Canada: We Are the Story

Written by Richard Wagamese

Illustrated by Mangeshig Pawis-Steckley

Swift Water Books (An imprint of Tundra Books)

978-1-77488-638-0

32 pp.

Ages 3–7

Releases March 17, 2026

 

The cover of Canada: We Are the Story announces this book as bold, beautiful, and powerful. From its flow of luminous colours and glowing shapes, this picture book, one of the first releases from Tundra's new Indigenous imprint, Swift Water Books, declares itself to be what it is: momentous.

From Canada: We Are the Story, written by Richard Wagamese, art by Mangeshig Pawis-Steckley

Based on a poem by Richard Wagamese, Canada: We Are the Story speaks to a child tasked with a school assignment, "What makes you proud to be Canadian?" Struggling, the child is guided to listen and feel so that they might sense their ancestors and what they could impart.

Close your eyes and tell me if you can hear your Ancestors in the Spirit World exhaling all at once. They are standing beside you even now. They are talking. Listen. (pg. 7)

From Canada: We Are the Story, written by Richard Wagamese, art by Mangeshig Pawis-Steckley

It doesn't matter whether the ancestors speak in Dene, Cree, Inuktitut, or German, Mandarin or English, because they are the Old Ones and their souls had "fallen head over heels in love with the spell of this country." (pg. 13) More importantly, the ancestors tell us that we are all in this together, no matter whether we're on the East Coast, on the prairies, or at the Arctic Circle. (Richard Wagamese mentions more than several place names like Belle Isle, Labrador; Wynyard, Saskatchewan; Revelstoke, BC; Okotoks, Alberta; the archipelago Haida Gwaii, and Pangnirtung on Baffin Island.) The message is that the ancestors come from throughout the country, and if we just listen, they'll tell us its story.

We are the story of our time here,

they have come to say.

 

It is all we bring with us

and all we leave behind. (pg. 24)

From Canada: We Are the Story, written by Richard Wagamese, art by Mangeshig Pawis-Steckley

Richard Wagamese's message is one of inclusivity and acknowledgement. His free verse poetry recognizes that everyone is part of the land and part of its story, whether Indigenous or immigrant. And this child, once they listen to the ancestors and hear their stories, can accept and cultivate themself as part of it. The voice of Richard Wagamese's narrator is profound and sweepingly affirming of all. They want this child to feel connected and embraced from their ancestors and from the people of the country to which they belong.

 

Mangeshig Pawis-Steckley, whose illustrations I first enjoyed in Mii maanda ezhi-gkendmaanh / This is How I Know (written by Brittany Luby, 2021) and Biindigen! Amik Says Welcome (written by Nancy Cooper, 2023), has acknowledged the message of Canada: We Are the Story with his simple but weighty dedication: "For all my relatives, Indinawemaaganidog." His Ojibwe (Anishinaabemowin) words invite all of his people to enjoy the art of this book, just as all readers will. Every page is a delight of colour and shapes. Mangeshig Pawis-Steckley draws his main character as a unique individual, wearing a personalized jacket with badges like a thunderbird, an NDN sweater, and a plaid skirt. They are unique and fit in because they belong. Mangeshig Pawis-Steckley has made this child any child, from an Indigenous community or one of a diverse background. They are Canadian by being part of the land. And with their meaningful background of ancestors, from all cultures and traditions, Mangeshig Pawis-Steckley urges us to see ourselves as part of the story.

From Canada: We Are the Story, written by Richard Wagamese, art by Mangeshig Pawis-Steckley

From words to art, Canada: We Are the Story is a stunning picture book, as valuable in its message for young children as it would be as a visual art book for the adults who might purchase it. It should give us all pause to think about how we belong, perhaps in our way, perhaps like others, to this country, and our stories will become part of it, now and forever.

My Language Is a Garden

Written by E.G. Alaraj

Illustrated by Rachel Wada

Orca Book Publishers

978-1-4598-4065-2

32 pp.

Ages 6–8

February 2026 

 

How a child begins to learn a language is a complex process of exposure and comprehension. It involves being introduced to it from those who speak it and who cherish it. And when it's taught with love and reverence, it almost sacred. For this father sharing his language with his child, it's everything.

From My Language Is a Garden, written by E.G. Alaraj, illustrated by Rachel Wada

In evocative rhyming verse, E.G. Alaraj gives a father voice to embody his language with memories and meaning as he shares it with his daughter. It's obvious how much his language means to him, reminiscent of people and places, and tastes, smells, and sounds. E.G. Alaraj gives weight to this parent's words, both tender and passionate.  

My language roams the desert

And fills its pails with sand.

Builds castles, forts, and shelters

That stretch across the land. (pg. 12) 

From My Language Is a Garden, written by E.G. Alaraj, illustrated by Rachel Wada

This father is determined, but not vehement, drawing on images of cities and mountains, shores and markets, to convey what language can bring and conjure. There is magic in language, and he is earnest about sharing this with his child.

Our language, it will bloom—

Add sweetness to the air,

And tie my heart to yours,

 

So I'm with you everywhere. (pg. 27–29)

E.G. Alaraj's poem is emotional, as is the premise upon which it is based. Her author's note explains her husband's efforts to help their children learn and then retain their Arabic language. But My Language Is a Garden could speak to any parent or educator teaching a heritage language, hopeful of children holding that connection with culture and ancestry, as they balance contemporary influences outside of that language. But instead of drilling that language and forcing communication by using it, this father invites and illustrates with much affection and safety, coaxing his child to see and feel the language, just as the reader does with E.G. Alaraj's expressive words. The rhyming verses soothe and transport, as well as entice inwards and open worlds beyond. 

From My Language Is a Garden, written by E.G. Alaraj, illustrated by Rachel Wada

As dramatic as E.G. Alaraj's words are, Rachel Wada's illustrations give them artistic substance. Her art was created digitally and feels like watercolours, suspending people and places in different times and spaces. Rachel Wada, whose art has honoured books like I Am Wind: An Autobiography (Rachel Poliquin, 2024) and Shizue's Path (Mark Sakamoto, 2023), expresses strength and sensitivity with her use of line and shape. Whether in her gloriously lush gardens of poppies, in the rolling dunes of sand, or in the branches and stems of trees, Rachel Wada makes big locales seem personal and intimate, and the people within them connected.

 

As teachers and parents in Canada, we often use English language acquisition and learning as milestones for children, but learning a heritage language should be similarly appreciated. Beyond its purpose in communication, those languages help connect children with their families, their cultures, and their ancestors. It gives their lives colour and history, heart and identity. This father's language, depicted as a living entity that grows and feels, nurtures and responds, already enriches his life, connecting him with so much, and E.G. Alaraj makes us hopeful that he is able to cultivate that same abundance for his child.

Call Me Gray

Written by Andrew Larsen and Bells Larsen

Illustrated by Tallulah Fontaine

Kids Can Press

978-1-5253-1135-2

32 pp.

Ages 4-8

October 2025 

 

For a four-letter word, "gray" packs a lot of meaning. It can mean the colour that is between black and white, the two sides that allow no middle ground. It can mean the dullness of a cloudy day with the absence of sun pulling a pall over everything. It can also reflect a feeling of detachment or depression, far more profound than the blues of sadness. But, for the child in Andrew Larsen and Bells Larsen's story, it's a name that holds colour and brightness, sunshine and joy.

From Call Me Gray, written by Andrew Larsen and Bells Larsen, illustrated by Tallulah Fontaine

It's the beginning of winter, and an unnamed child is looking forward to some wonderful traditions that they and their father partake in, starting with the building of their ice rink. But this year, this child knows something has changed.

But this year feels different.

 

It's not the snow

and it's not the cold.

 

It's me. 

 (pg. 6)

 

From Call Me Gray, written by Andrew Larsen and Bells Larsen, illustrated by Tallulah Fontaine

As they build their ice rink, the child hesitantly tries to gain some clarity to their feelings. A  recent incident, in which their best friend doesn't invite them to her sleepover because it's only for girls, has them saddened and perplexed. Talking to their dad, the child asks some very big questions including, "Do you ever feel mixed up about who you are?" (pg.12) Their dad tries to answer this and other questions but it's obvious that he's not grasping exactly what his child is asking. Still, as their work progresses, there is one statement that makes their dad stop and think and appreciate what his child is saying. 

"I look like a boy but

sometimes I feel more

like a girl."  

   (pg. 15)

And with that meaningful communication,  a subtle but monumental change begins to take place in the midst of enduring winter traditions.

From Call Me Gray, written by Andrew Larsen and Bells Larsen, illustrated by Tallulah Fontaine

I have reviewed so many Andrew Larsen books, both picture books and middle-grade fiction, including Goodnight, Hockey Fans (2017),  Dingus (2017), and Me, Toma and the Concrete Jungle (2019), and each one seems deeply personal. Call Me Gray has that same overtone, perhaps because Andrew Larsen has written it with his son, and the two have spoken of Bells Larsen's own experiences as a transgender person. I don't know if Andrew Larsen and Bells Larsen built ice rinks together and enjoyed hot chocolate afterwards, but the relationship between father and child in Call Me Gray is a touching one without being saccharine. In fact, it's quite real. They speak, they interact, and they question as they try to understand themselves and the other. And it's obviously a safe space in which to question and to make choices. 

From Call Me Gray, written by Andrew Larsen and Bells Larsen, illustrated by Tallulah Fontaine

This is the first children's picture book that Edmonton's Tallulah Fontaine has illustrated,  though her work has been featured on advertising displays and in numerous publications including the New Yorker, the New York Times, and The Economist. Rendered in gouache and finished digitally, her illustrations focus on that which is important: the relationship between the child and their father, as well as others. Tallulah Fontaine shows them pounding stakes, shovelling snow, and chatting while they work. She shows them putting on their skates and skating and always interacting, either in silence or in important conversations. Their work, together to build rink or to build understanding, is the goal. And Tallulah Fontaine always conveys much in the faces of her characters, whether it be disappointment, confusion, contentment, or hope.

Call Me Gray may become a wonderful story starter for challenging conversations about gender identities or about encouraging self-expression or about building an ice rink. It might help children share their feelings, or help their parents establish safe spaces to discuss big issues. But Call Me Gray may also take "gray" out of the unfavourable realm and move it into one of inclusivity and association and positive change.

Still My Tessa

Written by Sylv Chiang

Illustrated by Mathias Ball

North Winds Press (Scholastic Canada)

978-1-4431-9623-9

32 pp,

Ages 4-8

January 2024

 

Evelyn is both perplexed and worried. The older child she has always known as her sister is now telling her that they aren't her sister, or her brother. Tessa is her sibling. What does that mean? Is Evelyn even Tessa's sister?

From Still My Tessa, written by Sylv Chiang, illustrated by Mathias Ball

Evelyn sees that Tessa is not herself. Evelyn wants to play with Tessa and take them out of their dark room and make them smile again but she doesn't know how. When she writes a note to the "Best Sister Ever!" Tessa explains to Evelyn that they are not her sister, or her brother, but prefers to be called Evelyn's sibling. They do some stuff together but it's obvious that Tessa is growing up and their interests have changed. They are also burdened with educating Evelyn about their pronouns (they/them/their) and dealing with those who assume they know what Tessa's pronouns must be.

From Still My Tessa, written by Sylv Chiang, illustrated by Mathias Ball

Evelyn wants to learn and she does. After a week, she's using Tessa's preferred pronouns and almost gets a smile from her sibling. But when the family goes for a bike ride, Tessa is again challenged by those who assume their gender is female. Evelyn has no problem informing people they meet that Tessa is her sibling, recognizing that if she can adapt to Tessa's pronouns in a week, others can learn as well. And when their parents introduce Evelyn as a girl and Tessa as non-binary, Tessa's smile finally returns.

From Still My Tessa, written by Sylv Chiang, illustrated by Mathias Ball

The premise behind Still My Tessa goes beyond just recognizing that we should all feel comfortable with the pronouns by which we are addressed. It also recognizes that young children might have to learn about pronouns and being non-binary but that this can be learned with the right teaching. Teacher Sylv Chiang (she/her) finds a sibling relationship the perfect vehicle for addressing the use of pronouns. As a little sister who obviously adores Tessa, Evelyn just wants them to be the sibling with whom she can play and make happy. And by modelling what's she's learned, Evelyn can help teach others what is appropriate for Tessa and all of them. 

 

Illustrator Mathias Ball (he/they) may have had to struggle with enlightening others about their preferred pronouns, and, as such, their depictions of Tessa are truly authentic, reflecting what a child struggling to understand and accept and advocate for themselves with their non-binary status and pronoun preferences would feel. Evelyn is a happy child whose biggest worry is who will play with her, while Tessa is filled with angst. Whether it is becoming a teenager, already a struggle for many, or understanding their non-binary nature, Tessa projects that burden, rarely cracking a smile or venturing from their room and from beneath their headphones. Still, Mathias Ball doesn't make them sullen or angry, but they do make them introspective and solemn. That doesn't mean the illustrations are anything but bright and cheerful and inclusive, ensuring that Tessa and Evelyn both see the joys of their world.

Accepting how we would like to be addressed is an important part of our identities. But it isn't always easy for others to accept the appropriate pronouns or gender designations (even nonconforming ones). Still Evelyn demonstrated that learning can happen and doesn't have to change her relationship with Tessa, except by also becoming their ally now. With a little instruction–Sylv Chiang offers some help understanding of what it means to be non-binary, how to use pronouns, and how to become an ally. With compassion and clarification, every young child can learn to use the correct pronouns as Evelyn did for her sibling and help others to do the same. (And Still My Tessa may even help a few parents learn how to becomes allies for their children.)

What If I'm Not a Cat?

Written by Kari-Lynn Winters

Illustrated by Kelly Collier

Kids Can Press

978-1-5253-0553-5

32 pp.

Ages 4-7

June 2023

Donkey was a cat. He knew he was a cat because all the clues were there. Farmer came into the barn and called out to her kitty cats so that had to include Donkey. Donkey strutted like a cat, he licked his fur, and enjoyed cuddling. And the little things he couldn't do like enjoy cat food, climb trees or catch mice were just some of the things he needed to learn still.

From What If I'm Not a Cat?, written by Kari-Lynn Winters, illus. by Kelly Collier

But then Donkey climbs up on Farmer's lap and hears, "Donkey, you're acting like a cat!" Donkey starts to rethink his attributes relative to the cats and asks himself, "What if I'm NOT a cat?"

From What If I'm Not a Cat?, written by Kari-Lynn Winters, illus. by Kelly Collier

The cats try to help. Some are convinced that Donkey is a cat and, while others begin to question their own identities, there are those who offer suggestions about what Donkey might truly be. Devastated with his identity crisis, he ventures out alone, into the loneliness beyond the farm. When he discovers a kitten in danger from a fox, Donkey helps save the little feline while uncovering some wonderful new things about himself.

From What If I'm Not a Cat?, written by Kari-Lynn Winters, illus. by Kelly Collier

For anyone who has ever questioned their identity and place, from family member to gender, What If I'm Not a Cat? recognizes that fitting in is less about being exactly the same and more about being part of something that feels right. Writer Kari-Lynn Winters has tackled the topic of fitting in and labelling of identities before (see French Toast and Good Pirate, both from 2016) but the farcical nature of a donkey who accepts himself as a cat makes What If I'm Not a Cat? both zany and effective in its messaging. Donkey only begins to question himself when others start to do the same. It's only when he feels accepted completely for both his similarities and differences that Donkey becomes Don-kitty and everything feels right again.

 

Kelly Collier, author-illustrator of A Horse Named Steve and Team Steve, gives her digitally-rendered illustrations a cheekiness of character. Kari-Lynn Winters gives us the story, but Kelly Collier most definitely gives us the characters, from Donkey who always seems to have a spring in his step–except when depressed–to the cats who are playful, diverse and saucy. There's a perfect balance of content and context that comes from a brilliant collaboration between Kari-Lynn Winters and Kelly Collier.

If What If I'm Not a Cat? teaches readers anything, it's that fitting in is not dependent on being the same as everyone else. Fitting in comes with self-acceptance. So, even if you're not a cat–which is pretty cool–you still belong.

Beautiful You, Beautiful Me

Written by Tasha Spillett-Sumner

Illustrated by Salini Perera

Owlkids Books

978-1-77147-452-8

32 pp.

Ages 3-7

October 2022

 

Izzy adores her mother. Whether they are swimming or reading, braiding hair or dancing, she feels safe with Mama. But then one day, Izzy notices that her skin colour is different from that of her mother.

From Beautiful You, Beautiful Me by Tasha Spillett-Sumner, illus. by Salini Perera

"Mama!" exclaimed Izzy. "We don't match!
You're sand, and I'm chocolate."

And with that Izzy starts to see how she isn't the same as her beloved mother. She notices that her curly hair jumps out from her braids whereas her mother's smooth hair lays beautifully down her back.

From Beautiful You, Beautiful Me by Tasha Spillett-Sumner, illus. by Salini Perera

You're part of me, 

and I'm part of you.

I'm beautiful like me,

and you're beautiful like you.

And though her mother tries to reassure her with loving comfort and words, it's not until they see ducklings and kittens and baby birds that differ from their parents but are still protected and loved that Izzy gets it. Belonging doesn't come from sameness.

From Beautiful You, Beautiful Me by Tasha Spillett-Sumner, illus. by Salini Perera

There are many books about kids noticing their differences but most of those stories are about young people trying to fit in with their peers. Beautiful You, Beautiful Me is a unique perspective as a very young child recognizes how different they are from their primary caregiver, a mother who is everything to them. She's not picking up on it within the context of a large family with both parents, multiple siblings or grandparents, or even within a school setting with other children. She is noticing those differences one on one without any comparison. Just as it's irrelevant whether mother and daughter are different because of parentage or adoption, Izzy's mother's only response is that they are both beautiful people as they are and that the love is steadfast. Whether Tasha Spillett-Sumner, born of Cree and Trinidadian heritage, wrote this story for her younger self, or for her own daughter, Beautiful You, Beautiful Me is a celebration of family: sometimes different, sometimes the same, always loved.

Toronto illustrator Salini Perera makes special distinction of Izzy and her mother's differences, just as the little girl does. Their beautiful hair is distinctive in their textures and behaviour and their skin tones contrast when hands lay upon hands and they give tight hugs. Moreover, Salini Perera goes beyond their physical natures and shows an emotional context as well. Little Izzy's confusion is palpable as she observes her mother, but just as obvious is her attachment to her Mama as they connect in common tasks and togetherness. The art is fresh and bright, just as their relationship is.

Tasha Spillett-Sumner and Salini Perera have given us a mother-daughter relationship that is both conventional and exceptional, highlighting everything that makes it work. An appreciation of the differences while emphasizing the love is what makes this kinship flourish, just as it should.

• • • • • • •

For educators who'd like to use Beautiful You, Beautiful Me for teaching, Owlkids Books has a free discussion guide available at https://owlkidsbooks.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/08/BYBM-DISCUSSION-GUIDE-FINAL.pdf

This is a Dog Book!

Written by Judith Henderson

Illustrated by Julien Chung

Kids Can Press

978-1-5253-0493-4

40 pp.

Ages 4-7

June 2021

Gertrude Stein may have written that "A rose is a rose is a rose" but this bunny is working very hard to convince a community of dogs that he isn't. Isn't a bunny, that is.

From This is a Dog Book! from Judith Henderson, illus.by Julien Chung

From the outset, a red stripe-shirted rabbit is told by an enormous dog who spans most of a double-spread that he cannot be part of this book because it's a book about dogs and he is a bunny. And so, the bunny begins to try to convince an assortment of dogs that he is a dog. Though they enjoy the biscuits he brings, they decide to test his doggy-ness.

From This is a Dog Book! from Judith Henderson, illus.by Julien Chung

He is asked to prove he can run and catch a ball, wag his tail, and put on the puppy-dog eyes, performing admirably. And though he gets waylaid with thoughts of treats like lettuce, cauliflower and brussels sprouts, he's always ready to distract his investigators with biscuits.

Ummm...Do you mind if we come back to that question later?

 

In the meantime, may I interest you in a cookie?

From This is a Dog Book! from Judith Henderson, illus.by Julien Chung

Despite his reluctance to undertake in the important doo-doo test, the bunny passes, especially after answering one critical question about being a friend. 

 

Montrealer Judith Henderson, best known for her Big Words Small Stories series, uses dry humour to poke fun at a familiar need to fit in and be included. This bunny just wants to be part of the dog book and proving he's a dog is the only way. While the dogs may have him jumping through hoops–it's only a pun–to prove himself, This is a Dog Book! speaks to our common inclination to be part of a community and participate in that community with others. It also speaks to the efforts many will go to in order to become accepted and the anguish of not being so. This singularity of purpose focuses the story and the art.  So it's not surprising that Julien Chung, also from Montreal, keeps his illustrations, which were rendered digitally, very economical. Except for a few splashes of red, as in the bunny's shirt, a ball, and a biscuit box, the book essentially comprises of black-and-white illustrations of the dogs and a bunny. (Oh, there is one more animal that shows up, still black-and-white though.) Yet, Julien Chung allows us to see a rich and diverse community of dogs: large ones, fuzzy ones, and short-legged ones. Even with few lines, it's evident there's a poodle, a dachshund, and a Shar-Pei. So while the bunny fits in physically–he's just an animal with a small tail, large feet and long ears–he's still seen as a different species. That is, until he isn't. Judith Henderson and Julien Chung let us see that it's not our differences upon which we should focus, it's our similarities that will ultimately unite us.

Now, about the cow...

Sully, Messed Up

Written by Stephanie Simpson McLellan

Red Deer Press

978-0-88995-637-7

312 pp.

Ages 11-15

April 2021

Who is Sullivan Brewster? He's Sullivan to his mom, Rooster to his little sister Eva, and Van to his stepdad Bill. He's Sully to his friend Morty, who has changed his own moniker to Morsixx since reinventing himself over the summer before their first year in high school. And to those who don't know him or want to target him, he becomes Bella, Sally and a host of horrible nicknames. Is it any wonder that thirteen-year-old Sully doesn't know who he is or what he should be doing or who his friends are? He truly is messed up, and that doesn't even count the messing up he's getting from a trio of bullies named Tank, Ox and Dodger.

 

Sully's story seems to start on that first day of Grade 9 when he wakes up with his facial elements relocated around his head.

His nose, pink and dripping, hunkered sideways on his left temple. One of his ears–it was hard to tell which one from the unfamiliar angle–bulged where his nose should have been. The other protruded, antenna-like, right above his lips, which quivered, post-scream, in the middle of his forehead. (pg. 9)

But no one seems to notice. Still, Sully uses his long hair to hide his potential disfigurement. This instead grabs the attention of Tank, the overlord at Wild Forest Secondary, and his sidekicks Dodger and Ox. Worried that he will now become the victim of the Gr. 9 hazing called the Naked Niner, whereby a selected student is unclothed and photographed and publicly humiliated, Sully tries to stay out of Tank's field of view. Unfortunately, everything he does seems to garner him more unwanted attention. 

 

First, he believes his friend and locker partner Morty/Morsixx is drawing too much attention with his new emo boy look and attitude so Sully starts avoiding him by carrying his backpack everywhere, hiding out in the parking lot at lunch and abstaining from taking the bus. Even though Morsixx and Blossom, a new girl who adorns her face and arms with ink of vines and flowers, try to support him, Sully continues to reject their efforts. Then he's given the topic of menstruation for his Sex Education class and Dodger pranks him with countless tampons, earning him the displeasure of the principal and a host of new nicknames.

 

When he begins to walk to and from school, past a purple house on True Street, with its fence adored with an unusual assortment of figurines in ever-changing scenes, Sully becomes acquainted with the Purse Lady who gets his attention when she asks him, "What happened to your face?" (pg. 80) But who is she and why does Mr. C, the strange man in the purple house, seem to know her and Sully and maybe even what is happening in his life, all represented in the figurines of Charlie Brown, the Knight, Sleeping Beauty, Darth Vader and more?

 

School can be a place of refuge for some but for others, especially those who become marked as victims, it can be brutal. And for Grade 9 students, it can be especially challenging. With an implicit hierarchy of power and confusion about the supports which they may or may not have, those preyed upon by bullies may become even more isolated. This is Sully who confuses his friends with contributing to his victimization and who doesn't want to worry his family. He is awkward in discussions with his teachers and his principal and then makes further choices that complicate things for himself. But, while Sully has been victimized, Stephanie Simpson McLellan tries not to play up the young teen as a victim. He is instead confused or rather messed up. He's got all the basics–friends, family, the will– to make things right but, like his face, things just haven't fallen into place correctly. Fortunately, when he can see beyond his personal disasters and into those of others, Sully learns to stand up for himself and help himself adapt. This is an important message for young people and, amidst all Sully's struggles, it's one that Stephanie Simpson McLellan emphasizes. With some insight and a little help from others, Sully is finally able to put to rights his situation and find himself.

• • • • • • • • •

Tomorrow I interview author Stephanie Simpson McLellan about Sully, Messed Up. For middle-graders and early young adults and their parents and their teachers, this Q & A will speak to all of you.

The Finding Place

Written by Julie Hartley
Red Deer Press
978-0-889-95533-2
244 pp.
Ages 10-14
September 2015

Thirteen-year-old Kelly, the narrator of The Finding Place, knows only that she’d been found outside a village school in Yangshuo, China before she’d been taken to an orphanage from which her parents adopted her at a few months of age. Other than being Chinese by birth, Kelly knows little of her beginnings and herself.  But this was always okay with her, until her dad leaves.  Not knowing why he left, where he was, and if he was coming back, Kelly is left filling in the blanks of that story with various possibilities, all that make her mom the bad guy.  Moreover, Kelly is starting to feel lost, unaware of who she truly is.

My Canadian identity came from my parents but, with Dad gone, how much of that was left? (pg. 44)

Like a typical teen, Kelly lashes out at her mother, Auntie Lou and best friend Raziel whenever they question her about what she’s thinking or doing.  Not surprising that Mom wants to find a way to connect with Kelly, so she plans a March break trip to China, hoping that it will help Kelly clarify some things about her birth place and ultimately herself.

But Mom’s debilitating headaches often leave Kelly alone and exploring–without permission–outside the hotel.  At times, she feels Chinese, empowered by trying out her Mandarin and being understood, and participating in a Tai Chi activity in a park.  But then the confusion returns.

Back in the lobby of our hotel, I stood for a moment among the American business peple and the western tourists with their cameras slung around their necks, and I thought, where do I belong? Here, where everyone except the desk staff looks like my parents, but thinks and speaks the way I do? Or out there in the real China where everyone looks like me, even though I can’t understand a single word they say? (pg. 110)

Her mom’s annoyance and anger with Kelly reveals her plan to move them from Toronto to Brantford to live with her Auntie Lou, giving them a fresh start.  Kelly is devastated, believing that her father would never come home then, disregarding the countless emails she’s sent him without response.

Their arrival in Yangshuo, ever closer to her finding place i.e., the spot where she’d been abandoned, brings them in contact with other parents picking up their adopted children, including a Toronto woman Clare whom Kelly met at the Bejing hotel and was adopting a child from the very orphanage that Kelly had resided in before her own adoption.

But, just like life, things do not run smoothly. Clare’s baby, Phoenix, is ill and may be kept from adoption; Mom did not apply for permission to visit the orphanage; and Kelly, who’d been convinced that her mother had been keeping her dad away, learns the real reason for his absence.  A life-threatening situation finally helps Kelly realize what she has in the way of an identity and that what seems like an end might just be a beginning.

I have always believed that every child should be able to see themselves somewhere in the books, hence the push for diversity in literature.  The Finding Place opens up that door to children who became part of new families through international adoption, here specifically from China.  Kelly’s story and perhaps that of Clare and Phoenix may or may not be similar to those of other girls adopted from China but it provides a starting place for filling in the blanks of their adoption and heritage.  Julie Hartley’s rigourous research (an interview with Julie Hartley at the end of the book will attest to this) provides a more complete background for Kelly’s story, though The Finding Place is still much more than a story of a child’s adoption.  It’s her story, absolutely, but it’s of finding herself: her beginnings, her place as a daughter, friend and niece, and as a part of a broken family.  Her struggles with self-determination and self-acceptance are the greater story of The Finding Place, though China does become the finding place by definition in a far greater manner than mother and daughter probably could ever have imagined.

Not My Girl

by Christy Jordan-Fenton and Margaret Pokiak-Fenton

Illustrated by Gabrielle Grimard

Annick Press

978-1-554516247

36 pp.

Ages 6-9

January, 2014

Last year, Margaret Pokiak-Fenton's first biographic story, Fatty Legs (Annick, 2010), was successfully transformed into a picture book, When I Was Eight (Annick, 2013), reviewed here on April 28, 2013.  This book started the telling of Margaret's delivery to a residential school and her experiences there.  A subsequent book, A Stranger at Home (Annick, 2011) has Margaret, or rather Olemaun as she is known to her family, returning home.  Not My Girl is the poignantly illustrated version of that second book.

Margaret had been sent from her home on Banks Island, part of the Arctic archipelago, to attend a Catholic residential school in Aklavik, North West Territories, almost 750 km away as the crow flies (though I'm sure Margaret's journey was far more arduous). Two years later she returns to her home.  Not surprising, when her mother sees her daughter, now with shortened hair, wearing clothes and shoes unfamiliar in their community, she shouts out, "Not my girl!" (pg. 3)

Thankfully, a warm welcome from her father, calling her Olemaun again, has her mother and siblings joining in that accepting embrace.  But no matter how much Olemaun wants to fit back into her family, her stomach is unaccepting of their food, the sled dogs don't recognize her scent and she has forgotten her language and the skills she'd learned as a child.  Her disappointment even leads to negligence when she keeps a new pup from his mother, almost causing his death.  But with patience and practice, both mother and daughter find their way back to each other, and the words, "My girl!" (pg. 35) spoken with pride again.

Margaret Pokiak-Fenton dedicates this book as follows:

"For all the children still trying to find their way home.  May you each discover a way to step out from the darkness behind you into the light ahead." (pg. 36)  

She obviously can recall the darkness of the residential school trials and knows of the difficulties associated with going home as a child altered by her experiences.  It is only with the love of her family and the connections with those who were similarly displaced that Olemaun/Margaret was able to find her way home.  While A Stranger at Home indicates that the process of that acceptance was much more complex than illustrated in Not My Girl, the selection of anecdotes here presents a general impression of those struggles without overwhelming younger readers with the horrors and emotional pain that were inevitable.  Gabrielle Grimard's multi-faceted illustrations display that same complexity of spirit, using pencil, gouache, watercolour and even oil paint. There are subtle details in watercolour, the brights of gouache and the depth of oil.  But it's Gabrielle Grimard's drawings of people that convey the breadth of emotions with just the simplest of strokes.  The sorrow and disappointment that must have been part of Olemaun/Margaret's homecoming are evident in the eyes, the turned cheek, the frowning lips.  But just as striking are the brilliant dance of the northern lights and the snow-flying dog-sledding.

Take Not My Girl as a biographic telling of a dark history for Olemaun/Margaret and so many Aboriginal People but experience the lesson of how a little girl and her family were able to turn to the light eventually and together.  The hope for that light is in the words and the illustrations of Not My Girl, and not to be missed.