During our session with the IFLA (International Federation of Libraries Associations and Institutions) in Bologna, both speakers (Patsy Aldana and Viviana Quiñones) stressed the importance of children having access to books which both reflect their experiences and open windows onto other customs and cultures. We were urged to pay a visit to the stand shared by a number of different African publishers, and there we met three very special publishers, all producing books to meet that demand.

The first two were librarians we had met at the session the day before: Antoinette F. Correa from BLD (Bibliothèque-Lecture-Développement) Éditions in Senegal and Pili Dumea of the Children’s Book Project (CBP) for Tanzania.

Antoinette, pictured right with a selection of her books, told me that she set up BLD Éditions to meet the needs of both teachers and pupils, who were crying out for access to good books in their own language. She is a well-known figure in the IFLA, and sees the continued development of libraries as crucial work: as well as publishing books, BLD helps to set up libraries and trains librarians.

Pili, pictured left, is secretary to the CBP for Tanzania, which, again, connects children with books published locally. Last year the CBP was awarded the UNESCO King Sejong Literacy Prize for its work promoting the love of books among children and adults. One eleven-year-old, talking about her school library, following the school’s affiliation to the CBP, said

“I have read most of the books in the school library which helped me learn about different topics through interesting stories told in our own national language, Kiswahili, which is easier to understand than English.”

The third publisher was Bakamé Éditions from Rwanda, who publish children’s books in the national language, Kinyarwanda, which is understood by all Rwandans. They also run various projects to promote reading, including their “Bibliothèque en route” – a rucksack library, which takes books out to children who do not have access to an actual library. It gets a tiny mention on their English pages, but if you read French, there’s more here. Editions Bakamé was the joint recipient of this year’s IBBY-Asahi Reading Promotion Award and this article on IBBY’s website is also an interesting read.

The work these organisations are doing is truly awe-inspiring and it was a real privilege to meet Antoinette and Pili.

Following on from our meeting with librarians-turned-publisher in Bologna, I recently discovered Silly Mammo by Yohannes Gebregeorgis (African Sun Press, 2002), the first ever bilingual English/Amharic book. It’s the story of a boy who keeps making mistakes by following instructions given in hindsight – starting with his mother telling him to put his earnings into his pocket so he doesn’t lose them (ie coins)… and then he is paid with a bottle of milk, which he then pours into his pockets… and so the story progresses: until he wins the hand of a beautiful girl by making her laugh. It’s a delightful story, which will make young listeners laugh aloud.

The illustrations are by Bogale Belachew, an Ethiopian artist, who has given the story a contemporary setting. This reflects the books initial raison d’être, which was to provide Ethiopian children with a story in their own language from their own culture.

“Yohannes emigrated to the United States half a lifetime ago. He became an American citizen. But he came back, giving up a comfortable life as a children’s librarian in San Francisco, because it bothered him that while Ethiopian kids may go to school, they have no books.”

He founded a mobile library with a difference in Awassa, Ethiopia: drawn by donkeys; and has then gone on to publish books for children to read in local languages. Silly Mammo was the first of these.

The book is available from Silver Chicks, with all proceeds going to EthiopiaReads (check out their blog too), also founded by Yohannes.

Read this article (where my quotation above comes from) and watch this video – the faces of the children say it all!

In July 2008, Just One More Book!!, the lovely, “free online audio program (podcast) about children’s books we love and why we love them,” celebrated its second anniversary and 400th episode of promoting children’s books and literacy. As part of their celebration, they invited illustrators of all backgrounds and ages, including wee ones, to submit a logo-like illustration on the theme of reading. The result was an online gallery of wonderful images. One of my favorites is the one featured here (click the image to enlarge), by Canadian author/illustrator, Lee Edward Fodi, titled “He Was a Tiger of a Storyteller,” and I bet you can guess why…

Busy parents and educators will treasure all the great content and resources Just One More Book!! has to offer. And here’s our shout out to listeners: anyone can participate by calling in and leaving a message about a favorite children’s book (the number is available on their website). The recorded messages will become part of the show. Isn’t that great? Isn’t it wonderful to have venues such as this (and the PaperTigers blog, too, let’s not forget) to share about them?

Heads up: on Monday, the PaperTigers celebration of “Hispanic Heritage Month” will be live on the website, so keep your eyes peeled! We’ll be blogging about books and topics related to the theme through Oct 15.

In a recent post, Janet talked about Mr George Baker, in which a child goes to school with someone from an older generation who, even if it isn’t articulated in the book, is courageously taking the plunge and overcoming the stigma attached to not knowing how to read and write. In the process he becomes an icon not just for other adults but for the children: Aline commented that her daughter was very struck by the notion of older people going to school when she had Jeremiah Learns to Read read to her.

When children see the adults in their lives reading, they are more likely to pick up a book for themselves. When adults and children learn together, the rewards can go far beyond the actual learning.

In Grandfather Counts by Andrea Cheng, illustrated by Ange Zhang (Lee & Low, 2000), which I included in my recent Personal View for our Literacy-themed update of PaperTigers, Helen’s grandfather comes to live with them in the US from China. Everyone has to adapt and language difficulties have to be overcome. Gong Gong (Grandfather) is clearly horrified that his grandchildren don’t speak Chinese and Helen is resentful that she has had to move out of her bedroom with its view of the train tracks at the back of the house. One evening Gong Gong joins Helen as she sits waiting for the trains to pass by. He counts each carriage/car as it goes by and soon they are sharing and learning how to count in each other’s language. Soon the ice is broken and that evening at supper, all three children start to show an interest in learning Chinese.

The story leaves young readers/listeners with a warm feeling that Helen and her Gong Gong will become close and each will continue to help the other to learn. This is by no means a preachy story but it does remind us of the difference it can make to a child’s desire to learn if they see adults around them who are doing the same thing. Helen and her brother and sister had tried attending Chinese Sunday School but had dropped out because the other children already knew much more than they did. However, because Gong Gong was willing to let Helen help him to learn English, she wanted to be able to communicate with him in his language too.

It’s a wonderful story, too, for children whose parents come from different cultures but who may be struggling with the notion of being bilingual; and because the story requires both the English and the Chinese to run alongside each other, it’s also a great way to introduce the beginnings of counting in Chinese to English speakers.

A little boy named Harry sits on a porch with his friend, Mr. George Baker, who “is a hundred years old, no kidding….all snappy and happy in the morning.” Almost every day they meet– sitting, waiting, sharing chocolate candies the way that true friends do.

Each of them has a red book bag with a book inside, a book that neither of them has yet learned how to read. “That must be corrected,” says Mr. George Baker.

As they wait, Mr. George Baker taps out rhythms with “his crookedy fingers.” “He’s a drummer man,” Harry explains, “Some people say he’s famous.”

The school bus pulls up, George and Harry get on board and go off to school, where they sit in separate rooms, learning how to sound out letters in their green books.

“It’s hard,” complains Harry.

“We can do it,” says Mr. George Baker.

This picture book is a tribute to literacy that soars and sings. Every word is economical, precise, and forms the kind of images that we look for in poetry. Mr. George Baker, with his “crumpled hat and his long stretchy legs,” a Dixieland drummer who still dances with his ninety-year-old wife, is revealed by Amy Hest‘s lyrical text as much as he is by Jon J Muth‘s pale and misty illustrations. He and Harry, united in friendship and their quest for literacy, become permanent residents in the imaginations of all who encounter them in the pages of this lovely, magical story.

This Reading Rainbow selection is a book that demands to be read aloud to anyone and everyone within earshot.

Silent Music, written and illustrated by Hawaii-based James Rumford, and published this year by Roaring Brook Press, tells the story of Ali, a soccer-loving boy in Baghdad who also practices calligraphy, just like his idol Yakut, who lived 800 years ago. When the Mongols attacked in 1258, Ali learns, Yakut fled to a high tower. “He shut out the terror and wrote glistening letters of rhythm and grace.”

So in 2003 Ali recalls the practice of his hero and also writes through nights of bombing and war. He notices how much easier it is to write the “long sweeping hooks” of the word HARB, the word for war, than it is to write the “difficult waves and slanted staffs” of SALIM, the word for peace.

Rumford’s illustrations are collage-like, and wonderful. Silent Music is a good fit with our current website focus on literacy, as is linguist and world traveler Rumford’s Sequoyah: The Cherokee Man Who Gave His People Writing, a 2005 Sibert Honor winner.

Inspired by the PaperTigers website current focus on literacy, Janet and I have been blogging about the topic recently, and one of the points that have come up is how children nowadays might be literate in ways that we adults have yet to explore. These thoughts and resulting comments reminded me of an interview Marjorie did with artist and illustrator Allen Say, in which he credits kamishibai, a traditional form of paper theater storytelling, as the source of much of his childhood happiness. Between the 1920s and 1950s in Japan, it was common to see kamishibai storytellers pedaling their bicycles, equipped with small stages. They would stop at street corners, or wherever children gathered, to sell candies and tell stories—often in installments, to keep kids coming back for more.

When TV first appeared in Japan, in the 1950′s, the kamishibai men started disappearing from the streets, and the medium, first referred to as “electronic kamishibai, was received with a lot of skepticism. Considered by many as the precursor of manga, kamishibai now exists in electronic format, for use on a computer (and why not, if the idea is to go where the children are?!), and its traditional format has seen a revival in schools and libraries in Japan. I’ve even heard of high-tech people using it as a presentation device, instead of –gasp!– powerpoint, praising it as a simple, engaging and very effective tool for presenting ideas.

Marjorie writes in her review of Allen Say’s exquisite book, Kamishibai Man—a book that was 32 years in gestation: “Jiichan returns home at the end of the day–a day which has been caught on film and broadcast via the very medium that brought about the demise of kamishibai…” and her words reveal one of the ideas the author alludes to in his story: “how innovation and change can appear threatening but through time and adjustment there is room for all.”

For more on Kamishibai:

http://www.janmstore.com/kamishibai.html
http://www.kamishibai.com/history.html

Aline’s recent post about evolving definitions of literacy came just after I’d read that in China, writers text message extremely short stories on their cellphones. In the week before that I read two manuscripts on my laptop. Google News has almost replaced my daily newspaper, but I’m too much of a print junkie to quit the New York Times cold turkey.

The world of print is changing fast. A woman came into the store where I spend some of my time and bought three novels. She then took note of several other books that she wanted to download to her digital book collection. She saw me wince and explained that for travel this was a wonderful tool–she could take twenty-five books with her on a long flight. I immediately thought of the tote bag bulging with weight that I carry with me onto a plane so I will be assured of a choice of reading material, and my perspective began to change a tiny bit.

What if, instead of being that paragon of literacy, the devoted bookworm, I’m actually a person with deficient reading skills? What if I learned to enjoy the many different ways of reading–from a book, from a laptop, from a portable digital reading device, from the tiny screen of a cellphone? How much more freely I could roam the world, without the weight of my books and my need for bookstores that will sell me reading material in English.

Perhaps as we examine literacy we need to realize that children who rarely touch a book may be forging new ground for us all. They are literate in ways that many of us have yet to explore–and, in light of the world’s dwindling supplies of wood pulp, that we may be forced to explore sooner than we anticipate.

What about you? Are you a multi-faceted reader, or are you like me–helplessly enthralled by the weight of a book and the sight of print on a page?

Literacy issues have been on my mind lately, in particular since we posted the latest PaperTigers website update. And this morning I had proof, courtesy of the New York Times, of the timely nature of my thoughts and concerns.

“Literacy Debate: Online, R U Really Reading?” the second article in the NY Times series by Motoko Rich on the future of reading, points to the fact that the internet has found its way to the heart of our lives and to how, as a result, new literacy skills – and new ways of looking at the world – impose themselves on us.

When it comes to kids, we all know those “new ways” are hardly imposed. It seems to be a natural part of their lives to seamlessly move between different online handles and accounts and to navigate the internet and all its lures better, according to some, than they navigate their own lives. Our youth seem to believe that there’s nothing like the internet (where reading breadth and depth is calibrated according to one’s whims) to provide them with the experience of having the whole world at their fingertips. But what about the equally-whole world that books introduce us to? What of the greater depth of experience to be gained from reading them?

Well, it shouldn’t be a matter of either/or. The definition of literacy is evolving, just as language and communication technologies always have and always will. If in addition to high-quality teaching our literacy concerns encompass information literacy and plenty of questioning skills, I trust that kids will learn to navigate life (and to read books) just as well as they do the internet. Their online ways can teach us important lessons about our literacy future. Let’s pay attention.

More reactions to the NY Times article can be found here.

The perfect picture book is one in which pictures and text blend together into a seamless unified whole world held in two hands. When this magic happens, then that book appeals to all age categories. This is what Katia Novet Saint-Lot and Dimitrea Tokunbo have accomplished in their new book, Amadi’s Snowman (Tilbury House, 2008).

From the first sentence of this book, when Amadi is introduced while “crouched in the shrubs, stalking a red-headed lizard,” until the last words “And he ran down the dirt path, his heart filled with joy,” he leaps out as a completely delightful small boy, who considers himself “an Igbo man of Nigeria.” Although his mother urges him to let a neighbor teach him to read, Amadi sees no room for that nonsense in his future. He plans to be a businessman and knows exactly how to begin this enterprise–reading is unnecessary.

Wandering through the market while mulling over his business plan, Amadi finds an older boy immersed in a book. Caught by a picture of a world covered in white and a boy standing beside a large white figure with a carrot for a nose, Amadi discovers that his own world is far smaller than he ever imagined. With awakened curiosity, he begins to hunger for facts that can only be provided by breaking the secret code of print on a page.

And yet this book is so much more than this simple plot summary. With precise and evocative descriptions of Amadi’s world, Katia Novet Saint-Lot plunges readers into the color and beauty of Nigerian village life, while making Amadi such a vivid character that as he runs down the dirt path and away from his readers on the final page, he leaves us hoping for a sequel. Dimitrea Tokunbo’s glowing paintings bring motion and light and detail to the words, truly illuminating the text by showing readers exactly what Amadi sees every day.

This is a celebration of literacy that takes us back to the yearning and hunger that made us readers, while giving us a new world that we will yearn and hunger to learn more about, no matter how young–or old–we may be.