Mal Peet and Elspeth Graham, illustrated by Michael Foreman,
Painting out the Stars
Walker Books, 2011.

Ages 8-11

Three magical stories make up this beautifully presented middle-grade book: “The Mysterious Traveller”, “Night Sky Dragons”, and “Cloud Tea Monkeys”, from which the collection takes its name. Set in unspecified times and countries, they transport readers to the desert, the steppe and a tea plantation respectively.  What links them is that they all hinge on inter-generational relationships that will resonate with today’s young readers.

“There were five riders but six camels, travelling fast.  Desperately fast.” So opens the first story, “The Mysterious Traveller”.  The sixth camel and his precious cargo, a baby girl with a mysterious necklace, are the only survivors following a sandstorm.  She is found and adopted by Issa, the most respected guide locally, who calls her Mariamma and teaches her all he knows.  The years pass and Issa goes blind, but is still the best guide in the area, with Mariamma’s help.  Their lives could have continued along this path, had not some strangers required a guide to take them safely over the mountains…

In “Night Sky Dragons”, young Yazul would rather make kites with his grandfather than follow the path of travel and trade, business and money that his father advocates.  He is fond of mischief too, and one day his antics cause untold, if unintentional damage.  Yazul despairs that not only will his father never love him, but he’ll never again feel the happiness of flying kites – but when bandits lay siege to their fortified han, Yazul has an idea to save them that could just reconcile both…

In the last of the three stories, a tea-picker falls ill.  Her daughter Tashi understands the grinding wheel of poverty: no work, no money, no medicine.  “The problem went round and round.  It was like a snake with its tail in its mouth and Tashi was frightened by it.” She tries unsuccessfully to pick the tea herself.  Despairing, she seeks out the shady spot where she has always shared her lunch with a large monkey family, little realising that they will now repay her kindness and friendship in the most extraordinary way…

It is perhaps no surprise that “Cloud Tea Monkeys” has previously been published as an acclaimed picture-book (illustrated by Jean Wijngaard), and that there are similar plans for the other two stories.  Michael Foreman’s black and white illustrations accompanying this edition are charming and add atmosphere, deftly conveying the atmosphere of each story, including the underlying humor in “Cloud Tea Monkeys”.  Readers of these great stories will find themselves cheering on the protagonists, while feeling complicit in the storyline by being able to anticipate enough, though not all, of each ending.  While the atmospheric description and details beg to be read aloud, the depth of characterisation and the relationships explored make this just the kind of book that independent readers will want to pick up again and again.

Marjorie Coughlan
December 2011

Shogo Oketani, translated by Avery Fischer Udagawa,
J-Boys: Kazuo’s World, Tokyo, 1965
Stone Bridge Press, 2011.

Ages 9-12

J-Boys describes the life a Japanese boy, Kazuo Nakamoto, living in Tokyo in the mid-1960s.  The book is laid out in chronological segments over a year starting in October.  Kazuo is nine years old and lives with his brother Yasuo and his parents in West Ito, a district in Shinagawa Ward in Tokyo.  Set in an interesting period in Japan’s more recent past, this account of a boy’s life in mid-’60s Japan touches on a wide range of social topics relevant to the time.  For example, the book discusses the issue of migrant labor used to develop the rapidly growing city of Tokyo, the racism against resident Koreans, and pervasive American cultural influences present on TV and in music.

There is nostalgia for this lost world prevalent in Japan at the moment – a period roughly corresponding to the latter part of the Showa era; and J-Boys is really a book that celebrates that Japan from a child’s perspective.  But at the same time as the book is nostalgic, it also explains the culture of the day to an English-reading audience. Alongside the main text are side-boxes explaining cultural items such as the names of foods, or the terms of reference for certain holidays or traditional art forms, which help contextualize Kazuo’s world for the reader.  I found these more or less helpful; with a book like this, it’s always difficult to ascertain what or what not to include as extra information for the reader.  However, using the side-boxes I think was a good device.

J-Boys is a great read that brings a certain slice of Japanese life to life, without making the culture seem like an artifact.  Yes, this is an account of a Japan of the past, but of a recent past that contains many elements of interest to readers, from the once ubiquitous urban phenomenon of the bath house to the gathering spot of Kazuo’s friends in the empty lot.  I appreciated the fact that this book is a translation of a Japanese author, Shogo Oketani, who lived through the period described. Stone Bridge Press and translator Avery Udagawa should be credited for taking on a book like this to give young readers an insightful look into Japanese society from the perspective of a young boy growing up in the ’60s. Alongside the book, one can consult the very helpful J-Boys website for information on the author and on Japan, as well as resources for teachers.

Sally Ito
October 2011

Books that tell me what people wear, what they eat, and how they spend their time have delighted me since I first began to read, so perhaps this is why I love The Happiness of Kati. Like The Wind in the Willows and The Little House in the Big Woods, this small novel about a small Thai girl and her family has enlarged my world by describing a different way of living.

And yet in the descriptions of a rural Thai childhood, there are hints given at the beginning of each chapter that there is a sorrowful mystery at the heart of Kati’s seemingly idyllic life, and when that mystery is divulged, the story carries the weight of loss and sorrow.

As the jacket flap informs readers, Jane Vejjajiva is the daughter of a doctor who researches Lou Gehrig’s disease (amyotrophic lateral sclerosis), and this knowledge informs much of her story. In addition to this, Jane Vejjajiva was born with cerebral palsy, building a career as a writer, translator and publisher, traveling and studying abroad, and living a life filled with accomplishment and challenges. When she writes about disease and disability, she is well acquainted with these subjects, and depicts them without sentimemtality or mawkishness.

I am always struck when I read this book by the sensitive and skillful treatment of themes not usually found in middle-grade fiction in the United States. What do you think? Is this a book you would share with your child, your classroom? Tell us why–or why not!

This month on PaperTigers, the question was posed, “And what better way to become globally literate than by exploring stories set in different cultures, whether next door or on the other side of the globe?”

This is a haunting question, especially when considered with the remarks made earlier this year by writer Lara Saguisag.

She pointed out that books written for children contain the values of the culture in which they were written, and that these books are often viewed through the prism of Western values and Western cultural norms.

Our current Tiger’s Choice, The Happiness of Kati, was rejected by a smart champion of middle-grade fiction because, she said, “It just didn’t grab me.” Her remark made me wonder how many books are cast aside because the unfamiliar cultural values made the characters seem too simplistic and the story too laden with a moral message that in American culture seems too heavy-handed.

If we in the world are going to understand each other, then we must do our very best to understand our different cultural values–and what better way to do that then through literature? And what better time to do that than in childhood?

Children need books that are windows and books that are mirrors, as Patsy Aldana was quoted as saying in a recent PaperTigers post. It would be a great mistake to dismiss a book because its cultural values are distant from our own. The adventure promised by reading is not only that of enjoying the delights of a well-told story, but also of increasing our empathy and understanding, as our world draws closer together and becomes more intimately acquainted through the pages of a book.

When we began to think about creating an online book group that would appeal to readers of all ages, there were classic titles that came quickly to mind. Finding books that corresponded to the PaperTigers’ goal of understanding different cultures through children’s literature was a challenge and an opportunity for exploring new reading adventures.

I was lucky. The first book I found on my initial foray into this new world of books that would appeal to both adults and children was one that immediately captured my heart and mind—Naming Maya by Uma Krishnaswami.

I’ve worked in bookstores for decades but this novel was one that I hadn’t encountered before. I was eager to hear other people’s opinions of it and to have the chance to talk about it, the way we readers always feel when we find a book that we love.

The comments for Naming Maya have been as rich and as thoughtful as I had hoped they would be. Readers have agreed that this is a book for mothers and daughters to read together, that it evokes India in a way that could describe Hyderabad as well as it does Chennai, and that the theme of dualism is expressed quite beautifully in the idea of the “Two-Gift.” As Maya herself concludes about trust, in an observation that applies to many things in this novel–and in life–”You keep some, you give some away.”

What makes this book one that I can return to with pleasure for reading over and over is, above all, the way that three very strong women of different generations are portrayed, Maya, Kamala Mami, and Maya’s mother. Together they make a household that is both temporary and enduring, and Uma Krishnaswami makes each of them enduring figures in the reader’s imagination. It is no small feat to be able to give life to characters of varying background and chronological age, but it is accomplished so well in Naming Maya.

Not only is Chennai vividly evoked in this book, but so is its culture and values. Uma Krishnaswami delicately and without editorializing shows through Maya’s eyes different ways of accepting marriage, of being a teenager, of growing old. And she so wonderfully shows how food can be a common language when living in a place where three different languages are routinely used and in all of them words sometimes fail.

“I hear you need a cook,” Kamala Mami announces to Maya and her mother, the day after their arrival in India. They do indeed, more than they know. Kamala Mami’s food brings them slowly together–right up until a dish made from her recipe crashes to the floor and releases Maya’s torrent of hitherto unspoken emotion.

The one complaint I have about this novel is that it hasn’t yet been released in a paperback edition, which would make it accessible to many more readers than it already is. When I recently told a fellow-bookseller about Naming Maya, his response was that far too few books address the subject of bi-cultural children, a point that both Aline and Katia touched upon in our discussion. Uma Krishnaswami has found a universality in belonging to two different worlds. Through her art Maya’s duality becomes a new way for readers of all ages to look at their own lives, and that is an act accomplished by literature that is truly great.

If you haven’t yet read this book, I envy you the joy of experiencing it for the first time. If you know a young girl with whom you can share it, I envy you even more. If you’ve read it already, discover the joy of reading it again–and add your opinion to mine in the comments field if you agree that it should be reissued in a paperback edition, please!