts and eats people. Polar bears are not cute cuddly animals; they are man killers. I think it is perfectly appropriate to share this fact with children. So many of them have had their brains addled by modern Coca Cola culture that it might do them some good to realize that the world around them is an all too real, and sometimes unfriendly place.
She's right. Bears are dangerous! And, they are in danger due to climate change, which brings me to the fifth reason I like The Giant Bear.
Inhabit Media prepared a study guide (if that link doesn't work, try this one: http://inhabitmedia.com/2014/01/16/the-giant-bear-book-study/). It consists of a series of lesson plans teachers can use along with the book. I especially like the one about Climate Change. It starts on page 27 of the guide and includes watching a PBS Jean-Michel Cousteau Ocean Adventures video called "A Warmer World for Arctic Animals."
All in all, The Giant Bear is outstanding. The depth of its content and its ready-made connections to a science curriculum make it a fine addition to any library. I highly recommend it. The Giant Bear: An Inuit Folktale Told by Jose Angutinngurniq Illustrated by Eva Widermann Published in 2012 by Inhabit Media
I follow the reviews that Erin Hollingsworth, a librarian in Barrow, Alaska posts at goodreads. I met Erin a couple of years ago at the 2012 Pacific Coast Library Association's conference in Anchorage, Alaska. At that conference, I spent a lot of time with Debby Edwardson, author of Whale Snow and My Name Is Not Easy. It was a memorable trip that I look back on fondly.
A few days ago, Erin reviewed The Giant Bear, An Inuit Folktale. Written by Jose Angutingunrik and illustrated by Eva Widermann, I like what Erin says in her review and am passing it along to you. The Giant Bear was published in 2012 by Inhabit Media. Here's Erin's review:
This book combines a great story with terrific art. I cannot praise it enough. As to the reviewers who found it too violent, the polar bear is the largest land carnivore and it hunts and eats people. Polar bears are not cute cuddly animals; they are man killers. I think it is perfectly appropriate to share this fact with children. So many of them have had their brains addled by modern Coca Cola culture that it might do them some good to realize that the world around them is an all too real, and sometimes unfriendly place.
[Editor's note: This post edited on Dec 20th to include Erin's last name and a link to Goodreads.]
The most powerful stories are those that pull you in such that you feel the emotions of the character(s) in the story and when you come to the end, you let loose a big sigh. When I Was Eight did that to me when I read it a few days ago.
Published in 2013 by Annick Press, the authors of When I Was Eight are Christy Jordan-Fenton and Margaret Pokiak-Fenton. The story told in When I Was Eight is one from Margaret's childhood. Margaret is Inuit. Christy is her daughter-in-law.
Here's the first line from the book:
I knew many things when I was eight. I knew how to keep the sled dogs quiet while Father snuck up on caribous, and to bring the team to him after a kill. I knew the sun slept in the winter and woke in the summer. And I knew that when the sun-warmed Arctic Ocean shrugged off its slumbering ice, we would cross it to trade furs with the outsiders.
Those words are quite evocative. Ocean shrugging of ice! Wow! I like thinking about that image.
And, did you notice the word "outsiders" in the last sentence? Margaret's family traded with the outsiders, and as we turn the page, we learn more about the outsiders. We see two Inuit girls. One is reading to the other. The older one is Rosie, and the younger one is Olemaun (Margaret's Inuit name). Olemaun wants to read, too, like her sister does. But, that means going to the outsiders' school...
Olemaun's dad finally agrees to let her go. Once she gets there, though, we see and read about what happens to her.
Cutting their hair and taking their traditional clothing from them was the first step in stripping Native children of their identity once they got to boarding schools. Some schools, like the one in When I Was Eight, were mission schools.
The words and the art in When I Was Eight convey a frightful but honest story about perseverance. Olemaun learned to read, in spite of the obstacles she encountered at school.
Some of us might like children's books to be light and pretty, but for many of us, life isn't always that way. Denying that reality and that history is a disservice to everyone. According to Amazon, it'll be available on February 26th. Look for it. Order it. Share it.
Sitting here on my couch this morning, I've come across the website for an Inuit-owned publishing house called Inhabit Media, Inc. located in Iquluit, Nunavut. Using interlibrary loan, I've ordered a handful of their books and look forward to reading them.
[Note: This review is used with permission of Beverly Slapin and may not be published elsewhere without her written permission.]
____________________
Grossman, Virginia, Ten Little Rabbits, illustrated by Sylvia Long. San Francisco: Chronicle Books (1991). Unpaginated color illustrations; preschool-grade 1
Kusugak, Michael (Inuit), My Arctic, 1, 2, 3, illustrated by Vladyana Krykorka. Toronto: Annick Press (1996). Unpaginated, color illustrations; preschool-up; Inuit
Although both of these are counting books, they are very different from one another. Ten Little Rabbits has received several awards. It has been favorably reviewed in all of the major journals, can be found in most bookstores, and is featured on many “multicultural” lists and in catalogs. Long’s earth-toned ink-and-watercolor pictures are pretty and her rabbits look like rabbits.
But it shouldn’t be necessary to tell people that counting rabbits dressed as Indians is no different from counting Indians. It objectifies people. Same faces, different blankets. As Teresa L. McCarty writes,
The book’s implicit suggestion that children will learn to “count by diminutive-ethnic-group characters” is perverse and patently racist. That the author and the illustrator appear completely unconscious of this and choose to portray their characters as “cute” little animals reveals an especially insidious and societally acceptable form of racism. It is difficult to believe any writer, illustrator, or publisher today would accept or promote equivalent portrayals, for instance, of American Jews or African Americans. [1]
There are some who would ask, “but are the pictures authentic?” They’re neither authentic nor accurate. There’s no cultural relevance, no connection between each illustration and a people’s way of being in world. Even if the pictures were not contrived, the impact of this book—“rabbits as Indians”—on impressionable little kids is what makes it toxic.
Neither Long’s lifelong “fascination with Native American cultures” nor her reading of Watership Down, which together “inspired a series of Native American rabbit illustrations that later became the basis for this book" [2] excuses what she and Grossman have done. On the other hand, My Arctic 1, 2, 3 is an example of a counting book that simply and beautifully reflects a people’s connection to the land. “I grew up in the Arctic Circle,” Michael Kusugak writes.
When I was a little boy we hunted seals, caribou and whales….We do not hunt animals all the time. Mostly, we watch them. We look at their tracks. We see how their coats change with the seasons. We watch what they hunt for food. We see how they hunt. In this book I want to show you some of the animals we have watched and the other animals that they hunt. Watching animals is fun.
My Arctic 1, 2, 3 is clearly more than a counting book. Unlike Ten Little Rabbits, it shows the relationships between the humans and the animals and between the different animals in an environment that demands that this relationship be understood. Each two-page spread, in luminous watercolors and ink, shows a certain number of animals on the left, and the animals they hunt on the right. The story comes full circle at the last spread that shows, on the left, Kusugak’s extended family picking “millions of berries (that) ripen in the fall” and on the right,
One lone polar bear walks along the shore, thinking of seals. It sees the berry pickers and says, “Never mind. They do not look like very good meals.” It continues on its journey, looking for what it might find…
There are words in Inuktitut for the animals themselves, and the last four pages, “The Arctic World of Michael Kusugak and His Family,” place all of the Arctic animals in the context of their relationship to the humans and each other. From start to finish, this is a beautiful book.
—Beverly Slapin
[1] Theresa L. McCarty, “What’s Wrong with Ten Little Rabbits?,” The New Advocate, vol. 8, no. 2, 1995, p. 98.
[Note: This review used by permission of its author, Beverly Slapin, and may not be used elsewhere without her written permission.]
__________________________
Rivera, Raquel, Arctic Adventures: Tales from the Lives of Inuit Artists, illustrated by Jirina Marton. Groundwood, (2007). 47 pages, color illustrations, grades 3-up.
“[H]umans are not a polar bear’s preferred meal,” Rivera writes. “They are too bony, not like a nice fat seal.” These four tales, related for a child audience, are based on stories told by Inuit artists Pudlo Pudlat, Kenojuak Ashevak, Jessie Oonark and Lazarusie Ishulutak. Following each tale is a photo of the artist, a brief biographical sketch, and an image of a painting, print or sculpture that represents the artist’s work. Even considering that both author and illustrator are cultural outsiders, the book has a lot to offer.
Rivera, who refers to herself as “Newbie-in-the-North,” renders the stories in a way that’s true to the way the artists see things; she respects the artists’ perceptions, even though those perceptions may not be her own. She has also resisted the temptation to portray each artist as an individual; rather, she places their lives and work in the context of the land, community and family from which they are inextricable.
There are questions about Rivera’s telling of “Kenojuak and the Goddess of the Sea.” Traditionally, would Talelayu have been seen as a “Goddess” or would she have been seen as the protector of the sea and its creatures and environment? Talelayu has the power to—and does—wreak havoc on a people who depend on hunting and fishing for sustenance, and the people understand that it is their behaviors toward the animals and the environment that will either anger or appease her.
Although Marton’s pastel illustrations lend continuity to the work, it would have been interesting to see each artist’s visual interpretation of the story, or at least of some of its elements. I would also have liked to see the text, or at least part of it, in Inuktitut as well as English.
