This post is excerpted from a article by Olugbemisola Rhuday-Perkovich.
The more books there are, especially books created by authors and illustrators of color, the more opportunities librarians, teachers, and parents and other adults have of聽finding outstanding books for young readers and listeners that reflect dimensions of their lives, and give a broader understanding of who we are as a nation.
鈥擟ooperative Children鈥檚 Book Center (CCBC)
鈥淲here are you from?鈥� is a question I鈥檝e been asked all my life. 鈥淲hat are you?鈥� is the less-polite version.
While there are many sarcastic answers that run through my mind, real answers do too. I鈥檓 a first-generation American. I鈥檓 Nigerian, I鈥檓 Jamaican, I鈥檓 a New Yorker. Most of all, I鈥檓 an amalgam of all of my reading and writing, I鈥檓 a story made up of all of the stories I鈥檝e read and inhabited, and struggled with, and clung to. I鈥檓 a story I鈥檓 still writing, a complex one that grew up loving Julius Lester, Madeleine L鈥橢ngle, Romare Bearden, scary movies, afternoon tea, Charles Dickens, VC Andrews,聽 Afrobeat, Bach, George Michael, hard cheese, and hip-hop.
I didn鈥檛 always know all of the places that I was from until I encountered them in books. I think that we can and should be intentional about including diverse lit as a matter of course whenever we discuss lit in different genres, styles, and so forth.聽When a reader tells me he loves historical fiction, I might suggest Margarita Engle鈥檚 The Lightning Dreamer, YS Lee鈥檚 Agency series, or Rita Williams-Garcia鈥檚 Gaither Sister trilogy, and I talk about them as compelling historical fiction鈥攇reat stories, first and foremost. Lovers of 鈥渇amily stories鈥� might appreciate Coe Booth鈥檚 Kinda Like Brothers or Tanita Davis鈥檚 Peas and Carrots.
I think it鈥檚 vital that we are thoughtful about being inclusive in our recommendations. Too often the first things that come to mind are our old favorites鈥攖he ones we grew up with鈥攐r the books that get the most marketing and promotional support from publishers; in our libraries and classrooms, we have the opportunity to make diverse lit a regular part of those automatic recommendations and mentions, to inspire readers to find everyday inspiration in them.
We don鈥檛 want to reduce books to being only about the things that make them 鈥渄iverse鈥� (and that鈥檚 really an inadequate word for what we鈥檙e talking about here), but we can and should celebrate and promote the things that make a book special. If we promote diverse lit as being only 鈥渕edicinal,鈥� we can lose out. But if we focus on the 鈥渆ffects鈥� of that good medicine鈥攖he joys, the reading pleasures, we can present all literature as vibrant, enjoyable, and relevant to all.
And yet.
While these narratives are often true and heart-warming in their way, this shock of recognition, I think, misses the major point of literature. Literature is a place for imagination and intellect, for stretching the boundaries of our own narrow lives, for contextualizing the facts of our nonfictions within constellations of understanding that we would not be able to experience from the ground, for bringing our dreams and fictions into detail, clarity, and focus. Books allow us a bird鈥檚-eye view of our own lives, and especially how our lives relate to those lives around us.
鈥擟hristopher Myers, 鈥淵oung Dreamers鈥�
Sharing literature won鈥檛 always end up warm, snuggly, and celebratory, with the whole class two minutes from recreating a 1980s-era pleasantly bland unity exercise like 鈥淲e Are the World鈥� or 鈥淗ands across America鈥� and that is OK.
We worry that our students aren鈥檛 ready or that they can鈥檛 handle it. It was not fun for sixth-grade me to read Uncle Tom鈥檚 Cabin. But I think it was even more uncomfortable for that librarian, and her discomfort is often the discomfort we really mean when we worry that a work of literature isn鈥檛 appropriate for our readers. It鈥檚 our discomfort as adults, the fear of not having answers and solutions.
We are afraid that we won鈥檛 know what to say, that we鈥檒l uncover some ugly truths about our communities, about ourselves. Probably, we will. Sometimes we shouldn鈥檛 seek the commonalities, the things that make us alike. Sometimes literature can help us view difference, and difference is just as important. When you say you are color-blind, then you don鈥檛 see me. When you say that your experiences are exactly like mine or you know exactly what I mean, you are wrong, and you are erasing my experience.
We are different, and that is just as important as the ways in which we are alike. When we don鈥檛 talk about why a journal like Kirkus made the decision to identify characters鈥� race or other identity in its reviews and talk about when it works and when it seems clunky, we miss something important. Or why sharing Louise Erdrich鈥檚 Birchbark House series with a Little House lover is about more than just offering more of the same genre, we lose out.
When we pretend that our students aren鈥檛 saying that they disagree or that they don鈥檛 get it because slavery ended a long time ago so why should they be held responsible, we are missing out on opportunities to do the real, and yes, uncomfortable and unpredictable work of teaching and learning together.
Works Cited
Cooperative Children鈥檚 Book Center. Publishing statistics on children鈥檚 books about people of color and first/native nations and by people of color and first/native nations authors and illustrators. Retrieved from .
Myers, C. (2013, August 6). Young dreamers. The horn book.聽Retrieved from聽
Olugbemisola Rhuday-Perkovich is the author of the middle grade novels Two Naomis, Naomis Too, and 8th Grade Superzero. She has contributed to several anthologies, and her work has appeared in Scholastic Instructor, American Baby, and Healthy Kids.聽She has taught at the Brooklyn New School, the Brooklyn School for Collaborative Studies, and Cornell Cooperative Extension. Rhuday-Perkovich lives in New York City with her family. Visit her website: