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Racial injustice in a young adult novel

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The Teen Protagonist Writing Letters to Dr. King

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Nic Stone’s new novel “Dear Martin” joins Angie Thomas’s “The Hate U Give” amid a growing body of YA books exploring racial injustice, police brutality, and protest.

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Have you ever dreamed of going into business with your best friend? Does it stay a dream, or in your mind does it turn into a nightmare? Ariana Stein and Patty Rodriguez, have been best friends since the age of twelve and will happily tell you that adding a business level to their friendship was the best decision they've collectively made.

After becoming moms, the duo kickstarted a business partnership with one goal in mind - creating the bilingual children's book series that every Latina mom would love.

"The books aren't designed to give lengthy, in-depth history lessons, as they're only 22 pages long," explains Ariana. "Instead the goal is to teach the basics, introduce them to culture, and motivate kids to continue learning additional words and languages. The books have always been about starting the bilingual learning journey with subjects that parents feel a connection with."

Since its launch, Lil' Libros has steadily become a presence on the shelves of Targets and local bookstores alike. The journey to getting Lil' Libros on those bookshelves though has not been an easy one.

In her episode of Creating Espacios, Patty stated, "I think there's so much strength that can be drawn from a bad day" and told a handful of stories of the ups and downs of building a business with her best friend.

But, those small glimpses weren't enough. Here's a full look at how Ariana and Patty describe their entrepreneurial success with Lil' Libros.
Vivian Nunez: How did Lil' Libros get its start?
Ariana Stein: It was our passion to ensure our children were raised to be bilingual. Being best friends and knowing each other's background, both being first generation Latinas, made it easier for us to decide to do this together.

Patty Rodriguez: Ariana and I have known each other since we were 12 years old. We've always tried creating something together. There was a time when we actually worked on a hot dog start-up! We were probably 18 at the time. And then there was a time when David Beckham arrived to the states; it was such a big deal back then, we took it as an opportunity to capitalize on it, we ended up making shirts inspired by him! That didn't turn as planned, but we did it! I think Ariana's husband still wears the shirts! So I feel that this was always meant to be.
Hear more conversations with inspiring Latinas? Check out Creating Espacios
Stein: That's not it! We also started a bilingual entertainment site. This was actually picking up steam, and going the direction that we wanted it to go, but we weren't passionate about it. I think this is why it failed, but everything is a lesson. Had we not had the hot dog business, shirt business, entertainment website, we wouldn't have Lil' Libros.
Nunez: How would each of you define Lil Libros mission?
Stein: Our mission has always been to introduce bilingualism and encourage parents to read to their children at the earliest age by focusing on subjects they are familiar with, and making it as fun and rewarding as possible.

Rodriguez: Each book we are creating is a seed. A seed we hope a parent plants at home with their child. We want parents and children to love to read, to create those moments together.
Nunez: What's been the biggest entrepreneurial lesson you've learned since starting Lil Libros?
Stein: To be fearless. Not be afraid to ask for anything. The worst thing that you can hear is the word "no." Rejection can be hurtful and discouraging but this is what makes us stronger. Stronger to succeed and prove everyone that anything is possible.
Nunez: What's key to keep in mind when going into business with a friend?
Stein: Keep in mind when going into business with a friend that sometimes you won't see eye to eye on certain things. People have different personalities and different perspectives. The only advice we can give is that you need to make sure you will be there for each other no matter what. It's like a marriage. If something bothers us, we talk about it, and move on.

Rodriguez: You can easily start your own business all by yourself, but what's the fun in that? I think there is no better feeling than sharing every milestone and setbacks with the person you love.
Nunez: How are the responsibilities divided between you both?
Stein: Patty manages the media and creative portion of the business. I manage the business operations. However, we both do a little bit of everything from creating content, shipping, logistics, etc. We just ensure our areas of expertise are well achieved.
Nunez: Describe the process of getting a book from idea to bookshelf.
Stein: It begins from deciding on a subject, to creating our ideas on a manuscript, meeting with our illustrator and ensuring she understands what we are trying to achieve. Every book has a story behind it and it's just a matter of making sure that story is portrayed accordingly with our content and illustrations. Once we finalize the manuscript, we send it off to our printing company. The printing process alone can take anywhere from 2-4 months. Once the books arrive into our office, we begin our fulfillment process to get them into the bookshelves.
Nunez: What is in the works for Lil' Libros in the next year?
Rodriguez: There will be two additional titles coming out in Spring of 2017. These titles are currently in the making!

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How Being Underestimated Drove These Two Latinas To Publish Lil' Libros

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Have you ever dreamed of going into business with your best friend? Does it stay a dream, or in your mind does it turn into a nightmare? Ariana Stein and Patty Rodriguez, have been best friends since the age of twelve and will happily tell you that adding a business level to their friendship was the best decision they've collectively made.

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In 2006, Debbie Reese started American Indians in Children's Literature, a blog that discusses the representation of Native communities in children's publishing from baby books all the way through the young adult genre. Since then, the blog has become a fixture of the digital book community thanks to the detailed, thoughtful, and thorough reviews of representation in children's books on the site. Long before We Need Diverse Books came on the scene in 2014, Reese was challenging injustice in text.

For her trouble, Reese, like many other advocates, has encountered considerable pushback, especially from white authors; just last month, complaints about an unfavorable review blew up the comments on a months-old Reading While White post. Cries of victimization like these from privileged people unfamiliar with criticism are rife in the children's book community. Bad takes on diverse children's literature abound, including claims that these discussions are " toxic" and " reader protest " is ruining the fun.

Yet these discussions are extremely important. In 2014, just 17 children's books were written or illustrated by Native people. Of the 179 books about Black characters, only 68 had Black authors and illustrators. Similarly grim statistics dominate Latinx and Asian literature. Author Malinda Lo has crunched the numbers on LGBTQ YA specifically, finding a steadily upward trend, but still, mainstream publishers published less than 80 LGBTQ YA books in 2016. Information on disability representation isn't even available, and it's similarly difficult to find statistics on Muslim characters and those from other underrepresented backgrounds.

Reese, a tribally enrolled member of the Nambe Pueblo, isn't an author, but she is a scholar with extensive experience in library science and education. Her work is extensively cited, and she's an advisory member of Reach Out and Read, Reading is Fundamental, and numerous other organizations. In other words, she is extremely qualified to comment on how Native communities are depicted in literature, drawing upon her personal and professional experience and using a blog to make some of her work as broadly accessible as possible. Reese recognized that while trade reviews and academic journals don't always make it to the right readers, a widely available platform provides more opportunities for conversation and education.

I wanted to learn more about Reese's work and her approach to reviewing books in a climate that simultaneously pays lip service to "diversity" and expresses hostility toward those who draw upon their lived experience when storytelling and reviewing. She generously took time to talk with me about Native identity, white fragility, and, of course, what she's reading and loving.
Native identity is something that many non-Natives really struggle to understand. What has made anti-Native sentiment so difficult for people to talk about and confront?
Several thoughts come to mind. First, people are surprised we're still here. They've bought into the idea that we no longer exist, so to suddenly find a Native person in their midst is a shock to them. If/when they get past that shock, they often go to their next idea-that we have to look a certain way. If we don't, then we cannot possibly be Native. The expectation of what we should look like reflects predominant stereotypes.

Moving past that-trying to get them to understand that we're sovereign nations and our identity is primarily about citizenship or membership in a specific nation-is beyond what some can handle in one sitting. All of this speaks to the power of stereotyping, bias, and misinformation in textbooks, children's books, television, movies, etc. On top of that, when they finally are ready to believe we're still here, so many move to the "Oh, you're so wonderful," which is icky because that sentiment is based on even more stereotypes. When you try to gently move them out of that space and [ask them to] just accept us for who we are...well, that doesn't go well. And those who believe you from the start, but then move to "I'm part Native" and go on and on about what they know...that's rough, too. So many don't know what nation. What they know is similar to what the senator from Massachusetts knew: a family story with not much factual information to support it, and no interactions with a Native community either.

Why is it hard for people to talk about? A research study on that would be interesting! We can speculate that for some it is a feeling of guilt over what their own ancestors did. For others, it is a fear of saying the wrong thing and causing offense. Some of the hardest conversations for me are with those who mean well in their claims, or in their honoring embrace, but both of those are ultimately damaging to the well-being of Native Nations. Misinformation does good for nobody, Native or not.
There's a lot of debate within the bookish community about the kinds of stories that are told and who should tell them. You lean toward the argument that only Native people should be telling their stories. Could you tell me a little about that? Photo via Debbie Reese
I'm not a writer of fiction, but those of us from our communities-[who are either] raised there or know them in real ways-know what we share and what we don't share. Because of histories of exploitations that led to government policies that prohibited us from our ways of worship, for example, we now literally draw curtains (I add curtains to Dr. Rudine Sims Bishop's mirrors/windows/sliding glass door metaphor) on what we do, when we do it, and with whom we'll talk about it.
Twitter has become a rich and complicated medium for conversations about representations in children's books, and yet I often see these conversations reduced to "drama." What feeds this incredible resistance to Twitter as a place for nuanced analytical conversations?
That knowing [of one's community] also means intimate knowledge of issues that impact us and how we feel about them. I hasten to add that we're not monolithic in our thinking, but we do lean in certain ways together because of a shared history of our communities.
Conversations about race in children's books are often literally Black and white, or people speak in sweeping terms of "white" vs. "people of color," sandwiching a huge swath of underrepresented groups under "people of color." You have a great essay on your site explaining the numerous problems with calling Native people in the United States "people of color," and I'm interested in the pushback on that. Why are people so resistant to this?
The same resistance we've always had, no matter where we speak, which is an unwillingness to hear the voices of people who say "This is not okay" when nobody has ever challenged you on that before. A good example is mascots. People say, "Why didn't you object 50 years ago?" to this or that mascot. How do they know we didn't?

I think some of the resistance to it is driven by a belief that it rests on a rejection of Black people, who have been discriminated against for centuries. The tribal nations that disenrolled Black tribal members add to a "not you because you're Black" feeling.

Others resist it because they object to the idea of federally recognized nations. "Recognized" makes it seem like a tribal nation is bowing to the whims of the U.S. government, and it certainly does have some power over us, but I stand on the fact that leaders of tribal nations were diplomats who entered into negotiations with leaders of other nations. The nation-to-nation relationship is significant. Nations-Native or not-evolve. Sometimes they make ill-advised decisions and do things that are harmful to someone. Native Nations do that, too. Then elections happen, and things change.

White people are super fond of "one dropping" Native identity ("my great great grandmother was..."). How does this desire to exotify Native culture via genetics without exploring cultural identity play out in children's books?

There are people throughout the United States who, when a conversation has something to do with Native issues, say that they are part Native American. Generally, "part Native American" is all they know. A lot of people have a family story about an ancestor who was a "Native American princess." For sure, there are people with Native ancestry-but the ways they use that tiny bit of info is harmful to those who are fighting ongoing exploitation of image or resources. Those folks who can't name a nation mean well, but they tend to romanticize that identity and don't understand how images are harmful. A second piece of that particular claim has to do with the "princess" part of it. Royalty is European. Early Europeans brought that societal framework with them here and imposed it on Native societies. Within Native circles, there is a joke that people are always claiming a female ancestor who was a princess, but don't claim a male ancestor who fought invasions of our homelands.
It's November, which means households across the country will be acting out an homage to colonialism-though some defend it with "It's a time for family" and attempt to argue it has departed from colonialist roots. The truth of the first interactions between Europeans and Native people in the Americas is pretty well-documented and accessible, so what makes these mythologies persist?
I also want to say a bit about DNA: The Ancestry commercial where the woman finds out she is part Native American drives me over the edge. People are using that to substantiate a claim to Native identity, but those tests aren't used by Native Nations. For an excellent article on that, people can read anything by Kim Tallbear. That's her field of study, and her book Native American DNA is excellent.
What are you reading right now? And are you enjoying it?
I think those gatherings are a lot like playing Indian in scouts or Y-Indian programs when you're a kid. You do those things because someone you love-and who loves you-did that with you. Stepping away from such things means a rejection of the warm feelings generated from that childhood time. For some it might mean coming to terms with racist ideas that their parents have about a wide range of people.

Re-reading #NotYourPrincess, edited by Lisa Charleyboy and Mary Beth Leatherdale. It is outstanding! You can read my review on American Indians in Children's Literature.

Hands down favorite, though? Cynthia Leitich Smith's picture book, Jingle Dancer. I wish I had it when my daughter danced for the first time. There was nothing like it in 1995, and so we did our own books with paper, markers, and my terrible stick figures. It worked fine, but when I saw that book, I was overwhelmed by it in so many ways.
This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.
It is about a little girl who is going to a dance for the first time. Her family and community helps her get ready, in every way. At one point she visits a cousin who is a lawyer. That cousin can't be at the pow wow because she's got a big case coming up. Fast forward to my present day...my daughter is now a lawyer and couldn't be home for one of our ceremonial gatherings. She had lawyer work to do!

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Scholar Debbie Reese On Why Native People Should Tell Their Own Stories

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In 2006, Debbie Reese started American Indians in Children's Literature, a blog that discusses the representation of Native communities in children's publishing from baby books all the way through the young adult genre. Since then, the blog has become a fixture of the digital book community thanks to the detailed, thoughtful, and thorough reviews of representation in children's books on the site.

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are another important genre that is starting to diversify

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Some folks like to deride graphic novels as "easy" entertainment, but graphic novels contain some of the most powerful and fun stories I've ever read. While the comics scene was and is still heavily dominated by cis straight white male characters, the success of graphic novels (including web-comic adaptation Nimona and National Book Award winner March) have opened up an avenue where those with more marginalized identities can thrive. These six graphic novels are not only fantastic reads that you can snatch up right now, but wonderfully diverse to boot.

Pashmina, by Nidhi Chanani
Priyanka Das has a dozen unanswered questions about her past and why her mom left India-and her father-behind, but the topic of India is not one Pri's mother will discuss. But when Pri finds a pashmina shawl hidden in a suitcase, it transports her to a place more vivid than any Bollywood film. It is beautiful, but it might not be the real India. This adorable graphic novel tackles family and identity with the help of a little magic.

Princeless: Raven, the Pirate Princess, by Jeremy Whitley, Rosy Higgins and Ted Brandt
I am absolutely obsessed with Raven, the Pirate Princess. An extension of the excellent middle grade comic series Princeless, Raven, the Pirate Princess follows Raven, a teen girl determined to reclaim her pirate kingdom from her treacherous brothers. This ongoing series features girls from across the spectrum in every capacity-tall girls, fat girls, queer girls, Muslim girls, Deaf girls, black girls, girls who love science and girls who love fighting, every kind of girl-in the middle of an incredible pirate adventure.

by G. Willow Wilson and Adrian Alphona
What happens when you accidentally acquire the superpowers of your favorite superhero and have to hide them from your family while still protecting your city? Ms. Marvel happens. Kamala Khan is one of Marvel's shining stars, and her story is both exciting and inspirational, turning Kamala into one of those characters you'll hold dear to your heart in the world's darkest moments.

Princess Princess Ever After, by Katie O'Neill
Think princes are the only folks capable of rescuing princesses from towers? Think again. Princess Sadie, stuck in her tower, is delighted to find herself rescued by Princess Amira, and even happier to set off on an adventure throughout the kingdom-until they run into the sorceress who first hurt Sadie. I'm obsessed with Katie O'Neill's work-her newest, The Tea Dragon Society, is equally delightful-and Princess Princess Ever After is cute, queer, body-positive, and a must-read.

by Brian K. Vaughan, Adrian Alphona, and Takeshi Miyazawa
When you discover your parents are part of a group of super villains bent on destroying the world, you do what every good teen would do: use the powers you inherited to fight them. Soon to be a series on Hulu, Marvel's Runaways -which first debuted over a decade ago!-features a diverse group of teens coming of age in a world where their parents are literally the Big Baddies. There's also a pet dinosaur. Read it for the pet dinosaur.

Spinning, by Tillie Walden
Tillie Walden devoted her entire life to figure skating, but as she grew older, she realized she'd outgrown her original passion. Walden's graphic novel memoir-written and illustrated by Walden-follows why she left ice skating, her romance with her first girlfriend, and figuring out what she wanted. The three-tone illustration style is gorgeous, and I have a soft spot for Tillie, as she and I rock similar short hairdos.

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Some folks like to deride graphic novels as "easy" entertainment, but graphic novels contain some of the most powerful and fun stories I've ever read. While the comics scene was and is still heavily dominated by cis straight white male characters, the success of graphic novels (including web-comic a

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As she accepted her National Book Award, Ward raised questions about whose stories are allowed to be "universal"

J esmyn Ward accepted her second National Book Award for fiction at last week's ceremony. In her speech she laid bare that even at this stage in her career the dismissal of her work and its content continues. As Jesmyn spoke I heard and felt those same types of rejections, knowing without further explanation the wording used. It was both a relief and disappointment to know she heard this too.

Throughout my career when I've been rejected, there was sometimes subtext and it was this: People will not read your work because these are not universal stories. I don't know whether some doorkeepers felt this way because I wrote about poor people, or because I wrote about Black people or because I wrote about Southerners.

The subtext of rejection, especially for marginalized writers, often translates to an inability to "reach the mainstream," a lack of "connection." The term "universal stories" gets thrown around as though it's an easy method to master. As though "universal stories" truly means universal, when in fact it is its own code. Sometimes there's no subtext at all, just clear confusion and disinterest. Art is subjective, yet subjectivity also comes with our own inherent bias stemming from our experiences.

Writers like myself have and will continue to decipher these types of messages. As artists we already contend with self-consciousness about our work, be it voice, execution, structure, characterizations, or something else. Pitching and querying means constantly putting your writing into the world hopeful for understanding or in anticipation of dismissal. Sometimes those rejections don't see the work for what it is, but solely for what it isn't; your work is being judged from a viewpoint that may not truly understand your existence, no matter how much you try to describe it.

As my career progressed and as I got some affirmations I still encountered that mindset every now and again. I still find myself having uncomfortable conversations with reluctant readers who initially didn't want to read my work because they said, what do I have in common with a pregnant 15-year-old? They said, why should I read about a 13-year-old poor Black boy or his neglectful, drug addicted mother? What do they have to say to me?

I write application after application about my essay collection that explores my working class family's migration from the South to New York City: a request for time at a residency, a plea for grants, submissions to workshops and applications for scholarships to said workshops. When I sit down to the blank page, ready to answer the questions posed as to "why" - Why this story? Why this time? Essentially, why should we care? - I also have my own. Will anyone actually care about the offspring of sharecroppers leaving an all-Black town? Will they care that my grandparents' story isn't one tinged with the drama of a runaway slave narrative, but filled with the personal fear of leaving what you know along with the hope that there is better than here? Will anyone want to read how the definition of working class changes, a line moved in the sand affecting some demographics more harshly than others? Quite frankly, will anyone want to read about the Black people I'm describing because they're close to my heart, because they are incarnations of those I've met, known, and am? What will a panel of my supposed peers recognize in my words? What if my family and I don't speak to them on a level they care to understand?

What will a panel of my supposed peers recognize in my words? What if my family and I don't speak to them on a level they care to understand?

There's a scene in Lean on Me where Robert Guillaume's character vibrates with rage as he yells at Morgan Freeman. "You will Step-in Fetchit!" he cries, meaning Morgan must perform for those in power. He will submit to their desires and shake off his hardened veneer. What he wants and who he is is unimportant because Stepin Fetchit is the amalgamation of negative Black stereotypes, the representative for the Black person others feel comfortable watching not the one who exudes the depth of who we are.

And you, my fellow writers and editors and publishing people and National Book Foundation folks who read my work, you answered: plenty. You looked at me, at the people I love and write about, you looked at my poor, my Black, my Southern children, women, and men and you saw yourself. You saw your grief, your love, your losses, your regrets, your joy, your hope.

The day after the National Book Awards, Zadie Smith was honored with the Langston Hughes medal. She spoke on Black writers, being a Black writer, and the influence of the Harlem Renaissance on her as a Black British woman. Zadie said she wouldn't be speaking to us today as a writer if it weren't for Zora Neale Hurston. How many writers have said they wouldn't be here if not for Octavia Butler, Toni Morrison, Audre Lorde, Lucille Clifton, and, of course, Jesmyn Ward? How many of us recognized our own reflections in their work, their characters, their worlds and words, to the point we aimed to not only emulate theirs but create our own? I understood their existence meant that there's a viable place to sell and see our stories. Black stories. Poor stories. Northern/Southern stories. That our voices could be in the printed page, on a shelf, available for reference and purchase. We, like others, saw ourselves in these stories and maybe even pushed ourselves to be better than we were before. And I can and have imagined the amount of subtext they read before finding the home and audience and understanding their work was needed.

"Universal stories" takes on a different meaning when you see yourself in the work so thoroughly - despite the skin color, despite the gender (or non-gender) affiliation, despite locale and a host of other things. In Salvage the BonesI found myself rooting so hard for the family dog China that I almost missed my subway stop. That's universal. My grandmother leaving a small town to meet her high school sweetheart in a metropolis is not necessarily a "universal story," yet the yearning for upward mobility, and change, the need to come into your own is that connective thread that makes her a person I see in myself, not only due to DNA, but through a need for independence. These are the aims of writers like myself, writers like Jesmyn, to hold that mirror up for us all to recognize a bit of ourselves.

And I am deeply grateful to each and every one of you who reads my work and finds something that sings to you, that moves you. I hope to continue this conversation with you for all of our days.

On stage Jesmyn stood regal in a fuchsia gown that sparkled with or without the overhead lights. Her speech culminated with the gratitude of being seen, of giving voice and affirmation to those she knew, from the land she's from, of the stories she continually sought to tell. Sitting near the stage in my own gown, I remembered what sang to me in Sing, Unburied, Sing. The mother not ready to be a mother. A boy forced to be an adult before he'd even reached adolescence. The plausibility and - here's that word again - universality of knowing children don't always get the luxury of innocence, nor do we have the opportunity to truly understand those who raised us.

I, and many other writers, may never end up on that same stage. We may never get that opportunity for redemption to know our stories were not only successful but eagerly sought out, that our connections were fluid and recognized in ways we couldn't imagine. Consider how many writers have already gone off the path and quit due to subtext. The subtext doesn't stop everyone, but can before we even try. But there are those of us who'll keep the conversation going, write those stories anyway, even with the laundry list of questions in our own head wondering if anyone else will care. And maybe, hopefully, I'll think back on this speech to know that I'm not alone in this, and that these journeys have a place in the world whether or not it's on a stage.

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Jesmyn Ward's Story of Rejection and Perseverance is Familiar to Black Writers

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As she accepted her National Book Award, Ward raised questions about whose stories are allowed to be "universal" J esmyn Ward accepted her second National Book Award for fiction at last week's ceremony. In her speech she laid bare that even at this stage in her career the dismissal of her work and its content continues.

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Genre fiction - such as romance, historical, fantasy, science fiction, mystery, and horror - has the same problem that all of publishing has: It isn't diverse enough.

Conversations have been abundant about diversity in children's and young adult literature (which are often categorized as their own distinct genres) and the We Need Diverse Books movement and organization were created to find solutions to the problem. But #WeNeedDiverseBooks definitely applies across genres, and it matters in genre fiction, too - both for the kids and teens who are reading it (particularly when it crosses genres, such as historical young adult or children's fantasy) and for the adults who are shaping our culture for the next generation.

Diverse genre fiction shares a lot with diverse literature, in that a lot of the challenges are the same. We still have to ask a lot of questions about who gets to tell what stories, what kinds of books and authors are published, what it means to get it right, and who is on staff at the publishing houses that produce genre fiction. The difference comes in the rules of each genre, and how writing marginalized characters ties into the canon of a particular genre.

Research is important.

Writing genre fiction always requires research. The same can be true of a lot of contemporary fiction, too. The fact is that no matter how closely a novel is tied to your personal experience, unless it's a memoir, it isn't going to be one-hundred-percent your experience, and that's it (and even memoirs might require some research). Genre fiction is all about knowing what has been written in the canon previously, what current trends are, what audiences are excited about, and what hasn't yet been done.

Mackenzi Lee, author of The Gentlemen's Guide to Vice and Virtue, did a lot of research about the time period during which her young adult historical fiction novel is set. The novel includes main characters who are queer, people of color, and disabled - and many of those identities were erased from our written recordings of history, or differed within historical context from how they're recognized today.

Since genres already break so many limitations and boundaries - like historical fiction, which is a reimagining of a world we weren't alive to see, or fantasy, which can literally create a world that doesn't exist - it's the perfect place to reconsider marginalized communities' place in the world.

"When reading about things like sexuality in history, it's so difficult because the concept of sexuality itself is a modern one - not only were the ideas about sex and relationships between same gendered couples different, but the people from the time period had no concept of having a sexuality," she says. "The biggest challenge for me was reflecting a world and viewpoints of the world around them that was both accurate to the time period but accessible for contemporary readers."

Amy Rose Capetta, author of Echo After Echo, a queer murder mystery set in the theatre, believes that writing diverse genre fiction comes in after you've taken stock of the existing canon. "It's important to examine the genre, and the tropes, and the patterns," she says. "Portraying marginalized characters with authenticity isn't just about dropping them into the established narratives and going home. It's about taking those narratives apart, twisting them around, finding new ways in and new ways out."

When you're writing diverse genre fiction, you may be world building, depending on the genre you're writing and how you're approaching it. World building gives a writer the authority to make decisions about marginalization and oppression, and address questions like: Does racism exist in this world? How are people with disabilities treated? Is the world heteronormative, and does a gender binary exist?

"A lot of genre fiction demands some degree of world building, which can present some real challenges in terms of keeping marginalized identities distinct without falling into the trap of exploiting or exoticizing their characteristics," says Caleb Roehrig, author of Last Seen Leaving, a queer young adult mystery.

Part of getting it right when it comes to marginalized characters, whether they share your identity or not, is in creating these rules. "With genre fiction, there's an expectation that you have to justify why a character is part of this group," says Corinne Duyvis, author of Otherbound and On The Edge of Gone, and co-founder of Disability In KidLit. Duyvis' science fiction and fantasy novels include queer and autistic characters. "Genre fiction is also generally more plot driven than contemporary tends to be." Duyvis says that readers often question what a character's identity 'adds to the story' as a result, particularly if it isn't tied in with the plot. According to Duyvis, "That leads into the idea that privileged people are the norm."

Research is also more than a step in the process; it's integral to the writing. "I don't just research at the beginning," says Tomi Adeyemi, author of the upcoming Children of Blood and Bone, an epic fantasy with a primarily black cast of characters. "As new drafts come in I continue to research specific elements. Research should be an ongoing process."

It's worth investing in sensitivity readers.

Whether you share an identity with your characters or not, sensitivity readers - people whose job it is to read the manuscript for issues of representation and marginalized identities - can be a key component of writing diverse genre fiction. They're important when you write outside your identity because real voices and personal experiences can shape your work beyond your research. "If you base your entire portrayal of a character on your research, it's going to be limited," says Duyvis. "You'll never understand it as well as someone who actually lives it."

They're still important when you write about a marginalized identity you share, because it's possible to have internalized oppression and because every marginalized identity is made up of individuals, who will have vastly different lives and experiences. Even if you're Deaf, your experience is still personal and doesn't speak for the entire Deaf community, and the same can be said if both you and your protagonist are trans and Mexican.

"I don't think I will ever write something without prominent characters of color. I could put out a book a year for my whole life, and it still wouldn't be enough." - Tomi Adeyemi

"We all bring different lenses, viewpoints, and biases to our work, and thus can unintentionally cause harm or show disrespect in our stories," says Julie C. Dao, author of Forest of a Thousand Lanterns, a fantasy novel that draws from Chinese folklore.

"My books often involve an identity I know first-hand (like being Mexican-American) and one that I don't," says Anna-Marie McLemore, author of The Weight of Feathers, When the Moon Was Ours, and Wild Beauty. McLemore writes science fiction and fantasy and magical realism. "Getting it right involves both doing a lot of reading and then consulting members of the communities I'm writing about. My guiding star is always the same: am I taking the care I would want someone else to take while writing about my communities?"

Write for your marginalized readers.

Many authors talk about writing the books they wanted to see growing up, which is central to the #WeNeedDiverseBooks movement. The same can be said of thinking of your readers while writing - particularly your marginalized readers, who may have never seen themselves in a book.

"My happiest author moment so far has been hearing from a reader who identified as queer and suffered from chronic illness and they never thought they'd see themselves represented in the historical adventure novels they love," says Lee.

Adeyemi has gotten a lot of feedback from young black girls, particularly about her book's cover, which prominently features a black heroine. She set out to write Children of Blood and Bone as an answer to racism she witnessed after the release of the The Hunger Games movies, when moviegoers were disappointed that Cinna and Rue are black characters.

"I'm going to write a story so good that is all about black people, and it's going to be so good that you have to read it or you're going to be missing out on the conversation," Adeyemi says. "I don't think I will ever write something without prominent characters of color. I could put out a book a year for my whole life, and it still wouldn't be enough."

Genre readers have a particularly hard time finding themselves in a book, since it already might be more difficult to find an enjoyable title in their preferred genre, never mind one that includes them. "I was starved for suspense novels in which someone like me could be the hero rather just another victim," says Roehrig, speaking to the trope that LGBTQ+ characters are often victimized in mysteries. "I decided to write the book I wished I could have read back then."

And readers notice who genre fiction authors are, too, and who is allowed to tell stories in the publishing world. "Young writers have reached out to tell me how happy they are to see a Vietnamese-American author (there aren't many of us in publishing!) and how it inspires them to pursue their own dreams," says Dao. "Many Asian parents do not view the arts as a viable career option, so it can be lonely to pursue the creative field without family support."

Genre fiction may not always be diverse, but it's a great place for diversity.

According to Capetta, genre fiction is "about deviating from the accepted narrative of what the world is, and how people should move through it." Since genres already break so many limitations and boundaries - like historical fiction, which is a reimagining of a world we weren't alive to see, or fantasy, which can literally create a world that doesn't exist - it's the perfect place to reconsider marginalized communities' place in the world. Genre fiction may often fall back on the canon of each specific genre, but it doesn't have to; it's up to genre fiction authors to look beyond what has traditionally been created, and who was behind those creations.

"Don't be afraid to write the kind of stories you love most, no matter how fantastical or epic, starring people who are just like you," says Capetta. "There's always the fear that people will show up for your pain and tragedies but not your magic, your power, and your love stories. Genre fiction always exists in relation to what's considered 'real,' but it skirts those boundaries, it pushes at them."

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Why Diverse Genre Fiction Is Important, And How To Get It Right

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Diverse genre fiction shares a lot in common with diverse literature, in that a lot of the challenges are the same. We still have to ask a lot of questions about who gets to tell what stories, what kinds of books and authors are published, what it means to get it right, and who is on staff at the publishing houses that produce genre fiction.

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Puerto Rican Children’s Literature | Social Justice Books

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These books are meant to facilitate discussion on various issues in Puerto Rican history and culture, including colonialism, race, gender, and environmental justice. This list is only a sample, and teachers are encouraged to search for further resources and continue challenging students to critique…

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Puerto Rican Children’s Literature for Social Justice: A Bibliography for Educators

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In 1927, the author Dhan Gopal Mukerji published a slim novel, Gay Neck: The Story of a Pigeon, which follows the adventures of the titular Calcutta carrier bird, and the bird's young owner, Ghond. Gay Neck (referring to the bird's Bengali name, Chitra Griva) sympathetically portrays a bond between a young boy and his beloved pigeon as they encounter hawks and tigers in the jungles of Bengal and elude German fire in France during World War I. "The message implicit in the book is that man and the winged animals are brothers," Mukerji explained in an interview published in Newbery Medal Books: 1922-1955.

Gay Neck is as informative as it is lyrical and profound. Mukerji not only traces the bird's flight patterns and mating with exacting insight, but he also allows the bird to "speak" directly to the reader. "It is not hard for us to understand him," the first-person narrator says of the pigeon, "if we use the grammar of fancy and the dictionary of the imagination." In a deeper sense, the novel is a meditation on courage and redemption in a time of war. When Gay Neck and Ghond return to India after their military service, they are battle-scarred. "I need to be healed of fear and hate," Ghond says. "I saw too much killing of man by man." War leaves Gay Neck fearful and unable to fly. But with the help of the lamas in a Buddhist monastery deep in the Himalayas, the duo overcome their wartime fears and find inner peace.

At the time of its release, the book was widely lauded. The magazine The Horn Book said of the novel: "Gay Neck is truly a carrier pigeon, a bearer of messages, and his messages are words of courage and love." The New Republic called Gay Neck "a distinguished contribution," and praised Boris Artzybasheff's illustrations as "altogether beautiful." In 1928, Mukerji won the John Newbery Medal, awarded every year for the best work of American literature for children. He's widely considered the first Indian American who successfully wrote for American audiences, and Gay Neck was his fourth book for young readers.

Yet, 90 years on, this once-celebrated book, which has remained in print since its publication, is rarely mentioned in discussions of racial and ethnic diversity in books for kids, as if Mukerji were some sort of aberration rather than an early chapter of what could have been. In recent years, there has been more activism in the children's literature community centered on representation-but diversity advocates can sometimes have a limited view of the genre's history, argues Uma Krishnaswami, an author and an instructor in the low-residency MFA program in writing for children and young adults at the Vermont College of Fine Arts. "By all reckoning, Gay Neck should have established a publishing trend, but didn't for many complicated reasons," she told me.

Gay Neck and Mukerji found unlikely success nearly a century ago thanks to the collision of a number of forces, both personal and historical-including Mukerji's prodigious talent, U.S. immigration policy, and seismic events such as world war and decolonization on the Indian subcontinent. Understanding why the book fell out of public view can help American writers and illustrators, as well as educators, better understand how geographical shifts, politics, and migration today shape the literary world for the children of tomorrow.

Mukerji's life illustrates the ways the history of South Asian literature intersects with the history of the South Asian diaspora in the U.S. The writer was born in 1890 in a village outside Calcutta, and made his way to California in 1910, soon earning his bachelor's degree in English at Stanford University.

It was at Stanford where Mukerji began distinguishing himself as a literary talent. "My father was a masterful storyteller," his son, Dhan Gopal Mukerji Jr., told me in a phone interview in 2004, five years before his own death. "He discovered that he could make more money as a poetry reader than washing dishes while he was a graduate student at Stanford." So Mukerji connected with Paul Elder, a prominent San Francisco publisher who later released Mukerji's first two volumes of poetry and his first play. "My father would charge 50 cents per head to listen to him recite poetry. He had a great command of the English language and knew Milton's Paradise Lost by heart. He would charge a special price on the nights he recited that," Dhan Gopal Mukerji Jr. said.

Soon after the publication of his early works, Mukerji and his wife, Ethel Ray Dugan, became involved in cultural life, first in San Francisco and then in New York City, where Mukerji became serious about pursuing a literary career. He was not only a prolific writer but also a prominent public intellectual, said Daniel Elam, an assistant professor of postcolonial literature and transnational studies at the University of Toronto. "He advocated for Indian independence, interracial dialogue, and greater awareness of Indian philosophy," Elam said. Mukerji befriended American intellectuals, such as Roger Baldwin, one of the founders of the American Civil Liberties Union, and corresponded with Jawaharlal Nehru, a leader in India's independence movement at the time who later became the country's first prime minister after the end of British rule.

Mukerji's first three children's books, Kari, the Elephant; Jungle Beasts and Men; and Hari, the Jungle Lad, were well-received and sold handsomely, bringing him national fame. "He was incredibly savvy about figuring out the American publishing industry at a time when a lot of people weren't," Elam said. Mukerji's correspondence with his publisher, E.P. Dutton, reveals that he was especially adept at identifying markets and "translating" India for a middle-class white audience.
Bookshelves might look very different today had Congress not passed such restrictive immigration laws.
Gay Neck, Mukerji's fourth children's book, won him popular acclaim. In 1928, when Mukerji went to collect his award in West Baden, Indiana, he had to be hidden behind a stand of trees on the hotel grounds prior to the announcement of his win, according to Irene Smith's A History of the Newbery and Caldecott Medals. The identity of the winner had been shrouded in secrecy by the award's jury, and they worried that the presence of an "East Indian man" in a crowd of all white librarians would make the evening's winner obvious. Mukerji may have taken this drama as a slight, or all in good humor. "He was very Indian, although he was not self-conscious about it," his son said.

Although his best-known works were behind him, Mukerji continued to publish children's books for the remainder of his career. Toward the end of his life, he fell into a depression that robbed him of his "fantastic sense of humor," in his son's words. Prior to his death by suicide in his Upper East Side apartment, he suffered from a six-month nervous breakdown, perhaps exacerbated by repeated and exhausting cross-country lecture tours, explained Elam. According to his New York Times obituary, headlined "Friend of Gandhi Dies by Hanging," Mukerji was 46 years old. His death shocked family, friends, and fans at the time, and then Mukerji and his work faded. "His popularity in the 1920s was matched only by the obscurity into which he fell following his suicide in 1936," Elam said.

Mukerji was one of a handful of students from colonial India who migrated to the United States in the early decades of the 20th century. Although the first known South Asian immigrant entered the United States in 1790 as a maritime worker in Massachusetts, emigration from the region began in earnest in the late-19th and early-20th centuries. Many of these early migrants were either Sikh men from Punjab who settled in farming communities in California and Washington, or Bengali Muslim peddlers who integrated into other communities of color in New Orleans, New York, Detroit, and Baltimore.

Shortly after Mukerji came to the United States, Congress closed the door to all immigrants from South Asia by passing the Immigration Act of 1917. Six years later, in the landmark case United States v. Bhagat Singh Thind, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that immigrants from India were not only barred from naturalization, but could also retroactively have their American citizenship revoked. (This ruling was reversed in 1946 with the passage of the Luce-Celler Act.) In 1965, in response to the American civil-rights movement, the Immigration and Nationality Act ended this immigration-admissions policy based on race and ethnicity.

The effects of that 1965 bill's passage were profound, influencing the flow of immigrants to the United States, the country's demographic profile, and ultimately its cultural output. A provision in the Immigration and Nationality Act gave preference to professionals with skills in short supply in the United States, so "when [immigration] got started again, South Asian people didn't come to the United States to become writers; they came to be engineers and doctors," Krishnaswami said.

Children's bookshelves might look very different today had Congress not passed such restrictive immigration laws designed to maintain a white majority in the United States. Once the door closed on migrants from Asia, so closed the white publishing establishment's imagination, it would seem. One can easily imagine an alternate reality in which South Asians immigrated to the U.S. in increasing numbers in the early decades of the 20th century, formed literary communities, and accumulated capital, and in which the publishing of South Asian books for children flourished following the commercial success of Gay Neck.

Generations later, as the children and the grandchildren of the migrants who arrived on American shores after the passage of the 1965 act have come of age, several South Asian books for children have been recognized by establishment institutions for their literary merit and popularity. Tanuja Desai Hidier's seminal early-aughts young-adult novel Born Confused-the first book about a South Asian teenager coming of age in the United States-was named as one of the greatest young-adult novels of all time by both Rolling Stone and Entertainment Weekly. Mitali Perkins's 2007 children's book, Rickshaw Girl, about the changing roles of girls and women in Bangladesh, was chosen by the New York Public Library as one of the top 100 books for children in the past 100 years. Perkins's 2017 release, You Bring the Distant Near, a sweeping multigenerational saga of the girls in a Bengali family struggling to find acceptance in the United States, was just named as one of 10 contenders in the Young People's Literature category of the National Book Awards. "It's taken time to establish a presence long enough and vocal enough to matter again in the American context," Krishnaswami said.

Still, despite increasing viability, no other South Asian American writer has been awarded the Newbery Medal, the pinnacle achievement in the field, since Mukerji took home this honor in 1928, and the Newbery's next awardees of color came almost a half century later: Paula Fox, whose mother was Cuban, in 1974 for The Slave Dancer, and Virginia Hamilton, who was African American, for M.C. Higgins, the Great, in 1975. Only two other Asian Americans have won the Newbery-Linda Sue Park, in 2002 for A Single Shard, and Cynthia Kadohata, in 2005 for Kira-Kira.

"There are contentious, ongoing conversations regarding the lack of diversity among award winners," said Sarah Park Dahlen, an associate professor of library and information science at St. Catherine University who teaches courses on children's and young-adult books. She attributes this lack of diversity among award winners, in part, to the lack of diversity in librarianship. "The committees [who select the winners] tend to be white," she said. "Although they know that diversity continues to be an issue, perhaps their criteria are still determined by what they already know and are comfortable with."

According to census projections, non-Hispanic whites will no longer be the majority of the U.S. population by 2044-but the publishing industry hasn't kept apace: The Cooperative Children's Book Center found that in 2015 only about 11 percent of children's books were written by and about people of color. The CCBC's statistics only go back to 1985, and there is little hard data about the diversity of books published before this. The rise and quiet disappearance of Gay Neck is not only a reminder of how publishing success waxes and wanes with shifts in groups' social and economic capital, but also how erasure hurts and representation does, in fact, matter to contemporary narratives about art. "Whose story is being told and why?" Krishnaswami said. "Why do these collective choices get made? These are really important cultural questions for us all to consider."

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What a Forgotten Children's Book Reveals About the Publishing Industry

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In 1927, the author Dhan Gopal Mukerji published a slim novel, Gay Neck: The Story of a Pigeon, which follows the adventures of the titular Calcutta carrier bird, and the bird's young owner, Ghond.

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While it may seem like an overnight sensation, Erika L. Sánchez's success has been a longtime coming. Only months after the publication of her first collection of poetry, her YA debut I Am Not Your Perfect Mexican Daughter (Knopf, 2017) is publishing on October 17, and has already been long listed for the 2017 National Book Awards. In our starred review, called the contemporary novel "a timely and must-have account of survival in a culturally contentious world." Sánchez, who will be featured at SLJ's first-ever Day of Dialog Brooklyn on Friday, September 15, talks about her path to publication, feminism, and why characters of color should be allowed to mess up just like anyone else.
Congrats on publishing your young adult debut and your first book of poetry for adults (Lessons on Expulsion: Poems; Graywolf) in the same year! Did you work on these two projects simultaneously? Do you approach your prose writing for teens differently than your poetry for older readers?
It's been wonderful and overwhelming. From the outside it must seem like it all happened overnight, but I worked on these books for years. My poetry collection is a culmination of over a decade of work, and I began working on my novel more than five years ago. There was definitely overlap with the projects, but as I worked on the bulk of my novel, I was a little bit obsessed and couldn't focus on anything else. Writing it felt like an emergency. The poems were born so, so slowly. The process is definitely very different. With poetry, I never think about the reader until the poem is almost finished. I write poems that are asking me to be written. With prose, I can be more intentional. I can outline and plan. I do hope that teens can enjoy both books, however.

Your novel focuses on Julia's relationship with her recently deceased sister Olga-two seemingly opposite young women in a Mexican American family who had more in common than Julia realized. What inspired you to write this family saga and exploration of female roles?

I grew up feeling at odds with my environment. I was a weird kid and I perplexed my parents with my very American ways, so that's where the idea for Julia came from. (We have a lot in common, but it's definitely a work of fiction.) I wanted to contrast Julia with her sister, who on the outside appears to be perfect-family oriented, obedient, and selfless-and show how they were both rebelling against the repressive parts of their culture. It's tough growing up bicultural. It often feels like you don't belong anywhere. It was important for me to portray this identity because it's a very common experience for young people, and it's rarely depicted in mainstream literature. I'm very much a feminist, so nearly all of my writing is about women and the ways in which they fight against patriarchy.
These characters are so well-realized, from Julia's best friend Lorena to the protagonist's love interest Connor. Which character was your favorite to write? Which one was the most difficult to write?
Delving into the different minds and lives of these characters was so fun. I think that literature can be powerful in creating empathy for others, so that that was my guide. I wanted to show how complicated people's experiences can be; things are rarely what they appear. Not surprisingly, Julia was my favorite to write because she was the character I needed when I was young. She doesn't have much of a filter and sometimes what she says is simultaneously cruel and funny. The most difficult character to write was Julia's mother, which in some ways is the antagonist of the story. It was really important for me to create a nuanced character who, despite loving her children so fiercely, makes a lot of mistakes. In the course of the novel we see how she survives her grief, and we get to understand the reasons behind her socially conservative worldviews.
Julia herself isn't the most likable protagonist. Why did you think it was important to create a female character who was authentic and realistic but not always nice?
So glad you bring this up! I think there is a dearth of portrayals of complex girls of color. I'm not sure why we're not allowed to mess up like everyone else. I rarely see men criticized for their unlikable characters. In fact, they're often praised for being so flawed and authentic. Holden Caulfield, for instance, wasn't exactly a great dude, but no one seems to complain about that. Being human means we're going to make mistakes and at times say or do unkind things. Women and girls are too often expected to be pleasing, but that's not realistic. Sometimes good people make bad choices and hurt others, particularly when they are in pain. I wanted teenage girls to relate to Julia, and I didn't believe that they'd see themselves in someone who always said and did the right thing. That would be an incredibly boring story, in my opinion.
We're currently living in a time where many young people of Mexican descent might have to forcibly leave the only country they've ever known. What can the YA community and librarians do to inform and change the current administration's efforts to deport these young people?
This administration is openly hostile to people of color and immigrants. I'm saddened by what's happening to people in my community and I will do my best to use my voice. Everyone who has a public platform should be speaking out, including writers. I certainly don't have all the answers, but there is a lot we can do. First, we should all be contacting our senators and representatives to voice our concerns and demand that they protect DACA. Post on all social media platforms to inform your networks of the steps they can take. I'm also a big proponent of old-fashioned protesting. It's important to show with our bodies that we're in opposition to what is happening. Also, those who have the means should donate to organizations that protect immigrant rights. And this is not an immediate solution, but librarians can make a difference by recommending books about immigrants. Again, books have the power to foster empathy, and if children can understand the realities of these communities, they will influence the attitudes and politics of future generations. Lastly, librarians should push back against policies that require government issued identification to obtain library cards.
What advice would you give other young writers of color who are trying to publish their first books for young people?
Be persistent! Your voice matters. There are kids out there who need your story. A career in writing is full of rejection, so the sooner you make peace with that, the better. If someone turns you down, keep going. Also, support other writers, make genuine connections, and build a community. Always be generous and kind.
What are you working on next?
In addition to teaching Creative Writing at Princeton, I'm finishing up a collection of personal essays titled Crying in the Bathroom, writing new poems, and working on a top secret creative project that I will announce as soon as I can.

This article was featured in our free SLJTeen enewsletter.
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Erika L. Sánchez On Unlikable WOC Protagonists and "I Am Not Your Perfect Mexican Daughter"

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While it may seem like an overnight sensation, Erika L. Sánchez's success has been a longtime coming. Only months after the publication of her first collection of poetry, her YA debut I Am Not Your Perfect Mexican Daughter (Knopf, 2017) is publishing on October 17, and has already been long listed for the 2017 National Book Awards.

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Change happens when enough people demand it

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Change happens when enough people demand it

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Debbie in 1998: "Native American folktales are beautiful."

Debbie in 2017: "WTF was I thinking in 1998?!"

When the Horn Book asked if I'd be interested in writing something for their Family Reading blog, I looked back at a Field Notes column I had written for the Magazine, way back in 1998. I began "Mom, Look! It's George, and He's a TV Indian!" with a story about my daughter's fury over one of her favorite characters - George from James Marshall's George and Martha books - playing Indian.

We are tribally enrolled at Nambé Pueblo in Northern New Mexico and were living in the Midwest, where I was in graduate school at the University of Illinois. Public adoration of the school's stereotypical mascot (which is no more, thanks in part to our activism) got me wondering, WHY do people like this sort of thing so much? I started looking critically at children's literature and saw characters playing Indian - a lot.

Romantic and derogatory images were - and are - pervasive. We came across many of them as my daughter went through school and was assigned such books as Brother Eagle, Sister Sky and Caddie Woodlawn. Native readers bear the burden of getting through those books as best they can, while non-Native readers may not realize the images of American Indians in those books introduce and affirm misinformation. When I suggest people set those harmful books aside, I get attacked as a censor. That charge is meant to shut me up (can't be done) and tells others to ignore me (works for some but not others).

* * * * *

The Debbie that wrote that 1998 article used a word 2017 Debbie does not: folktales.

Here's why: The creation stories Indigenous peoples tell are as sacred to us as Bible stories are to Christians. Generally speaking, no one calls Bible stories "folktales." Thus I no longer use the word folktales. Or myths. Or legends.

This gets tricky when a story is written by someone who is not part of the particular group with which the story originates...like Paul Goble's books. In my 1998 article, I referred to Goble's The Girl Who Loved Wild Horses as a Native American folktale. Today, I say "hell no" to that book because Goble came up with the story all on his own. It looks like a Native story, but it isn't. He made it up. If you see anything that is "based on" stories from one or more Native peoples, I say, "Put that book down right now!"

Since 1998, much of my writings have been inspired by episodes in our life as a family of readers. My daughter is all grown up now. She plans to have children, which means I'll be a grandma sometime. I look forward to that, and as I do, I reflect on the nearly thirty years that I've been writing about children's books.

In more recent years, I've added another dimension to my writings: our status as sovereign nations. Europeans who came to our homelands recognized us as nations of people with leaders with whom they had to enter into diplomatic negotiations. That's why there are treaties! Native children, especially those who grow up on their reservations, know about their tribal government, and they know that our stories and ceremonies aren't simply entertainment. A terrific example of this is Mission to Space by John Herrington, a citizen of the Chickasaw Nation, former NASA astronaut, and first tribally enrolled Native American to fly in space. I've also been advocating for books that include Native languages, such as Julie Flett's books. She's Cree-Métis and the illustrator of the Teaching Tolerance poster used as this post's featured image and to the right. [ Editor's note: Julie's poster stars Debbie Reese herself, reading an earlier edition of Simon Ortiz's The People Shall Continue to a group of kids.]

Stereotyping and misrepresentations of Native peoples remain a major problem in children's literature, but we know this: change happens when enough people demand it.

Reject and call out stereotypes and misrepresentations! Read and promote books by Native writers who, in some way, bring nationhood into the books. To get started, visit my blog, American Indians in Children's Literature. Join me! Let's make change happen.

For a list of children's books that 2017 Debbie does recommend, visit the Indian Country Today website for the First Nations Development Institute's "30 Must Reads for Children and Teens" - and don't miss "Ten Ways You Can Make a Difference" following the booklist!

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"Change happens when enough people demand it."

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Debbie in 1998: "Native American folktales are beautiful." Debbie in 2017: "WTF was I thinking in 1998?!" When the Horn Book asked if I'd be interested in writing something for their Family Reading blog, I looked back at a Field Notes column I had written for the Magazine, way back in 1998.

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#IndigenousReads by Indigenous Writers: A Children's Reading List - King County Library System

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IndigenousReads by Indigenous Writers: A Children's Reading List by KCLSSocialMedia : This list of recommended children's books by Indigenous writers and illustrators was curated by The Conscious Kid Library and American Indians in Children's Literature, in partnership with Brooklyn Children's Museum.

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"One day an ounce of water will cost as much as an ounce of gold," is what an Elder told Josephine Mandamin almost 20 years ago.

This lead Madamin to dedicate 14 years of her life to running and participating in water walks to raise awareness about the importance of clean water.

Now there's a children's book inspired by Mandamin's journeys. The Water Walker was written and illustrated by Joanne Robertson after meeting Mandamin in 2011 when she was the coordinator for the four directions walk.

Robertson and Mandamin read the book to a class of Grade 2 and 3 students at Nor'Wester View Public School in Thunder Bay on Thursday.

They want to talk to children about the importance of clean water and inspire them to take action themselves.

"Hopefully a little seed will stick in their head and they'll start talking to their parents about it and being more conscious of water," said Robertson.

Mandamin has done more walks than she is able to count and has even had a knee replacement from all her walking. However, she was recently diagnosed with parkinson's disease preventing her from doing anymore.

"My thought when I wrote the book was that because she won't be walking anymore we still want to get her message out there," said Robertson.

The book starts where Robertson and Mandamin met at the four directions walk. Mandamin led four groups, each one starting at a different ocean and then walking to Lake Superior. The north started in Churchill, Man., south in Gulfport, Miss., West in Aberdeen, Wash., east in Machias, Maine. She flew to all four locations to start the groups on their journeys. All the groups met at Lake Superior after walking for a little over two months.

"Were not there to do a demonstration, it's just a spiritual walk," said Mandamin. "The walk is a ceremony itself."

Mandamin is from Wikwemikong on Manitoulin Island and moved to Thunder Bay in the '70s. Her first walk in 2003 was around Lake Superior. Every walk she carries an egelstaff and a bucket of water. From the time she picks up the bucket she doesn't stop walking until the end of the day.

"Can't stop it [walking] because the river flows and the water has to keep flowing," said Mandamin.

The image of Mandamin with her egelstaff and bucket is the cover of the book.

Mandamin completed her last walk in July starting in Duluth, Minn., and ending in Matane, Que. It took three month and Mandamin drove a van alongside the walkers for most of the trip due to her diagnosis.

"I'm hoping that they're going to see how precious water is," said Andrea Petersen, teacher at Nor'Wester View Public School. Robertson also spoke to the kids about the writing process and how she made the book.

After the four directions walk Robertson started drawing sketches of it and decided to turn it into a book after seeing a notice for an Indigenous writers competition.

"Our stories are so important, like Josephine's story, this is her last walk but it can't stop here we all have a responsibility to water," said Robertson. "It's important that her story lives on and her message."

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New Indigenous children's book teaches kids about the importance of clean water

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"One day an ounce of water will cost as much as an ounce of gold," is what an Elder told Josephine Mandamin almost 20 years ago. This lead Madamin to dedicate 14 years of her life to running and participating in water walks to raise awareness about the importance of clean water.