By
Cynthia Leitich Smithfor
CynsationsThe third of a four-installment dialogue with Ambelin and Cynthia.Our focus is on the creative life and process, speculative fiction, diversity, privilege, indigenous literature, and books for young readers.Don't miss Ambelin on Ethics, the Writing Process & Own Voices or an Interview with Ambelin on Justice, Hope & Her Creative Family. Spoiler alert for Feral Curse (Candlewick, 2013).Lately, I’ve been talking to
Ambelin Kwaymullina, “an Aboriginal writer and illustrator from the Palyku people” of Australia, about own voices, representation, appropriation and writing across identity elements.
At first glance, when it comes to protagonists and point of view, we may seem to be on opposite ends of a spectrum--her advocating against writing as an outsider and me in favor.
It’s more complicated than that. As we compared notes, we found ourselves agreeing or at least empathizing more than you might assume.
I’m a Muscogee Nation citizen, and I’ve written protagonists who share that identity as well as those who, unlike me, are respectively Chinese American, Mexican American, Italian American, English American, Seminole, and Cherokee. The non-Indians appear in alternating point-of-view novels.
(I’m a Cherokee descendant, not a Cherokee Nation citizen. That translates to shared ancestry and cultural touchstones, but there's a difference. To clarify: I'm likewise Irish American. However, I am not a citizen of Ireland. I am Muscogee and American, a citizen of both Muscogee Nation and the United States of America. Native identity is about culture and heritage, but it's also about law and political status.)
More broadly, when it comes to race, religion, culture, gender, age, orientation, body type, and socio-economics, I write
inside my personal experience.
Likewise, I write
outside my personal experience. I speak on and teach the subject of writing, including writing across identity elements, on a regular basis.
As
I’ve mentioned before, the question of writing outside one’s lived knowledge and most immediate stakes with regard to protagonists (or, in the case of nonfiction, focal subjects) is a very personal one.
Today I’m going to share a glimpse into my own, nuanced process for deciding who and what to write and why. Yes, of course your mileage may vary. It may evolve. Mine has evolved.
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| Michigan Law School Reading Room |
Two points to address first:
(1) I’m well aware of my First Amendment rights. I graduated with a bachelor’s degree from
The William Allen White School of Journalism at
The University of Kansas, which included coursework in Media Law. I also hold a J.D. from the
University of Michigan Law School, where my studies largely focused on Constitutional Law and the First Amendment in particular (it was the topic of my third-year independent study with
Lee Bollinger).
I’ve committed quality time, scholarship and tuition dollars to Freedom of Speech.
I’m well aware that rights come with opportunities, costs and responsibilities. And I'm well aware that restrictions on speech tend to hit disempowered people first and the hardest.
I'll restate that:
Restricts on speech tend to hit disempowered people first and the hardest.
Sometimes I exercise my right to speak. Sometimes I exercise my right not to speak.
As a one-time Native child who couldn’t watch
“Super Friends” every Saturday morning without also seeing
“Elbow Room” every Saturday morning, I fret the impact of erasure (to a cheery tune) and of the single story (in that case, the “helpful Indian”).
Watch this and, if it's not your inherent perspective, try to do so--with your writing cap on--from a Native or POC point of view.
(2) The vast majority of children’s-YA authors must, to varying degrees, write outside our own experience—at least with regard to secondary characters and major historical events or societal topics. This is necessary to reflect the full range of our humanity in the past, present and future.
In a sweeping book about the U.S. Civil War or The Great Depression or the Industrial Revolution, I’m looking for inclusion when it comes to the participation of and impact on Native people, people of color, women, etc. Ditto that contemporary realistic chapter book set in a
minority-majority nation or that YA dystopian novel.
Ducking that content isn't a neutral decision. Again, effectively writing Native people off the continent--out of the past, present, and future--
isn’t a neutral decision. Over the body of literature, it’s a minimizing one. An erasing one. Silence speaks. It contributes to adverse real-world impact.
After every U.S. election, we actually have to educate the new Congress about our continued existence. Please don't make it harder for us to protect our nations, our land, our children. Remember, we are
still here. And we should be reflected in the pages of children's-YA literature.
So, to recap: (1) I'm well versed in freedom of speech. (2) Every children's-YA writer must, to some degree, write outside our immediate frame of reference. Still with me?
Back to protagonists and nonfiction topics. Bookstores vary the titles they stock. Libraries vary their collections. Publishers vary their manuscript acquisitions, and agents vary their clients.
Otherwise their books would compete with each other, and they wouldn’t be able to offer the selection necessary to stay in business.
Choices that heavily favor slender, straight, able-bodied white kids are the norm. Those books are viewed as standard. Viewed as universal. There’s no industry predisposition to limit them.
But every day, other well-written stories are rejected for being “too similar” to an already stocked, purchased, acquired or signed project that’s perceived as similar enough to compete.
Let’s say there’s already one middle grade with an Asian boy protagonist. Will another one be turned down for potentially competing?
Quite possibly.
“I just acquired an Asian boy middle-grade novel, and, unfortunately….”
Writers get rejection letters to that effect all the time. I’ve read them. Quite a few of them because I teach and mentor and so other writers come to me to discuss such things.
And, granted, stories won’t be rejected just because of common identity elements. It could happen because they’re deemed “too similar” in other ways.
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| My kitty, Gali-Leo |
“I just acquired a novel about soccer, and, unfortunately....”
Now, consider:
What is the societal impact of limiting to one book about soccer?
What is the societal impact to limiting to one book about Asian-American boys?
Or one book about Asian Americans--period? Especially since "Asian American" is an umbrella term.
Heaven forbid two Asian-American boy characters in two different stories both happen to play soccer.
Sure, even with mainstream heroes, there are limits:
"Unfortunately, we're already publishing a half dozen dystopians..."
Here's the thing: Writers often panic over new releases that might be "too similar" to our own works in progress, particularly if our own manuscript is well along. We anguish over whether to read the competing title to gauge whether our project is in the clear or not. With nonfiction writers, you'll often hear talk of "getting there first" in the marketplace.
Remember when I mentioned the right to speak and the right not to?
This is what I personally do with that reality:
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| Halloween decoration that inspired my novel, Feral Curse |
I love cats. I love carousels. I’m intrigued by cryptids.
In
the Feral series (Candlewick/Walker), I write about werecats, demons, magic and furry cryptid hominids.
The stories take place in Austin, in a nearby small town, in the suburbs, at a resort, and on a tropical island.
These YA books are heartfelt, funny, action packed and teeny bit sexy (if I do say so myself).
The trilogy metaphorically tackles diversity, social justice, and what it means to be human.
No way would the entire cast look like it had been raised by
Carol and Mike Brady. Or be depicted simply as white kids from different social groups a' la
"The Breakfast Club" (remember when that was a diversity ground-breaker?).
The Feral series' question is: "What does it mean to be human?" My answer isn't: "Let's check in with the all-white heroes to find out." (Although white co-protagonists are certainly included in the mix.)
The series is told in alternating points of view by four co-protagonists, including Kayla, a werecheetah, who presents as Black American, and Yoshi, a werecougar, who presents as a biracial (Japanese-white) American. They’re
homo shifters rather than
homo sapiens, and they live among us. Within the genre bending, it's a sci-fi-ish fantastical construct.
Now imagine this. An editor reads my manuscript and says: “Too bad! I just signed a story about a smart, small-town, Black Texas teen--the daughter of the mayor--who’s able to turn into a werecheetah, and is being haunted by her ex-boyfriend’s ghost, which is trapped in a carousel. And, wouldn’t you just know it? Both stories feature a Eurasian co-protagonist/love interest, raised in an antique mall by his homicidal grandmother.…”
Really? If another author also independently came up with that specific idea, we are soulmates.
But only one of us is probably going to sell that oh-so-similar book to that one YA fantasy editor at that house. Or sign with that manuscript to that one genre-bendy and cryptid-loving agent.
Libraries and bookstores will stock one or the other. (Unless there’s a major motion picture involved.)
We’re safe to say
the Feral series (Candlewick) is an idiosyncratic, diverse spec-fic YA adventure. This is a benefit of a quirky writing nature (Werearmadillos, for example. I may have invented them. That level of quirky.)
Kayla, as one of four co-protagonists, isn’t going to knock a book with another Black girl hero out of contention for anything. And the lived experience that’s most on point is what it’s like to “pass” or not. On that point, I do have lived experience to bring.
Nifty. Green light.
Now consider this: I love the music of
Eartha Kitt. I am fascinated by Eartha Kitt.
I believe that Eartha Kitt was the best Catwoman.
The. Best. Catwoman.
Nobody could purr like Eartha Kitt.
She was inspiring, talented, formidable. For years, I’ve longed to write a biography about Eartha.
But Eartha wasn’t
Martin Luther King, Jr. or
Ella Fitzgerald.
She’s not a household name or an automatic tie-in to the Black History Month curriculum.
There might be room for one Earth Kitt biography for kids (or teens). I could see that getting published. I can imagine some bookstores and libraries stocking it.
As much as I love Eartha, I can’t imagine them embracing two or more.
So I’m not writing it. But
if I weighed all that and moved forward, I would talk to Eartha’s family first for permission and consult with Black author friends, too.
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| Magazine cover of Eartha in my dining nook |
All the while
owning that my book could be blocking one by a member of Eartha’s own community.
Would I love that reality? No, but I couldn’t ignore it or dismiss it or explain it away either. And I couldn't wrap myself in the First Amendment and leave it at that because I have the right not to speak, too.
I would have to hold myself to the highest possible writing standard and expect others, especially those with a closer kinship, to do the same.
What's more, I'd have to acknowledge that I was starting at a serious deficit. There are writers with so much more to bring to that manuscript--Black writers, especially those with a strong background in singing and acting, who'd have knowledge and insights to illuminate the awesomeness that was Eartha in important ways that I'd never imagine.
I'm not planning to write that biography of Eartha. But up until a year or so ago, I was seriously considering it.
Now, what about a subject closer to home?
I’ve also considered writing a biography of Chickasaw astronaut
John B. Herrington.
He and I have more in common. We're both mixed-blood citizens of southeastern Native Nations now based in Oklahoma. I want Native kids to learn about him, to be inspired by his story. I want non-Indian kids to learn about him and rethink the “primitive savage” stereotypes they’re fed.
Still, writing about John would’ve required me to write as an outsider.
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| I've met him in person in Oklahoma! |
I’m not Chickasaw. “Native American” and “American Indian” are umbrella terms. Again, being Muscogee doesn't make me Chickasaw.
Are there shared ties and history between some Native/First Nations people and nations? Yes, more so within regions. But we're not not one in the same.
I hate to say it, but, as with Eartha, there’s probably not room in the market for more than one nonfiction picture book about John Herrington.
Native people are not meaningfully included in the U.S. curriculum. To the extent we're mentioned, the focus isn't on our achievements in space exploration. (
Cough.)
There’s no way I would've put down a word of John’s story without his permission. As a First Amendment student, I know that I have the right to do so. As a Native woman, I believe in cultural property but, more to the point, as a human being, I believe in respect and courtesy.
John’s story is not my mine to take. It’s certainly not mine to take for profit.
Besides, to do a good job with it, I would’ve needed not only John’s blessing but also his assistance because the greatest living authority on John is of course John himself.
And if John thought it was a wonderful idea for me to write the story, I would’ve been honored and proceeded from there. (Yes, I would touch base with Chickasaw children’s writers, too.)
Many of the best books written by outsiders come from a place of deep connection and respect, prioritizing impact on young readers--both those directly reflected by the book and those who're not.
Consider, for example,
Bethany Hegedus's excellent
Grandfather Gandhi picture books, written with
Arun Gandhi, illustrated by
Even Turk (Atheneum).
These titles were born in the wake of the September 11 attacks after Bethany, a 911 survivor, heard Arun give a speech and found personal solace and healing in it. Later, they worked together to share Arun's stories with kids.
As writers, we succeed when we set aside the self-absorption of intent and entitlement in favor of respect and commitment.
We succeed when we come from a deeply felt place, like Bethany did after 911 and like she does every day when she cradles her own Indian-American baby son.
Bottom line: I never actively began writing the manuscript about John Herrington. It was merely an idea. I had other projects to finish first. I hadn’t yet contacted John to discuss it.
I was thinking I’d do that early next year.
But now I’m absolutely delighted that John’s children’s book,
Mission to Space, was recently published by Chickasaw Press.
Imagine if bookstores and libraries didn’t pick it up because another children’s writer (like me) had already gotten there first and with a publisher that has a larger, more powerful industry presence.
Ambelin mentioned that she doesn’t want to see outsiders writing first- or deep third-person point of view. She’s told me that she feels that way in part because she hasn’t seen it done well and in part because of the systematic exclusion of Indigenous voices, own voices.
She doesn’t “want anyone occupying that space until there's something resembling parity of representation of Indigenous writers (and other own voices).”
I’m deeply sympathetic to her perspective and a strong own voices advocate myself.
At the same time, when it comes to Native content, I’m more open to outside voices than Ambelin.
I suspect that’s because—despite far too many problematic books by outsiders—I have seen it done well. I appreciate high-quality titles like
Debby Dahl Edwardson’s
My Name Is Not Easy (Marshall Cavendish, 2011) and
Rita Williams-Garcia’s
Gone Crazy in Alabama (Amistad/HarperChildren’s, 2015).
It’s a blessing for Native kids, all kids, that books like those are published, and I’m thrilled to champion them whenever I can.
Moreover, as a southeastern American Indian, considering our history and current ties with Black Americans, I particularly long for more of their voices in the related conversation of books, especially with regard to the intersection of Black Indian tribal citizens.
Big picture, being open to outside writers is no small or unqualified leap of faith.
There is a long and damaging history of outsiders telling "Native" stories, having approached us in the guise of ethnographer, of anthropologist, of writer, of friend. A long and damaging and ongoing effort to mislead, gain trust, and then misrepresent Native lives and narratives. Usually for profit, power or both.
When I say "damaging," that’s not hyperbole. I’m talking about real-world legislation, persecution, and impact on the daily life of every Native person. We are peoples of Nations defined by sometimes hostile law and profoundly affected by that law. Public opinion, education and miseducation affects the making and enforcement of those laws. And then there's the psychological impact on citizens of our Nations, especially on our children and teens.
If you don’t know enough to understand why we’re skittish, suspicious and/or non-responsive, please step back and do more homework before starting that manuscript. Our feelings, actions and sometimes silence are based on real-world experience and concerns.
Begin by reading
100 books by Native American children's-YA authors. Do your homework with regard to each community your writing might reflect like you did your homework to enter the field more globally.
Of late, I’ve heard a lot of folks speaking in broad terms about the question of who writes what. We talk too often in broad strokes when brushstrokes apply.
It's a much bigger, broader conversation than race, though of course that's a critical component. It's also persistently framed as primarily about white writers' fear and failures.
As if no white writers weigh the responsibilities and costs of appropriation and respectfully seek the appropriate permissions and insights like Debby, working with her husband to share his story.
As if diverse writers can't stretch to successfully write across identity markers like Rita, who can certainly be trusted to respectfully conceptualize, research, frame and integrate story elements and, for that matter, feedback as needed to revise.
As if diversity conversations should default to focus on white, able-bodied, cis-gender, straight folks. That's taking the idea that this isn't all about them and responding with, "But wait, what about them?"
Of course all writers belong in this conversation, but own voices must be prioritized and centered. Meanwhile, the question of "which ideas are right for me?" is something every writer must consider.
By the way, even when you're writing within identity elements, you still need to do research and engage in thoughtful related conversation. My work in progress is
quasi-autobiographical, and I have a three-inch thick (and building) research binder. I've consulted with several friends and colleagues about the content and how it rolls out within the context of the story.
When I’ve cited, say, Rita and Debby among my go-to examples with regard to Native content, often the reply is something to the effect that I’m setting the bar sky high. And, yes, that’s true.
The bar
is and should be sky high. Maybe we’re not all at Rita and Debby’s level of craft (yet), but we must emulate their gracious humility, their conscientiousness.
We must strive to create the best books for all kids.
Cynsational NotesWriting, Tonto & The Wise-Cracking Minority Sidekick Who is the First to Die by Cynthia Leitich Smith from Cynsations. Peek: "For those who write within and/or outside personal experience, how do we honor and craft stories for the young readers of today and beyond?"
Native American Children's Literature Recommended Reading List from First Nations Development Institute. #NativeReads See also
Debbie Reese at
American Indians in Children's Literature and
American Indian Graduation Rates: Stereotypical Images On and Off the Field from The Good Men Project.
By
Traci Sorellfor
Cynthia Leitich Smith's
CynsationsI had no idea how beneficial an agent could be when I attended my first
SCBWI conference in October 2013.
I quickly realized how much about the industry I did not know.
I began to network with other children's writers, especially fellow Native Americans, and when it came time to look for an agent, I utilized that network extensively.
I questioned fellow writers with representation, especially those from Native/people of color backgrounds, about their experience. I asked how agents had presented themselves at conferences or other events. I read agent online interviews and social media posts.
I wanted my agent to be a steadfast partner with a strong work ethic. It is a long-term relationship, so both people have to be dedicated to maintaining it. I required someone who was excited about my work and associated with a well-respected agency.
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| Traci's Reading Chair |
Ideally, I wanted someone who had editorial experience that reflects what I write—fiction, nonfiction, and Native/POC subjects. To be honest, this makes for a small submission list, so I did expand beyond that.
When I communicated with agents via email and telephone, I tracked whether what they shared reflected my list.
My gut got an extreme workout when I received two offers of representation on the same day. I cannot stress enough the importance of developing and checking in with trusted mentors.
Ultimately, I accepted
Emily Mitchell's offer of representation with
Wernick & Pratt Agency. She met every single item on my list. Her clients contacted me quickly and gave their honest feedback about her representation.
Emily had vetted me with my editor at Charlesbridge, her former employer. We had both done our homework.
To me, it is kismet that Emily presented at that first conference I attended—and in my home state of Oklahoma too! That day, she shared her desired client attributes—voice, authority, pragmatism and flexibility. I'd like to think I resemble her list, too.
Cynsational NotesTraci Sorell writes fiction and nonfiction for children featuring contemporary characters and compelling biographies. She has been an active member of SCBWI since August 2013.
In April 2016, Charlesbridge acquired her first nonfiction picture book, We are Grateful: Otsaliheliga, from the slush pile.
The story features a panorama of modern-day Cherokee cultural practices and experiences, presented through the four seasons. It conveys a universal spirit of gratitude common in many cultures.
Traci is an enrolled citizen of the Cherokee Nation. She grew up in northeastern Oklahoma, where her tribe is located.
She is a first-generation college graduate with a bachelor's degree in Native American Studies from the
University of California, Berkeley, where she graduated Phi Beta Kappa.
She also has a Master's degree in
American Indian Studies from the University of Arizona and a law degree from
the University of Wisconsin. Previously, she taught at the
University of North Dakota School of Law and the
University of New Mexico.
She also worked as an attorney assisting tribal courts nationwide, advocated for national Native American health care, and directed a national nonprofit serving American Indian and Alaska Native elders. She now lives in the Kansas City area.
See also
Story to Contract: Traci Sorell’s Incredible Journey by Suzanne Slade from Picture Book Builders. Peek: "Be grateful. Every day. If you approach your creativity and the process of writing from a place of gratitude, it opens you up. You will be more aware of story ideas, available to hear critiques that improve your craft, and connected to others around you in the kidlit world. Gratitude opens up receptivity."
Emily Mitchell began her career at Sheldon Fogelman Agency, handling submissions, subsidiary rights, and coffee. She spent eleven years at Charlesbridge Publishing as senior editor, contracts manager, and director of corporate strategy. After a brief post-MBA stint in the non-publishing world, Emily returned to children's books at
Wernick & Pratt.
Her clients include Geisel Honor winner
April Pulley Sayre, author/photographer of
Best In Snow (Beach Lane, 2016);
Caron Levis, author of
Ida, Always (Atheneum, 2016); and
Frank W. Dormer, author/illustrator of
The Sword in the Stove (Atheneum, 2016) and Click! (Viking, 2016).
Emily holds a bachelor's degree in English from
Harvard University, a master's in secondary English education from
Syracuse University, and an MBA from
Babson College. She lives outside Boston.
I don’t usually post anything aside from videos on Sunday but after attending the IBBY Conference in NYC this past weekend this topic came up and seemed well worth pursuing.
Not long ago I reviewed The Hired Girl by Laura Amy Schlitz. It’s a fine, unique historical novel about a 14-year-old girl who escapes a grim farm existence by running away to Baltimore to work as a hired girl. She’s the product of a cruel father who denies her any schooling leaving her little comfort except that which comes to her from books.
Recently this particular title has been the focus of a great deal of discussion over at Heavy Medals due to its mention of American Indians. Much to my surprise, people are commenting on the book’s merits due to a passage in which Joan thinks the following:
“It seemed to me–I mean, it doesn’t now, but it did then–as though Jewish people were like Indians: people from long ago; people in books. I know there are Indians out West, but they’re civilized now, and wear ordinary clothes. In the same way, I guess I knew there were still Jews, but I never expected to meet any.”
Folks appear to be mighty perturbed over this section of the story. It made me think a lot about what we demand of our historical protagonists in our contemporary children’s novels. Take Joan. Her education is that of a white working class girl in early 20th century America. She has a very limited world view and knows about Jewish people solely though the context of Ivanhoe. Now we look at that statement she thought. Considering white attitudes of the time, is it believable that Joan would think this of American Indians? Quite frankly, considering her schooling I found it, if anything, a little difficult to believe that her attitude wasn’t worse.
But let us not talk about being accurate to the attitudes of someone in Joan’s time and place and consider instead whether or not Ms. Schlitz should have included the passage at all. Is it harmful to her young readership to encounter a sympathetic protagonist with these opinions? Might they think them legitimate feelings? Might they not pick something up from such statements?
First, I’d like to address the question of whether or not children, or in this case middle school students, are capable of decoding an ignorant character’s prejudices if that prejudice is not specifically called out. Joan is wrong about a lot of things. You see this and you know this pretty early on. And while it is entirely possible that there will be young readers out there who have never encountered positive images and portrayals of American Indians in their children’s literature, the notion of white people “civilizing” other races and nations is not unique here. Do kids walk into historical novels with the understanding that people in the past thought things we cannot or should not think today? Is it the responsibility of the author instead to cut their all their sympathetic historical figures from a contemporary cloth and imbue them with our own attitudes towards race, gender, sexuality, etc.? I am reminded of a moment in Red Moon at Sharpsburg when author Rosemary Wells had her Southern Civil War era protagonist say of her corset that, “It constricts the mind.” A statement made by a young woman without outside influence or context, I might add. It felt wrong because it was wrong. A broad attempt to shoehorn contemporary attitudes into a historical tale.
But going back a bit, let’s again try to answer the question of why it was necessary for Ms. Schlitz to include this passage at all. It would have been easy to keep out. And Schlitz is not a writer who dashes off her prose without thought or consideration. So what is the value of its inclusion?
Does it come right out? It does! In fact, when you have a protagonist capable of awkward beliefs that are of their time, it would make so much sense to just not mention any of them, right? To do otherwise would be to offer a layer of complexity to an otherwise good character. Are books for young people capable of that complexity?
Let’s say the passage removed. Let’s say all passages of American Indians were removed (there’s more than one, you know). Let’s say mentions of American Indians were removed from all books for children written about this time period but only when those mentions were prejudiced. Let’s say all American Indians themselves were removed as well. See? Isn’t it so much easier to write historical fiction when you don’t have controversial topics to trip you up?
I am reminded of the lesson of Patricia C. Wrede’s Thirteenth Child. Do you remember this controversy from 2009? It came up in the pre-Twitter era (it was around but not what it constitutes today) when outrage had a less constructive echo chamber in place, so you’d be forgiven for having forgotten it. The novel takes place in a historical America where magic is common and the Land Bridge never occurred. This America has woolly mammoths and slaves but no American Indians. In a conversation online in 2006, long before the book’s publication, the author said this about her title:
The current plan is to have the primary difference before 1492 be that the various pre-historic attempts to colonize the Americas were unsuccessful; thus, no Mayans, Incas, Aztecs, Mississippi Valley civilization, or Native Americans of any sort…. The absence of an indiginous population in the Americas is obviously going to have a significant impact on the way things develop during the exploration and colonization period, and I’m still feeling my way through how I’m going to finagle that to get to where I want.
Which is, basically: A North America in which the threat of Indians was replaced by the threat of un-extinct megafauna…
Dubbed “MammothFail”, people were incensed that an entire ethnic group could be done away with because they were (their words) inconvenient to the plot. It was the first time I saw an angry internet pile-on (the like of which we’re almost accustomed to these days) and it shocked me. At the same time, the anger was understandable.
So what did we learn? Excluding someone doesn’t mean you’re doing them some kind of a service.
If Joan’s thoughts about Indians are prejudiced or nasty is she no longer worth rooting for because we’ve seen another side to her? Or will the child reader recognize ignorance when they see it? Joan is ignorant about so many things in the world. This is just one of them.
I think a lot of this comes down to the degree to which we trust child readers. I don’t think for one second that Ms. Schlitz shares Joan’s opinions of American Indians and what it means to be “civilized”. What I do think is that she works as a school librarian and sees children every day. I think that over the years she has learned from them and seen the degree to which they are capable of catching on to the subtlety of a book. I think she knows that this passage reflects more about Joan than it does about American Indians of the time and she believes kids will recognize that too. The question I’m interested in is whether or not we believe that characters with personal prejudices should be presented to our young readers AT ALL because kids and teens can’t handle that kind of complexity.
In the end, can prejudiced/racist characters be heroes when they appear in books for youth? Or are there subtleties at work here that make this more than just a black and white issue? I like to think we’re capable of trusting our readers, regardless of age. The Hired Girl believes them capable for rejecting Joan’s dated opinions. We should extend to them that same respect.
Everyone loves a good list but finding lists that reflect the intelligence of experts in a given field can sometimes be tricky. Consider, if you will, books about American Indians for the kiddos. I can’t tell you how many summer reading lists I see every year that have The Indian in the Cupboard, The Matchlock Gun, or even Rifles for Watie on them. Just once it would be nice to see a Top 100 list of books that could serve as guidelines for folks searching for good books about indigenous peoples.
You can imagine my interest, then, when Debbie Reese mentioned on the ccbc-net listserv that she had contributed to a list called “Top One Hundred Books by Indigenous Writers.” She also said that if anyone was interested in seeing this list, they could contact her and she’d pass it on. But with a list this good, it begs to be shared. I asked Debbie and her fellow experts in the field if it would be all right to post the list on this site and they agreed.
Here’s is some background, from Debbie, about the books:
As we worked on the list, we limited ourselves on # of books per author so that we could be as inclusive as possible. The list is a combination of our personal favorites and recommendations from peers.
We did not delineate or mark those that are in the children/YA category. We feel strongly that those who wish to write for adults or children/YA would benefit from reading what we’re calling masters. And, we think that those who wish to strengthen their ability to select/review books about American Indians would benefit from reading the books, too. So many authors who give talks and workshops tell people that in order to write, they have to read.
I have linked some of the children’s and YA titles to reviews and records. If I have missed any, please let me know.
Thank you Debbie, Susan, Teresa, and Tim for passing this along. I am very pleased and moved to host it here.
A Work in Progress: Top One Hundred Books by Indigenous Writers
Compiled for ATALM [1] 2012, by
Susan Hanks, Debbie Reese, Teresa Runnels, and Tim Tingle [2]
Updated on February 24, 2014
After a year of informal surveys and queries, we offer a list of over 100 books that every museum and library should have on their shelves. Written by tribal members, these books are the foundation of our literature as Indigenous people. Just as Western culture promotes Shakespeare as a prerequisite to grasping the essence of Western word arts, we promote N. Scott Momaday, D’Arcy McNickle, and many, many others to insure that our future writers reference, in images and ideas, our Indigenous masters.
Among our list are books written for children and young adults. Though often seen as “less than” because of their intended reader, we believe books for children are as important—if not more important—than books for adults. The future of our Nations will be in the hands of our children. Books that reflect them and their nations are crucial to the well being of all our Nations.
Sherman Alexie (Spokane/Coeur d’Alene)
- The Business of Fancydancing
- The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven
Rilla Askew (Choctaw)
Beverly Blacksheep (Navajo)
Kimberly Blaeser (White Earth Ojibwe)
- Absentee Indians and Other Poems
Joseph Boyden (Metis/Micmac)
Jim Bruchac and Joe Bruchac (Abenaki)
Joseph Bruchac (Abenaki)
Ignatia Broker (Ojibwe)
Emily Ivanoff Brown (Native Village of Unalakleet)
- The Longest Story Ever Told: Qayak, The Magical Man
Nicola Campbell (Interior Salish)
Confederated Salish and Kootenai Tribes
Robert Conley (Cherokee)
Ella Deloria (Yankton Sioux)
Vine Deloria, Jr. (Standing Rock Lakota)
- Custer Died For Your Sins
Jennifer Denetdale (Dine)
- The Long Walk: The Forced Navajo Exile
Echo-Hawk, Roger C. and Walter C. Echo-Hawk (Pawnee)
- Battlefields and Burial Grounds: The Indian Struggle to Protect Ancestral Graves in the United States
Walter C. Echo-Hawk (Pawnee)
- In the Courts of the Conqueror: the 10 Worst Law Cases Ever Decided
Heid Erdrich (Turtle Mountain Ojibwe)
- Cell Traffic: New and Selected Poems
Louise Erdrich (Turtle Mountain Ojibwe)
- The Last Report on the Miracles at No Horse
Jack D. Forbes (Powhatan Delaware)
- Only Approved Indians: Stories
- Africans and Native Americans: The Language of Race and the Evolution of Red-Black Peoples
Eric Gansworth (Onondaga)
- A Half-Life of Cardio-Pulmonary Function
Diane Glancy (Cherokee)
Joy Harjo (Muscogee Creek)
- Reinventing the Enemies Language
Tomson Highway (Cree)
- Dry Lips Oughta Move to Kapuskasing
Geary Hobson (Cherokee, Quapaw)
Linda Hogan (Chickasaw)
- Red Clay: Poems & Stories
- The Woman Who Watches Over the World: A Native Memoir
LeAnne Howe (Choctaw)
- Miko Kings: An Indian Baseball Story
Hershman John (Navajo)
- I Swallow Turquoise for Courage
Thomas King (Cherokee)
Michael Lacapa (Apache/Hopi)
- Less than Half, More Than Whole
Winona LaDuke (Ojibwe/Chippewa/Anishinabe)
- All Our Relations: Native Struggles for Land and Life
Adrian Louis (Paiute)
- Wild Indians and Other Creatures
Larry Loyie (Cree)
- As Long as the Rivers Flow: A Last Summer Before Residential School
Wilma Mankiller (Cherokee) and Michael Wallace
Joseph Marshall III (Lakota Sioux)
- The Journey of Crazy Horse
John Joseph Matthews (Osage)
Janet McAdams (Creek)
- After Removal (with Geary Hobson and Kathryn Walkiewicz)
- The Island of Lost Luggage
- The People Who Stayed: Southeastern Indian Writing
Joseph Medicine Crow (Crow)
Carla Messinger (Lenape)
N. Scott Momaday (Kiowa)
- The Way to Rainey Mountain
D’Arcy McNickle (Cree)
Nora Naranjo-Morse (Santa Clara Pueblo)
- Mud Woman: Poems from the Clay
Jim Northrup (Ojibwe)
Simon Ortiz (Acoma)
- The Good Rainbow Road/Rawa ‘Kashtyaa’tsi Hiyaani
- Men on the Moon: Collected Short Stories
- The People Shall Continue
Louis Owens (Choctaw)
- Mixedblood Messages: Literature, Film, Family, Place
- Other Destinies: Understanding the American Indian Novel
Leonard Peltier (Anishinabe/Lakota)
William Penn (Nez Perce/Osage)
- All My Sins Are Relatives
Susan Power (Sioux)
Marcie Rendon (Anishinabe)
Leslie Marmon Silko (Laguna Pueblo)
Cheryl Savageau (Abenaki)
Cynthia Leitich Smith (Muscogee Creek)
Paul Chaat Smith (Comanche)
- Everything You Know About Indians is Wrong
Virginia Driving Hawk Sneve (Lakota Sioux)
Allen J. Sockabasin (Passamaquoddy)
Shirley Sterling (Salish)
Chief Jake Swamp (Mohawk)
Luci Tapahonso (Dine)
- A Breeze Swept Through: Poetry
- Blue Horses Rush In: Poems and Stories
Drew Hayden Taylor (Curve Lake Ojibwe)
Tim Tingle (Choctaw)
Laura Tohe (Navajo)
Richard Van Camp (Dogrib)
- The Moon of Letting Go: and Other Stories
Jan Bourdeau Waboose (Ojibway)
Velma Wallis (Athabascan)
- Two Old Women: An Alaska Legend of Betrayal, Courage and Survival
Anna Lee Walters (Pawnee/Otoe)
James Welch (Blackfoot/Gros Ventre)
- Heartsong of Charging Elk
Bernelda Wheeler (Cree/Assiniboine/Saulteaux)
- I Can’t Have Bannock but the Beaver Has a Dam
- Where Did You Get Your Moccasins?
Robert A. Williams (Lumbee)
- Like a Loaded Weapon: The Rehnquist Court, Indian Rights, and the History of Racism in America
Daniel H. Wilson (Cherokee)
Craig Womack (Creek)
- Red On Red: Native American Literary Separatism
For further information and titles, contact Susan Hanks at [email protected], Debbie Reese at [email protected], Teresa Runnels at [email protected], or Tim Tingle at [email protected].
[1] The 2012 conference of the Association of Tribal Archives, Libraries, and Museums took place in Tulsa, Oklahoma. ATALM Website: http://www.atalm.org/
[2] This list was compiled for presentation at the ATALM conference. We encourage all librarians to purchase a copy of every book by the writers on our list, and we encourage you to ask when out-of-print books will be back in print. In preparing our list, we limited ourselves to no more than four titles per author. The titles are our personal favorites. Our contact info is below.
I’ve committed quality time, scholarship and tuition dollars to Freedom of Speech. 
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I agree 110%!
Your post makes me think of Mildred D. Taylor’s 1997 ALAN acceptance speech, in which she grapples with writing scenes and using language that is potentially painful for readers in her historical fiction about the Logan family:
“I am hurt that any child would ever be hurt by my words. As a parent I understand not wanting a child to hear painful words, but as a parent I do not understand not wanting a child to learn about a history that is part of America, a history about a family representing millions of families that are strong and loving and who remain united and strong, despite the obstacles they face.
In the writing of my most recent work, titled The Land, I have found myself hesitating about using words that would have been spoken in the late 1800s because of my concern about our “politically correct” society. But just as I have had to be honest with myself in the telling of all my stories, I realize I must be true to the feelings of the people about whom I write and true to the stories told. My stories might not be “politically correct,” so there will be those who will be offended, but as we all know, racism is offensive.
It is not polite, and it is full of pain.” http://scholar.lib.vt.edu/ejournals/ALAN/spring98/taylor.html
The crucial difference is that you’re writing about the hero of the story holding and expressing racist perspective about , while Taylor is depicting white antagonists in the African-American Logan family’s. I’m eager to hear what others have to say about this.
Thanks, Betsy Bird. Who on earth is reading The Hired Girl and thinking, “That Joan — she really *gets* people”?
I’ve seen variations of this conversation in many places recently, and at bottom I’m not sure the question of this post’s title is really the one being asked. (Or at least, not the one being asked by people raising concerns about the treatment of prejudiced viewpoints in various children’s books.) To me, the question is one that can be more difficult to articulate– not whether a text should include bigoted or otherwise objectionable views, but *how* those views are presented and contextualized within the story. And often, that reading of “how” depends a great deal on one’s own perspective and experiences.
For example, my reading of Joan’s attempt to convert her Jewish employers is informed by my own experiences as a Jewish woman, and also by my knowledge of many other such stories– and the way that conversion is often used as a motif in books written by non-Jews about Jewish experiences. (One could call it a trope.) If I, in sharing my reading, raise issues with Joan’s conversion attempt, then the counter-argument that this element is historically accurate and true to Joan’s character doesn’t really address the issue of context that I’m raising. The question isn’t just about an author’s decision to include prejudiced views and actions, but about *how* the author’s contextual decisions often reflect views the author may or may not be aware of. It seems worth noting that these discussions occur most often in cases where authors are writing about experiences outside of their own identities.
I think the related question– about whether writers should have faith in young readers’ ability to negotiate contextual clues and not take prejudiced views or actions at face value– also falls within this framework. Often, what I see is writers (and critics) discounting the perspectives of young readers who are able to contextualize the *author’s* viewpoint in ways that go against a dominant reading.
For anyone in these discussions who hasn’t read it, I highly recommend Toni Morrison’s book Playing in the Dark: Whiteness and the Literary Imagination. See, for example, her reading of Huck Finn. Many might argue that Twain offered an accurate portrayal of the racism of his time period, and that he trusted his readers to see that this is a commentary on racism and not an endorsement of such views. But Morrison’s reading gets at the deeper question I see being asked in these discussions– about how Twain’s decisions as a writer reflect on his own, biased, imagination.
Betsy, while I appreciate you taking this on, you take an argument in which I question one line I one book, in the context of a Newbery Award discussion, to suggest that such a questioning means I distrust child readers In toto, and any controversial passages at all.
We have to be able to talk about issues of race in children’s books, as passionately as we do about the rest of it, without making this a “Black or white” discussion.
The one question I think we can start with is: why did you put the question about what a Native kid reading the book might think as your last concern? Why aren’t we all making that our first concern? Well, because we’re centering our whiteness, is why. Because our entire society centers whiteness, is why. Because we want to get derailed in BUT ARE WE ALLOWED TO EVEN WRITE THIS (clutches pearls clutches pearls). You’re allowed to write any darn thing you want. But that means we, the critical adult audience, are also allowed to then ask hard, uncomfortable questions about that thing you wrote. That’s just part of the deal.
I find that, often, one part of this argument is – you must be the kind of person who only wants NICE things to happen in fiction. You must not care about THE TRUTH. To which, of course, the only response is: depends on who you’re asking to tell you the truth. Let’s take a look at Tim Tingle’s HOW I BECAME A GHOST. There’s a book that is raw and unblinking in its portrayal of what happened to the Choctaw people as they were forced onto the Trail of Tears. Would anyone who has read it say that it is “sanitized” or “nice” version of history? Certainly not. And yet examples like this rarely come up in these conversations about “REAL history isn’t gentle!” Yes, marginalized people know this more than anyone.
I’d also come back to your final line: kid readers, like all of us, can reject something as untrue and still be impacted by it. Sarah raises a good point – “historically accurate, tho!!” doesn’t address the larger issues of what happens when a reader in the here and now interacts with this text. To say that they will simply say, “Well, that’s how it was back then!” and go about their merry way doesn’t address that, in many cases, that’s how it still is today.
I would love to trust readers, too, but trust itself rests on respect, and that respect has not been there for so many people/peoples who have been othered by the media, whether we’re talking about children’s books or films, or whether we’re talking about the past or the present day.
Did anyone click on the link that Jonathan provided? Not the one to my site but the one to his Google search? I think it actually makes my point. Go look. The first three images in the first line (Men/Women/Male Native) are stereotypical–but more important–they are costumes that people can get for Halloween. Because THAT is what comes up first, I think it tells us a lot about what people know about respect for Native people–or rather that they do NOT respect Native people. Maybe they dress up that way out of ignorance, or out of a misguided sense of what it means to honor a people, but I do think it speaks volumes about why we cannot trust the reader.
Once you’re at the point where we’re looking at a particularly book (that someone has already made the decision to publish and promote) and a character and a time period, it certainly makes sense for that particular character to have particular misconceptions and bigotries built into her way of seeing the world.
But when it starts to feel like the primary role of American Indians or people of color in the body of juvenile historical fiction is to provoke white people’s prejudices (or demonstrate what a hero they are for NOT holding those prejudices), or to spur white people to action… that’s a problem for me. When I find myself getting frustrated and exhausted by the way male authors write about women, I can retreat to a big pile of books by women, about women, to reset my internal expectations. (And I hope that men are reading them, too.) Native kids (and non-Native kids who walk around in our current, still-racist world, as Debbie points out) have a MUCH smaller pile of books to resort to–far too few for a kid who’s a prolific reader.
So I guess my question would be “how much more historical fiction about white people do we really need?”
So I guess my question would be “how much more historical fiction about white people do we really need?”
I would argue that stories about lower-class white characters that do more than play on poor-but-good stereotypes, especially in certain historical time periods, are still necessary. The rampant fetishization of the Victorian and Edwardian upper class among adults interested in the time period (just look at vast swaths of steampunk or some of the uglier ends of Downton Abbey fandom), to the detriment of discussions of poverty and the working classes that made that kind of living possible, suggests to me that books like The Hired Girl still absolutely have a place. And as a Catholic child who was often frustrated by depictions of nominal Protestant Christianity in books (The Baby-Sitters Club and Little Women both come to mind as examples that confused and surprised me), the presence of an explicitly Catholic main character like Joan, however imperfect she is, would have meant a great deal to me.
Are those needs as pressing as the need for books that reflect greater racial diversity and respect for audiences of colour? No, I don’t think so. Do those books need to include lines like the one in question here? No, I don’t think so, either. But I question the notion that we’ve exhausted historical fiction about white characters entirely, when there are intersectional issues that remain underwritten and underpublished.
Particularly because my next book tells the story of a prejudiced white character being temporarily fostered by a black family, this discussion has been close to home for me. I felt like it was appropriate to put the character’s assumptions about black people right out front and to make it clear from whence they came (her grandmother) – but I felt like it was equally important to correct those assumptions within the text. Maybe that’s me not trusting my readers to get it right, but it’s like that comedian who quit because he wasn’t sure people were laughing at the right part of his jokes — you don’t want to hold up something to ridicule (or, at least *I* don’t) and let a reader walk away with the idea that the idea is correct. To my mind, there are indeed subtleties in this – racism is insidious in its pervasiveness, as is sexism, etc.. I know it’s gauche for writers to “send messages” in our work, and we have all recently heard and rehashed the big argument against having an “diversity agenda” in writing, but I believe we all write with purpose, if we are wise. There are choices to be made in subtly asserting our beliefs and gently righting misconceptions, as it were… And all writers make a choice to acknowledge this or not, I guess, based on what we feel is important.
Books like THE HIRED GIRL, which have a lot to like in them despite the issues, provide the means for us to learn how to be fans of problematic things, to learn how to listen and sit with the discomfort of maybe not catching things which upset other people, and for me, at least, to be a better writer. I know thinking about this won’t help me produce a perfect book – good luck with that, huh? – but a more thoughtful book in this world of reflexive, unrepentant and systemic prejudice can only be a good thing.
[…] are some lively debates going on at Heavy Medal and Fuse #8 about Laura Amy Schlitz’s The Hired Girl, a presumed favorite for 2016 Newbery consideration. […]
I’m with the writer of this article all the way. Ms. Bird is correct that falsification of history (and our ancestors’ sensibilities) for the sake of contemporary political correctness not only shortchanges the readers, it robs them of the opportunity to know where mankind has been and how far we’ve come. It’s one of my peeves with so much “historical” fiction. It isn’t historical at all. It’s contemporary with decorations of older superficial details.
Writing for young readers is a responsibility, and writing about other times and places for any age is a greater responsibility still. Tell the characters’ truth.
Sure! To be clear, I don’t think the answer to my question is “none.” But as people who are outside the Newbery committee, we have the luxury of looking at this particular text as a part of a larger field of literature. My first, lizard-brain, instinctive pushback to “but it’s historically accurate!” is often “but this might be the only line a student reads about American Indians all year!”, and that’s a problem that this book alone can’t solve, and that I don’t expect it to.
I do consider plucky lower-class historical white girls to be overrepresented (without having actually done a count), but you’re right that many of them appear in poor-but-good morality tales, and I’d believe that few of them are explicitly and accurately Catholic.
Betsy, I responded above in defense against your two paragraphs starting “Does it come right out…” as I felt that was putting words in my mouth, but perhaps I was only choosing to take personal offense. I do think that’s skewing the argument I was trying to make at Heavy Medal. If we can put that aside, I agree with nearly everything you say, except for your final assessment of how well this all works in HIRED GIRL. I’ve tried to explain why here: http://blogs.slj.com/heavymedal/2015/10/15/the-hired-girl/#comment-218683
Into this discussion, and by no means to turn it into a discussion about something else, I just want to interject that we need more Roman Catholic characters in children’s lit. When I first read The Hired Girl I cringed for Joan’s behavior regularly (who didn’t?), but one of my first thoughts was that I couldn’t believe she *was* Roman Catholic. It blew my socks off! She’s the main character too, not a secondary character! All through reading the book I felt grateful for that.
Thank you, Betsy. This was a beautifully, thoughtfully written post. I feel like a lot of the conversation occurring on Heavy Medal is “But what will the children think?!” – which is the *exact* argument challengers used when attempting to ban two books from my library in the last couple years (Yummy: The Last Days of a Southside Shorty and Monster).
Thanks, Nina. Naturally I meant no offense to you. I should note that the term “it comes right out” is a screenwriting phrase I picked up from my husband about elements of a storyline that can be removed without detriment to the whole.
Thank you for your thoughtful and swift reply. My comment was a bit too much tangent for me to be comfortable with, in retrospect, and so in interest of not derailing the conversation further than I already have (and I apologize for that), I just want to acknowledge that I’ve read your answer and wish you a good day.
Thank you, Tanita! That’s exactly what I felt when I first read Debbie Reese’s post about this: “the discomfort of maybe not catching things which upset other people.” I had no memory of the passage, so I’m grateful to other people for pointing it out. It still surprises me that I can breeze by passages that might be hurtful to others, because, as a librarian, I think it’s part of my job to help kids read critically, and to show them it’s okay to be critical of things they like. I hope conversations like this will make me a better librarian, too.
This post focuses on how young people might read irony in a text– that is, whether they recognize the ironic distance between author and character (which I still don’t think is the issue those objecting to the passage are really raising.) But I just wanted to add that I think the dynamics of how young readers interact with books, and with the prejudices in them, is one of the central themes in The Hired Girl itself. Joan is first and foremost a reader. Her knowledge of the world comes partly through the books she reads, and she also, increasingly, uses her knowledge of the world to read against those beloved books. This back and forth of contextualization and re-contextualization includes her attitudes and conceptions about Jewish people, for example, and about prejudice. She uses the knowledge she’s gleaned from Ivanhoe to try to understand the Jewish people she meets, and then uses her experiences with the Jewish people she knows to contextualize attitudes presented in Ivanhoe.
But I think the picture of reading included within The Hired Girl also points to some of the problems people are addressing. As Debbie notes, this work of contextualization depends on the other experiences with which one reads against a text. Joan’s reading when she’s at the farm is different than her reading once she’s lived with the Rosenbachs. For most non-Native readers in the US, those other experiences include a litany of misrepresentations in books and media, little accurate knowledge, and few relationships with actual Native people. When it comes to the presentation of Jewish people in this book, I would also argue there are many images and associations Schlitz herself has absorbed from books like Ivanhoe, which maintain their hold on the imagination despite real knowledge of Jewish people. This includes the supposedly “good” stereotype of the idealized Rebecca. I think books can work on the imagination even when we have the means to put them in context.
As Angie says, all of this also continues to center the perspective of the reader who is encountering people and prejudices from the outside– not the reader whose context is their own very real, painful experiences as the target of those prejudices. Books like Roll of Thunder center the child *experiencing* prejudice, which is different from a book that focalizes a character with prejudiced views. In the later case, again, I don’t think the question is one of accuracy or even inclusion, but of how the author treats and understands both those views, and the reader who has experience with them that the author lacks.
I don’t believe Betsy is suggesting you distrust child readers in toto, just that you distrust them about this.