Intermediate (Gr. 4-6)

Batt, Tanya. The Fabrics of Fairytale: Stories Spun from Far and Wide. New York: Barefoot Books, 2000. 80 pp. Illus. by Rachel Griffin. ISBN 1-84148-061-4, $19.99.

Although this book is listed in the Intermediate category, it can be enjoyed by any age. A publisher’s note at the end states, "The barefoot child represents the human being who is in harmony with the natural world and moves freely across boundaries of many kinds. Barefoot Books explores this image with a range of high-quality books for children of all ages."

This clever presentation of seven fairy tales from countries as diverse as Sweden and Indonesia, all involving certain kinds of fabric, fits this definition perfectly. Batt is a resident of Auckland, New Zealand, widely known as a strongly multiethnic city. She is an author, storyteller, and arts educator who travels widely and uses costumes from her collection to bring life to the stories she tells. Her retelling of these fairy tales is interestingly woven around English artist Rachel Griffin’s distinctive artwork, which could best be described as fabric collages. Each story is also accompanied by an informational piece about the fabric or material around which the story itself is woven.

Bruchac, Joseph. Pushing up the Sky: Seven Native American Plays for Children. New York: Dial, 2000. 94 pp. Illus. by Teresa Flavin. ISBN 0-8037-2168-4, $17.99.

Elementary school teachers are perennially faced with the need to find plays suitable for younger children. It is sometimes difficult to locate plays that are easy enough for young children to learn and at the same time fresh and interesting. Noted Native American historian and folklorist Bruchac has helped to meet this need with his collection.

Representing Indian Nations from the Northeast to the Southwest, these plays are fun and exciting for the players and also provide an introduction to the diverse Native cultures of America. From the Abenaki comes a story of the struggle between Gluskabe and old man winter over the return of summer; from the Tlingit, the defeat of the Cannibal Monster with the help of the Raven, and also the consequences of ignoring the Raven’s warning (mosquitoes). Other Nations represented include the Cheyenne, Ojibway, Cherokee, Snohomish, and Zuni. Each play is accompanied by suggestions for costuming, props, and stage settings as well as a brief introduction to the particular indigenous culture.

Pushing Up the Sky provides a useful introduction to Native American folktales and is a valuable resource for plays for children.

Dadey, Debbie. Cherokee Sister. New York: Delacorte, 2000. 119 pp. ISBN 0-385-32703-X, $14.95.

From the fake Indian designs on the cover to the cardboard characters, formulaic plot, and implausible situations, this ridiculous marriage of "The Prince and the Pauper" and "Hansel and Gretel" ought never to have seen the light of day. Allie McAllister, the white 12-year-old protagonist, resembles more a whiny, self-absorbed suburban kid than a settler child in 1838. She complains about her chores. She complains about the boring sermons. She complains about not having enough time to spend with her friend. Even on the death march that history will name the Trail of Tears, she complains: "I would have done a hundred chores without even being asked if I could just be safe at home again."

How does a whiny white girl come to get captured and forced on a death march meant for Cherokees? Because she happens to have a tan from being in the sun too much and happens to be wearing her Cherokee friend’s buckskin dress and happens to have her dark hair braided just before the raid. But even though some 4,000 people died on the Trail of Tears, Allie manages to get herself and her friend rescued by dropping the beads from her friend’s dress along the road.

Dadey’s "fascinating" Cherokee heritage notwithstanding, she gets a lot of things wrong, including some of the Cherokee works she clumsily tosses in along with some Cherokee historical and cultural tidbits—Green Corn Dance, Cherokee Phoenix, bathe every day, and, uh, never cry.

The writing is as clunky as the plot is preposterous. Throughout, in places where Dadey could have referred to people as "people," she calls them "Cherokee" or "Indian." Even the Cherokee characters call themselves "Cherokee," which they would not have done at that time. And when Allie is not complaining or obsessing about being white and not fitting in, she’s telling the thugs who captured her that they’re not being fair. Finally, I do not understand why the author needed to use a white protagonist to validate an Indian experience.

Fogelin, Adrian. Crossing Jordan. Atlanta, Ga.: Peachtree Publishers, 2000. 160 pp. ISBN 1-56145-215-7, $14.95.

The words from the old hymn "Crossing Jordan" were written as a metaphor describing the slaves’ historic odyssey through bondage into freedom. Fogelin applies the metaphor to our contemporary struggles through racism into freedom, if we will accept those struggles and persevere. Two young teenagers do exactly that in her story. They live next door to one another, one black and one white, in similar family configurations: Each contains a sympathetic member and a bigot and a 13-year-old who runs track, enjoys classic literature, and knows what it means to be a friend.

Ignoring their families’ demands that they stay away from each other, Cass and Jemmie maintain their friendship and their habit of running together. They call themselves "Chocolate Milk." When a fund-raising race for sickle-cell anemia is planned in the community, the girls enter and run as a team. The outcome transcends ribbons and trophies. They and their families have crossed Jordan, and there is no going back.

Most enjoyable are the descriptions of the families. Their vividly characterized members are like our own, caring but flawed. Their conversations are all too familiar, their biases predictable. If they can cross Jordan, then so can we all.

Glover, Savion and Weber, Bruce. Savion: My Life in Tap. New York: William Morrow, 2000. 80 pp. Illus. with photos. ISBN 0-688-15629-0, $19.95.

A photographic diary, Glover’s new 80-page autobiography resembles a cut-and-paste scrapbook. The dynamic black, white, and red format allows Glover to improvise on paper with words, much like he does with his tapping feet: "I think in rhythms and I talk that way too. TickeTY BLOO Ka, TicKeTY BLOO KaH SHUCK." Glover briefly reviews the developmental history of vernacular jazz tap dance and honors his elders throughout his self-story. He recognizes the guidance he received from the great tap dancers of the century—Jimmy Slyde, Honi Coles, Gregory Hines, and others.

A precocious youngster raised by his mother in Newark, New Jersey, young Savion graduated from beating pots and pans to dancing on Broadway in a mere decade. His kinesthetic learning style was fed by an obsessive dialogue between his ears and his feet—"I’m always hearing things, hearing rhythms, sometimes, not always, I wake up with rhythms in my head like I’ve been dreaming about them." Producing an orchestra of sound in metal taps, Glover takes his legacy of preserving and developing the tap art form seriously. His particular gift to the field revolves around his ability to bridge the world of hip-hop and tap. This visually explosive, small-format book is from the heart. It is resonant of the improvised jazz tap form that Savion Glover will continue to develop into its second century.

Herman, Gail. Just Like Mike. New York: Delacorte, 2000. 57 pp. ISBN 0-385-32542-8, $13.95.

Like millions of children, Michael Brown daydreams of being Michael Jordan. Alas, it is all nothing but a pipe dream. Michael has developed neither the physique nor the athletic acumen even to approach the level of play of his hero. Ironically, however, the boy will soon share Michael Jordan’s name. Michael’s mother, a widow, is about to marry a Mr. Jordan. Michael Brown is about to become Michael Jordan. He realizes that, logically or not, people will expect him to emulate the former NBA star. Michael and his mother pull up stakes and move to a new city.

Because Michael is afraid he will have to demonstrate to his new classmates that he is a superior basketball player, he shies away from making friends. His parents come to realize their son’s dilemma, and they work with him on improving his skills. Unfortunately, Michael just isn’t a gifted athlete. After giving his all in a pickup game, he feigns an ankle injury so he won’t be asked to play again. Michael discovers that his talents reside in a nonathletic area. He tries out for a school play and he wins the lead role. Michael, who describes himself as "short and stubby," proves to adults and students alike that one day he may attain his dreams of becoming a star. His arena of expertise will be on the stage, not the basketball court.

This is a short novel and doesn’t deal in any depth with the plethora of issues that it raises. First and foremost, would Michael, no matter what his last name, be expected to excel at sports if he weren’t an African American? Given that the boy is being uprooted from his school, friends, and hometown, why are his parents so insensitive as make him give up his father’s name, too? Becoming a stepchild under any circumstances isn’t an easy thing, and given the baggage Michael brings to this situation, I think the story dealt with these factors in a much too cursory manner.

MacDonald, Margaret Read. Earth Care: World Folktales to Talk About. North Haven, Conn.: Linnet Books, 1999. 162 pp. ISBN 0-208-02416-6, $26.50 (cl); 0-208-02426-3, $17.50 (pb).

Folklorist MacDonald has written many books on folklore. This one deals with our relationship with the earth, one on which our survival depends. MacDonald takes tales from various cultures and retells them for readers of all ages, thereby showing how a respect for the earth is not the province of a single group but is a universal concern. The book is divided into ecological themes such as forests, land, wetlands, creatures, greed, polluters, and planning for the future.

Included are a bibliography, proverb sources, tale notes, and a cultural and geographic index of the tales, giving the source of these stories as well as a list of acknowledgments of their sources.

MacDonald’s book speaks to us now more than ever, as we face catastrophic weather, global warming, destruction of habitats, and the extinction of 90 percent of all species that ever inhabited earth. Our own extinction is assured if we continue on our reckless course of devouring natural habitats. The preservation of the planet, the only one we have, is a theme we all need to embrace and share with children, and this collection serves as a valuable starting point.

Nixon, Joan Lowery. Caesar’s Story: 1759. New York: Delacorte, 2000. 170 pp. Series: Young Americans: Colonial Williamsburg. ISBN 0-385-32676-9, $9.95.

Caesar is struggling with growing up, a dilemma familiar to nine-year-old boys. His particular struggles are far from typical, though: betrayal by his best friend Nat, who, because he is white and wealthy, must now rule over Caesar rather than play alongside him; and the gradual separation of his family as he, his father, and his sister are all taken out of the fields and away from their family on the slave row at Carter’s Grove. The year is 1759, and Caesar’s is the second story to be told in Joan Lowery Nixon’s Young Americans series.

Based on historical accounts and developed in collaboration with the Colonial Williamsburg Foundation, each book is prefaced by a scenario involving contemporary children visiting a local docent, who picks up her story where the last book’s epilogue ended. Each book concludes with historical notes on Williamsburg and colonial childhood, as well as background and a recipe pertinent to the narrative.

Nixon’s greatest gift as she relates these tales lies in conveying the thoughts of the protagonists, both historical and contemporary. Immersed in each character’s emotional life, we see not only colonial Williamsburg through another’s lens, but also an evolving perspective on life and the surrounding world.

Osborne, Mary Pope. Adaline Falling Star. New York: Scholastic, 2000. 169 pp. ISBN 0-439-05947-X, $16.95.

Told as a first-person narrative, this is a fictionalized story about the mixed-blood daughter of Kit Carson and an unnamed Arapaho woman. After her mother dies, the child is brought to live with abusive white relatives. She escapes and runs off to find her father.

From the very first paragraph there are serious problems: "The night I was born on Horse Creek, the sky rained fire. Dogs howled and growled. Arapaho warriors put on red war paint and did a death dance." Where did Osborne get this stuff? Despite the fact that Indian people in the 1800s had complex social systems, sophisticated scientific knowledge, and spiritual and cultural beliefs that were as profoundly religious as any brought by the people who came here, Osborne has Adaline voice sweeping generalizations about her own people such as, "The Indians do not have the knowledge of Science." The words that Osborne has put into the mouth of this 11-year-old Arapaho girl have absolutely nothing to do with the reality—not the thought forms, not the feelings, not the attitudes, not the speech patterns, and certainly not this ignorance of her own people. Throughout, Osborne invents Indian verbiage, such as "Land-Behind-the-Stars," "Great Holy Spirit," "Rain Spirits," "Tree Spirits," and "Ghost Spirits."

In order to move the plot along, Osborne has Adaline mutilating herself to express her grief, a practice not done by children. And worse, Osborne, through Adaline, misrepresents and sensationalizes the Sun Dance: "I’d have to grow up and be a warrior—decorate my body with eagle feathers, dance the secret Sun Dance. Some of them torture themselves during the dance to show how brave they are. They hang themselves from a pole by leather thongs pulled through their chest muscles. I could do that. I’m brave enough."

Sun Dance is the central sacred ceremony of the Plains peoples. Its purpose is not to demonstrate bravery. It is a pledging, a sacrifice, a thank-offering for the good of the community. LaVera Rose (Lakota), also writing for children, says, "participants offer Wakantanka the greatest gift they have—their flesh and blood." This is something that young non-Native readers can understand. They will come away from Osborne’s writing believing that Indian people were the epitome of savagery.

In a positive novel about a Native child’s finding her place in the world, it is possible to portray the settler mentality and their hatred of Indians without resorting to an unrelenting barrage of racist terms such as "heathen," "mongrel," "half-breed," "half-Injun," and "savage." Osborne makes many references to scalping and murder by Indians—and none by whites. It just takes empathy for Indian people, of which Osborne shows none.

Tookoome, Simon and Oberman, Sheldon. The Shaman’s Nephew: A Life in the Far North. Toronto, Ont.: Stoddart Kids, 2000. 56 pp. Illus. by Simon Tookoome. ISBN 0-7737-3200-4, $18.95.

Tookoome requested Oberman to write this book in order that his stories of living on the land not be lost. Tookoome’s spirited illustrations illuminate the stories transcribed by Oberman over 10 years of interviews. While ostensibly marketed for young people, the methodology can be appreciated by readers of all ages. Oberman employed many different translators in order to hear Tookoome’s words in multiple ways, and he also lived with the family and prompted stories by sharing his own Jewish lore. The book is broken into brief topical chapters; the simple titles, such as "Names," reveal what is important in the Inuit world. The Shaman’s Nephew is a beautiful collaboration of author/translator and artist/storyteller that will be enjoyed by a wide range of ages.

Vos, Ida. The Key Is Lost. New York: HarperCollins, 2000. 271 pp. ISBN 0-688-16283-5, $15.95.

This book for children in the middle grades is about the German occupation of Holland, as seen by two young sisters. At the start of the story, Eva and Lisa are already aware of the dangers surrounding them and the evils being visited upon the Jews.

The children start losing everything they take for granted. They are not allowed to go to school, to play outdoors, to shop. Friends and neighbors disappear. The girls lose their names, becoming Marie-Louise and Marie-Jeanne. Then their home is lost to them, and they, with their parents, must go into hiding.

Years are spent in hiding. The children are moved from house to house, always fearing detection. They are separated from their parents. Eva and Lisa are able to endure only because they draw strength from each other. They are among the lucky ones who survive and are reunited with loved ones.

The story conveys the claustrophobic conditions and the ever-present fear the two girls endure. Throughout their ordeal, they behave like real children who tell stories, whisper, giggle, complain, and are sometimes disobedient. This is not surprising, as the story is true and the author actually experienced these events. The style is clear and simple, well suited for middle graders, and a good introduction to a painful period in history.

Woodson, Jacquelyn. Miracle’s Boys. New York: Putnam, 2000. 131 pp. ISBN 0-399-23113-7, $15.99.

Woodson, author of The House You Pass on the Way (1997) and other deeply felt contemporary stories, captures a pivotal moment in the lives of a trio of orphaned brothers. Though it has been 12 years since the death of their African-American father, and three since their diabetic Puerto Rican mother, Milagro, passed away suddenly, the inner wounds are still fresh in 22-year-old Ty’ree, 12-year-old Lafayette, and Charlie, in between. Charlie hurts the worst. Just back from three years in juvie for armed robbery, he’s turned cold and sullen, talking mean, hanging out with a chancy companion, fueling Lafayette’s own guilt by unjustly blaming him for their mother’s death. His behavior adds to the worries of Ty’ree, who had passed up college and taken a mailroom job rather than send Lafayette to distant relatives.

The story is told from Lafayette’s point of view, but Charlie is the central character, the one who has been driven by his pain to reject the family intimacy he had once shared. He gets a wake-up call when he goes to a party that turns out to be a gang initiation, is beaten, then is picked up by police in a stolen car—not a good situation for someone still on parole. A compassionate police officer gives him another chance, and by the end Charlie shows signs of accepting what his brothers have been offering him since his return. Ty’ree’s patient strength, Charlie’s anger, and Lafayette’s innocence create a chemistry that will draw readers into their lives. Their mother may be gone, but her legacy of love and laughter survives in each of them, bringing them together in spite of all the forces working to divide them.

Yep, Laurence. The Magic Paintbrush. New York: HarperCollins, 2000. 88 pp. Illus. by Suling Wang. ISBN 0-06-028199-5, $13.95.

People have different ways of expressing emotions. Grandfather and Uncle Fong were raised to keep their feelings to themselves, but to eight-year-old Steve, raised in "let-it-all-hang-out" America, it seems as if they don’t care either about him or about the death of his parents.

Steve has gone to live with those two in San Francisco’s Chinatown after a fire destroys everything he has ever cared about in this world. Both Chinatown and the dirty little apartment seem ugly and cramped, and Grandfather and Uncle Fong seem angry and uncommunicative. Life looks grim, especially when he gets an F on a painting in school.

Steve’s love of painting takes on a new dimension when Grandfather offers him a paintbrush with a special quality—it can make things you paint come to life. It can put meat on a poor man’s table and take Uncle Fong back to his old village in China where his older sister, already dead for many years, is still there as a mischievous child, throwing meat dumplings at Fong with a powerful aim. But can it bring Steve’s parents back to life?

Steve and his grandfather learn how to talk to each other from the heart, each learning something about the cares and concerns of the other, and they finally come to realize that their feelings are not so far apart after all.

Ancient popular Chinese myths as well as some more recent urban Chinese legends are woven into this story of modern America, complete with a greedy landlord who finally gets more than his fill of rich food, and the Lady in the Moon, who looks suspiciously like Grandmother in her youth. And the magic doesn’t stop. Written at an easy level, this is a great story for the elementary grades.