Why adults should explore the gentle wisdom and art of children’s books
From Atlantic Books Today #98, fall 2023
By Nicola Davison
This month my son becomes a teenager. We’re long past bedtime stories with a picture book propped on my lap, but that doesn’t mean I’ve parted with all the books in our collection. There are some I won’t let go despite age – his or mine.
Then again, why shouldn’t adults have picture books on their shelves? There are no rules confining readers by age or genre. Categories are merely a way to organize shelves. It’s not something I pondered much until I released my second book, Decoding Dot Grey, and it was classified as a young adult novel.
I hadn’t considered the category while I was writing, so I didn’t censor themes. Prior to publication, I worried some things, like euthanasia and abuse, might be too mature for a fourteen-year-old reader. Then I read a number of YA books and realized teens crave stories of the next stage of life. They don’t want to read about people their age or, God forbid, younger. No matter the age, we all want books that stoke our curiosity, challenge our minds and let us slip into the world of another.
As Canadians navigate the path to Truth and Reconciliation, picture books can play a key role in educating across generations. On the news we hear more of the horror of residential schools. Adults are at a loss to explain the history of our country. How do we tell the story – one that is not our own? How do we find a way forward?
Judith Doucette tackles these questions in Poppa and His Drum. Born and raised in St. George’s, a little town on the west coast of Newfoundland and Labrador, Doucette is a proud member of the Qalipu First Nation and also sits on the St. George’s Indian Band Council.
Although written with her grandchild in mind, Doucette says her book will touch adults too. “We are the generation who has seen the residual impact of our ancestors’ culture and heritage having been stripped from them. It’s the older adult who would relate to this book more,” she says.
Like a song, Poppa and His Drum is told in rhyme, looking back on Poppa’s painful past. It echoes what happened to Judith’s father, who “grew up being oppressed, bullied and discriminated against for being French-Indian in a colonialized small-town Newfoundland during the 1940s.” Though it has been decades since he was a student, Poppa must be convinced to go to his grandchild’s school to play his drum for the children.
“[Survivors] suffer still,” says Doucette, “not realizing times have changed so much, where they can actually go into schools and share their Indigenous culture and heritage with their grand- and some great-grandchildren of today. They feel the shame still, the humiliation of being punished before their classmates for whispering French in their class to their brothers and sisters.”
In the story, Poppa is welcomed and applauded by the kids. Encouraged, he sings the “Reconciliation Song.” The lyrics close the book and focus on a more hopeful future. “Our pain will never be forgotten,” says Doucette, “but we can move on and grow from it; that is the essence of Truth and Reconciliation to me.”
Some picture books are more like portable art exhibitions or even songs. Alan Syliboy’s book, When the Owl Calls Your Name, explores Mi’kmaq spirituality, life and death. The story is an extension of “The Owl Song” by his band Alan Syliboy and The Thundermakers. A celebrated artist, musician and bestselling author, Syliboy draws inspiration from Mi’kmaq petroglyphs found throughout Nova Scotia. When the Owl Calls Your Name is described more broadly by the publisher as an “illustrated book for all ages.” Clearly, adults are just as keen to learn about Mi’kmaq history.
That includes newcomers to Canada, but when I read a recent news piece profiling new Canadians, one comment stood out to me. The interviewee said people here are friendly, but they don’t invite you into their homes. In a country that prides itself on multiculturalism, it makes me wonder how we can improve. Barine Ngbor thinks we can start with our kids. A Nigerian writer living in Canada, she has been writing from an early age. A bachelor of science graduate, she plans to become a surgeon in order to work with children who have cleft lips.
In the note that opens I See Colour, Ngbor writes, “there is not one way to be Black, as Black people have a range of skin shades, physical appearances and cultural backgrounds.” The book celebrates culture in vibrant illustrations with characters from India, Mexico, Nepal, Jamaica and Japan. We’re welcomed into the life of a vivacious eight-year-old Nigerian-Canadian. There’s a double-page spread of Bolu’s hairstyles, from braids and puffs to (my favourite) Space-Buns. But I See Colour, also addresses topics like bullying. There’s a student with alopecia, a boy with a skin condition known as vitiligo, and a cousin with albinism, who all experience exclusion.
“[Children] are usually the ‘learners’ as they’re new to this world and still developing a sense of what’s right and wrong, but there’s still a lot we can learn from them,” says Ngbor. “Nobody is born racist or with pre-loaded stereotypes that determines how to treat others based on how they look. Most of it, if not all, are learned behaviours.”
I See Colour invites us to find out more, introducing Winnie Harlow, a Jamaican-Canadian supermodel with vitiligo. It prompted me to look her up. Along with a successful modelling career, Harlow has her own line of skin care products. Not only is she comfortable in her own skin, she has made it a source of strength, a good reminder at any age.
Apli’kmuj’s Journey is written and illustrated by Braelyn Cyr, who hopes to use her work to “help bridge the gap between traditional ways of knowing and modern-day society.” In the story, an excited and distracted Apli’kmuj (‘rabbit’ in Mi’kmaw) must get to The Gathering without his parents. Guided by the forest animals, plants and even the wind, he manages to find his way, but not without challenges.
Opening with a glossary of Mi’kmaw words and pronunciations, the story unfolds in bright spring colours. I imagine flipping back to the glossary, trying to memorize words alongside a child, who’d likely do much better than me. It’s an opportunity to grow your Mi’kmaw vocabulary (Nova Scotia’s original language), but it also touches on the universal experience of being lost.
Someone once advised me when you want to have a deep discussion, do it in the car or on a walk. Something about the lack of eye contact lets the words flow. That’s part of the magic of story time: the book between you acts as a wiser, gentler third party.
Thinking back to bedtime stories with my child, I realize how books helped us talk about things that might not have come up in normal conversation. Books introduce ideas and invite questions about the world in a safe space. It was during story time we first discussed war, discrimination, racism, climate change, drugs and sex. Even now, with the teen years looming, we talk openly about things, and I credit the portal of picture books.
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Nicola Davison is a professional photographer and the author of In the Wake and Decoding Dot Grey. Her first novel won the 2019 Margaret and John Savage First Book Award and was a finalist for the Dartmouth Book Award. Nicola is a member of the Writers’ Union of Canada and the Writers’ Federation of Nova Scotia where she completed the Alistair Macleod Mentorship Program; polishing off the umpteenth draft of her first novel with her mentor, Carol Bruneau. Born in Nova Scotia, she has lived in too many places and done just enough world traveling to appreciate home. She lives in Dartmouth with her boat-crazy family and delightfully stubborn Basset Hound. See what Nicola is up to online at https://www.nicoladavison.ca
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