Rutabaga's Reads 2022: Part 21

Picture books need to be engaging to capture the attention of their young audiences, but they also need to engage those reading to/with them. This third picture book compilation of 2022 showcases one favorite author and four new-to-me authors. While they are all uniquely wonderful stories, what they have in common is that they are engaging in their prose and illustrations.

Cozy (Oct. 20, 2020) by Jan Brett.

Animals seek refuge from the winter cold, but instead of a cramped hideout, their refuge is a living creature, a young musk ox called Cozy. A family of lemmings, a snowshoe hare, a snowy owl, an arctic fox, a wolverine and a team of huskies with their sea otter musher join Cozy for winter in the Alaskan tundra. He got separated from his family, so is happy for the company. There are; however, house rules: “Quiet voices, gentle thumping, claws to yourself, no biting, no pouncing, and be mindful of others!” But when does a nibble become a bite? What constitutes a hoot that’s quiet or loud? When spring returns, Cozy is gleeful to find his herd, and his winter lodgers move onto their summer homes, but they promise to meet up again “when the snow flies.”

            The Alaskan tundra is no picnic, but Brett’s signature writing and clever illustrating create an idyllic story of sharing, friendship and living in harmony. Sure, it’s fanciful, but it’s a gently-moving tale that is comforting to read. Brett’s illustrations include those trusty side-panel vignettes that give readers hints as to what’s to come. She writes with a keen sense of her audience – the young and the young-at-heart – and illustrates with the finesse of an expert who’s comfortable in her skill and talent. This is another gorgeous tale, one that represents the importance of community, and it has a sequel, released November 2022.

            Oomingmak: Inupiaq word for musk ox, which translates to “the bearded one.” (Source: https://www.alaskazoo.org/muskox)

Danbi Leads the School Parade (July 7, 2020) by Anna Kim.

New to school is Danbi. Being the new kid is always hard, but it’s made more challenging for Danbi, as she doesn’t know English. She has recently emigrated from South Korea. She tries to engage with her classmates in participating in activities new to her, but she is unsuccessful. One thing she knows how to confidently do is pull out her lunch to eat! Her mom has packed her favorites – “Yams in honey, crystal dumplings, sweet-and-sour mini skewers, rainbow drops, and half-moon rice cakes dipped in sweet sesame!” – and her classmates are in awe. She tries to teach them to use chopsticks, which erupts into a cacophony-of-fun, musical parade.

            This is a wonderful story from Kim, who was once that little girl in a new classroom who didn’t yet understand English. Kim’s illustrations are multihued, but soft, and her text paints the story of a young girl who’s resilient and tries not to get discouraged even when no one plays with her. It’s a sweet, expressive story for any child starting at a new school or experiencing big, possibly overwhelming, changes. And it’s an enchanting, gentle and joyous story for all readers looking for something new to read.

            As an adoptee, I was never that child in a new school who didn’t understand English (and, in fact, remained in the same school district from Preschool all through my senior year of high school), but I knew what it was to stand out based on appearance, even though I also felt like my class was one of the more diverse in the rural community I grew up in. I would’ve wanted Danbi as a friend. Yes, because I would’ve seen myself in her with our similar physical, Korean features. But also because I was always taught to be a compassionate human being. I would’ve seen her needing a friend and so would’ve become one!

            Fun fact: According to the author, Danbi means “sweet rain.”

Eyes that Kiss in the Corners (Jan. 5, 2021) by Joanna Ho.

   Dung Ho, illustrator.

The Chinese-American girl in this story notices that her eyes are different from her peers. They have “eyes like sapphire lagoons” and “lashes like lace trim on ballgowns.” Her eyes “kiss in the corners and glow like warm tea.” They are eyes reflected in the face of her Mama’s, Amah’s (her grandmother) and Mei-Mei’s (her little sister). While her eyes are unlike those around her, that is winsome, for they are her eyes, and they are beautiful!

            While not in rhyme, this story is lyrical and reads with the expectation that it should be danced to with graceful movement. It is a story that exudes self-acceptance, a love of one’s ancestral roots and, in this character’s case, Chinese culture. Each of Dung Ho’s colorful and elegant illustrations are breathtaking landscapes that are exemplary complements to Joanna Ho’s prose. I love this story. It’s one I would’ve welcomed as a child. While I am well-loved by my family, I am an adoptee, and my family is entirely Caucasian. There was no one else in my family with “eyes that kiss in the corners,” and sometimes that was tough growing up. This story is poignant, but also strengthening, especially for anyone whose eyes “crinkle into crescent moons and sparkle like the stars.” Love your eyes, but most importantly, love your whole self!

Mommy’s Hometown (Apr. 12, 2022) by Hope Lim.

   Jaime Kim, illustrator.

A young boy is excited to visit his mommy’s hometown in Korea. It’s an area where the “mountains nearby stood like giants” and the “sky was filled with billowing clouds she [Mommy] could watch forever.” But when they arrive, the hometown isn’t what the boy expects. The small village has grown into a big city, new replaces the old, except for an old house on the corner that looks out of place surrounded by shiny new buildings. Fortunately, the river is the same. “Some things change, and some things stay the same.”

            Reading this sweet story that compares and contrasts past and present (rural and urban) with warm, digital illustrations tangibly feels tranquil and safe. The illustrations are lush and detailed; I especially enjoyed the spread of city buildings with shop names in Korean. The prose is gentle, yet full of imagination. The story caught my eye at the library, as it was up on display, one of many diverse books donated by the local Rotary Club. As soon as I saw the cover, I knew it featured Korean characters, and I checked the book out right away. So certainly, this story resonates with me because I share similar features to the Korean characters, but it’s a wonderful, intergenerational story for anyone. It shows readers of all ages that change can be bittersweet, but splendor and optimism arises, too, if one is open to finding it.

Wishes (May 4, 2021) by Mủợn Thị Văn.

   Victo Ngai, illustrator.

If you had to leave everything behind, what would you wish for? In the middle of the night in which the “night wished it was quieter,” a Vietnamese family leaves behind all they’ve ever known. They embark on a perilous journey with a destination in mind, but with knowing how so many things can go wrong between here and there. It’s observed through the eyes of a young girl who is traveling forward until “I didn’t have to wish … anymore.”

            Right away, I am struck by the simple beauty of the story. The prose is scant, but what’s there weaves a timeless tale of fear, hope, determination and resilience and is complemented by the artist’s detailed but soft illustrations. The author and illustrator are well-matched to this story, as the lyrical text and nuanced art are a lovely collaboration. This story is drawn from the author’s personal history, and reading her author’s note had me tearing up. It’s an experience to read, one that is both heartfelt and heart-wrenching. It’s emotional and elegant. The words are few, yet they speak volumes. I purchased the book, and I’m glad to own it. It should be in all libraries (and I’m happy to say that I know my local library has it).

            Personal story: For those that know me, they will know that I’ve never been a refugee. In a previous job, I sometimes worked with Karen-speaking patients. One time, through an interpreter, a patient inquired about my origin. I am always open to sharing that I’m Korean; I was born there, but adopted as a baby and have grown up in the U.S. This patient was a refugee, and sadly, our setting wasn’t one conducive to having a long conversation. She was intrigued by my happy demeanor, but especially, my flawless English. She had the interpreter tell me, “You’re a lucky one.” And you know what? I absolutely agree!