While combing through possible books for New Books New Readers series, I came across Pink and Say among the variety of excellent picture books by Patricia Polacco. Unfortunately it was only available in hardback; however, by the time we were looking for books for the new “Resolving Conflict” series, Scholastic was printing it in paperback.
The first page of Pink and Say begins: ”When Sheldon Russell Curtis told this story to his daughter Rosa, she kept every word in her heart and was to retell it many times over in her long lifetime. Sheldon had been injured in a fierce battle and was left for dead…He was rescued from this field by another lad who had also been separated from his company. I will tell it in his own words as nearly as I can.”
Sheldon (Say) was white and the other lad (Pink for Pinkus) was black, and both were Union soldiers. Pink manages to haul the injured Say to his old home where Sweet Moe Moe Bay mothers them both. As they heal, the boys discuss their reasons for being on the battlefield, slavery, fear of dying and fear of being found by marauders. The ending of the story brings tears to my eyes every time I read it, but even more touching is the writing on the final two pages, which begins “I know this story to be true because…”
This is a picture book for all ages about war and friendship, love and memory. (Carolyn Sloan)
The newest book from award-winning Maine author and illustrator Anne Sibley O'Brien is After Gandhi: One Hundred Years of Nonviolent Resistance. Her collaborator on the project, which took many years to complete, is her son, Army veteran Perry Edmond O'Brien. Using stories, facts, quotations, and grayscale pastel illustrations, the O'Briens profile 16 leaders of twentieth century nonviolent resistance movements around the world, from Thich Nhat Hanh in rural Vietnam to Wangari Maathai in Kenya. They are careful to state that these leaders are regular people: “they all had both strengths and weaknesses, they made mistakes, and they weren't always successful.” The message, of course, is that if they could do it, we can, too. (Brita Zitin)
This is an odd novel, expansive in its many imperfections, but well worth a look, especially for its attempts to examine the notion of sustainable living before that term became mainstream. I have always been drawn to utopian/dystopian literature, and Callenbach creates a comprehensive vision of the late 1990’s from an early 1970’s point of view.
Ecotopia was founded when northern California, Oregon, and Washington seceded from the Union and closed their border to create a “stable-state” nation: the perfect balance between human beings and the environment. The story takes place twenty years later, as the isolated, mysterious Ecotopia welcomes its first officially sanctioned American visitor: New York Times-Post reporter Will Weston.
That the main character is a reporter is a device that allows for plenty of detailed asides on “stable state” ideas and the Ecotopian way of life, making this as much a philosophical doctrine as it is a conventional novel. The characters often seem strikingly anachronistic and one-dimensional, but there is a charm about them—certainly enough to keep this reader engaged.
I’ve read this book at least three times since it appeared, most recently this past January. I don’t really know why I have gone back, knowing full well how frustrating parts of it are—but I understand why it remains in print. And it is fascinating to see how, over time, various aspects of the story have come into focus. While many elements seem more absurd than ever, I found that the book resonated with many of the current debates about environmental stewardship and sustainability. What’s more, spending a few hours in a Utopian world, even with the problems that all such worlds seem to have, came as a pleasant diversion from the real world, where so many of our systems are presently so far from stable. (Erik Jorgensen)
This short, neat novel describes the inner anguish, resignation, and sense of discovery of a Muslim feminist in Senegal after the death of her husband. The novel is a detailed letter from Ramatoulaye to her childhood friend, Aissatou, both of whom were among the first women to be formally educated in Senegal. They are also first wives faced by the challenge of their husbands choosing a second, younger wife. Tradition haunts Ramatoulaye, who is deeply hurt by her husband’s literal abandonment of her and their children under the socially accepted guise of polygamy to marry and set up house for his eldest daughter’s friend. Aissatou, however, broke entirely with her husband when he accepted the second wife that his mother had forced upon him, moved out of the country, and created her own independence, including wealth. Ramatoulaye finds herself in a strange world, conflicted between what her learning tells her is right and what years of tradition dictate, and seeks, to the disgust of friends and families on both sides, a middle ground. So Long a Letter succeeds most as a fascinating description of society and choice. So Long a Letter was the text used in the MHC’s Africa in Transition teacher program in April. (Diane Magras)
And for another French language novel available in translation: I began reading La Princesse de Clèves to understand both why French Prime Minister Nicolas Sarkozy hates it and why this helped spark a huge movement in France today to read it. Seen by scholars as among the first modern European novels, this historical drama details the story of the most beautiful woman at the French court of Henri II, her devoted husband, and the handsome courtier who loves her and with whom she quickly falls in love. Children forced to read this book as an isolated text might indeed find it little more than old gossip, but paired with a humanities curriculum, the history conveyed in this book is fascinating. Almost every character is based on a real historical figure (Henri II is Louis XIV, for example), and their fates are all accurately represented. Taken as a cultural study of the period, La Princesse de Clèves will delight Francophiles in how it augments the social and cultural history that one can glean from other great French novels. It seems clear that while Sarkozy didn’t care for the gossip (and that is understandable, though the gossip can be fun), he might have wanted to look a bit deeper to see what this book can really mean. (Diane Magras)