Shadow
By: Blaise Cendrars
Illustrated by: Marcia Brown
Medal Winner
NOT REVIEWED
Shadow lives in the forest . . .
It goes forth at night
to prowl around the fires.
It even likes to mingle
with the dancers . . .
Shadow . . .
It waves with the grasses,
curls up at the foot of trees . . .
But in the African experience Shadow is much more. The village storytellers and shamans of an Africa that is passing into memory called forth for the poet Blaise Cendrars an eerie image, shifting between the beliefs of the present and the spirits of the past..
Shadow . . .
It does not cry out,
it has no voice . . .
It can cast a spell over you . . .
It follows man everywhere,
even to war . . .
Marcia Brown's stunning illustrations in collage, inspired by her travels in Africa, evoke the atmosphere and drama of a life now haunted, now enchanted by Shadow.
From the dust jacket
A Chair for My Mother
By: Vera B. Williams
Honor
Reviewed by: Sherry Early
Also read and recommended by: Lara Lleverino
A Chair for My Mother is a beautiful homely story about a girl whose family experiences a fire in their apartment. No one is hurt, but all of their possessions are destroyed in the fire. Their community and family come together to give them things to help them start again, but the one things they don’t have is a soft, comfortable chair for the girl’s mother to relax in after a hard day of work at the diner. So the family begins to save up their money in a big jar to buy a chair for mother (and grandmother who lives with them). It’s such a good book about a working class family and about how families work together to manage their money and save for something important.
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When I Was Young in the Mountains
By: Cynthia Rylant
Illustrated by: Diane Goode
Honor
NOT REVIEWED
When I was young in the mountains, Grandfather came home in the evening covered with the black dust of a coal mine. Only his lips were clean, and he used them to kiss the top of my head.
Growing up in the mountains was special. Grandmother made hot corn bread and fried okra. There were trips to the swimming hole and Crawford's store.
Each pleasure was one to share—and remember. And each is part of a gentle story, illuminated with perceptively happy paintings, that evokes the love of a way of life, of a family, and most of all, of a place.
From the dust jacket
