Mitali's Fire Escape

Questions About Power in Stories and Storytelling

noreply@blogger.com (Mitali Perkins) — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 20:48:00 +0000

We're moving to the issue of power in my Jan Term class at Saint Mary's College of California, "Race, Culture, and Power in Children's Books." I thought my Fire Escape folk might be interested in a couple of lists I'm sharing with my students.

Questions to Ask about Power in a Story:

Who/what has the power to BE changed?
Who/what has the power to MAKE change?
Who/what has the power to PREVENT change?
Who/what GAINS power and how?
Who/what LOSES power and how?
What KIND of power does each player have? Where did they get it? Do they use it? Why or why not?
How is the child reader/listener empowered or disempowered by the story?

If I Want to Tell the Story of a "Less Powerful" Child ...

Why am I writing this story?
Could anyone else tell it better? Does that person have a voice I can seek to nurture or empower?
Have I held enough babies in that community?
Have I done my research?
Am I allowing that child/teen character to be whole and real?
What kind of power am I giving my fictional child/teen? Is it true to his/her context? Is it culturally appropriate or “western”?
Is there an outside “savior?” If so, who is it and why? How much power am I giving that “savior” over the child/teen?
Am I reinforcing a “single story” about that child/teen? (Watch Chimamanda Adichie's brilliant TED Talk if you don't get this one.)

Anything to add?

Hey, We Need More Latino Books ... and More

noreply@blogger.com (Mitali Perkins) — Tue, 10 Jan 2012 18:49:00 +0000

Popping back on the Fire Escape to share a table we compiled in my month-long course on "Race, Culture, and Power in Children's Books" at Saint Mary's College of California. We'd love to hear your responses to and thoughts about this data. (Thanks, US Census and CCBC!)

Making Mistakes when Crossing Borders in Fiction

noreply@blogger.com (Mitali Perkins) — Fri, 02 Dec 2011 17:25:00 +0000

I was recently asked by Ed Spicer about common mistakes I've seen when authors cross borders to tell stories. The answer is somewhere in the middle of the interview, but you might appreciate the entire conversation:

NOTE (12/7): I'm heading off the Fire Escape for my winter hiatus, which includes a one-month stint teaching a course on "Race, Power, and Justice in Children's Books" at Saint Mary's College of California during January. I'll be back on the Fire Escape in February, friends! (With one exception -- I'm popping back once in January to review two excellent new picture books about adoption.)

Around the World in 80 Books

noreply@blogger.com (Mitali Perkins) — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 17:06:00 +0000

Travel the world from your sofa with this superb list of 80 books (.pdf file) covering every geographic region. The bibliography is curated by Kathleen T. Horning of the Cooperative Children's Book Center, and includes contemporary and historical books published here and in other countries between 2001 and 2011. K.T.'s goal is to "give readers here a glimpse not only of life in or the history of other parts of the world, but also of what children and teens elsewhere may be reading." (Full disclosure: My Bamboo People made the list.)

My NANOWRIMO Pep Talk

noreply@blogger.com (Mitali Perkins) — Wed, 30 Nov 2011 16:46:00 +0000

I was honored this November to serve as one of the pep talkers for the National Novel Writing Month Young Writers Program. Here's the start of my piece (read it in entirety at NANOWRIMOYP):

Dear Writers,

By now your hair needs a trim, your room's a mess, and your Facebook friends are worried you're dead or in a monastery. At this point in a story, voices in our heads whisper that we're wasting time.We should be doing something more valuable, right? Why are we spending hours alone in front of our computers? How does that help a hurting planet?

Don't listen. Storytelling is a powerful act. Stories have the mysterious power to widen hearts and change minds. The human psyche is never quite the same after receiving a story.

In some ways, novelists have even more storytelling power than the best Hollywood directors. Unlike Steven Spielberg or Peter Jackson, we share the direction of our story with our readers' imaginations. Together, an author and a reader cast the characters, create setting, and decide on pacing. Because written and oral stories require more audience participation from story consumers, I think they embed more deeply into the psyche.

We novelists also get access to all five human senses. Moviemakers can provide a top-notch experience of sight and sound, but that's as far as they go. Since our co-director, the imagination, resides within the reader's mind, we also can engage the senses of taste, smell, and touch.

As you're writing, here are three tips to empower your co-director ...

"My Characters are Better Versions of Me," I Said

noreply@blogger.com (Mitali Perkins) — Tue, 29 Nov 2011 15:44:00 +0000

The lovely Isha Roy of Global India Newswire interviewed me recently while I was in D.C. attending the South Asian Literary and Theater Festival. I talked about the benefits of growing up between cultures, what Americans think of India these days, my gratitude for other South Asian American writers, and a bunch of other stuff, including my forthcoming projects.

Wisconsin International Outreach Children's and Young Adult Literature Celebration

noreply@blogger.com (Mitali Perkins) — Tue, 22 Nov 2011 15:32:00 +0000

Last weekend, I was privileged to speak at the tenth annual Wisconsin International Outreach Children's and Young Adult Literature Celebration. Here's my summary of the event on twitter via hashtag #wioc, followed by some photos.

K. T. Horning taking us "Around the World in 80 Days." pic.twitter.com/BMnOHdjj

K. T. Horning discusses initial discomfort with Chinese-Americans sending kids to China in ONLY ONE YEAR | Andrea Cheng | @LeeandLow

Now that she understands the practice, she can share her love of ONLY ONE YEAR @LeeandLow

K. T. Horning raving about Francisco Stork's LAST SUMMER OF THE DEATH WARRIORS, a Don Quixote retelling.

Two picture books that sound great: THE MANGROVE TREE by Susan Roth set in Eritrea and RAIN SCHOOL by James Rumford set in Chad.

New multicultural fantasy for ages 11-14 set in Nigeria: AKATA WITCH by Nnedi Okorafor (Viking 2011).

Atinuke's THE NO. 1 CAR SPOTTER is a new chapter book series featuring a Nigerian boy. (The author, who is adorable, is here.)

K.T. Horning ends with praise for WHILE YOU ARE SLEEPING by Durga Bernhard @charlesbridge, a book that travels the whole world.

Now storyteller Anne Pellowski is telling us a traditional tale from Turkey.

Pellowski mentions Bunko home-based libraries, apparently one of the finest social institutions in Japan. Anyone heard of it?

Drawing stories, where the teller draws and tells at the same time, ending with a surprise twist, are found throughout the world.

Another universal story genre is the "string story," told throughout the planet with a loop of string.

Sand stories are told by aboriginal women in Australia, a "mysterious and beautiful way to tell a story."

Handkerchief stories were told by old folks in Europe. pic.twitter.com/moJahDSw

Atinuke reading from her chapter book set in Nigeria, NUMBER ONE CAR SPOTTER: http://yfrog.com/j13ptz

My turn to speak at #wioc11. Yikes. Here goes.

The Conference was held in the gorgeous Memorial Union building at the University of Wisconsin, Madison. My visit was hosted and coordinated by Rachel Weiss, Assistant Director of the Center for South Asia. Thanks, Rachel!

K. T. Horning started the conference with an astounding presentation featuring 80 great books that span the globe. I was mesmerized. As soon as it's posted on the CCBC site, I'll share the link, I promise.

Anne Pellowski spoke next, demonstrating several different genres of global storytelling, including drawing stories, string stories, and handkerchief stories. She also introduced her passion — offering IBBY-affiliated workshops around the planet that empower local storytellers to create cloth storybooks in marginalized minority languages with no picture books.

Atinuke and I were the speakers during the afternoon sessions. I was entranced by Atinkuke's work and voice(s), and already posted a review of her newest series here on the Fire Escape.

Last but certainly not least, my friend Kashmira Sheth (BOYS WITHOUT NAMES) attended the conference and graciously hosted me to a delicious Afghani meal on State Street. Madison is a stimulating University town, and Kashmira's hospitality made it feel like a home away from home.

Highly Recommended: THE NO. 1 CAR SPOTTER by Atinuke

noreply@blogger.com (Mitali Perkins) — Mon, 21 Nov 2011 15:48:00 +0000

Used to be that you'd look far and wide in vain to find a funny, heartfelt chapter book set in another continent, especially one featuring a boy. That's why I'm so excited to recommend THE NO. 1 CAR SPOTTER series by Atinuke, the story of a delightful lad growing up in a small African village. First published by Walker Books in the UK, these early readers and fantastic read-alouds are published in the U.S. by Kane Miller.

Oluwalase Babatunde Benson is known as "No.1 car spotter" by friends and family because he can identify every make of car that goes by on the busy road that passes the village. Divided into four self-contained chapters, this first in a series by Atinuke (author of the Horn Book honoree ANNA HIBISCUS series) chronicles No. 1's everyday adventures, from serving customers at Mama Coca-Cola's roadside stand to (unwittingly) helping his father find a new job.

"Atinuke has a Beverly Cleary–esque gift for depicting daily-life details with both humor and authenticity," says the Bulletin of the Center for Children's Books. "A great, almost necessary book and one that you’ll be delighted to discover," says librarian Betsy Bird, blogger for School Library Journal. I wholeheartedly agree. Betsy also adequately defends Atinuke's decision to set the books in a village somewhere in "Amazing Africa," instead of specifically in Nigeria.

I had the pleasure of hearing Atinuke read from the book at the Wisconsin International Outreach Children's and Young Adult Literature Celebration this past weekend and it was candy for the ears. Here's a clip of the author, in case you're not yet convinced that you need to buy this book and read it pronto with the nearest and dearest children in your life:

INSIDE OUT AND BACK AGAIN by Thanhha Lai wins National Book Award!

noreply@blogger.com (Mitali Perkins) — Thu, 17 Nov 2011 16:14:00 +0000

INSIDE OUT AND BACK AGAIN takes the NBA! I'm so delighted about this win—nice work, National Book Award judges!

When Thanhha Lai was about to debut this, her first novel, HarperCollins editor Sarah Sevier asked me to write a blurb for the book. Here's what I said after reading the advance reader's copy:

"In this poignant, funny, and unforgettable novel, Thanhha Lai shares in verse how her family escaped Vietnam before the fall of Saigon. American and Vietnamese characters alike leap to life through the voice and eyes of a ten-year-old girl—a protagonist so strong, loving, and vivid I longed to hand her a wedge of freshly cut papaya. This tenderly told tale transports readers to the time immediately after the Vietnam War and also opens hearts to newcomers displaced by war today."

Don't miss this beautiful story!

Top Five Children's Picture Books: Your Picks?

noreply@blogger.com (Mitali Perkins) — Wed, 09 Nov 2011 15:36:00 +0000

What are the top five children’s picture books that you enjoy sharing with children?

Your choices can help create the United States’ top ten list for the International Federation of Library Associations and Institutions (IFLA) Libraries for Children and Young Adults Committee. The goal of the project is to create a list of picture books from around the world that have been selected and recommended by librarians. These can then be used:

As a way of celebrating and promoting the language, cultures and quality of children’s book publishing from each country.
By countries wishing to purchase books from other countries and are looking for ‘favorite’ titles to help build and develop their collections.
By “Sister Libraries” as a way of exploring the children’s literature of their ”Sister Library” country.
As an opportunity to encourage interaction and growth within IFLA.
To develop the list into an exhibition with supporting catalogue that can be exhibited at the IBBY and IFLA conferences in 2012.

CRITERIA: CHOOSE BOOKS THAT ARE ...

excellent for reading aloud to and with children
suitable for any age between 0 – 11 years
able to last the test of time
published first in the United States
written originally in English
of good quality and a high standard of publishing
exemplary in demonstrating partnership between text and art
characterized by a positive message
in print (and therefore available for purchase)

Ready to enter your choices? Start the survey here.

Dining with Madam Ambassador (thanks to SALTAF)

noreply@blogger.com (Mitali Perkins) — Tue, 08 Nov 2011 18:50:00 +0000

Back from an exciting visit in D.C. for the South Asian Literary and Theater Arts Festival, hosted by the Smithsonian Institution. I'm grateful to the Smithsonian, the host of volunteers who took such good care of us, and my fellow presenters. My weekend started at the National Zoo and culminated with a feast at the Embassy of India.

My hotel room wasn't ready, so I walked to the zoo on Friday afternoon to hang out with this dude.

As the Festival began, novelist Aatish Taneer (NOON) was interviewed by the executive producer of NPR's Morning Edition, Madhulika Sikka.

I spoke on a panel with Nina Godiwalla (SUITS: A WOMAN ON WALL STREET), moderated by Sriram Gopal of DCist fame.

Gandhiji and I outside the Embassy of India.

Isha Roy of Global Newswire India, author Nina Godiwalla, and I enjoyed our chat at the reception.


Ambassador Rao descended the staircase in a gorgeous black and gold sari and encouraged us to pursue literary excellence with Mother India cheering us forward.

We were entertained by Bharat Natyam dancers and a Bollywood singer.

Last but not least, nobody feasts like Indians.

Belly-Banding TINTIN IN THE CONGO with a Warning

noreply@blogger.com (Mitali Perkins) — Thu, 03 Nov 2011 18:41:00 +0000

With Steven Spielberg's adaptation of THE ADVENTURES OF TINTIN, the classic graphic novel written and illustrated by George Remi (Hergé), Egmont UK is releasing TINTIN IN THE CONGO for a new audience. This time, instead of letting "colonial" content stand as is or bowdlerizing it, they've decided to pursue a new strategy:

“We took the unusual step of placing a protective band around the book with a warning about the content and also included an introduction inside the book by the original translators explaining the historical context."

Already, UK booksellers typically move the novels out of children's areas into the adult graphic novel sections of their stores.

We've discussed the option of bowdlerizing content on the Fire Escape before, and I took a poll, asking visitors to the Fire Escape when, if ever, it would be okay to update a classic children's book to reflect changing mores about race. The results (152 votes) were almost equally split between those who thought some changes might be in order, while the rest arguing that a book must stand as is.

Slightly more than half of you (83 votes, or 54%) said never.

Among those who felt it might be worth it to change a classic book, we see a strong belief that an author alone retains the right to change the story. Fifty-nine voters (38%) thought it would be appropriate to update if the author were still alive and wanted the changes.

Twenty-eight (18%) thought it would be permissible to revise a classic children's book if the publisher included a note in the re-issue explaining the reasoning behind the change.

Fifteen of you (9%) thought it would be okay to update if the changes made were incidental rather than integral to the plot, and fifteen (9%) more were amenable if the copyright holder (a descendant) were still alive and authorized the changes.

What do you think about Egmont UK's belly-banding move? And if you're interested, here's how I weighed in on the issue. Enjoy the trailer for the film, scheduled for release December 21st:

Nemesis

noreply@blogger.com (Mitali Perkins) — Tue, 01 Nov 2011 13:07:00 +0000

nemesis

by me

Boredom slithers into the psyche,

hissing demi-truths about decay to come.

I fight, then give way, listening, loathing the source.

Where is a champion with raised hammer,

swooping down to smash the skull of anomie?

Who will shout defiance into the dullness?

Too dreary for defense, I doze, blind to the dagger on my lap.

Double-edged, diamond-studded, it’s sharpened to kill.

Field Trip To The Smithsonian And The Indian Embassy

noreply@blogger.com (Mitali Perkins) — Mon, 31 Oct 2011 20:16:00 +0000

This Saturday, November 5, I'll be heading to the South Asian Literary and Theater Arts Festival at the Smithsonian Institution's National Museum of Natural History (1000 Constitution Ave NW, Washington, DC 20004). My panel is from 2-3 p.m., but the entire day's program is free and open to the public, so if you're in the area please come and bring friends.

As for Saturday night, I'm busy because I received this thrilling invitation from my country of origin:

You are invited to kindly attend a reception with the participants of the South Asian Literary and Theater Arts Festival (SALTAF) on Saturday, November 5, at 6:30 pm at the Embassy of India.

Now here's the key question: sari or suit?

Why Not Write A Novel This November?

noreply@blogger.com (Mitali Perkins) — Wed, 26 Oct 2011 21:41:00 +0000

No sun—no moon! No morn—no noon—

No dawn—no dusk—no proper time of day.

No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,

No comfortable feel in any member—

No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,

No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds!—

November!

From the poem "November" by Thomas Hood

What do we have to lose? Join me by writing a novel of your own during the 30 darkening days of November. National Novel Writing Month has everything we need to keep us inspired, along with pep talks for writers of all ages.

(I'm going to take my own advice, because I'm one of the 2011 Pep Talkers.)

Writing the Empty Nest at Parents' Weekend

noreply@blogger.com (Mitali Perkins) — Tue, 25 Oct 2011 14:44:00 +0000

I'm back from parents' weekend at Saint Mary's College of California where we attended classes without quizzes. I signed up for a writing class taught by Rashaan Meneses, who led us through a brilliant workshop on enhancing voice with detail.

We started with a short story by Sandra Cisneros called "Eleven" from Women Hollering Creek, discussed it, and then each chose an object from our past for the writing exercise. Here's what I scribbled (stet), surprised by how freeing it felt to write once again via pen on page:

The night I left the boys at Saint Mary's, I tried to cry myself to sleep but sleep kept slipping from my hand like a leash yanked hard by an eager dog.

I scanned the room, my old room where I'd slept as a child, and my heart did a double take.

There he was. High on a shelf, alone, forgotten. Faded, eyeless, mouthless, but waiting for me, for this wakeful night full of endings. I grabbed him, held him close.

He tried, oh how he tried. But he wasn't made in today's soft stuffed animal times. He was as hard as a skull.

Still, I didn't let go, and soon his silence eased me into sleep, as sweetly as it used to, once upon a time.

Thanks for reminding me of the sheer joy of writing, Rashaan. I miss college.

First Prize: 2011 Teens Between Cultures Poetry Contest

noreply@blogger.com (Mitali Perkins) — Fri, 21 Oct 2011 16:40:00 +0000

First Prize 2011 Fire Escape Poetry Contest

My Grandmother's House

by Yun-Jung, Korea/MA, age 18

It surrounds me,

The smell of dried ginseng and fertilized bean curd,

Clay vases that I could curl up in

But hold instead a snake immortalized in rice wine.

My father tells me

The persimmon tree was planted when he was born

In this strange country.

Now it stretches out sturdy branches,

Weighed down by an abundance of blushing fruit.

He plucks one from the branches I can’t reach,

And hands me the sticky sweet product of their efforts.

Scraping dirty feet across stone steps,

My sister and I slide open the panel doors and wonder

How people can live in a house made of paper.

And we hurry to find the answers to our questions

Sitting in our grandmother’s bedroom.

She sits as if the whole world was hers to bear on her

Tiny shoulders.

When she speaks, her words make little more sense to us

Than a fork being run across a plate.

And when we can’t piece together the words to answer her questions,

She sighs at the failures of her son

To pass down the inheritance of her tongue.

But she takes from me the soft persimmon

And peels the skin back to reveal the ripe summer’s sunset.

She shows me how to slip out the meaty fruit

And suck out the sweet juices between my teeth,

Smiling at my proudly candied hands.

Photo courtesy of FariaC via Creative Commons

First Prize: 2011 Teens Between Cultures Prose Contest

noreply@blogger.com (Mitali Perkins) — Thu, 20 Oct 2011 19:06:00 +0000

First Prize 2011 Prose Contest

Picking a Side by Helen, Korea/CA, Age 16

At age five, the only thing that separates you and your seatmate in class is, well, nothing. His sandwich is as good as your packed Korean food, and your handwriting is just as good as his. You play with the same lego blocks and throw around the same rocks during recess, and you even share bits of your lunch.

At age nine, you’ve measured the length of your table and found where the halfway mark is, and then drawn a shaky line across your table. That’s all that separates you from your seatmate that, and that he’s a boy, with cooties. He still reaches across and slaps your arm when he’s feeling manly, and you can still extend your leg to kick his knee in retaliation.

At age thirteen, you learn a new word : racism. You’ve learned it in classrooms before, since a young age, since you can actually remember history class. You’ve learned about the slave trade, and you know the dictionary definition of the word. But you really learn it - see it, hear it, experience it - when you’re thirteen, at the age where adding the ‘F word’ before every word makes you look ‘mature’ and being racist makes you ‘funny.’

Even though you’re not ‘white,’ you successfully avoid being bullied for being Korean, because you were born here and you dress in Hollister and you don’t have such an obvious accent.

Then you hit fourteen, and you become a little more aware of such a thing as ‘popularity.’ You go for the latest trends even when you don’t really like the clothes you’re buying, and your hair looks identical to the girls in your posse: pin-straight hair with side-swept bangs, never mind the hour it takes to iron your hair that way. But something’s a little off, even when you sit with the ‘cool kids’ - you suddenly realize there’s something more than just a pencil line separating you and the rest, when they call you a ‘white-washed Asian.’

You’re louder than the one they nicknamed ‘the loud one,’ and you have more shoes than the girl known for having a lot of shoes, but in the end, you’re still ‘that white-washed Asian.’ Your skin color defines who you are, forget the fact you’re really good at drawing and you can sing really well.

You can read and write Korean and you can speak it, too, and you bring Korean food to lunch. But you think being known for something is better than not being known at all, so you avoid speaking in Korean around your friends, and quietly, without a word, stop bringing lunch to school and buy it instead.

Despite all this, you’re still labeled as ‘Asian.’ Every flaw is ‘because you’re Asian,’ and every talent is ‘because you’re Asian.’ Get a bad grade in English?

“Well duh, you’re Korean!”

Yeah, that, and you were born in Los Angeles, California, and have never set foot in Korea.

Get a good grade in Math?

“Ugh, I hate you, why are you Asians so good at math?”

Maybe because you studied for four hours for that test? Using an American textbook?

Can’t drive that well?

“She’s Korean,” as if that explains everything.

But you smile and nod because amongst your white friends, you consider yourself lucky to not be that other ‘Asian kid,’ who sits by himself during lunch reading a book and munching on rice balls.

For a while, you go through a phase : the ‘wannabe’ phase. You won’t dare let your friends know - your gang of entirely American friends - but you start hating the black of your hair and the brown of your eyes, and you start wanting their pale skin and blonde hair and blue eyes. You give up Korean music entirely and you act annoyed when people talk in Korean around you, and you go as far as to stow away your Korean books when your friends come over.

When your mom drives you and your friend to the mall, she starts off talking in Korean - but you cut her off, answering in English, because you know she understands and you feel oddly embarrassed when your friend, blonde and blue-eyed, turns a confused, amused smile towards you at your mom’s Korean.

Your parents ask you what’s wrong - why you try to act like you’d prefer a salad over kimchee, why you grimace in distaste when a Korean song comes on the radio. You shrug it off, and say, “I’m not a fob.”

Your parents grow irritated, then angry: “You’re a Korean person! Be proud of your heritage!” they say, but you can only feel a slight twang of guilt beneath the desire to fit in. You don’t want to have your merits and flaws accredited to ‘being Asian,’ and you don’t want to be labeled as ‘the Asian.’

You hit fifteen, and when your parents say ‘Happy Birthday’ to you in Korean, you stop being embarrassed. You stop wanting to have golden hair and sapphire eyes, and you grow happy with your own. You realize the term ‘comfortable in your own skin’ means a lot more than the simple meaningless phrase you brushed off years ago.

You listen to a mix of Korean and English songs, and you’ll go back and forth from Korean to English when speaking to your parents, even around your friends. You’ll buy lunch sometimes, and on the days you feel like it, eat your Korean food without the bat of an eye.

You realize your skin will stay the shade it is for the rest of your life - and all that ‘separates’ you from your friends is not that you’re Korean, but that you’re conscious of it.

To the comments ‘Because she’s Asian,’ you reply with a confident “Yeah I am. And I write better English essays than you, so what of it?”

Because you’re a Korean-American, and you don’t have to be American to feel good.

Helen on Life Between Cultures:

The hardest part is the expectations that come with two cultures - it's hard enough to try to fit into the American culture, but with one's deep-rooted family continually forcing traditions upon you, it feels at times like I have to 'choose.'

2011 Fire Escape Prose Contest: Second Prize

noreply@blogger.com (Mitali Perkins) — Tue, 18 Oct 2011 13:14:00 +0000

Second Prize 2011 Prose Contest

ROLL CALL
by Chisimdi, Nigeria/NC, Age 17

“Michael Brown?”

“Here.”

“Lucy Dune?”

“Here!”

“Jennifer Grise?”

“Here.”

“Morgan Kringle?”

“….HERE!”

It was a Monday morning, the start of a new school year and students were settling into their classrooms, faces eager to learn or just to converse with all their classmates, some old, some new. In their minds, this was the day where they could make the friendships and bonds that would last them a lifetime or maybe just for the rest of the school year because, no one wants to spend the rest of the year as a loner.

Class had already begun and the teacher at the moment was calling roll, making sure that everyone was at school, in the right class, sitting in the right seat. It was the first day for me at this school. I looked around the classroom, starting from back, all the way to the front where my teacher stood. Everything about the classroom screamed, “small town.” Most students had been in the same grades together so everyone knew each other. Others, from what I could tell by the lack of people sitting around them, stood out as being the new students, including me. The teacher and all of the original students didn’t wear the latest fashions, but the type of clothes that suited them—pleated skirts, small sweaters, and well pressed khakis. This was where I coined the term, “suburbia wear”. Most students were white with Southern accents and wore hairstyles that were recognized by the town. Everyone sounded like they were from the Deep South. I thought Raleigh, North Carolina was the deepest that one could get but I was proved wrong. Monroe, North Carolina surpassed Raleigh. Noticing all of this in only 30 minutes surprised me and made me feel uneasy. I could tell that my year was off to a bad start.

The teacher was still calling roll and I knew that she was getting closer… closer to my name and I was dreading it.

“Sarah Lowell?”

“Here.”

“John…John Mathews?!”

“….I’m here!!!!”

“Ashley Nancy?”

“Here.”

Then the teacher stopped talking. There was a moment of silence. I knew, and I think everyone knew that it was my name that would be called next since I stood out as one of the new students. This was the moment that everyone had been waiting for and I could sense it. I really hoped and prayed that it wouldn’t happen this way but I knew it was inevitable. My name and looks gave everything away. Just by one glance, anyone could tell that I did not have a common name, and that I was not common. But the thing that everyone didn’t know was that my name was not one of those generic names that usually people of my color had. It was unique, different, and beautiful. I just hoped that everyone could see that in my name. The teacher began to speak.

“Okay, now this is not a name that I usually come in contact with so I’m sorry to the student who has to hear me butcher it up.”

In my head, I thought, “This is a new reaction. I’ve never heard my name referenced to meat before…”

“Okay, so is it, Chrriiisssseemmmeeedee Onwaaateeekitaaahh??”

I raised my hand, as soon as I heard “my name.” I was mortified and I felt red all over, even though my skin color never gave my feelings away.

“No, Ms. Leslie, that’s not how you pronounce it,” I said quietly.

“Oh, this is your name?”

“Yes, it is. My first name is pronounced Chisimdee like Chi-Cindy with an ‘m’ instead of an ‘n’. My last name is pronounced Onwootee-kaa. But most of the time, I go by nickname, Simdi.”

“Wow! That is a mouthful! You’re going to help me with that throughout the year, okay? Can I ask, what’s the origin of your name? Does it mean anything?”

I gulped, taking in a deep breath.

“My parents are Nigerian and my father thought of it even though my mother wanted to name me Amanda. My name in our language means, God wants you to live.”

My teacher laughed and then smiled, exposing her bright, white teeth.

“Well, Simdi, I’m sorry to say this but the funny thing is, that I don’t see you as an ‘Amanda’. I think your dad was right in naming you Chisimdi. Your name suits you because I can tell already; you’re going to be great addition to the class."

Right at that moment, I felt my heart flutter a little from relief. Not only was my name being accepted, but also my culture and my personality too. Just then, I thought to myself, “Maybe, this year wasn’t going to be as terrible as I thought…”

Chisimdi on Life Between Cultures:

Being raised by my parents under Nigerian beliefs and traditions has had ups and downs but I honestly love the richness of my culture and I’m proud of it, whether or not others agree with every aspect of it. Most of the time, I consider myself more Nigerian, even though I was born in Santa Cruz, California. Just by being around family, especially my cousins, I connect and laugh with them over the typical life of an “African” family. Things like getting tired of eating the same food (gari/fufu with soup) or talking about how crazy African parents can get over the littlest details has allowed my family to relate with one another and also bond over the common traits that we have. And because of my experiences, my culture has become the most important thing to me and I don’t want to ever lose it. My background has inspired me to learn about others with various ethnic backgrounds and has also exposed me to new, exciting perspectives. Some people find it difficult to understand another person’s culture, but if they took the time to look past the differences, they would find that every single person in the world, possesses the same, universal feeling of love.

Photo courtesy of KorePhotos via Creative Commons

2011 Fire Escape Poetry Contest: Second Prize

noreply@blogger.com (Mitali Perkins) — Fri, 14 Oct 2011 15:59:00 +0000

Second Prize 2011 Fire Escape Poetry Contests

I Am Too

by Hailan China/CA, age 16

I am from
a snow still morning that perches aloft
and blushes at a wintry sunbeam kiss,
like crimson lanterns of velvety soft,
and red-pigtailed child’s sugar-coated bliss.
In rusty black bikes rattling and tattling,
letters and pretty art not prosaic,
into stifling swarms in subways battling,
these waves of heads, a weaving mosaic.
But as gossamer floating, passing by,
a tear for my home, and good-bye

I am from dumplings steaming
silky tofu quivering
and swirling memories of grins with each
savory smell of shops and fairs,
smooth, sliding noodles in rich beef broth
strawberries ruby red and glistening black seeds
luscious, plump, and steamy rice
dinner together, tonight, everyday
snapping chopsticks
and laughter leaping
happiness soaring

I am from
Milady and Amaranta,
loquacious Miss Bates,
a stubborn red-head, freckled too,
Hot cocoa on rainy days,
a single ivy leaf through a winter’s storm,
Ebenezer Scrooge on Christmas Eve,
Marmee knitting by the fire, a country gentleman,
and a muttering rabbit by their ear

I am from
delightful shelves of books and books
the art of losing is not hard to master
let other pens dwell on guilt and misery
nowadays a broken heart will run to many editions
it is a truth universally acknowledged
and down they forgot as up they grew
but most, most heartily,
the mere habit of learning to love is the thing

Photos courtesy of ginerrobot and nightthree via creative commons

Hailan on Life Between Cultures:

The hardest about balancing two cultures is experiencing and knowing the uniqueness of both while seeing the often untrue stereotypes that each has about the other. It's difficult not to bristle when Chinese parents are mocked on Youtube or the word "communism" is flung with rampant fervor, even though it is ignorantly used. But by the same token, I can see the Chinese wrongful impressions of an American, often an unfair portrayal of laziness and gun-wielding danger. I'm glad that for many of us who have two cultures in our lives, we are knowledgeable of the inaccurate impressions that one culture may have of the other. But it is difficult to be courageous to step into the spotlight to bring up the subject because we are all very sensitive about nations and patriotism. Of course, I also know only a little about the world but am constantly learning.

To me, the best part about being an immigrant has been the conglomeration of unique experiences of two very different cultures that I otherwise would not have had. I think experiencing both Chinese and American cultures has helped me grow as a more conscientious, observant person. It really has given me a broader perspective on people and life in general, and I hope that I will always be mindful of the people of all cultures because of my multicultural life.

2011 Fire Escape Prose Contest: Third Prize

noreply@blogger.com (Mitali Perkins) — Thu, 13 Oct 2011 13:57:00 +0000

A Letter To The Judge

by Julia, China/MD, Age 14

Dear Judge,

My name is Jacob Smith*. I am American.

My parents are Joe and Anne Smith. They are also American.

In fact, my whole family is American. We were one of the first to settle in America, the first shipment aboard the Mayflower.

I always regarded that with pride. We were the first immigrants. And that made me, Jacob Smith, the descendant from a proud lineage of true Americans. I was the most American of Americans.

Well, we don't really live on the East Coast anymore. My family moved to California years ago, during the big Gold Rush. And stayed in a little town, until it became a ghost town...you know what? I might as well skip the story. We have a long history. Just know that we moved a couple months ago, and we were stuck on the outskirts of San Diego.

So there I was. The lone white kid, in an all Hispanic community. And I hated it there. I loathed it there. I abhorred it there.

It was always the same. At school, I was the only one. I was the only one with a last name like Smith. I was the only one with blonde, curling hair, and blue eyes, and perfect English. I was alone.

I thought I got picked on, of course. They all spoke their Spanish-y words with those Spanish-y accents. Like, ¿Cómo te llamas?* I got that a lot the first day there. I was sure that meant something bad. Maybe like, "Are you a llama?"

And after a while, the girls all started saying "Tu eres muy guapo."** I always smiled and nodded. I had no idea what they were saying. But I always figured they probably were making fun of me. "You are a fat kid." I can just imagine it. It doesn't seem out of their range...those freaky Spanish kids. I had thought they were probably all illegal immigrants anyway. They didn't come here like my family had, the first of the Americans.

I admit. I was scared of them. I was scared of seeing so many tanned, black-haired faces. I was scared of all the Linda Gonzalez's, and the Jorge Lopez's. I didn't see anyone like me. And I hated that.

Well, looking back...I misunderstood everything back then. And I had responded badly. "Shut up! I don't want to hear another stupid word out of your stupid mouths! All of you! Shut up!" I had shouted, after the bell rang so I wouldn't get in trouble with the teachers. "You're all so stupid! You're all stupid!"

Okay. Here I confess: I bullied them horribly. Every day. Every second. Nobody asked whether I was a "llama" again in Spanish. None of the girls giggled and pointed at me and told me I was a "fat kid" in their little Spanish-y voices. I had taken that as a good sign.

And then, one day, I was expelled. That was it. End of the story. All the kids' parents ganged up on me one day. They told the administration of my bullying. How I had punched others. How I threatened people. And now...I'm in juvie, writing this letter...to you, Mr. Judge.

And just to let you know, I met a really nice Hispanic kid here—his name was Juan Criado*. Criado meant servant. I thought that was sort of demeaning, but he was cool with it. And then, he told me why he had come to juvie. There was a white guy at his school, a lonely white kid. His name was Chris. And Chris had bullied them too. Chris was like me.

So Juan stood up one day. He and his friends fought Chris. Chris was killed. And Juan was charged with first degree murder for standing up. I asked whether he really did it, and he cried. A tough guy like him...he cried. He said he couldn't remember if it was him, or his friends, or whether the whole thing was a bad dream that he was going to wake up from. But Chris was dead. Everything was a whole mistake.

I wish I hadn't bullied them. I wish I had stopped to understand. I wish I could go back and redo everything. Because Juan opened up new doors. He told me about his parents, who were nice people. They weren't aggressive. He loved his parents. Before juvie, when he came home, he would speak another language to his parents, because they didn't understand English. And they would eat yummy Spanish food, and play a little soccer, and his dad would come in with a flamenco guitar and play a couple tunes and his mom would dance and they would all clap together.

My family was American. But we never were a family like Juan's. They come home, and they eat Hispanic food. They drink water from the municipal aquifer. But they have two cultures—two worlds that made them unique.

I come home, I eat the same food, fresh from the Spanish vendors. I drink the same water, tapped from the same aquifer. But what did I have?

Only one heritage.

From,

Jacob

P.S. I know that this won't change anything. I know that I am sentenced, and that I cannot get out of juvie without appeal. But I just wanted to let you know my story. If you could, could you tell everyone about this? I wouldn't want any more people like me going around making life harder for immigrants. And to anyone with prejudices—please know that it's both hard and great to live a life with two cultures. Just ask Juan.

*All names are made up. Any real people in juvie with these names are coincidences.

**"¿Cómo te llamas?" means "What is your name?"

***"Tu eres muy guapo" means "You're really handsome."

Julia on Life Between Cultures

The hardest thing about balancing two cultures is trying to discover and maintain that perfect amalgam between the two. Both countries can claim me, but I cannot fully claim either country; I can only struggle to search for my own little niche that incorporates my heritage and my birthplace. Coming from an immigrant family isn't terrible, however—straddling two lands also means that I get to experience both cultures!

Photo Credit: Look Into My Eyes via Creative Commons

2011 Fire Escape Poetry Contest: Third Prize

noreply@blogger.com (Mitali Perkins) — Wed, 12 Oct 2011 13:57:00 +0000

Playing Between Two Worlds
by Jingyi China/MD, age 15

The girl delicately plucks the strings of the zither
creating a rich and harmonious music that no one else can seem to understand.
Music flows out, soft and graceful against the backdrop of run down apartments;
with trinkets strewn about on the hard pavement sidewalks, vying for attention.
The music becomes louder and more demanding
as cars zoom thoughtlessly across the tumbling streets, thinking not of lights nor people.
Everything is shaded with hues of brilliant red and sunlight yellow
reminding people of glory, pride and trust.
The music continues, with tired bodies walking home against a brilliant fading street, dim and worn down, holding bags upon heavy bags of groceries barely tumbling out.
The girl smiles, nonchalant and undaunted, not afraid;
bravely playing alongside the border of two very different worlds.

Photo Credit: Clyde Robinson via Creative Commons

Jingyi on Life Between Cultures:

The hardest thing about balancing two cultures is being dedicated to both. Sometimes, it's impossible because cultures are often completely different and independent of each other. The best thing about being a part of two cultures is the different types of food you get to eat and the fact that you fit in with two completely different groups of people.

MONSOON SUMMER: The Musical

noreply@blogger.com (Mitali Perkins) — Wed, 05 Oct 2011 17:27:00 +0000

In August, thanks to First Book, the Kaufman Center in New York City adapted my novel Monsoon Summer into a musical. Here's the gorgeous cast:

The composer/songwriter, Beth Sorrentino, sent me a demo of herself (listen above) singing "Monsoon Summer," which was sung as the finale by the entire cast in (her words) "a full-out Bollywood number." The Center is going to send me a DVD of the show, and I can't wait to see it and hear the kids singing this and the other beautiful songs Beth created for the musical.

Exciting: My WHITE HOUSE RULES Releases in India!

noreply@blogger.com (Mitali Perkins) — Tue, 04 Oct 2011 12:27:00 +0000

Which Cover Has The Bollywood Vibe?

noreply@blogger.com (Mitali Perkins) — Tue, 04 Oct 2011 02:40:00 +0000

(One was released in the US, and one is releasing this month in India.)