You Can't Be Neutral on a Moving Train

I don't know if that's the best title for this entry, but I like it. Howard Zinn said you can't be neutral on a moving train. I'm thinking about neutrality and award committees. I'll take credit for the Caldecott pun that exists in there somewhere (you know, train, Locomotive). Anyway, this past week the Horn Book Magazine posted a short online article about the Caldecott results, speculating as to why a particular book was not honored at all and inviting others to post their theories in the comments section. The people went off! The people are up in arms about Mr. Tiger's Caldecott snub. Well, I want to vent my outrage too.

The Caldecott and the Newbery each honored four books. One medalist and three honors per award. Not one of those eight books is by or about a person of color. If I'm wrong (and I've been known to be wrong), please call me out. I'm going to drag the Printz Award in here too. I'm doing this for several reasons: (1) Two of this year's Pura Belpré Award honors went to books that fall in that fuzzy age overlap area shared by ALSC and YALSA. (2) The Printz, like the Newbery and Caldecott, also gave four honors. Not one to an author of color or to a book about a protagonist of color. (3) The people (librarians) love them some Printz (just like they love them some Newbery and Caldecott).

Twelve books. None by or about people of color (sidenote: what other term can I use for us besides "poc"? Anyone?) I’m not saying there’s a deliberate conspiracy going on. I mean, obviously there isn't. Books by and about Latinos, African-Americans, Asian-Americans, American Indians and anyone else who is not white (or a zombie / dragon / paranormal hybrid of some sort) are so far off the radar of most librarians and publishers and booksellers and educators they don't even warrant conspiring against. 

What goes on in these award committee meetings is top secret. None of us will ever know what went on in the decision-making process so it's easy to speculate. Why aren't artists and writers of color recognized by the Newbery, the Caldecott or the Printz? It's the age-old question. Every year we knock our heads against the wall and bemoan this injustice only to be poo-pooed or to be pretty much ignored. Only two African-Americans (Leo Dillon and Jerry Pinkney) and one Latino (David Diaz) have ever won a Caldecott honor (all three won the medal) in its seventy-six year history. Of these three, only the work of Leo (and his wife, Diane) Dillon had a specific cultural focus. Only one Latina (Margarita Engle) has ever been honored with a Newbery (an honor for The Surrender Tree) in ninety-two years! African-American authors have been recognized about thirteen times, but this number includes both honors and medalists (three) and about half of that number went to works by two authors (Virginia Hamilton and Christopher Paul Curtis). The Printz doesn't have as long a history but is moving in a similar direction.

What does this say? This says to everyone that in the history of these awards that honor the most distinguished in books for children and young adults, only a handful of us have been worthy. When I think about all the amazing Latino illustrators and authors whose books I've read, this just makes me sad. And angry! For neither Niño Wrestles the World nor Yaqui Delgado Wants to Kick Your Ass to have gotten some mention by one of these three awards just seems wrong. I wonder if the Coretta Scott King folks feel as put upon.

It's a lot of pressure on the committee members who take on the responsibility of determining which books are most distinguished. But let's not kid ourselves about a neutrality that exists in this decision-making process. The members of these committees are all humans formed of biases, interests, dislikes, areas of expertise, life experiences. We drag these things around with us in everything we do. To think that we can put on glasses that make us view things in a totally neutral manner is unrealistic. The continued lack of diversity in the selections made by these committees isn't something we can or should ignore. It matters that we talk about it. It matters that white librarians, publishers, booksellers and educators know that we expect more from them.

The Caldecott, Newbery and Printz probably get the most media play of any of the youth media awards. They, along with the Margaret A. Edwards Award, were the only three mentioned in the New York Time's coverage. If you are sitting in the convention center the morning of the youth media award announcements you can hear it. The power and popularity of these three awards among the librarians that fill the room is palpable. These awards mean something to a lot of people. Yes, they're just awards, and no, they aren't just awards. 

The question often comes up in these discussions about diversity and awards about the function of awards like the Belpré and the CSK. Some would even suggest that their existence is what keeps books by and about these groups maginalized. The existence of these awards should certainly not make books that fit their criteria left out of consideration for the Newbery or the Caldecott, of course. They serve a different function--to continue to recognize and celebrate our cultures. The fact that they do it when no one else will is a bonus. Or maybe it's the other way around? It would be great if we could do an experiment where these awards aren't given for X number of years, and then see if during that period we see a difference in the number of books by or about people of color that are recognized. I have a sneaking suspicion we wouldn't.

I wonder if one of the issues is that librarians, booksellers and publishers (okay, white librarians, booksellers and publishers) can't get past the cultural element in books about Latinos (or any other non-white group) in order to find the universal message. Is it that they view the only audience for these books as being Latinos? Do they have a difficult time conceiving of a readership for these books that wouldn't see them as just books about Latinos? Does this readership not exist because these books are marketed (by bookstores and in libraries) as books about Latinos, only to be featured during Hispanic Heritage Month? Which came first? The chicken or the egg?

Head over to the Cooperative Children's Book Center listserv where there's a great conversation about multicultural literature going on this month. Also, check out Meg Medina's blog where the Pura Belpré Award winner wrote about this topic as well.

"Why are they always white children?"

Many of you will recognize the title as the question asked by a five-year-old Black child at the beginning of Nancy Larrick's 1965 article, “The All-White World of Children’s Books.” While Larrick addressed other populations, she wrote her article primarily about the state of publishing for Black children. The term “Hispanic” hadn’t come on the scene yet, much less the word “Latino.”¹ In 1965, we were all still thought of as “Spanish.” Perhaps at times we were lumped into the categories of Puerto Rican or Mexican, depending on where in the country you lived and which cultural group non-Latinos were exposed to. The U.S. Census didn’t even recognize us, making no real concerted effort at keeping statistics on Hispanics until 1980.

According the 2012 Census Population Estimates, there are 53 million Hispanics in the United States. This is 17% of the nation’s total population. Hispanics made up almost half of the entire population growth in the U.S. between July 2011 and July 2012. As of 2009, there were 16 million Hispanic children in the United States. That’s 22%, almost a quarter, of all children in the U.S.² Last June, in light of these numbers, NPR aired a story titled “As Demographics Shift, Kids' Books Stay Stubbornly White."

I can do easy math. That’s forty-eight years between these two stories. We have to imagine that the demographics have changed significantly in the time period between these two stories, right? Yet, in forty-eight years not a whole lot has changed. It’s like deja vu all over again. Same story, different title. Do Latinos even make up 17% of the characters in children’s books? In any books published in the United States, period? How can we be millions and growing and be practically invisible in all forms of media, including books?

This past year I had the opportunity to serve on the 2014 Pura Belpré Award Committee. To say that it was the greatest honor of my professional career and up there with the most rewarding experiences of my life is an understatement. I can’t express how much the entire experience meant to me. To honor writers and illustrators who are putting our faces, our kids, into books is special. Books matter. Rudine Sims Bishop³ said it best when she compared the experience of reading to looking through a window, stepping through a sliding glass door or looking into a mirror. We look to books to take us to new places, to meet new people, to have new experiences. Yes. But we also look to books to find ourselves. To see yourself, your life experience, a face or name like yours in a book means something. I’m an adult who didn’t experience this as a child, and I still get goosebumps when I see a character that resembles me in a book. It legitimizes your place wherever you are. If you don’t understand this, if you can’t empathize with someone’s need for this sense of recognition, it’s because you have the privilege to not understand or care. 

This issue isn’t just about us and our children, it’s about you and your children too. As Professor Bishop wrote, “Children from dominant social groups have always found their mirrors in books, but they, too, have suffered from the lack of availability of books about others. They need the books as windows into reality, not just on imaginary worlds. They need books that will help them understand the multicultural nature of the world we live in, and their place as a member of just one group, as well as their connections to all other humans.”⁴ Despite the diversity of the United States there are many pockets of this country in which populations continue to be segregated with little exposure to anyone not of their own racial or cultural background. Children living in one of the most diverse countries in the world need to be exposed to people who are not like them. Otherwise they grow up to be the kind of person that freaks out when Coca Cola airs a commercial during the Super Bowl in which “America the Beautiful” is sung in languages other than English.⁵ ¡Qué horror!

Lest you think I’m exaggerating about the lack of children’s books by and about Latinos (after all, Dora the Explorer is still all over the place, right) consider this. Last year, Lee and Low, publishers of multicultural books for children and young adults, created an infographic using publishing information gathered by the Cooperative Children’s Book Center of the University of Wisconsin’s School of Education.⁶ In the image we see eighteen years of children’s books by and / or about people of color.⁷ Sometimes it takes a picture to really break it down for you. That’s what this image does. They might as well have created it using a cardiac monitor. It looks like the publishing of children’s books by and about Latinos has flat-lined. Dead. Ten percent of children’s books published since 1994 contain “multicultural content.” This doesn’t even tell us what percentage of that (1) contained content about Latinos, (2) contained accurate content about Latinos, or (3) if the Latino content was a significant part of a book.

So, the questions remain, how do we change this? What can we do? Obviously, it’s a problem that is multifaceted and larger than any one person or group. There are two big issues we face: (1) How do we increase the number of children’s books by and about Latinos in publication and circulation? (2) How do we give more exposure to the many wonderful books that exist? I’m going to attempt to address as many players as possible here. Come on, people! It takes a village to help Latino children’s books come to life and thrive!

Publishers: If you have a book by a Latino in your catalog and you are attending the biggest librarian conference in all the land, bring copies and come ready to sell it. Sell it like you would the next great dystopian YA novel. You know, the one you brought boxes of? Also, if you have one Latino author or illustrator (because that’s about all most publishers have) chances are good that the title will be considered for the Pura Belpré Award. If that’s the case, then come to Midwinter prepared. Have your Belpré medal stickers...just in case! Have copies of the book to display and to sell. Be ready and willing to celebrate that book if it happens to win a Belpré just as you would if you had a Newbery or Caldecott winner. The Belpré Award is just as significant an honor. Don’t let it fall off your radar! Send books that meet the criteria to the committee for consideration! Keep our award-winners in print!

On a different note, when Latino writers and illustrators submit manuscripts for publication consideration and they don’t stand up to your requirements, needs, tastes, please take the time to tell them why not. I know this is a lot to ask of a company that has a handful of editors and receives hundreds (thousands?) of manuscripts a year, but if you recognize the need for more accurate multicultural books and you care about being an ally, an occasional response would be helpful. When you do publish books that feature Latinos, please publish books that are accurate and well-written, that don't stereotype and that show the great diversity of our cultures.

Education administrators and policy makers: Please don’t kill our school libraries! Our children, all of our children, need them. For some children, the school library is their only exposure to libraries. We are not all fortunate enough to grow up in a household in which reading and books are celebrated and encouraged. We need our school librarians. Also, if we’re going to live and die by the Common Core, make it inclusive of literature by and about many different cultures and racial groups.

Librarians: Librarianship is still predominantly a white female profession. We don’t expect you to necessarily understand our experiences. However, as proponents of the freedom to read and of diverse views, we do expect you to open your mind. Push beyond your comfort zone and your scope of knowledge and experience. Seek out and promote books that recognize all of us. Analyze books for accuracy and, when needed, seek out the help of individuals who are knowledgeable of ethnic and racial groups so that you are promoting the best the publishing world has to offer. Promote books about children of all racial and ethnic groups year-round, not just on the designated celebratory “month.”⁸

Teachers of art and writing: Promote writing and illustrating for children’s books as a career possibility to your Latino students. It might not ever dawn on them that this is an option. Put it out there so that we can begin to cultivate a new generation of writers and illustrators.

Latino writers and illustrators: Write what you know, but also stay connected to the interests and needs of children today. We need more books about all kinds of topics, about Latino kids living all kinds of experiences.

The New York Times and other media: Follow up. While we appreciate the occasional story on the lack of diverse children's books, we need more than that. If you write a story about the dearth of children’s books by and about Latinos⁹ don’t then completely neglect to mention the Belpré Award winners in an article about the Newbery Award, an article in which you only mention three other ALA Youth Media Awards, none of them being those that celebrate diversity.¹⁰ This year the Pura Belpré Award committee honored seven books written by and about Latinos. That's seven books to review and promote! Seven authors and illustrators to interview and feature in your pages!

Look at any newspaper or online news Website these days and it seems that the more diverse our society becomes, the more we pedal backwards in our acceptance of differences. We cling to our uninformed beliefs about people. We view anyone we don’t have contact with or knowledge of beyond distorted media representations as not being real. Just look at the controversy over racist mascots. Is this the kind of future we want our children to grow up into? 

If the emotional appeal doesn’t work, then how about more statistics? People like statistics. Statistics offer concrete proof and support for arguments. They tell us where to put our money, how to invest, who to woo. How’s this for a statistic: The Census projects that by 2060 there will be 128.8 million Hispanics in the United States. This group will make up 31% of the total population. That’s about a third of the population. We’ll be in your schools and in your neighborhoods even more than we are now. We’ll be in parts of this country no one ever imagined Latinos would be found. And, for those who worship the almighty dollar, we’ll be a third of your consumer power.

---

^{1. ["Hispanic" was the term used in the 1980 and 1990 Census. "Latino" was introduced with the 2000 Census.]↩ 2. [Statistics from the U.S. Census Bureau's Profile America Facts for Features: Hispanic Heritage Month 2013]↩ 3. [I was sitting two rows behind her at the ALA Youth Media Awards announcements, and when she stood up when the Coretta Scott King Awards Committee was recognized I almost freaked out like a big nerd.]↩ 4. [Bishop, Rudine Sims. "Multicultural Literacy: Mirrors, Window, and Sliding Glass Doors." First published in 1990.]↩ 5. ["Coca-Cola 'America the Beautiful' Super Bowl Ad Celebrate Diversity, Twitter Racists Explode."]↩ 6. ["The Diversity Gap in Children's Books, 18 years."]↩ 7. [I know, I know. Some of us don't like to be referred to as "people of color."]↩ 8. [September 15 - October 15? What is this? We don't even warrant an actual month?]↩ 9. [Rich, Motoko. "For Young Latino Readers, an Image Is Missing." The New York Times, 4 Dec. 2012.]↩ 10. [Bosman, Julie. "Take of Magical Squirrel Takes Newbery Medal." The New York Times, 27 Jan. 2014.]↩}

Ethnic Studies and Why We Need Them

In case you haven't heard, there is some serious business going down in Arizona. In 2010, the state passed a bill calling for the dismantling of ethnic studies programs. Last month, in compliance with the state ban on ethnic studies classes, the Tucson Unified School District began removing books found on the reading lists of Mexican American Studies courses from classrooms. The list of books includes textbooks, award winning books and classics. Debbie Reese, a former school teacher and a scholar who studies American Indians in children's literature, has been closely following what is happening in Arizona. Rather than reinvent the wheel, I'll point you to her blog in which she includes a chronological list of stories and posts related to the events.


Needless to say, it is disheartening to read about what is happening in Arizona. A 2009 Pew Hispanic report (based on the 2009 American Community Survey) found that 31% of the state's population is "Hispanic" with 91% of that group being of Mexican descent. But we didn't need to look up that information to know what Arizona is like, right? Those in opposition of ethnic studies courses argue that they distort history, stir up anti-Caucasian sentiment (though I'm not sure if they ever actually name which race is being targeted by these angry mobs of Mexican American kids) and basically get  "minorities" riled up. Books can be powerful and scary, yes?


Back in May of 2010 when the Arizona ban on ethnic studies classes passed I wrote something for another blog I was keeping at the time. So, I thought this a good opportunity to repost this piece about the role ethnic literature and ethnic studies played in my own life as the child of immigrants and the first and only person in my family to graduate from college:


I was, in many ways, lucky enough to grow up in a neighborhood that was all brown all around. With the exception of some of my teachers, I can recall having one White (Anglo, non-Hispanic) classmate during my elementary and junior high years--hi, Marsha Hoover, wherever you are! Aside from any interaction I had with White adults in, say, a store or at the library--and this rarely happened because my neighborhood branch was predominantly staffed by African-Americans and we did our shopping in neighborhood stores owned and staffed by Latinos--I didn't interact with Whites. When I went on to high school we had less than twenty White kids in our school. So when I left home for a small college town a six hour drive north of Miami, I suffered major culture shock. College culture in itself was something foreign to me, and something that kids with college graduate parents knew as second nature. There was a language and way about it I wasn't familiar with. Nevermind the fact that after growing up a majority I was suddenly a minority. Despite having graduated in the top ten of my class, I struggled for most of my undergraduate years. I had no support system. My fellow high school classmates who were with me at the same university were all kind of flailing for a lifeline too, and it wasn't like we could call home and get words of comfort and encouragement since most of our parents didn't really even get why we felt the need to leave home for college. I felt like an outsider. I didn't feel engaged. Perhaps, if I were a different kind of person, my experience would have been different too.

During my third year of college three things happened that were huge for me. First, I read Sandra Cisneros' Woman Hollering Creek and Other Stories. I grew up a reader, and I was an English major, but the first time I saw myself in a book it was in this book that I read during my summer break (thanks to a Sassy magazine review of all things!) The second thing that happened was that my work study brought me to the Office of Minority Affairs and Special Programs (which has since been renamed, no longer reflecting its role in the college life of underrepresented students) where I worked as an office assistant and, later, as a peer counselor. The department housed the offices of the Associate Dean of Minority Affairs for the College of Liberal Arts and Sciences, the head of the Afro-American Studies Department (who was one of the first two African-Americans to be hired as faculty in the Department of Liberal Arts and Sciences), and the Upward Bound program. The office also provide peer counselors for students who came in on probationary status to help them transition into college life. Many, if not most, were from underrepresented racial and ethnic groups. The third thing that happened was that I took an Ethnic Literature class, taught by the aforementioned head of the Afro-American Studies Department (which is now called the African American Studies Program) where we not only read about the African-American and Mexican-American experiences, but also about the Jewish and Japanese-American experiences, among others. My Ethnic Literature professor went on to become a good friend and mentor. These three things were instrumental in my finding a sense of place as a college student and as a person caught between worlds.

Being away from home and a stranger in a strange land prompted me to learn more about my own history and culture. It suddenly became very important for me to hold onto something I took for granted growing up and, oddly, something I felt like I didn't know enough about. My parents, being from two different countries, never really immersed us in their own cultures. We got a little bit here and there, probably more of my father's Cuban culture because he was the bread winner and made most of the household decisions, and because I grew up in a city heavily populated by Cubans. The fact that my mother came to this country from Mexico in her early teens and never expressed much desire to be near her family or her native country or rehash old times and traditions ensured that we were raised in a household that was more Cuban than Mexican. Decades later, I still feel like I walk the tight rope not only between what my world was like growing up (and what it is like when I return home to visit) and the mostly White world I now live in, but also between my parents' cultures. I never feel enough of anything. My Spanish isn't Mexican enough. My ways aren't Cuban enough. I'm quite obviously not White. Quite honestly, I still often still feel a bit confused and lost. With a little one who is half White, I struggle to figure out what cultural practices to pass on to him. What is my culture? It's a lot of things that often feel like they don't quite mesh. And yet, they do, in me.

Did I get off on a tangent again? I think I did. My initial reason for this post was as a reaction to the madness that is going on in Arizona. The anti-immigrant law hurt, but the anti-Ethnic Studies law feels like it hits a lot closer to home for me because as a college student it was my ethnic literature class and my involvement with the OMASP that made all the difference in my ability to stick it out. I've seen a number of articles where it's pointed out that the law prohibits Ethnic Studies classes that promote hatred of other races and segregation as a form of see-not-ALL-ethnic-studies-classes! But who determines what falls into these categories? It's so much easier to make a full on clean sweep, right? Tom Horne compares ethnic studies classes to the "old South." That seems to be such an extreme and inaccurate comparison. To compare a group that has always run the show to one that can barely find enough books that represent their place in this country? I wonder how many elementary and secondary schools even offer ethnic studies classes, especially in light of the fact that public education today is mostly about teaching to a test. Is there even time or money for these types of classes? Perhaps this law doesn't even mean much of much, but what nags at my thoughts is: what goes next?


The locked books image comes from this story on the Colorlines Website.

El Dia de los Muertos / The Day of the Dead

It’s probably safe to say that el Dia de los Muertos, or the Day of the Dead, has reached a point of recognition in American society that it did not have even a decade ago. So much so that the candy company Russell Stover now makes Day of the Dead themed candy with bilingual wrappers. This is the first year I see these, and thanks to the packaging I learned the Spanish word for marshmallow. Mmm, malvavisco. Sounds, um, yummy. 

The Day of the Dead is sometimes explained as a sort of Mexican or Latin American version of Halloween, but it really is not. El Dia de los Muertos, which actually spans two days from November 1 to November 2 (or three, starting October 31, depending on who you ask), is a time when people remember their loved ones who have passed away. It is believed that on those days the souls of the dead return to visit. We honor them and welcome them back by creating ofrendas, altars on which offerings of their favorite foods, photos, belongings and other items are set out for their return. In Mexico and other countries that commemorate this time, it is customary to also visit and clean the graves of loved ones. I asked my mother what her family did when she was a girl in Mexico and she said they would visit her brother's grave, clean it, bring flowers and wreaths and pray, but that they did not create a home altar. Some people also played music in the cemetary. The Day of the Dead is also a time when death is recognized, and even celebrated, as a natural part of the cycle of life, a reminder that the dead are always still with us, and that death is not something to be feared.

There are a number of books for children about the Day of the Dead. A search for books to read to my own son turned into a research project of sorts as I began to look at the books I found under a more careful lens. I found that many of the books about the Day of the Dead include the following:

• a child who has lost a grandparent and is preparing to welcome him or her back during the Day of the Dead
• conflict in which either the child is uncertain of how the deceased loved one will find him or her or is trying to figure out what to contribute to the ofrenda
• ends with the child receiving or believing to have received a sign of the deceased loved one’s visit
• usually takes place in an unnamed location, but we can assume that it is a small, rural area outside of the United States based on the appearance of the surroundings and the outfits worn by the main and background characters
• feature key characteristics of the Day of the Dead including skeletons or skulls, pan de muertos, the ofrenda, marigolds, and a cemetary
• illustrations in which the children (and their families) are depicted as rural or peasants, are wearing somewhat dated and more culturally traditional clothing, or wear what appear to be Catholic school-type uniforms

A couple of other common threads I noticed among a few of the books:

• the reader, via the young protagonist, is reassured that the skeletons are nothing to be afraid of and should be mocked or poked fun at
• references to the Day of the Dead as the equivalent of Halloween 

Another common issue I found with these books is the subject classification assigned. Admittedly, I can be a little obsessive about Library of Congress subject headings. I discovered that there is no subject heading for the Day of the Dead. Perhaps this isn’t a huge deal in terms of being able to find books since online catalogs allow users to search by keyword. However, I have issues with what could be an inaccurate description of books about the Day of the Dead. The subject heading assigned to books about the holiday is All Souls’ Day. Not being an expert in religious holidays and observances, I dug a little to find out exactly what All Souls’ Day is about. I discovered that while All Souls’ Day is observed on November 2 it has a somewhat darker connotation than what we’ve come to know of the Day of the Dead. All Souls’ Day is affiliated with souls in purgatory who aren’t yet ready for their final destinations (whether they are heading upstairs or not). The idea of souls in limbo doesn’t exactly connect, in my mind, with the celebration of the Day of the Dead, a time in which the spirits of deceased loved ones are remembered and welcomed back for a brief period of time. Perhaps something has been lost in the cross-culture translation of the Day of the Dead. 

I deliberated about outlining why I would not recommend specific titles, and then considered only listing the books I would recommend. Since I did not read all the children’s books on the subject that are available at my library (and lest you think I did), I decided to compile a list of the books I looked at and highlight the ones I recommend. The titles highlighted (with two asterisks next to them) would be recommended to anyone wanting to introduce a child to the Day of the Dead or, more generally, to the ideas the underlie the celebration: that our loved ones are always with us, even when they are gone, and that death is a part of the life cycle that should not be feared.

• **Ancona, George. Pablo Remembers: The Fiesta of the Day of the Dead (Pura Belpre Honor Book for Illustration, 1996)
• Freschet, Gina. Beto and the Bone Dance (2001)
• **Johnston, Tony. Day of the Dead
• Joosse, Barbara M. Ghost Wings
• Krull, Kathleen. Maria Molina and the Days of the Dead
• Levy, Janice. I Remember Abuelito: A Day of the Dead Story
• Levy, Janice. The Spirit of Tio Fernando: A Day of the Dead Story
• **Morales, Yuyi. Just A Minute: A Trickster Tale and Counting Book (Pura Belpre Medal for Illustration, 2004) 
• **Morales, Yuyi. Just In Case: A Trickster Tale and Spanish Alphabet Book (Pura Belpre Medal for Illustration, 2009; Pura Belpre Honor Book for Narrative, 2009)

Yuyi Morales’ Just in Case and Just A Minute are not about el Dia de los Muertos per se, but both make the connection between the living and the dead through the character of Señor Calavera who in one book comes for Grandma Beetle and in the other brings the deceased Grandpa Zelmiro to celebrate a birthday with the living.

I should also mention that I found one Spanish language book at my library. El Dia de Muertos by Ivar Da Coll was published by Lectorum, a Spanish language book distributor based in New Jersey. In El Dia de Muertos, two young siblings await the arrival of their grandmother who, for once, is alive! The grandmother tells them humorous stories and passes on the traditions of the Day of the Dead celebration. The book is written in rhyme which makes it fun to read. Unfortunately, the four books I highlighted as recommended above are not bilingual in that they do not offer parallel English and Spanish text. They do integrate Spanish words into the English narrative with either a glossary or in-text translation as explanation of Spanish words and concepts.

If you wish for specifics on why certain titles were not recommended send me a message, and I’d be happy to let you know. I don’t think any of the book I didn’t choose include any especially egregious errors or misrepresentations (although, of course, what is egregious is subjective). The biggest issue I had with any one of the books is the way in which one in particular depicts immigration and compares life in, I’m assuming, Mexico and life in the United States.