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Minji's Salon
by Eun-hee Choung
Kane/Miller Book Publishers

I'm giving so many buds lately, I could be a florist. But I can't resist stories that celebrate girlhood with truly feminine flair. I think publishers are finally turning the page, so to speak, on the mini-amazons and boys-with-pigtails that passed as girl protagonists for so long. You don't need to climb trees or skin your knees for a great adventure, as Choung shows us in this charming peek at a girly girl's fantasy beauty parlor.

We first meet Minji peering into the salon. The story then alternates between the salon and Minji's home, where she's set up shop with watercolors instead of dyes and crayons for rollers--with the family dog as her customer. On the left-hand page is a woman getting her hair styled, on the right is Minji's colorful and messy mimicry. 

Dressing up is a rite of passage for girls--witness the Fancy Nancy phenomenon--and Choung's playful take should win the heart of the little one marauding your closet. Choung, a South Korean, has a decidedly Eastern style to her art, with flat figures on a white background. The subdued hues get interrupted by wild splotches of color, especially where Minji's our focus--underscoring how much of a whirlwind she must be.

Rating: *\*\*\

The Silk Princess
by Charles Santore

Random House

Reviewed by Kelly Herold

Charles Santore takes an ancient Chinese legend about the discovery of silk from silkworms and turns it into a story of magic and adventure for the school-aged child.  Indeed, The Silk Princess is a picture book best suited for children who already enjoy The Magic Treehouse or The Spiderwick Chronicles.  It's a picture book for children
entranced by wonder of myth and enchantment.

Princess Hsi-Ling Chi is the lone and ignored daughter of The Emperor Huang-Ti.  Even though Hsi-Ling is an obedient and well-behaved child, she can never live up to her brothers in her father's eyes.

One day, Hsi-Ling is enjoying her tea in the royal gardens when a cocoon falls in to her tea.  The cocoon begins to unravel in the hot tea and Hsi-Ling tells her mother, "'I will tie this end of the thread around my waist, and you, Mother, will hold the cocoon.  I shall walk away from you, and we shall see how long this fine thread is.  I will go to the end of the gardens, should the thread reach that far.'"  The thread--not only a silk thread perfect for weaving, but also a symbol for one's first steps away from home--reaches much further from the garden.  Hsi-Ling walks as far as the Palace, the Holy
Mountains, and a bridge, under which a fearsome dragon lives.  When Hsi-Ling crosses the bridge and defeats the dragon, she meets an old man who teaches her the secret of silk thread and promises to accompany her home. 

Santore uses the language of myth and legend in The Silk Princess, never simplifying for the sake of genre. Moreover his palate is sophisticated--full of browns, oranges, reds, and dark greens--perfect for readers beginning to learn more about art.  What is most striking about the visual aspect of The Silk Princess is how Santore highlights Princess Hsi-Ling's face.  While all the characters are painted in a realistic style with
only slight exaggerations, Hsi-Ling's face is mobile and infused with light.  In every illustration, she is the focus as light and shadow play upon her beautiful, expressive face.

The Silk Princess is highly recommended for readers ages six to ten.  Don't be afraid to give it to older children as well--children who may be studying legend or China in the fifth and sixth grades.

Rating: *\*\*\

Red Butterfly: How a Princess Smuggled the Secret of Silk Out of China
by Deborah Noyes; illustrated by Sophie Blackall
Candlewick Press
Rating: *\*\*\

Little Eagle
by Chen Jiang Hong
Enchanted Lion Books
Rating: *\*\*\

Reviewed by Ilene Goldman

Inspired by Chinese legends of bravery, persistence, and compassion, these books seem almost made to pair with each other. Red Butterfly is about a princess who smuggles the secret of silk out of China. Little Eagle tells of a little boy who learns martial arts from his guardian and protects the secrets of Kung Fu. 

In each, the protagonists are growing into adulthood without the loved ones who raised them. Beyond beautiful illustrations and lovely language, these books offer Chinese characters, non-Western viewpoints, and a glimpse at a world we might not otherwise explore.   

Noyes spins Red Butterfly from the perspective of a young girl about to be sent from the home and family she loves dearly. Though the princess is a young girl, “still a child with [her] hair / yet cut across [her] forehead,” she knows that she may never see her family again. As her marriage to the king of Khotan draws near, she recognizes the splendors of her father’s kingdom and mourns their loss. As she says “Good-bye, small silkworm. /  Good-bye red butterfly,”  she knows that she “would give every silver hairpin, every jade carving and gold ornament / for one brush of southern mist, / one windy, silken promise– / that home be with [me] always.”

Ultimately, the princess’s longing causes her to risk grave punishment by having her maidservant weave the cocoons and seeds into her ornate hairdo for the journey to Khotan. We learn in the author’s note that her new kingdom protected her by guarding silk production as jealously as China did. While most children might not be able to empathize with the princess’s courage and risk-taking, they certainly understand the difficulty of leaving a beloved home and family, even for a brief time.

Like the silk and kingdom they portray, Blackall’s illustrations for Red Butterfly are luxuriously splendid.  Many of the garments are decorated like butterflies, paying homage to the creatures that provided the beauty and wealth of this culture. The kingdom is filled with joyous colors, light, and quiet. The princess’s face is darling, sweet and strong at the same time.  We can see she is a little girl and our compassion for her dilemma swells. When she makes her perilous decision, we see also her determination, disobedience, and will.  She’s a survivor.

Little Eagle is a young boy who is rescued by Master Yang, a legendary wise man in 15th Century China.  Master Yang learns that the boy’s parents were brutally murdered by General Zhao and he welcomes the boy into his home, becoming his guardian. One night the boy awakes and spies Master Yang practicing Eagle boxing, a specialized form of Kung Fu.  In the shadows, the boy diligently copies the Master’s movements. When he displays his strength and knowledge in a street fight, Master Yang is angry but proud.  He takes the boy on as his disciple, finally giving him a name, “Little Eagle.”

Throughout the rest of the story, the disciple learns from the master and, as these tales usually go, eventually exceeds his master’s strength and skill.

Years later, Master Yang and Little Eagle must use their Eagle boxing to defend themselves, and their extraordinary knowledge of Kung Fu, from the same General Zhao who murdered the boy’s parents. Though they win, Master Yang is mortally wounded.

Little Eagle combines a lovingly told story with paintings that fill the page with color and movement. Set in the era of a brutal leader, the images are darkly hopeful. The illustrations convey the heaviness of the historical moment with a shadowy autumnal palette; they also sing the optimism inherent in the relationship between the boy and the master through their elegant lines. As the boy learns his lesson, a two-page spread shows how “he worked very hard through the passing seasons. / Until he forgot fatigue / Until he overcame pain. / Until he no longer felt the weight of his body.”  The boy is shown balancing on pylons using only his heels as he does the splits, on one foot as he carries weights, on one elbow and the opposite foot, and on his head.

Little Eagle is left alone in the world, but he takes with him faith, wisdom, and strength. Master Yang has told him to use the secrets of Kung Fu only for good. We can imagine that he follows this last order because despite living in a dark time, he has been raised with respect and love.

Many children’s stories show perseverance in the face of disaster or the loss of one or both parents; I suppose nearly every fairy tale begins that way. Red Butterfly and Little Eagle (originally published in French as Petit Aigle) play on the universality of these themes by giving us Chinese folklore and art. The authors’ notes in each book provide background to begin a conversation or perhaps a family research project.

Other Book Buds reviews about Chen Jiang Hong.

Red Butterfly: How a Princess Smuggled the Secret of Silk Out of China
by Deborah Noyes; illustrated by Sophie Blackall
Candlewick Press
Rating: *\*\*\

Little Eagle
by Chen Jiang Hong
Enchanted Lion Books
Rating: *\*\*\

Reviewed by Ilene Goldman

Inspired by Chinese legends of bravery, persistence, and compassion, these books seem almost made to pair with each other. Red Butterfly is about a princess who smuggles the secret of silk out of China. Little Eagle tells of a little boy who learns martial arts from his guardian and protects the secrets of Kung Fu. 

In each, the protagonists are growing into adulthood without the loved ones who raised them. Beyond beautiful illustrations and lovely language, these books offer Chinese characters, non-Western viewpoints, and a glimpse at a world we might not otherwise explore.   

Noyes spins Red Butterfly from the perspective of a young girl about to be sent from the home and family she loves dearly. Though the princess is a young girl, ???still a child with [her] hair / yet cut across [her] forehead,??? she knows that she may never see her family again. As her marriage to the king of Khotan draws near, she recognizes the splendors of her father???s kingdom and mourns their loss. As she says ???Good-bye, small silkworm. /  Good-bye red butterfly,???  she knows that she ???would give every silver hairpin, every jade carving and gold ornament / for one brush of southern mist, / one windy, silken promise??? / that home be with [me] always.???

Ultimately, the princess???s longing causes her to risk grave punishment by having her maidservant weave the cocoons and seeds into her ornate hairdo for the journey to Khotan. We learn in the author???s note that her new kingdom protected her by guarding silk production as jealously as China did. While most children might not be able to empathize with the princess???s courage and risk-taking, they certainly understand the difficulty of leaving a beloved home and family, even for a brief time.

Like the silk and kingdom they portray, Blackall???s illustrations for Red Butterfly are luxuriously splendid.  Many of the garments are decorated like butterflies, paying homage to the creatures that provided the beauty and wealth of this culture. The kingdom is filled with joyous colors, light, and quiet. The princess???s face is darling, sweet and strong at the same time.  We can see she is a little girl and our compassion for her dilemma swells. When she makes her perilous decision, we see also her determination, disobedience, and will.  She???s a survivor.

Little Eagle is a young boy who is rescued by Master Yang, a legendary wise man in 15th Century China.  Master Yang learns that the boy???s parents were brutally murdered by General Zhao and he welcomes the boy into his home, becoming his guardian. One night the boy awakes and spies Master Yang practicing Eagle boxing, a specialized form of Kung Fu.  In the shadows, the boy diligently copies the Master???s movements. When he displays his strength and knowledge in a street fight, Master Yang is angry but proud.  He takes the boy on as his disciple, finally giving him a name, ???Little Eagle.???

Throughout the rest of the story, the disciple learns from the master and, as these tales usually go, eventually exceeds his master???s strength and skill.

Years later, Master Yang and Little Eagle must use their Eagle boxing to defend themselves, and their extraordinary knowledge of Kung Fu, from the same General Zhao who murdered the boy???s parents. Though they win, Master Yang is mortally wounded.

Little Eagle combines a lovingly told story with paintings that fill the page with color and movement. Set in the era of a brutal leader, the images are darkly hopeful. The illustrations convey the heaviness of the historical moment with a shadowy autumnal palette; they also sing the optimism inherent in the relationship between the boy and the master through their elegant lines. As the boy learns his lesson, a two-page spread shows how ???he worked very hard through the passing seasons. / Until he forgot fatigue / Until he overcame pain. / Until he no longer felt the weight of his body.???  The boy is shown balancing on pylons using only his heels as he does the splits, on one foot as he carries weights, on one elbow and the opposite foot, and on his head.

Little Eagle is left alone in the world, but he takes with him faith, wisdom, and strength. Master Yang has told him to use the secrets of Kung Fu only for good. We can imagine that he follows this last order because despite living in a dark time, he has been raised with respect and love.

Many children???s stories show perseverance in the face of disaster or the loss of one or both parents; I suppose nearly every fairy tale begins that way. Red Butterfly and Little Eagle (originally published in French as Petit Aigle) play on the universality of these themes by giving us Chinese folklore and art. The authors??? notes in each book provide background to begin a conversation or perhaps a family research project.

Other Book Buds reviews about Chen Jiang Hong.

Tracks of a Panda
by Nick Dowson; illustrated by Yu Rong

Candlewick Press

Like Chinese poetry, this narrative is lean and flowing, celebrating nature by immersing us in it. Though not technically a poem, the text has that same rhythmic feel of translated Chinese verse, and even mimics its minimalist descriptions and solemn tone.

It's told in the present tense as if unfolding right now, from the mother panda's perspective but without anthropomorphizing. Dowson takes us through birth and the first year, as seasons change, food becomes scarce and the mother's strength falters. Predators and humans encroach, and there's the never-ceasing need to suckle even when she's exhausted and starved.

Nope, you don't get a sentimentalized, Disney-fied version of a dancing Mama bear and her goofy cub played by a hyper-caffeinated Robin Williams. Nature is tough, but  wondrous, if you know how to appreciate it.

This is a book for a quiet evening, one free of distractions, when curious eyes can marvel at the soothing, monochromatic watercolors with the occasional splash of fleshy pink or spring green. Rong grew up near the mountains that are home to dwinding panda populations and captures their habitat with a few easy strokes of a calligraphy brush.

Factoids on pandas are dropped onto every spread to satisfy your little must-know-it-all. Pair this book with Fox for a similar venture into the forest.

Rating: *\*\*\*\

The Year of the Dog
by Grace Lin

My elementary school always held a multi-culti week, but probably back then we called it Heritage Week or Roots Week or something very '70s. We'd gather in the cafeteria to see how they'd stuck little Italian flags in the same old soggy meatballs, which was somehow supposed to make Roman hearts thump with pride.

There was no "Jewish" day that week, probably because matzoh balls were beyond the lunch ladies' meager talents. But we did have "Chinese Day" complete with a Chow Mein-like dish that glistened with grease, despite there being only one Chinese girl in all of Honeyhill Elementary School. I remember Noelle Li being called up in front of the entire school to demonstrate chopsticks. She looked like she'd rather be digging a hole through the linoleum back to her ancestral country.

Turns out there were only two kids present who had ever used them: my brother and me. Thank goodness for my mother's past life regression; she had drilled us in their proper use.

I thought of Noelle and her mortification reading Grace Lin's memoir-ish novel, with its poignant moments of cultural dissonance. Is the little girl Chinese-American or Taiwanese-American? Should she use her Taiwanese name, Pacy, or her American name, Grace? She navigates some choppy waters with optimism and resolve. After all, it's the Year of the Dog, a lucky year for her, she's absolutely sure of it.

If there's an American story nearly as old as the immigrant's, then it belongs to the immigrant's kid, the one  who must navigate between the Old World and the New, acting as cultural translator and bridge builder, ever unsure which side of the divide she truly belongs on.

Lin brings the genre to kid-level, creating an alter-ego in Grace, who lives with her Mom, Dad and two sisters in a smallish town, where she's thrilled to discover another Taiwanese girl like herself.

Lin covers the usual tribulations of pre-adolescence filtered through a cultural lens. Even trying out for the school play, The Wizard of Oz, becomes a litmus test for American-ness:

"You can't be Dorothy," she said. "Dorothy's not Chinese."

Suddenly, the world went silent. Like a melting icicle, my dream of Dorothy fell and shattered on the ground. I felt like a dirty puddle after a rain.

I say the sooner you can get kids to think in terms of metaphor, the better. Lin's  imagery is as light as her mother's dumplings, floating ethereally and tempting us ever further. We know exactly how Grace feels, which gives us Anglos a way to span the gulf between sympathy and real empathy.

Of course, we all know Grace is as American as fortune cookies. She relishes her culture too, and what can't be described in mouth-watering terms, Lin fills in with delightful doodles, as if the fictional Grace had scribbled in the margins and this is the notebook of her life.

The doodles are an integral part of the storytelling, as are the stories-within-the-story, told by her parents as examples of their own, less privileged, childhoods. That too is part of the second generation's experience; the mixture of fascination with your roots and sorrow at your parents' sacrifices, with such stories having the power to make you feel lighter and more burdened all at once.

Lin's special gift is for making this story float despite its heavy subject matter, and her resistance to all things melodramatic (we're talking a pre-teen girl, after all). Grace takes her lumps and we nod knowingly, having been through similar struggles in different circumstances. She's out there for all of us who didn't fit the blonde ideal, doodling her way into our multi-cultural hearts.

I know The Year of the Dog has been out for a while, and many fine reviews have already appeared. And I'm sure Ms. Lin, who mailed my copy months ago, probably gave up on me. I finally managed to pull it off the shelf one morning, delighted to find it began with a rich description of Chinese New Year's celebration, making it a perfect entry for the first day of the Year of the Boar (or Pig, whichever you prefer. I prefer them over heaping bowls of noodles, myself).

Rating: *\*\*\*\

A Celebration: The Year of the Boar starts Feb. 18th.

The Great Race: The Story of the Chinese Zodiac
Written by Dawn Casey; illustrated by Anne Wilson

I knew the Chinese had a thing about cats. Hey, cat lovers, don't blame me, okay? I'm just telling you how it is. The Chinese and cats? No way!

So I knew Cat was in trouble from the moment this story opened.  The Jade Emperor, who rules the sky, sets all the animals against each other in a great race. Finish first, and he'll name the first year of his new calendar after you.

I won't tell you what wiles Cat and his best buddy Rat use to sneak ahead of the others. Let's just say there's a reason they're no longer on speaking terms.

The story is surprisingly suspenseful (though not scary) and Casey has fun with animals' personalities. Don't miss the end notes; lots of great stuff on other Chinese holidays and a full spread about all the animals, their traits and which years they fall on.

I'm noticing some similarities between the illustrations in Barefoot Books; most use the same warm, enticing colors and childlike renderings, even across different media. Wilson uses paper collage with acrylic and printed backgrounds, but I found myself wishing for more of an overtly Eastern feel to it.

Rating: *\*\*\

A Celebration: The Year of the Boar begins Feb. 18th.

New Clothes for New Year's Day
by Hyun-Joo Bae

I remember at an SCBWI conference, moderators read from a picture book manuscript about a Japanese girl putting on her kimono. None of the panelists--drawn from the publishing industry, wouldn't you know it--went for it. I kinda liked it. Why did it have to have conflict, drama, a character arc? It was a book about kimonos, fer cryin' out loud.

So I was thrilled that Kane/Miller sent me this Korean version of the same idea: a young girl putting on her new clothes so she can join her family in marking the start of the lunar calendar. That's all she does is get dressed, but I can vouch as the Mommy of an 18-month-old clothes horse that little girls eat this stuff up.

She starts out in her white under-robe, over which she layers the fancy, homemade clothes that will help her start the year fresh. She dons a silk skirt in blazing red, embroidered with the Chinese character for "luck," a rainbow-striped jacket that fastens at her chest, colorful hair ribbons, a good-luck sachet to pin to her jacket, and much else. Even the details on her socks and the embroidery on her shoes are noted with loving detail.

Along the way, we learn much about Korean customs.

The illustrations look like pen and ink, with vivid crimsons and jade greens against a pale yellow background embellished with mazes or  stylized flowers. Each page has that signature Eastern blend of simplicity of composition and the harmony of all its elements.

Try to pry this from your daughter's hands, I dare you.

Note: Don't miss the end notes, which are an education in themselves.

FYI: Kelly also reviews this book.

Rating: *\*\*\

My nice, Jewish mother swears she was Chinese in a past life, which explains a house full of Chinese antiques and jade figurines, even a lonely Fu Dog (they're supposed to come in pairs to guard entrances, but who knew?).

She once had herself channeled and discovered she was born a princess (weren't we all?) who married young and was beaten to death by her cruel husband.

She used to be able to pinpoint exactly which province she was from, having a "special feeling" every time she gazed at a map of the Middle Kingdom.

It was her fondest wish to someday visit China, something her advanced age and frail health will no longer allow.

On February 18th, nearly a third of the world's population will usher in the Year of the Boar. I can't bring my mother to China--or Korea, Japan, Thailand or the many other countries that mark time by a lunar calendar*--but I can bring bits of their cultures to my blog.

Besides, I'm always looking for a reason to celebrate. To welcome the New Year, I'm going to plunge head first into a delicious stack of picture books with Asian-American themes (alas, I have no books with South Asian themes to mark their holidays, a problem I sense must be corrected soon).

I should probably also make a trip to a Chinese grocery store, if I can find one that doesn't make me nostalgic for California.

Since celebrations last 14 days, I'll be posting reviews throughout the month. 

This one's for you, Mom.

*The Pacific Rim isn't the only part of the world where people still use a lunar calendar, of course. Those of us who are Jewish (at least in this incarnation) celebrate Rosh Hashanah every autumn. But since I figure I'm half Chinese spiritually, I get to celebrate the Trifecta of new years!