Maya Soetoro-Ng, illustrated by Yuyi Morales
Ladder to the Moon
Candlewick Press, 2011
Ages 4 and up
“What was Grandma Annie like?” young Suhaila asks her mother about the grandmother she never met. “Full, soft, and curious,” her mother replies. “Your grandma would wrap her arms around the whole world if she could.”
For children who never had the opportunity to meet a cherished grandparent, the absence of that influential figure becomes a presence in their lives, intensifying the feelings their own parents have about their loss. “Becoming a parent made me think of my own mother with both intense grief and profound gratitude,” writes Maya Soetoro-Ng in a note following the text of Ladder to the Moon. “I wished that my mother and my daughter could have known and loved each other. I hoped that I could teach Suhaila some of the many things I learned as I grew up witnessing my mother’s extraordinary compassion and empathy.” In the case of Soetoro-Ng and her daughters, the grandmother in question has intrigued many people around the world as she is also the mother of U.S. President Barack Obama, Soetero-Ng’s older half-brother.
Since the beginning of the Obama campaign, journalists and politicians have wondered and written about this mysterious and unconventional woman, Stanley Ann Dunham, who died in 1995. There is no question that she, a noted anthropologist and often single mother, had an enormous influence on the lives of her children and thus on history itself. Her daughter’s dream story about the young Suhaila meeting her grandmother comes from a personal, family perspective that will resonate with any child in such a situation, as well as giving adult readers a new insight into this enigmatic figure.
Grandma Annie encourages Suhaila to use each of her five senses to reach out to the rest of the world. Together they find people in trouble: trembling in earthquakes, trying to outswim Tsunamis, and praying for peace. Annie and Suhaila reach down from the moon to offer their solace and comfort as they bring these people up, making the moon brighter for all to see.
Yuyi Morales’ stunning illustrations bring diverse people together to share and connect on the moon. In one scene, they tell stories around a campfire, each with a glowing circle of words around her head. These lines, pulled from traditional narratives and the personal stories of Morales’ friends, represent six languages and four different alphabets.
Above all, Soetoro-Ng says of her mother, she was a storyteller. Those stories have been the inspiration for much of the author’s own life; and with a story, she and Morales honor this posthumously famous woman in a deeply personal yet universal way.
Abigail Sawyer
December 2011
Continuing our Authors Remember Their Grandparents series, today we welcome author and illustrator Yuyi Morales to PaperTigers with a poignant piece about her Grandpa Felix.
Yuyi’s most recent book is Ladder to the Moon, written by Maya Soetoro-Ng (Candlewick Press/Walker Books, 2011). It is the story of a little girl Suhaila whose wish that she could know her grandmother is granted one night, when a golden ladder appears with Grandma Annie, ready to take her up to the moon. Read more about the book on Yuyi’s website, and take a look at the first few pages here - gorgeous!
This is not the first time Yuyi has depicted a grandmother by any means – there is her rosy-cheeked Abuelita with hair “the color of salt” in the exuberant My Abuelita written by Tony Johnston, our current Book of the Month on the main PaperTigers website (Harcourt Children’s Books, 2009). And there are her own picture books starring Señor Calavera – Just a Minute: A Trickster Tale and Counting Book (Chronicle Books, 2003) and Just in Case: A Trickster Tale and Alphabet Book (Roaring Brook Press, 2008): we are big fans of both of them in our household and love Señor Calavera’s website.
Visit Yuyi’s PaperTigers Gallery, enjoy her wonderful interview/gasp at the images over at 7-Imp’s, and find out about all her books and her many projects on her website and blog.
Grandpa Felix
My white dress of crochet clusters like popcorn, mama made especially for me.
She also made the wings and a halo with antennas, and painted with powder my cheeks, and when I saw myself in the mirror I was a butterfly.
At school I fluttered like I was supposed to do, I ran in a circle and flapped my arms with my wings behind. But nobody looked at me.
Everybody was too busy watching the pretty white girl flap her transparent arms and shake her chamomile washed hair.
Even mama, her swollen eyes straight at me, was looking somewhere else.
Nobody cares to watch the brown that is me.
Just like nobody wants to play with a girl with baby shoes that fit the insole inside and hold my leg right so that some day I can have straight feet.
“Mama, those shoes with the golden buckle and the bow on top are so lovely,” I have been telling her every time we pass by the glass case of the shoe store.
But mama doesn’t say much anymore.
She must be tired of repeating what I already know. That I have to stick with these ugly baby shoes until… when? Until I am a grown up.
Clipity, clap, clipity, clap, went my shoes while we left school.
Pling, plong, pling, plong, went my mama’s eye tears while we walked down the street. To Grandpa Felix’s house.
He is my abuelo because mama told me so. But he doesn’t remember me.
I know it because the other day when our teacher took us to the park, and my grandpa was
Taruja Parande,
My Grandfather, Aajoba
Tulika, 2010
Ages 5-8
A granddaughter’s tribute to her beloved grandfather, My Grandfather, Aajoba invites young readers to share in the very special bond portrayed, and perhaps to refer it to their own lives. The book’s author Taruja Parande has created a portrait of her grandfather through a series of anecdotes set off by illustrations that are an effective and attractive blend of photographic collage and original artwork.
Each double-page spread presents a different chapter in Parande and Aajoba’s relationship, with extra, playful asides, such as inviting readers to “flick a bunch of these pages quickly to hear the flapping of pigeons’ wings”. The book begins with pages from both an old and a more recent photograph album. The overlaid narrative conveys a contrasting description of Aajoba as a “tough” young man (“everyone was afraid of him. He was afraid of nobody.”) and as a “lovable” old man (“He was amused by everything I did […] I was never afraid of him”). From then on, the visual and verbal narratives both revolve around the grandfather and his grandchild – from Aajoba’s recipe for buttered toast, illustrated photographically step by step; through activities such as attempting to wash the cat or evading homework; to stamp albums and lists. A chapter is also dedicated to “the secret” – how Aajoba and Aaji met. Here the tone of secrecy is perfect for young readers and it is easy to imagine delighted, conspiratorial giggles at this point: after all, isn’t this just the kind of family story children love to hear?
Although the perspective is clearly that of an adult looking back and remembering, the matter-of-fact tone never drifts into nostalgia. The narrative is past tense so most young readers will know, even if it’s subconsciously, that Aajoba is no longer alive. In fact, this would be a special book to read with children coping with the loss of a grandparent. And it would also come as no surprise to find that after reading My Grandfather, Aajoba young readers set about creating their own grandparent storybooks: for not only does this delightful book draw readers into the solid reality of the relationship portrayed, but it also provides space for those readers’ own imaginations to come into play.
Marjorie Coughlan
May 2011
For our current focus on children and their grandparents, we have invited authors and illustrators who have written children’s books that center on that special realtionship to share with us some of their own personal memories of their grandparents. Over the next couple of weeks we will be posting these pieces here on the blog – and I can promise you, we’re all in for a real treat.
Our first piece comes from author Andrea Cheng, who says, “Many of my books have to do with the relationship between grandparents and grandchildren (Grandfather Counts, Goldfish and Chrysanthemums, Shanghai Messenger, Only One Year, The Key Collection). Most of these stories in some way reflect the relationship I had with my grandparents, particularly with my paternal grandmother.”
One of my favorites of Andrea’s books is Where the Steps Were, her novel in verse about a class of inner-city 3rd graders, which also references grandparents. Do watch Andrea’s short but inspiring video documentary, which shares what “a group of 3rd graders can do with just one book.” Andrea’s latest book is the newly released Where Do You Stay? (Boyd’s Mill Press). Read our 2008 interview with Andreahere, and visit her website here.
Memories of My Grandparents
My family immigrated to the US from Hungary in installments. My immediate family came first, and then my grandparents, and later my aunt, uncle, and cousin. When I was very small, we all lived together. Later my grandparents got their own apartment just behind our house. I loved going to visit them and was allowed to walk there by myself. Grandma spoiled me with my favorite palacsintas (walnut and sugar filled crepes) She let me eat them before dinner and never seemed worried that I would spoil my appetite.
Sometimes I was allowed to spend the night with my grandparents. My grandmother fixed me a special bed on the floor that I called a nest, and we played there for at least an hour before bed. She sang me Hungarian nursery rhymes, which I still know, and let me play with her plastic pop together beads. She taught me to sew clothes for my dolls. My grandfather told me stories until finally I fell asleep.
When i was about eight, my grandparents moved from Cincinnati to Chicago to join my aunt. I was heartbroken. The feelings described in The Key Collection come from this early separation.
My husband’s parents immigrated to the US from China in 1949. Unfortunately he was never able to meet any of his grandparents. Luckily my grandmother, who lived until age 95, very happily took on the role of being my husband’s adopted grandmother. Grandma knew very little about her ancestry, but she looked Asian (perhaps Mongolian since the Mongols came through Hungary centuries ago) so many people assumed she was my husband’s grandmother, not mine!
Andrea Cheng
Thank you, Andrea.
I am including this post in this week’s Poetry Friday, which is hosted by Reading Tub’s Family bookshelf – I’ll add the link later as I’m having some difficulties conecting right now…
