Review by New York Times Review
HOW DOES ONE teach children about the violence of history? How does one teach them to confront loss in the present day? Three new books take on these challenging tasks in the context of African-American lives. "Mumbet didn't have a last name because she was a slave." So begins Gretchen Woelfle's "Mumbet's Declaration of Independence," which tells the story of a remarkable figure in American colonial history. Known as Bett or Betty, although some children "fondly called her Mom Bett or Mumbet," she successfully sued her owner, John Ashley, "the richest man in Berkshire County, Mass.," for her emancipation, and once liberated chose to name herself Elizabeth Freeman. Alix Delinois's illustrations beautifully balance the intensity of this history lesson. The opening pages feature seven portraits of Mumbet in different states of thought and emotion. Pensive, determined and graceful, she wears a white bonnet (outlined by bright reds and yellows) in poses that highlight the complex and dynamic human being she must have been. Having overheard discussions of the Massachusetts Constitution of 1780, which states that "All men are born free and equal," Mumbet enlists the help of an attorney, Theodore Sedgwick (father of Catharine Maria Sedgwick, who would later record Mumbet's story), to challenge her enslavement. "I am not a dumb creature," Mumbet says. "I deserve my freedom." Two years after she brought her case, a judge declared slavery illegal in the state of Massachusetts, which in turn led to the freeing of 5,000 slaves. Woelfle's narrative skillfully keeps Mumbet at center, focusing on Mumbet's struggles against her mistress, Mrs. Ashley, who did not have the right to own property yet "owned the sharpest tongue in town." Her verbal and physical cruelty toward Mumbet and Mumbet's daughter, Lizzy, challenges the common belief that white women were passive spectators of slavery's violence and the sentimental allies of slaves. Mumbet, a protective mother, is so eager for her own and her daughter's freedom that she uses the Revolution's egalitarian rhetoric to declare their independence. Woelfle's narrative and her appended notes and references offer opportunities for discussing nuances in the history of American slavery. In "Under the Same Sun," Sharon Robinson, the daughter of the baseball legend Jackie Robinson, also deals with the history of slavery but folds it into a story about a modern-day family reunion. Auntie Sharon and Grandmother Bibi travel from America to Tanzania to visit David (Sharon's brother and Bibi's son, who grew up in Connecticut but has lived in Tanzania since 1984), his wife and their seven children. The reunited family goes on safari in Serengeti National Park to celebrate Bibi's 85th birthday. Here AG Ford's illustrations of gazelles, lions, giraffes and elephants provide a welcome burst of energy in an otherwise sweet but not particularly dramatic story. At the end of their trip, the group visits the coastal town of Bagamoyo (Swahili for "to let go of one's heart"), where David tells his African-born children the town's sad past as a slave-trading post. "We are much more fortunate than our African ancestors who were forced to leave the country that they loved and had no chance of returning. We are blessed with the freedom to travel back and forth." Based on personal experience, Robinson's book introduces young readers to a family living on two different continents and speaking different languages, English and Swahili. Emphasizing the family reunion in the context of the African diaspora offers a somewhat romantic if uplifting opportunity to learn about a tragic history. AT FIRST GLANCE there seems to be nothing so uplifting about Daniel Beaty's "Knock Knock: My Dad's Dream for Me," winner of the 2014 Coretta Scott King Illustrator Book Award. Every morning a boy and his father play a game. When the father goes "Knock Knock," the boy pretends to be asleep until his dad approaches. "Then I get up and jump into his arms." But one day, and every day after, the boy's father fails to appear. The boy writes him a letter: "Papa, come home, 'cause I want to be just like you, but I'm forgetting who you are." Two months later, a letter from the father finally arrives explaining that he will not be coming home, and that from now on, the boy must use the advice in the letter to guide him: "Dribble the page with the brilliance of your ballpoint pen," the father writes. "Knock Knock down the doors that I could not," he says. "Knock Knock for me, for as long as you become your best, the best of me still lives in you." We read the father's letter as we watch the boy grow into a man, becoming a builder as well as a husband and father. Bryan Collier's richly textured illustrations and the lyricism of Beaty's text - with its echoes of spoken-word poetry - make this story of bereavement also a story of possibility and beauty. Collier gives the boy's world a three-dimensional feel: We see him staring at his father's hat in a collage that melds his home and urban environment against a receding blue sky. That sky disappears entirely as the boy grapples with his grief, only to reappear in a wider expanse when he grows up. Details like the hat and a set of elephants recur to symbolize loss and forgetting, while the texture of paper, the father's ties (worn again eventually by the son) and other objects suggest the persistence of memory. Although a note by the author suggests that the story is based on Beaty's father's incarceration, the narrative never explains why the father has left, allowing Beaty to address parental absence of any kind and speak more generally to the challenges of growing up when the cards seem to be stacked against you. "Knock Knock: My Dad's Dream For Me" is the most intimate of the three books and perhaps the one that best illustrates W. H. Auden's wise observation that "there are no good books which are only for children." GLENDA R. CARPIÓ is a professor of African and African-American studies and English at Harvard and the author of "Laughing Fit to Kill: Black Humor in the Fictions of Slavery."
Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [February 23, 2014]
Review by Booklist Review
Every morning a boy and his father play a game: KNOCK KNOCK, says papa, and the boy pretends to be asleep, before jumping into his father's arms. Then one morning papa doesn't come anymore. Collier's gorgeous watercolor and collages begin with rich hues and joyful light on the beginning pages and turn somber and dark as the boy realizes his father is gone for good. Buildings, fabric patterns and wood grains, photographs, and torn paper are delightfully complex, framing the emotional painterly portrayals of a sad and disappointed boy. Children can follow the tromping paisley elephants and paper airplanes as well as papa's signature hat as the boy grows up and finds happiness. In a rare topic for younger children, Beaty explores the theme of permanent separation from a parent (it could be prison, death, or abandonment). The desire for guidance encountering life's experiences is told from a small child's point of view with candor, as well as hope, as he ends quoting papa's advice to KNOCK KNOCK down the doors that I could not. --Gepson, Lolly Copyright 2010 Booklist
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
Beaty's spoken-word performance about a childhood lived in the shadow of incarceration can be seen online, and its impact is powerful. This print version, meant for a younger audience, is gentler but equally affecting. Collier's (Fifty Cents and a Dream) watercolor collages capture the sadness of a thoughtful African-American boy whose father disappears and whose mother will not say where he has gone. The "knock knock" of the title stands for the game played by the boy and his father in happier times: "He goes knock knock on my door, and I pretend to be asleep till he gets right next to the bed." But when his father disappears, "the knock never comes." The boy writes to his father, but lets the letter sit instead of sending it; eventually, his father writes to him, turning "knock knock" into a symbol of possibility: "Knock knock down the doors that I could not." By sharing his experience, explained in an afterword, Beaty lends his voice to children struggling with the absence of a parent and the grief that goes with it. Ages 3-6. Illustrator's agent: Marcia Wernick, Wernick & Pratt. (Dec.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by School Library Journal Review
K-Gr 3-Beaty tells a poignant, heart-wrenching tale of love, loss, and hope. A boy narrates how every morning he and his father play the Knock Knock game. He feigns sleep while his father raps on the door until the boy jumps into his dad's arms for a hug and an "I love you." One day, there is no knock. Left with his mother, the child deeply misses his papa and writes to him for advice, receiving a moving letter in return. Collier's watercolor and collage illustrations enhance the nuanced sentiment of the text. Following the protagonist's journey from a grief-stricken child to an accomplished strong adult, the lifelike images intermingle urban and domestic backgrounds with the symbolic innerscape of the narrator. As the boy writes the letter and tosses paper airplanes out the window, he glides out on a life-size paper plane expressing his plea, "Papa, come home, 'cause there are things I don't know, and when I get older I thought you could teach me." Author's and illustrator's notes at the end of the book elaborate on the personal meaning of this eloquent story that speaks especially to children who are growing up in single-parent homes.-Yelena Alekseyeva-Popova, formerly at Chappaqua Library, NY (c) Copyright 2013. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Horn Book Review
Each morning, a little boy looks forward to playing the knock-knock game with his father. The boy pretends to be asleep until his dad approaches. Then I get up and jump into his arms. One day, though, and for every day after, the boys father fails to appear. The appended authors note explains that Beatys own father was incarcerated. In the book, though, the absence is not explained, which makes it a more universal story of loss. A letter from his father helps shore the boy up. The poignant words as long as you become your best, the best of me still lives in you let him know his father loves him, even though he is absent. The text, powerful and spare, is well supported by Colliers watercolor and collage art, which is filled with repeating motifs: elephants for memory, a paper airplane careening, the fathers hat, rainbows and balloons, childrens eager faces, even the Duke Ellington Memorial to signify the little boys dream. Though the boy is bereft of a father, he is cared for and loved. His room is filled with toys and books. His mother and, later on, his wife are there to support him and help him move forward. There is a lot going on here, but there is a lot going on in the mind of any child who has been denied a parent, for whatever reason. In this book they will find comfort and inspiration. robin l. smith (c) Copyright 2013. The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
(c) Copyright The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review
A heartfelt effort to transform Beaty's celebrated monologue into a picture book undermines the source material's power, despite the contributions of Collier's stunning collage-and-watercolor artwork. A father and son play "KNOCK KNOCK" every morning, Papa knocking on the door to awaken him and the boy jumping into his arms. Both picture book and monologue open with this recollection and then reflect on the boy's profound loss when his beloved father is suddenly gone; but while the latter text explains that this is due to the father's incarceration, in picture-book form, his absence is unexplained until an author's note in the backmatter. Not only is this potentially confusing and alarming, it also robs the text of one of its most powerful elements: when the boy visits his father in prison and must "KNOCK KNOCK" on the glass between them. In the monologue, Beaty says that he had to learn to father himself and give himself the words his father didn't give to him. In this adaptation, the boy's mysteriously absent father writes a loving letter filled with fatherly advice, but it omits the monologue's lines about fighting poverty and racism and not allowing a father's choices to define the child. Absent the critical back story, this picture book feels incomplete. A valiant effort that falls short of its source's fearless honesty and passion. (Picture book. 4-8)]] Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
