Fairy Tales with a Black Consciousness: Essays on Adaptations of Familiar Stories 0786471298, 9780786471294

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Fairy Tales with a Black Consciousness

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Fairy Tales with a Black Consciousness Essays on Adaptations of Familiar Stories Edited by VIVIAN YENIKA-AGBAW, RUTH MCKOY LOWERY and LARETTA HENDERSON

McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers Jefferson, North Carolina, and London

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Fairy tales with a Black consciousness : essays on adaptations of familiar stories / edited by Vivian Yenika-Agbaw, Ruth McKoy Lowery and Laretta Henderson. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-7864-7129-4 softcover : acid free paper 1. Fairy tales—Adaptations—History and criticism. 2. African Americans—Folklore. I. Yenika-Agbaw, Vivian S., editor of compilation. II. Lowery, Ruth McKoy, 1966– editor of compilation. III. Henderson, Laretta, editor of compilation. PN3437.F46 2013 398.2089'96073—dc23 2013016660 BRITISH LIBRARY

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© 2013 Vivian Yenika-Agbaw, Ruth McKoy Lowery and Laretta Henderson. All rights reserved No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. Front cover image: the old tower with a balcony and roses (iStockphoto/Thinkstock) Manufactured in the United States of America

McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers Box 611, Jefferson, North Carolina 28640 www.mcfarlandpub.com

To my family (Vivian) To the memory of my mother, Albertha McKoy (Ruth) To Cynthia Lewis, an advisor, colleague and friend (Laretta)

Acknowledgments This work would not have been possible without the support of our families, friends, colleagues, administrators, and the interlibrary loan staff at The Pennsylvania State University, who made sure we had access to the relevant resources in a timely manner. In addition,  a special thank you goes first to the reviewers of the proposals whose recommendations made this project a reality. A book is nothing without the dedication of the authors; for that reason, we wish to thank all the contributors who worked diligently on their essays and have been conscientious and timely in responding to suggestions and editorial reminders to bring this project to fruition. We owe a lot of gratitude to our families. Vivian extends a special thanks to her children, Yenik, Luma and Joy, for their encouragement as always and their unconditional, unwavering love and support, and to her mother, who taught her that all things are possible with love, faith and prayer. She would also like to thank Brenda Randolph and Meena Khorana whose guidance and support keep her grounded in African literary traditions. Ruth would like to thank Saul, Dandre and Deandra for their steadfast love while understanding and cheering her through the process. She also extends heartfelt love and gratitude to her father, Henry McKoy, Sr., for his unceasing prayers. Laretta applauds her cheerleaders — Shanti Roundtree and Derral Anderson — for their undying love and support. And, as always, she thanks Cynthia Lewis whose guidance and scholarship still inform her work. vi

Table of Contents Acknowledgments

vi

Introduction: Multiculturalism and Children’s Literature VIVIAN YENIKA-AGBAW

1

Constructing Race in Traditional European Tales: Pinkney’s Characters at Cross-Cultural Borders VIVIAN YENIKA-AGBAW, RITAM DUTTA and ANNETTE GREGERSON

13

Pinkney’s Aesop Fable: Illustrating Cultures from Outside/Inside JOY MENESS, VIVIAN YENIKA-AGBAW and XIRU DU

31

Old Tales in New Clothing: Isadora Peddles Exotic Africa? VIVIAN YENIKA-AGBAW and LAURA ANNE HUDOCK

43

The Pied Piper of the Harlem Renaissance: Colin Bootman’s The Steel Pan Man of Harlem KATHARINE CAPSHAW SMITH

60

Not All Cinderellas Wear Glass Slippers: A Critical Analysis of Selected Cinderella Variants from the Black Perspective DEBORAH L. THOMPSON

74

Told with Soul: Joyce Carol Thomas’s When the Nightingale Sings as a Revision of the Cinderella Story DIANNE JOHNSON

92

Caribbean Folk Tales and African Oral Tradition RUTH MCKOY LOWERY

101

Afro-Latin Folktales and Legends DELLITA L. MARTIN-OGUNSOLA

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Moving West with Ananse NANCY D. TOLSON

145

Masks in Storytelling, or How Pretty Salma Turned the “Tale” on Mr. Dog BARBARA A. LEHMAN

159

Selected Black Animated Fairy Tales from Coal Black to Happily Ever After, 1943–2000 RICHARD M. BREAUX

173

“Snow White in Africa”: Afrocentric Ideology in Marilyn Shearer’s Tale TYLER SCOTT SMITH

186

Black Aesthetics in Revised African American Fairy Tales LARETTA HENDERSON

201

Conclusion: Traditional Tales and Children — Nurturing Competent, Imaginative, Cultural and Critical Readers VIVIAN YENIKA-AGBAW, RUTH MCKOY LOWERY and LARETTA HENDERSON

222

About the Contributors

227

Index

231

Introduction: Multiculturalism and Children’s Literature VIVIAN YENIKA-AGBAW

While discourses of multiculturalism have existed for more than four decades, there seems to be a certain urgency to revisit them in academia. The reason is simple: globalization. At first, the dialogue might have been limited to domestic spaces within nations or continents. Today, it can no longer be so, for technology and new media have made the world smaller with people moving back and forth within cultural spaces physically and virtually. Globalization, though with its own challenges, has created opportunities for scholars to engage once more in what it means to live in a culturally diverse world. In regard to children’s literature as a discipline, there are some implications. First, there is the concern about how it would further marginalize non– Western people and cultures whose literary practices are still rooted in oral traditions. Thus, there is a risk of having their literary cultural spaces usurped by outsiders with access to the printed word and to the technologies that make texts available in multiple forms. Secondly, as Taxel notes, the degree of commercialization involved in the publishing process of tradebooks for children would further marginalize these groups. In addition, since “tradebook literature for young people” [is] “now almost universally accepted as a fixture in K–12 classrooms,” publishers encounter “an array of forces and pressures that influence both the kinds of books that are written and the way they are received and perceived by the public” (Taxel 146). This response has generated a new culturally diverse body of “fairy” tales that are recreated in picture books, novels, and other formats. Some examples of tales that are re-imagined in picture books include Susan Lowell’s (2001) Cindy Ellen: A Wild Western 1

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Cinderella; Alan Schroeder’s (2000) Smoky Mountain Rose: An Appalachian Cinderella; Rebecca Hickox’s (1999) The Golden Sandal: A Middle Eastern Cinderella Story; Ellen Jackson’s (1998) Cindy Edna; Frances Minters’ (1997) Cinder-Elly; and Babette Cole’s (1997) Prince Cinders. A few examples that have appeared in novels for preadolescent and adolescent readers include Gail Carson Levine’s (2004) Ella Enchanted [Cinderella]; Donna Jo Napoli’s (2004) Beast [Beauty and the Beast], (1999) Spinners [Rumpelstiltskin], (1998) Zel [Rapunzel], (1994) The Prince and the Pond [The Frog Prince] and (1995) The Magic Circle [Hansel and Gretel]; and the novels in Neal Shusterman’s Dark Fusion series. A handful have also appeared as graphic novels, such as Tyler, Tedesco, and Rio’s (2006) Grimm Fairy Tales. The proliferation of re-imagined fairy tales speaks to the profitability of the genre, and calls for multicultural literature in the global context and its growing place in K–12 classrooms and libraries. While scholars (Barbara Krantrowitz and Deborah Witherspoon, 1988; Joe Winston, 1994; Linnea Hendrickson, 2000; Hillary Crews, 2002; Linda Parsons, 2004; Elizabeth Marshall, 2004; Vanessa Joosen, 2005) have studied the contents of retellings with a gender spin, interrogating their socio-cultural significance, discussing their literary appropriateness, and commenting on their possible impact on children, there is limited research on race-based retellings.1 This absence of formal research does not mean, however, that there are not traditional tales out there that have been retold from multiethnic or multiracial perspectives. Rather, it suggests a certain degree of urgency for scholars to conduct studies on how race is used as a signifier in fairy tales. Such a project, moreover, requires an understanding of multicultural discourses in children’s literature as expounded by Mingshui Cai (2002), Violet Harris (1997; 1992; 1990), Rudine Sims Bishop (1992) and John Stephens (1990; 1999), and other multicultural discourses that are explicitly racially or culturally conscious such as Critical Race Theory (Ladson-Billings, 1998) and critical multiculturalism (bell hooks, 1984; Henry Giroux, 1992; 2002; Michael Eric Dyson, 2004; Christine Sleeter and Dolores Delgado Bernal 2004; Botelho and Rudman, 2009). Nonetheless, these are not the only multicultural perspectives that exist. They simply reflect how the discourses have served some scholars involved with multicultural literature for children in general and multicultural education in the United States. In this book, we discuss the different Black cultural retellings of traditional tales and the multicultural ideology that informs each. While we may be partial toward Critical Race Theory because of its interrogation of essentialist ideas that may surface in some culturally conscious literature, we recognize the anti-racist agenda that is at the core of most multicultural discourses.

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Additionally, it may be helpful to acknowledge that multiculturalism, though a “floating signifier” (Debra Dudek, 2006; Hall 1996), focuses on issues of race and ethnicity and marginalization ( James Bank, 2004), which, again, is what differentiates the retelling herein from other revised folktales. Hall (1996) also postulates that in essence it is difficult for people to live in a society with so much diversity “without eating the other.” In his review of multicultural education literature, Banks (1993) observes five dimensions of multiculturalisms.2 This notwithstanding, he admits that the idea of multiculturalism is in a constant state of flux. While his focus is on multiculturalism and how it influences the American educational system and the curriculum, we find it still relevant, for children’s literature is, or should be, an integral component of the literacy curriculum in school districts across the United States. Education, race and culture are therefore all intertwined, and as Dudek (2006) rightly observes in her insightful article on the powerful role critical multiculturalism as a lens may play in meaning construction, “culture is anchored to race ... [thus] in a racist culture, culture is racialized” (3). Maybe at this point I must remind readers that multiculturalism is sanctioned in different societies in the West particularly in North America as a result of the racial and ethnic diversity of its population, a reality that is embedded in the history of the nations. Understanding that there are a variety of definitions or interpretations of multiculturalism (Banks, 1993; Cai, 2002; Gunew, 2004) with different theorists seeking out ways to fight racism, I share briefly three perspectives of multiculturalism that inform our analysis of the traditional tales discussed in this volume: the melting pot, the culturally conscious, and the Afrocentric views. All three are evident in Black children’s literature in general, and specifically in the re-imagined tales discussed herein. Next, I comment on how some scholars within the humanities and education have applied theories of multiculturalism in their research in the United States. Our goal is to demonstrate that while there may not be many picture book adaptations of “Black” traditional tales in print, the few that exist demand the critical attention of educators and scholars of children’s literature.

Multicultural Perspectives In her groundbreaking book Shadows and Substance: Afro-American in Contemporary Fiction, Rudine Sims (1982) discusses three types of stories published about African Americans between 1965 and 1979. These include social conscience books, melting pot books, and culturally conscious books. These

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categories capture three major approaches to how multiculturalism continues to be applied to children’s literature in education. As stated above, this book is concerned primarily with the last two categories: “melting pot” and “culturally conscious books”; in the first instance, for its focus on the universal (approach), and the second, for its emphasis on the uniqueness of Black culture. According to Sims (1982), “books which probably were written for both Black and White readers on the assumption that both need to be informed that nonwhite children are exactly like other American children, except for the color of their skins” (15) fall under the melting pot category. Culturally conscious books differ in that they “attempt to reflect and illuminate both the uniqueness and the universal humanness of the Afro-American experience from the perspective of an Afro-American child and family” (Sims, 1982, 15). The third, and overarching perspective is Afrocentricity. Usually associated with Asante (1998), afrocentricity insists on “cultural centeredness” (8) that places “African ideals at the center of any analysis” (2). It is relevant as an analytical construct in this book in that it places Black experiences at the center of the narratives and includes Black readers as part of the target audience, especially given the understanding that multiculturalism can be traced back to the civil rights movement. Within contemporary American society there are scholars who have insisted that the school curriculum should emphasize a common culture. Diane Ravitch (1991; 2001; 2005) has argued passionately in support of this position: The historic mission of the American public schools — the common schools — has been to help forge a national identity that all Americans share. And the increasing diversity of our population makes it even more imperative that our schools teach children what we as Americans have in common [1991, 8–9].

Another proponent of a common culture is The English Reader: What Every Literature Person Needs to Know, written by Ravitch and her son, in which they demonstrate that we all have a collective literary history, which acts as a basis on which famous authors have built their legacies. This notion of a “common culture” is reinforced by E.D. Hirsch, founder of the “Core Knowledge Foundation,” author of Cultural Literacy: What Every American Needs to Know (1988), and co-author of The Dictionary of Cultural Literacy (1993) and The New Dictionary of Cultural Literacy (2002). As the debate rages on, it has become evident that the “culture in common” that is being advocated for is implicitly rooted within the Anglo-Saxon traditions, echoing Ghassan Hage’s (1998) skepticism about the dominant culture’s (in this case, White, Western cultural dominance of the school’s curriculum) tolerance in situations when they are not in control. These Eurocentric traditions that inform White, Western practices in America and that have shaped ways of

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knowing and seeing have not only been elevated as the universal culture, but also serve as the normative standard against which other cultures — non– White/non–Western — are measured. In an attempt therefore to propagate an inclusive cultural paradigm, advocates of the melting pot theory or “common culture” inadvertently encourage a curriculum that renders non–White cultures invisible or at best marginalized —It is there but as an elective. For this reason, culturally conscious theories become attractive to us as they are to the aforementioned scholars interested in a “common culture.” Ironically, an inclusive agenda is also at the core of the multicultural discourses that inform culturally conscious practices, and, like the melting pot situation, there can be limitations depending on how “culturally conscious” is interpreted. One that stands out is Afrocentricism, a multicultural discourse that makes no qualms about the value it places on pre-colonial African cultural values (Asante, 1998). Advocates of this multicultural perspective argue that “the Eurocentric writer, whether black or white, seeks to undermine African agency” (Asante, 1998, 177). In addition, they do not believe that the Eurocentric curriculum that is reflected through its numerous euphemisms (one being “universal”) takes into consideration or values African ways of knowing, seeing, thinking, and of doing things. Asante (1997) notes, The Afrocentrist seeks to uncover and use codes, paradigms, symbols, centrality of African ideals and values as a valid frame of reference for acquiring and examining data. Such a method appears to go beyond Western history in order to revalorize the African place in the interpretation of Africans, continental and diaspora [71].

Another variation of this perspective is an Africana multiculturalism that emphasizes what James Turner describes as “‘African continuum and African consociations which posits fundamental interconnections in the global Black experience’” (as quoted by Reiland Rabaka, 2006, 130). Advocates of this specific cultural lens see some cultural interconnectedness across Black cultures in the continent and in the African diaspora. According to Rabaka (2006), Africana theorists ... argue that consequent to holocaust, enslavement, and as Fanon ... and Ngugi ... note, physical and psychological colonization, Africana peoples have been systematically socialized and ideologically educated to view and value the world and to think and act employing a European imperial modus operandi. This means, then, that many Africana people in the modern moment have internalized not simply imperial thought and practices but, to put it plainly, anti–African thought and practices [131].

Rabaka (2006) recommends the use of Black theories to interpret Black behavior, a notion he believes is consistent with the Africana multicultural lens, and, we suggest, Afrocentric multicultural lens.

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The final and more widely accepted multicultural perspective usually associated with culturally conscious texts in recent years is Critical Race Theory and critical multiculturalism, perspectives that can also be identified with Intercultural Education (Grant and Portera, 2011). Advocates of CRT emphasize the fact that race is a social construct usually embedded in a nation’s history and call for multiculturalism that interrogates notions of race as a biological construct. In so doing, it gives scholars an opportunity to engage in a dialogue on the multiple realities of individuals within racial, gender, sexual and more categories and how the different realities may shape one’s reality in a particular context. While CRT acknowledges the differences that exist among people grouped within one race, critical multiculturalism according to Dudek (2006) reinforces this by allowing readers to “flesh out ideologies of race” in texts, examining “how race underpins culture within narratives of multiculturalism” (2).

Multiculturalism and the Scholarship of Children’s Literature While these theories of multiculturalism exist scholarship on children’s literature remains White and is steeped within the Anglo Saxon academic traditions as well. This is evident in essays in top journals in the field ranging from those that focus on the literary aspects of the British and American literary texts of children’s literature, to others that apply literary theories such as feminism and postmodernism to these canons. There is little debate on issues of multiculturalism or cultural diversity, and if at all, this dialogue is usually spearheaded by outsiders of the cultural groups in question.3 While it is true that journals that serve primarily scholars in the humanities are slowly giving children’s literature high visibility and respectability in the English discipline, it is also troubling that their dialogue is often limited to and framed within Eurocentric discourses. Within this exclusive club, scholars of children’s literature evidently seem to take delight in talking to themselves about books in abstraction with little regard as to whose voices are excluded from the conversation or whose books are given cultural capital. In addition, one wonders if we ever for a moment reflect on how we may be perpetuating this “White” scholarship in our discourse at the expense of our multi-racial, -ethnic and -cultural communities of children. Further divisions in children’s literature scholarship exist in the academic affiliation of researchers. In education, children’s literature is considered a tool that enables children to learn to read and further understand their world, as

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opposed to it being art, as in the case of scholars in the humanities. In the social sciences, the issue shifts from one of researchers joining the AngloSaxon academic club to one of hopping on the multicultural bandwagon that is heading everywhere and nowhere in particular (Ladson-Billings and Tate, 1995). While studies on representations remain paramount, many educators and social scientists interested in children’s literature utilize content analysis “through which the research counts the characters, then defines the activities or images in the book” (Marshall, 2004, 259) according to racial stereotypes, remain a preferred methodology, there is also a plethora of research on the universal aspects of childhood in literature.4 However, some scholars have taken issue with this emphasis, noting that oftentimes “the universal” is synonymous with White, middle class mainstream culture (for more on this see Sims, 1982; Bishop, 2007; Yenika-Agbaw, 2008). In addition, Ladson-Billings and Tate (1995) attest that such a “view tends to discount anything that is nontranscendent (historical), or contextual (socially constructed), or nonuniversal (specific) with the unscholarly labels of ‘emotional,’ ‘literary,’ ‘personal,’ or ‘false’” (57). Such studies advocate for readers to respect and tolerate one another, in spite of racial, ethnic or cultural differences. The implication in these kinds of studies, therefore, is that while we acknowledge that differences exist, we should refrain from interrogating these differences, even if they contribute to the underlying tension we face as a group of people. Ladson-Billings (1998) challenges this view, noting that it promotes passivity, for rather than engage students in provocative thinking about the contradictions of U.S. ideals and lived realities, teachers often find themselves encouraging students to sing “ethnic” songs, eat ethnic foods, and do ethnic dances. Consequently, manifestations of multicultural education in the classroom are superficial and trivial celebrations of diversity [22].

Unfortunately, this is the brand of multiculturalism that currently dominates our school curriculum. Reluctant or afraid of disrupting the lackadaisical culture of a public school classroom, teachers who cherish diversity and who would like to include multicultural literature as part of their curriculum may privilege this brand, stocking their class libraries with books that exoticize or universalize unfamiliar cultures under the multicultural ideology of tolerance. Without a benefit of a “grand conversation” (Peterson and Eeds, 2007) children who find themselves in such classrooms are then made to understand that two kinds of people exist: those whose culture is alien and weird and those whose culture is familiar and superior. This is a brand of multiculturalism Ladson-Billings and Tate (1995) have dismissed for its “political philosophy

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of ‘many cultures’ existing together in an atmosphere of respect and tolerance” (61). Thus, without realizing it, schoolteachers are encouraging readers to uncritically accept these cultures as represented; the child readers are expected to respect and tolerate the cultures without question, even when some aspects unsettle them or contradict their lived experiences. Ladson-Billings and Tate (1995) posit further, Today, the term is used interchangeably with the ever-expanding “diversity” a term used to explain all types of “difference”— racial, ethnic, cultural, linguistic, ability, gender, sexual orientation. Thus, popular music, clothes, media, books, and so forth, reflect a growing awareness of diversity and/or multiculturalism. Less often discussed are the growing tensions that exist between and among various groups that gather under the umbrella of multiculturalism — that is, the interests of groups can be competing or their perspectives can be at odds [61– 62].

The fluidity in meaning and in the usage of the term (multiculturalism) has compromised its utility as a critical tool that can serve scholars who are actually engaged in a social justice mission. Above all, it dilutes its effectiveness as a tool to discuss and explore issues of race in children’s literature, since race has been relegated to the background where it competes for space in the prefix “multi-” in discourses of multiculturalism. This is unacceptable! Hence, this book attempts to raise readers’ awareness of how Blackness is constructed in picture book retellings of traditional tales by both “insiders” and outsiders. There are thirteen essays in this volume, focusing on retellings that represent the universal aspects of human experience; drawing attention to critical and cultural ways of knowing, grounded in Critical Race Theory; and exploring Afrocentricism as a cultural way of knowing that is in direct opposition to Eurocentricism — oftentimes equated to universalism. While the authors do not necessarily use these terminologies their analyses imply cultural lenses that are embedded in one or more of these frameworks. Our discussions of these tales often converge or overlap as contributors situate their analysis within historical literary traditions or contemporary literary discourses. In the conclusion, we situate these retellings within the context of globalization while reiterating the anti-racist or social justice agenda of multicultural discourses. This agenda, we believe, should be of particular interest to scholars of children’s literature in both the humanities and social sciences. It provides ample opportunity for scholarly and practical discourses in children’s literature that place children and their cultures at the center to not only coexist but to be more relevant in this age of globalization, as they seek to create possibilities for all children. It evokes a sense of social responsibility that becomes even more exciting when we acknowledge all voices — our multicul-

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tural reality — in all its complexities, text forms and cultural manifestations, for as an overriding theme of a mentor’s conference once stated, “Children’s literature matters!” We can no longer tell ourselves that its utility ends only as an art form, since it touches lives in ways that go beyond the scope of this book. We have made a concerted effort to stay away from discourses of “authenticity” because, as Hickey and Wylie (1993) profess, “all too often it is grounded in an oversimplified vision of the African past and ultimately reproduces, albeit in positive rhetorical form, the very paradigm which is designed to refute” (31). It has also been accused of essentializing culture. While we speak directly to some extent to teacher educators and pre- or in-service teachers, the issues we raise and interrogate are interdisciplinary in nature and will appeal to scholars in the humanities and social sciences as well. The book, though limited in scope, we believe renders an important service to the children’s literature discipline and Black studies in general. We hope readers will rethink their attitudes toward “Black” fairy tales, their understanding of their functions in contemporary society and their role in the official school curriculum. As part of the “master script,” perhaps these texts may begin to fill in gaps that currently exist in the curriculum, by introducing missing voices (Swartz, 1992). It is not, however, our aim to paint an image of a monolithic African culture. On the contrary, we seek to reveal its complexity and nuances that would force readers to contemplate the question “Who are these people?”

NOTES 1. Bascom’s (1992) African Folk Tale in the New World attempts to do this. Also, France Widdance Twine’s (2000) “Feminist Fairy Tales for Black and American Indian Girls: A Working-Class Vision. Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society 25.4 pp. 1227–30, Summer. 2. The five dimensions include “content integration, knowledge construction, prejudice reduction, equity pedagogy, and an empowering school culture and social structure.” 3. For example, Western scholars writing articles on indigenous literatures and cultures. 4. Content analysis maybe seen as a simplistic method; but several scholars continue to use this method in their research on representation.

WORKS CITED Asante, Molefi. 1997. “Afrocentricity and the Quest for Method.” Africana Studies: A Disciplinary Quest for Both Theory and Method. Ed. James Conyers. Jefferson, NC: McFarland. _____. 1998. The Afrocentric Idea. Revised and Expanded Edition. Philadelphia: Temple University Press.

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Banks, James. 1993. “Historical Development, Dimension and Practice.” Review Research in Education 19, 3–49. http://links.jstor.org/sici?sici=0091-732x%28/993% Retrieved July 26, 2011. _____. 2004. “Teaching for Social Justice, Diversity, and Citizenship in a Global World.” The Education Forum 68.4, 296. Bishop, Rudine S. 1992. “Multicultural Literature for Children: Making Informed Choices.” Teaching Multicultural Literature in Grades K–8. Ed. Violet J. Harris. Norwood, MA: Christopher-Gordon. 37–53. _____. 1997. “Selecting Multicultural Literature for a Multicultural Curriculum.” Using Multiethnic Literature in the K–8 Classroom. Ed. Violet J. Harris. Norwood, MA: Christopher-Gordon. 1–19. _____. 2007. Free Within Ourselves: The Development of African American Children’s Literature. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann, 2007. Botelho, Maria, and Masha Rudman. 2009. Critical Multicultural Analysis of Children’s Literature: Mirrors, Windows, and Doors. New York: Routledge. Cai, Mingshui. 1994. “Images of Chinese and Chinese Americans Mirrored in Picture Books.” Children’s Literature in Education 25.3, 169–195. _____. 2002. Multicultural Literature for Children and Young Adults: Reflections on Critical Issues. Westport, CT: Greenwood. Crew, Hillary. 2002. “Spinning New Tales from Traditional Texts: Donna Jo Napoli and the Rewriting of Fairy Tale.” Children’s Literature in Education 33.2, 77–94. Dudek, Debra. 2006. “Dogboys and Lost Things or Anchoring a Floating Signifier: Race and Critical Multiculturalism.” Ariel: A Review of International English Literature. 37.4, 1–20. Dyson, Michael Eric. 2004. The Michael Eric Dyson Reader. New York: Basic Civitas Books. Galda, Lee, and Bernice Cullinan. 2002. Literature and the Child, 5th ed. Belmont, CA: Wadsworth Thomson Learning. Giroux, Henry. 1992. Border Crossings: Cultural Workers and the Politics of Education. New York: Routledge. _____. 2002. Breaking Into the Movies: Film and the Culture of Politics. Malden, MA: Blackwell. Grant, Carl, and Agostino Portera. 2011. “Enchanting Darkness: The American Vision of Africa.” Intercultural and Multicultural Education: Enhancing Global Interconnectedness. New York: Routledge. Gunew, Sneja. 1994. Framing Marginality: Multicultural Literary Studies. Carlton: Melbourne University Press. _____. 2004. Haunted Nations: The Colonial Dimensions of Multiculturalisms. London: Routledge. Hage, Ghassan. 1998. White Nations: Fantasies of White Supremacy in a Multicultural Society. Sydney: Pluto Press. Hall, Stuart. 1966. Race, the Floating Signifier. Video. Prod. and dir. Sut Jhally. The Media Foundation. Harris, Violet. 1990. “African American Children’s Literature: The First Hundred Years.” Journal of Negro Education 29.4, 540–555. _____, ed. 1992. Teaching Multicultural Literature in Grades K–8. Norwood, MA: Christopher-Gordon. _____, ed. 1997. Using Multiethnic Literature in the K–8 Classroom. Norwood, MA : Christopher-Gordon. Hendrickson, Linnea. 2003. “The View from Rapunzel’s Tower?” Children’s Literature in Education 31.4, 209–223. Hickey, Dennis, and Kenneth Wylie. 1993. An Enchanting Darkness: The American Vision of Africa in the Twentieth Century. East Lansing: Michigan State University.

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Hirsch, E. D. 1988. Cultural Literacy: What Every American Needs to Know, 1st ed. New York: Vintage. _____, Joseph Kett, and James Trefil. 2002. The New Dictionary of Cultural Literacy, rev. updated ed. New York: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. hooks, bell. 1984. Feminist Theory: From Margin to Center. Cambridge, MA: South End Press. Hurley, Dorothy. 2005. “Seeing White: Children of Color and the Disney Fairy Tale Princess.” The Journal of Negro Education 74.3, 221–232. Joosen, Vanessa. 2005. “Fairy-tale Retellings Between Art and Pedagogy.” Children’s Literature in Education 36.2, 129–139. Krantrowitz, Barbara, and Deborah Witherspoon. 1988. “Fractured Fairy Tales.” Newsweek ( July 8), 64. Ladson-Billings, Gloria. 1998. “Just What Is Critical Race Theory and What’s It Doing in a Nice Field Like Education?” Qualitative Studies in Education 11.1, 7–24. Ladson-Billings, Gloria, and William Tate IV. 1995. “Toward a Critical Race Theory of Education.” Teachers College Record 97.1, 47–68. Marshall, Elizabeth. 2004. “Stripping the Wolf: Representations of Gender in Children’s Literature.” Reading Research Quarterly 39.3, 256–270. Nodelman, Perry, and Mavis Reimer. 2003. The Pleasures of Children’s Literature, 3d ed. Boston: Allyn and Bacon. Parsons, Linda. 2004. “Ella Evolving: Cinderella Stories and the Construction of Gender Appropriate Behavior.” Children’s Literature in Education 35.2, 135–154. Paul, Lissa. 1987. “Enigma Variations: What Feminist Theory Knows About Children’s Literature.” Signal 54, 186–202. Peterson, Ralph, and Maryann Eeds. 2007. Grand Conversations: Literature Groups in Action. New York: Scholastic. Rabaka, Reiland. 2006. “Africana Critical Theory of Contemporary Society: The Role of Radical Politics Social Theory and Africana Philosophy.” Handbook of Black Studies. Ed. Molefi Kete Asante and Maulana Karenga. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Ravitch, Diane. 1991. “A Culture in Common.” Educational Leadership 49.4, 8–11. _____. 2001. “Ex Uno Plures: Public Schools Once Taught a Common Culture. Now They Try to Teach Every Culture.” Education Next, 27–29. _____, ed. 2005. Brookings Papers on Education Policy, rev. ed. Washington, DC: Brookings Institution Press. Ravitch, Michael, and Diane Ravitch, eds. 2006. The English Reader: What Every Literate Person Needs to Know. New York: Oxford University Press. Shlensinger, Arthur. 1991. “Multiculturalism or Cultural Separatism: The Choice Is Ours.” New Perspectives Quarterly 8, 79. _____. 1998. The Disuniting of America: Reflections on a Multicultural Society. New York: W.W. Norton. Sims, Rudine. 1982. Shadows and Substance: Afro American Experience in Contemporary Children’s Fiction. Urbana: National Council of Teachers of English. Sleeter, Christine, and D. Delgado Bernal. 2004. “Critical Pedagogy, Critical Race Theory, and Antiracist Education: Implications for Multicultural Education.” The Handbook of Research on Multicultural Education. Ed. James A. Banks and Cheryl M. Banks. New York: Macmillan. 240–258. Sloan, Ann, and Silvia Vardell. 2004. “Cinderella and Her Sisters: Variants and Versions.” Happily Ever After: Sharing Folk Literature with Elementary & Middle School Students. Ed. Terrell A. Young. Newark, DE: International Reading Association. Sowell, Thomas. 2010. “The Culture of Multiculturalism.” http://www.edchange.org/mul ticultural/papers/edchange_history.html. Retrieved July 26, 2011. Stephens, John. 1990. “Advocating Multiculturalism: Migrants in Australian Children’s Literature After 1972.” Children’s Literature Association Quarterly 15.4, 180–185.

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_____. 1999. “Continuity, Fissure, or Dysfunction? From Settler Society to Multicultural Society in Australian Fiction.” Voices of the Other: Children’s Literature and the Postcolonial Context. Ed. Roderick McGillis. New York: Garland, 55–70. Swartz, E. 1992. “Emancipatory Narratives: Rewriting the Master Script in the School Curriculum.” Journal of Negro Education. 61, 341–355. Taxel, Joel. 2002. “Children’s Literature at the Turn of the Century: Toward a Political Economy of the Publishing Industry.” Research in the Teaching of English 37.2, 145– 197. Trefil, James, Joseph Kett and E.D. Hirsch. 1988/93. The Dictionary of Cultural Literacy, 2d ed. New York: Houghton Mifflin. Trites, Roberta Seelinger. 1998. Waking Sleeping Beauty: Feminist Voices in Children’s Novels. Iowa City: University of Iowa Press. Winston, Joe. 1994. “Revising the Fairy Tale Through Magic: Antonia Barbaer’s The Enchanted Daughter.” Children’s Literature in Education 25.2, 101–111. Yenika-Agbaw, Vivian. 2008. Representing Africa in Children’s Literature: Old and New Ways of Seeing. New York: Routledge.

CHILDREN’S BOOKS CITED Coles, Babette. 1997. Prince Cinders. New York: Puffin. Hickox, Rebecca. 1999. The Golden Sandal: A Middle Eastern Cinderella Story. Illustrated by Will Hillenbrand. New York: Holiday House. Jackson, Ellen. 1998. Cindy Edna. Illustrated by Kevin O’Malley. New York: HarperCollins. Levine, Gail Carson. 1997/2004. Ella Enchanted. New York: HarperTeen. Lowell, Susan. 2001. Cindy-Ellen: A Wild Western Cinderella. Illustrated by Jane Manning. New York: HarperCollins. Minters, Frances. 1997. Cinder-Elly. Illustrated by Brian Karas. New York: Puffin. Napoli, Donna Jo. 1993/95. The Magic Circle. New York: Dutton Juvenile. _____. 1994. The Prince and the Pond. Illustrated by Judith Byron Schroeder. _____. 1998. Zel. New York: Puffin. _____. 1999. Spinners. New York: Dutton Juvenile. _____. 2004. Beauty and the Beast. New York: Simon Pulse. Schroeder, Alan. 2000. Smoky Mountain Rose: An Appalachian Cinderella. Illustrated by Brad Sneed. New York: Puffin. Tyler, Joe, Ralph Tedesco and Al Rio. 2006. Grimm Fairy Tales, vol. 1. Artist Joe Dodd. Los Angeles: Zenescope.

Constructing Race in Traditional European Tales Pinkney’s Characters at Cross-Cultural Borders VIVIAN YENIKA-AGBAW, RITAM DUTTA and ANNETTE GREGERSON

Jerry Pinkney is not only one of the most renowned and beloved illustrators in the world of children’s books but also one who has influenced the discipline to some degree. Through his art, we are able to see and recognize the contributions of African Americans in nation building (John Henry; Minty: A Story of Young Harriet Tubman); understand their historical struggles (The Old African; Journey’s with Elijah); and gain respect for their family traditions (The Patchwork Quilt; Tanya’s Reunion; Mirandy and Brother Wind; Goin’ Some Place Special). He has published extensively both for African Americans and the general population. For this he has won several awards, including the much-coveted Caldecott Medal. We have also come to respect and admire him for the fresh spin he brings to his retelling of traditional European tales, some of which have earned him more prestigious awards. One reason he gives for retelling these tales is that he likes to expose children to some of his old-time favorites — stories he remembers hearing as a child. Pinkney has succeeded in accomplishing this task. Award-winning journalist Doreen Carvajal (2001) observes that Pinkney is one of the few illustrators who has “had sales of 125,000 copies” of a particular picture book. In our consumer-driven culture, this marks success as well as wide distribution. In this essay, we examine three of Pinkney’s picture book retellings of traditional tales. Our aim is to understand his use of race as a “floating sig13

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nifier” (Dudek, 2006) in his versions of traditional tales. These tales construct black characters as racially diverse or ambiguous within specific historical periods or regions across the globe, though they explore universal themes. We deliberately selected The Little Match Girl (1999/2002), The Nightingale (2002), and Little Red Riding Hood (2007) because of the shift in the constructions of race in these books. There is also an undercurrent of “passing,” sometimes understood as one’s ability to cross racial boundaries either cognizant or incognizant of the ability to pass and the advantages it may bring. We believe like Sinead Moynihan (2010) that passing is a phenomenon, though “typically associated with a period stretching from post–Reconstruction to the Civil Rights Movement (the 1890s to the 1960s), or even more specifically, yoked to the years of the Harlem Renaissance,” that still exists (2). Passing can be described as a type of racial ambiguity, a trope that is evident in Pinkney’s picture books. As we explore his retellings we pose the following question: Do these texts “invoke passing at both a narrative and meta-narrative level in order to reflect upon the politics of the literary marketplace” ( Moynihan, 2010, 21–22)? We believe they do, although they also work to give voices to children who remain at the margin because of their race or cultures that defy distinct socio-political categorizations.

Racial Passing Theories Stuart Hall (1996) argues that “race is one of the principal forms of human classification” and that classification and power work hand in hand. Classification, he insinuates further, is also a way of maintaining order in any system. Citing Mary Douglas’ concept of “atter-out-of-place,” he contends that anything that breaks classification is disturbing for the existing social order and hierarchy. Racial passing as a phenomenon therefore can be unsettling since it defies clear racial classifications. For Moynihan, Passing has resurfaced in fictions that are described as “postmodern” because it is a useful meta-critical and meta-fictional tool. Contemporary American writers are attracted to the trope of passing because passing narratives have always foregrounded the notion of textuality in relation to the (il)legibility of “black” subjects passing as [W]hite [5].

The narratives also suggest more interests in identity construction particularly along racial lines. In Near Black: White-to-Black Passing in American Culture, Dreisinger discusses the cultural significance of both White and Black passing from a historical stance. Passing, he posits, is one’s ability to function as White within a racialized context, which thus works to “destabilize racial identity”

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by allowing those who would be classified as Black to be perceived as White (3). Passing for White, he postulates, is an integral part of American history under the one-drop rule of hyper-descent which states that one who is 1⁄16 Black is Black and therefore a slave.1 Though passing may be restrictive as a theoretical lens given the limited narratives on Black-White passing in contemporary American children’s literature, it is nevertheless a vital aspect of African American history and literature. In addition, Moynihan argues for the use of “passing as an interpretive framework” to particular texts “because the narrative alludes so self-consciously to the conventions of such stories that it must, at the very least, be read as a playful engagement with the subject” (115). The three picture books by Pinkney qualify as such narratives. Our primary aim in this essay is to see how his constructions of race in picture books set in America and Africa have evolved over an eight-year time period. We posit, like Moynihan, that what he is doing may be an example of “the deployment of multiracialism as a branding tool” (6). Thus, in retelling racialized tales from a universal stance that place at the center female characters with “ambiguous” racial or multi-racial identities, Pinkney not only grants visibility to children at racial or multicultural borders but also makes his retellings marketable for a broader audience. In this way, we agree with Linda Schlossberg that passing is not simply about erasure or denial, as it is often castigated but rather, about the creation and establishment of an alternative set of narratives. It becomes a way of creating new stories out of useable ones, or from personal narratives seemingly in conflict with other aspects of self representation. The passing subjects need to create a coherent, plausible narrative to account for his or her past suggests, on a very basic level, that every subject’s history is a work in progress — a set of stories we tell ourselves in order to make sense or coherence out of a frequently confusing and complicated past [2001, 4].

Pinkney’s Universal Tales as Commentaries on Race Like most traditional tales, Pinkney’s retellings explore universal themes that may appeal to readers across race and cultures, although he uses illustrations that make the stories culturally specific to the historical period or geographical region within which he has situated them. In this sense, The Little Match Girl may be read as the story of an impoverished American girl growing up at the turn of the century; The Nightingale as a story of a Moroccan king who is forced to reckon with the wisdom of a kitchen girl, and Little Red Riding Hood as a cautionary tale about talking to strangers. However, these tales can also be seen as a commentary on race within America and Africa,

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even if they might have been intended to be inclusive and universal when it came to reader identification. Pinkney has indicated, especially for The Little Match Girl, that he wanted every child to be able to see himself or herself as the “Little Match Girl.” Her race is intended to be “nebulous” (Hamlin). In the case of The Nightingale, Pinkney acknowledges that it was important to set the story in a region of Africa where nightingales could be found. We do not know much about his reasons for creating Red Riding Hood as bi- or multi-racial, and for setting the story during winter. We can simply speculate that the decision is consistent with his beliefs of having all children being able to identify with classic tales. To us, Little Red Riding Hood presents a little girl who has the stronger physical features of a bi-racial or multi-racial child and, though other reviewers on Amazon.com have commented on this racialized component of the text, the actual identity of the little girl we do not believe is grounded in the verbal and visual narratives of the picture book. Although it is evident that the protagonists for The Little Match Girl and Little Red Riding Hood are little girls, for The Nightingale it is a bit more challenging to identify one. Is the protagonist the dark-skinned king or the anthropomorphic nightingale? In Pinkney’s version it could be either, but there is another seemingly minor player with a significant part in the tale — the little kitchen girl. Her age, about the same as those in the other tales, ties the three retellings together in a common strand. This little girl is more obviously and in keeping with the multi-racial and multi-cultural placement of the story. She is of a multi-racial background, presenting a more nebulous character as in The Little Match Girl. These stories of the lives of three little girls as illustrated and within the fictional contexts are meant to “evoke [a] feeling of universality” (Hamlin), which may seem to be one part of Pinkney’s goal. Pinkney remarks in an interview, “My intent and hope is to lead the viewer into a world that only exists because of that picture. Many of these speak to my culture, while other works are based on my experience of being Black in America” (n.p.). Thus, he fuses his personal, global, national, and historical “selves” in his recreation of these narratives. In each of these tales is a journey undertaken by a small girl. We find that each journey taken is one that negotiates the environment in a physical as well as in a socio-historical manner, and life in general in a racialized and psychological manner.

The Little Match Girl The turn of the century is a significant period in America’s history, which often conjures memories of the post reconstruction era and the rise of “a

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culture of consumerism,” the Roaring Twenties. Pinkney’s version of Andersen’s The Little Match Girl, although basically telling the original story, begins differently. Before readers actually read the story text, we are exposed to a stretch of illustrations that borders the first two pages of the book. Above the illustration is a remark by the author about the social problems that pervaded the early twentieth century American setting he has chosen for his story: “Photographs from the early twentieth century show children in some of our most affluent cities on the streets peddling vegetables, flowers, gum, and matches. Their faces have stayed with me and haunt my visual memory” (n.p.). This already prepares readers for the ideological stance that may shape his retelling of the classic tale. As we flip the page over, we meet a family of five children with an authoritarian male standing in the room where they work to assemble bunches of silk flowers. The man is not described as the father, yet the children are described as a family within themselves. We don’t know that they are orphaned but the implication is there. Pinkney, perhaps, attempts to make poverty a family issue even among this “family of children” in a household headed by a White man, for the reader can see the impoverished condition of the “cramped attic” the little match girl calls home. Everything we know about the family is read directly from the illustrations. As we follow the story we also encounter the urban spaces that Hall refers to as the site of “both freedom and sequestration” (as cited by Keith, 2009). The girl seems free from home life out on the Philadelphia streets peddling her wares and yet sequestered in what seems to be to her a familiar alienation, aloneness. She is a “working girl,” which can be interpreted in various ways. Is she peddling more than the matches and flowers that she appears to offer? And if so, what does it mean that no one seems to take an interest in any of her “wares”? Pinkney might not have intended these multiple readings of his character, but his illustrations of the character provide a context for such possibilities. Pinkney also takes creative liberty with the text adjusting certain text in his version, so they would match or work well with the accompanying illustrations. For example, the little match girl is selected from among five children to go sell “flowers” and “matches” in the city. The text implies that she is sent primarily because “she had an especially graceful way about her” (n.p.). Pinkney chooses to humanize his characters, situating them within the 1920s socio-cultural reality. We are then able to follow the nameless match girl in and out of multiple social spaces, first as part of a multicultural family, then in the midst of affluent society where she tries to earn a living for the family, and finally desolate and disappointed by her lack of success in selling anything. Pinkney deliberately makes The Little Match Girl a story of an impoverished family trying to survive 1920s affluent America. Consequently, it becomes a

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story about people being insensitive or oblivious to the downtrodden. But if we interpret this family’s reality within our understanding of foster homes or orphanages, we may have to rethink this White man’s presence and role in this household and perhaps further probe his relationship with what seems to be the only child in the home whose racial identity is ambiguous and who also happens to be female. In this way, we situate Pinkney’s story within the genre of narrative passing. Narrative passing prompts readers to question the degree to which the passer can control (and/or transcend) his or her body and how this body is perceived by others. Meta-narrative passing involves the self-reflexive exploration of the extent to which the author is in control of the text that s/he produces and how it is received and marketed [Moynihan, 2010, 22].

Pinkney is consumed with this ideology of child neglect, and thus recreates the nameless girl that represents this type of childhood. Michelle H. Martin notes, “He intentionally illustrates the girl’s ethnicity ambiguously” (108), which echoes Lisa Falk’s notion of the girl’s “ethnic heritage [as] nonspecific” (102). This reinforces Pinkney’s subtle message of poverty in America during the early 1920s not limited to a particular race. While we may not know for certain if her racial ambiguity stems from perhaps her status as an orphan (for example, as the daughter of a White mother and Black father and the stigma of having a Black child), her impoverished status is undisputed. Throughout, Pinkney depicts the poor sharing physical space with the rich and desiring the same material things, only they are unable to afford these items. He makes it a point to draw readers’ attention to the plight of the little match girl who seems lost in a crowded street amidst uncaring adults. There are people in horse-drawn carriages and others who have progressed to driving new horseless carriages. There are also pedestrians and grocers everywhere. Pinkney captures this diversity splendidly. One can then tell that this may be a new phase — the Roaring Twenties — in the American experience that promises more for Americans, though not so much for African Americans who seem visibly absent from the pages. And as the texts imply, while some people have realized the American dream, others, including children, plod along hoping to achieve the dream soon, or simply continue to wallow in poverty and “misery.” The most disturbing image among the pictures is one of food everywhere, while the little match girl has nothing to eat. She is poor; she has “torn stockings on her numb feet,” and carries a basket of flowers and a tray of matches. At first glance she may not look as desolate as her character type in other picture book versions with White protagonists. Occasionally, however, there’s an expression on her face that seems quite haunting, inviting readers to speculate more about her back story. Who is

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this girl? How did she find herself in this household? What is she really doing on the streets? We may be curious about her and wonder what is going through her mind. We may also wonder how she manages to maintain her graceful disposition amidst such blatant injustice. In some of the illustrations her face is blurred; in one her eyes seem to stare at the reader accusingly. Eventually as she daydreams about warmth, food, and love her face lights up as she approaches her departure from this cruel reality. Pinkney’s emphasis on the role that family plays in children’s lives carries through in the illustrations as well. Therefore, he balances out the materially deprived lifestyle the girl experiences at her home against the warmth and love she shared with her grandmother. She actually remembers combing the late woman’s hair and spending what one may call quality time with her. Instead of leaving it up to the reader to figure out how this girl’s relationship with her grandmother was, Pinkney provides specific images of what can be considered their mutual love for one another in describing and picturing memories of time together. It is this human touch and this affection the girl craves during her dying moments. The nameless girl is physically and emotionally isolated and hungry even when she is surrounded by plenty: a large family, a crowd of people, and an abundance of food. One can conclude that this image of suffering in the midst of plenty prevalent in Pinkney’s adaptation might have come directly from his research of the historical period, the Roaring Twenties within which he situates the story. “In this decade, America became the wealthiest country in the world with no obvious rival” (History Learning Site). Ironically, while the economy prospered poverty continued to exist. As Carvajal (2001) has already pointed out, to capture the pain and suffering of little children growing up during the early part of twentieth century America, Pinkney “pored through photographs of boys forced to work in the coal fields of Western Pennsylvania” (n.p.). He also reflected on his own childhood, selling papers on the streets of Philadelphia. He succeeds in not only drawing readers’ attention to crucial issues, but also in reminding us of our collective responsibility to the poor regardless of their race, ethnicity or gender. The story maintains its universal appeal but echoes racialized sentiments that we believe should not be overlooked. Pinkney uses dark and light colors that evoke strong mixed feelings (sadness and admiration) about the girl’s experience. Further, he evens his images out with a myriad of colors. Carvajal adds that the “pale tones and jewel-like colors of yellow and red” Pinkney uses “radiate optimism” (n.p.). As readers, we sense the injustice in the neglect of the little girl, feel her suffering and her pain, and eventually we are able to celebrate the triumph of her spirit.

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But we are still left to wonder if part of this girl’s struggles is deeply embedded in who she is, an impoverished female with an “ambiguous” race or ethnicity. In this way, the story is elevated to a complex multi-cultural realm that begs for a critical dialogue. Our focus now shifts to Pinkney’s next picture book, which, we posit, deliberately plays with race: The Nightingale, a picture story book that does not emphasize racial passing but rather showcases the range of diversity within even one racial group in continental Africa.

The Nightingale Hans Christian Andersen’s original writing of The Nightingale has been described as a “themed discourse” on shifting relationships of power and the artist as a servant (Zipes, 97). The structure of this tale has remained the same under the hand of the re-teller, Jerry Pinkney, except for the setting of the story, which originally was in China relocated by Pinkney to North Africa. Before writing The Nightingale, Pinkney said he had dreams that were yet to be “reckoned,” dreams of being “King in an exotic place.” It can be assumed that the retelling of this story afforded him the opportunity to illustrate this dream (Manna and Brodie). Though he had never visited Morocco, he used pictures of the vicinity to inspire him. He portrays it as a lush environment with vast forest extending from palace to sea. Walled gardens, reminiscent of those of the Babylonians, fill the panels of the book, illustrating the palace grounds in rich floral detail. Motifs that we generally ascribe to North Africa such as mint tea, flowing robes, bright colors, and desserts sweetened with honey, are described both in illustrations and referred to in the text. The wonderful Nightingale is described as a small brown bird, unremarkable in appearance. The poor little kitchen girl is also unremarkable, in appearance much like the little match girl. She is introduced as a maid in the kitchen preparing pastries made with honey and almond milk. Her mother lives down by the seashore. She is ill and the daughter is described as providing her with the scraps from the kitchen. Her walk to and from her mother’s home takes her through the green woods by the sea where the Nightingale is found. Thus, when the Nightingale is sought by the king’s court she is the one who can lead them there. The girl who lives a difficult life, described by Pinkney as “downtrodden,” is like the girls in the other tales, given much responsibility, left alone, and with uncertain parentage. Her rewards don’t give much hope or recognition; she is allowed to “watch” the king eat for finding the Nightingale. In the end, though, like the Nightingale, she is “awarded an Imperial Ribbon of Honor of the highest

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rank” with a “gold medallion cast in the shape of the nightingale” (n.p.). In merging these two “insignificant females”— the kitchen maid and the Nightingale as one in the end — Pinkney’s universal message, in his own words, is The little kitchen girl, who knows where the nightingale lives, became the symbol of hope for the downtrodden. And the king, who cares for his people but is out of touch with them, learns what it means to feel vulnerable through his own illness. In the end the king’s recovery is made possible by two of his most humble subjects, the little kitchen girl, and the nightingale [n.p].

Set in Morocco, this particular retelling of Hans Christian Andersen’s tale celebrates the multicultural Moroccan traditions. Pinkney writes in the afterword of the book that he chose to set the story in Morocco precisely because of its cosmopolitan culture, but also because it is one of the places in Africa “where one could actually find the creature [nightingale]” (n.p.). In the rich illustrations in this book we find characters of many different races and nationalities — Mongolians, Chinese, Burmese, Persians, Kazaks or Afghans, and, of course, Moroccans. We can assume that this was a result of Pinkney’s effort to “bring us all in” into the story — making it universal but culturally specific at the same time. Pinkney pays great attention to details in the illustration; everything from the court life and the king’s lifestyle to the lives of the fishermen are sketched out in great detail. Reading this book, an African American child could learn something about the vast diversity of distinctive cultures and traditions of the continent of his or her ancestral origin, especially since history connects African Americans with West Africa and not Northern Africa. Thus, while they may be able to make some racial or ethnic connections based on the shades of skin colors Pinkney parades here they are also able to make clear distinctions between the characters’ cultural reality in that part of the continent and their reality in North America. Unlike Andersen’s version of the tale that sets the story somewhere in ancient China a long time ago where “you know, the emperor is a Chinese, and all those about him are Chinamen also” (http://hca.gilead.org.il/nighting.html), the rich, detailed illustrations of Pinkney’s book help to ground the story in less abstract historical time and space. This again helps readers to make better connections between the story and the continuity of Western cultural histories. For African American readers in particular it also complements the African American style of narrative. As Pinkney confirms, There’s also two voices: the European voice and also the African American voice. One voice, the European voice that always begins with once upon a time, and that once upon a time can go back a long way. With the African American it’s quite different, and in many ways there really isn’t a once upon a time that takes you back too far [http://kenlairdstudios.hubpages.com/hub/An-Interview-withJerry-Pinkney-Part-I].

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Pinkney tells a universal story of hope and the healing power of nature juxtaposed with the powerful stereotype of Africa and Morocco in particular as exotic. While the theory of passing is not necessarily applicable in this picture book as in the first, racial ambiguity is evident in the recasting of the kitchen maid. In this story, we have come to conclude that while universal appeal remains primary in Pinkney’s approach to this tale, race and culture are still important. The significance he gives to race or ethnicity, class, and gender in this retelling set so far away from his country, the United States, is vastly different from how he interprets these same elements in The Little Match Girl. Granted, these are two different stories with opposing outcomes, but the relationship between the characters are explored in ways that reflect his overall sensitivity to the cultural reality of the region, the basic tenets of the original tale, and his outside perspective as an illustrator. This may then account for why the racial categories seem to reflect a myriad of shades including a moor and a nebulous female who imparts wisdom to the powerful king. This approach to race, gender and ethnicity contrasts a great deal from the way he has imagined his racialized character in the next picture book, Little Red Riding Hood.

Little Red Riding Hood More than the other works considered in this essay, Little Red Riding Hood exhibits multiple examples of the fluidity of race. On the cover of Little Red Riding Hood, we see a little girl of indeterminate race who could easily “pass” for African American, bi-racial, or multi-racial, but she definitely cannot be read as totally “ambiguous.” She has dark loose though curly hair, brown sun-kissed skin, and gentle features. She is wearing boots that could be identified with the late 1800s or early 1900s which would indicate the story might be set in that time period and perhaps in either Europe or North America. It is a winter scene with snow-covered landscapes and evergreens, in contrast to the original story. So the wolf ’s suggestion that she collects wood to heat her grandmother’s home becomes more relevant than picking flowers on the way. Red (LRRH) wears the historically-appropriate-length skirt for a young girl of this time period, her skirt hitting her just below the knee. She is carrying a hand-woven basket covered with checked cloth. The gate is half open: “Come and go for a walk with me is the invitation.” And we do! The scene in the inside cover is typically European or colonial North American. Little Red Riding Hood’s mother is wearing a typical French or North American

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colonial bonnet of late 1800s to early 1900s. She is pictured sewing the infamous red cloak. There is a picture of Little Red Riding Hood on the wall. There is a definite racial difference between mother, daughter and grandmother. Does she belong? The illustrations leave you wondering about her history. There’s no picture of a father to tie her into the family by his ancestry. Even once the grandmother is introduced questions remain. Is this her paternal or maternal grandmother? Is there any evidence of the bi- or multi-racial background in the characterization of the grandmother or does she seem White? As with some of his other retellings there are more questions than answers. However, as we follow Little Red Riding Hood through the pages of this story, we see that this character travels confidently from her home through the woods. The evergreens contrast with her red hood reminding readers of Christmastime and yet the dominant presence of her red hood continues to cast a warning. In this way, Pinkney also creates tension; the irony is subtle and the danger is heightened. But Red remains a young girl who only learns her lesson after the experience as in the other versions. Her grandmother reiterates the earlier warning from her mother and Red obeys this time. Pinkney highlights this universal message of listening to your mother or in this case to the women folk in your family to not talk to strangers and all will be well. So even though the White woodcutter is quite central in the ending as is evident in the double page illustrations, he is not really part of this childrearing conversation, which may also beg the question of the role that males play in this version. This question is beyond the scope of this study.

Pinkney’s Narrative Discourse Pinkney keeps the “text” or the content of the original narratives unchanged with the exception of the setting of The Nightingale, which changes from China to Morocco; he introduces other key “changes” through his illustrations. He makes his characters “darker” than they might have appeared to be in the readers’ imagination on reading the original folk tales that Pinkney adopts as his sources. Except for the king and a few other characters in The Nightingale, whether Pinkney wished to depict his characters as African Americans or as Blacks cannot definitely be ascertained. However, that his characters are not the average blue-eyed, red-cheeked, blond stock characters of most children’s tales in America is amply clear. Except for some of the characters of The Nightingale, the characters of Pinkney’s other two books evade racial essentialism. It is difficult to tell

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whether the little match girl is Black, Latina, bi-racial, multi-racial, or just a well-tanned White girl. Again one cannot be certain if Little Red Riding Hood is Black or bi-multi-racial in Pinkney’s retelling of the tale, although it seems that she is not Caucasian. While this might at first seem like an attempt on Pinkney’s part to sidestep the issue of race, to avoid tackling the difficult questions directly, in reality, he achieves something remarkable with his bordering-on-Black/White racial ambiguity in The Little Match Girl and Little Red Riding Hood. On one hand, the ambiguous characterization makes the already popular tales truly universal — tales that all children irrespective of race would be able to identify with, find themselves in and claim as their own. But at the same time, the racial identities of the characters seem hard to pin down, making it difficult for any child to claim the tales solely as his or her own. That is, the stories in essence exclude none, while attempting to include as much diversity in the characterization as possible even if in just one character! What does this mean when a story is this inclusive? We continue to ponder this question. Pinkney’s retelling of Andersen’s The Little Match Girl and Grimms’ Little Red Riding Hood, therefore, become truly universal tales by apparently attempting to render race mute in some ways. This seems to be one of Pinkney’s principal concerns as an illustrator. Pinkney, whose decision to work with African folklore and later with African American themes was motivated by an incident early in his career when he came across “four children searching for books that they could find themselves mirrored [in],” firmly believes that “good stories bring us all in” (“‘Good Stories Bring Us All In.’ Reading Rockets interview transcript,” http://www. readingrockets.org/books/interviews/pinkneyj/transcript/#good). We see this not just in Pinkney’s retelling of The Little Match Girl and The Nightingale but in his retelling of Little Red Riding Hood too. Whereas the majority of children’s picture storybooks of traditional tales, even today, feature White characters, this is a giant leap forward for multicultural literature even if at some level we believe that it may be influenced too by the market. Contrary to what it seems like, Pinkney’s race-ambiguous characters, or, as Schlossberg might say, “passing” characters, while making way to “bring us all in,” as he professes, also firmly put indirectly the question of race in focus. Going back to Hall’s (1996) point of race being “one of the principal forms of human classification” we continue to wonder how this plays out in Pinkney’s picture books, which we now view as complex passing narratives. Furthermore, we have concluded that what Pinkney’s retellings of The Little Match Girl and Little Red Riding Hood do is create a disturbing feeling by defying classification of the central characters. This in turn generates a

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series of pertinent questions and doubts about race and class that would never have arisen had the protagonists of the two classic children’s tales been determinably White as in most adaptations or constructed outright as Black characters as in the case of McKissack’s Flossie and the Fox. The Nightingale, on the other hand, conforms to the racial expectations of North Africa but also confuses readers somewhat and forces them to ponder the cultural hegemony that could be of Morocco — and what that is. The “picture of misery” that the Little Match Girl makes in the story acquires new political meanings in Pinkney’s retelling when we consider that she could possibly be a Black child at the turn of the nineteenth century in America; her poverty seems politically charged all of a sudden. Being female also adds to the tension. For instance, in The Little Match Girl, the little match girl’s father and siblings seem White, whereas the little match girl’s and her grandmother’s racial identity seem ambiguous. Also from the illustrations, it seems that the nameless little match girl was financially better off with her grandmother while she was alive. This leads one to wonder if the little match girl was adopted by a White man after she was orphaned? Did she live with her stepfather and step-siblings? Or if she was abandoned after her grandmother died? And so on. None of these questions would have arisen if she was White with curly yellow hair as she is portrayed in so many translations and adaptations of the original Andersen tale. Pinkney’s retelling of the Andersen’s tale is more open to imaginative speculation of the reader than the original because of the ambiguity of race and relationships. Quoting Du Bois, Hall (1996), in a lecture given at the Goldsmiths College, London, argues that differences of “color, hair, and bone” operate as the primary visual markers of race in the world. In the same lecture, Hall makes two significant points that are pertinent to our discussion: “Skin color is a signifier which has meaning in a culture” and “the meaning of skin color is not always the same” (n.p.). Race is what Hall calls a “floating signifier,” whose meaning is discursively constructed and shifts and changes depending on the context. What meanings could be constructed from the skin color of Pinkney’s protagonists in these two tales, what inferences could be drawn, what significance established, what responses would be elicited? Using race as a “floating signifier” to tell universal tales from a Black perspective, Pinkney provokes his readers to construct their own meanings and draw their own inferences by discursively engaging with the question of race in the tales. Would all meanings thus constructed be positive? Would nobody answer the questions, “Well, why didn’t she sell any matches?” and “Why was her home just as cold as the street?” with “Because she was too lazy to try too hard” or “Because Blacks live like that”? The only thing that could

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be said with any degree of certainty is that Pinkney’s retellings of these classic Andersen and Grimms’ tales compel readers to engage with questions of race by subverting the White supremacy of children’s picture books, particularly in the retellings of The Little Match Girl and Little Red Riding Hood. In a way, then, these tales by Pinkney that evade cultural essentialism are richer than The Nightingale in that they are more open to various interpretations and raise several questions that could lead to rich discussions in the classroom. In The Nightingale, however, Pinkney goes all the way to feature clearly Black characters. Again, although Pinkney leaves the content of the original tale as received, unchanged, except for abridging it ever so slightly, he introduces novelty in the tale through his illustrations by altering the geographical location of the tale and the ethnicities of the cast. It is Pinkney’s penchant to introduce minor but striking changes in his retellings of classic tales. As he mentions in an interview, speaking about yet another of his retelling of a classic folktale, The Lion and the Mouse, “One of the things that is most challenging for me as an artist is to take a well-known story ... and find a new way of looking at that particular story” (Pinkney, n.d.). Pinkney draws attention to “race mixture” (Du Bois, 2002) and the diversity within the Black community but it is not clear why he excludes other versions of blackness in his rendition of Red Riding Hood. There is a White grandmother, and a White woodcutter, but no outright Black character — just one bi-racial or multi-racial girl. Her physical environment is natural and her social environment is White but for the quilt on the grandmother’s bed, which may hint at some cultural connections with Black ancestry and perhaps bring into question the grandmother’s racial identity too. For the nameless match girl, her social environment is White and affluent; however, in The Nightingale the environment is multi-cultural — affluent and less affluent since the plot seems to revolve at some level around the experiences of a vain Black king, the natural talented but nondescript bird, and a humble multiracial kitchen maid. Du Bois in reference to his family’s interracial history admits that “the [W]hite folk have bitterly resented even a hint of the facts of this intermingling while [B]lack folk have recoiled in natural hesitation and affected disdain in admitting what they know” (104). It makes us wonder what else Pinkney may be trying to accomplish in these stories. Thus, when he reconstructs European tales in American and African settings, and places at the center of each a character with an indeterminate race in a White affluent social environment (match girl), a bi-racial or multi-racial character in a natural and White social environment (red), and characters in a mixed socio-cultural environment with conflicts between nature and civilization, and across classes (nightingale), is

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this his way of forcing readers to engage in conversations about race amongst themselves and with the fictional characters? If so, then by universalizing the experiences of the characters he inadvertently lures his readers into the multiple text worlds populated by characters with complex racial or cultural backgrounds that add freshness into these old tales. Readers may start off from the comfort zone of identifying with familiar story patterns but when read more critically this comfort may be disrupted as they wrestle with Pinkney’s complex constructions of race, class, and gender. So the stories remain familiar but unsettling leaving one to ponder lots of issues.

Cultural Tales with Universal Appeals? As Derrick Bell (2009), a cultural theorist, admits: I prefer using stories as a mean of communicating views to those who hold very different views on the emotionally charged subject of race. People enjoy stories and will often suspend their beliefs, listen to the story and then compare their views, not with mine, but with those expressed in the story [37].

The first inclination when examining the three picture books, because Pinkney writes and illustrates his oeuvres so strongly from the standpoint of the experience of being African American, is to try to find the patterns or strands that reflect this in these retellings, and the expected discussion of race. We are not going to find what we search for, at least not on the surface. Part of us wants to see Pinkney’s strong African American representation on these pages, but it is not there. It does not take center stage in any of these three works. We struggle; we may want to see the entire story of Little Red Riding Hood written as an African American portrayal. We may want to see the plight of the African American children of the 1920s reflected in The Little Match Girl but instead we see a little girl who may be of multi-racial or Italian descent (it was often the newly emigrated Italian Americans that assembled and sold small nosegays of silk flowers). We also seek strong consistent Black African representation in The Nightingale. But our expectations are disappointed in these three texts. We encounter arenas where cultures collide and intersect in unexpected ways and for the scholars, especially those who seek equity and justice in representations, this may cause red flags because we wonder what is being compromised when characters are constructed as racially neutral. It is tempting to problematize Pinkney’s work, which might have some validity if this was representative of all his work. The characters do not have skin that is black enough. Their hair is not curly enough. They could be seen

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as written for multi-racial children or of a type palatable for White children. It may or may not be problematic, but it is disruptive, calling for readers to pay attention, calling for a closer look at what is being said by the pictures and even calling for a response from other picture book artists to show a greater variety of racial discourse in retellings of familiar tales. Pinkney’s evolving notions of race in American history and as represented in these picture books continues to disturb and fascinate us. We posit that Pinkney is using in his universal retellings the potential of all-inclusiveness that is advocated by Critical Race Theory, a theoretical frame we do not plan to delve into in our discussion here in great detail. We simply mention this to acknowledge that it could have impacted Pinkney’s approach in creating universal tales from a cultural perspective. A narrative consciously constructed to disrupt our thinking of our understanding of race is consistent with CRT and perhaps might be just the type of exploration that Pinkney intended. Disruptions and the attention they draw initiate relevant discourses about race, insinuating Hall’s arguments of multicultural and racial discourses shifting continuously because of the constantly changing socio-political or cultural environment. Perhaps this is why Pinkney’s retellings that are set in the United States grapple with race issues in a much more complex manner than the one retelling that he sets in North Africa. Regardless, the notion of race as unstable or a social construct (CRT) comes through in a deliberate manner in these books that are inclusive and exclusive at the same time, and that serve multicultural curricular needs for educators.

Conclusion Pinkney does not revise gender roles extensively though he draws attention to these. Rather, he has adapted his stories to either suit a particular cultural and socio-historical context, and provides what Hilary Crew (2002) refers to as “contextual details,” or has filled a gap with Black multi-cultural stories. In so doing, he enables his readers to empathize with what some children growing up during the early twentieth century in America might have experienced (84), growing in the racially complex twenty-first century, and living in a region where there is a tremendous cultural mesh. Borrowing a phrase from Spitz (1999), these versions then are “fin[e] picture books” that “appeal to the minds and hearts not only of the children to whom they are principally addressed but also of the grown-ups who select, buy, and read them aloud” (7). It is through such innovative retellings that Hans Christian Andersen’s and the Brother Grimm classic tales may continue to thrive,

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touching more lives, showing the strength of the human spirit, and provoking thoughtful conversations about narratives, lives, children and the racial, engendered, and class politics that permeates their social worlds. Above all, we read a good story made even more enjoyable by the wonderful illustrations that are evenly distributed on full and double page spreads. But we continue to wonder about these characters and how the author/illustrator constructed them to mean vis ‘a vis how we read them to mean in our racialized communities.

NOTES 1. For more on this read Joel Williamson, 1995, New People: Miscegenation and Mulattoes in the United States (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press); and Walter Johnson, n.d., The Slave Trader, the White Slave, and the Politics of Racial determination in the 1850s (http://www.uvm.edu/~psearls/johnson.html). Also see Wendy D. Roth, 2005, “The End of the One Drop Rule? Labeling Multiracial Children in Black Intermarriages,” Sociological Forum 20(1): 35–67.

WORKS CITED Andersen, Hans Christian. 1844. The Nightingale. http://hca.gilead.org.il/nighting.html. Retrieved 14 July 2012. Andersen, Hans Christian. n.d. The Little Match Girl. http://www.online-literature.com/ hans_christian_andersen/981/. Retrieved 14 July, 2012. Bell, Derrick A. 2009. “Who’s Afraid of Critical Race Theory.” Foundations of Critical Race Theory in Education. Ed. E. Taylor, D. Gilborn and G. Ladson-Billings. New York: Routledge. 37–50. “The Book Review: Preschool to Grade 4.” 1999. School Library Journal. 102. Carvajal, D. 2001. “Illustrating Familiar Tales for a New Generation.” http://www. csudh.edu/dearhabermas/21PINK.html. Retrieved 22 March 2005. Dreissinger, B. 2008. Near Black: White-to-Black Passing in American Culture. Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press. Du Bois, W.E.B. 2002. Dusk of Dawn: An Essay Toward an Autobiography of a Race Concept. New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction. Dudek, Debra. 2006. “Dogboys and Lost Things or Anchoring a Floating Signifier: Race and Critical Multiculturalism.” Ariel: A Review of International English Literature 37.4: 1–20. Hall, Stuart. 1996. “Race: A Floating Signifier.” Video. Prod. and dir. Sut Jhally. E-Media Foundation. _____. 2001. Representation: Cultural Representations and Signifying Practices. Ed. Stuart Hall. London: Sage. Hall, Stuart, and Sarat Maharaj. 2001. Modernity and Difference. London: Institute of International Visual Arts. Hamlin, Jesse. 1999. “Black History Month/Adding Color to Kids’ Books Illustrator Jerry Pinkney Mixes Culture and Paint.” The San Francisco Chronicle, January, 32. History Learning Site: Americas in the 1920s. http://www.historylearningsite.co.uk/Amer ica_economy_1920s.htm Retrieved 22 November 2012. Hostert, Anna Camaiti. 2007. Passing: A Strateg y to Dissolve Identities and Remap Differences. Cranbury, NJ: Rosemont.

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Keating, Ana Louise. 2007. Teaching Transformation:Transcultural Classroom Dialogues. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Lester, Julius. 1996. Sam and the Tigers: A New Telling of Little Black Sambo. New York: Dial. _____. 1999. Uncle Remus: The Complete Tales. New York: Dial. Manna, Anthony L., and Carolyn S. Brodie. 1997. The Role of Illustration in Multicultural Literature for Youth. Madison: Highsmith Press. Moynihan, S. 2010. Passing into the Present: Contemporary American Fiction of Racial and Gender Passing. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Nodelman, P. 1996. The Pleasures of Children’s Literature. Longman: New York. Norman Rockwell Museum. 2010. Witness: The Art of Jerry Pinkney. Ed. Wren Bernstein, Stephanie Haboush Plunkett and Joyce K Schiller. Stockbridge: Norman Rockwell Museum. Pinkney, J. n.d. “Good stories bring us all in.” Transcript from an interview with Jerry Pinkney, Reading Rockets, http://www.readingrockets.org/books/interviews/pink neyj/transcript/#good. Retrieved 14 July 2012. http://www.jerrypinkneystudio.com/ main_ch_books.html. _____. n.d. “Jerry Pinkney discusses THE LION & THE MOUSE.” YouTube Video, http:// www.youtube.com/watch?v=iptWPwWbwgM. Retrieved 14 July 2012. _____. 2002. “An Interview with Jerry Pinkney Part I.” Ken Laird Studios, http://ken lairdstudios.hubpages.com/hub/An-Interview-with-Jerry-Pinkney-Part-I. Retrieved 14 July 2012. _____. 2002. The Nightingale. New York: Phyllis Fogelman Books. _____. 2007. Little Red Riding Hood. New York: Hachette Book Group. Reading Is Fundamental. n.d. Meet the Authors and Illustrators Jerry Pinkney — Illustrator. n.d. June 2012. http://www.rif.org/kids/readingplanet/bookzone/pinkney.htm. Accessed June 2012. Roaring Twenties. n.d. http://www.u-s-history.com/pages/h1564.html. Retrieved 22 November 2012. Rogers, Rebecca, and Christian, June. 2007. “‘What Could I Say?’ A Critical Discourse Analysis of the Constuction of Race in Children’s Literature.” Race Ethnicity and Education 10.1, 21–46. Print. Schlossberg, Linda. 2001. “Introduction: Rites of passing.” Eds. Maria Carla Sanchez and Linda Schlossberg. Passing: Identity and interpretation in sexuality, race, and religion. New York: New York University Press. 1–12. Spitz, E. 1999. Inside Picture Books. New Haven: Yale University Press. Taylor, Edward, David Gillborn and Gloria Ladson-Billings. 2009. Foundations of Critical Race Theory in Education. New York: Routledge. Yolen, Jane. 2006. “From Andersen On: Fairy Tales Tell Our Lives.” Marvels & Tales 20.2, 238–248. Zipes, J., et al. 2005. “Fairy Tales.” The Norton Antholog y of Children’s Literature: The Traditions in English. New York: W. W. Norton. 175–184. _____. 2006. Fairy Tales and the Art of Subversion. New York: Routledge.

Pinkney’s Aesop Fable Illustrating Cultures from Outside/Inside JOY MENESS, VIVIAN YENIKA-AGBAW and XIRU DU

What is life about? What makes life worth living? Is life about coming full circle, or is it about what moves and transforms us as human beings? Perhaps life is about recapturing that elusive perfect moment that we are sure lies around the next bend, or with the next person, or with the newest book. Don’t we all find ourselves going through life encountering the same situations and finding repetitive patterns in our lives, over and over again? Sometimes that pattern is a problem that presents itself time and time again until it is solved, which theoretically is the foundation of scientific investigation. Other times life becomes the search for the perfect moment we hope to relive, so we find ourselves replicating the original circumstances in which we were brought to that moment that changed our life in some unforgettable and transformative way forever. As human beings, we believe that’s why we make the choices that we do, using our knowledge of the past to inform the decisions we’ve made for today. Educational theorist Lev Vygotsky noted that prior knowledge is the foundation of scaffolded instruction, and for those of us in education that incorporate his work into our praxis, we are constantly searching for ways to create those perfect moments for our students, one teachable moment at a time. In this essay, we approach Pinkney’s The Lion and the Mouse as a picture storybook that offers several opportunities to engage students in conversation on literature, culture, and environmental issues within a global context. We start from the premise that while Pinkney’s retelling of this popular Aesop’s 31

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fable weaves in African environmental motifs given the landscape of the new setting, it also raises a heightened awareness about animal rights and the contest of space between animals and humans. Thus, on one hand, the narrative is politicized, but on the other hand, it remains a simple tale that entertains and moralizes about power and relationships amongst the mammal species and co-existence ideology. It is a powerful fable that has been adapted to suit twenty-first century sensibilities; as such it evokes tension around the ecosystem. It is common knowledge that fables are didactic and so teach morals. Vernon, a translator of a mass produced version of Aesop fables, adds, “At the very least, that it presents an ethical problem, with or without a suggested solution” (2003, xxiv). In our readings of Pinkney’s picture storybook we also notice that embedded in his visual narrative are ethical questions about human relationship with the environment, even as he moralizes on the need for coexistence. But we have also come to recognize that an adapted tale’s relevance depends on the new spin the storyteller brings to the fable. For Pinkney, this would be a subtle awareness on environmental issues — how species interact within their shared natural spaces.

Eco-criticism We feel that ecocriticism offers a way to present a literary text that facilitates efforts to teach children about environmental issues and believe that Pinkney’s text serves as an example of one text that can be used for this purpose, since his adaptation is situated within the African savannah. Cheryll Glotfelty notes, “Ecocriticism is the study of the relationship between literature and the physical environment” (1996, xviii), and “all ecological criticism shares the fundamental premise that human culture is connected to the physical world, affecting it and affected by it” (Glotfelty, xix). We observe this in The Lion and the Mouse, but also believe that it is not just a monolithic human culture per se. As Anthony Vital, an African ecocritic theorist of high repute, posits, Western interaction with the African environment differs tremendously from African interaction. We discuss this in greater detail later. Glotfelty shares a series of questions with which ecocritics are concerned in the introduction of The Ecocriticism Reader: Landmarks in Literary Ecolog y. A few of interest to us in this essay include: “What role does the physical setting play in the plot of the novel? [In our case, it would be the picture storybook]. Are the values expressed ... consistent with ecological wisdom” (xix)? Responses to the second question we acknowledge would vary from culture to culture,

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for people are socialized to think differently about their natural environment and their place in it. Further, Huggan Graham and Helen Tiffin remark, “Postcolonial ecocriticism preserves the aesthetic function of the literary text while drawing attention to its social and political usefulness, its capacity to set out symbolic guidelines for the material transformation of the world” (2010, 14, as quoted in Graham and Tiffin, 2007). While Pinkney is not necessarily providing guidelines on how children should interact with the environment, his visual narrative showcases what is happening in the setting among the creatures who reside in that space for readers to infer on how the characters’ actions — human and nonhuman — may be detrimental or enhance the environment. In this way, his picture storybook accomplishes an aesthetic balance without necessarily being an overt form of “protest literature” (Graham and Tiffin, 14). He succeeds then in “cast[ing] nature and culture [not] as opposites ... [but rather] like water and soil in a flowing stream” (Howarth, 1996, 69). Compared to Aesop’s version, Pinkney reflects on the role that human beings play in this story, so as to increase readers’ awareness about the connection between environmental problems and human beings’ activities. The vivid and detailed description of the trapped lion’s pain, bodily contortions, and facial expressions represent the ways in which the human race has mistreated animals and exploited nature. Pinkney also represents the hierarchy of the nature world and the human world and alludes in particular to the international exploitation of Africa and the abuse of indigenous people perpetrated by the international community. In the fable, when two people drive a truck into the animals’ world all the animals try to run away from them. Pinkney describes these two people as “poachers” in the author’s note, whereas in the original tale, Aesop refers to similar characters as “hunters” (31), indicative of the times and consciousness toward the environment. The poachers in the pictures are Africans but what is not clear is their invisible partner in the global crime of poaching that occurs in a local space and seemed to be spearheaded by natives of the area. Readers would need to be versed a bit with colonial history to further understand the complicated nature of the relationship between Africa and the West. Pinkney explains that he chose the African Serengeti of Tanzania and Kenya as the setting for his fable because of “its wide horizon and abundant wildlife so awesome yet fragile” (n.p.). His emphasis on these two seemingly contradictory traits (“awesome yet fragile”) shows that he is interested in representing Africa’s wildlife in terms of its effects on the imagination, disclosing the ways in which the animals’ existence has become precarious, and exploring the reasons for the latter. Even though Pinkney isn’t usually associated with environmentalism, his representations of the relationship between animals

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and human beings, and of the African setting with its hunting and safari histories, and colonial past suggest that it may also be productive to examine this book from an African eco-critical perspective. In his 1998 essay “Toward an African Ecocriticism: Postcolonialism, Ecology and Life & Times of Michael K,” Vital distinguishes African eco-criticism from Euro-American eco-criticism by integrating the eco-criticism and postcolonial critique methods that expose the “consequences of colonialism” (88) in an effort to promote reading strategies that pay attention to the “complex interplay of social history with the natural world” (90). African eco-criticism not only allows us to read this fable as an African tale, it also allows us to read the fable as a global story across the boundaries of different cultures and time periods. According to Vital, African eco-criticism also assumes that “different languages (and discourses within a language) permit varieties of understanding” (90). For example, an African reader’s interpretation of the events as constructed visually, particularly the actions of the African characters who symbolize the poachers may differ significantly from a western reader’s oblivious to the neocolonial dynamics of power, class, and material survival. The limited illustration at once echoes memories of nineteenth century travel narratives when hunting was a revered sports, African savannah the preferred sporting grounds, and Western powerful men the renowned hunter-athletes who established the hierarchy amongst the human and non human species in their African natural environment with their African guides as a means to an end (see Hickey and Wiley for more on this).

Historical Considerations Without revisiting the various debates surrounding Aesop’s ethnic identity and the tales commonly attributed to him, imagine for a moment that all the suppositions are correct. Aesop did exist, was a man, a Black man, and the segregatory connotations of race to which we have been exposed these past few centuries did not exist at the time of his storytelling and therefore did not impede his listeners’ cognitive frameworks. Aesop lived centuries ago, originating from Africa, thereby accounting for the animals written about in the fables attributed to him. Beverly Naidoo states this emphatically in her picture book Aesop’s Fables that situates her retelling of Aesop’s fables in South Africa. We would be willing to theorize that Aesop’s original storytelling intention, recalling that his fables before they became popular children’s books were oral tales, were meant to entertain while providing sequential information relevant to Aesop’s listeners in their own time and place. By sequential we

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mean the listeners arranged in their own minds those details from the story which were relevant to them in an order only they could perceive. Judging by the sustainability of these fables over the centuries, thereby their availability to be adapted by Pinkney in modern times, the symbolism of each fable was not prerequisite on an individual’s understanding of his or her own world. After all, how many people in the 18th century had ever actually seen a lion and not just heard the description or seen the representation of one? While the mystical aspects of storytelling lie in the telling itself, in both past and present contexts and verbal and printed mediums, the same fascination that listeners of the 12th century may have had regarding the oral rendition of a fable being told may very well be the same type of interest today’s readers have as they are left to negotiate the complexities of a global and highly symbolized medium. For it is not just children who read children’s picture books, it is the adults who may interpret these missives and who are assisting children to construct meaning about what they are reading through a process of negotiation that includes multiple and often contradictory perspectives (Pewewardy, 1998).

Pinkney’s The Lion and the Mouse Where once picture books were thought of as only for younger readers, in this day and age some are now being regarded as crossover books (Beckett, 2009). Pinkney’s adaptation may fall under this category, given its subtle commentary on the environment. It is a postmodern visual rendition of one of Aesop’s popular fables told centuries ago — a tale that has appeared in several picture book formats either as a stand-alone story or as part of an illustrated collection. Seth Lehrer notes: No author has been so intimately and extensively associated with children’s literature as Aesop. His fables have been accepted as the core of childhood reading and instruction since the time of Plato, and they have found their place in political and social satire and moral teaching throughout medieval, Renaissance and modern cultures [35].

Pinkney’s book in a way continues in this tradition. To read Pinkney’s book in the 21st century one does not need a working knowledge of lion or mouse to understand the seemingly selfless interactions between the lion and the mouse, no matter their inherently perceived symbolism. These are animals and are also signifiers of cultural norms in our global society, though these may vary from culture to culture. Their story in the African savannah parallels the African poacher’s who may or may not be oblivious to the consequences

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of their actions in the killing of these animals. However, unlike the lion who perhaps understands that he may indeed need the services of the mouse some day though he cannot begin to imagine when and how, the mouse being small and female in this version and willing to spare her life, the poachers do not seem to reveal such an awareness. Granted, it may be hard to make this claim given the limited visual images of the poaching scenes, but what is included creates tension reminding the species in this natural setting of the dominance of humans and the damage of their technology, such as the vehicle that brings the poachers to that shared natural space and the instruments or weapons used to trap these animals. Their sense of entitlement and arrogance baffle and frighten the animals and, hopefully, may also disturb the reader. By manipulating his visual narrative in this way, Pinkney raises the stakes, making his picture storybook a postmodern text that challenges its digital age readers as socially responsible environmenalists to contemplate the issues raised visually, verbally, politically, and critically.

Radical Changes Dresang argues that in the digital age children are attracted to visually sophisticated books, as children are accustomed to the graphic design of newspapers, magazines, televisions, films, and the Internet. The digital age has had a profound impact on books such that at least some books feature a different kind of interactive reading experience than before the advent of the Internet: “Digital-age readers interact with these books by making decisions as they read; they may approach the text in various nonlinear or nonsequential ways that the author does not determine in advance” (12). The reader may find that there are no page numbers in a book, so that he/she can decide which page to read first. A reader can, therefore, construct a narrative in a chronological order but can also read/tell the story by constructing a nonlinear flashback and foreshadowing structure. Moreover, in The Lion and the Mouse, it is left to the reader to figure out the setting of the story based on the rich visual clues: is the story set in Africa or could it be anywhere? Dresang also points out that traditional books “seem to expect readers to react in one particular way,” whereas radical change books “seem more willing to encourage a wide range of differing responses” (12). Compared to a worded description of the location, Pinkney’s wordless book not only urges the reader to construct the setting, but it also allows the reader more freedom to decode the visual presentations of animals and plants. A reader who is unfamiliar with the biodiversity and geography of Africa may set the story in another place that he/she

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can relate to. In the newly published Mouse & Lion (2012), another picturebook version of this fable, on the front flap Rand Burkert and Nancy Ekholm Burkert describe the setting as “a ridge above the Kalahari,” without any illustration accompanying the text. In comparison, Pinkney’s wordless version provides readers with a more interactive, flexible, and active way of constructing the setting, and as such opens up the possibility of raising environmental awareness in a wider global sense. In The Lion and the Mouse, the text is limited to attempts to use onomatopoeic letters to represent the sounds the animals make, and the design and arrangement of the letters convey sophisticated meanings. As Dresang points out, one of the characteristics of digital-influenced graphic books is that “words [in our discussion arrangements of letters] represent sounds or transmit meaning by the way they are designed or placed on the page” (82). On the first page, only the sound “who, who, whooo” is given to represent an owl and these suggested sounds add an aural dimension to the story. When the owl shows up on the second page, the reader may find that the colors of the words “who, who, whooo” are the dominating colors of the owl. In this sense, these sounds and the color of the sounds foreshadow the appearance of the owl. According to Pinkney, these representations of sounds are designed to enrich the narrative and ignite the reader’s imagination: “I am fascinated with the vast medley of sounds coming from the surrounding woods, and that chorus of chatters and squeals helped shape the idea of selectively using animals’ sounds to gently enhance the story, while allowing the visuals — as well as the reader’s imagination — to drive the narrative” (n.p.). The design and arrangement of these representations of sounds complicate the narrative, and the synergy between these and the pictures make it nearly impossible to draw a sharp line between them. For example, on another page, the one on which the lion catches the mouse, the color of “GRRR” and the “squeak” sound of the mouse respectively match the dominating colors of the lion and the mouse. The size of the sound “GRRR” is bigger than that of “squeak” and the former is uppercase whereas the latter is lowercase, corresponding to the huge difference between the size of the two creatures, as shown in the picture. Dresang defines this close interplay between words and picture as “synergy,” which is beyond the traditional relationship (agreement, extension, and contradictions) (87–88). The “synergy” between picture and words generates a new and sophisticated visual experience to the readers, whose responses might vary considerably, depending on their different cultural, linguistic and literary background. The rich visual narrative enables readers no matter the language they speak to interpret and decode the text, and their interpretations involving local discourses might vary in respect to the socio-cultural context

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of each. It is no wonder that Pinkney won the much coveted Caldecott Medal for this book.

Lionology Since sales and a high profit margin may not necessarily drive the popularity of Pinkney’s The Lion and The Mouse, what else then may be the appeal of this story? Nodelman and Reimer would suggest that it is the moral of the story, which has traditionally presented the mouse and lion as enemies. However we have yet to see any evidence emerge from Africa of a lion hunting, stalking, and killing a mouse. Therefore, Joy inquired of Dr. Craig Packer, director of the Lion Research Center at the University of Minnesota, if indeed lions do eat mice, and his answer was a resounding “No.” Dr. Packer assured Joy that “the only rodent they (lions) ever eat is a porcupine — and, yes, they only eat porcupines in times of famine” (Packer 2012). So while the lion and the mouse may very well be enemies in storyland, we as readers have been conditioned not to question the sub-contexts of the fable and to accept the elements of the story as they are presented to us. As such we must question why Aesop wanted us to believe the lion would eat the mouse, and why they were enemies. We also wondered why Pinkney decides to maintain this combination of animals as in the original, unless like Aesop, he uses them simply as symbols. If this is the case, both of them are then expecting readers to suspend their disbeliefs, for after all in fables, a subgenre of folklore, magic is an acceptable motif. But if we were to look at this relationship as natural enemies, perhaps it would bring another dimension to the tale. And of course, maybe this is what Pinkney aspires for — how can enemies see beyond their differences and work together for their mutual benefit?

Signs, Symbols and Emblems However, equal attribution possesses an ecological aspect of coexistence within the same ecosphere, which, recontextualized, that which was once perceived as imperial is now viewed as equal, and no being has a special privilege based on fear, as all must share the same resources. Aesop was a visionary speaker of signs, which means he was adept at transversing time and space with the beauty of a message that is timeless. Pinkney captures this beauty with several encoded signs as narrative points. Within each paginated image

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the ghost of other images and cultural possibilities are embedded. As Nodelman and Reimer would say, one must look to that which isn’t there. Reminiscent of Japanese wood block prints during the Edo period, Pinkney has drawn layers of multiple images which one must look for, in order to decode the images he presents. In doing this, Pinkney tailors Aesop’s timeless tale through the very transmission of his visual narrative, and perhaps intending his images to speak to different kinds of readers, entertaining those seeking a timeless message of peaceful co-existence, assuring those with activist intent, and cautioning those with thoughts and/or desires to disrupt the ecosystem for material gain. This multiple foci resonates with radical change theory, for the visual narrative as presented accommodates varied audiences and thus makes Pinkney an outsider/insider at once. Just as most storytellers adapt stories to an audience, so too does he adapt this fable for a modern audience, one with a global mindset. But the fact remains that his backgrounds as an African American and an environmental consciousness person are deeply interwoven in his selection of Africa as a setting for this award-winning version and the multiple narratives embedded in the text. Pinkney notes: I think there is no separation between the way an artist works for children and the way the artist sees the world. It is not work taken down or up a step. Imagination influences the way you see the world.... I illustrate stories, not as I imagine a child sees them, but how I see them. My wish is that all ages will be able to find something, in some way, that touches them [Jerry Pinkney’s].

For example, in one of his opening scenes, Pinkney’s trees seem to take on the quality of snakeskin, in which a very distinctive patterning is demonstrated on the branches of the tree. One might say this is a biblical reference; however, Joy sees the bark of a North American sycamore tree. On the very same page the image of a man can be seen in what might appear to someone else as rocks. Perhaps the man in the rocks is Green Man; he certainly seems transported into the story in order to appeal to readers with an environmental bent and from multiple global worldviews. Later in the story the lion is graphically illustrated with what appears to be a shadow of the earlier image of an owl. These ghostly graphics are all subjective, cultural interpretations based on Joy’s prior knowledge, yet they affect how she reads Pinkney’s picture book and how she might interpret and share the book with others. Joy also sees Pinkney’s brilliant depiction of the burrowing mouse as being one with Mother Earth. The mouse is not only emblematic of the ecological connection between mice and Mother Earth but of the masses of people categorized as the lower class. We know that mice come in a horde, rather like the masses that form the foundation of industry. They are part of a system whereby the supposedly lower classes must always support the upper, such as

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noted in the monarchical system. Today in this era of artificial communication and matters of ecocriticism, it is recognized that the many scurry about supporting industry through a manufactured society and are forced to support the few who benefit from the financial rewards of capitalism. While Aesop and Pinkney have characterized the mouse as cunning and brave, this is often how activists are seen these days, as they subvert the traditions of capitalism in favor of a more green and global mindset. In The Lion and the Mouse, Pinkney accomplishes this and more. The fable remains charming and seemingly harmless, but at the same time it is making a statement about globalization, capitalism, and the ecosystem. And in choosing Tanzania as a setting Pinkney brings Africa to the center of discussions about the exploitation of our ecosystem and notions of the lack of superiority between the powerful cultures and the supposedly less powerful cultures of the world, of which are represented by the lion and the mouse. Nwangi, another ecocritic from an African persuasion, notes, “The African environment is political. If forests served as the sanctuaries for freedom fighters, nature itself seemed to presage and support armed struggle” (n.p.). This is evident in Pinkney’s lion and mouse where there is an implied struggle between the animals and the poachers. It is a struggle that is suggestive of a much bigger struggle at the global level, but the visual narrative is able to provide readers with glimpses of this bigger picture — enough to get them to start wondering about the ethical dilemma in this endearing tale among the African poachers who are acting on behalf of the invisible western corporate leaders.

Conclusion In the words of Leon Shenandoah, spiritual leader of the Iroquois Confederacy, “To become a human being is to rise to an expanded level of consciousness by living on the Earth as it was intended for us to live” (Wall, 2001). By those words we infer that we should share resources equitably, knowing our place in creation and relating to others through whatever medium is available to us. For us that medium is children’s literature. And while the ways in which we see the world are not always the same as the ways in which neighbors view the world, we have found through the shared construct of children’s literature a place to come full circle and to create our own perfect moment. As human beings! We believe Pinkney’s contribution does this too. Therefore, within this context and recalling that children’s literature is a currency in education, what is the cultural capital needed to negotiate a sys-

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tem, which predicates itself on the invisible history of lion and mouse? Many lenses are needed to interpret global literacy in the shared setting of the classroom, and Pinkney’s book is useful as a tool of this negotiation. By providing a space for dialogue, answers can be found to the global questions that are now being asked in this digital age. We need to recall what the true moral of The Lion and The Mouse is — that not everything is as it seems. For after all lions don’t really eat mice in real life; so what other assumptions can be uncovered through the pages of a picture book? For those seeing a lion in a zoo in the Americas, question why that animal is so far from home and why it is there. Challenge the assumptions that surround you, ask critical questions and remember that you’re a human being. Pinkney’s Caldecott Award–winning book therefore demands that we look at the narrative from a critical stance, understanding full well that while the story may be about poachers, about co-existence, about power and the abuse of it, we are all complicit in these events. And as William Reuckert (2001) notes, we need “an ecological vision” (114). Where best to carry on with such a project than the classroom. To charge the classroom with ecological purpose one has to begin to think of it in symbiotic terms as a cooperative arrangement which makes it possible to release the stream of energy which flows out of the poet and into the poem, out of the poem and into the readers, out of the readers and into the classrooms and then back into the readers and out of the classroom with them, and finally back into the other larger community in a never-ending circuit of life [121].

The author/illustrator may be of African descent and the setting may be the African savannah; but what we read in the images is informed by a global economy that is bigger than the obvious basic information to which readers readily have access. Co-existence is necessary but is it just simply between people of African descent who, through historical circumstances, are now scattered all over the globe? And/or is it amongst the rich and the poor nations? Or simply amongst all creatures that share mother earth? Regardless, Pinkney’s adaptation contributes significantly to what Glotfelty, a noted ecological theorist, refers to as “environmental restoration” (xix). We read the story then not just for pleasure but to understand the complexities in human histories, relationships between the south and the north, the perceived “weak” and perceived “strong.” We also understand it “as a theoretical discourse that continues to [re]negotiate between the human and the nonhuman” (xix). Pinkney’s complicated histories perhaps have contributed to enable him to construct a narrative that on one hand communicates a simple message, but on the other hand problematizes our relationship with each other and with our natural environment. His Western lens that continues his rhetoric of universalism in themes and his racial minority voice even within this lens that allows him to

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comment on socio-cultural and/or socio-political issues in subtle ways perhaps have all contributed in shaping his now global vision that reflects his outside/inside status on the subjects he writes about.

WORKS CITED Aesop. Aesop’s Fables. Vernon Jones, trans. New York: Spark Educational. (Original work published 1912). Burkert, Rand, and Nancy Ekholm Burkert. 2011. Mouse & Lion. New York: Michael di Capua. Dresang, Eliza T. 2003. Radical Change: Books for Youth in a Digital Age. New York: H.W. Wilson. Glotfelty, Cheryll, and Harold Fromm, Eds. 1996. The Ecocriticism Reader: Landmarks in Literary Ecolog y. Athens: University of Georgia Press. Hickling-Hudson, A., and R. Ahlquist. 2003. “Contesting the Curriculum in the Schooling of Indigenous Children in Australia and the United States: From Eurocentrism to Culturally Powerful Pedagogies.” Comparative Education Review 47.1, 64–89. Howarth, William. 1996. “Some Principles of Ecocriticism.” The Ecocriticism Reader: Landmarks in Literary Ecolog y. Ed. Cheryll Glotfelty and Harold Fromm. Athens: University of Georgia Press. 69–91. Huggan, Graham, and Helen Tiffin. 2010. Postcolonial Ecocriticism: Literature, Animals and Environments. New York: Routledge. Jerry Pinkney’s Studio: Children’s Books. http://www.jerrypinkneystudio.com/frameset. html. Retrieved March 21, 2013. Lerer, Seth. 2008. Children’s Literature: A Reader’s History from Aesop to Harry Potter. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Naidoo, Beverly. 2011. Aesop Fables. Illustrated by Piet Grobler. London: Frances Lincoln. Nodelman, Perry, and Mavis Reimer. 2003. The Pleasures of Children’s Literature. Boston: Allyn and Bacon. Nwangi, Evan. 2004. “Nobel Prize: A Shot in the arm for African Eco-Criticism.” The Nation (Nairobi). October 24. Packer, C. 2012. Personal communication. September 12. Pewewardy, C. 1998. “Fluff and Feathers: Treatment of American Indians in the Literature and the Classroom.” Equity & Excellence in Education 4.31, 69–76. Pinkney, Jerry. 2011. The Lion & The Mouse. New York: Little, Brown. Rueckert, William. 1996. “Literature and Ecology: An Experiment in Ecocriticism.” The Ecocriticism Reader: Landmarks in Literary Ecolog y. Ed. Cheryll Glotfelty and Harold Fromm. Athens: University of Georgia Press. 105–123. Vernon, V.S., trans. 2003. Aesop Fables. New York: Barnes and Noble Classics. Vital, A. 2008. “Toward an African Ecocriticism: Postcolonialism, Ecology and Life & Times of Michael K.” Research in African Literatures 39.1, 87–106. Wall, Steve. 2001. To Become a Human Being: The Message of Tadodaho Chief Leon Shenandoah. Charlottesville: Hampton Roads.

Old Tales in New Clothing Isadora Peddles Exotic Africa? VIVIAN YENIKA-AGBAW and LAURA ANNE HUDOCK

Why narratives appeal, how the storyteller tells her story, what keeps us turning the page, how we recognize what is important for the narrative (need-to-know as opposed to nice-to-know), must be the concern of theoretician and practitioner alike [Hunt 46].

Laura, an elementary educator at a Title I school outside of Washington, D.C., remains keenly aware of her status as a member of the dominant social class in addition to the reality that she is considered a cultural outsider to the ethnically, racially and culturally diverse student population that she teaches. In her nine years as an educator, students representing five continents and nearly two dozen countries have entered her first-grade classroom. Eighty-six percent of students enrolled at her elementary school are English Language Learners to varying degrees. These students represent more than 30 different home languages. In order to cultivate literary experiences that reflect her students’ socio-cultural, religious and national identities, Laura continually searches for picture-book titles that comprise multicultural literature while addressing state and county-mandated Language Arts standards. Multicultural picturebooks fulfill intended benefits of metaphorically serving as both a mirror and window; reading multicultural children’s literature has the potential to affirm her students’ identities as well as heighten awareness of and interaction with each other. Yenika-Agbaw and Napoli note, “With such a high premium placed on children’s literature, selecting books to include in one’s library collection or literacy curriculum, therefore, requires great care and thought, especially when it involves choosing books that reflect our diverse cultures” (2). Laura’s endeavor to foster a classroom community that engenders 43

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responsiveness to her students’ marked diversity has resulted in her familiarity with Rachel Isadora’s picturebooks. Vivian first encountered Rachel Isadora, the artist, at a graduate seminar in the mid-nineties. The award-winning book that got Vivian hooked on Isadora’s narrative technique and artistic style was Ben’s Trumpet. Anticipating that this story and its delightful illustrations would captivate her young sons whom had recently emigrated from Cameroon, Vivian subsequently shared Ben’s Trumpet with them. She was right! While Vivian’s boys weren’t yet attuned to the racial dynamics in the United States, her youngest son followed Ben along as he played his trumpet, literarily marching to an imagined sound of Ben’s trumpet. Only it was in their living room in a semi-rural setting in Pennsylvania and not in the text’s big city. So drawn were her children to Isadora’s protagonist and to the illustrations that Vivian sought out more of her titles to enjoy with her sons. Since then Vivian has had the good fortune of exploring Isadora’s picturebooks further for research purposes, presenting her findings at national and international conferences. The illustrations are always alluring and capture the essence of what makes Isadora’s characters human as may be observed in her renditions of Hans Christian Andersen’s “The Little Match Girl” and “The Brave Tin Soldier.” However, in her recent attempts to reconstruct African versions of classic tales by the Brothers Grimm and Hans Christian Andersen, we posit that Isadora and her publishers seem to have erred. To date, Isadora has published four picturebook retellings based on the Brothers Grimm tales, Hansel and Gretel, The Twelve Dancing Princesses, Rapunzel, and The Fisherman and His Wife, and two based on Hans Christian Andersen’s tales, The Ugly Duckling and The Princess and the Pea. Our analysis of the latter three titles has been framed around Hunt’s assertion; however, we focus more on the dialogue between her verbal and visual narratives; how they work together to construct African cultures of her vision and the ramifications of reading aloud such titles in the classroom. Isadora’s retellings remain European in every way but for the new geographical settings and the generic African clothing with which Isadora has illustratively adorned her supposedly African characters. Further, Isadora locates her characters in socio-cultural spaces where they participate in generic events that mimic the Eurocentric original. They, we assert, become Africanized characters focalized within the Eurocentric narrative whose original content informs her creation. In masquerading these retellings as wholly African tales, Isadora maintains a narrative point of view that perpetuates misguided notions of Africa as one geographical and continental entity with exotic customs and practices. Consequently, she inadvertently renders invisible the diverse people and cultures from the African continent.

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In this essay, we argue therefore that, contemporary market forces may have motivated Isadora’s peddling of this exotic image of Africa to her global audience and to readers of multicultural literature in the West. Thus, her retellings might have contributed to expand the possible list of picturebooks that educators could include in their curriculum under the category of multicultural literature but we question the dominant ideologies communicated to young readers about Africa and the means to redress them in the classroom.

Narrative Theory and Isadora’s Re-imagined Tales For the purposes of this analysis, narratology is the systematic study of the narrative and its structure. In the mid–1960s structural narratologists, such as Barthes, Genette, Greimas and Todorov, collectively developed an investigative approach that analyzes the essential constitution of any narrative. Structuralists’ thematic and modal geneses include, but are not limited to Ferdinand de Saussure’s linguistic model of language and Vladimir Propp’s reductionistic codification of narrative elements. Saussure distinguishes between the social part of language that follows commonly regarded rules and codes of language systems (langue) and the individual acts of communication or utterances (parole) (Hall 33–4; Herman, Basic 27–8). Propp’s Morpholog y of the Folktale “distinguished between variable and invariant components of the corpus of Russian folktales that he studied” and “abstracted 31 functions, or character actions defined in terms of their significance for the plot” (Herman, Basic 27). Subsumed within the aforementioned definition of narratology and its theoretical origins is how a narrative and its structure affect our cognitive perceptions of cultural artifacts in the representation of meaning. Narrative theory, thus, serves as the lens to highlighting the linguistic and cultural constructions in Isadora’s retellings. Employing interdisciplinary perspectives, narratology has since evolved from its structuralist roots to contemporary postclassical narrative theory. One such scholar, David Herman, advances an approach that systematically locates language and narrative under guise of cognitive science. Herman asserts that narrative stories “are cognitive as well as textual in nature” and, furthermore; result from complex transactions that involve producers of texts or other semiotic artifacts themselves, and interpreters of these narrative productions working to make sense of them in accordance with cultural, institutional, genre-based, and text-specific protocols [Basic 8].

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In distinguishing “narrative worldmaking” as a framework that explores the “interfaces between story and mind” from Jim Phelan and Peter Rabinowitz’s rhetorical approach, Robyn Warhol’s feminist approach and Brian Richardson’s antimimetic approach to narrative inquiry, Herman regards “worldmaking ... [as] the hallmark of narrative experiences” (“Exploring” 14). Thus: a focus on narrative worldmaking studies how storytellers, using many different kinds of symbol systems (written or spoken language, static or moving images, word-image combinations, etc.) prompt interpreters to engage in the process of co-creating narrative worlds, or “storyworlds”— whether they are imagined, autonomous worlds of fiction or the worlds about which nonfictional accounts make claims that are subject to falsification [Herman, “Exploring,” 15].

And so it is at this juncture, narrative worldmaking, where we begin our analysis. To co-create narrative worlds in picturebooks, a reader integrates binary semiotic systems, words and pictures. Isadora’s multimodal picturebooks central to this analysis, The Fisherman and His Wife, The Princess and the Pea, and The Ugly Duckling each constitute a “composite verbal-visual narration” (Schwarcz 11) that function as re-imagined tales or retellings. Isolating the visual from the verbal narrative in Isadora’s The Fisherman and His Wife and The Ugly Duckling prompts the reader to co-create a fictional storyworld situated in the Eurocentric setting. The inclusion of Isadora’s visual narrative requires the reader to co-construct a storyworld set in Africa. Only The Princess and the Pea provides limited textual cues to construct an alternate storyworld dissimilar to the traditional tale. When the prince travels the world to find a real princess, three princesses say hello to the prince with distinct linguistic greetings that Isadora later attributes in a glossary and related map to three countries situated in the African continent, Ethiopia, Somalia and Kenya. The text-picture relationship comprises the essence of a picturebook’s narrative. According to Lawrence Sipe, “as aesthetic wholes, picture-books combine words and visual images (and occasionally other modalities) in complicated ways to produce this unity” (“Revisiting” 4). Since the illustration sequence in picturebooks never entirely duplicates the verbal narrative nor vice-versa, the relationship between pictures and words is potentially ironic (Nodelman 221). Two aspects of this ironic relationship perceptible in Isadora’s retellings include two of Kümmerling-Maibauer’s ironic relationships: “(1)‘semantic gap,’ in which there is important information missing from the text that is supplied by the pictures” and “(2)‘contrast in artistic style,’ often exemplified by book in which the text is dull and mundane, but is accompanied by exuberant and humorous pictures” (Sipe, “Revisiting,” 9). This notion of “semantic gap” is tantamount to Wolfgang Iser’s convergence of reader and

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text to produce meaning. “Iser’s concept of gap-filling suggests that we can think of readers filling in some of the gaps in the verbal text of a picture-book with information from the illustrations and of readers using information from the verbal text to fill in some of the gaps in the illustrations” (Sipe, “How,” 99). This process of gap-filling to relate words to pictures in picturebooks to produce new meaning parallels Sipe’s espousal of the semiotic theory of transmediation to construct meaning (“How”). The opening sentences in Isadora’s The Fisherman and His Wife states, “Long ago there was a fisherman who lived with his wife in a pigsty by the sea. One day the fisherman caught an unusually large flounder.” Solely considering the unadorned text, there is a fisherman, his wife, their seaside pigsty and a large flounder which serve as the scant textual representation for which the overall interpretant when put into words might infer the married couple’s poor, slovenly state on account of living in a seaside pigsty. Additionally, the unusualness of the fisherman’s catch foretells the fantastical events to come. Shifting to the illustration, the reader observes many objects in glancing from left to right across the double-page spread. These include the visual image of a Black man gripping a long bent pole in his extended arms with an abnormally large fish attached to the pole’s opposite end. The fish’s two cartoonish eyes situated on one side of its head resemble the characteristic placement of a flounder’s eyes. This flounder emerges from a tropical pool of water with a splash. Upon further inspection, the Black man’s physical stance and visual gaze indicate his intent in catching this flounder. He fashions jaggedly torn pant legs and unique accessories, a golden ball earring, multicolored bracelet, hat and sandals. He stands atop a hillside covered in tropical palm-fronds and flowers. The overall interpretant for this visual image might be this man’s Africanness and his fishing success but also his indigent status. Shifting back to the text, the reader adjusts a new “interpretation of the words in terms of the pictures” to make meaning (Sipe, “How,” 103). Isadora’s introductory sentences read in conjunction with the illustration serve to fill the “semantic gap” by geographically confining the setting to Africa and objectifying the subject of the text, the fisherman, as African. Yet the basic narrative formula of this traditional tale remains intact. The Brothers Grimm’s translated version of The Fisherman and His Wife begins: There was once on a time a Fisherman who lived with his wife in a miserable hovel close by the sea, and every day he went out fishing. And once as he was sitting with his rod, looking at the clear water, his line suddenly went down, far down below, and when he drew it up again he brought out a large Flounder.

By comparison, the descriptive representamens in an original translated version enable the reader to construct a more exhaustive interpretant than Isadora’s

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text. Visual images do not accompany the Brothers Grimm’s text; consequently, it doesn’t require transmediative processes to construct meaning. “In the case of traditional narratives,” writes C.W. Sullivan, “the variant of a basic formula to be responsible for folklore’s adaptability, like ‘Beauty and the Beast,’ for example, the formula of the story will remain the same while the variations allow it to adapt as culture, time, and place require or allow” (53). The degree to which Isadora’s re-imagined tales culturally assume African meanings distinct from the Eurocentric original is questioned in the next section. Isadora’s The Princess and the Pea begins “Once upon a time, there was a prince.” The lone textual representamen is a prince. To acquire additional details beyond the focal subject, the reader’s eyes move across the doublepage spread to encounter a jeweled and robed Black man with staff seated under a canopy of bright green foliage. The pattern of the robe’s fabric mimics that of African garb and associates this man with Africa. The reader logically surmises that this man is from Africa and this African man is the prince to which the text previously referred. According to Sipe, during transmediation, “the movement from one sign system to another, ‘an entire semiotic triad serves as the object of another triad and the interpretant for this new triad must be represented in the new sign system’” (“How,” 105). This oscillation between sign systems of the verbal text to the sign system of the illustrations and vice-versa forces the reader to adjust interpretative meanings in order to fill the “semantic gap.” Isadora’s re-imagined tales present ironic word-picture relationships that typify Kümmerling-Maibauer’s “contrast in artistic style” too. Albeit the aesthetic appeal of Isadora’s retellings is the exotic vibrancy of her hodgepodged illustrations and not her plain text. About halfway through The Ugly Duckling, Isadora’s version reads: Back at the pond, the duckling would swim and dive each day. Still no creatures would come near him. One fall evening he saw a flock of birds. He was filled with longing. “If only I could be as lovely as they!” the ugly duckling sighed.

A grayish colored duckling with a black beak, webbed feet, and eyes is featured in the lower left foreground of the double-page spread. Also in the foreground, across the double-page spread’s bottom edge are brown, blue and aubergine stone-shaped cut-outs. To a reader, the collage of shapes and the close proximity of the ugly duckling to them affirm the text’s mention of the duckling’s pond. These illustrated objects ought to remain the focal constituents. However, the intensely contrasted background imagery covering three-fourths of

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the remaining double-page spread contravenes the textual reference to these focal constituents. The majority of the illustration is dedicated to the peripheral constituents. Vaguely identifiable flora and fauna are artistically silhouetted on the radiant horizon against the backdrop of a white sky. But the misleading harmony of the featured animals is counterintuitive to the natural order of the world. From left to right, these animals include a tortoise, ostrich, elephants, lion, hyenas, giraffes, hippopotami, and antelope — all native to Africa even if Isadora decides to place them within one generic African landscape. The interspersed golden streaks of sky are punctuated with a silhouetted flock of birds. Although the exact species of tortoise, hyena, antelope, birds and acacia trees cannot be readily ascertained from the shadowy illustrations, the presence of the elephant, lion, hippopotami and giraffes globally narrows the geographical range to a setting in the tropical savannas of Sub-Saharan Africa. Because this land area is vastly expansive and intersects with a bevy of political and socio-cultural boundaries, the reader cannot determine the precise location but merely generalize the setting as belonging to the greater African continent. Proportionally, the African savannah poses greater significance in the illustration than the duckling’s pond despite being in the background. To overcome this incongruous word-picture relationship of a nondescript pond in the verbal narrative and African savanna showcased in visual narrative, the reader constructs a re-imagined narrative storyworld that factors in Isadora’s artistic choice of an African setting through transmediated cognitive processes. Semiotic transmediation in picture-books is predicated upon the tension between spatial nature of pictures and temporal nature of words to negotiate meaning. This tension becomes indispensible to the reader’s spatiotemporal construction of the narrative world. Herman defines “spatialization” of storyworlds as “the process of building mental representations of narrated domains as evolving configurations of participants, objects and places” and later questions “during a given moment of the unfolding action, what are the focal (foregrounded) constituents or inhabitants of the narrated domain — as opposed to the peripheral (backgrounded) constituents?” (98). Two consecutive double-page spreads in Isadora’s The Princess and the Pea not only exemplify the possible interpretive answers to this question within the context of a reader’s cognitive process of co-creating narrative storyworlds in a picturebook but also represent an additional example of this ironic “contrast in style” relationship between pictures and words. The first double-page spread of the analyzed text states:

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The prince wanted to marry a real princess, so he traveled all over the world in the hopes of finding such a lady [Isadora, Princess].

Turning the page, the next sentence reads as follows: He met many princesses, but it was difficult to tell whether they were real ones [Isadora, Princess].

The verbal narrative indicates that the African prince remains the focal subject and the princesses he finds are the objects of his worldly travels. But the paired visual imagery disregards the textual focalization. In the first abovementioned double page-spread, the prince is wholly absent from the illustration. Instead, there is a silhouette of a princess and her entourage of accompanying servants walking across the horizon-line in a left to right direction. Some of these people sport the general shape of traditional African headdresses but the dark figures neglect to confer details that attribute the princess’ specific regional or tribal origins within continental Africa. Thus, in the transmediative process to fill the verbal narrative’s “semantic gap,” the reader presupposes from the illustration that the prince is to receive this generic African princess in his quest to marry a real princess. Furthermore, this double-page illustration depicts loads being carried on these exotic people’s heads and on a camel’s and elephant’s backs. This head carrying custom broaches time, both ancient Egypt and Victorian era finishing schools, and place, both Indian and African cultures. Isadora’s inclusion of these generic elements in the visual narrative storyworld as constituting the primary focalization is vexing. But so too is the next double-page spread wherein the reader finally encounters the African prince on right-hand side. The proportional size of the foregrounded prince in relation to the continued line of shadowy African figures on the warmly colored horizon and the contrasting cool complementary hues of his robed attire accentuate his illustrative presence and importance. However, the directional glance of the prince’s eyes to the left forces the reader to return to the peripheral constituents, the exotic people walking the horizon, thereby, ascribing their spatiotemporal importance in the construction of this re-imagined storyworld. Yenika-Agbaw comments about a similar construction in another of Isadora’s re-imagined tales: Her construction of marriage and the festivities that go along with this ceremony is also problematic, as she mixes customs from India, a former British colony, passing these off as African. In one illustration of a scene in The Twelve Dancing Princesses, she constructs the happy couple riding an elephant with a cheering crowd below watching them. This image, Patricia Kuntz posits, is more reflective of Indian customs: however, to Isadora, it seems all former British colonies must share the same customs [“Isadora” 45].

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Like The Twelve Dancing Princesses, there is a figure riding atop an elephant in The Princess and the Pea and the exactitude of this custom depicted in visual narrative is suspect. The focalization of these double-page illustrations forces the reader to supplant the verbal narrative with inaccuracies about a generic Africa. In effect, the spatialization of this re-imagined storyworld locates the composite narrative in universal space that more aptly belongs to a westernized interpretation of post-colonial Africa.

Ideology and Cultural Representation in Isadora’s Re-imagined Tales Herman (“Exploring”) reasons: Under its profile as a reception process, then, narrative worldmaking entails at least two different types of inferences: those bearing on what sort of world is being evoked by the act of telling, and those bearing on why (and with what consequences) that act is being performed at all [17].

It is Herman’s latter inference that bears the most scrutiny of Isadora’s fairy tale adaptations. Isadora, of course, is an outsider when it comes to where she opted to set her retellings of the classic tales we discuss in this essay. While we recognize an author’s right to set a story anywhere in the world, we are also wary of the dangers involved in this venture. In all three of Isadora’s reimagined tales, the reader interprets an African setting and African characters. We argue, then, the spatiotemporal and subjective constructions in her retellings prove ideologically problematic, for stories, especially children’s picturebooks, embody a society’s values and attitudes to acculturate its reader. John Stephens points out “a narrative without ideology is unthinkable. Ideology is formulated in and by language, meanings within language are socially determined, and narratives are constructed out of language” (8). Narrative discourse reinforces cultural traditions, practices, and assumptions. But, we wonder, whose culture does Isadora emphasize through focalization? Is it the Eurocentric original, or the visually constructed African culture? Scholars would argue that the Grimms’ characters from these classic fairy tales reflect Germanic cultural identities. But Isadora’s African characters are superficial constructions that maintain the focalized narrative formula from the Eurocentric originals and thus, create a sense of cultural dissonance. “She makes Africans ‘the object of discourse and not the subject,’ a phenomenon Clare Bradford has observed about ‘former colonists’ who write about Indigenous peoples and their cultures” (10) (qtd. in Yenika-Agbaw, “Isadora,” 43). We

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can only surmise Isadora’s deliberateness in this shift from a mimetic to semiotic ontological status of her Africanized characters; nevertheless, it advances an intentional approach to meaning in cultural representation. Stuart Hall explains that this approach “holds that it is the speaker, the author, who imposes his or her unique meaning on the world through language” (25). In this case, the biographical note on the jacket’s flap in The Princess and the Pea states that Isadora “lived in Africa on and off for ten years, inspiring her to give this classic story an African setting.” Comparable statements are made in Isadora’s other re-imagined tales. Notwithstanding her inspiration, Isadora has to rely on shared language to be able to communicate to others her African setting and characters through the inclusion of variant representamens, textual phrases and illustrative elements that seemingly re-interpret the traditional tales. This intentional approach seems flawed. Her apparent African cultural awareness likely gave rise to her illustrative devices of using clothing, flora, and fauna to culturally authenticate her stories but it would be imprudent to assume that “German tales, therefore, can be appropriated as African tales if an author replaces the European characters with black characters clothed in African attires,” explains Yenika-Agbaw (“Isadora” 44). O’Sullivan puts forth two possible factors that impact cultural content in children’s books, ideology and the publishing industry. Her examples, though from translated texts are applicable in our study of Isadora’s works, for Isadora’s illustrations could be interpreted as a sort of translation of European texts into African visual art forms. Isadora locates African identities within generic exotic spaces that are often void of regional socio-cultural settings. In so doing, she controls the images of Africa that readers encounter in her text by further situating these cultural practices as a universal component of an emerging global culture. In this way, she delimits cultural variation in the African continent and perpetuates the notion of African as one socio-cultural entity. Whether intentional on behalf of the creators, Isadora and her publishers, or not, such an inaccuracy falls within the reader’s margin of interpretation in the production of meaning. The sign or production of meaning in presenting Africa is superficially achieved despite the cultural inaccuracies and lack of primary focalization. Barthes takes Saussure’s linguistic conceptualization a step further to address cultural conveyance of meaning. To complete this representational process, Barthes writes, “these signifieds have a very close communication with culture, knowledge, history and it is through them, so to speak, that the environmental world [of the culture] invades the system [of representation]” (qtd. in Hall 39). This second level of signification, myth, enables the previously denoted meaning to become the signifier to be “linked with a wider

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theme by a reader” in order to procure “a second more elaborate and ideologically framed message or meaning” (Hall 39). In Isadora’s opening double-page spreads in The Fisherman and His Wife, the visual signifieds become signifiers in which the mythic meaning yields to the cultural assumption that Africans can be objectified as symbols of third-world poverty. In Isadora’s The Ugly Duckling, imperialistic cultural assumptions abound. These include an Africa that is synonymous with hunting expeditions, the practice of an indigenous voodoo religion, and sparsely populated savannahs. Industrialized African cities, modern attire, people and cultural artifacts are omitted from these re-imagined tales as Isadora has circumscribed the visual narrative presented. “The illustrations,” asserts Yenika-Agbaw in her previous analysis of Isadora’s other adaptations of Grimms’ Fairy Tales, “give the reader a sense of Africa without specific details about its socio-cultural and environmental diversity” (“Isadora” 45). Granted the temporal setting of these tales as “Once upon a time” or “Long ago” may preclude contemporary African socio-cultural artifacts. However, this does not excuse Isadora’s imperialistic re-interpretation. Additional cultural inaccuracies are represented in Isadora’s The Princess and the Pea. The three princesses in the African prince’s global pursuit of a real princess depict caricatures as mythic signifiers that perpetuate a stereotype of Africans belonging to tribalistic societies. The African prince, a visually constructed variant of the Eurocentric original, rejects these princesses and their concomitant heathenness on account of their failure to be real; such a narrative further reinforces a semiotic ontological status. If Isadora intended to advance such cultural biases to the detriment of a population within our global society, then these re-imagined tales ought to be promptly disparaged. However, as previously discussed this is not likely the case for such an intentional representation of Africa has to be accountable to linguistic societal norms in order to be understood. In this instance, Fashina addresses such norms in regards to the sacredness of articulating names and objects. He states: Thus, a person who has little or no knowledge of the semiotics of cultural, cosmogonic and meta-physical implications of names within the signifying province of other peoples’ texts cannot understand the very depth of meanings that are resident in them as products of other people’s cultures [69].

Not only does this raise the debate of whether cultural outsiders may pen multicultural picturebooks but it also casts doubt on the interpretations of meanings across cultural and temporal boundaries. Despite the best of intentions in penning a cultural artifact, an author cannot prevent negative connotations from being constructed. At one static point in time in our collective history, exclusionary forms of racism, sexism,

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classism, ageism, regionalism, etc. dominated American and Westernized thought. Such cultural biases have begun to be systemically addressed through ameliorative practices but their shadows still endure. Hall observes, “interpretations are always followed by other interpretations, in an endless chain” (42). Semiotics fail to capture this societal transition from acceptable to objectionable cultural artifacts. In the next section, we aim to share instructional strategies that potentially challenge these residual misconceptions like those present in Isadora’s re-imagined tales.

Critical Multicultural Theory and Isadora’s Re-Imagined Tales In her seminal work, Shadow and Substance, Rudine Sims’ taxonomy of African American literature prefers some books over others in the depiction of African American experience from the African American perspective. Sims’ narrow classification scheme may be expanded to analyze other non-dominant ethnicities and cultures represented in multicultural literature. “Melting pot” books as defined by Sims encourage non–African American readers to “ignore all differences except physical ones: skin color and other racially related physical features” (33). Melting pot books are typically picturebooks; however, “without the illustrations one would have no way of knowing that the story was about an Afro-American child. That is nothing in the text identifies the Afro-American child as such, and even if the illustrator had chosen to give that child a different racial/ethnic identity, the text could have remained unchanged” (Sims 33–4). This classification focuses on racial integration and as a whole, “deliberately ignoring any racial or cultural characteristics except skin color and reflecting on the ‘American’ (read ‘middle class’) side of African American experience” (Sims 12). Isadora’s narrative constructions locate her re-imagined tales under Sims’ “melting pot” classification. The illustrations tenuously portray African peoples just as Isadora’s words fail to present a unique African identity different from the original fairy tale characters. In general, multicultural literature aims to achieve both diversity and equity. “To affirm diversity is to ultimately achieve equity,” asserts Cai; “diversity without equity is not the goal of multiculturalism” (14). The role of multicultural literature in fulfilling the demand for a multicultural education in an increasingly globalized and more culturally diverse society implies a pedagogical justification. Cai notes that of all the pedagogical definitions of multicultural literature offered, from the narrowest, “works that focus on ‘people of color’” to the broadest, “books other than those of the dominant culture,” the latter remains to be “the most inclusive, compassing all cultures other the

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dominant one in the whole world” (5). However, Cai maintains the commonality between all these “varying degrees of inclusion” hinges upon “the distinction between dominate and dominated culture; they all agree that multicultural literature is about groups of people that are distinguished racially, culturally, linguistically and in other ways from the dominant white, AngloSaxon, Protestant, patriarchal culture” (5). Multicultural representations wield a voice for historically dominated and underrepresented groups. Librarians and teachers, keen on building libraries that promote a diversity of cultures may look to Isadora’s re-imagined tales as a means to achieve these multicultural ends. Isadora’s reconstructed fairy tales mislead the consumer due to the misrepresentation of a generic Africa. Each of the narrative storyworlds in her re-imagined tales imposes Eurocentric ideals, demotes African diversity and disseminates imperialistic stereotypes to varying degrees, thereby, undermining equity. Narrative storytelling through multicultural literature in an elementary classroom serves to a means to achieve global awareness and respect diversity. But the mere act of reading aloud multicultural literature in the classroom will not suffice to ensure social transformation to overcome cultural inaccuracies, especially if the reader accepts the ideologies constructed in the narrative storyworld at face-value: A book which seems to a reader to be apparently ideology-free will be a book closely aligned to that reader’s own unconscious assumptions, and the identification of such ideologies will often require sophisticated reading of the text’s language and narrative discourse [McCallum and Stephens 360].

Student’s transactional roles as pleasure readers and information seekers must be extended in order to become social transformers (Yenika-Agbaw, “Taking”). Classroom teachers are tasked with promoting this introspective facet of the reading experience. Zipes confirms this societal shift in students’ reading experiences and Yenika-Agbaw emphasizes, “Children should know that unless readers are able to read for social change and justice, they will find themselves confirming existing meanings determined by other’s ideologies” (“Taking” 452). Critical multicultural analysis remains the starting point for student readers to recognize constructions of power differentials and unravel the discursive threads of race, class and gender within a text such as Isadora’s re-imagined tales (Bothelo and Rudman). Such critical thinking must be extensively modeled and practiced in order for students to independently read “cultural diversity against these power relations” (Bothelo and Rudman 259) and ideological focalizations. It is not merely regurgitating the binary presence of marginalized

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characters vis-à-vis dominant ones in the narrative but rather reading power within the deconstruction of discursive practices of “otherness and self-esteem” (Bothelo and Rudman 102–103). Bothelo and Rudman assert, “the issues of cultural authenticity and insider/outsider are intertwined in the discourse of Otherness” (104). Teacher-facilitated questioning through reciprocal teaching guides student’s interactions with and understanding of a picturebook’s narrative through this critical multicultural stance. In their comparative instructional research study focusing on the comprehension-fostering and comprehension-monitoring activities of predicting, clarifying, questioning and summarizing, Sullivan and Brown determine that “reciprocal teaching routines force the students to respond, even if the level of which they are capable is not yet that of an expert. But because the students do respond, the teacher has an opportunity to gauge their competence and provide appropriate feedback” (169). Reciprocal teaching sheds light on a student’s construction of meaning within a multicultural text. In listening to student responses of open-ended questions, a teacher can determine a student’s confirmation of existing ideologies or identification of power relations in the narrative. Addressing the teacher-facilitated role of questioner in reciprocal teaching, Williams remarks, “Students gain experience in formulating questions about texts and asking their own questions that arise during reading. These experiences guide students toward the understanding that readers ask questions as they interact with a text and that readers should stop and ask for clarification when comprehension breaks down” (280). To advance a student reader’s comprehension of a text, Harvey and Goudvis encourage teachers to cultivate curiosity: Curiosity spans questions. Questions are the master key to understanding. Questions clarify confusion. Questions stimulate research efforts. Questions propel us forward and take us deeper into reading. Human beings are driven to find answers and make sense of the world [81].

A teacher’s transparent and genuine curiosity that manifests in the classroom through shared reading of a diverse body of multicultural texts and openended questioning to ascertain meaning engenders socially transformative student learning and thinking. In turn, this critical multicultural stance heightens awareness and understanding of the culture of others as well as identifies preconceived misconceptions.

Economic Motivations and Isadora’s Re-imagined Tales “Although literature for children set in Africa continues to be dominated by stereotypes,” remark Yenika-Agbaw and Napoli in the context of domestic and international children’s literature,

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some of the authors attempt to capture the complexity of the cultural experiences in their books. This notwithstanding, the problem remains endemic partly because of the capitalistic nature of our society and the role publishers play in aiding and abetting this socially irresponsible behavior from otherwise talented individuals [9–10].

In our opinion, Isadora is no exception. In highlighting Isadora’s various cultural misrepresentations in her re-imagined tales, we believe, as critical theoreticians and educators alike, it is our onus to question the motivational factors that led to their publication. Since the inception of the civil rights movement, Nancy Larrick’s frank characterization of “The All-White World of Children’s Literature,” and the passage of the 1965 Elementary and Secondary Education Act that allocated funds to public and school libraries, there has been a niche market to provide a narrative voice to those previously silenced and underrepresented in children’s literature (Taxel 171–2). If there continues to be a demand for multicultural literature on behalf of consumers — educators, parents, librarian, and media specialists — authors and the publishing industry will supply this market driven need. Nodelman reminds us, “for those who produce it and sell it, children’s literature is primarily a business” (109). Multicultural children’s literature isn’t immune to this economic reality. Focusing on the bottom line, the conglomerated publishing industry might put forth its multicultural picture-book titles based on potential commercial salability and profitability in lieu of literary merit, aesthetic value or cultural contribution to a democratic society (Nodelman 111). Economics therefore determines multicultural picturebooks’ publication despite the presence of culturally problematic narratives. Substituting generic African setting and characters in a traditional European fairy tale without disrobing dominant cultural assumptions is, perhaps, a deceitful publishing practice. By no means are we petitioning for a consumer boycott of such multicultural titles. Rather, by studying this analysis, consumers and educators ought to henceforth engage in a critical multicultural stance so as to question a narrative’s discursive threads that arise in peddling such exotic tales. In an earlier study on three Brothers Grimm’s tales retold by Isadora, it was clear to Yenika-Agbaw that Isadora’s view of African childhood was couched within a universal childhood frame (“Isadora”). The article discusses the pitfalls of such a universal stance in rendering cultural inaccuracies in her re-imagined tales and further compromises her additional picturebook titles set in Africa. Our analysis in this essay continues in that vein, for like O’Sullivan we believe that the decisions that authors make on the cultural contents of their books are influenced by the targeted reader and the publishing expectations. We feel strongly about these practices and hope that subsequent tales

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by Isadora re-imagined in Africa would cease to objectify the continent, its peoples and its rich cultural heritage. Yes, she is creating multicultural titles for school children and in her own way, may feel she is being inclusive; but she needs also to be wary of how her outsider perspective, ideologies and the pressure from the market can compromise the integrity of her picturebooks.

WORKS CITED Bothelo, Maria J., and Masha K. Rudman. Critical Multicultural Analysis of Children’s Literature: Mirrors, Windows, and Doors. New York: Routledge, 2009. Print. Cai, Mingshui. Multicultural Literature for Children and Young Adults: Reflections on Critical Issues. Westport, CT: Greenwood, 2002. Print. Fashina, Nelson. “Post-Colonial Reading Strategies and the Problem of Cultural Meaning in African/Black Literary Discourse.” Journal of Pan African Studies 2.5 (2008): 60– 77. Print. Grimm, Jacob, and Wilhelm Grimm. “The Fisherman and His Wife.” Household Tales, 2 vols. Trans. Margaret Hunt. London: George Bell, 1884, 1892. N.p. Surlalune Fairy Tales. Web. 14 Jan. 2013. Hall, Stuart. Representation: Cultural Representations and Signifying Practices. London: Sage in association with the Open University, 1997. Print. Harvey, S., and A. Goudvis. Strategies That Work: Teaching Comprehension to Enhance Understanding. Portland, ME: Stenhouse, 2002. Herman, David. Basic Elements of Narrative. Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009. Print. _____. “Exploring the Nexus of Narrative and Mind.” Narrative Theory: Core Concepts and Critical Debates. Ed. James Phelan, Peter J. Rabinowitz, and Robyn Warhol. Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 2012. 14–19. Print. _____. “Narrative Worlds: Space, Setting, Perspective.” Narrative Theory: Core Concepts and Critical Debates. Ed. James Phelan, Peter J. Rabinowitz, and Robyn Warhol. Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 2012. 98–102. Print. Hunt, Peter. “New Directions in Narrative Theory.” Children’s Literature Association Quarterly 15.2 (1990): 46–47. Print. Isadora, Rachel. Ben’s Trumpet. New York: Greenwillow, 1979. Print. _____. The Fisherman & His Wife. New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 2008. N.p. Print. _____. Hansel & Gretel. New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 2009. Print. _____. The Princess & the Pea. New York: Puffin, 2007. N.p. Print. _____. Rapunzel. New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 2008. Print. _____. The Twelve Dancing Princesses. New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 2007. Print. _____. The Ugly Duckling. New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 2009. N.p. Print. Larrick, Nancy. “The All-White World of Children’s Books.” Saturday Review, 11 Sept. 1965: 63+. Print. Nodelman, Perry. The Pleasures of Children’s Literature. Boston: Allyn and Bacon, 2003. Print. _____. Words about Pictures: The Narrative Art of Children’s Picture Books. Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1988. Print. O’Sullivan, Emer. Comparative Children’s Literature. London: Routledge, 2005. Print. Schwarcz, Joseph H. Ways of the Illustrator: Visual Communication in Children’s Literature. Chicago: American Library Association, 1982. Print. Sims, Rudine. Shadows and Substance: Afro-American Experience in Contemporary Children’s Books. Urbana: NCTE, 1982. Print. Sipe, Lawrence R. “How Picture Books Work: A Semiotically Framed Theory of TextPicture Relationships.” Children’s Literature in Education 29.2 (1998): 97–108. Print.

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Stephens, John. Language and Ideolog y in Children’s Fiction. London: Longman, 1992. Print. Sullivan, Annemarie Palincsar, and Ann L. Brown. “Reciprocal Teaching of Comprehension-Fostering and Comprehension-Monitoring Activities.” Cognition & Instruction 1.2 (1984): 117–175. Print. Sullivan, C.W. “Narrative Expectations: The Folklore Connection.” Children’s Literature Association Quarterly 15.2 (1990): 52–55. Print. Taxel, Joel. “Children’s Literature at the Turn of the Century: Toward a Political Economy of the Publishing Industry.” Research in the Teaching of English 37.2 (2002): 145–197. Print. _____. “The Economics of Children’s Book Publishing in the 21st Century.” Handbook of Research on Children’s and Young Adult Literature. Ed. Shelby A. Wolf, Karen Coates, Patricia Encisco, and Christine A. Jenkins. New York: Routledge, 2011. 479–494. Print. Williams, Joan A. “Taking on the Role of Questioner: Revisiting Reciprocal Teaching.” Reading Teacher 64.4 (2010): 278–281. Print. Yenika-Agbaw, Vivian. “Isadora’s Adaptation of Grimm’s Fairy Tales and African Childhood.” Making Connections: Interdisciplinary Approaches to Cultural Diversity 12.1 (2010): 41–48. Print. _____. “Taking Children’s Literature Seriously: Reading for Pleasure and Social Change.” Language Arts 74.6 (1997): 446–453. Print. Yenika-Agbaw, Vivian, and Mary Napoli. “Domestic and International Multiculturalism: Children’s Literature about Africans and African Americans.” Write4Children 2.1 (2010): 1–17. Print. Zipes, Jack. The Trials & Tribulations of Little Red Riding Hood. New York: Routledge, 1993. Print.

The Pied Piper of the Harlem Renaissance Colin Bootman’s The Steel Pan Man of Harlem KATHARINE CAPSHAW SMITH

The Harlem Renaissance has become a major site of black cultural representation in books for young people. Since the mid–1990s, publishers have offered dozens of texts for children celebrating that period of artistic and political accomplishment. Bracketed loosely by the end of World War I (1918) and the publication of Zora Neale Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God (1937), the Harlem Renaissance expanded the black community’s aesthetic possibilities, as writers, musicians, dancers, visual artists, and cultural critics considered what kind of black art would help shape the possibilities of a new black nation. The Harlem Renaissance was also a larger community movement, of course, encompassing efforts at economic and political agency, led by the N.A.A.C.P., an organization influenced by the sociological ideas of W.E.B. Du Bois, and the Universal Negro Improvement Association, a grass-roots populist group headed by Jamaican-born Marcus Garvey. Children’s literature published since the mid– 1990s has addressed a variety of dimensions of the Harlem Renaissance; and while Nikki Giovanni’s Shimmy Shimmy Shimmy Like My Sister Kate: Looking at the Harlem Renaissance Through Poems (1996) introduces children to the period’s literature, many books that describe the aesthetic accomplishments of the Renaissance rely on biography, such as work by Jim Haskins, Lisa Beringer McKissack, Alan Schroeder, Christine M. Hill, and Floyd Cooper. Children’s books about Langston Hughes proliferate, as do fictional imaginings of the Renaissance by major writers, such as Eleanora E. Tate’s Celeste’s Harlem Renaissance (2007) and Gail Carson Levine’s Dave at Night (1999). 60

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One could speculate about the upswing of narratives representing the Harlem Renaissance, although the factors influencing their emergence are complex and ambiguous. In terms of Langston Hughes, for instance, whose poetry young people read in middle and high school, biographies and invented narratives around his life (such as Cooper’s Coming Home: From the Life of Langston Hughes [1998]) permit parents and teachers to offer additional information about this famous and familiar literary figure. Other books recover forgotten aesthetic figures, like Schroeder’s recent book on sculptor Augusta Savage. Certainly writers and publishers also seek to reinforce young people’s appreciation of black history by depicting a positive, celebratory version of the Harlem Renaissance. Texts emphasize black pride, self-determination, aesthetic innovation, and political courage, all values important within black families and communities, and also within educational settings which offer curricular enhancements during, say, Black History Month or around the Martin Luther King Jr. holiday. To complicate a purely optimistic perspective, however, one could see the emergence of Harlem Renaissance narratives in the mid–1990s as responding to the zeitgeist of the late twentieth century, a period that witnessed the retreat of actual political and economic supports for urban communities of color. Min Hyoung Song’s Strange Future: Pessimism and the 1992 Los Angeles Riots (2005) and James Kyung-Jin Lee’s Urban Triage: Race and the Fictions of Multiculturalism (2004) both discuss the prevailing sense of American cultural despair in the 1980s to the beginning of the 1990s. As Song explains, “Both major political parties in the United States in the 1990s, while paying homage to the language of racial equality, converged in their hostility to programs designed to facilitate access to higher education, better-paying jobs, adequate housing, and even clean food and water” (206); in the wake of the 1992 Los Angeles Riots, urban black communities were stigmatized as less invested in “American” values and more to blame for the decay of urban landscapes. Although space here prevents consideration of the socio-political factors shaping public hostility towards urban communities of color in the 1990s, one might consider the sudden emergence then of Harlem Renaissance texts a potent rejoinder to the image of urban blight and hopelessness. Of course, time has moved on since the Clinton era and its stigmatization of “welfare queens” and victims of AIDS, and yet the Harlem Renaissance remains a site of energized engagement for writers. Perhaps the Harlem Renaissance perseveres as a site of reclamation since the urban landscape remains politically and economically neglected. Perhaps the recent gentrification of Harlem has inspired writers to return to the “roots” of black identification through the Renaissance. Whatever the reasons, the sheer variety of texts on

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the Harlem Renaissance demonstrate a range of desires for the cultural work a text can effect. Some texts seek to concretize history; others play in the imaginative terrain of black possibility during the Renaissance. Colin Bootman’s picture book, The Steel Pan Man of Harlem (2009), belongs to the imagination, as it sets its retelling of Robert Browning’s poem “The Pied Piper of Hamelin” within the 1920s New York Renaissance. Steel Pan depicts a stranger, dressed in bright green, purple, and gold clothing, who arrives at the 1251 ⁄ 2 Street train station carrying a steel drum in a red case. As he plays the drum, people respond by dancing, as do the thousands of rats that also populate Harlem and the larger New York area. In fact, much of the visual and verbal attention in the book focuses on the rats; they playfully dine at table, eat cheese from traps, and cannonball into Harlem residents’ bathtubs. The Steel Pan Man promises the mayor, a white man, to rid the community of rats, and the mayor promises a reward of a million dollars. Just as the Browning poem depicts, and as does the Hamelin folktale emerging from medieval Germany, the man plays music and the rats follow. In Bootman’s version the rats board a garbage barge and sail away. The mayor refuses to pay the Steel Pan Man, and in response the Steel Pan Man again plays his drum, entrancing all of the residents of New York, including the mayor, into a frenzied dance. The mayor, still dancing, waves a check for a million dollars, and the Steel Pan Man stops playing. While all of the New York residents stop dancing when the music stops, the mayor “danced all the way down 1251 ⁄ 2 Street and out of Harlem. The mayor was never seen again.” The Steel Pan Man also leaves Harlem, and there the story ends. Bootman has tempered the Browning poem, and the originary folktale, both of which depict the Pied Piper leading children out of town when the authorities refuse to pay for the rat eradication. Bootman’s author’s note explains his indebtedness to Browning, and his reluctance to include the child disappearances: “my version is not as dark as Browning’s poem....” Bootman’s story contains very little of the menace of earlier versions of the pied piper story; not only are the rats playful and the children preserved, but his illustrations include very few images of young people, for they appear only within crowd scenes dominated by adults. The book thus depicts no visual threat to young people because they are barely present. A joyous, safe, colorful story, The Steel Pan Man of Harlem evokes a Caribbean carnival in its drumming and dancing, fitting nicely into the expectation from audiences of a celebratory Harlem Renaissance. Bootman summons Browning’s poem, itself an invocation of the Richard Verstegan version (1605) and the Nathaniel Wanley treatment (1687) of the “Pied Piper of Hamelin” tale. When considering the interaction of Bootman’s

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story with its fairy tale antecedent, one could approach the picturebook through adaptation theory. Such an approach would uncover what Linda Hutcheon suggests is one of the rewards of adaptation, that of “the pleasure of repetition with variation” (Theory 4), the enjoyment that comes from an adaptation’s refreshed vision of the story, alongside the satisfaction that comes from the rolling out of a familiar plot. The Steel Pan Man of Harlem offers these kinds of pleasures, and as Hutcheon would suggest, comprises another distinct version of the pied piper tale rather than a diminishment through reinvention. She argues, “adaptation is an act of appropriating or salvaging, and this is always a double process of interpreting and then creating something new” (20). Another way to consider the play of the picturebook with the source story would be to reflect on the rewards of employing a fairy tale when depicting an actual historical moment. The frame of the tale enables the reader to consider the inflection of the imagination on memory and on constructions of history. Since the Harlem Renaissance remains a beloved site of memory and invention, my argument will consider the role of nostalgia to Bootman’s work, particularly as that nostalgia gets framed through the conspicuously imaginative mechanism of a fairy tale. In telling the story of a Caribbean man in Harlem during the 1920s, Bootman employs the fairy tale in order to make plain the need for invention in depicting a history for which we long but can never reach. Nostalgia invokes homesickness, and Bootman’s text reveals a particular longing for public recognition of historical Harlem as home to Caribbean immigrants. After considering the theoretical implications of nostalgia for Bootman’s text, I will argue that Steel Pan employs the open-endedness of memory and the imagination to re-instate a Caribbean Harlem, one that evokes but does not replicate the experience of Caribbean migrants in the 1920s. Nostalgia is conventionally associated with a desire to recreate the past or to return to a time or place that has been lost. In popular culture, nostalgia is often wielded conservatively in film, television, and books as a return to an earlier time in which modern challenges — like those presented by race, gender, and class — appeared simpler or invisible. Svetlana Boym calls this approach restorative nostalgia, arguing that it “signifies a return to the original stasis, to the prelapsarian moment” (49). The mere fact of employing a fairy tale overlay on the Caribbean Harlem story prevents Bootman from presenting a restorative nostalgic text, for the playfulness and metatextuality of his work draw the story out of the indexical and into the imaginative. Bootman’s book fits squarely in what Boym calls the reflective nostalgic mode: “Re-flection suggests new flexibility, not the reestablishment of stasis. The focus here is not on recovery of what is perceived to be an absolute truth but on the med-

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itation on history and passage of time” (49). Boym further suggests that reflective nostalgia does not necessarily tell the story straight, so to speak; it can involve irony, satire, humor, and play. It allows for possibilities in reflecting on the process of memory and narration, and does not insist on a teleology of events that leads to narrative closure. Boym’s work permits us to understand the approach of Bootman’s text, for it plays with a variety of signifiers, some contradictory and illogical, in order to consider both the presence of Caribbean migrants during the Harlem Renaissance and the inability to pin down and recover an experience of migration and community that has been lost to time. Bootman’s author’s note reveals his personal investment in Caribbean migration to New York. He begins, “When I was seven, I moved from Trinidad to the United States and started school in the second grade.” It was at school that a teacher read aloud Browning’s poem. His own representation of memory, thus, links the fairy tale to his introduction to American culture. His memory of migrant experience is tied to the fantastic. Bootman also indicates his goal in Steel Pan of combining his own experience of the poem as a new migrant with his awareness of historical migrations to Harlem. He says, “I chose Harlem for the setting of my story because — aside from the fact that the name sounds close to Hamelin — most Caribbean folks immigrated to Harlem during the 1920s, 1930s, and 1940s.” This combination of Bootman’s own migrant experience with history foregrounds the impossibility of a restorative nostalgia, one that would bring us literally back to the moment of the Harlem Renaissance. Bootman’s book conveys the energy and investments of the moment, but makes plain its fictionality, implying that historical memory partakes in invention. The first site of invention, of that combination of Bootman’s personal experience with history, has to do with the character of the Steel Pan Man. He arrives as a migrant about a third of the way through the book, alone, carrying the steel drum that identifies him as Trinidadian, since there the instrument originated. Philip Kasinitz in the first major study of black immigration, Caribbean New York: Black Immigrants and the Politics of Race (1992), affirms Bootman’s assertion of a wave of early migration, and Irma Watkins’s more recent study explains that “between 1900 and 1930 some 40,000 immigrants of African descent, most of them from the British-held colonies of the Caribbean, settled in Harlem as it was emerging as a black community in New York City” (1). According to Kasinitz, however, most Trinidadian immigrants arrived after the Hart-Cellar Immigration Act of 1965 that moved away from national quotas to evaluating immigrants based upon their skills and family relations with U.S. citizens or residents (28); in fact, it appears as though Trinidadian immigration was somewhat limited before World War II.

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One of the few prominent Trinidadians in Harlem was Charles Augustin Petioni, who was fired as a newspaper reporter in Trinidad for anti-colonial articles, and then immigrated to New York, went to medical school, and became a prominent physician and community organizer. But Petioni appears to be one in a small population of Trinidadians in Harlem during the Harlem Renaissance. I bring this to the surface because Bootman is deliberately and productively conflating his own love of Trinidadian culture with the joy of the Harlem Renaissance. He suggests in his author’s note, “This period was a musical time. As far as music and dance go, Harlem had a little something for everyone. Swing, the jitterbug, and the samba filled the dance halls. And Caribbean immigrants introduced the celebration of Carnival.” Before World War II, Trinidadian immigrants to New York did hold private, domestic celebrations of Carnival. It should also be noted that Carnival in Trinidad is a tremendously important celebration, probably the most prominent public celebration in the Caribbean. Trinidadian immigrants did popularize Carnival in New York, but only after World War II. As Kasinitz explains, In 1947, Jesse Wattle, an immigrant from Trinidad, organized the first street Carnival on the Caribbean model that was held on Labor Day, a time more suitable for outdoor celebrations than February. This carnival ran along Seventh Avenue in Harlem, then the heart of New York’s black community [140].

It may be important to recognize that public Carnival did not exist during the Harlem Renaissance; Bootman’s goal is not restorative nostalgia, however, but to reflect the energy of Caribbean presence in New York. He uses the terms that would be familiar to a contemporary audience: Carnival and steel drum music. Just as Carnival did not exist as a public celebration in the 1920s, neither did the steel drum. While drumming had been a mainstay of cultural and religious life in Trinidad since the eighteenth century, it was only in the mid– 1930s that drummers in poor African sections of Port of Spain shifted from bamboo and wood to steel cans and plates, and the steel pan was developed. William R. Aho explains that although there is debate about the origins of the steel pan, There is a consensus that the first pan with notes was created in the mid–1930s, evidently by accident, and that one of the first, if not the first, to add notes and play recognizable songs was the late Winston “Spree” Simon, who is accepted by many Trinidadians as the “father” of steel band music [31].

Steel pan bands emerged in the mid–1940s, as oil drums became more common because of the U.S. military bases in Trinidad during World War II.

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Since the 1940s, steel pan music began in the popular imagination to represent a pan–Caribbean identity, although Trinidad remains the core site for the art form. Bootman, then, reflects Caribbean investment in the musical energies of the Harlem Renaissance through an instrument a contemporary reader would associate with the islands. The power of Bootman’s story resides in Harlem’s response to the steel drum music. Exuberant illustrations depict people at the train station rapturously dancing. Before the Steel Pan Man plays, the crowd is dressed in drab greys, but as the music rises, people take shape as individuals, their bodies and clothing particularized and transformed. Riotous pinks and purples, and vibrant yellows and reds shade the people as they dance at the station. Even the rats do flips in the air and dance the jitterbug alongside the people. Behind this scene at 1251 ⁄ 2 Station, the Steel Pan Man looms large: his outline in blue lingers above the crowd, the music floats over the people, and the reader sees “pang, ping, pong, pa, ding, ding, dong” stream across the page. Bootman’s narration reads, “His hands moved like magic. All around the stranger, fingers snapped, feet tapped, and hands clapped. The dancing people bobbed and swung and weaved.” This is one of the most beautiful moments in the book, a reflection of Bootman’s reflexive nostalgia, the desire to imagine Caribbean participation in the Renaissance through evoking a reader’s emotional response to the scene’s energy through the associative reverberations of the steel drum. This book about the Harlem Renaissance, then, combines the fairy tale with Bootman’s real experience of migration, relocates Trinidadians and their music to the heart of the Harlem Renaissance, and argues for the Caribbean contribution to Harlem’s aesthetic distinctiveness. As Boym explains, “Reflective nostalgia does not pretend to rebuild the mythical place called home; it is enamored of distance, not of the referent itself. This type of nostalgic narrative is ironic, inconclusive and fragmentary” (50). By employing the framework of the pied piper tale, Bootman is able to explore possibilities, to open up the site of the Renaissance to his Trinidadian identity and his desire to imagine the coherence of steel drum music with the 1920s. Boym further comments on notions of time within reflective nostalgia: “The past is not made in the image of the present or seen as foreboding of some present disaster; rather, the past opens up a multitude of potentialities, nonteleological possibilities of historic development” (50). This phenomenon is undoubtedly at work in Bootman’s text. It refuses a logical, linear representation of memory and history. It insists on the magical, in the fairy tale plot, the Steel Pan Man’s talents and in depicting the accomplishments of the Harlem Renaissance. Certainly other books for children describe the 1920s as a wondrous period in black aesthetic history; Bootman’s text makes that magic prominent and

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perceptible, and in doing so taps into popular longing for that glorious period of aesthetic freedom and innovation. Again, while the celebratory version of the Harlem Renaissance comes through palpably, Bootman’s text also resurrects and reshapes something of the political experience of Caribbean people in Harlem during the 1920s. As in the case of Trinidadian migration and the development of the steel drum, his conspicuously fictional text resists a historical reading when it refers to the political implications of the Steel Pan Man’s time in Harlem. The fairy tale frame necessarily resists a restorative nostalgic reading that would seek to pinpoint Caribbean political and social identity in the 1920s. But the character of the Steel Pan Man brings into relief features of the Caribbean migrant experience in the 1920s; and the fairy tale story offers an alternate vehicle for articulating that experience. One of the first elements we notice when the Steel Pan Man exits his train is the immediate response of the Harlem crowd: “People stared as the stranger stood in the middle of the platform....” The crowd does not respond prejudicially to the Steel Pan Man, but his clothing and the drum make him stand out. He is a migrant, a stranger, distinct from the crowd. W.A. Domingo, the Jamaican-born radical author, wrote in the March 1925 Survey Graphic (which would later be included in Alain Locke’s landmark anthology, The New Negro), that “there is a considerable amount of prejudice against West Indians. It is claimed that they are proud and arrogant; that they think themselves superior to the natives” (650). While Bootman’s book does not engage that history of tension between Caribbean immigrants and other Harlem residents, the fairy tale story of a brightly garbed stranger entering town permits Bootman to nod to that history of distance and distinction. Another dimension of the complicated response of black Harlemites to Caribbean immigrants,1 of course, was admiration, as Langston Hughes made clear in his 1963 remembrance of early Harlem in Freedomways magazine: “West Indian Harlem — warm rambunctious sassy remembering Marcus Garvey. Haitian Harlem, Cuban Harlem, little pockets of tropical dreams in alien tongues” (314). Given the Steel Pan Man’s entrancement of the crowd at the train station, Bootman uses the fairy tale to reify the excitement that Caribbean migrants brought to Harlem. While in both the pied piper tale and Bootman’s book the beauty of the music takes center stage for a moment, both narratives are more concerned finally with the challenge of an outsider to a political structure. This dimension of the pied piper story becomes especially productive for Bootman’s staging of reflective nostalgia. Bootman’s text describes the Steel Pan Man approaching the mayor about the proliferation of rats: “The stranger walked straight to the mayor’s office. After many hours, the mayor finally called him in. The

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stranger bowed and introduced himself. ‘Good day, Mayor,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I am called the Steel Pan Man.’ ... ‘I can play a melody that will solve your rat problem.’” Bootman’s two-page accompanying illustration depicts a skeptical mayor (and his lap cat) on the left, and the dynamic Steel Pan Man doffing his hat jauntily to the right. Clearly oppositional, on the next page the two shake hands and agree that the mayor will pay one million dollars for the Steel Pan Man to eliminate the rats. The handshake on this two-page spread emphasizes the shift in power from the previous pages, for the men have switched sides; the Steel Pan Man’s body fills a full page, and his hand extends into the next page. The mayor’s hand only occupies a third of the two-page spread. Thus, what becomes important to the story is not music for its own sake, but music as a tool for community engagement, monetary reward, and political triumph. In making a public performance part of a political dynamic, Bootman evokes expressly the experience of prominent Caribbean migrants to Harlem in the 1920s. Best known for the fire of their political statements and their commitment to community activism, many Caribbean writers and thinkers found in Harlem a place to advance pan–African consciousness among the larger populace. Watkins-Owens reminds us that eighty-six percent of Caribbean migrants from 1901 to 1935 were not peasant agricultural laborers but rather had come from cities and brought with them some level of education (3); in fact, Caribbean Harlem during the Renaissance was characterized by its political and intellectual assertiveness, as Kasinitz explains: “Many leading intellectual figures from the Caribbean made their homes in Harlem during this period, including authors Claude McKay and Eric Walrond, journalist Cyril Briggs, socialist organizers Frank Crosswaith, Hulbert Harrison, and Richard Moore, Caribbean nationalist leaders such as Domingo and Ethelred Brown, and of course Marcus Garvey” (43). The intricacies of these thinkers’ ideas have been explicated by scholars, and space here prevents a close attention to their often radical, often socialist positions on social inequities. One salient feature of the Caribbean intellectual experience is that frequently these thinkers–as poets, orators, and journalists–were concerned with a specific anti-colonial identity when they resided in their country of origin. But when they migrated to Harlem, and were faced with the totalizing absolutism of Jim Crow, they began to focus on commonalities between communities of African descent.2 Domingo in Survey Graphic writes, “the West Indian has thrown himself whole-heartedly into the fight against lynching, discrimination and the other disabilities from which Negroes in America suffer” (650). So while a constellation of political positions appeared during the 1920s — from Garvey’s pan–Africanism and desire to return to Africa to McKay’s insistence

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on militant responses to racism in poems like “If We Must Die”— the Caribbean community sought common ground politically with each other and with African Americans. This common cause approach materializes in Bootman’s text, as the Steel Pan Man seeks to cure Harlem of its rat problem. In one image, Bootman presents a range of angry faces around a rat hugging a piece of cheese it just removed from a trap. The text reads, “The citizens of Harlem were fed up. Something had to be done! Traps were set, but the rats were too clever. The people of Harlem chased the rats and called the exterminator, but the rats were too fast and too many.” The rats are not figured as a metaphor for larger social issues, nor are they explicitly positioned as a result of housing discrimination or neglect. At least one earlier children’s text about Harlem focuses on the problem of rodent infestation, Ellen Tarry’s photographic picture book My Dog Rinty (1946). Tarry is interested in using the rat problem to argue for housing reform, whereas Bootman’s fairy tale structure deflects social implications since he has inherited the rat plot points from the pied piper story. If anything, one could see the fairy tale as a means to “clean up” Harlem, a restorative move that returns us again to the desire for a celebratory Harlem Renaissance. But more to the point, Bootman links the community’s outrage at the rats with their shared frustration with political authority: “Finally, the citizens, the council, and the exterminator all went to the mayor. They asked very sternly, ‘What are you going to do about these rats?’ The mayor didn’t know. But he knew the citizens were angry and frustrated.” It is the shared frustration with authority that keys the text into the political context of Caribbean immigration in the 1920s. Many Caribbean intellectuals brought their resistant, impassioned perspective to bear on the shared interests of the community. Again, Bootman does not seek a restorative nostalgia in evoking political authority in the 1920s; his aims are more associative, and the fairy tale structure permits him to evoke the sense of community galvanization enabled by the Steel Pan Man. That galvanization happens through dance to the music, whether that dance is performed by people at the platform, or rats as they board the garbage barge that will take them out of the city. Two contextual connections with Caribbean Harlem emerge when considering the political resonances of the music. First, steel drum music in Trinidad, at its origin in the 1930s, evolved as a form of social resistance. Aho suggests, “At the time that the steel drum was being refined, in the mid–1930s, there was considerable political and labor unrest in Trinidad.... There was an awakened race consciousness and heightened feelings of exploitation by British and other foreign investors in Trinidad’s oil companies, sugar estates, and other enterprises” (32–33). At its origins,

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then, steel pan music was political, an assertion of black collective and aesthetic self-determination. Second, the structure of the pied piper’s public performance in the tale (and in the picture book) maps perfectly onto the tradition of Caribbean intellectual public speaking, a tremendously influential political practice during the Harlem Renaissance. Watkins-Owens dedicates a chapter to the significance of street corner oration, titled “Stepladder to Community,” in which she argues that open-air presentations were vital sites of education and inspiration on subjects ranging from radical leftist politics to black history to women’s rights to scientific theory. “The street corner became the most viable location for an alternative politics and the place where new social movements gained a hearing and recruited supporters” (92). Marcus Garvey, the Jamaican UNIA leader, was among the most prominent street corner lecturers, and the scale of his popularity can be attributed in part to his public performances. Steel pan drumming is not public oratory, to be sure. But the way in which Bootman describes the public musical performances evokes the impact of street corner politics: “The citizens of Harlem came from every direction. They poured out of office buildings, subways restaurants, and homes. Children tumbled out of schools, parks, and playgrounds. Soon the streets of Harlem were filled with people.” Just as the stepladder lecturers would draw crowds and encourage oral affirmations (or contentions), the Steel Pan Man’s music attracts the people, pulling them into a physical response. The pied piper story permits this evocation of a dimension of the past, of the Caribbean performer’s ability to galvanize an audience. This evocation is, perhaps, most suggestive of how memory layers meanings, since no recordings or transcriptions of these street lectures remain; it is impossible to recreate this moment in history in a traditionalist, restorative nostalgic mode. What is possible is Bootman’s approach: the fairy tale framework allows a reader to experience a sense of the enchantment of public Caribbean performance, while acknowledging that the representation of the moment participates in the fictional. We know that the Steel Pan Man is fictional because we recognize that he is a character from a fairy tale adaptation. What Bootman accomplishes through that conspicuous fictionality is entrée to the spirit of the Caribbean public performance; acknowledging the fictional enables access to an emotional truth. If the steel drum music carries with it echoes of its political origins, and the enchanting performance resonates with the dazzling public oratory of the 1920s, the text’s conclusion also bears potent associations with the Caribbean contribution to the Harlem Renaissance. In terms of enlarging the tone of the Renaissance, Caribbean intellectuals emphasized the importance of assertiveness and self-determination. Domingo explains,

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The outstanding contribution of West Indians to American Negro life is the insistent assertion of their manhood in an environment that demands too much servility and unprotesting acquiescence from men of African blood. This unwillingness to conform and be standardized, to accept tamely an inferior status and abdicate their humanity, finds an open expression in the activities of the foreignborn Negro in America [650].

In fact, part of the Harlem’s Renaissance’s emphasis on “New Negro” manhood can be attributed to the potency of Caribbean oratory and journalism3; while blacks in the upper middle class may have dismissed Caribbean speakers as “foreign rabble rousers” (qtd. in Watkins-Owens 111), the spirit of political assertiveness became a major factor in the Harlem Renaissance’s embrace of black self-determination. The conclusion of Bootman’s book draws out this thread of Caribbean manhood and political agency. Refusing to pay the million dollars for the rat expulsion, the mayor falls under the Steel Pan Man’s spell: “No one was spared the pan man’s magic, including the mayor.... Like a puppet, the mayor made his way through the crowded streets.” When the mayor offers the money, the people realize that he is the target of the Steel Pan Man’s music, and “The spell was broken. But the mayor’s feet were still moving... He danced all the way down 1251 ⁄ 2 Street and out of Harlem. The mayor was never seen again.” Bootman employs a pleasurable revision of the pied piper plot in order to draw the story to a satisfying close: children aren’t taken as payment for this piper’s services; instead, the authority itself is punished. Bootman stresses that his version adheres to the morality of Browning’s poem: “I would like to think I held fast to his original message; the importance of doing the right thing and keeping one’s word.” But in terms of the political evocations of the performance and the confrontation between the Steel Pan Man and the mayor, Bootman’s text becomes palimpsestic4; one can almost glimpse the effects on crowds of Caribbean street performances; one can imagine how a leader might put his words into action through confrontation with authority. The climax of Bootman’s text stresses the revolutionary potential of black manhood. In Bootman’s book, reflective nostalgia for the Harlem Renaissance enables the reconstitution of Caribbean radical public performance, even if that reconstitution is fragmentary and allusive. In fact, the text asks us to reflect on the loss of the Caribbean subject, especially since the Steel Pan Man disappears at the end of the book. Boym explains, Reflective nostalgia has elements of both mourning and melancholia. While its loss is never completely recalled, it has some connection to the loss of collective frameworks of memory. Reflective nostalgia is a form of deep mourning that performs a labor of grief through pondering pain and through play that points to the future [55].

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Bootman’s text asks us to consider the loss of our memory of Caribbean presence and influence during the Harlem Renaissance. And while an approach to nostalgia that tried to return us, literally and historically, to the moment of public street performances would be impossible, the reflective nostalgic approach bears significant rewards. We can sense the reception of the immigrant stranger. We can take pleasure in the exuberance of his performance. We can relish his triumph over the city’s institutional authority. The pied piper frame story permits such articulations, rendering the Steel Pan Man’s success–and the success of the Caribbean immigrant behind him — inexorable and satisfying. To be sure, the “true” past of the Caribbean experience can never be fully recovered; the fictional framework acknowledges that indexical truth is not the story’s aim. Deeper rewards result from acknowledging the losses of the past, for the fictional framework generates the pleasure of speculation and the magic of the fairy tale. Memory is always faulty and fragmentary, as is historical narrative. We may not receive the truth in fact of the Caribbean migrant to Harlem, but through the imagination we can connect with the spirit of the era.

NOTES 1. I am truncating and simplifying the complicated dynamic between the two populations. See Watkins-Owens for an incisive and nuanced explanation. 2. Kasinits explains, “The Jamaican-born Harlem Renaissance figure W.A. Domingo, for instance, was a vocal advocate of black rights when working in the American political context and a leading advocate of Jamaican independence in the Caribbean context. But he was never an advocate of the interests of Jamaicans in the United States, because here it was racial identity that was politically relevant. Caribbean New Yorkers of the 1920s and 1930s might have been immigrants in a city of immigrants, but it was race that structured their life chances” (8). 3. Watkins-Owens writes of the 1920s, “Contemporaries believed that it was such meetings [street corner oratory] that inspired the New Negro movement of the Harlem Renaissance, though later scholars rarely make this connection” (94). 4. Linda Hutcheon sees an adaptation theoretically: “it is its own palimpsestic thing” (9).

WORKS CITED Aho, William R. “Steel Band Music in Trinidad and Tobago: The Creation of a People’s Music.” Latin American Music Review 8.1 (Spring-Summer 1987): 26–58. Bootman, Colin. The Steel Pan Man of Harlem. Minneapolis: Carolrhoda, 2009. Boym, Svetlana. The Future of Nostalgia. New York: Basic, 2001. Domingo, W.A. “The Tropics in New York.” Survey Graphic: Harlem Mecca of the New Negro. March 1925. 648–50. Cooper, Floyd. Coming Home: From the Life of Langston Hughes. New York: Puffin, 1998. Giovanni, Nikki. Shimmy Shimmy Shimmy Like My Sister Kate: Looking at the Harlem Renaissance Through Poems. New York: Holt, 1996. Haskins, Jim. Black Stars of the Harlem Renaissance. New York: Wiley, 2002.

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_____. The Harlem Renaissance. Brookfield, CT: Millbrook, 1996. Hill, Christine M. Langston Hughes: Poet of the Harlem Renaissance. Springfield, NJ: Enslow, 1997. Hughes, Langston. “My Early Days in Harlem.” Freedomways (Summer 1963): 312–14. Hutcheon, Linda. A Theory of Adaptation. New York: Routledge, 2006. Kasinitz, Philip. Caribbean New York: Black Immigrants and the Politics of Race. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1992. Lee, James Kyung-Jin. Urban Triage: Race and the Fictions of Multiculturalism. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2004. Levine, Gail Carson. Dave at Night. New York: HarperCollins, 1999. McKissack, Lisa Beringer. Women of the Harlem Renaissance. Minneapolis: Compass Point, 2007. Myers, Walter Dean. Harlem Summer. New York: Scholastic, 2012. Myers, Walter Dean, and Christopher Myers. Harlem. New York: Scholastic, 1997. Schroeder, Alan. In Her Hands: The Story of Sculptor Augusta Savage. New York: Lee and Low, 2009. Song, Min Hyoung. Strange Future: Pessimism and the 1992 Los Angeles Riots Durham: Duke University Press, 2005. Tarry, Ellen, and Marie Hall Ets. My Dog Rinty. New York: Viking, 1946. Tate, Eleanora E. Celeste’s Harlem Renaissance. New York: Little, Brown, 2007. Watkins-Owens, Irma. Blood Relations: Caribbean Immigrants and the Harlem Community, 1900 –1930. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1996.

Not All Cinderellas Wear Glass Slippers A Critical Analysis of Selected Cinderella Variants from the Black Perspective DEBORAH L. THOMPSON

Cinderella is one of the most recognized and best loved folktales in the world. Readers of all ages love the story of the good-hearted girl who despite adversity finds her Prince Charming (with the help of her fairy godmother and a pair of tiny glass slippers) and lives happily ever after. The most recognized (and ubiquitous) version of Cinderella is Walt Disney’s Cinderella, a 1950 movie based on Charles Perrault’s French tale.1 Pretty blond, blue-eyed Cinderella is kind to animals, sings beautifully, and forgives her evil stepsisters and does matchmaking for them so that they, too, can live happily ever after. She is the ideal fairy tale heroine and princess-to-be. Cinderella is actually an all-encompassing name that represents the body of Cinderella variants across cultures (Cullen 2003; Sloan and Vardell 2004). The Cinderella tale — there are thousands of known variants — is found on almost every continent (Dundes 1982), although some of the earliest compilations of Cinderella tales were absent any variants from Africa. These compilers advanced three European tales —The Cat Cinderella (Italian), Cinderella, or the Little Glass Slipper (French) and Aschenputtel (German)— as the essential Cinderella variants (Dundes 1982).2 However, in 1893, Marian Cox included in her collection of 300-plus Cinderella tales a Kaffir (Xhosa) tale: “Story of the Wonderful Horns.” Ashley Bryan retold this tale in The Ox of the Wonderful Horns and Other African Folktales (1993). In competing articles, nineteenth 74

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century folklorists Joseph Jacobs (1893) and Andrew Lang (1893), presented arguments as to whether savages (the term used by both to refer to Africans) or Red Indians (also their term) could produce such a tale as Cinderella and her glass slipper. Jacobs thought no because at the heart of the story were marriage rituals established during feudal or medieval times. Lang, on the other hand, thought Cinderella could not have evolved from a “naked, shoeless race” (423) because of the presence of the slipper test motif. But he did argue that the slipper test was not the only way a Cinderella could be recognized. He posited other modes of recognition, e.g., a ring or a lock of hair. See Table 1 for a list of Cinderella variants from the black perspective reviewed for this essay. As anthropologists and folklorists moved from their narrow Eurocentric views of what constituted a Cinderella tale, more multicultural Cinderella tales were discovered and translated for English speaking readers. However, the majority of these tales have either come from Europe, e.g., Greece and Ireland, or Asia, e.g., India, China, and Japan.

Table 1. Selected Cinderella Variants from the Black Perspective Variant

Origin

“Catskinella” Cendrillon Chinye The Gospel Cinderella “The Maiden, the Frog and the Chief ’s Son” “The Magic Orange Tree” Mufaro’s Beautiful Daughters Nomi and the Magic Fish “The Orphan and the Cloak of Skin” “The Ox of the Wonderful Horns” The Talking Eggs “The Three Tests”

African American Caribbean — Martinique West African — generic African American Nigeria — Hausa Caribbean — Haiti Zimbabwe South Africa — Zulu Nigeria — Hausa South Africa — Xhosa African American East Africa — Swahili

No matter from which continent or culture the tale evolved, each Cinderella tale is unique, shaped by large scale cultural, political and historical influences such as invasions, colonization, and migration. Perhaps the biggest influence on all of the tales is writing, i.e., when folklorists began recording Cinderella tales and filtering them through their particular philosophical, psychological and political lenses. (Cinderella, as with all other traditional literature, is from the oral tradition.) How and where these tales evolved is an age-old argument (Bascom 1972) and not the purview of this essay. In this essay, Cinderella variants from the black perspective — African, Caribbean, and African American — will be examined, first through the lens of the anthro-

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pologist/folklorist. This lens necessarily involves tale types and motifs common across all Cinderella variants. The second analysis will be through the cultural contexts of the tales, and the essay concludes with an examination of the availability and accessibility of black Cinderella tales.

Tale Types and Motifs Folktales are categorized according to motifs and tale types. A motif is a repeated element common among folktales, such as magic mirrors, incantations, and formulaic beginnings —“once upon a time”— and endings —“and they lived happily ever after.” Tale types are based on common motifs but from tales that developed independently (Thompson 1951). The best known categorization system is Aarne-Thompson (AT)— used by folklorist and to some extent anthropologists to examine and classify tales across cultures. See Table 2 for a sampling of AT motifs cross Cinderella variants. Using the AT System, Dundes (1982) highlights several Cinderella tale types: AT 510—Cap O’ Rushes/Catskins; AT 510A —Cinderella or the persecuted heroine (and, in rare cases, hero); AT 510B —The Dress of Gold, of Silver, and of Stars; and AT 511—One-Eye, Two-Eyes, and Three Eyes. AT 511A —The Little Red Ox— features male equivalents to Cinderella — a Cinderlad. It should be noted that the universal motif of Cinderella tales across cultures is usually the persecuted heroine or hero at the hands of stepmothers or and/or stepsiblings and occasionally natural parents or siblings. It is one of the first elements to look for in classifying whether or not a variant is a Cinderella tale. AT tale types are based on the body of known Western (Indo-European) folktales. A. Aarne and later Stith Thompson (1933–1936) catalogued thousands of IndoEuropean folktales from which the motifs and tale types index was built. Originally, it was thought that this index could only be used to categorize European folktales, but many motifs are based on human characteristics — greed, bravery, cruelty, envy, kindness — characteristics not exclusive to any ethnic group. These motifs can be applied across to many cross-cultural tales, even though the tales are tempered by language, mores, foods, and other elements of the group from which the tales come, although there are several indices based on non–Western tales.3 For example, common elements found in Perrault’s Cinderella can be found in tales from places the French colonized, such as in the Caribbean (Martinique) where the Cinderella Cendrillon (San Souci 1998) is set or Haiti (Wolkstein 1990) where “The Magic Orange Tree” is set. Steptoe (1987) noted that in researching the tale from which he retold Mufaro’s Beautiful Daughters, he discovered the influence of Chinese traders.

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Table 2. Important Motifs Across All Cinderella Tale Types Persecuted/abused heroine/hero Cruel stepmother/stepsisters Kind/unkind siblings Indifferent, absent, or deceased father Supernatural helper — fairy godmother, elderly woman, young boy Special shoes — incredibly small and made of glass, silver, gold or pink embroidery Clothes produced by magic Hero/prince/suitor sees heroine at ball, in the forest, at the market, and is enamored Good deeds rewarded and evil doers punished Older person helps hero/heroine on quest Person who complies with request of an older person is rewarded

Selecting the appropriate object: eggs, gourds, etc. Dead mother returns from dead to help persecuted child Provisions received from a tree Incantation/chant/refrain Opening and closing lines Significance of three (3) • Tests or tasks • Sheaves of grain • Balls • Ball gowns • Different pairs of shoes Magical/helpful animals • Fish • Ox • Snake • Frog/toad Tasks • Pick up fish bones from village chief ’s garden • Pick lentils from among the ashes • Pick up scattered grains of rice • Sell hen for horse

Transformations • pumpkin or breadfruit into a carriage • mice or agoutis into horses • rat or manicou into a coachman • lizards into footmen • snake into king • old woman into king Tests of recognition • Slipper test • Ring baked in a cake • Song • Unique cookery Taboos • Staying too long at the ball • Killing helpful/magical animal • Eating helpful/magical animal Ordinary objects with magical powers • Eggs, gourds • Horns of an ox/bull • Mirror

Although not stated in the author’s notes, a reader will find an Asian influence in the South African tale Nomi and the Magic Fish (M’Bane 1972)— the magic talking fish motif. The Ox of the Wonderful Horns (Bryan 1993) shares many motifs with the Irish tale Billy Beg and His Bull (Greene 1994). With migrations and colonization and the mobility of humankind, motifs and tale types have become truly cross-cultural. There are several schools of thought as to how these cross-cultural tales came to be, but the foundation of any traditional tale type and its transmission is oral — the spoken word. Folk or traditional tales have no known authors. They derive from spoken texts. They are handed down generation after gen-

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eration influenced by the teller, the context and the conditions in which the tales are retold. Of course, there is a significant change in a tale when someone retells a folktale. This is particularly evident when an outsider commits the tale to print as a retelling. It could be that the person retelling the tale lacks the deep understanding to catch the linguistic subtleties of a language with which he or she has only book knowledge. He or she may edit out parts of the tale deemed to be too violent for non-native readers to encounter. The job of the person retelling the tale is to ensure the it can be published, read and enjoyed by a different readership — usually that of the white, middle class child in the United States (Levy 2000; Ukala 1990).

Common Motifs Across the Black Cinderella Variants Cinderella tales of any ethnic variation do not contain the same motifs. The motifs present depend on the tale type. There are five categories of motifs — place, character, action, object and style. Some motifs have a larger role in certain tales than others. Place motifs are simple — where the story takes place — the setting. Character motifs refer to the main characters in the tale. For example, most of the Cinderella variants reviewed for this essay contain the character motif— persecuted heroine (or hero). Several have the cruel stepmother motif. Mufaro’s Beautiful Daughters and “Catskinella” do not have this particular motif. Other characters may be the wise elder, the villain, the helper and the true love. There are action motifs — some Cinderellas have tasks to perform and some go on quests, for example, Mufaro’s daughters, go on a quest to seek the king, who has decided to take a wife. Object motifs refer to helpful objects with magical or special powers such as oxen horns, rings or shoes. Finally there are style motifs such as formulaic openings and closings as with the African formulaic opening —“What we do not mean, we do not really mean, that what we are going to say is true”— and endings — “So my (or the) story ends.” Of course, the most common opening is “Once upon a time” and “They lived happily ever after.” There are uses of the number three, e.g., three tasks or three balls and ball gowns or an incantation/chant motif— there are several incantations in “The Magic Orange Tree.” A recurring one is: Orange tree, Grow and grow and grow Orange tree, orange tree Grow and grow and grow

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Orange tree. Stepmother is not real mother, Orange tree [15].

The twelve Cinderella tales contain far too many motifs to enumerate here, but Table 3 shows a selected number of shared motifs across the variants. Motifs and tale types may be similar, but each black Cinderella offers the reader a view of the culture from which it came and the outside influences that made the tale as it exists today.

Table 3. Selected Motifs Across Twelve Cinderellas from the Black Perspective Tale “Catskinella”

Motifs

Test of recognition, tasks, magical object/ helper/animal, older person as helper, transformation Cendrillon Cruel stepmother, unkind sibling, test of recognition, tasks, magical helper, older person as helper, transformation Chinye Cruel stepmother, unkind sibling, tasks, magical object/helper/animal, older person as helper The Gospel Cinderella Cruel stepmother, unkind sibling, test of recognition, tasks “The Maiden, the Frog and the Cruel stepmother, unkind sibling, test of Chief ’s Son” recognition, magical object/helper/animal, transformation “The Magic Orange Tree” Cruel stepmother, magical object/helper/ animal Mufaro’s Beautiful Daughters Unkind sibling, test of recognition, magical object/helper/animal, older person as helper, transformation Nomi and the Magic Fish Cruel stepmother, unkind sibling, test of recognition, tasks, magical object/helper/ animal, transformation “The Orphan and the Cloak of Skin” Cruel stepmother, unkind sibling, tasks “The Ox of the Wonderful Horns” Cruel stepmother, tasks, magical object/ helper/animal The Talking Eggs Cruel stepmother, unkind sibling, tasks, magical object/helper/animal, older person as helper “The Three Tests” Tasks, magical object/helper/animal, transformation

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Placing Black Cinderella in Her (or His) Cultural Milieu Multicultural folktales possess many elements of their cultures of origin from foods to the flora and fauna to language. In the Cinderella tales highlighted below, the elements move these tales beyond being standard Cinderella tales; they situate the tales within the everyday lives of the “original” tellers of the tales. There are no castles, there are few balls, and a fairy godmother does not magically appear and turn mice into humans. Furthermore, although black Cinderellas do share common motifs with their Asian and European variants, to get a clearer picture of vitality of the tales it is necessary to strip them of their Eurocentrism and accentuate those elements that counter the pervasiveness of the blond, blue-eyed Cinderella. In this section of the essay, the black Cinderella tales that have been published for public consumption will be analyzed (as opposed to those found only in adult anthologies). “Catskinella” is an AT 510 Cinderella tale meaning it is categorized as a “Cap O’Rushes/Catskin” Cinderella. “Catskinella” shares several motifs with Princess Furball (Huck 1989). They are also the same tale type. However, Virginia Hamilton’s retelling (1995) of the tale has all the richness of her magnificent storytelling voice. This southern black folktale benefits from Hamilton’s use of idiosyncratic lexicon and phrasing. Colloquial phrases such as “her father hollered down” (24) or Mother Mattie’s use of “tomorry” (24) are suggestive of speakers in the southern rural United States. Catskinella’s chores at the castle include minding the chickens, again an activity reminiscent of rural life and the people from whom the tale evolved. A similarity between Catskinella and the AT 510A Cinderella tale is the “fairy godmother figure.” In “Catskinella” Mother Mattie represents the fairy godmother. She is addressed as Mother Mattie, a deferential address often given to the wise women in the community. Unlike the otherworldly fairy godmother in Perrault’s Cinderella, Mother Mattie represents actual matriarchs found in close-knit black communities and are known for dispensing wisdom and useful advice to anyone, including young girls seeking true love. As Lupton (1990) notes the black grandmother in African American literature represents “the traditional preserver of the family, the source of folk wisdom, and the instiller of values within the Black community” (n.p.). Mother Mattie undoubtedly represents a long line of female fictive kin, i.e., someone with strong familial ties but no blood ties, whose experiences and memories of things past make her the perfect candidate for helping a black Cinderella find her Prince Charming. Another southern black Cinderella tale is The Talking Eggs (San Souci

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1989). This tale shares motifs with and is the same tale type as Toads and Diamonds (Huck 1996). San Souci has retold this Creole 511 tale type (One Eye, Two Eyes and Three Eyes) with authentic vocabulary and descriptive scenes such as well-dressed rabbits doing the cakewalk or the Virginia reel. The Virginia reel and the cakewalk were popular during the nineteenth centuries, but it is the cakewalk that gives The Talking Eggs its African spirit. The cakewalk was a dance invented and popularized by Africans during their enslavement as a satirizing of the minuets and other formal dances of the masters (Baldwin 1981). Like the rabbits in colorful dress in the tale, enslaved Africans often dressed in outlandish attire not to emulate, but to make fun of their masters’ pretentiousness in their very presence. Jerry Pinkney’s Caldecott–winning illustrations captures the outlandish costumes and motions of the banjo playing and dancing rabbits. His illustrations also reveal the hardscrabble life of Blanche and of the old woman through the ramshackled cabin and threadbare clothing. The variant most like Perrault’s Cinderella (AT510A) is Cendrillon (San Souci 1995). This tale from Martinique has the requisite persecuted heroine and cruel stepsister and stepmother. There is the ball and the handsome prince. There is a magnificent mansion instead of a castle. The shoes for this damsel are pink embroidery and the gown blue velvet. In a shift in point of view, San Souci has the fairy godmother character relate the tale. It gives the tale immediacy, as if the reader were a part of the story. The tale begins to diverge from the Perrault’s tale with the elevation of the fairy godmother. Much like Mother Mattie in “Catskinella,” the fairy godmother offers comfort and advice to Cendrillon that derives from the wisdom of her years and experiences. She serves as a “play mama” to whom Cendrillon can turn for wise advice, support, and when needed, a little magic. San Souci integrates local terminology and local color — agoutis (a type of guinea pig like rodent) are transformed into horses, the manicou (opossum) is transformed into a coachman, and a breadfruit into a gilded coach. Cendrillon is relegated to eating manioc flour and codfish tails, and at night, instead of sleeping in a hearth (too hot and not the appropriate setting), she has to sleep on a hard straw pallet. However, this tale was retold for an American audience. Instead of using French Creole terms, San Souci uses standard French to make the story more accessible to and less difficult for young readers (author’s note). It is not known how well the reader would have comprehended the Creole terms but it would have added more local flavor had San Souci done so. He does honor his sources and the original tale. Brian Pinkney’s palette for the illustrations for Cendrillon is awash in pinks and blues, lavenders and greens evocative of the Caribbean.

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The Gospel Cinderella (Thomas 2004) is an original Cinderella tale that has the joy and dynamic movement of a lively gospel concert in a small rural black church. Appropriately, Thomas opens the tale with scene reminiscent of the Moses story in the Bible — a baby adrift in a basket. The Moses motif– a person, (usually a woman or child) is set adrift in a boat, basket, cask — has been found in other folktales, and has been indexed as an S141 motif (Thompson 1935). This motif goes well with the story’s gospel theme. Even though it is an original tale, The Gospel Cinderella contains numerous Cinderella motifs including the matriarch (Queen Mother Rhythm), cruel stepmother (Crooked Foster Mother), unkind siblings (Hennie and Minnie), a hero prince (Prince of Music), the persecuted heroine (Cinderella) and a test of recognition (Cinderella’s singing). The tale also elevates the power of song in black life, particularly gospel music. David Diaz’s illustrations move with the rhythm of the text and are a respectful nod to tale’s setting and musical themes. In the forward of Nomi and the Magic Fish (M’Bane 1972), John Inglis Hall (who discovered the young author) describes meeting the young girl Phumla M’Bane. Phumla wanted to enter a writing contest being held at one of the local schools for native South Africans (Apartheid was the law of the land at the time of the contest). She had written down, in English, the tale of an orphan girl, mistreated by her stepmother and stepsister, who found a magical talking fish in a deep pool. Despite being under-aged, Phumla won the contest and her tale was purchased by the American publisher, Doubleday. Little is known about what the publishers paid Phumla or what her royalties were. What the editors at Doubleday did do was pair her tale with a black illustrator — Carole Byard. Byard, a Caldecott medalist, is known for her impressionist style, bold brush strokes and use of vivid colors that extend the stories with which her illustrations have been paired, e.g., Cornrows (Yarbrough 1979) and Working Cotton (Williams 1992). The numerous Cinderella motifs do not overpower the South African character of the tale. There is also a touch of Asian with the magic fish motif. This motif is one found in the oldest known written Cinderella —Yeh Shen (Louie 1982), a Cinderella tale from Southern China. The tale contains references to its setting in the Eastern Cape, but it is Byard’s illustrations that provide the ethnic power for this Cinderella of the veld. Today’s color technologies were not available to Byard when she illustrated the book, but this lack did not prevent her from infusing her line drawings with brilliant oranges, blues and eye-popping streaks of chartreuse. Instead of a prince, there is a Chief who sets a task (a motif found in many Cinderella tales) for the eligible village females — the girl who can pick up the fish bones in his garden will become his wife. The task is the result of Nomi’s honoring her magic fish’s last request — throw its bones in

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the village chief ’s garden. The ethnic layers of the tale continue when the women are described as stamping mealies (maize) for Nomi and the Chief ’s wedding feast. While there is no glass slipper, Nomi’s story is easily recognized as a Cinderella tale. “The Ox of the Wonderful Horns” is a selection from the anthology by the same name compiled by Ashley Bryan in 1971 and reissued in 1993. This tale is an AT511A tale type. The persecuted child of these tales can be a motherless youngest son who is driven from home or leaves home due to unbearable living conditions, e.g., acute starvation. In this tale, Mungalo is the son of the chief ’s first and favorite wife, polygamy being an accepted practice in this culture. When his mother dies, Mungalo is at the mercy of the remaining wives. Life becomes so unbearable, that he leaves his village and ventures out into the world. Familiar published tales that share the same motifs are Billy Beg and His Bull (Greene 1994) and The Irish Cinderlad (Climo 1995). Bryan’s ethnically inspired art is limited by its time period just as Byard’s were in Nomi and the Magic Fish, because advanced color technologies were not available. Despite this limitation, Bryan’s art does support the story imaginatively. The pictures seem to move across the pages of the story. The bright splashes of gold, red, and black make the illustrations sharp and crisp. Bryan infuses his retelling with colorful local words such as kraal, drumming, palm wine, gourd and chief singer. Chinye (Onyefulu 1994) is a West African Cinderella story. The tale is an AT511 (The Talking Eggs is also of the same tale type). The specific ethnic origins of this variant are unclear, since West Africa is a region and not a country, nonetheless, the story features characteristics broadly described that reflect its origins. Safarewicz’s striking water color and pencil illustrations create a mood of anticipation, as the reader knows from experience that Chinye will be rewarded for her goodness and obedience, and her sister will have some calamity befall her. Clothes, plants, animals seem to move across each page. The old woman represents a standard motif— elder helps the main character, usually a female, overcome adversity. Talking gourds represent the magical object motif. The persecuted heroine does live happily ever after, but her fate is not confinement in the castle wed to a “Johnny-come-lately” prince. Instead, Chinye takes control of her life and uses the wealth she gained from making wise choices to make her life and the lives of her village neighbors better. The cruel stepmother and stepsister, too proud to admit defeat, leave the village never to be seen again. Overall, a satisfying conclusion to this Cinderella tale with an especially important ending — to be happy one need not marry a prince. The best known and most honored of all black Cinderella variants is

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Mufaro’s Beautiful Daughters: An African Tale (Steptoe 1987). This AT 511 Cinderella tale has been much lauded and with the Reading Rainbow imprimatur will probably remain in print for some time. Once Steptoe discovered the tale, he did extensive research to find its roots (Natov and DeLuca 1987). After researching as much as he could into the tale’s origins, Steptoe created an authentic story and stunning illustrations. He created the work so that young readers who looked like him would know that there were “complex African societies” (129). Steptoe’s diligence paid off, this, his last major published work, won the only Caldecott Honor medal awarded in 1988. In his author’s note, Steptoe reveals that tale was collected and published in 1895. His illustrations were inspired by a visit he made to an ancient city in Zimbabwe. He notes his inclusion in the book of the flora and fauna of the region. Every aspect of the work reflects how Steptoe deliberated to produce a fine work of art as well as pleasurable reading experience. From the intricate crosshatching in the illustrations to the colors of the palette he used, Steptoe’s illustrations are truly worthy of praise and recognition they received. Each page has a three-D quality and the illustrations practically leap from each page. The colorful birds, the deep hues of the trees, the sheen on the pots, the deep shadows in the baskets and the bright whites of the two sisters’ clothing make this tale an exemplary Cinderella variant. Steptoe left no doubt that he intended for his tale to glorify the culture of a small village in Zimbabwe through colors, naming rituals, customs, and story outcomes. The tale is also filled with numerous Cinderella motifs: magical animals, helpful female elder, transformation, kindness and good deeds rewarded, and unkindness and bad deeds punished. Mufaro, the father in the tale, is a rarity in many Cinderella variant. In most Cinderella variants, the father is absent, dead or ineffectual. In Mufaro’s Beautiful Daughters, the father is a strong, vibrant character, a man who is proud of his two beautiful daughters either one of whom, he thinks, would be worthy to marry the king. He along with the book’s readers discover the folly of pride of one beautiful selfish daughter and the triumph of the other daughter who is as good, beautiful and kind as any Disney Cinderella, and who proves that black is truly beautiful.

Anthologized Cinderellas from a Black Perspective There are many black Cinderella variants that have never been published for children to read and enjoy. Numerous black Cinderella tales languish in dusty anthologies often only used for analyses in anthropology or folklore courses. These tales may have odd (to the Western reader) motifs or storylines,

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e.g., “The Maid, the Frogs and the Chief ’s Son” features a vomiting frog that swallows the heroine and then vomits her back up in full formal regalia. At the conclusion of “The Magic Orange Tree” the heroine takes issue with the story’s narrator who asks her for one of the oranges from her tree, and she threatens bodily harm. In “The Three Tasks,” the sultan’s youngest son gives rotten meat to a race of talking flies that eventually helps him gain treasure and a wife. In “The Orphan and the Cloak of Skin,” cruel stepmother continues her attempts to kill the hero even at the conclusion of the tale, only to have her favorite son die from the snake bite that she had intended for her stepson. These tales involve heroines and heroes who help themselves to happy endings with the aid of something magical as well as their personal intelligence, agency and wit. They are no more foreign, harsh or violent than a German Cinderella variant with talking doves, a clueless prince and the cruel stepsisters who mutilate their feet to attempt personal gain. See Table 4 for a summary of the anthologized black Cinderella tales.

Table 4. A Summary of Four Anthologized Black Cinderella Tales Tale

Summary

“The Maiden, the Frog and the Chief ’s Son”

Persecuted heroine mistreated by her stepmother. She has little to eat is fed very little. Frogs come out to help her and feed her. They become her friends. A festival is held. She wants to attend but does not have proper attire. Frog swallows maiden and vomits her up with the proper festival attire. The chief ’s son sees her and falls in love instantly. She marries the chief ’s son, but the evil stepmother comes and substitutes her daughter in the maiden’s place. All is discovered, the evil doers are severely punished (chopped into little pieces), and the maiden and the chief ’s son live happily ever after. Persecuted heroine is starved by cruel stepmother. One day the girl sees and eats up cruel stepmother’s oranges. Cruel stepmother punishes heroine. Heroine receives magic orange seeds from which an orange tree grows. Heroine eats oranges, satisfying her hunger. Cruel stepmother discovers magic orange tree. She climbs up tree and begins to eat all of the fruit. Heroine coaxes tree to grow taller and taller thus ridding her of the cruel stepmother. Heroine goes to town to sell her magic oranges.

“The Magic Orange Tree”

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“The Orphan and the Cloak of Skin” Mistreated orphan is starved by his cruel stepmother. Cruel stepmother’s son and the mistreated orphan have a chicken each. The orphan tends to and cares for his chicken. Out of spite, cruel stepmother kills the orphan’s chicken. The orphan cooks the chicken and trades it for a horse. Cruel stepmother tries to kill the horse. Orphan leaves home, makes his fortune and returns to his village. Jealous cruel stepmother tries to get orphan to put hand in a snake’s hole. When he does, he withdraws jewels, gold, and other treasures. When cruel stepmother’s son places his hand in the snake’s hole, the snake bites him and he dies. “The Three Tests” The youngest son of a sultan goes on a quest to look for his brothers who have disappeared searching for fortunes and brides. His brothers have been imprisoned because they failed to help certain magical creatures along their way. The youngest son encounters magical creatures, listens to them, obeys them, and is finds his fortune, wins the hand of a beautiful bride, and successfully frees his brothers from prison.

The Availability and Accessibility of Black Cinderella Tales It is unfortunate that the most loved and universally accepted as the “real” Cinderella is the Perrault tale as retold in Disney’s 1950 movie. The tale on which the movie was based came from Charles Perrault’s collected tales that also include Sleeping Beauty, Little Red Riding Hood and Puss in Boots. Cullen (2003) reveals that Perrault’s Cinderella, before Victorian writers and illustrators transformed her, was a mildly witty heroine known for her goodness. The Victorians and then later the Disney writers and animators stripped the French Cinderella of what little wit she possessed and created one of most vacuous fairy tale heroines in existence (Chambers 1997). Perrault’s Cinderella was known for uttering a quip or two, but as she became duller, she also became more docile. Beauty superseded goodness as her best virtue. This vacuous and helpless Cinderella is the standard by which all other Cinderellas are judged, often to the detriment of other Cinderellas who are much more interesting, are as beautiful and at least have a modicum of agency.

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Many versions of the Disney/Perrault Cinderella can be found online and in local bookstores and libraries. A perusal of Amazon.com reveals that it is not difficult to find versions of Perrault’s Cinderella — Marcia Brown, Susan Jeffers, Ruth Sanderson, Errol Le Cain and K.Y. Craft are just a few of the illustrators who have retold and/or illustrated a version of Perrault’s Cinderella. Marcia Brown and Susan Jeffers have even won Caldecott Awards for their illustrations. Many of these versions are still in print and newer versions await publication. The myriad of Disney Cinderella books often populate the Amazon.com top 100 children’s book titles. And a proliferation of Cinderella variants has introduced young readers to Cinderellas from India (Mehta 2002) to Indonesia (Sierra 2001) to Iraq (Hickox 1998). On the other hand, it is especially difficult to find a variety of black Cinderella tales. One of the biggest issues in multiethnic literature is the availability of titles. This lack of availability is especially obvious in relationship to black Cinderella variants. This lack of access to black Cinderella tales feeds the narrative that there are not black Cinderellas. Furthermore, there are very few single editions of black Cinderella tales. Of the dozen black Cinderella tales examined for this essay, six have been have been commercially published as stand-alone titles: Mufaro’s Beautiful Daughters, The Talking Eggs, Chinye, Cendrillon, The Gospel Cinderella and Nomi and the Magic Fish. “Catskinella” is a part of Virginia Hamilton’s anthology Her Stories: African American Folktales, Fairy Tales and True Tales (1995). “The Ox of the Wonderful Horns” is part of an anthology by the same name (Bryan 1993). The other four tales can only be found in adult anthologies of African folklore. In order for all children to access black Cinderella tales, it is necessary for these stories to stay in print, but of the Cinderellas analyzed for the essay, only “Catskinella” (Her Stories), Cendrillon, Chinye and The Talking Eggs remain in print. The Ox of the Wonderful Horns and Other African Folktales, The Gospel Cinderella (which was published in 2004) and Nomi and the Magic Fish are no longer available except as used books or in the case of Nomi, a brief retelling in Judy Sierra’s Cinderella (1992), an anthology of twenty-four multicultural Cinderella tales. There are not multiple versions of any of the black folktales as there are of the docile protagonist of Perrault’s Cinderella.4 To make matters worse, concessions to the Perrault Cinderella are revealed in the cover art of those books that purport to represent multicultural Cinderella variants. The dominant image for two well-known multicultural Cinderella titles is one of the best known and most easily recognized motifs — the glass slipper. The cover art for Paul Fleischman’s Glass Slipper, Golden Sandal (2005) illustrated by Julie Paschkis is an ornate glass slipper. The cover art for Sierra’s multicultural Cinderella anthology (1992) is of many different

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slippers, plain and ornate. Stephanie Perkel’s Midnight, A Cinderella Alphabet does not have shoes on its cover, but it does have a castle and shoeprints on the bridge over the moat revealing Cinderella’s hurried exit from the ball. This deference to the French Cinderella perhaps stems from the fear that a more ethnic image on the covers would reduce sales, and in children’s book publishing as with any level of publishing, it is all about the bottom line.

Conclusion As a traditional tale, Cinderella hales from every part of the globe. Its universality as a tale makes it one of the few tales that many folklorists believe may be an organic tale that evolved from many cultures around the world. This age old tale continues to fascinate and entertain readers worldwide, but with the Disney/Perrault Cinderella prevailing, it is still difficult for many girls of color reading these tales to see a main character who looks like them, who is good, pretty and attends a ball in a beautiful gown, becomes the belle of the ball, and finds her Prince Charming. Researchers have shown that inadvertently, black girls internalize what the ideal Cinderella looks like and how her story will or should end (Yeoman 1999). Even when the main character is black, sometimes black girls have a difficult time believing that a Cinderella type character could look like them. In this study, Yeoman examined how intertextual knowledge intersected with gender and to some extent race. The researcher relates a conversation she had with one of her subjects about Blanche in The Talking Eggs (San Souci 1989): Y: “Marilyn, I see you drew Blanche all in rags before she got rich. Since the story did not give you details of what she looked like, how did you decide to draw her? M: Well I got some ideas from Mufaro’s Beautiful Daughters (one of the other books used in the study) ... well she wasn’t exactly in rags, but she had smudge marks all over her and she was ironing and I thought of Blanche as in rags and old shoes like Cinderella. M: I mostly thought she (Blanche) would be, you know how Cinderella is? And I mostly thought she would get married and live happily ever after” [p. 437].

Even though Blanche in The Talking Eggs does not get married, the pervasiveness of the Disney Cinderella story impedes on this African Canadian girl’s comprehension of the tale. As Yeoman discovered the cumulative effect of repeated exposure to Disney’s Cinderella shaped how the young black girls in her study perceived Blanche in The Talking Eggs, even though they saw that Blanche was black, it did not stop them from drawing her as a blond

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which to these girls represented goodness and living happily ever after. Alarmingly and unfortunately, with so many excellent black Cinderella variants either out of print or never in print, the falsehood of the singular blond, blueeyed Cinderella will continue unabated.

NOTES 1. The oldest known recorded Cinderella is from Southern China —Yeh Shen. Experts place the origins of this tale in 9th century China during the T’ang Dynasty. 2. A variant is a tale common across cultures but influenced by the culture from which it evolved. Cendrillon (San Souci) and Yeh Shen (Louie) are Cinderella variants. 3. There have been several categorizations of African folktales, most notably Ojo Arewa’s A Classification of the Folktales of the Northern East African Cattle Area by Types (1980). 4. Aschenputtel, the German Cinderella, with its violence — hacked off toes and heels and pecked out eyes, has very few available versions. Nonny Hogrogian’s Cinderella is one of the few versions of the published Grimm’s tale. It is out of print.

WORKS CITED Baldwin, Brooke. 1981. “The Cakewalk: A Study in Stereotype and Reality.” Journal of Social History 15.2. Web. 24 July 2012. Bascom, William. 1972. “Cinderella in Africa.” Journal of the Folk Lore Institute 9.1, 54– 70. Print. Chambers, Veronica. 1997. “The Myth of Cinderella.” Newsweek 3 November, 74. Print. Cox, Marian Roalfe. 1893. Cinderella: Three Hundred and Forty-Five Variants of Cinderella, Catskin and Cap O’Rushes. London: Folklore Society. Google Books. Web. 1 July 2012. Cullen, Bonnie. 2003. “‘For Whom the Shoe Fits’: Cinderella in the Hands of Victorian Writers and Illustrators.” The Lion and the Unicorn 27.1, 57–82. Project Muse. Web. 2 July 2012. Dundes, Alan, ed. 1982. Cinderella: A Folklore Casebook. New York: Garland. Print. Jacobs, Joseph. “Cinderella in Britain.” Folklore 4.3 (1893): 269–284. JStor. Web. 13 July 2012. Lang, Andrew. 1893. “Cinderella and the Diffusion of Tales.” Folklore 4.4, 413–433. JStor. Web. 13 July 2012. Levy, Michael M. 2000. “What if Your Fairy Godmother Were an Ox? The Many Cinderellas of Southeast Asia.” The Lion and the Unicorn 24.2, 173–187. Project Muse. Web. 9 April 2009. Lupton, Mary Jane. 1990. “Singing the Black Mother: Maya Angelou and Autobiographical Continuity.” Black American Literature Forum 24, 257–276. OmniFile Full Text Mega (H.W. Wilson). Web. 19 July 2012. “The Maiden, the Frogs and the Chief ’s Son.” 1982. Cinderella: A Folklore Casebook. Ed. Alan Dundes. New York: Garland. 151–156. “The Magic Orange Tree.” 1978. Ed. Diane Wolkstein. The Magic Orange Tree and Other Haitian Folktales. Illus. Elsa Henriquez. New York: Knopf. 14–21. Print. Natov, Roni, and Geraldine DeLuca. 1987. “An Interview with John Steptoe.” The Lion and the Unicorn 11.1, 122–129. Project Muse. Web. 27 June 2012. “The Orphan and the Cloak of Skin.” 1983. Col. and ret. Roger D. Abrahams. African Folklore: Traditional Stories of the Black World. New York: Pantheon. 309–311. Print Sloan, Ann, and Sylvia M. Vardell. 2004. “Cinderella and Her Sisters: Variants and Versions.” Ed. Terrell A. Young. Happily Ever After: Sharing Folk Literature with Elemen-

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tary and Middle School Students. Newark: International Reading Association. 248– 262. Print. Thompson, Stith. 1933–1936. Motif-Index of Folk Literature: A Classification of Narrative Elements in Folk-Tales, Ballads, Myths, Fables, Medieval Romances, Exempla, Fablaux, Jest Books and Local Legends, 6 vols. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Print. _____. 1951. The Folktale. New York: Dryden Press. Print. “The Three Tasks.” 1983. Col. and ret. Roger D. Abrahams. African Folklore: Traditional Stories of the Black World. New York: Pantheon. 42–45. Print. Ukala, Sam. 1990. “Transmission of the Folktale by Print: The Question of Authenticity and Reliability.” Ed. Dele Orisawayi, Ernest Emenyonu, et al. Literature and Black Aesthetics. Ibadan: Heinemann Educational Books. 287–299. Print. Yeoman, Elizabeth. 1999. “‘How Does it Get into My Imagination?’ Elementary School Children’s Intertextual Knowledge and Gendered Storylines.” Gender and Education 11.4, 427–440. Academic Search Premier. Web. 16 July 2012.

CHILDREN’S BOOKS CITED “Catskinella.” 1995. Ret. Virginia Hamilton. Her Stories: African American Folktales, Fairy Tales and True Tales. Illus. Leo and Diane Dillon. New York: Scholastic. 23–27. Print. Climo, Shirley (ret.). 1996. The Irish Cinderlad. Illus. Loretta Krupinski. New York : HarperCollins. Print. Fleischman, Paul. 2007. Glass Slipper, Gold Sandal: A Worldwide Cinderella. Illus. Julie Paschkis. New York: Henry Holt. Print. Greene, Ellin (ret.). 1994. Billy Beg and His Bull: An Irish Tale. Illus. Kimberly Bulcken Root. New York: Holiday House. Print. Hickox, Rebecca (ret.). 1998. The Golden Sandal: A Middle Eastern Cinderella Story. Illus. Will Hillenbrand. New York: Holiday House. Print. Huck, Charlotte (ret.). 1989. Princess Furball. Illus. Anita Lobel. New York: Greenwillow Books. Print. _____ (ret). 1996. Toads and Diamonds. Illus. Anita Lobel. New York: Greenwillow. Print. Louie, Ai-Ling (ret.). 1982. Yeh-Shen: A Cinderella Tale from China. Illus. Ed Young. New York: Philomel. Print. M’Bane, Phulma. 1972. Nomi and the Magic Fish. Illus. Carole Byard. New York: Doubleday. Print. Mehta, Lila. 2002. Anklet for a Princess: A Cinderella Story from India. Illus. Youshan Tang. Arcadia, CA: Shen’s Books. Print. Onyefulu, Obi. (ret.) 1994. Chinye: A West African Folktale. Illus. Evie Safarewicz, London: Frances Lincoln. Print. “The Ox of the Wonderful Horns.” 1971. Ret. and illus. Ashley Bryan. The Ox of the Wonderful Horns and Other African Folktales. New York: Atheneum. 29–41. Print. Perkal, Stephanie. 1997. Midnight, A Cinderella Alphabet. Illus. Spencer Alston Bartsch. Arcadia, CA: Shen’s Books. Print. San Souci, Robert D. (ret.) The Talking Eggs: A Folktale from the American South. Illus. Jerry Pinkney. New York: Dial. Print. _____ (ret.) 1998. Cendrillon: A Caribbean Cinderella. Illus. Brian Pinkney. New York: Simon & Schuster. Print. Sierra, Judy (ret.) 2001. The Gift of the Crocodile: A Cinderella Story. Illus. Reynolds Ruffin. New York: Simon & Schuster. Print. _____, ed. 1992. The Oryx Multicultural Folktale Series: Cinderella. Illus. Joanne Caroselli. New York: Greenwood/Oryx Press. Print. Steptoe, John (ret.) 1987. Mufaro’s Beautiful Daughters: An African Story. New York : Lothrop. Print.

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Thomas, Joyce Carol. 2004. The Gospel Cinderella. Illus. David Diaz. New York: Amistad/HarperCollins. Print. Williams, Sherley Anne. 1992. Working Cotton. Illus. Carole Byard. San Diego: Harcourt. Print. Yarbrough, Camille. 1979. Cornrows. Illus. Carole Byard. New York: Coward-McCann. Print.

Told with Soul Joyce Carol Thomas’s When the Nightingale Sings as a Revision of the Cinderella Story DIANNE JOHNSON

Fairy tales are everywhere and that is, in part, why it is important to examine them closely. Every semester I show my children’s literature students the documentary film “Mickey Mouse Monopoly” which critiques Disney films, which are, of course, often based upon well-known fairy tales. The critique is very harsh, but fair. One of the most powerful critiques is of “Beauty and the Beast.” The filmmaker identifies the Beast character as a batterer and Belle, the main female character, as a victim of battery. Many of my students have a very negative reaction to this framing of the story. They are not able to accept the extent to which they themselves have bought into Belle’s point of view that if only she were nice enough, the Beast would change his behavior. She forgives the Beast’s cruelty to her father and to her. My students are jolted just the teeniest bit when I bring it to their attention that our home state of South Carolina, USA has extremely high rates of domestic violence. Certainly, there are all kinds of reasons that battered women stay in abusive relationships — economic, religious, fear — but often, they think, like Belle, that they can help their abusers to change. I do my best to help my students change — into better critical readers and cultural critics. Issues of gender and fairy tales are huge. Issues of race are equally, if not more, problematic. The two come together in “The Princess and the Frog.” Simply see the Internet for stories about this Disney film to learn about the complex, disturbing, revealing production history of this project. It is a history rooted in E.D. Baker’s book, The Frog Princess, itself inspired by the Grimm 92

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Brothers fairy tale “The Frog Prince.” For purposes of the film, the fairytale was transformed into a story set in 1920s New Orleans. The Frog Princess wades into sensitive territory such as “voodoo”— a cultural phenomenon almost completely misunderstood by mainstream society. The criticisms of the movie are numerous, ranging from the fact that Princess Tiana spends more time as a frog than as a human being, to the decision for the prince character, Naveen, not to be of African descent. African American actors were involved in the production and Oprah Winfrey was a consultant and voiceover talent. The plot thickens. And the concerns of critics go on and on. My reaction to this film (and its history) is multi-faceted. Interestingly enough, talented writer Natasha Tarpley, wrote a children’s book based upon the Disney movie for the Disney company. But this seems backwards. I just want to scream, “Why couldn’t the Disney team have found a wonderful existing story, written by a talented African American writer, to use as the basis for the film?!”— a film that would be grounded in African American culture and experience. My choice for that story would have been Joyce Carol Thomas’s When the Nightingale Sings. It is full of adventure and mystery and twisted family history. In its own way, it features a prince character and a princess character who, no surprise, have their very own love story — perhaps the most important element of all. But I’m not talking about only a traditional kind of love or a purely romantic kind of love. Rather, Thomas’s story also celebrates love that honors family ties, love that honors pure and beautiful spirit. I begin my observations at the opening of the book, with the epigraph. It comes from Song of Solomon 2:10 and reads, “Rise up, my love ... and come away./ For lo! The winter is past,/ the rain is over and gone;/ the flowers appear on the earth/ and the time of the singing birds is come....” So, clearly, the Bible is an important source for the frame of the book and Thomas’s language is just as lush and lyrical as the language of the Bible. Birds and song are important in the book as they are in these verses. And readers are set up to expect a love story. But there are other important referents as well. Take, for example, the very first paragraph of the Prologue: In South Sweet Earth on a palm-tree point near the Swamp grew delicate orchids, lacy cypress, custard apples, giant mangroves, and an orphan called Marigold [1].

Marigold grew, not unlike the (in)famous negro orphan Topsy from Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin, one of the most renowned American novels, set in the 1800s. Says Topsy: “I suspect I grow’d. Don’t think nobody never made me” (229). A reader loses nothing if she doesn’t catch some of

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Thomas’s allusions, such as this quick reference. But for teachers or other readers who are familiar with the history of American letters, it is clear that Thomas is doing fascinating, multi-layered things in this book. To describe her strategy using terminology rooted in African American culture, Thomas is signifyin.’ She is turning the Topsy stereotype on its head. Through the journey of When the Nightingale Sings, the reader learns that unlike Topsy, Marigold is wonderfully made, nourished by rich cultural roots. Mirroring the out-of-sequence organization of the novel, the roots of Marigold’s family tree are tangled, indeed, “[Her] birth is a mystery about to unfold...” (1). Her story has its beginnings in the relationship between three sisters, Queen Mother Rhythm (also known as Letty), Ruby Lee, and Melissa, and the complicated relationship between the three of them and a character named Sweet Jimmy. He’s a music producer, representing them as a singing group called The Nightingale Sisters. He has made promises to each one about how he can advance her career separately. He marries Ruby Lee and has two children with her, twin girls. Meanwhile, he also has romantic relationships with the other sisters as well. He makes the choice to leave town with Melissa, because she is the youngest, and follows through with this decision. What happens to them is revealed deep into the story: They are not successful in getting Melissa’s career off the ground and Jimmy ends up leaving her. Her reaction is surprisingly understanding: “I guess it’s hard to be a man when every time you stand up something stomps you back down.” This is particularly important because it could be interpreted as Joyce Carol Thomas herself extending some empathy to her black brothers, so often vilified in a society that makes life very difficult for African American men. Melissa goes on: “And it’s harder to be a woman without sisters” (100). At this point, she is pregnant and alone. Pregnant with the child who will be known as Marigold. Upon returning to her hometown of Sweet Earth, and in labor, Melissa sends a swamp woman to locate and summon her sister Letty. Letty arrives in time for the birth. But distraught at her sister’s death, she places the baby in the arms of the Swamp Woman. This woman is, possibly, the spurned sister, Ruby, who at this point doesn’t recognize either one of her sisters. Now cast in the role of the evil stepmother of Marigold, she returns home with the baby who grows up to become the Cinderella-like sister to her twin daughters, who are also Jimmy Lee’s abandoned daughters, now playing the role of the evil step sisters. The larger context of the story is this: Queen Mother Rhythm (Letty), is the most acclaimed gospel singer around. She is retiring and looking for a successor. She is being assisted in her search by Anthony, her Minister of Music. It is worth mentioning Thomas’s description of him, if only because

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images of black men have been distorted, historically, in American popular culture. Here, this young black man is described as having “intelligent eyes, black as a sparrow” (22). For me, it is impossible to read this description without thinking about Toni Morrison’s novel, The Bluest Eye, in which the main character, Pecola Breedlove, does not love her own dark eyes, but covets the blue eyes of little blonde girls. Anthony moves “gracefully, with a wildcat stride” (22). Thomas describes Anthony through comparison to an animal, but in a way completely different from the ways in which such comparisons have often been used to dehumanize African Americans. When “Marigold saw his peat-mixed-with-clay brown face and those intelligent, ink-black eyes for the first time” (26) she thought that she had never seen anyone so handsome. But before seeing him in person, she hears his voice, a voice that “suggested sugarcane and custard apples and rainbows and the musky smell of mangrove trees” (24). Marigold experiences an emotion of love that is entirely different than any puppy love she’s experienced previously. This beautiful man, along with Queen Mother Rhythm, has embarked upon a quest to find a person with a voice as magnificent as the Queen Mother’s. On their way to the home of the twins, he hears Marigold when she is outside singing and declares to Queen Mother Rhythm, “That’s our nightingale. Whoever sings those notes must have a soul with shiny wings” (22). Unfortunately, he does not discover Marigold during this visit. But the importance of this passage cannot be overstated. In the Cinderella story many of us are familiar with, the prince is in love with Cinderella because she is physically beautiful. But here is a different narrative. In Thomas’s story, the characters fall in love with each other because all that they are — as decent, spiritual human beings — is embodied in their voices. So instead of the story with the prince looking for the beautiful girl who wore the beautiful slipper, Anthony and Marigold seek each other for the sake of goodness, and pure love, and partnership. This is an ingenious, meaningful revision. It is a revision that will prompt young readers to reevaluate their understanding of the story they know and to consider how other stories might be re-imagined as well. Just as Joyce Carol Thomas draws liberally on the Bible and on fairytales, she also draws upon Greek dramatic tradition through two characters, singers from the Voices of Paradise Choir who function as the Greek chorus. They are aware of everything that happens. As the scene unfolds wherein Queen Mother Rhythm holds the dying Melissa, “[t]hey were so caught up in the drama of the long-lost sister, they were rooted to the spot” (9). This is interesting imagery, rendering these two, Betty Jean and Annie Mae, just as solid and integral to the story, just as rooted as the trees in the swamp. On the other hand, they are everywhere they need to be, appearing in scene after

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scene to give their commentary on the action. They are characters with whom teenage readers might ally, seeing the action through their eyes. Interestingly, just as Thomas pays homage in her own way to the Bible, to the Grimms Brothers, and to Greek drama, she also acknowledges the importance of the human behavior of gossiping, often framed in negative terms. But she respects the social function served by gossiping as a way of establishing and negotiating social behavior. At one point, Annie Mae says to Betty Jean, “I just wonder when you’re gonna leave other people’s affairs alone. When are you gonna learn to stay out of Brother Biscuit and sister Cornbread’s business?” Betty Jean’s response is “I don’t see you covering your ears” (127). Gossip is, indeed, an important form of storytelling in this book, recalling for lovers of African American literature the “porch”— the townspeople of Zora Neale Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God. Thomas shows her appreciation and understanding of African American culture from the stance of not only a writer, but folklorist, and plain old “sista.” This interchange between Annie Mae and Betty Jean occurs during one of their most important scenes when they are discussing the replacement for Queen Mother Rhythm and how that person’s voice must be distinctive. They conclude that to have that kind of voice, the person must have experienced heartbreak. They recount the story of Jimmy Lee and the sisters, noting that the sisters each cursed the others. Marigold, present at the same musical function, does not hear the part of their conversation referencing her own disappearance right after her birth. What she does hear is her own dreams, and her own heart, and she finishes writing the song that is hers, given to her initially when Letty (Queen Mother Rhythm) holds her after her birth, and again during the hurricane she survived: “I haven’t forgotten what the Nightingale sang. He told me I was something kind of precious” (128). It is this kind of inner resolve, no matter how beaten down she may be, that presages that Marigold will triumph in the end. The culminating scene of the book takes place at the big gospel sing-out, where the twins perform in one final attempt to win Anthony’s attentions. (This is not unlike Cinderella’s sisters competing for the Prince’s attentions.) When their performance is failing fast, Marigold lends her voice to the effort, singing from behind the stage curtains. At this point, her face to face meeting with Anthony is inevitable, and he finds her in a hiding place. “He took her hands and looked deeply into her eyes.... I’ve waited so long!” (138). So Cinderella and the Prince have found each other, not through a shoe that fits, but through voices that speak to each other’s souls. Queen Mother Rhythm knows at this point that she has found her replacement. As in any good fairy tale, the various strands must all come together.

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Queen Mother Rhythm and Ruby Lee each realize the identity of the other. Ruby Lee and her mean daughters try to rationalize their inexcusably poor treatment of Marigold, claiming that she was left on their doorstep by the Swamp Woman “because she looked like [Ruby Lee]” (141). It is not clear whether or not the Swamp Woman and Ruby Lee are actually one and the same, and in the end, it’s not really important. What is interesting is that no matter how despicable Ruby Lee’s behavior, Thomas gives readers a way to sympathize with her. When her daughters want to flirt with the boys at the gospel sing-out, she remembers being left by their father and she warns them, “Good-for-nothing boys’ll take something precious and leave you holding the bag, the belly, and the baby” (12). She is a person who has suffered and her negative experiences become manifest in her behavior. In the end, the sisters (Queen Mother Rhythm and Ruby Lee) forgive each other, Marigold and her twin cousins accept each other as sisters, and love wins the day. Not only do Anthony and Marigold become a couple and a team, but Queen Mother Rhythm and the pastor of her church, Reverend Honeywell, finally consummate their own love. This is definitely a different kind of ending than in the Grimms’ Cinderella. And at the end, symbolically, “the twins sang in harmony because they were a family now” (146). Part of what is remarkable about When the Nightingale Sings is the extent to which author Joyce Carol Thomas writes so many elements into a kind of literary harmony. Particularly striking are the ways in which she plays with language, showing her mastery of both the written and spoken word. The examples are numerous. Exceptionally poignant are Melissa’s letters, tucked into baby Marigold’s blankets on Melissa’s dying day. When the baby is stolen away, the letters are lost, unearthed again only when the earth itself, and Marigold, are tossed about in the hurricane. The letters tell her life story, not unlike the way in which slave narratives write the existence of the authors into legitimacy and into recorded history. The story would not have the same weight without Melissa’s testimony. There is a constant refrain, a recurrent question, in black American churches: “Can I get a witness?” In When the Nightingale Sings the “gospel Greek chorus” are her witnesses. Those courageous former slaves who wrote their stories most often had to secure prefaces by white supporters, abolitionists, who could vouch for the identities of the writers. But it is clear that Melissa’s story is “written by herself ”— the phrase so often connected to the slave narrative, written from a place of freedom. It is clear that Joyce Carol Thomas wants her readers to think about the meaning of freedom in a variety of contexts. For example, Marigold, our Cinderella character,” usually found refuge in writing” (31). The heart of the lyrics she is trying to recall from her heart and memory read:

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Be a rock, be an arrow/ Be God’s tree, be God’s sparrow And all the things/ Your spirit needs to be/ But most of all, be free [86].

Her life as an artist makes it possible for her to retain her sanity and her humanity. Some of the secondary characters, too, enjoy an enormous amount of artistic freedom. Anthony’s constant companions, River Rainbow and Sparrow Sunrise, give some culturally informed comic relief through the rap songs they occasionally make up. More important, Thomas is recognizing the legitimacy and the power of rap and writing rap into African American literary history. Musing on Ruby and her twin stepdaughters’ attempts at singing, Rainbow and Sunrise compose these lines: One’s too thick/ One’s too slight/ One’s too dull/ One’s not bright But worst of all one child can’t sing/ And the other’s voice got a false ring And the mama, Lord have mercy! [27].

So in addition to incorporating rap, Thomas makes a comment on the sacred and the profane. When the Nightingale Sisters are still together as an act, Melissa writes a song entitled “There’s a Man in My Life.” On the surface, the song is about their love of Jesus Christ. But if one were to listen closely, one could “hear the hint of just a little too much sweetness” (58–60). Through her facility with language and her complete immersion in African American literary culture, Thomas is reminding her readers of every age group that art can be used in corrupt ways as well as in ways that are uplifting and freeing. Not only is Thomas’s story an exploration of the Cinderella story, but it is an homage to writers who are loved by Marigold and, readers might assume, by Joyce Carol Thomas too — Shakespeare, Virginia Wolfe, Jean Toomer, Phillis Wheatley and Zora Neale Hurston, whom many would identify as a free woman, however complicated that term. It is entirely apropos that Marigold invoke the memory of Zora Neale Hurston because of Hurston’s role as an anthropologist, novelist, and folklorist. Hurston had an intimate knowledge of African American folklore and language and would adore the ways in which Thomas uses vernacular in When the Nightingale Sings, demonstrating a kind of intellectual and artistic freedom. Seamlessly, Thomas combines formal, standard English with lush, Bible inspired prose, as well as with Black English inflected prose. Consider this sentence: “The preacher said it might could help if you come sing at the baptism” (48). Or this line: “Make it a duet — we don’t want any old hymns that everybody and they mama already knows” (84). When Anthony is becoming frustrated with the search for the new Nightingale, he declares: “We’ve been through fifty-eleven voices, and I still haven’t heard her sweet song” (125). And when Queen Mother Rhythm, “over in the Amen Corner,” agrees with the words of the preacher,

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she simply says, “Well”— a word that perhaps only those raised in the tradition can appreciate: “‘Well,’ said Queen Mother Rhythm, over in the Amen Corner, giving that echoing ritual so familiar in the call-and-response part of the sermon” (106). So not only does Joyce Carol Thomas participate in a particular language community, but she names the tradition. Her readers know that she values the tradition and that she invites them to become part of it too. For Black American young people, in particular, it is crucial to be multi-lingual, to attain mastery across the spectrum of American English speech styles, knowing when it works to one’s advantage to communicate in a particular way. Part of Joyce Carol Thomas’s accomplishment is that she is able to celebrate African American cultural and literary tradition at the same time that she is fully in the fairy tale realm. Specifically, the character of Marigold has complete respect for the natural world, including animals. One example is that she plans to ask the birds for permission to use their feathers in the headdresses she is forced to make for her step-sisters. And as in some versions of the Cinderella story, Marigold has the ability to talk with animals, if only in her dreams. It is while dreaming that Marigold is able to retrieve the song she heard as a newborn, from her Aunt Letty’s lips. In her dream, it is during a life altering interchange between her and a Nightingale that she remembers the song that is her salvation: “The last thing she remembered before waking up were these words from the Nightingale: ‘When the nightingale sings the right song to your heart, a clear path is lit for the song to return’” (95). When she awakens from the dream, she easily finds the feathers for the headdresses, including a single nightingale feather that she will use in her own headdress. Even more importantly, her search for the feathers leads her to the silvery metal box that holds the letters written by her birthmother, Melissa. Joyce Carol Thomas’s story is a synthesis between various literary traditions, folkloric traditions, languages, and belief systems. It is religious and it is earthly. It is timeless and contemporary. For a time, it was troubling to me that in Thomas’s story there is no obvious equivalent to the Fairy Godmother of popular Cinderella stories. But the more I thought it, the more it seemed that God, in the most expansive understanding of that word, is Marigold’s fairy godparent, her guardian. The animals, a bird, in fact, function as God. During the hurricane “A bird sang short and calm as the meditating voice of God” (70). Later, when Marigold is being pulled under by quicksand “A Swamp light lit on her, and when she breathed in, she breathed in the bird’s sound and the calmness that lay lined in it” (71). Thomas’s story suggests that there is a rhyme and reason behind all that nature does, though humans might not understand this always. The hurricane, seemingly so destructive, is what

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uproots the box holding Melissa’s letters, unlocking the family’s secrets and making their future possible. So despite the absence of an obvious Fairy Godmother, When the Nightingale Sings is, indeed, a Cinderella story while completely Marigold’s story too. It is, as stated in the flap copy, a “gospel Cinderella story that will touch anyone who ever needed to find a place in the world.” When the Nightingale Sings is tied up neatly with the final paragraph: And so [Marigold] found her family and her place. And her aunts who were enemies became friends. And her cousins who were bickerers became harmonizers. And her boy became her man. And her song remained her own [148].

Only the most talented of writers can make this kind of pat ending work. In one sense, it is the quintessential fairy tale ending. But on the other hand, it is a revision that takes the Cinderella prototype to a new level of promise for readers of a new millennium. It is a love story in the most encompassing sense, celebrating self-acceptance, family ties, the life of the spirit, and African American culture.

WORKS CITED Hurston, Zora Neale. Their Eyes Were Watching God. Philadelphia: J.B. Lippincott, 1937. “Mickey Mouse Monopoly: Disney, Childhood & Corporate Power” [videorecording]. Northampton, MA: Media Education Foundation, 2002. Morrison, Toni. The Bluest Eye. New York: Holt, Rinehart & Winston, 1970. “The Princess and the Frog” [videorecording]. Burbank, CA: Walt Disney Studios Home Entertainment, 2010. Stowe, Harriet Beecher. Uncle Tom’s Cabin. New York: Random House (Modern Library Edition), 1985. Tarpley, Natasha, and James Finch, illus. Princess Tiana and the Royal Ball. White Plains, NY: Disney Press, 2009. Thomas, Joyce Carol. When the Nightingale Sings. New York: HarperCollins, 1992.

Caribbean Folk Tales and African Oral Tradition RUTH MCKOY LOWERY

Popular images of the Islands of the Caribbean entice the viewer to steal away to a respite of peace and tranquility. Enjoy the warm cool breeze, lounge on beautiful white sandy beaches, drink coconut water, and snorkel the transparent Caribbean Sea. These are only a sampling of the imageries used to stimulate the senses, prompting the yearning for a Caribbean vacation. These images are often used to entice those who are not from the Caribbean to want to visit. However, for many people of Caribbean descent, more stimulating images of the Caribbean are those of childhoods filled with memorable events. Harry Belafonte’s internationally beloved song “Island in the Sun” entreats them to go home again. Visits home mean taking a break from a rigorous work life abroad, going to see extended family, catching up with unfinished stories — the folklore of home, and enabling their children to learn about their homeland. For many Caribbean natives, published stories about their homelands are few and when they do discover a story that represents any segment of the Caribbean, they quickly hold on to that little portion that they can call home. The focus of this essay is on two stories that do just that, stories which bring the folklore of the Caribbean to life in printed words and illustrations. Stories that Islanders1 are excited to share with their children, emphasizing that when they were growing up, they would have liked to see these written stories, even though they would trade the oral stories “for nothin.’” I discuss the retelling of two popular Brothers Grimm’s fairytales which capture the essence of Caribbean experiences: Virginia Hamilton’s The Girl Who Spun Gold (2000), a Caribbean version of the Rumpelstiltskin story, and Patricia Storace’s Sugarcane Girl: A Caribbean Rapunzel (2007), a West Indian version 101

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of Rapunzel. I demonstrate here that Black cultural ways of knowing continues to be rooted within African oral traditions. This cultural knowledge gets passed down through stories as storytellers weave their web of wonderfully interest-piquing tales. Thus, by retelling traditional tales that incorporate African traditional narrative patterns, the authors of these retellings assert cultural authenticity and affiliations with the continent through their stories, liberally mixing Caribbean and African cultural artifacts to legitimate the stories. I begin with a brief look at the Caribbean, reflecting on the history, people and folklore. I then offer a perusal of the stories, highlighting why these stories serve as cultural markers for West Indians or Caribbean natives. While these stories can be used across all Caribbean life experiences, for the purpose of this discussion, I focus on the Anglophone English speaking experiences, drawing heavily on the Jamaican experience.

Peoples of the Caribbean Christopher Columbus coined the name West Indies in 1492, when he mistakenly thought he had landed in India. Later, the British used the name to describe their colonies on the islands and coastlines of the Caribbean. The name is still used today to identify mainly English-speaking territories and Caribbean countries. The terms “Caribbean” and “West Indian” are used interchangeably to refer to the same group of descendants. I also use both terminologies in this essay, but refer more to the term “Caribbean” experience. Gentles-Peart and Hall theorize, No inhabitants of the Caribbean are native to the islands upon which they live. All have come from somewhere else, often brought there by extreme force and violence. They cannot return to the places from which they have come because they are no longer singularly African, Indian, or Chinese [7].

The Caribbean and the African continent are linked by the African diaspora, which began in the fifteenth century when the first groups of Africans were sent against their will to the Caribbean and the Americas as slaves. Young and Ferguson posit that most of the slaves who were “brought from Africa to the Caribbean were from the Gold Coast of West Africa” (493). This flow of human capital continued through the nineteenth century, resulting in a common heritage that can be found among Blacks in the Caribbean and other regions of the world. This is often evident in the foods, music, storytelling, and blending of languages across the Americas. However, despite the commonalities shared by the different peoples of the Caribbean, each group is as distinctly unique in their customs. Ratcliff finds that in spite of attempts by

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some “black cultural nationalists and adherents of Afrocentricity to locate a ‘universal’ African cultural identity on the continent or in the Diaspora, the diversity of Afro-descendants in the Americas is complex and multifaceted” (29). Walker and Greene conclude, The strength of the Afrocentric method is that it does not concern itself with how closely it approximates or deviates from any other traditional rhetorical approach. It stands alone as a fully functioning methodological entity [62–63].

Afrocentricity places Africa and the experiences of diasporic peoples of African ancestry at the center of academic inquiry (63). Caribbean and West Indian heritage can also be traced back to immigration from India, China, and Europe. Shelley-Robinson shares that after emancipation in the nineteenth century, former slaves abandoned the plantations and, “in order to fill the labor gap, the colonists imported indentured servants from India. Much later came the Chinese, as well as Middle Easterners including Jews, Syrians, and Lebanese” (14). These cultural and racial influences mixed with the indigenous cultures already present on the islands. The impact of four major languages — Spanish, English, Dutch, and French — resulted in the countries being classified linguistically as the Spanish, English, French, and Dutch Caribbean (14). According to Shelley-Robinson: A further relic of Europe’s invasion of the Caribbean is its four major languages — Spanish, English, Dutch, and French — whose adoption resulted from a sheer accident of history, depending on which of the colonial powers eventually gained supremacy in their struggle for each country in the region. Consequently, the countries are sometimes classified linguistically as the Spanish, English, French, and Dutch Caribbean. However, despite these all these countries are bound together by a common history of colonization, slavery, emancipation, and the struggle for independence and self-determination [14].

Today, the mixed heritage of the Caribbean is evident in the various images of Caribbean descents. In countries like Jamaica and much of the Anglophone Caribbean islands, however, people of African ancestry are still the predominant population. Though many of these countries were a part of the British Commonwealth and today share many features of British government and societal customs, much of the daily customs are deeply rooted in their African ancestry and is evident through their art and cultural mores.

Oral Tradition: Folktales and Storytelling According to Cynthia James, although diverse groups in the Caribbean have existed together, “West Indian society is a young society in which cultures

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with a strong oral basis — mainly African, Amerindian, and Asian — are just becoming exposed to each other” (164). Oral stories are the oldest form of literature for children (Borrero 54) and have been the main stay in explaining the ways of the world, life at home and abroad, and the genealogy of Caribbean life. Glasceta Honeyghan describes an idyllic life growing up in a rural Jamaican village. Without television or other detractors, the art of storytelling was paramount with stories being told into the late nights (407). Children learned the art of storytelling from their parents and other elders, and related the stories to their friends, often embellishing to make these stories their own. Laura Tanna shares that “storytellers in Jamaica have never traditionally been paid performers but simply talented individuals who learn the stories from their elders or associates and practice performing them for family and friends” (29). Like Honeyghan’s childhood, many children grow up hearing about their African ancestors from elderly relatives or village storytellers. The Caribbean is well known for its Anansi2 folktales. These stories are passed down from generation to generation and still enjoy honored status across the Caribbean islands and especially in Jamaica. Anansi or Anancy and Brer Anancy (Brother Anancy), as he is more frequently known in Jamaica, is regarded as both a cunning trickster and a cultural hero who uses “absurdity and humor to overcome situations involving those in authority, as well as siblings, friends, or children (Honeyghan 406). Marian Stewart theorizes that the Jamaican Anansi stories are clearly associated with the Akan people folk hero of the same name (6). Stewart further notes that the spider stories have remained a staple of Jamaica because the “Akan were among the first Africans who arrived in the island and thus ‘the spider tales established a kind of historical priority over other West African folk heroes’” (6). Logan theorizes that although Anansi tales originated in West Africa among the Akan, these animal stories, folktales, and legends in the Caribbean are “liberally spiced with additional elements’ from India, England, France, Spain, Holland, and the indigenous Amerindians” (180). Folktales are still very important to the Caribbean today. It is what Stewart determines to be the “area which the strongest retention of African features may be observed” (2). Opoku-Agyemang too finds that folktale still provides a widely accepted and approved forum through which shared values may be delivered. Opoku-Agyemang also determines that “it is also possible to see the folktale as a powerful form through which societal values may be contested, reformed, or overthrown altogether” (230). Oral performance is greatly valued in African and African-Caribbean literature. Louise Bennett or Miss Lou, noted Jamaican folklorist, is still highly regarded as one of the most famous storytellers of the Caribbean. Bennett’s stories are usually heavily twined with

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patois or Jamaican creole, a style which Honeyghan thinks captures and expresses the Caribbean’s poetic sentiment (411).

From Oral Stories to Print While oral story forms are widely available across the Caribbean, the written versions of said stories have only in recent generations become visible. Logan (2005) and James (2005) both hypothesize that written stories came about in the 1960s after many Caribbean nations gained independence from British rule. Mervyn Morris also asserts that West Indian literature, as a body of work, is a fairly recent phenomenon that has only been around for the last 50 years (1). Logan agrees, determining that “Caribbean children’s literature, like other African Diasporic literatures for the young, is relatively recent” (179).To date, written folklores are still not prevalent across many countries of the Caribbean. Many still depend on oral stories in order to keep various customs alive. Stories that are recorded are often done by small presses and when they go out of print, it is difficult to find them in popular outlets. James determines that Andrew Salkey, a Jamaican novelist, is considered a pioneer in establishing West Indian children’s literature. James shares further, Salkey is a forerunner in trying to approximate the spontaneity of the live storyteller in print form. He does this by mixing Creole with Standard English, not only for the speech of his characters, but also for the portrayal of the narrator [166].

Salkey and others after him, worked to bring stories to print to ensure a wider audience could enjoy them. MacCann and Smith theorize that the “reclamation of history, recuperation of oral culture, and redirection of politics are all at the heart of modern writings from Africa and the Black Diaspora” (137). Stories still matter both in oral and written contexts, and in Standard English or Patois. One treasured collection of folktales is Louise Bennett’s Anancy and Miss Lou (1979), which relate the absurd “antics” of Anancy. Bennett’s stories are easily repeated by a fireside but are also a published document that is available anywhere and copies have been easily accessible in recent years, especially since her death in 2006.

My Island in the Sun: Stories of the Caribbean Isles Stories help us to formulate ideas we sometimes cannot comprehend or deal with. They are sometimes helpful in bringing us to a closer understanding

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of who we are and how we process that notion of being. Through stories, we are sometimes able to right wrongs, answer burning questions, and grapple with issues we would otherwise not address. Stewart contends, Like their African counterparts, Jamaican stories are vehicles of satire and censure. They also offer psychological release from the tension produced by the inequality of the social and economic structures of West Indian societies. This latter feature was just as prominent during slavery, as the slaves could safely channel their resentments and criticisms of their masters in the form of stories which afforded them some anonymity [15].

Taxel finds that members of parallel cultural groups present stories from their folk origins. They use correct elements of their traditions or create new stories that detail aspects of their cultural experiences (107–108). These stories help to illuminate aspects of particular cultures that would otherwise go unnoticed. Contemporary picture books progressively depict diverse cultural representations that have not been readily present in popular media. These depictions are today more inclusive of diverse portrayals of the peoples of the Caribbean region. One fundamental issue in the analysis of any literary source is the cultural sensitivity and authenticity of the material. Mahurt (2005) finds that a consideration of the interplay between text and illustration in its ability to represent historical elements, cultural details and regional authenticity are viewed as central to the representation. Botelho and Rudman contend that critical multicultural analysis allows readers to assess representations of power and unmask dominant ideologies so they may connect textual messages with issues of social change and justice (9). The identified texts in this essay, The Girl Who Spun Gold and Sugar Cane: A Caribbean Rapunzel, offer multiple representations for such readings in the context of their representations of the Caribbean.

The Girl Who Spun Gold In The Girl Who Spun Gold, Virginia Hamilton presents a masterpiece in the West Indian retelling of the classic Brothers Grimm Rumpelstiltskin tale. The story begins on page one with a foreshadowing of things to come. We learn about a tiny fellow who is magical and mischievous. His name is Lit’mahn and everyone knows to stay away from him. We are then carried into the beautiful tale of a “lovely girl” named Quashiba who spins plain thread with her mama. One day as they sit spinning thread, young Big King, ruler of the land comes riding by. Hearing the young woman and her mother

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laughing and talking loudly, Big King stops to enquire about the noise. The mama, with quick thinking wit immediately responds, “Oh, great Big King, my daughter is spinning a whole field of finest golden thread to make cloth for his Highest. And we are so happy, we are rejoicing about it, don’t cha know” (n.p.). On hearing this, Big King who immediately thinks of the riches he could have, also notes the girl’s beauty and quickly decides to marry Quashiba. His one condition is that in one year, she will need to weave him three rooms full of golden things. Thinking the king will forget this Quashiba marries Big King and is transported into a life of luxury. One year later, however, Big King keeps his promise, locking Quashiba away and threatening to keep her “cooped up in here forever and a year” (n.p.) if she does not weave the gold things he desires. As Quashiba sits crying, Lit’mahn appears. When she explains her dilemma, he offers to make the golden things but she will need to guess his “whole name” (n.p.) by the end of the third day. If not, he will make her “tiny, just like me” and carry her “off to live in my shade” (n.p.). Quashiba agrees but is unable to name him after two days. On the second night as she eats supper with Big King, he relates a tale of seeing “a funny little mahn” (n.p.) dancing and singing a song. Unknowingly, Big King solves the name puzzle for Quashiba; the creature’s name was “Lit’mahn Bittyun” (n.p.). On the third day after weaving the room full of gold things, Quashiba correctly guesses his name. Lit’mahn became so angry and screeches so loudly, “it turned the moon around. The hat jumped off his head. His ears fell off! ‘POP-OP!’ he goes, in a million bitty flecks of gold that flowed into the night and disappeared” (n.p.) for good. Quashiba refuses to speak to Big King for three long years because of the way he treats her. She finally forgives him, however, and they live happily ever after. There is cultural authenticity in the rhythm of the story. Virginia Hamilton skillfully portrays the West Indian dialect, Patois, creating a sense of reciting the story by the fireside. Quashiba is portrayed as the obedient daughter, who though she knows her mama lies to the king, defers to her authority and marries the king, even though she knows she cannot fulfill his greatest wish of becoming richer. She becomes upset at her husband’s callous treatment but does nothing about it initially enduring the male domination by Big King and Lit’mahn. This ascertains Wheeler’s argument that the male voice dominates Caribbean oral performance (139). Quashiba finally develops what West Indians would call “her spunk” and fights back. “Queen Quashiba would not talk to Big King for three long years and three long fields” (n.p.) after everything was over. This lengthy period evidences how deeply enraged Quashiba was at the way she was treated by Big King. Big King comes across as an ego-centric person. As king of the land, he

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is denied nothing. Thus, he expects to get what he wants and when he wants it. However, Quashiba’s denouncement of his behavior sparks a repentant heart in Big King. He begs of her, “Forgive me, my Queen Quashiba! I was so greedy to ask for golden things. I have buried every padlock in our kingdom!” (n.p.). Big King goes from viewing the kingdom as his domain to including his wife Queen Quashiba as co-owner. Lit’mahn is an archetypal model of the obeah or voodoo person found in African and Caribbean folklore. Obeah is the term used in the West Indies to identify magic, sorcery and religious practices derived from West African customs. It is also used to refer to folk religion on the islands. Hamilton carves a repulsive image of Lit’mahn, which is effectively realized in Leo and Diane Dillon’s award winning illustrations. You know immediately that you will dislike him, and his features and actions ascertain that this dislike will only be heightened throughout the story. It is thrilling to see that he is destroyed, blown “in a million bitty flecks of gold that flowed into the night and disappeared” (n.p.), versus running away. After all, if he runs away, he could come back! When evil is demolished, it must no longer have power. However, the elders are sometimes reminded of Lit’mahn, particularly when stories involving him are retold, “Don’t cha know! Each time, they say, when his tale be told” (n.p.). The names and customs are conceivable for African descended folks of the Caribbean. “Big” is often used to signify someone’s status in a village. Lit’mahn [Little man] also is indicative of the horrible creature’s status. He does not even live in a house but rather in a “big hole in the ground at the foot of a tree” (n.p.). Although he is a mischief maker, who can make others as tiny as he, his anger propels him to tear himself apart. The foods described leave a mouth-watering yearning to taste, “bread, roasted goat ... plantains, fish and coconuts, red beans and rice” (n.p.). These are all foods that are widely eaten and enjoyed across the Caribbean, though Jamaica is well known for its curried goat versus roasted goat. Weddings, funerals and other community affairs still remain a cultural tradition for islands of the Caribbean. Families cook enormous quantities of food and everyone comes to enjoy the family’s good will, catching up with each other, and inevitably telling stories. Leo and Diane Dillon’s breathtaking illustrations complement the beautiful story. The illustrations sparkle with vibrant shades of gold paint. There is no question of the magnificence and the reader can understand just how important gold was to Big King from looking at the Dillon’s artistry. The pictures tell a vivid story of African and West Indian cultures in the vibrancy of the colors, the elaborate robes, and the lushness of Big King’s territory. These images also create a magnificent picture of Quashiba’s world. The features of the characters clearly identify them as descendants of African ancestry. Big

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King exudes power and his preeminence is easily identified in the way the other characters defer to him, both in the storyline and in the illustrations. Throughout the story, the pictures playfully exude the richness of colors, fashion and style that are still evident in both the African continent and in the Caribbean today. The illustrations aptly incorporate the Caribbean and African customs, bright colors, artistry of African customs and leave the reader appreciative of the cultural mix. In writing The Girl Who Spun Gold, Virginia Hamilton helps to solidify nuances of the West Indian culture. According to Chiji Ako° ma, many diasporic black writers have sought to assert their place in the New World’s cultural production through conscious engagement with and tribute to their continental African heritage a heritage largely defined by oral verbal arts and folklore. It is not difficult to assess the reason behind the close association between folklore and New World written narrative tradition. Africans brought in as slaves to work the plantations in the New World strove to maintain their religious and cultural bearing by relying on their memories of folk traditions in their various homelands and transforming them to usable and passable forms in the hostile Europeanized environment of the New World [92].

Both the story and illustrations in The Girl Who Spun Gold clearly achieve this in the final presentation of the story. Quashiba’s mama is a braggart who contrives a plan to get her daughter married to the most important man in the kingdom. Quashiba also is cunning. Although she knows her mom is being dishonest, she does not speak up. Quashiba also never admits to Big King that she cannot weave the rooms full of golden things but rather takes full credit for Lit’mahn’s work. She despises Lit’mahn calling him an “ugly, silly, tiny thing” (n.p.), yet he is the only one who can help her out of her troubles. Big King also comes across as a braggart. He falls in love with Quashi after seeing how lovely she is, but he is first drawn to her because of the riches he thinks she can bring him. At the end of the story, Hamilton states that she translated the language “into a far simpler colloquial style, which is easy to read aloud, and is a truer reflection of a lilting West Indian speech pattern” (n.p.). Overall, Hamilton aptly achieves this. The story comes across as a typical extended family or community, warts, blemishes and all.

Sugar Cane: A Caribbean Rapunzel In her retelling of Sugar Cane: A Caribbean Rapunzel, renowned Poet and author Patricia Storace presents a melodic and beautiful story while awardwinning illustrator, Raul Colon, creates spellbinding illustrations to comple-

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ment and augment the tale. A young fisherman and his pregnant wife live in a “rainbow-colored house on the beach” (7). The wife craves fresh sugar cane (a popular food favorite in the Caribbean) and will not have any of the sweet fruits her husband offers to appease her yearning. Seeing his wife will not be content without sugar cane, the fisherman goes far away from home in search of the coveted sugar cane. He finds the sugar cane and decides to help himself since he cannot locate an owner to ask permission. His wife is very happy but soon yearns for more sugar cane. Again, the fisherman sets off to find sugar cane. This time when he happens upon the mysterious sugar cane patch, he is caught by Madame Fate, a famous sorceress, who owns the much desired food. Madame Fate, allows him to take the sugar cane but threatens to claim the fisherman’s baby girl, Sugar Cane, on the child’s first birthday. Though the family tries to hide on Sugar Cane’s first birthday, Madam Fate finds them and takes the baby away. She locks Sugar Cane in a high tower far away from the world where her only companion is a “pet green monkey named Callaloo” (19). Madam Fate enters the tower by climbing up the girl’s “thick gleaming hair curled like grapevines” (19) after calling out You live in a tower without a stair, Sugar Cane, Sugar Cane, let down your hair [19].

Although she is held captive, Madam Fate ensures that Sugar Cane has the best education. She conjures up great spirits to teach Sugar Cane her lessons: An angel from the heavenly choir taught her to sing. Her guitar teacher was a five-hundred-year-old Gypsy from Spain, and her piano teacher a jazz master from New Orleans. An Arabian philosopher tutored her in mathematics. She learned poetry from a Greek epic poet, and storytelling from an African griot. She learned cooking from the very woman who first invented ice cream [21–22].

Of all her subjects, Sugar Cane loves music best. Standing at her window at nights, she sings and her lovely voice floats over the water but no one is there to share her joy and Sugar Cane becomes sad. One day her melodious voice reaches the ears of the King of Songs, a young man who quickly falls in love with Sugar Cane. They share songs and sneak spending time together, while plotting a way to get Sugar Cane out of the tower. Madame Fate soon finds out and cuts off Sugar Cane’s hair in a fit of rage. Callaloo saves King from sure danger by sneaking out of the tower to warn him. Sugar Cane and Callaloo quickly escape with the rope she has been making and a few magical jewels King has given her. With these jewels, they are able to flee the wrath of Madame Fate without further harm. Sugar Cane finds a home in a lovely village and becomes a nanny until one day a magical butterfly reunites the

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couple. They quickly marry and at the wedding Sugar Cane happily reunites with her parents and Madame Fate is no longer heard of. Everyone is invited and musicians from all over the island came to play at the wedding of Sugar Cane and the King of Song ... Then there was dancing such as this island had never seen. What did they dance? They danced the rumba, the bolero, the samba, and the mambo. They danced salsa and merengue and the limbo. They danced zouk, calypso, sucu-sucu, and the cha-cha [45–46].

The festivities still continue as Sugar Cane, King and Callaloo live happily ever after. Storace writes with a poet’s command of language as she portray’s Sugar Cane’s experiences on a Caribbean island. Presenting a unique twist on the tale of Rapunzel, Storace also weaves a more fleshed out story that enables the reader to view Sugar Cane’s life in and outside the tower. The spirit of the Caribbean is woven into the story by referencing traditions, customs, music, and foods found in this area of the world. The fisherman and his wife live in a rainbow-colored house by the beach. This is symbolic of many fishing villages in the Caribbean. Both author and illustrator skillfully awaken the imagination with these imageries. Though beautifully translucent, glittering in blue and green hues by day, come night and the water becomes “dark as sleep before dreams rise” (7). The fisherman’s wife has the longing for foods that are not readily available in her hometown, thus her husband fearing that the baby will be hurt, goes in search of the needed food to appease her appetite. A popular cultural belief in the Caribbean is that if a pregnant mother longs for any type of food and cannot get it, the baby is later born with a birthmark reflective of that food. It is significant then for the fisherman to jokingly state, “We are going to have to name her [the baby] Sugar Cane” (13). The characters enjoy many foods that are popular across the Caribbean islands: star fruit, custard apples, coconut, and sugar cane. Even Sugar Cane’s pet monkey is named after a very popular green vegetable, Callaloo, which is a staple food in Jamaica and other areas. When King comes to visit Sugar Cane, he offers Callaloo black cake “an island treat made with cherries and raisins and burnt-sugar syrup” (28). This cake, often called fruit cake, is an essential food at Jamaican weddings and during the Christmas season, when it is shared among family and friends. Like Lit’mahn in The Girl Who Spun Gold, Madame Fate exudes evil and magic. She is a sorceress or witch who has the power to bring things and people to life, make you forget everything, and take people’s children when someone does her wrong. She, however, holds a more elevated role that

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Lit’mahn does. When Madame Fate appears, her skirt is covered with scaly lizards, she wears a mask so her face cannot be seen, and a murder of crows fly overhead (14–15). These images all project a sense of doom for the poor fisherman and his family. In some areas of the Caribbean lizards, particularly green lizards, conjure notions of ghosts and fear. They are sometimes viewed as protectors; ghosts of loved one who appear in the form of a lizard. So too in West Africa, the lizard is seen as a symbol of protection. Madame Fate, then is protected as her skirt is surrounded by lizards. The murder of crows hovering above also symbolizes death and doom. In the Caribbean crows are often seen as scavengers, always hovering and waiting for the next meal. There is also a fear of death and sorcery when crows hover near in some areas of the Caribbean. Madame Fate’s mask represents many things in the Caribbean. An individual is said to hide behind a mask to conceal his identity or emotions. Masks are also popular in Caribbean festivities such as Carnival and Jonkonnu3 or Junkanoo. In Africa, masks4 also mean many things to different groups, often being a symbol of the ancestors. Madame Fate is also a medicine woman. She knows just the right plant to “make you forget who you are” (15), she tells the unfortunate fisherman. Madame Fate, the sorceress, is also a fortune teller. She knows without being told that the fisherman’s little girl will be named Sugar Cane. Like Lit’mahn, Madame Fate is also outwitted and loses her temper in a fit of rage. She is never heard from again and Sugar Cane and King are able to enjoy their lives as a happily married couple. Sugar Cane excels at all her subjects, learning poetry and the art of African storytelling, but her greatest love is music (21). This love of music also serves as the uniting force that brings Sugar Cane and King together. Music changes things, uplifting spirits even when conditions are not ideal: The music gave them another way of talking. King wanted to ask Sugar Cane why she lived by herself in a tower, but he felt shy. Sugar Cane wanted to tell him about Madame Fate, but she was afraid. With the chords of the guitar and the sound of the flute, the question and answer became part of the song [29].

Music is the soul of the Caribbean, causing one to forget the worries of the day and simply bask in the soothing sounds from Rumba, to Calypso, to Reggae. Caribbean music is heavily woven with African and other traditional music and there are so many forms of music that unite the islands. Floyd asserts that “the influence of Africa is evident in the musics that emerged from various mixtures of Yoruba, Bantu, Fon, Kongo, and other African peoples with Spanish, Portuguese, English, and French musical forms, structures, and genres” (1). Warner-Lewis also concurs stating,

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While it is true that Africans were brought across the Atlantic Middle Passage to the Americas in less than ideal conditions for the transference of their culture, what they did bring with them was contained in their minds and bodies — the memories of their work and artistic skills, their concepts of spirituality and musicality, their linguistic habits, and their mannerisms of gesture, gait and dance [556].

The melodious vibes float through the story and leave the reader tapping to the beat of the plethora of musical forms that were sampled at the wedding celebration. The musicians at Sugar Cane and King’s wedding entertained everyone and kept people dancing forever and “some of the people who went to that wedding are still dancing” (Storace 46). Raul Colón’s signature illustrations are breathtaking in their intense depiction of the Caribbean. Using brilliant hues, he illuminates the richness of island life from the ocean to the characters; the bright colors indicative of Caribbean and African traditions. Sugar Cane has curly black hair instead of long flowing blond hair (20, 22). Her hair, skin tone, and facial features ascertain that she is of African origin. However, like so many across the Caribbean islands, Sugar Cane’s features also clearly represent the mixture of cultures evident in the Caribbean islands. Like others in the Caribbean, however, Sugar Cane is simply a Caribbean native.

Conclusion Paulo Freire, the Brazilian educator, philosopher and highly regarded scholar of critical literacy believed that individuals needed to be empowered to be an active part of their world instead of a passive recipient. His works and ideas spurred others to critically explore and question the texts around them. Serafini determines that literary critics learn to use literature and media to understand and explore current social beliefs and systems, moving beyond current social systems valuing the majority and the powerful and instead giving voice to the individual and the thoughts he brings to society (24). Virginia Hamilton gives a voice to authors of the diaspora, who use their expertise to expand the conversation to include others of the broader African descended culture. Through her story, Patricia Storace offers a picture of the Caribbean that can be “the island in the sun” to any number of Caribbean natives. The Girl Who Spun Gold and Sugar Cane: A Caribbean Rapunzel are good examples of Caribbean folktales. Both share features common to the region for example in food, speech patterns, vibrant color, and artful lyrical storytelling. Both stories also share African traditional narrative patterns in names,

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features, artistic artifacts, and customs. Yenika-Agbaw determines that “names conjure certain images of who/what people are or represent in society. They are extremely important amongst Indigenous peoples across Africa, and admittedly do carry tremendous cultural significance within the different groups” (43). Both stories also pay homage to the African/Caribbean art of storytelling. MacCann and Smith note, Ongoing efforts to maintain the African-derived values of community, spirituality, symbolic art, honest relationships — these unite people of African descent everywhere. Retaining these valuables means retaining a heritage that touches the most subtle and most profound cultural possibilities [139].

Folktales representing the Caribbean experience are important. They give us pleasure, help us to reminisce about the good old days but more than that, they help us to examine and reaffirm ourselves and our place in literature. Though these texts may be representative of some elements of the Caribbean experience it is critical that authors who choose to reflect this lifestyle present positive representations so the reader sees authentic images and Caribbean students do not experience feelings of invisibility or misrepresentations in the texts. Perhaps with increased publications about Caribbean cultures in children’s literature, the genres can move beyond folktales to include more contemporary realistic stories. Wider representations will offer readers a more nuanced offering in their literary explorations. The availability of authentic and varied representations of the Caribbean offers a lens to the diverse experience that is the Caribbean. African customs and mores are unquestioningly embedded in the rich Caribbean folklore. It is important that this tradition be sustained.

NOTES 1. Caribbean, West Indian and Islanders are used interchangeably to represent Caribbean natives. 2. I do not delve into the Anansi stories in this essay as this topic is covered in another essay. 3. Jonkonnu is a traditional masquerade from Africa that has mixed with European and British mimes and is celebrated in the Caribbean islands. 4. I also do not delve into the story of masks as this topic is also covered in another essay.

WORK CITED Ako° ma, Chiji. Folklore in New World Black Fiction: Writing and the Oral Traditional Aesthetics. Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 2007. Print. Bennett, Louise. Anancy and Miss Lou. Kingston, Jamaica: Sangster’s Book Stores, 1979. Print. Borrero, Lucia. “From the Periphery to the Center.” Bookbird 38.2 (2000): 53–57. Print.

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Botelho, Maria Jose, and Marsha Kabakow Rudman. Critical Multicultural Analysis of Children’s Literature. New York: Routledge, 2009. Print. Cai, Mingshui. “Can We Fly Across Cultural Gaps On the Wings of Imagination? Ethnicity, Experience, and Cultural Authenticity.” Stories Matter: The Complexity of Cultural Authenticity in Children’s Literature. Ed. Dana L. Fox and Kathy G. Short. Urbana: National Council of Teachers of English, 2003. 167–181. Print. Clarke, Lane W., and Erin Whitney. “Walking in Their Shoes: Using Multiple-Perspectives Texts as a Bridge to Critical Literacy.” Reading Teacher 62.6 (2009): 530–534. Print. Floyd, Samuel A., Jr. “Black Music in the Circum-Caribbean.” American Music 17.1 (1999): 1–38. Gentles-Peart, Kamille, and Maurice L. Hall. Re-constructing Place and Space: Media, Culture, Discourse and the Constitution of Caribbean Diasporas. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars, 2012. Print. Hamilton, Virginia. The Girl Who Spun Gold. Illus. Leo Dillon and Diane Dillon. New York: Blue Sky Press, 2000. Print. Hearne, Betsy. “Folklore in Children’s Literature: Contents and Discontents.” Handbook of Research on Children’s and Young Adult Literature. Ed. Shelby A. Wolf, Karen Coats, Patricia Enciso, and Christine A. Jenkins. New York: Routledge, 2011. 164–176. Print. Honeyghan, Glasceta. “Rhythm of the Caribbean: Connecting Oral History and Literacy.” Language Arts 77.5 (2000): 406–413. Print. James, Cynthia. “From Orature to Literature in Jamaican and Trinidadian Children’s Folk Traditions.” Children’s Literature Association Quarterly 30.2 (2005): 164–178. Print. Logan, Mawuena Kossi. “The Diasporic Griot: James Berry and His Fiction for the Young.” Children’s Literature Association Quarterly 30.2 (2005): 179–193. Print. MacCann, Donnarae, and Katharine Capshaw Smith. “Introduction: ‘This Quest for Ourselves’: Essays on African and Caribbean Children’s Literature.” Children’s Literature Association Quarterly 30.2 (2005): 137–139. Print. Mahurt, Sarah F. “The aesthetics of Caribbean children’s literature.” Exploring Culturally Diverse Literature for Children and Adolescents. Ed. Darwin L. Henderson, and Jill P. May. Boston: Pearson, 2005. 277–285. Print. Morris, Mervyn. Making West Indian Literature. Kingston: Ian Randle, 2005. Print. Opoku-Agyemang, N.J. “‘A Girl Marries a Monkey’: The Folktale as an Expression of Value and Change in Society.” Arms Akimbo: Africana Women in Contemporary Literature. Ed. Janice Lee Liddell and Yakini Belinda Kemp. Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 1999. 230–238. Print. Ratcliff, Anthony. “‘Black Writers of the World, Unite!’ Negotiating Pan-African Politics of Cultural Struggle in Afro-Latin America.” The Black Scholar 37.4 (2008): 27–38. Print. Serafini, Frank. “Pigs, Cinderella and Social Issues.” New England Reading Association Journal 43.2 (2007): 23–29. Print. Shelley-Robinson, Cherrell. “Finding a Place in the Sun: The Immigrant Experience in Caribbean Youth Literature.” Children and Libraries 3.1 (2005): 14–20, 62. Print. Stewart, Marian. Jamaican Anansi Stories and West African Oral Literature: A Comparative Introduction. Kingston: African-Caribbean Institute of Jamaica, 1982. Print. Storace, Patricia. Sugar Cane: A Caribbean Rapunzel. Illus. Raul Colon. New York: Jump at the Sun/Hyperion Books for Children, 2007. Print. Tanna, Laura. Jamaican Folk Tales and Oral Histories. Kingston: Institute of Jamaica Publications, 1984. Print. Taxel, Joel. “Reading Multicultural Children’s Literature: Response, Resistance, and Reflection.” Transformations 17.2 (2006–2007): 106–118. Print. Walker, Felicia R., and Deric M. Greene. “Exploring Afrocentricity: An Analysis of the Discourse of Jesse Jackson.” Journal of African American Studies 9.4 (2006): 61–71. Print.

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Warner-Lewis, Maureen. “West Africa in the Caribbean: Art, artefacts and ideas.” Critical Arts 25.4 (2011): 555–564. Wheeler, Elizabeth A. “Riddym Ravings: Female and National Identity in Jamaican Creole Poetry.” Imagination, Emblems and Expressions: Essays on Latin American, Caribbean, and Continental Culture and Identity. Ed. Helen Ryan-Ranson. Bowling Green, OH: Bowling Green State University Popular Press, 1993. 139–153. Print. Xu, Shelley. “Critical Literacy Practices in Teaching and Learning.” New England Reading Association Journal 43.2 (2007): 12–22. Print. Yenika-Agbaw, V. “Isadora’s Adaptations of Grimm’s Fairy Tales and African Childhood.” Making Connections: Interdisciplinary Approaches to Cultural Diversity 12.1 (2010): 41– 48. Print. Young, Terrell A., and Phyllis M. Ferguson. “From Anansi to Zomo: Trickster Tales in the Classroom.” The Reading Teacher 48.6 (1995): 490–503. Print.

Afro-Latin Folktales and Legends DELLITA L. MARTIN-OGUNSOLA

The running debate about written versus oral traditions, which have often been conveniently lumped into the single category of folklore, has saturated the West since the ascendancy of print culture from the fifteenth century to the present. Neither space nor time permits us to entertain the myriad sides of the argument, nor is it necessary to belabor the supposed opposition of the two currents. Suffice it to say that all cultures have their roots in oral traditions but orality has never been replaced by writing.1 When one considers the genuine respect for oral literature illustrated by anthropologist Harold Courlander in his introduction to A Treasury of African Folklore (1975), the perception by early Western scholars of writing and orality as antithetical processes is not sustainable under scrutiny. Courlander asserts: The myths, legends, epics, tales, historical poems and countless other traditional oral literary forms of African peoples have been woven out of the substance of human experience: struggles with the land and the elements, movements and migrations, wars between kingdoms, conflicts over pastures and waterholes, and wrestlings with the mysteries of existence, life and death. They are products of long reflections about the relations among humans, between man and woman, between humankind and the animal world; responses to the challenges of the unknown, and to the universal need to create order and reason out of chaos and accident. Man in Africa, as elsewhere, has sought to relate his past to his present, and to tentatively explore the future so that he might not stand lonely and isolated in the great sweep of time, or intimidated by the formidable earth and the vast stretch of surrounding seas [1].

In many respects, Courlander’s scholarship on African cultures was ahead of its time in that he recognized the European tendency to divide the world into “civilized” and “primitive” peoples, which was based first on pride in its own particular achievements and, second, on the racialization of group differences 117

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that were minimal in the total scheme of things. Serving as spokesperson on behalf of the West, Courlander acknowledges the following: We understand now what we were not ready to comprehend a century or so ago — that the diverse social structures and processes of Africa, as elsewhere, are products of the civilizing movements of mankind, other faces of the human response to the challenges of living. When we say “Africans” it is merely a convenient manner of saying “mankind in Africa”— peoples, villages and tribes that through millennia of contest with one another, with the land and with ideas have provided particular answers to questions of organization, survival, and the meaning of life [1].

Those who have been born and/or acculturated in the West must always keep in mind that Africa is a continent of great diversity. Therefore, when we use terms like “African,” “African culture,” “African society,” the “African experience,” or the “African heritage/legacy,” we must remember the vast array of attitudes, beliefs, circumstances, lifestyles, modes of thought and behavior, and value systems that exist and/or co-exist in that monumental expanse of land. Since it has been established that Africa is the origin of humankind, it is fitting to trace the process of transmission and dispersion of its oral traditions into Europe and the Americas as individuals and communities from those areas encountered one another in mass numbers from the fifteenth century onward.2 To that end, we will follow the movement of specific forms of orality — legend and folktale — from designated areas of the African continent to selected areas of the American diaspora where the Spanish and Portuguese cultures/languages were dominant, that is, in the Caribbean and Latin America. First, we will consider two legends —La historia de Chico Rey/The Legend of Chico Rey (Brazil) and El negrillo del pastoreo/Gaucho Blackey (Argentina, Uruguay, Southern Brazil). Then we will examine the archetype of Anansi in two different folktales —“Las mañas de Tío Conejo”/ “Uncle Rabbit’s Tricks” (Venezuela) and “Anansi en la ciudad” /“Anansi in the City” (Costa Rica). Comparisons and contrasts of these two sub-genres provide a greater sense of the rich African-derived oral traditions in Latin America.3 Regarding African oral traditions, scholar Isidore Okpewho comments that, “in their folklore and their folklife, especially in tales they had learned from parents and other relatives, African-descended Americans found an outlet for reassuring themselves of indigenous values they found lacking in the culture of those who ruled their lives even in freedom.”4 As a corollary to that idea, Martin-Ogunsola observes, “One might well argue that African-based cultural beliefs and practices were embedded as forms of resistance because of the imposition of Western cultures” (821). For the above reasons, historian Jesús García

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advises against the trivialization of African-derived values, modes of thought, and lifestyles in any attempt to compress all forms into a single category labeled “folklore.” García states: “We need to develop a pedagogy of self-perception.... To fail to do so is to continue to view ourselves through borrowed eyes. African cultures in the Americas, rather than quaint but superficial folklore, are cultures of resistance based on African philosophical principles that we must rediscover, that persist and reshape themselves as time passes and as changes occur in our communities.”5 The phrase “cultures of resistance” is paramount in this discussion because it is the touchstone on which an Africancentered worldview in response to Western civilization is based. García stresses that African-ancestored cultures in the Americas are consistently and persistently engaged in a dynamic process in which their original cultural elements are set in opposition to the pressure of colonial and postcolonial religious and governmental authorities’ attempts to “disappear” them. We deliberately imagine the possibility of cultural exchange in the Americas on an equal plane of mutual respect and tolerance, insisting upon the possibility of a reciprocal process of cultural transformation that guarantees the peaceful coexistence of both colonial European and African cultural traditions in contemporary social contexts [288].

Nevertheless, resistance does not ignore the impact of syncretism, or the blending of African and European ways of life with additional influences from a myriad of Native American/Indigenous and Asian ethnicities. In summary, African-derived oral traditions are replete with historical personages, imaginary characters, and legendary figures who gave rise to eminent culture heroes that have sustained the people even within the confines of race, class, caste, and gender. Furthermore, the documentation of real experiences through legend has insured that a group consciousness would be maintained, preserved, and passed on to succeeding generations. In that manner, the collective imprint of African-ancestored peoples in the Americas would never be erased from the annals of time.

La historia de Chico Rey/The Legend of Chico Rey To begin, Donna Rosenberg defines the term as follows: “a legend is a story from the past about a subject that was, or is believed to have been, historical. Legends concern people, places, and events. Usually the subject is a saint, a king, a hero, a famous person, or a war. A legend is always associated with a particular place and a particular time in history.”6 The genre of legend

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is a natural starting point for studying the African-ancestored oral heritage of the New World because it is the marrow of tradition for transplanted nations who did not have writing readily available to them in a strange and hostile environment. Although scribal communication had flourished throughout pre-colonial Africa, it was, more often than not, limited to the ruling classes — priests, scholars, members of secret organizations and high government officials.7 However, African societies placed greater value on orality — everyday conversational exchanges, the give and take of bargaining, the oratorical virtuosity of rhetoric — because it cemented human relations by enabling people to engage the whole of language, which includes words, phrases, sentences, proverbs, axioms, riddles, and songs, as well as body language such as gestures, facial expressions, voice tone and the spontaneity of improvisation. Since individuals and families were often separated from one another during the ordeal of slavery and colonialism, it was vital for uprooted African peoples to maintain a collective sense of self and history, and the primary means at their disposal was oral exchange. At the beginning of the sixteenth century, the first known group of enslaved Africans was brought into the New World to the island of Hispaniola (1502) then gradually to the rest of the Caribbean islands, Mexico, Brazil, and other parts of mainland North and South America.8 Their labor was used on sugar, coffee, rice, and indigo plantations and in gold and silver mines to replace the overworked and disease-ridden Native American populations that were rapidly declining, especially on the Caribbean Islands. For about 100 years the traditions of enslaved Africans began to take shape and surface as they gave witness to life in the New World. One of the most fascinating historical figures of the colonial period is Chico Rey, an African king who lived in Brazil at the start of the eighteenth century. Even more enthralling is the evidence of this individual cited by Brazilian scholar Manuel Raimundo Querino (1851–1923), who was the first recognized African-ancestored historian in Brazil. Querino informs us in a lengthy essay9: Legend has it that an African king and his entire tribe were transported as slaves to Minas Gerais. The masters reduced all of them to the same common level as slaves, but the Africans always revered their king and kept their old customs as much as possible. At the cost of immense effort during the few free hours at his disposal, the slave-king was able to earn enough money to buy his own freedom. He then worked to buy the freedom of a second, and together they purchased the freedom of the third. Each newly freed African contributed toward the purchase of still other members of the enslaved tribe until all were free. Then they erected a chapel to Saint Ifigenia, a princess of Nubia. There, under her patronage, the tribe continued to thrive and pay honor to their sovereign, the black king. Thus was bequeathed to future generations the legend of “Chico-Rei” [18].

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Various contemporary accounts add details about Chico Rey’s specific origin. Around 1740, Galanga, a warrior king and priest from the Congo, was kidnapped and sold along with his wife Djalo, son Muzinga, and daughter Itulo along with a large portion of his ethnic group. The captives were destined for Brazil, where “black gold had been discovered.” During the journey aboard the slave ship “Madalena,” Galanga’s authority over his compatriots came to the attention of the Portuguese traders, who dubbed him “Chico Rei.” In Brazil the man was put to work in the gold mines of Minas Gerais. By hiding flakes of gold about his body and in his hair, he accumulated sufficient funds to enable him, after about five years, to buy his son’s freedom and later his own. Chico Rei also managed to acquire the Encardideira gold mine in Vila Rica (now Ouro Preto/Black Gold). Earnings from that source were then used to aid others in purchasing their liberty as well as construct the church of Santa Efigênia in Vila Rica. Social psychologist Angel Ramos provides a third source, stating that “in this way they [Chico Rey’s people] achieved the freedom of a very considerable number of slaves in Villa Rica, which grew into a veritable colony, a little state within a state, as the local historian Diego de Vasconcellos described it” (80). Moreover, Ramos credits Chico Rei with being “the first Negro abolitionist in Brazil,” who was a strong role model for other enslaved persons to proceed with “an organized and deliberate program for emancipation” (81). Since the colonial period, Chico Rey has become part of Brazilian folklore and his admirable struggle for freedom has captured the imagination of many Brazilian storytellers. In fact, his story has become legendary and is often told in Brazilian folktales as well as in books, theater and cinema.10 The legend of Chico Rey is recounted in Spanish in James Kennedy’s edited collection Relatos latinoamericanos. As the story goes, the monarch had been defeated in battle with his enemies, and was captured, enslaved, and transported, along with his family and subjects, to Brazil. During the Middle Passage, conditions aboard the slave ship were so horrendous that many individuals jumped overboard and others died of various diseases. Among the victims were Chico Rey’s wife and all but one of his children. Upon arriving in Brazil, Chico Rey, his son, and the surviving subjects were purchased by the owner of a gold mine, who took them to the town of Villa Rica, capital of the province of Minas Gerais. In keeping with the European/Roman Catholic tradition, the African sovereign was “baptized” using the name “Francisco.” However, his admiring and respectful subjects called him “Chico” (the nickname for Francisco) Rey. They say that Chico Rey swore that he was a king in his native land and he would remain one outside it as well (9–10). Since some slave owners permitted their slaves to work on Sundays and

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holidays, Chico Rey took advantage of such an opportunity by working hard to save money to buy his son’s freedom. Once that feat was accomplished, the son, in turn, worked and set aside money to purchase his father’s liberty. Not satisfied with achieving their own liberty, both father and son continued to labor to gain the freedom of small groups of their own subjects at a time. As various ones obtained their liberty, they joined efforts with Chico Rey and son to help free the remaining enslaved persons. That was the way Chico Rey was able to repay the love and loyalty of his cherished compadres (compatriots) who had accompanied him during the ordeal of enslavement. Once these goals had been reached, Chico Rey reconvened his court, remarried, and set up a royal family. Still united in their efforts, Chico Rey and his people bought a gold mine that enabled them to reach out to help other African ethnic groups obtain freedom, thus adding to his kingdom (Kennedy 10). The people’s endeavor is not surprising since “...the African already knew how to seek out and extract minerals because gold, silver, lead, diamonds, and iron abounded in his homeland” (Querino 13). This observation is significant because it illustrates two conflicting perspectives of enslaved Africans. From the Euro-Portuguese point of view, the king and his people were inherently slaves. From the African viewpoint, their enslavement was a temporary condition suffered by knowledgeable prisoners-of-war who had the ability to earn their freedom through their intelligence and skills. Furthermore, their strong work ethic had already been established in their homeland, so that earning freedom was a logical approach for them. When Chico Rey got rich and secure, he established the brotherhood called Nuestra Señora del Rosario (Our Lady of the Rosary), the “patron saint” of Roman Catholicized 11 Africans, and had a church of the same name built in her honor. Once a year, Chico Rey, his queen, and members of the brotherhood dressed ornately in gold and held a mass to celebrate that religious figure. After the mass ended, everyone would pour into the streets in a processional singing in their own languages and dancing to the beat of African rhythms. The parade would wind through the main streets of Villa Rica and return to the church building, where the women used to wash the gold dust from their elaborate hairdos and headdresses, and the “brothers” would use it to purchase the freedom of more enslaved people. The chronicle concludes: “In the region of Villa Rica, which today is called Ouro Preto, no one forgets Chico Rey, the heroic and generous black king who defeated his own destiny, not only by gaining liberty for himself, but also for an entire nation. People continue to celebrate the festival of Our Lady of the Rosary, and the characteristically African street procession begun by Chico Rey has spread throughout Brazil.” As customary, the fiesta, which is also called King’s or Congo

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Day, is celebrated with a solemn parade in which Afro-Brazilians dress up like the king, queen, and their subjects. Furthermore, the holiday has special significance for those living in remote and poverty-stricken areas because it affords them an opportunity to forget about their daily struggles and identify with their rich historical traditions (Kennedy 11). Essentially, legend embellishes history. Most studies done by white Brazilians do not even list or acknowledge Chico Rey and relegate him instead to the world of pure fiction. This is not surprising in view of the Western disdain for and distrust of oral traditions. Nevertheless, in comparing and contrasting sketchy historical data with their literary representation, we note more similarities than differences. First, history identifies Chico Rey by name (Galanga), place of origin (the Congo), and era (1740). Moreover, while on board a Portuguese slave ship, he is renamed “Chico” by the crew, who observes the respect and decorum with which he is treated. This point is worth pondering for it seems as though Galanga was baptized and renamed before embarking for the New World. The word “chico” means “little” or “small” in Portuguese and Spanish, not only with respect to size but also importance. Thus, the moniker “Chico” may well have been given in jest as a mockery of the sovereign’s original status. On the other hand, “chico” can be a term of endearment as well as respect. Second, there is some disparity between history and legend in the way Chico Rey raised money for manumission. “History” contends that the monarch hid money in his hair and on his body while legend maintains that he labored over time to save. Yet, it was quite common for enslaved individuals to hire themselves out for extra jobs on Sundays and holidays, for that was how many people accumulated funds to purchase their liberty. Third, the Encardideira gold mine bought by Chico Rey is designated by name in historical accounts, while the legend simply refers to a very rich vein of gold; and the name of the patron saint is Efigênia (a Nubian princess) in as-told-to written accounts rather than Our Lady of the Rosary, a Roman Catholicized identity. These minor differences are a function of the fluidity and flexibility of oral genres, which have no fixed (as in written) versions. The most intriguing aspects of the Legend of Chico Rey focus on the celebration of life, liberty, and the pursuit of justice and equality by men and women who left a heroic legacy in Brazil. The narrative is first and foremost a literary rendition of the constant rebellions, revolts, and resistance to slavery by African-ancestored peoples from the time they left the shores of their homelands until they set foot in the Americas as well as throughout the colonial epoch. Rather than lead an insurrection, Chico Rey used his head to resist oppression and, in the process, inspired others to keep hope alive by his dignified example. In a sense, his work ethic is a form of psychological rebellion

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because it defies the image of the “dependent, lazy, shiftless and violent Negro” so firmly embedded in the New World psyche. Another significant outcome is the forging of group solidarity rooted in a shared history and contemporary experience. Chico Rey is unselfish in his desire to see everyone free, or as many as possible, for he is well aware that all of their destinies are inextricably linked. Finally, Chico Rey’s determination and perseverance in the face of overwhelming odds constitute a unique model of community-building that was later used by the palenqueros/quilombeiros, or maroons, like Zumbi, who established the Palmares Republic from about 1630 to 1697. Even though one population (Chico Rey’s retinue) functioned within the parameters of LusoBrazilian society while the other (maroons) operated outside the confines of such, both laid the groundwork for the long road to freedom that would eventually come in 1888 when slavery in Brazil was abolished, the last nation in the Americas to officially do so. In short, The Legend of Chico Rey would serve as a catalyst for the documentation of exploits by other African descended groups in the Portuguese and Spanish-speaking areas of the New World and is an early literary model of cultural resistance. The second legend from the colonial period to figure in the annals of Afro-Latin folklore is El negrillo del pastoreo/Gaucho Blackey, which is popular in the pampas (grasslands) of the gaucho (cowboy) in Southern Brazil, Uruguay, and Argentina. Like the Legend of Chico Rey, Gaucho Blackey takes place during the colonial period when slavery was in full force. As the story goes, once upon a time there was a very wealthy plantation owner who abused his slaves. Among that unfortunate group was a blue-black youth, about 13 or 14 years old, whom everyone called “Blackey.” Since he didn’t have a real name or known parents, he was referred to as “Mary’s Baby,” for according to Roman Catholic beliefs, the Virgin Mary was godmother to all motherless children. In the wee hours of every morning, Blackey would mount a steed and leave for the pasture lands to tend his master’s herds of horses. One day, Blackey’s master decided to challenge a neighbor to a race, so he bet high stakes, bragging that his horse was the fastest. He made Blackey get on the boy’s favorite one, but it happened that just as horse and rider were nearing the finish line, the animal was frightened by something and broke away from the path (Kennedy 37). The plantation owner was furious at having lost the race and, of course, blamed Blackey for everything. So he ordered his lackeys to tie Blackey up by the wrists and he whipped him mercilessly. As punishment, the slave master made the boy go back out into the pasture the next day in charge of 30 horses. Broken in body and spirit, Blackey cried the whole time the horses grazed and under the penetrating eyes of some scary-looking owls. The child grad-

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ually consoled himself by thinking of his godmother Mary and finally fell asleep. However, Blackey soon woke up under the menacing gaze of his master, who yelled at him: “Nigger, what have you done with my horses? Who told you to fall asleep and neglect them? Where are they?” Blackey stood up and desperately pleaded with his punisher: “Please, dear massa, forgive me, suh. It ain’t gon’ happen again. I’m gon’ look for your horses and find ’em.” But the scourger wouldn’t listen to reason. Instead he had Blackey tied up again and gave him a strong dose of cat-o’-nine-tails, this time with his own hands.12 Afterward, the man ordered Blackey to return to the pastures in the dead of night to search for the lost horses. Weeping and wailing, the youngster thought about his godmother, so he went to the chapel in the Big House, picked up the lighted candle that had been placed in front of her image, and went out into the countryside (Kennedy 37–38). Wherever Blackey’s feet trod, he left drops of candle wax in his wake, and every drop of wax gave birth to a new light. Soon so many lights appeared that the whole countryside lit up like daytime. Then the cocks began to crow and the horses appeared one by one. When Blackey saw his favorite horse, he smiled, got on him at once, and led the rest of the herd back to the place his master had told him. After that, the youth bedded down on the ground for the night and all the lights went out (Kennedy 38). Still moaning and groaning, Blackey fell into a deep sleep. Then it happened that around the break of day, the horses fled again, and the boy woke up to face his master’s ire once more. When the tormentor saw that his horses were still missing, he became enraged and roared: “Now you’re really going to pay me back for all this trouble once and for all!” (Kennedy 38–39). He had Blackey tied to a post a third time and beat him ruthlessly until drawing blood. The slender youth could not bear such agony, so imploring his godmother with his last breath he gave up the ghost. The slave master cast Blackey’s naked body on top of an anthill so that the fire ants could devour him. The master waited until he saw the pitiful little corpse covered by thousands of ants, then he left without looking back. Three days went by without the executioner’s seeing any sign of his herd. It was then that he went back to the anthill to see what was left of Blackey’s body. Shocked and outraged, ‘Ole Massa saw Blackey, smiling and naked, standing on top of the ant heap. In the face of this miracle, the boy’s former nemesis fell to his knees at the feet of his slave, who jumped on his favorite horse, kissed Mother Mary’s hand, and galloped away at the head of the herd (Kennedy 39). All around the vicinity, news of Blackey’s horrible death in the jaws of fire ants spread like wildfire. But a while after that happened, folks started saying they heard from the gauchos and others who lived on the pampas that

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at night they used to see a young boy, blue-black and buck-naked, riding a horse at full speed with a herd of horses in tow. From that time on, the people who live in that region have believed that Blackey always walks around the countryside looking for lost objects. For that reason, it has become common through the years to see at night the bright flames of candles all over the pampas, because people offer lighted candles in honor of Gaucho Blackey for him to recover lost animals or things (Kennedy 39). In place of a written document outlining the story of Gaucho Blackey, there is today a statue dedicated to him in the town square of Porto Alegre, Brazil. Undoubtedly, the figure of the black youth is based on a real experience, for plantation life was just as harsh in South America as it was in the North. For this reason, several elements of this legend are worth noting. First, the youngster is an orphan and, therefore, represents the numerous enslaved children and youth who were separated from their natural parents and families at a very tender age. That fact in and of itself engages the attention of the audience and bends the arc of justice towards resolving the story in his favor. It is one thing to be cruel to adults, who always have the potential to fight back in some manner, whether overtly or covertly. It is another to be inhumane to a child, who is usually weaker and more helpless than grownups. To add insult to injury, the child is nameless, not because he was not given one at birth, but because his was stripped from him in an environment of oppression. To name or rename someone is to erase his identity as well as control his mind and body. Literal translations of the legend’s title are “The Little Black Boy from the Pasture Lands” or “The Little Black Boy from the Pampas.” However, the term “Blackey,” while pejorative, is appropriate in the context of this legend because most names forced upon enslaved individuals were designed to defame, mock and/or dehumanize them (Caesar, Pompeii, Rastus, Toby). A second aspect of Gaucho Blackey is its depiction of the protagonist’s character. Blackey is humble, lowly, and submissive — traits much sought after by slave owners so as to discourage rebellions. However, the fact that he is a child militates against the stereotype of the meek, obedient (especially male) slave even though the legend ironically plays with stereotyped roles (cruel master versus victimized slave). What rescues Gaucho Blackey from bathos is the turn of events connected to his “miraculous” resurrection. The mixture of New Testament Christian and Euro-Roman Catholic imagery is at play in the story and serves the purpose of converting Blackey into a Christ-like hero. On the one hand, the protagonist appeals to his patron saint and godmother Eufemia, or Our Lady of the Rosary, by making novenas (lighting candles for nine days), to gain comfort and protection. On the other hand, Blackey is whipped three times and dies, but after three days he rises triumphantly from

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his wretched grave (an anthill). Third, the powerful twist to the outcome of this tale is the manner in which the boy comes back from the grave, and therein lies the act of cultural resistance. Blackey displays his sexuality — his ebony, nude essence — in full regalia, which flies in the face of both JudeoChristian and European decorum concerning the human body. Could this be a decidedly traditional African mode of resistance to oppression based on a healthy appreciation for the “bare essentials” of life, or does it play on the Old Testament notion in Job 1: 21 of “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, / And naked shall I return there”? The ambiguity of the legend’s ending unleashes a plethora of connotations and associations around the concepts of righteousness, justification, and victory, as well as survival, endurance, and triumph. A fourth dimension of this dramatic rendition could very well be that the resurrected Blackey is a figment of the master’s imagination projected externally. That is, the hero represents the perennial specter of the African/Black man ready to pounce from the deep recesses of a guilty, white supremacist mindset/conscience to exact vengeance for the evils of slavery. Syncretism is further evident in the very epithet this champion of human rights acquires from the pampas —“Gaucho Blackey”— and its assignment by the people is a way of elevating and honoring the little black boy for his (imagined) resistance rather than denigrating and maligning him. Gaucho Blackey is truly a culture hero and constitutes an outstanding example of physical weakness that spiritually and psychologically conquers brute force, which is vital to survival and triumph. To that end, Gaucho Blackey, like the Legend of Chico Rey, is based on feats of cultural resistance, but in other parts of Latin America animal tales have achieved the same objectives of teaching, entertaining, and preparing younger generations of oppressed peoples to assert themselves as agents of their own freedom. This brings us to the second genre under study in this essay — the folktale. Rosenberg defines it this way: A folktale is a story that, in its plot, is pure fiction and that has no particular location in either time or space. However, despite its elements of fantasy, a folktale is actually a symbolic way of presenting the different means by which human beings cope with the world in which they live. Folktales concern people — either royalty or common folk — or animals who speak and act like people [xxi].

One of the most popular characters in African-derived oral traditions is Anansi, the paramount trickster-hero in the world of West African folklore who generally takes the form of a spider but can assume a myriad of other guises. Moreover, his name is spelled in numerous ways: Kwaku Ananse, Anancy, Ananse, Aunt Nancy — and he is thought to have originated among the Ashanti (Akan-speaking) people of what is now present-day Ghana. In

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those settings, the figure of the spider-hero became synonymous with one who was skilled in speech and wisdom. On the other hand, Courlander informs us that Anansi is also portrayed as a buffoon and/or scoundrel: He is endlessly preoccupied with outwitting the creatures of the field and forest, men, and even deities. He is an adversary in endless contest with his community. Sometimes seen sympathetically, ... he is more generally characterized as cunning, predatory, greedy, gluttonous and without scruples. Though he may be admired for his frequent victories over those who are larger and stronger than himself, he does not necessarily gain moral approval. In fact, there are moral teachings in many of his defeats, teachings which say, in effect, “This is what Anansi did and, in consequence, how he was shamed, humiliated, or punished” [135].

Helen Tiffin calls our attention to the migration of the trickster spider and culture hero from West Africa to the Americas in her essay “The Metaphor of Anancy in Caribbean Literature”: Amongst the cultural survivals of the infamous Middle Passage from West Africa to the Caribbean was the trickster-hero Anancy.8 Anancy plays an important role in the folk pantheon of many West African peoples, notably of the Akan, the group having historical and cultural precedence in the early slave settlement of Jamaica.9 In his New World home Anancy came to assume an importance he had not enjoyed in his ancestral West Africa, and in contemporary West Indian literature he becomes a very complex metaphor and archetype for the Caribbean experience [17].

This repertoire of stories crossed the Atlantic as remembered and told tales that moved from the islands and then were dispersed throughout the Americas. No matter what New World environments in which enslaved African peoples found themselves, Anansi the trickster emerged in multiple forms as the incarnation of the spirit of rebellion bent on achieving freedom, dignity, and equality. Lawrence W. Levine asserts that enslaved people in the New World dedicated “the structure and message of their tales to the compulsions and needs of their present situation” (70). As stated earlier, tales of Anansi the Spider are present in the Spanish-, Portuguese-, English-, French-, and Dutchspeaking cultures throughout the Americas, but often take the form of other small animals such as the rabbit. Northern Latin America is the site of a series of popular stories with a protagonist called Tío Conejo/Uncle Rabbit.

“Las mañas de Tío Conejo”/“Uncle Rabbit’s Tricks” (Venezuela) Because of the shared history of oppression among enslaved African peoples in the Americas, the Tío Conejo stories are strikingly similar to the B’rer

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Rabbit or Bredda Rabbit tales in the United States and Central America. In this series the protagonist Uncle Rabbit almost always manages to humiliate or defeat a stronger opponent and/or overcome adverse circumstances through his astuteness, stealth, and wit. Moreover, the narration of Uncle Rabbit tales from one generation to another was a primary means of acculturating the youngsters in these societies so that they might be prepared to deal effectively with the vicissitudes of slavery, colonialism, and Jim Crow, as well as learn their treasured history, belief and value systems, and cultural traditions (Roney 10). In this manner, people could extract meaning from the larger world that affected them daily (Moffett 49). One of the most well known tales that has come down through the oral tradition in Venezuela is called “Las Mañas de Tío Conejo”/ “Uncle Rabbit’s Tricks.” It happened in this manner. One day Uncle Rabbit left his hut and went to town. When he got there, he went straight to Uncle Parrot’s house to offer his own place for sale: “How much you gon’ sell it for, Uncle Rabbit?” “Oh, for only 15 dollars, but I have one condition: ya’ have ta’ pay me upfront right now, but ya’ can’t have it ’til three days from now, which is when harvest will be ready.”

Since Uncle Parrot knew this was a really great opportunity, he answered: “Okay, Uncle Rabbit,” and paid him immediately. Uncle Rabbit took the money and left but didn’t return to his place. You could see in the way his snout quivered and his eyes sparkled that he was plotting something. Without further ado, he went to Aunt Chicken’s place and as soon as he met her, he said: “Good morning, Aunty Chicken, I’ve come to sell you my little farm.” “How much ya’ want for it?” “Fifteen dollars.” “It’s a deal, Uncle Rabbit.” “But there’s one condition. Pay me right now, but ya’ won’t get it for three more days, which is harvest time.”

Well, Aunt Chicken knew Uncle Rabbit’s place very well and also knew it’s true worth. “Okay, Uncle Rabbit, I’ll buy it from you. Here’s yo’ money.” Uncle Rabbit took his money and scooted. Not content with what he had, he also visited the houses of Uncle Fox, Uncle Tiger, and the Hunter with the same proposition and same results. So then, although he had sold the property five times, he wasn’t the least bit worried nor did he even have the desire to run away. With the money he had collected, the product of his deceit, “Mr. Cool” swaggered on back to his place. Okay. Early on the third day, Uncle Parrot came over:

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“Good morning, Uncle Parrot. How good to see you so early! Now before givin’ you the house, I wanna’ ask you a favor. Today some people I don’t like gonna’ come over to bother me. So that they don’t catch me by surprise, why don’t you just climb up into that banana tree and when you see somebody comin’ along the road towards here, lemme’ know so I can hide.”

Well, a few minutes later Uncle Parrot saw Aunty Chicken from the top of the tree and warned Uncle Rabbit: “Here come’ Aunty Chicken.” But instead of hiding, Uncle Rabbit peeped out the door of the ranch house and waited for her to arrive. When Aunt Chicken got there, he greeted her and showed her inside. Uncle Rabbit saw that she was out of breath and said: “Sit down, Aunt Chicken. Why such a hurry?” “I rushed over to move into the farm accordin’ to our agreement.”

Aunty Chicken was agitated and did not hide her anxiety. She wanted to grab the farm before Uncle Rabbit realized how cheaply he was selling it: “Here come’ Uncle Fox,” squawked Uncle Parrot, still on the job as watchman. “What’s this, Uncle Rabbit? If Uncle Fox finds me here he’ll kill me! Where can I hide?” “Get in this basket, and I’ll get rid of him at once.”

Uncle Fox soon got to the house, greeted Uncle Rabbit, and came in. “I came for the farm, Uncle Rabbit.” “Instead of the farm, I have somethin’ better for you,” said Uncle Rabbit, pointing with his paw towards the basket. “Better than the farm?” “Aunty Chicken,” he whispered in his guest’s ear.

With one jump, Uncle Fox pounced on the basket and devoured Aunty Chicken in a split second. Then Uncle Parrot warned: “Somebody’s comin’!” “Who?” “Uncle Tiger,” he replied very alarmed. “Uncle Tiger! Uncle Tiger! Holy Moly, please hide me,” Uncle Fox exclaimed scared to death. Hide me, Uncle Rabbit, ’cause Uncle Tiger is my enemy! Where can I go?” “Not to worry. Hide under the bed and I’ll get rid of him at once,” Uncle Rabbit assured Uncle Fox.

Uncle Tiger reached the house, greeted Uncle Rabbit, entered and blurted out: “I came for my farm...” “I have somethin’ better for you, Uncle Tiger. Right over there under that bed I got yo’ enemy, Uncle Fox.”

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And Uncle Tiger ate up Uncle Fox in a few bites: “Here come’ the Hunter!” shouted Uncle Parrot from his little hiding perch. “What is this, Uncle Rabbit,” asked Uncle Tiger deathly afraid? “What treachery is this? Hide me please, so the Hunter won’t find me!” “Get in the kitchen and I’ll get rid of ’im in a hurry.”

Well, Uncle Tiger hardly got to the kitchen when the Hunter came in carrying his shotgun. Uncle Rabbit came out bowing down to greet him: “Go-o-o-o-d morning, Sir Hunter.” “Mornin’. I come for my farm.” “Well, you got here just at the right moment, ’cause I’m keepin’ somethin’ for you that’s better than the farm. How lucky you are, Sir.” “What you got fo’ me?” “Uncle Tiger,” whispered Uncle Rabbit. “Where is he?” “Right there in the kitchen.”

Since the Hunter was well armed, he advanced toward the kitchen and got rid of Uncle Tiger instantly. Uncle Rabbit took advantage of the moment at once, raised his paw and pointed at Uncle Parrot hiding in the banana tree. “Please free me of this pest who won’t stop annoying me!”

The Hunter lifted his gun and sent Uncle Parrot to eternity without blinking an eye. “Now gimme’ the farm,” the Hunter demanded. “Okay, but I won’t give you Uncle Tiger or Uncle Parrot,” answered Uncle Rabbit. “They’re not part of the deal.”

As he thought about the situation, the Hunter realized that it would be more profitable to have Uncle Parrot’s feathers and Uncle Tiger’s skin, especially since he really didn’t know how to farm. For that reason, he replied to Uncle Rabbit: “Don’t cha’ wanna’ exchange the farm for those two prizes?” “Why, of course.” Uncle Rabbit retorted, concealing his satisfaction.

And so it was, that Uncle Rabbit by means of deceit kept his farm after having swindled money out of all those buyers and getting rid of them by someone else’s hands (Kennedy 63–66). Two sets of conflicting values are at play in “Uncle Rabbit’s Tricks.” On the one hand, the protagonist Uncle Rabbit is concerned with survival, self protection, and his own well-being in a society of limited opportunities and means. Since he is smaller than all the animals except Uncle Parrot, and possibly Aunt Chicken, he feels compelled to use his cunning to outsmart them.

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Thus, one cannot blame Uncle Rabbit for insuring that his basic needs — food and water, shelter and fuel, clothing and furniture — are met on a consistent basis. On the other hand, the protagonist upstages a negative set of values when his need to survive becomes his desire to satisfy wants as well as prosper at the expense of others. This, in turn, leads Uncle Rabbit to practice greed, deceit, betrayal, and ruthlessness. Therefore, when faced with a double standard of living in a hierarchical society — free persons/enslaved individuals, haves/have-nots — many oppressed people have resorted to practicing a dual standard of morality. Frederick Douglass confirms such in his autobiographical Narrative (1845), with the incident of an enslaved man who complained bitterly to his master (whom he did not know by sight) about mistreatment on the plantation. The “malcontent” forgot about the conversation and went about “business as usual,” but two to three weeks later, the poor man was then informed that, for having found fault with his master, he was now to be sold to a Georgia trader. He was immediately chained and handcuffed; and thus, without a moment’s warning, he was snatched away, and forever sundered, from his family and friends, by a hand more unrelenting than death. This is the penalty for telling the truth, of telling the simple truth, in answer to a series of plain questions [42].

From that experience the enslaved black community developed the maxim “a still tongue makes a wise head” (Douglass 43). Unfortunately, lying, dissimulation, cheating, stealing, treachery, and the like, were often excused when practiced against the ruling class, while frowned upon for in-group situations. The problem is that as these shades of morality segue into one another, an individual can easily descend a slippery slope eventually leading to in-group fighting. Other lessons from “Uncle Rabbit’s Deceit” involve a warning against being gullible, naïve, and greedy. All the victims in the story lose their lives because they believe without question what Uncle Rabbit proposes to them. Not one character thinks to question the protagonist about why he wishes to sell his land so cheaply and no one balks at having to pay him money up front. However, since all are greedy, wanting something for little or nothing, they fall prey to their own warped perspectives of the proposal. Moreover, their blindness leads them naïvely to their deaths. The lone exception, the Hunter, is also covetous because he does not even know how to farm. However, he has a gun, an “equalizer” under pressing or life-threatening circumstances, but such does not stop Uncle Rabbit from outsmarting him, too. In short, the Anansi tales serve the purpose of entertaining as well as educating and socializing youngsters in cultures where orality is dominant and where such qualities as astuteness, intelligence, cunning, and other forms of mental agility help protect or cushion them against uncontrollable forces and people

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who seem larger than life. As we move from south to north in the Americas, we find that the Caribbean, the first area of encounter between Africans, Europeans, and Indigenous peoples, is the site of oral traditions that link folktales and legends from disparate countries.

Hermano Araña/Brother Anansi Tales (Costa Rica) One of the least likely places to find Anansi stories is the country of Costa Rica, the celebrated “Switzerland” of Central America. Beginning with the nineteenth century, the myth of blanqueamiento (whitening) was promoted such that Costa Rica could, if only in her collective imagination, present herself to the world as an ethnically homogeneous, or “white,” nation, as opposed to a mestizo, or mixed race, land like the majority of Latin American countries. In recent years, writers and scholars have successfully challenged the white supremacist mentality on which this illusion is based, and it has created a more receptive context for the spread of the Anansi traditions in Costa Rica, as well as surrounding nations like Nicaragua and Honduras (Mosby 23–24). Before examining the Anansi tales in Costa Rica, it is necessary to give an historical overview of the African presence there. Historian Carlos Meléndez and writer Quince Duncan inform us in their trailblazing study El negro en Costa Rica (1972) that there were three waves of migration to Central America from the colonial period to the early-twentieth century. The first involved the arrival of 30 Africans who accompanied Vasco Núñez de Balboa in 1513, when he crossed the Isthmus of Panama on the way to the Pacific Ocean. Then, between 1522 and 1523, various enslaved Africans came with Gil Gonzalo Dávila on his tour of the Pacific coast. In 1540, nine slaves came with Sánchez Badajoz on an exploratory expedition to look for gold along the “rich coast,” and in 1544 a number of Africans were brought there by Diego Gutiérrez Caballón when he colonized the Meseta Central (Central Valley). By the end of the sixteenth century, there was a noticeable African presence in what would later become Costa Rica, where small groups of enslaved persons worked on sugar, cocoa, coffee and coconut plantations as well as cattle ranches (24–25). The second migratory wave to Central America consisted of the zambos, racially and culturally blended groups of African maroons and indigenous misquitos, who established nomadic societies in remote areas far from colonial institutions (law, government, religion, economy). However, the Zambo-Misquitos periodically raided low-lying Spanish settlements around Matina, Costa

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Rica to the point where many landowners were forced to relocate from those regions on or near the coast to the highlands of Cartago (Carthage). Surprisingly, these slaveholders allowed their enslaved dependents to live in separate areas called pueblas, or “towns for pardos [blacks]” (Anglin 22). The ZamboMisquitos took advantage of an alliance with the English, who began to make incursions into Spanish-held territory when they acquired Jamaica in 1655. Moreover, the English harassed the Spaniards by fomenting Zambo-Misquito incursions into Spanish towns well into the eighteenth century, and this occurred to the point that Spanish governors were forced to pay tribute to the Zambo-Misquito enclaves in exchange for the cessation of attacks. Today the descendants of the Zambo-Misquito people live along the Atlantic/ Caribbean coast from Costa Rica to Nicaragua and Belize, as well as the islands nearby. The third and most important surge of African-ancestored immigrants entered Costa Rica towards the end of the nineteenth century. On December 20, 1872, the first shipload of descendants of black freedmen arrived from Kingston, Jamaica to Puerto Limón, Costa Rica. Although there were other black ethnic and linguistic groups represented in the migration — from Belize, Curaçao, Honduras, Panama, St. Lucía, St. Kitts, Barbados, and the like — the vast majority were Jamaicans four decades out of slavery (El negro en Costa Rica 68). It is through this population that the Anansi stories are transmitted from the English-speaking Caribbean, mainly Jamaica, to Central America, where they take root in Limón Province, Costa Rica and eventually spread along the Atlantic coast. With Jamaica as its kernel, Afro-Caribbean culture formed the nucleus of the English-speaking oral traditions that remained separate from the Spanish-speaking mestizo traditions of the Central Valley until after the Civil War of 1948, when Afro-Caribbean people, now called limonenses (people from Puerto Limón), began to slowly be absorbed into the larger society. Literary scholar Mariela Gutiérrez poses the burning issue in the following passage: ¿Y quién es este Anansi, el Hermano Araña? ¿Qué parte del legado afrocaribeño simboliza este personaje en la tradición de la provincia de Limón? ¿Qué importancia tienen para los limonenses las hazañas de este “héroe” folklórico? [522]. [And who is this Anansi, this Brother Spider? What part of the AfroCaribbean legacy does this character symbolize in the oral traditions of provincial Limón? What importance to people from Limón do the deeds of this folkloric hero have?]

We mentioned earlier that Anansi arrived in the New World from West African cultures, particularly the Ashanti traditions of today’s Ghana where, more

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often than not, he assumes the form of a humanized spider (See MartinOgunsola, this collection, for details). However, depending on where the tradition took root in the Americas, Anansi adapts/adopts multiple constructs and roles. At times he is a spider, at others he is a bald-headed old man with spider legs who plays a drum and is gifted with a falsetto voice while displaying ambiguous and hypocritical conduct. Anansi can also be a married man with a family who sings and is an accomplished violinist with magical and/or divine powers. Among the most significant characters that interact with Anansi are Hermano Tigre (Bredda Tiga), Hermano Tucumá (Bredda Tucumá), Hermano Conejo (Bredda Rabbit), Hermano Mono (Bredda Monkey), Hermano Perro (Bredda Dog), and Hermano Cabra (Bredda Goat) (Gutiérrez). We cannot stress enough the importance of the continuity of Ashanti traditions in the New World, even though said traditions have adjusted to a different environment. The astuteness, sagacity and wisdom contained in these stories designed for educating, imparting morality and entertaining both young and old alike, not only reflect admirable characteristics of the cultures from which they are derived but also the vital role of psychologically resisting slavery, oppression, and discrimination, which was never accepted by Africanancestored communities. That is how Chico Rey in Brazil and Gaucho Blackey in Argentina/Uruguay beat the odds. One of the conduits of the Anansi tales in Costa Rica is a fictional character known as Jack Mantorra, described by writer Quince Duncan as “un viejecito que vino de Jamaica, aquella linda isla del Caribe, y vive en Limón desde hace mucho tiempo. Porque Jack Mantorra es un negrito cuentero, que anda de pueblo en pueblo entreteniendo a la gente con sus extraños personajes. Un gran viejecito cuentero, que sí, que pasa el tiempo preocupado por los niños y los jóvenes” [“a little old man who came from Jamaica, that pretty little island of the Caribbean, and who has lived in Limón for a long time. Because Jack Mantorra is a cherished black griot who goes around from town to town entertaining folks with his strange characters. He is a beloved storyteller who spends a lot of time with children and youth.”]13 In this collection Duncan rescues popular Anansi tales from the Afro-Caribbean oral traditions of Limón Province (Atlantic coast of Costa Rica) brought in the third wave of Jamaican immigration. Many of the tales in The Stories of Jack Mantorra (hereafter abbreviated as JM) relate the exploits and shenanigans of Anansi in his jungle kingdom of Tuculandia and other parts. However, his mis/deeds against his fellow denizens are so heinous that he is ultimately dethroned and banished from the jungle ( JM 20). The change of setting from rural places to urban spaces not only marks the migration of Afro-Caribbean people from the Province of Limón to that of San José, capital (plus environs) and center

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of life in Costa Rica, but also represents the modernization of the Anansi cycle to reflect contemporary times.

“Anansi en la ciudad”/“Anansi in the City” One of the most popular tales is “Anansi en la ciudad”/“Anansi in the City.” As the story goes, Anansi is forced to escape from the tropical forest by jumping a train and stowing away in a freight car destination unknown. Jack Mantorra informs us, “That’s how he got to the city. Anansi was not accustomed to seeing so many lights, so many streets, so many cars, and all that. Thus, he spent the first days in a fright walking about to and fro, hiding in ditches, and really not knowing what to do. He felt like a fish outside water and was as scared as a cockroach at a chicken dance” ( JM 19). But after a few days, Anansi began to understand things. He realized that in the neighborhood where he lived, or rather, in the district where he was hiding, Bredda Cat was Big Chief. That guy had a large hamburger factory with products made of different kinds of meat. A large sign at the entrance to his business advertised that he sold hamburger meat. Among the varieties were the following; “dog burgers,” “rabbit burgers,” “horse burgers,” “chicken burgers,” ‘‘lizard burgers,” and stuff like that ( JM 20). One night when he couldn’t bear the hunger pains any longer, and he got tired of slinking into restaurants to eat leftovers, Anansi found a ladder to scale the wall of Bredda Cat’s storehouse to steal some dinner. Well, he managed to climb to the top of the wall, but he didn’t count on the fact that Bredda Cat had installed an electrical protection system on the roof that triggered a piercing shock when whoever dared to try reached the top ( JM 20). Well now, when Anansi felt that powerful current, he fell from the wall and plunged down headlong. He lay there a few minutes without moving, but finally got up, marked the place where he had fallen, hid the ladder, and started to think about how he could overcome Bredda Cat’s trap ( JM 20– 21). He had hardly finished hatchin’ his plan when he appeared in Bredda Cat’s office and offered to supply meat for his hamburgers. Anansi explained to Bredda Cat that he knew the rain forest very well, that all the animals knew him, too, and that it wouldn’t be hard to hunt them down if he could count on the help of Feline Hamburgers, the name of the business owned by Bredda Cat ( JM 21). After a few days, Anansi’s situation began to improve. Jack Mantorra saw him buy a luxury jeep. He said that our spider friend wore white shoes

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on his four paws (I mean feet), carried a black walkin’ cane in one of his four hands, had on a pair of gloves on another two, and sported a cigar in the other. He had a sign painted and attached to his jeep that read “Anansi Tours,” and underneath it appeared in small letters the words “Tourist Trips.” That was on Wednesday. By Friday, Jack saw him drivin’ along the road leadin’ to the jungle in his sporty jeep ( JM 22). Anansi went from one town to another, sellin’ tickets to the animals for city tours. It was a good little gig and after a while he had a big house with a swimmin’ pool, a luxury car with telephone, a yacht to Limón, a country estate in Guanacaste, a house in Miami, and a soccer team named after himself: “Anansi-Boys Soccer Club” ( JM 22). Everything was smooth, real smooth. Only one thing, though, concernin’ Sistah Lizard, whose eggs Anansi had eaten one time. She had a million-dollar contract out on Anansi, but it was hard, very, very hard, to capture him, because with all the money he now had, Anansi didn’t show up in public anywhere; he had bought a helicopter and nobody could find him ( JM 22). However, Tucumá, that famous Tucumá nephew of Anansi, who was now livin’ in the city, heard all about it and tried to find out why things were goin’ so well for Anansi, and besides that, what kind of business he was mixed up in with Bredda Cat, who had a shady reputation, too. So Tucumá made up his mind to investigate the matter, and besides, in case he caught Anansi, he promised to donate the reward to the orphanage, because he already had what he needed to live well ( JM 23). Tucumá went to the province to inquire in all the towns and villages about Anansi’s exploits, especially the ones in the jungle. Everyone said that Anansi was now a great man, that he had repented and reformed completely, that he wore patent leather shoes and carried an executive briefcase, and that he was a good man, incapable of harming anyone. Well, Tucumá didn’t swallow that fable, but that’s what everybody said, so there was nothin’ he could do about it. And he was on the verge of givin’ up his inquiry when he began to notice something strange: of every ten animals that went into the city on excursions with Anansi, three never came back to the village ( JM 23). Tucumá asked everyone how they could explain that, and they answered him that folks probably stayed in the city to work, that Anansi himself would look for jobs for them with his friend Bredda Cat. All of that intrigued Tucumá, who then disguised himself as a shark, and bought a ticket for an excursion with Anansi Tours ( JM 23). Okay. So Jack Mantorra says that everything was fine at the beginning. The tour guides hit all the bright spots in town for the tourists: monuments, fountains, lights, Museum of Gold, Art Museum, National Museum, National

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Amusement Park, City Park on the Sabana, González Víquez Park, and many other beautiful sites. But in the evenings, Anansi came in person to invite to a meeting all those who wanted to stay in the city to work ( JM 24). Tucumá then disguised himself as a rat in order to follow them through the pipes and ditches and that’s how he discovered Anansi’s trick. It turns out that he was takin’ them to no other place than Bredda Cat’s wall, where Anansi himself had gotten his electric shock and fallen down. One by one he took those who said they wanted to work there and invited them to do the “wall test.” That ordeal consisted of climbin’ the ladder to scale the barrier, but of course, the poor animals didn’t know anything about the electric current ( JM 25). The animals climbed up confidently, but when they reached the top, “Pum!” That electric bolt shocked them; they let out a bray, a whinny, a quack, or whatever, and dropped to the ground, where that thug Anansi had an animal trap. Once they were knocked out, he caught them and took them to Bredda Cat’s and sold them, some for duck burgers, others as donkey burgers, and the new guy as a shark burger ( JM 24). That was Anansi’s big business! Sellin’ animals brought more profit than excursions, which really only served as bait to attract future victims. Instead of dedicatin’ himself to the honorable task of organizin’ tours, he sought to make easy money sellin’ his fellow animals ( JM 25). Well now, Tucumá spoke to all the animals in the jungle. He made them see what a scoundrel Anansi was. And that’s how they all got together to see how they could free themselves from that crook once and for all ( JM 25). Jack Mantorra tells us that he was at the meeting. He says everybody was there and they all had complaints against Anansi. They decided to come to the city and work things so that Anansi could fall into his own trap. This is the way it happened ( JM 25). They invited him to a party with all the animals. Anansi thought that this was his big day because he was gonna meet a number of dumb clucks who might want to work in the city. Then he could keep on duping them. What he least expected was that the little animals weren’t as stupid as he thought. They just kept their knowledge of what was happenin’ under wraps; that’s all. So, when Anansi came to the party, they captured him and carried him to Bredda Cat’s wall and made him climb up the ladder until reachin’ the top ( JM 26). Of course, Anansi knew what was gonna’ happen. So, a little before reachin’ the top of the wall, he turned into a spider and spun his web, and that’s how come when he touched the electric current, he didn’t plunge to the ground but instead his spider web held him up. But he was forced to live on rooftops and inside walls ( JM 26).

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Jack Mantorra says if y’all don’t believe what he’s tellin’ you, just touch the tops of walls and corners of smooth ceilings; you gonna find Anansi there, turned into a spider, without being able to drop to the floor for fear of becoming entrapped. But according to Jack, it’s a question of time, since as with all rogues and rascals, sooner or later they fall into their own graves ( JM 26). So ends the narrative “Anansi in the City.” “Uncle Rabbit’s Tricks” and “Anansi in the City” are similar tales in that they present humanized animal protagonists as heroes who entertain us with their scandalous deeds and obnoxious behavior. Moreover, the two stories portray the never-ending David and Goliath battle in which we already know the outcome: that the perceived weaker party (David) will triumph over the stronger or more brutal force (Goliath). On the other hand, the tales differ in some significant ways. First, there is a human griot named Jack Mantorra who narrates the tale “Anansi in the City,” helps the reader navigate the plot, and interprets it meaning. Not only does this persona enable us to identify with the protagonist Anansi as a real (albeit reprobate) being, it also ironically establishes the psycho-emotional distance necessary to maintain the line between fiction and reality. In that manner we can accept the foibles of Anansi while rejecting the immoral system of values he embraces. However, even more important than Jack Mantorra is Bredda Tucumá, who is somewhat of an enigmatic figure. Mariela Gutiérrez informs us that en cuan[t]o al Hermano Tucumá, los relatos parecen hablar de una persona, pero esto nunca se puede dar por seguro porque jamás se le describe físicamente. No obstante, el significado de su rol emana de la importancia que se le da al personaje en tantos relatos, porque a Tucumá siempre se le escoge como impartidor de la justicia, siempre se le pone a cargo de obtener la venganza para las víctimas de las muchas hazañas vergonzosas de la peligrosa arañita Anansi. Lo más incomiable de este personaje es que aunque el Hermano Araña siempre logra vencer y engañar a otros vecinos ... en el caso del Hermano Tucumá, jamás Anansi logra tener éxito. A Tucumá siempre se le representa como el más inteligente de los dos, el que siempre logra darse cuenta de quée [sic] es lo que se trae entre manos la pequeña araña marullera [529]. [as for Bredda Tucumá, the stories seem to refer to a person, but such can never be established for a certainty because he is never described physically. Nevertheless, the significance of his role emanates from the importance that personage is given in so many of the stories, because Tucumá is always chosen as the imparter of justice, and he is always given the responsibility of avenging the victims of the many shameful deeds of that dangerous little spider Anansi. The most despicable thing about Anansi is that he always succeeds in vanquishing and deceiving his neighbors, but he is never successful in defeating Tucumá, who is always represented as the more intelligent of the two and the one who always figures out what that little devil Anansi is up to.]

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Anansi knows that he has a formidable match in Tucumá but seems to relish the confrontation with someone of his caliber, knowing full well that he will eventually be defeated by Tucumá, but also clinging to the possibility that he might conquer his enemy, which would add to his own renown (529). In short, Tucumá represents a positive healthy morality and value system — compassion, integrity, justice, love, and truth — and functions as the stabilizing social factor in the tale. Tucumá echoes a sort of “all’s well that ends well” motif. The second difference between the two tales is that the venue of “Anansi in the City” is urban, contemporary, and immediate, providing a stark contrast to the rural/provincial, historical, and distant populations and events of “Uncle Rabbit’s Tricks.” Third, the character Anansi becomes a victim of his own deceit in the city rather than the triumphant anti-hero of “Uncle Rabbit’s Tricks.” While “Anansi in the City” functions like an origin myth, providing a possible explanation of why spiders spin webs and inhabit unusual places (like the tops of walls, cracks and crevices, the corners of ceilings, etc.), it is essentially a fictionalized morality play about the human drama of treating others as we would wish to be treated and, thus, putting the communal wellbeing above that of the individual. This is of prime importance in the Africancentered worldview. In this sense, Gutiérrez corroborates the functionality of oral traditions when she analyzes a similar tale, “A veces, el guarda roba más que el ladrón”/ “Sometimes the security guard robs more than the thief,” whose purpose is to transmit to posterity important civic instruction, which is a highly valued structural component of the legendary Ashanti oral tradition (529). Scholar Alphonse Kwawisi Tekpetey best summarizes the socialization impulse of the Anansi tradition, which can be applied to “Uncle Rabbit’s Tricks” and “Anansi in the City”: While Ananse narratives also form a kind of comic relief and provide emotional outlets, they also have a thematic function in the oral educational system: an attempt to give direction to Kweku Ananse’s potent force. In view of our hero’s dangerous potentialities, he must learn that he represents a serious threat to society: he stands for unnamed passions. This is why his unchecked, selfish greed is exposed for the dangerous evil that it represents in the community. Order is always and already to be restored, not necessarily in its old incarnation, but in a socially responsive community. Ananse represents restrained energy, energy channeled into socially useful functions. Perhaps the ultimate message in the Ananse narratives is that there can be no lasting social harmony when the unrestrained pursuit of individual profits at the expense of the common good becomes the goal of men [81].

Of course, the written adaptation of “Anansi in the City” in the Jack Mantorra collection reveals the literary imagination of the writer Quince Dun-

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can, who manipulates such techniques as personification, narrative voice, tone, humor, irony, symbolism, metaphor and imagery. For example, the humanization of the animal characters is skillfully blended with the maintenance of certain traits that identify them as such (horses whinny, mules bray, chickens cluck, parrots squawk, and tigers growl). Moreover, narrative voice and tone play out through various conversational registers in the context of an omniscient third-person narrator. Many instances of irony have already been pointed out, but a few symbols, images, and metaphors merit a bit more attention. Although the symbols in “Uncle Rabbit’s Tricks” are relatively concrete and direct (Bredda Fox represents slyness; Bredda Parrot, loquaciousness; Auntie Chicken, brainlessness; and Bredda Cat, stealth), idyllic images abound in the rain forest setting where the animals live. In fact, characters like Uncle Parrot, Auntie Chicken, Uncle Fox, Uncle Tiger, and the Hunter are natural enemies when brought together in “Uncle Rabbit’s Tricks,” but they enjoy an aura of paradise as long as they stay separate, until Uncle Rabbit slinks in like Satan to disseminate confusion, turmoil and violence by turning one against another. Conversely, the metaphor of the metropolis as a potential window of opportunity for prosperity as well as a meat factory/grinder that consumes the vitals of gullible country animals/folks is more complex in “Anansi in the City.” Perhaps the duality of the city trope suggests a kind of longing for simpler, more peaceful (less stressful?) times while highlighting the necessity of moving ahead (progress?) in the era of post-modernity. At any rate, it is a powerful signifying trope with respect to western civilization.

Conclusion The Legend of Chico Rey, Gaucho Blackey, “Uncle Rabbit’s Tricks,” and “Anansi in the City” are all forms of a free-standing, vibrant, and resilient oral literature that has enabled African-ancestored Latin American communities to culturally resist oppressive systems forged in the West, survive the holocaust of the Middle Passage, develop syncretistic as well as counter-cultural strategies and models of growth and development, and thrive against incredible odds under American slavery. Moreover, writers like Quince Duncan help renew the oral heritage by adapting many of its forms to written literature. Concerning García’s call for a pedagogy of self-perception, Duncan proffers a model he calls “afrorealismo” (Afro-realism) in his approach to the creation of Afro-Costa Rican literature and authentically African-inspired writing in the Americas. In “Afrorealista Manifesto,” Duncan defines Afrorealism as a function of six major principles: restitution of the African voice;

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awakening of symbolic memory; reconstruction of an informed historical memory; reaffirmation of an ancestral community; construction of an intracentric narrative perspective; and quest for an authentic identity.14 Ironically, Afro-realism is expressed in the Western European languages of colonialism — Spanish, Portuguese, French, English, and Dutch — yet it is informed by an African-derived worldview. Nevertheless, the fictional characters and culture heroes of the New World African diaspora constitute the rescued seeds and fragments of historical and contemporary realities that are constantly under reconstruction, revision, and renewal. Afro-realism does not deny the syncretistic forms and structures that Africans created in response to their circumstances in the New World environment. In fact, both storytellers and writers have resolved multiple cultural discourses as a both/and rather than either/or process. Consequently, oral traditions in African-dominant communities provide authors with versatile tools to help them re-humanize language in Western literature.

NOTES 1. Walter J. Ong, Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word (New York: Metheun, c 1982), 8. See in particular Chapter 1, “The Orality of Language,” 5–15. 2. Although the relationship between Africa and Asia is outside the parameters of this study, one fascinating source on that subject is Ivan Van Sertima and Runoko Rashidi, eds., The African Presence in Early Asia (New Brunswick, NJ: The Journal of African Civilizations, 1985). 3. Translations of La historia de Chico Rey, El negrillo del pastoreo, and Las mañas de Tío Conejo from James Kennedy’s Relatos latinoamericanos: la herencia africana (1986) are my own. In most cases, they are not literal but my literary adaptations from the original Spanish. In instances where the direct rendering of a passage is more effective or involves dialogue, I enclose it in quotation marks. Alternate spellings are due to the differences between Portuguese and Spanish. Brazilian historians Querino and Ramos use the Portuguese forms “Chico Rei” and “Vila Rica,” while the Hispanist literary scholar Kennedy employs “Chico Rey” and “Villa Rica.” Translation of “Anansi en la ciudad” is by written permission of Quince Duncan. 4. Isidore Okpewho, Carole Boyce Davies, and Ali A. Mazrui, eds. The African Diaspora: African Origins and New World Identities (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1999), xv. 5. Jesús García, “Demystifying Africa’s Absence in Venezuelan History and Culture.” African Roots/American Cultures: Africa in the Creation of the Americas, ed. Sheila S. Walker (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2001), 288. 6. Donna Rosenberg, Folklore, Myths, and Legends: A World Perspective (Lincolnwood, IL: National Textbook Company, 1997), xxvi. 7. One serious misconception Western academics have long held about African cultures is that writing did not exist on that continent before contact with Europeans (they conveniently exclude Egypt and the rest of North Africa). Fortunately, contemporary scholars have corrected this falsehood. In 1996 Professor Ayele Bekerie of Cornell University created The African Writing Systems website and was assisted with its design by Anika Iesha Daniels and Joseph Egbulefu. The site’s homepage has a beautiful color-coded map of

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Africa divided into Northern, Western, Central, Eastern, and Southern regions, and along the left column are links to a variety of linguistic systems identified as syllographic, alphabetic, pictographic, petrographic, chromatographic, and philosophical systems. 2 Jan. 2013, http://www.library.cornell.edu/africa. 8. Silvio Torres-Saillant, “The Dominican Republic,” No Longer Invisible: AfroLatin Americans Today (London: Minority Rights Group, 1995), 110. 9. The African Contribution to Brazilian Civilization, trans. E. Bradford Burns (Tempe: Arizona State University, Center for Latin American Studies, Special Studies No. 18, 1978), 18. Original source is Manuel Raimundo Querino, O Colono Prêto como Factor da Civilizaçao Brasileira (Salvador: Imprensa Official do Estado, 1918). 10. Payson S. Adams III, “The History and Legend of Chico Rei,” March 1997, 30 Dec. 2012, http://www.reocities.athens. 11. I use the term “Roman Catholicized” to signify that enslaved Africans were forced to accept a Romanized version of Christianity and not the original New Testament principles of the First Century preached and practiced by the 12 Apostles after the establishment of the church of Christ in Jerusalem in 33 A.D. According to Stanley Hauerwas and Ralph C. Wood, when the Emperor Constantine issued the Edict of Milan in 313 A.D., Christianity became a tolerated faith and the church was then converted into the official cult of the Roman Empire. “From having suffered as a persecuted minority, to being tolerated as an accepted plurality, finally to reigning as the established majority religion, Christianity became the religious arm of the empire.” Hauerwas and Wood refer to this phenomenon as the “Constantinian character,” “Constantinian captivity” or “Constantinian mainstream.” See Hauerwas and Wood, “How the Church Became Invisible: A Christian Reading of American Literary Tradition,” Invisible Conversations: Religion in the Literature of America, ed. Roger Lundin (Waco: Baylor University Press, 2009), 161. Thus, a lengthy process of syncretism took place as Africans subsequently adapted Roman Catholicism, an apostate form of Christianity, to the numerous ethnic deities and practices they brought from their respective nations during the Romanized empirical enterprises undertaken by the major Western European colonizers — namely Spain, Portugal, France, England and Holland — of the New World. 12. The Oxford American Dictionary defines a cat-o’-nine-tails as “a rope whip with nine knotted lashes for flogging sailors, soldiers, or criminals” (147). This scourge was commonly used to punish enslaved individuals, especially those perceived as rebellious, throughout the Americas. 13. Quince Duncan, “Nota Introductoria,” Los cuentos de Jack Mantorra (San Pedro, CR: Editorial Nueva Década, 1986), n.p. 14. Duncan, “Afrorealista Manifesto,” Hispanic Journal 27.1 (Spring 2006): 135–43.

WORKS CITED Adams, Payson Stone III. “The History and Legend of Chico Rei.” March 1997. 30 Dec. 2012. http://www.reocities.com/athens. African Writing Systems. Eds. Ayele Bekerie, John Henrik Clarke, Aneisha Iesha Daniels, and Joseph Egbulefu. 1996. Africana Collection, Cornell University Library. 2 Jan. 2013. http://www.library.cornell.edu/africa. Anglin Edwards, Joyce. Anancy in Limón. Tesis de Grado/Licenciatura en Inglés. Facultad de Letras, Universidad de Costa Rica, 1981. Cited in Gutiérrez. Blatt, Gloria T., ed. Once Upon a Folktale: Capturing the Folklore Process with Children. New York: Columbia University Teachers College Press, 1993. Courlander, Harold, ed. A Treasury of African Folklore: The Oral Literature, Traditions, Myths. Legends, Epics, Tales, Recollections, Wisdom, Sayings, and Humor of Africa. New York: Crown, 1975.

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Douglass, Frederick. Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass: An American Slave, Written by Himself, ed. Benjamin Quarles. Cambridge: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1960. Duncan, Quince. “Afrorealista Manifesto.” Hispanic Journal 27.1 (Spring 2006): 135–143. _____. Los cuentos de Jack Mantorra. San Pedro: Editorial Nueva Década, 1991. García, Jesús. “Demystifying Africa’s Absence in Venezuelan History and Culture.” African Roots/American Cultures: Africa in the Creation of the Americas, ed. Sheila S. Walker. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2001. 284–288. Gutiérrez, Mariela A. “La herencia afrocaribeña de Anansi, el Hermano Araña, en Costa Rica.” Revista Iberoamericana, Vol. LXV, No. 188–189 ( Julio-Diciembre 1999): 519– 534. Hauerwas, Stanley, and Ralph C. Wood. “How the Church Became Invisible: A Christian Reading of American Literary Tradition.” Invisible Conversations: Religion in the Literature of America, ed. Roger Lundin. Waco: Baylor University Press, 2009. 159–186. Kennedy, James H., ed. Relatos latinoamericanos: la herencia africana. Lincolnwood, IL: National Textbook Company, 1986. Martin-Ogunsola, Dellita. “Latin American and Caribbean Culture Heroes and Characters.” Encyclopedia of African-American Culture and History: The Black Experience in the Americas, vol. 2 C-F, ed. Colin A. Palmer et al. Detroit: Macmillan Reference USA, 2005. 821–828. Meléndez Chaverri, Carlos, and Quince Duncan. El negro en Costa Rica. San José: Editorial Costa Rica, 1982. Moffett, J. Teaching the Universe of Discourse. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1983. Mosby, Dorothy E. Place, Language, and Identity in Afro-Costa Rican Literature. Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 2003. Okpewho, Isidore, Carole Boyce Davies, and Ali A. Mazrui, eds. Introduction. The African Diaspora: African Origins and New World Identities. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1999. xi–xxviii. Ong, Walter J. Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word. New York: Metheun, 1982. Querino, Manuel Raimundo. The African Contribution to Brazilian Civilization. Trans. E. Bradford Burns. Tempe: Arizona State University, Center for Latin American Studies, Special Studies No. 18, 1978. Ramos, Arthur. The Negro in Brazil. Trans. Richard Pattee. Washington, D.C.: The Associated Publishers, 1951. Roney, R. Craig. “Telling Stories: A Key to Reading and Writing.” Once Upon a Folktale: Capturing the Folklore Process with Children, ed. Gloria T. Blatt. New York: Teachers College Press at Columbia University, 1993. 9–23. Rosenberg, Donna. Folklore, Myths, and Legends: A World Perspective. Lincolnwood, IL: National Textbook Company, 1997. Tekpetey, Alphonse Kwawisi. “Kweku Ananse: A Psychoanalytical Approach.” Research in African Literatures 37.2 (Summer 2006): 74–82. Tiffin, Helen. “The Metaphor of Anancy in Caribbean Literature.” Myth and Metaphor: Essays and Monograph Series 1, ed. Robert Sellick. Adelaide: Centre for Research in the New Literatures in English, 1982. 15–52. Torres-Saillant, Silvio. “The Dominican Republic.” No Longer Invisible: Afro-Latin Americans Today. London: Minority Rights Group, 1995. 109–138. Van Sertima, Ivan, and Runoko Rashidi, eds. The African Presence in Early Asia. New Brunswick, NJ: Journal of African Civilizations, 1985.

Moving West with Ananse NANCY D. TOLSON

African folk tales are first and foremost for entertainment. They have not come down to us purely as moral lessons to teach obedience to an old way of life, though they do tend toward that. They are meant to be enjoyed; but being the expression of the things that are of interest and concern to people who are engaged in living as happily and as sociably as possible, they portray the life and the heart and the mind of a people worth studying — Peter E. Adotey Addo, Ghana Folk Tales: Ananse Stories from Africa, 1968, 9. The folk tales of a people are a guide to the understanding of their past. If you want to understand people of today you must find out what they have been. If the wealth of beautiful African legends is indicative of the early civilization of that continent the natives must have reached a high level of culture. To appreciate the African, then, we must hear him speak for himself in the charming stories handed down from sire to son — Carter G. Woodson, African Myths: Together with Proverbs, 1928, ix.

The childhood game of Telephone can be looked upon as an elementary anthropological activity. Children sit side by side. The first child begins the game by whispering a short message into the next child’s ear. The child listens to the whispered message and then proceeds to whisper the same message in the next child’s ear and then that child does the same until the last child has heard the message. The rule is that the message cannot be repeated so there is only one chance to hear it. There is a large possibility that whatever sentence the first child whispered will not be what the last child recites. The chance of a misunderstood message heightens when there are more participants in the game. Perhaps the child whispering in the ear had a dialect, speech impair145

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ment, or is a fast talker. Perhaps the listener was distracted, had a hearing impairment, or was not prepared to receive the words from the messenger. Some words may have been unfamiliar to the listener or perhaps the messenger misinterpreted a word that changed the entire message. Or maybe the messenger intended to create a new message. The result of this activity is revealed when the last child exclaims loudly the final message heard. The excitement comes when the original message is told and each child reveals the words that they heard. The game now becomes an investigation to examine where and how the original message strayed. A few words can always be found from the original message along with a familiar rhythm. Questions are asked to each participant in order to research where the message might have been altered. Amusing arguments may occur because no one wants to be blamed for changing the message. And sometimes there may be someone who admits that they did change the message intentionally and this may cause the strain of the intentional change to be cut and a new end adopted. This youthful exercise of origin tracing is an analogy of the evolutional process of folklore. The storyteller can explain the transformation through the movement of the story from one culture to another traveling through environmental changes within the community, sociopolitical influences, economic developments, time, and new perspectives. In his preface to AkanAshanti Folk-Tales (1930), anthropologist Capt. R.S. Rattray admits, Every tribe and every nation which has in turn borrowed such stories not only relates them in a new dialect or in a new language but also alters them to conform with its own peculiar outlook upon life.... The same tale was never quite the same, although always clearly recognizable: the personality of the story-teller and local circumstances in each case influenced the telling [viii].

Through the oral tradition the main points of the story may be retained but many of the details may have thinned from parts not valued, adaptations created to fit the audience, or replaced by cultural and/or personal embellishments. Sometimes two or more stories are condensed into one. And sometimes characters are changed to fit into the environment from whence the storyteller is speaking. Tales told orally are very rarely told the same way twice yet the message usually remains the same.

Anansesems Tales of Ananse,1 called Anansesems, originated in Ghana, West Africa with the Akan. The Akan are the largest ethnic group in modern day Ghana where they compose two-thirds of the population. Prior to March 6, 1957,

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Ghana was known as the Gold Coast and had been colonized by Britain since the early 19th century. Before the independence of Ghana, there was no publishing of indigenous literature for children and very little for adults. The children of Ghana were only familiar with the printed literature produced by foreign countries but through a strong and prominent oral heritage, children and adults of Ghana knew the stories that were reflective of their culture. The people of Ghana knew Ananse. Many storytellers create phenomenal tales based upon real incidents and injustices within the community. Something that may not be funny in everyday life may become comical when told by an evening fire, at the wake of a dearly departed, inside a classroom, or even inserted in a judicial discourse to uplift the mood or supplement a lesson or a cause. In the Akan stories of Ananse, the characteristics of the people being discussed are displayed through the persona of animals that best describes the trait of the person being highlighted in the story. The mischievous monkey, the slow and patient tortoise, or the vain and proud leopard can all replace human characters in a story, sometimes to protect the innocent, while at others times to reveal a hidden truth about a person’s characteristic. The village chief might become Nyame or Nyankopon, 2 the supreme skygod, while another person in the community may become the trickster, and within the Akan culture this trickster is Ananse. Ananse is the storyteller’s tool that can settle injustice within a tale even when in reality the injustice has not been settled. Thus the story functions as an example of how to resolve conflict and/or the importance of communal harmony. Many of the commonly known Anansesems function as Porquoi tales that describe how the world was shaped using animal characters to represent human associated behaviors. Pig once had a beautiful nose until Ananse was cursed with a snout and in order to acquire a better nose he tricked Pig into an exchange. The lizard, tricked so badly by Ananse, forever moves his head backward and forward as if in shock for being so foolish to ever trust Ananse. And the reason spiders hide in the ceiling corners of the room is on account of Ananse running away from the consequences of his actions. It is through these stories that human faults and misgivings are explained. These stories revealed how things were created and how Ananse was involved in the creation. Ananse teaches through his misdeeds while becoming an example for humanity on how to live and prosper in the world. Ananse and the Ghanaian people are one. He speaks for his people and his people through him speak. He is a semi-deity and trickster hero, both spider and man. He is able to talk with the skygod, Nyankopon, as well as walk among the people. There is a Ghanaian proverb that states, “If you cheat Ananse, then you are cheating

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yourself.” Ananse is a husband, father, farmer, and citizen of the Akan nation. He represents the common man that takes care of his family, his farm, and plays an active role within his community. Life is not always good for a farmer who depends upon nature to make a living, so it is sometimes through tragic circumstances that many of the tales of Ananse were formulated. Famine and draught are in the land; Kweku Ananse can no longer provide food from his farm so he goes out to find food for his family. Being human he has faults: he is selfish, greedy and sometimes his judgment is a little miscalculated. And through human characteristics the tales of Ananse’s adventures are created. Several Anansesems begin similar to the beginning of Genesis 26, “And there was famine in the land...” (KJV). Famine and draught throughout the land causes Ananse to desperately seek food for his family. Tales of man versus nature become less painful and realistic when Ananse is included while at the same time a lesson is being taught against greediness, vanity, laziness, or ignorance within a suffering community. One of the most popular Anansesems retold throughout the Diaspora is how the name of the stories all became Anansesems. During another time of famine Kweku Ananse went up to Nyankopon, the great skygod, to discuss having all the stories renamed from Nyankonsem to Anansesem. Instead of the stories being tales from the gods, Ananse believed that these stories should be from man. Nyankopon thought Ananse must be insane from hunger but tells him that he will comply if brought three things: the bees, Alligator and Leopard. Assured that Nyankopon’s word is true, Ananse returns to earth to begin his task. Ananse passes by a tree where young bees were rehearsing their song. The buzzing is strong and Ananse peeps inside to observe the rehearsal. He tells the leader that the harmony of the bees is awful and that he could teach them a better way of singing but the only stipulation is that the song leader has to leave. The bees desperately want to sound better so the song leader quickly agrees to leave. Once alone, Ananse tells the bees that in order to sing better they must go inside this special gourd that will help them harmonize. The bees excitedly agree. Ananse holds the gourd while they all fly in. Once the last bee enters the gourd, Ananse corks the opening and takes it up to the skygod. Nyankopon drowns the bees and waits for Ananse to complete the next two tasks. Ananse searches the marshlands until he finds Alligator. Once Ananse finds Alligator, he brags that when he is stretched out he is much longer than Alligator. At first, Alligator does not fall for Ananse’s nonsense but the constant bragging is so convincing that Alligator begins to doubt himself. Ananse gets a long piece of bamboo. He tells Alligator to tie him to it and mark how long

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he is when stretched out. Alligator does exactly that. Ananse pretends to be confident that he is right. Now Alligator’s turn, Ananse ties Alligator in three places since he is much bulkier than Ananse. Alligator’s comments on the tightness of the ropes are ignored while Ananse secures the bamboo stick. Once the task is completed Ananse lifts the stick and marched straight up to Nyankopon, who is amazed. Alligator is killed, and Nyankopon, in amazement, awaits the last task to be completed. Ananse goes to the bush to look for Leopard and finally finds him eating a small creature. Ananse tells him that a bunch of gazelles were just talking about him. They were laughing that Leopard is now too slow to catch any of them and has to settle for the smaller creatures for his supper. Leopard angrily demands that Ananse show him where the gazelles are located. But Ananse told Leopard it would be impossible for him to show him the whereabouts of the gazelles without leading him through the bush with a rope around his neck. Angered by the gazelles’ words, Leopard reluctantly allows Ananse to place a rope around his neck. Ananse tightens the rope around Leopard’s neck and Leopard informs Ananse of his pain, but Ananse ignores the complaint as he drags him up to Nyankopon to complete his task. Nyankopon accepts Ananse’s last part of the deal, and Leopard is also killed. Afterwards, the skygod makes an official presentation, witnessed by all the chiefs and people of importance, that for now and forever all stories will be called Anansesem.3 How Ananse acquired all the stories is one of the most retold stories found in Ghana and throughout the Western world. This introductory tale is included in many collections and appears in a variety of ways. Of course the particulars of the story vary and some exclude the fact that there was any difficulty in the village. This tale reflects how Ananse (the people) knew that Nyankopon (the chief ) was blind to the issues of the land. The people were not being taken care of and food was scarce. Ananse approached the skygod to discuss the situation. And the skygod was not sure of what was causing the problem but Ananse knew because this was his community. He knew that each creature captured represented a negative aspect within society — vanity, stupidity and greed — were destroying the spirit of the people and until those issues were removed from the community it would not prosper. Ananse captured each of the problems through their weaknesses and presented them to the chief to destroy in order that the common man, his family and community could again have peace and harmony. Anansesems are tools used for making statements that could not be addressed otherwise. Ghanaian people are known for their politeness and do not like to criticize things publicly, so it is quite appropriate to place some of

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their concerns inside the tales of Ananse. These tales are a much nicer and creative way to approach a problem. A web is an artistic creation but it does have a purpose and that is to catch prey in order to receive nourishment. This is not a cowardly way of revealing animosities, but an eloquent form to explain to a child and/or an adult the humorous side of problems that sometime occur within a society. Would it be better if the web were grotesque in order for us to automatically know that it is a death trap? Or do we forget about its purpose when we are admiring its aesthetic beauty? Is it better to use a story as an analogy for current events than to try and explain a behavior or situation to someone who has not yet experienced it? The naked truth is not as beautiful as when it is dressed in parable. And there is an Akan proverb that states, “A chief ’s ears are like a sieve, there are more than one thousand ways to them.” Anansesems are just one of the tools to reach those ears. Ananse can be the problem and/or the solution within a story proving man is not perfect. Loneliness, hunger, and sexual desire can make him falsify his wealth and appearance in order to eat, acquire riches or get a bride. Human weaknesses cause him to be selfish, greedy and sometimes a little miscalculated on his judgment. Yet, Ananse shows intellect, courage, and concern for his community in other tales and it is through these human characteristics the tales of his adventures are created. Tales within an oral world, then, are ways of “going round for long,” using speech for purposes of making indirect personal arguments in socially restricted situations. They are more powerful for this indirectness. They argue by analogy, not act to be useful members of society, community, and family, but also in regard to how such actions give meaning and power to the very being of all within the community [Abraham, 28].

Ananse knew that stories belonged to the people and to acquire them he would have to show the skygod that the people deserved to have them. Winning the stories and bringing them back down to earth proves that Anansesems are “folktales”— stories of and for the masses. While he is presented in multiple incarnations, Ananse’s daily form is that of a man, traveling along on two feet throughout a tale until he makes causes trouble and has to hide in shame, perhaps in the corner of a ceiling, or when it is time to converse with the sky god. Kwesi Yankah presents a question and answers it in The Akan Trickster Cycle: Myth of Folklore (1983), Let’s begin by posing a basic question. Is ananse, the animal the same as Ananse [the man] in the trickster narrative? The absence of a categorical answer to this, at this point, is based on the fact that Ananse oscillates between man and animal. In morphological and artistic terms, Ananse is depicted as a man. His first name in the narratives is Kweku, the day-name given to human males born on Wednesday [6].

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It is when Ananse’s judgment or selfishness takes the best of him, when he has failed at the task at hand or when he is caught, it is then that Ananse metamorphosizes into a small spider. It is in disgrace that the spider side of Ananse appears, causing him to run from humanity in shame into the animal kingdom.

Moving West The strength of the oral tradition along with the freedom of the imagination made it possible for these stories to span across the Diaspora while providing anthropologist the ability to trace the evolution of Ananse. Many tales of Ananse reflect the historical and creative development found in the folklore of the Akan culture including traits of the personalities, cultural values, and humor of the Ghanaian people. The storyteller made it possible to show how Ananse influenced the environment as well as how the environment influenced his tales throughout the Trans-Atlantic slave trade. The historical aspects and the creative development found in the folklore of the Akan culture make it possible to understand the personalities, biases, and theoretical preferences of the people. Beginning in the mid–19th century, foreign researchers, missionaries and writers made numerous visits to the Gold Coast collecting these oral tales to take back to Europe and the United States. In 1931, Melville and Frances Herskovits from Northwestern University traveled to Ghana to further their extensive study of oral tales from various African countries. The Herskovits studied language dialects (specifically Pidgin), while tracing origins of the “Negro of the New World” to specific regions of Africa. The stories Herskovits recorded were printed in both Standard English and Pidgin. He states that it was possible to record the stories as spoken using a typewriter, a method, it may be remarked, which not only permits recording with the speed necessary if the teller of a tale is to expand on his theme and thus enjoy a natural mode of expression, but also permits dialect in pidgin speech such as is presented here to be taken down with accuracy [52].

Melville Herskovits followed the work of R.S. Rattray’s Akan-Ashanti Folk-Tales (1930) and A.W. Cardinall Tales Told in Togoland (1931) as well as Colonel A.B. Ellis’ comparison study “Evolution in Folklore. Some West African Prototypes of the ‘Uncle Remus’ Stories,” which was published in Appleton’s Popular Science Monthly (1895). Besides recording stories like the Herskovits, one of the main methods of recording the stories was by using English–speaking, Ghanaians interpreters who may or may not have translated

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the stories accurately into English for various reasons. R.S. Rattray also notes that there are several factors at work, which are likely to militate against the high value — from an anthropological standpoint — of folk-tales collected in this manner. Not the least of these disadvantages is that the transcribers are prone to ignore the African idiom, and to omit just those apparently trivial details which stamp these tales with individuality and make them of value to students of language and customs [v].

Herskovits realized in The New World Negro (1966) that a more comprehensive method of collection needed to be administered: Yet the materials, for many of these tribes, are only fragmentary, while the tribal coverage is decidedly spotty. Furthermore, many of the collections from these areas are gathered by the use of methods today held to be faulty–the tales are obviously selected, and are rarely more than abstracts [178].

Herskovits found that many of the oral tales he recorded in Ghana also resided in the United States and had been there for a very long time, with just a few substantive changes. Herskovits states while making comparisons that the entire configuration of folktale telling–by whom certain tales are told, when they may be told, the formularies employed, the significance of the double entendre so characteristic of them, their association with diving and curing, the educational role of the tales–is so closely connected with the tales themselves that it must be thought of as an integral part of any collection [181].

During the late 19th century, in his exploration of folklore in West Africa, Colonel A.B. Ellis recognized that many of the American Southern folktales were just transformed West African tales. I have found several tales which are evidently the West African variants of some of the stories collected in the Southern States by Joel Chandler Harris, and published under the title of “Uncle Remus,” and a comparison of the two sets may be of some interest to American readers, besides affording an example of the extent to which folklore [migrates and] is affected by change of environment [Ellis 93].

Anansesems are told in the Caribbean, the United Kingdom, the United States and areas within South America. As the stories evolved so did the spelling: Ananse (Ashanti) and Anansi (Fanti) are the cultural spellings in Ghana. In many parts of the Caribbean the “se” and “si” endings were exchanged to “cy” and the spelling is either Anancy or Annancy. Journal stories and folklore collections published in the early 20th century in the United States, that included a spider character addressed him as Mister Grab-All Spider4 and An Nancy5 (which many times referred to a dirty joke

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for men only), but never do any of the stories begin with this character being in human form. There were also female tricksters such as Ann Nancy6 or Aunt Nancy7 that tell the clever adventures of a female spider, a spider woman (half spider, half woman) or even a clever old southern woman (which is human and white). In West Africa, there are as many stories that position Ananse as a man, a spider and a spider-man. There is no definite answer to Ananse’s true identity since he is all of them. Ananse’s identity is strongly determined by the culture, creator and audience in which the story is told. As mentioned above, in other tales it is Ananse’s mystical ability that creates many of the natural phenomena of the world. Why the pig has a snout, how debt came into being, why the leopard has spots, and how wisdom spread throughout the land are just a few of the occurrences accredited to Ananse’s lessons. Kwesi Yankah confirms this notion. Ananse’s family is thus a human family with droll physical features, at the center of which is the hero himself, always on the move, and commuting between the human, non-human and supernatural worlds, cheating, generating cultural phenomena, committing adultery, fooling and being fooled [7].

Across the Diaspora During the Trans-Atlantic slave trade more Ghanaians were enslaved in the Caribbean than anywhere else. In many parts of the Caribbean it is Anancy–Spiderman. The stories were savored in a larger community of enslaved Ghanaians, the physical characteristics of the stories slightly changed while the spirit of the fiber within the tales was stronger. Anancy–Spiderman was constantly outwitting the larger creature that represented the foe of the transplanted Ghanaians. Ellis explains the connection and strength of how the stories of Ananse were solidified in the Caribbean within the large population of a common culture of people in one geographical area. Anansi’sem, “Spider stories,” is now the generic native name for all folklore tales whatever, no matter what the subject be; and this designation survives in the British West Indies in the name “Nancy stories,” which is there applied by the negro to his local folklore. The supply of slaves for the British West Indies was drawn almost exclusively from the Gold Coast, so that all, or almost all, of the existing folklore of those islands is derived direct from the Spider stories, and can be readily traced ... [Ellis 93].

The cultural thread was visible in the Caribbean. Nightfall brought forth a tired, worn out slave who transformed into a verbal artist that was equipped

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with the only freedom he possessed–he was the conjurer of tales about Spiderman Ananse. The listeners were allowed to freely soar with the words for just a while. The strong fibers of Ananse’s web help keep their spirits strong when their bodies were in pain. Ananse was still under restraints but posed as a man upright with six or eight limbs more often than in the tales found in the United States where he was melted down to just a small black spider. The Caribbean tales grew from anger, defeat, and fear. These tales were sometimes the only bandage present to cover a broken ego, maintain the spirit from dying and just for a few precious minutes the aches from a workplace that could only be thought of as hell, were taken away. Laughter and smiles overpowered the body aches, mental anguish, and abuse of slavery just through the telling of a story ... if only for a few precious moments. Scholar, Emily Zobel Marshall describes this event as the slaves’ performance “‘offstage’ away from the ears and eyes of the dominant group” (1). Novelist, Patrick Chamoiseau identifies how the enslaved storyteller “speaks for a people enchained: starving, terrorized, living in the cramped postures of survival” (xii).

Modern-Day Representations of Ananse In the Caribbean, there was no sky god with whom to make deals. Ananse carried a survival kit, stuffed with wit, adaptability, and intellect. There were bigger creatures for him to conquer such as Tiger who represented the plantation master and/or the overseer while he still caused changes in nature. Anansesems were retained, reinterpreted and a solid representation of environmental change for his people. He, like the people that told his stories, is a study in adaptation, growth and development. Ananse’s strongest fibers of webbing were attached to the memories of captured West Africans heading towards lives of enslavement in the “New World” during the Trans-Atlantic slave trade. He remained with his people to their final destinations. Through memory and their strong oral heritage it was possible to pass on Anansesems from generation to generation. The tale of how Ananse acquired all the stories is one that survived the Trans-Atlantic journey. It adapts to the environment with Ananse no longer negotiating with the sky god (village chief ) but instead he has to confront Tiger (master/overseer), the king of this jungle, to prove that he is worthy of having the stories named after him instead of Tiger. Ananse talks with Tiger, who of course, wants to keep the stories for himself. Tiger gives Ananse a task that he knows he will fail. In the retelling by Jamaican folklorist Philip M. Sherlock, Anansi: The Spider Man (1956), instead of obtaining three creatures

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like in the Ghanaian telling of this tale, Tiger requests only one creature to be brought to him–Snake. He gives Ananse three chances to trap Snake and on the third attempt Ananse is successful. In another Jamaican collection, Anancy Stories and Dialect Verse (1950), Louise Bennett explains why Ananse tales are told to children. Anancy is no longer living in an enslaved environment. He freely walks the streets, while passing a porch of children who are listening to a story told by their grandmother. Anancy hears another adventure about Puss and Rat. Anancy wonders how he can have stories told about his adventures. Anancy knows that he must discredit Puss and Rat to make them look bad in the community. Anancy’s trickster skills cause Puss and Rat to become enemies forever, disliked by the community and their tales are told no more. Once Anancy succeeds, the old women in the area thank him for getting rid of Puss and Rat and promise that every night they will tell only stories about him to their grandchildren. To assure that the grandmothers will not forget their promise, every night Anancy climbs upon the ceiling as a visible reminder. The two tales are condensed to one; how Anancy acquired all the stories told to children and why spiders are found in the corners of ceilings. Since the mid–1960s, over seventy-five children’s picture books have been published throughout the world with Ananse as the main character. In Western publications, the majority are retold tales that point to West Africa or the Caribbean as the origin. The most common image of Ananse is that of a spider communing with just animals. The next image is that of a spiderman (more so found in the Caribbean Ananse tales). The major image of Ananse found in children’s picture books published in the United States portray him as a small black spider.8 Perhaps because of the larger population of Ghanaians that were taken to enslavement in the Caribbean during the Trans-Atlantic slave trade kept the memory of Ananse stronger along with the published Uncle Remus tales by Joel Chandler Harris that focused upon the adventures of Brer Rabbit caused less visibility of Ananse in the United States. Many of the tales of Brer Rabbit were identical to Ananse. Names were dismissed and the physicality was changed, but the spirit of the stories could not be hidden. In his essay “African Contributions to American Culture,” Joseph E. Holloway states, “The Spider (Anansi) tales appeared in the United States in the form as Aunt Nancy and Brer Rabbit stories” (4). Very few books illustrate Ananse as a spider-man or a man, yet more are found within the last fifteen years because more diverse children’s picture books are being published. Many of the cultural identifiers from the Akan have been removed from Anansesems told within the United States and now these tales are dedicated

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more so for the amusement of children. In 1973, Gerald McDermott, received a Caldecott Honor for Anansi the Spider: A Tale from the Ashanti (1972), which brought recognition back to Ananse in the United States. McDermott’s artful geometric illustrations maintained the image of Ananse as a spider adding ethnicity throughout the story with Ghanaian symbols and a colored headpiece upon Ananse to establish that he was African. McDermott tells the story of Ananse’s six sons and Nyame, the god of all things. He beautifully unfolds several adventures of Ananse into one book to demonstrate how Ananse gets himself into trouble, gets out of it as well as creates another natural phenomenon; this time it is the moon. Several authors are known for their series of retold Anansesems. Eric A. Kimmel and illustrator Janet Stevens retell the adventures of Anansi with his animal friends in five books. Anansi is a small black spider that is able to trick the largest of creatures. The tales are familiar and can be found in other folklore collections that include Anansi. Humor, tricks, and lessons are included in these animated stories yet they have been watered down for children and cease to hold any specific cultural identity of Anansi’s origin besides the fact that the animals can all be found in Africa. Bobby and Sherry Norfolk and illustrator Baird Hoffmire have also created an Anansi series that consist of five books thus far. Anansi is a spiderman with six arms and two legs. He wears shorts and a red, black and green top that has an “A” in the middle. Norfolk’s tales are also familiar but include Anansi socializing beyond animals. Anansi is seen in his village and conversing with Grandma Spider. Like Kimmel, the Norfolks’ tales are animated and filled with humor, tricks and lessons. Both have included the tale of Ananse and Turtle. Anansi has tricked Turtle so many times that he is finally fed up. In Kimmel a party is thrown in Anansi’s honor while in Norfolk’s tale Anansi is invited to dinner. Both show the consequences of too much trickery. Today in the United States images of Ananse may be that of a dreadlocked spider-man, a kente draped spider, or a tripled eye-glass wearing spider-man in Afrocentric clothing. Since 1880, a decade has not passed that a collection of folkloric stories within books, journal articles, poems, novels and/or picture book, have not been published about Ananse. There is not another African folkloric character that has had that type of continuous fame and evolution. It is time to celebrate the art of folklore through following the migration of an African Diaspora folkloric character that lived in a free West African society, endured through slavery, expanded through emancipation while the tales continue to be created in West Africa even today. The visual interpretations of this spider/man/spider-man that can be artistically found starting in the late 19th century displays and celebrates the basics, one of which is to

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appreciate something that is rarely identified in any public media but silently accepted and enjoyed. Ananse, whether he be from West Africa, England, the Caribbean and/or the United States has been envisioned by storytellers and visible in children’s picture books. Ananse is proof of the strength of the oral tradition throughout the world. Through fibers not seen by the naked eye but felt by the people that know Ananse, a web continues to be formed. Anansesems are still orally transmitted, written and illustrated around the world to discuss the human condition. These tales are still used as bandages to cover a broken ego, to teach a child a life lesson, and to entertain lovers of the spoken word. There is a saying in Jamaica that it is a sad day when a child does not know the feel of mango juice dripping down their hand. It is also sad when a child of Ananse does not recognize his spirit because they have not read the tales about him. Through the artistry of over 100 years, the tales and the spirit of Ananse live today.

NOTES 1. While I use the spelling, “Ananse,” I will alter this practice when discussing a version of the story that uses an alternative spelling. 2. Two of the Akan ethnic groups are the Ashanti and the Fante. The skygod’s name according to the Ashanti is Nyame. The skygod’s name according to the Fanti is Nyankopon. Both ethnic groups write about Ananse. But in the majority of western Ananse tales for children that I have found, the “sky-god” is referred to as Nyame or just “sky-god.” 3. Inspired by Melville Herskovits, “Tales in Pidgin English from Ashanti,” Journal of American Folklore no.195, ( January–March 1937): pp. 52 — 91. 4. Sarah Johnson Cocke, Bypaths in Dixie: Folk Tales of the South (New York: E.P. Dutton, 1911). 5. Savannah Unit, Georgia Writer’s Project, Work Projects Administration, Drums and Shadows; Survival Studies Among the Georgia Coastal Negroes (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1940). 6. William R. Bascom, African Folktales in the New World (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1976). 7. Emma Backus, “Animal Tales from North Carolina,” Journal of American Folklore Vol. 11, No 43 (Oct.–Dec. 1898): pp. 284–292. 8. Based upon the 65 picture books published in the United States from 1899 through 2011, 20 represent him as a spider and six portray him as a man.

WORK CITED Abrahams, Roger D. African Folk-tales: Traditional Stories of the Black World. New York: Pantheon, 1983. Addo, Peter E. Adotey. Ghana Folk Tales: Ananse Stories from Africa. New York: Exposition Press, 1968. Bennett, Louise. Anancy and Miss Lou. Kingston, Jamaica: Sangster’s Book Stores, 1979 Cardinall, Allan, W. Tales Told in Togoland. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1931. Ellis, Colonel A.B. “Evolution in Folklore. Some West African Prototypes of the ‘Uncle Remus’ Stories,” Appleton’s Popular Science Monthly vol. 48, November 1895.

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Herskovits, Melville J. The New World Negro. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1966. _____, and Frances S. “Tales in Pidgin English from Ashanti.” The Journal of American Folk-Lore. January–March 1937. Kimmel, Eric A. Anansi and the Magic Stick. Illustrated by Janet Stevens. New York: Holiday House, 2001. _____. Anansi and the Moss-Covered Rock. Illustrated by Janet Stevens. New York: Holiday House, 1998. _____. Anansi and the Talking Melon. Illustrated by Janet Stevens. New York: Holiday House, 1994. _____. Anansi Goes Fishing. Illustrated by Janet Stevens. New York: Holiday House, 1992. _____. Anansi’s Party Time. Illustrated by Janet Stevens. New York: Holiday House, 2009. Marshall, Emily Zobel. “Performing Anansi in Plantation Jamaica: Matthew Lewis’s Record of Trickery.” The Society for Caribbean Studies Annual Conference Papers edited by Sandra Courtman vol. 9, 2008. Norfolk, Bobby and Sherry Norfolk. Anansi and the Pot of Beans. Illustrated by Baird Hoffmire. Atlanta: August House, 2006. _____. Anansi and the Sky Kingdom. Illustrated by Baird Hoffmire. Atlanta: August House, 2008. _____. Anansi and the Tug of War. Illustrated by Baird Hoffmire. Atlanta: August House, 2007. _____. Anansi and Turtle Go to Dinner. Illustrated by Baird Hoffmire. Atlanta: August House, 2007. _____. Anansi Goes to Lunch. Illustrated by Baird Hoffmire. Atlanta: August House, 2007. Rattray, R. Sutherland. Akan-Ashanti Folk-Tales. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1930. _____. Ashanti. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1923. _____. Ashanti Proverbs (The Primitive Ethics of a Savage People). Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1916. Woodson, Carter G. African Myths: Together with Proverbs. Washington, D.C.: Associated Publishers, 1928. Yankah, Kwesi. The Akan Trickster Cycle: Myth or Folktale? Co-winner Sixth Annual Graduate Student Term Paper Competition. Bloomington: Indiana University, 1983. _____. “Nana Ampadu, the Sung-ale Metaphor, and the Protest Discourse in Contemporary Ghana.” Language, Rhythm, and Sound: Black Popular Cultures into the TwentyFirst Century. Edited by Joseph K. Adjaye and Adrianne R. Andrews, Pittsburg: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1997. _____. “Proverb Rhetoric and African Judicial Processes: The Untold Story,” American Folklore, July/September 1986.

Masks in Storytelling, or How Pretty Salma Turned the “Tale” on Mr. Dog BARBARA A. LEHMAN

African masks, highly prized by Westerners for their artistic value, hold much deeper significance for ceremonies and religious rituals within many African cultures, often as a medium for contacting the spirit world. In Chinua Achebe’s novel Things Fall Apart (1958), masks play an important role in the communication of ancestral wisdom, for example. They are also key in the climactic scene in which a Christianized African unmasks village elders who are channeling their ancestors’ power. However, storytellers also use masks to pass on tales of the culture’s oral tradition. In both cases, the wearer becomes the vehicle for the character or spirit signified by the mask, which hides his true identity, as I shall explore metaphorically through different versions of one particular type of folktale, “Red Riding Hood.” When Salma’s granny sends her to market and cautions Salma not to talk to strangers, readers and listeners recognize a familiar storyline in Niki Daly’s Pretty Salma: A Little Red Riding Hood Story from Africa (2006). This version, set in modern-day West Africa, recasts the traditional tale as a contemporary warning about urban perils.1 On her way home under the hot sun and balancing her now-loaded basket, Salma fatefully decides to take a shortcut “through the wild side of town” (10). Predictably, there she runs into trouble in the form of conniving Mr. Dog, who offers to carry her basket and then tricks Salma out of all her special go-to-market clothes. He next sets out to find Granny while Salma races to her grandfather, who is telling Anansi stories to an audience. His masks and rhythm instruments are just what Salma and Grandfather need to scare the cowardly Mr. Dog away and save Granny. 159

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Thus, the masks in this story, which are Grandfather’s storytelling props used to represent and illuminate characters in his tales, become disguises that intimidate Mr. Dog in the same way that Mr. Dog had used Salma’s clothing to deceive Granny. The naïve child has demonstrated that her cleverness can turn the tale on sneaky Mr. Dog. With that story as a touchstone, in this essay, I compare how different kinds of masquerades link to variations of similar tales in Africa and to a variant from the African American diaspora. In addition to the contrasts cited above between disguise and representation and between naiveté or gullibility and cleverness, I examine how wildness is manifested in both urban and rural settings, how obedience struggles with independence, and finally, the tension between dominance and resistance. However, first I return to a more detailed look at Pretty Salma.

Pretty Salma Daly’s choice to place his retelling in an urban West African setting carries resonance with many modern readers who face real dangers in everyday life. A young girl is given considerable responsibility to walk to market alone, negotiate with sellers for items that her granny needs, and haul the heavy basket safely home. Little wonder that, trusted with these tasks and perhaps feeling that she has earned the right to make her own decision, Salma takes an ill-advised shortcut home. When a helpful stranger offers to carry the basket, Salma is relieved (and, by talking to him, disobedient); perhaps feeling that she owes Mr. Dog something, she agrees to part with first her yellow sandals, then her striped ntama (sarong-style wrap), and finally, her blue head scarf and white beads. By this time, Salma realizes her mistake, but it is too late. Mr. Dog drops his pretense of befriending Salma and threatens to bite her in two if she doesn’t run away. However, Mr. Dog’s lack of success with learning Salma’s favorite song that her granny sings to her eventually alerts Granny to the imposter. Salma, meantime, clad only in a short shift dashes straight to Grandfather and hatches the plan to outsmart the dog, and it may be significant that traditional ways — fear of Ka Ka Motobe the Bogeyman — triumph over slick, glib city schemes. Daly’s watercolor and digital illustrations clearly portray the West African setting, beginning with depictions of masks and drums against stylized background designs. The title page shows Salma snuggled on her granny’s lap (probably sharing their secret song) with an inquisitive rooster looking on. The story begins by telling that “Salma lived with her granny and grandfather

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on the quiet side of town” (6)— clearly contrasting with the “wild side” where Mr. Dog hangs out. Granny lovingly sends off Salma to market with a kiss, and Salma promises to obey Granny’s admonition not to talk to strangers. The home’s interior looks simple and clean; Granny and Salma wear typical clothes with African prints. The next double-page spread shows Salma arriving and making her purchases at the market, followed by a page depicting the return trip’s shortcut through the “wild side of town” (10), where buildings are close together, there is a passing car, and people are somewhat scantily clad in more Western-style clothing and accessories. Mr. Dog lurks on a street corner. As he and Salma walk on, they pass a shoreline with a fishing boat in the background, and palm trees signify a tropical climate. Humor is added through the gawking expressions on the face of the rooster in Salma’s basket — he clearly suspects that Mr. Dog is up to no good — and the ridiculous image of the cross-dressed Mr. Dog in Salma’s clothes. A gaudy, overloaded minibus (the ubiquitous form of public transportation across Africa) with passengers staring incredulously at Mr. Dog appears on one spread, along with pedestrians: women carrying bundles on their heads and a suited man with a briefcase. In every picture, bright colors in clothing, vehicles, fruit, and building trim stand out against muted tan shades and black accents. When Salma reaches her grandfather, he is wearing an Anansi costume and mask while telling stories to an audience of wide-eyed children. Other masks, a drum, rattles, and clapping sticks sit nearby and become useful in Salma’s plan to scare Mr. Dog. Meanwhile, Granny, who wears glasses but must not be able to see well, welcomes Mr. Dog, whom she thinks is Salma, into her pretty pink house, and the predictable pattern follows of Granny remarking on the wetness of Mr. Dog’s nose, the size of his appetite, the hairiness of his ears, and his tail — with a twist. As Granny begins to suspect the nefarious intentions of this strange creature, she suggests they sing her and Salma’s favorite song, which the imposter, being a dog, cannot do. One more scary attempt by the evil dog to finish off Granny in her cooking pot is interrupted by the arrival of Salma as Ka Ka Motobi the Bogeyman, her grandfather as Anansi, and an entourage of a small boy and assorted animals. Mr. Dog is so terrified of this gang that he slinks back to his neighborhood as fast as he can, looking humiliated on all fours instead of upright and his tongue hanging out. The tension of Mr. Dog’s three-and-one-half, double-page spread encounter with Granny is eased by a line across the top of each one portraying in silhouette the advance of Salma, Grandfather, and friends to the rescue. A final spread shows Salma, Granny, Grandfather, and the boy celebrating over watermelon and pink drink beneath a smiling sun. The conclusion depicts

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Salma in her new clothes purchased next day at market and states that “she never talked to strangers again” (29). Salma has triumphed, even as she learned her lesson. Thus, with regard to the motif of masks and masquerades, when Mr. Dog poses as her friend, Salma doesn’t recognize him as dangerous. After all, dogs often are domesticated, although plenty of stray dogs in Africa can be pretty wild. Then when Mr. Dog masquerades in Salma’s clothes, he dupes Granny initially into thinking he is her granddaughter. Finally, Salma turns the “tale” on Mr. Dog by using her grandfather’s masks to trick Mr. Dog with disguises of the well-known Ka Ka Motobi the Bogeyman and Anansi.

Makwelane and the Crocodile Another Red Riding Hood-like tale, this story (published in 2004 in South Africa) is told by Maria Hendriks and illustrated by Piet Grobler (who, like Niki Daly, was nominated by South Africa for the International Board on Books for Young People Hans Christian Andersen Illustrator Award). The setting, “in a land of hills and rivers” (n.p.), is fully developed in the mixed media illustrations of acrylic and oil paints, pastels, charcoal, and collage on thickly textured pages. Consonant with certain areas of the creators’ South African homeland, round dwellings with thatch roofs, acacia trees, mealie (corn) fields, brown and green landscape, and domestic cows and chickens establish the rural scene. Other native wild animals appear as the story develops. The characters’ modern clothing styles with traditional prints make the story contemporary but culturally specific. Makwelane, a young girl whose name means “music maker,” receives her own instrument, a makwelane, from her father, and carries and plays it every day wherever she goes. Makwelane lives with her mother and father but yearns to visit her beloved grandma, Gogo. Her parents are too busy to take Makwelane to visit Gogo, and they won’t allow Makwelane to go alone until finally one day she is taller than Daddy’s assegai (walking stick) and big enough to walk by herself if she promises to “stay far from the river” where a “cunning crocodile” (n.p.) lives. Before she can go, however, Makwelane must help wash clothes in the river and crush mealies for dinner. When Makwelane sets out, she is warned again by her parents and other animals — a cricket, rock pigeon, butterfly, and stork — about the “scaly and scary and ugly and yucky” (n.p.) crocodile. Makwelane seems unfamiliar with crocodiles because, when she encounters the creature at the river, she thinks it is a giant lizard and tells him that she is on her way to visit Gogo. Crocodile

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spots an opportunity to have both Gogo and Makwelane for lunch and swims straight to Gogo’s house where she is peacefully napping in the sun. Meanwhile, Makwelane suddenly puts together the warnings everyone had given her, realizes that the “giant lizard” was the crocodile, and races to warn Gogo, arriving just in time to see Crocodile grabbing Gogo’s dress. Makwelane’s scream temporarily distracts Crocodile, allowing Makwelane to hurl her calabash and music maker’s bow at him. Gogo quickly urges her to shove the whole makwelane in Crocodile’s open mouth, where it sticks so that he can neither open or close his jaws. As Crocodile retreats to the river, Makwelane and Gogo dance to celebrate their success, surrounded by other joyful creatures. The ending shows Makwelane and Gogo seated cozily by a fire under the night sky as Makwelane reflects that although she has lost her music maker, she and Gogo can still sing together. The style of the illustrations in this book is very different from Daly’s Pretty Salma, but the colors share many similarities, with bright hues in clothing, plant blooms, brilliant sunset, and animal bills, wings, and legs accented against muted backgrounds of browns, greens, and blues. These colors all match the setting, and unlike Daly’s illustrations, are much more filled in on most pages. Whereas the skin tones of Daly’s human characters are medium brown, those of people in this book are very dark brown, and their features are less realistic and more caricature-like. The animals’ eyes appear eerily human, and mixed media artwork contributes to the pictures’ liveliness. Also unlike Pretty Salma, this story contains no actual masks and the crocodile does not deliberately set out to deceive Makwelane. However, when he realizes that he can take advantage of her innocence, he gives her “his sweetest [toothy] smile” (n.p.), cleverly disguising his true intentions. This smile fits the model of Jack Prelutsky’s “crafty crocodile,” whose grin “springs from his dishonest guile/and treacherous reptilian style” (25). The untrustworthy creature thus pretends to be something he isn’t — a harmless, friendly lizard. A final notable difference between these two stories is the urban placement of Pretty Salma in contrast to the rural setting of Makwelane, with both typifying African locations. The “wild side of town” in Pretty Salma also establishes an ironic contrast between the “wildness” of urban living and the natural wildness found in Makwelane’s rural life. Mr. Dog, usually associated with domestication, poses danger to Salma, while Crocodile, a wild animal universally feared by humans, threatens Makwelane. In each case, the protagonist is unwitting about the potential harm, but in Salma’s case it may be because she doesn’t expect to fear a dog (even if he is a stranger) while Makwelane doesn’t recognize a crocodile. Which is more sinister and threatening, the wildness of nature or the wildness of supposed “civilization”?

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Other African Variants and Similar Tales Many folklorists once credited Charles Perrault with penning the first written version of the “Little Red Riding Hood” story in 17th century France (Bettelheim), and it was intended to be a cautionary tale for girls or young women in the French court to guard against unwanted advances by sexually predatory males. Perrault’s version ends badly for Little Red, whereas the subsequent Brothers Grimm tale serves justice for the wolf, while Little Red Cap and her grandmother are saved. However, more recent scholarship traces the roots of this story to much earlier periods and to many areas of the world, such as “Lon Po Po,” which comes from the oral tradition of China more than a thousand years ago (Kiefer). A close parallel comes from a Bechuana tale in southern Africa about a girl named Tselane.2 In this story, sometimes called “Tselane and the Giant,” her parents leave Tselane behind when she refuses to accompany them while they go to care for their sheep, but her mother warns the girl not to open the door in case the Marimos (cannibals) come to eat her. After a few days, the mother returns with food for Tselane and calls out to her to take the food. Because Tselane recognizes her mother’s voice, she opens the door, and this pattern occurs regularly until one day a voice Tselane doesn’t recognize calls to her with the same words. Not fooled, Tselane refuses, and the Marimo leaves to try to change (mask) his voice. Eventually, the Marimo succeeds in tricking Tselane with his altered voice; he sticks her in his sack and carries her away, stopping to get some beer and leaving the bag in the charge of some village girls. They peek into the bag, find Tselane, and tell Tselane’s mother who happens to be nearby. She sets Tselane free and fills the sack with scorpions, snakes, and other nasty items. When the Marimo gets home and opens the bag, the venomous creatures bite him and he is changed into a tree. This story contains several important Little Red Riding Hood motifs: the parental warning about stranger danger, the villain’s successful trickery in masquerading his voice as that of Tselane’s mother, and the eventual salvation of the gullible girl, although in this case, because of her mother’s cleverness. A more extended version of this story as “Mmadipetsane” appears in Nelson Mandela’s Favorite African Folktales (2002) and comes from Lesotho. One day Mmadipetsane’s mother sends her out to the veld (grassy scrubland) to gather edible plants and roots. An immediate difference is that the mother issues no warnings at this point about potential dangers. While foraging, Mmadipetsane encounters a ledimo (man-eating monster), who tries to catch her. Unafraid and taunting him, she darts into a hole that is too small for the giant, and he finally leaves her alone. When Mmadipetsane returns home and

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tells her mother where she has been, Mme (mother) scolds her for being naughty and disobeying the order (only now described) to stay away from the ledimo’s territory. Mmadipetsane boasts that she knows how to mock the giant and stay safe, which she does a second time successfully in spite of his attempts to imitate the voice of Mmadipetsane’s mother and lure the girl out of the hiding place. However, the third time, the ledimo hatches a trick that works by filling her hole with stones during the night. When Mmadipetsane tries to escape to the hole, she can’t fit in, and the giant easily grabs her, throws her in his bag, and carries her to his home for dinner. The unhappy conclusion states, “this is the end of the story of a disobedient child and her punishment” (47). The similarities of being warned about danger and the villain’s attempt to disguise his voice so he can masquerade as the girl’s mother ground this story in the Little Red Riding Hood tradition, of which Pretty Salma is a modern African version. In addition, other related tales feature animal characters that try to trick and threaten to eat their intended victims — as in the Western story of the three little pigs and the wolf. For example, Jamie Tehrani, a cultural anthropologist at Durham University in Britain, studied 35 worldwide variants of the Little Red Riding Hood tale and claimed that an original ancestor of the story is similar to “The Wolf and the Seven Little Kids.”3 In this tale, which is included in Linda Rode’s 2009 collection, a mother goat has to leave her kids at home alone while she goes into the woods to gather firewood. As she departs, she warns them not to open the door while she is gone and explicitly to beware of the dangerous wolf. When the wolf shows up pretending to be Mother Goat, the kids don’t recognize his voice and refuse to unbolt the door. On the wolf ’s second attempt after sweetening his voice with honey, the kids ask to see his paws and recognize them as the ones their mother had described belonging to a wolf. Disguising his paws with flour, the wolf is successful on his third try in deceiving the kids, and they foolishly open the door. The wolf consumes six of the kids, but the seventh hides. When Mother Goat returns home, she and the last kid track down the wolf, who is fast asleep in the woods, cut open his belly, and save the other kids. Mother Goat replaces them with stones in the wolf ’s stomach, stitches him up, and the goat family is safe. In the conclusion, the smartest kid (presumably the one who hid) says, “[W]e know now that a wolf doesn’t always look like a wolf!” (28). Thus, this story clearly exemplifies the central motif of masking one’s true identity in order to trick another and learning not to trust strangers. Rode’s collection includes tales from her South African childhood that originated in Africa, Europe, and Asia. She attributes this particular one to the Brothers Grimm but states that it was part of the Latin Romulus fables. Its inclusion in Rode’s

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collection demonstrates the mingling of many oral traditions in some parts of Africa and the universality of the deception/disguise/masquerade motif in folklore around the world. Indeed, Beverley Naidoo includes a story called “The Cat and the Mice” in her collection of Aesop’s Fables (2011, also illustrated by Piet Grobler) that is similar to “The Wolf and the Seven Kids.” In this fable, a cat invades a deserted farmhouse that has been taken over by mice. She has a grand time catching and eating mice until the remaining ones finally wise up and hide from her. The cat realizes that she needs a more devious plan if she wants to continue her feasting, so she pretends to be dead in order to trick the mice into coming out again. However, the mice are not fooled, stay safely in their holes, and mock the cat by describing her as a sack of flour. In keeping with Naidoo’s South African roots, this retelling contains several local slang terms, such as laaitie (youngster) and mampara (fool). She also offers evidence — the many African animals in the fables, the African incorporation of a proverb or moral with many stories — that Aesop may have been a North African brought to Greece as a slave. Grobler’s illustrations for the fables, like those in Makwelane, evoke typical African settings, and in this story, the motif of masquerading to hide one’s true identity or intentions is clearly evident. The commonality across these stories from diverse traditions and with the Little Red Riding Hood stories is a stranger’s use of deception and often explicit disguise to mask a true identity and threaten (and consume) an unsuspecting, often naïve victim. Next, I will compare these stories with the African American tale Flossie & the Fox (1986), which is part of the African diaspora tradition in America.

Flossie & the Fox Patricia McKissack’s retelling and Rachel Isadora’s illustrations firmly situate this story in the rural southern United States. Young Flossie Finley lives with her grandmother, who one day sends her on an errand to deliver fresh eggs to Miz Viola. Big Mama tells Flossie that a fox has been making trouble for the McCutchins by stealing their hens’ eggs. When Flossie inquires what a fox looks like because she “disremembers” ever seeing one, Big Mama replies that “a fox be just a fox,” but “he’ll do most anything to get at some eggs” (n.p.). She also warns Flossie to be careful about the eggs she is carrying and not to tarry along the way. Because of the sun and heat, Flossie decides to take a shortcut through the cooler woods and soon encounters “a critter she couldn’t recollect ever seeing” (n.p.). He greets Flossie formally and like

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he was expecting her. As they exchange their names, he claims to be a fox and offers his services to Flossie. The clever girl, however, pretends that she doesn’t believe him and asks him for proof. Each time he offers evidence of his identity, she discounts it, putting the fox increasingly in a dither until his confidence is shattered. Finally, she leads the fox straight into the territory of Mr. McCutchin’s hound dog, and the fox turns tail as fast as he can, shouting that the dog knows who the fox is. Flossie has the last word with her cheeky, “I know.” Realistic watercolor, pencil, and ink illustrations dramatize the story, showing Flossie’s saucy smile, the fox’s slant-eyed slyness and growing frustration, and shimmering multi-hued leaves of trees along the wooded path. As the McCutchin place comes into view, open fields, a split-rail fence, and wooden buildings reflect the rural farm setting. The last double-page spread with the hound dog tearing after the fox is satisfying, but Flossie’s delighted grin on the final single page captures the story’s delicious ending that lets readers in on her joke. Although this story has often been compared to Little Red Riding Hood as a tale about a young girl’s encounter with a dangerous, sneaky animal on her way through a woods, Rudine Sims Bishop (2007) notes that the resemblance ends there. “Flossie is not taken in for a moment by the fox, and she needs no woodsman to rescue her. She is in control...” (129). Flossie disguises that she is wise to the fox by masquerading as an innocent child who has never seen a fox before. Sims Bishop also highlights the class differences represented by the formal, proper English spoken by the fox, as well as his pretentious manners — which serve as a mask of his true intentions — and Flossie’s Black vernacular speech — even as she signifies fox’s stuffiness — and common sense cleverness. Read from a racial perspective, Flossie represents not only a supposedly naïve young child triumphing over a more experienced, worldly villain but also Black Americans’ ability to outwit a more powerful, educated dominant White culture.4 Flossie is no victim, her smartness makes a fool of the fox, and she sees right through the fox’s sneaky plan before he can ever get it underway. In this regard, Flossie is always in more control of the situation than Salma is. Flossie is never fooled by the fox’s polished manners, and she uses her wits to mask her understanding of foxes as predators she has been advised to avoid. In contrast, Salma clearly is duped by Mr. Dog’s masquerade until she finally realizes what he is up to — an intent to impersonate Salma in order to harm her granny. Only belatedly does Salma grasp the gravity of the situation and act to avert a tragedy. Thus, Flossie embodies the Paul Laurence Dunbar poem (1993), “We Wear the Mask,” which describes African Americans’ smiling

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disguise as self-protection from repeated exposure to the pain inflicted by the outside world. Using critical multicultural analysis to understand that Flossie is concealing her true knowledge in order to protect herself (and the eggs) positions readers to “resist unequal power relations” of class and race differences (Botelho & Rudman, 2009, 264) represented by Flossie and the fox.

A Post-Colonial View of Little Red Riding Hood One can bring this sociocultural interpretation of Flossie & the Fox within the American context back, then, to Africa and apply a post-colonial reading of the Little Red Riding Hood variants I’ve described. Lewis and Dockter state that a “postcolonial lens ... allows for interpretations of literature which move away from ‘universal’ readings to readings which instill global significance to those whose experiences have been represented only as ‘the other’ to the Western world” (85). Although Bettelheim and others characterize the story as essentially a warning about personal violation and danger (often of a sexual nature) posed to an innocent victim by a malicious, devious predator, it seems plausible to examine its themes in the broader socio-political context of African colonialism. That history began at least as long ago as the ancient Greeks and Phoenicians, but Portuguese exploration of the African coasts in the 15th century initiated the rush that eventually became European colonization of nearly the entire continent in the 19th century. What might this colonial history mean for understanding Little Red Riding Hood in Africa? Obviously, if Salma and Makwelane represent indigenous African societies, Mr. Dog and Crocodile may signify sinister European colonists who attempt to conquer these “innocent” cultures. Possibly Mr. Dog can represent modernity and supposedly more advanced civilization, while Crocodile suggests the exploiters’ cold-blooded, calculating nature. Whether the colonizers used guile in their take-over and whether the Africans were ever unsuspecting is debatable, but the basic premise of domination and suppression seems sound. In turn, Salma and Makwelane resist their oppressors and not with brute force but rather through cleverness and intelligence. So, while the stories can serve warning for Africans not to be taken in and deceived by European/Western promises of development or improvement even today, they also show how Africans can outwit and outsmart outsiders who try to exploit the continent. Interestingly, in the case of Pretty Salma, traditional beliefs and practices turn away more modern urban ways (an outcome that could have its own issues from a post-colonial view, according to YenikaAgbaw, as a romantic view that continues to colonize African ways).

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In addition, these stories can unravel typical notions about what is naïve and what is clever. European conquerors’ stereotype of Africans as simple — even subhuman — and easily mastered is upended by the triumph exemplified in these stories of the innocent little girls over their supposedly smarter antagonists. Ultimately, like Flossie, by their cleverness and quick thinking, Salma and Makwelane not only outwit the villains but send them packing. By focalizing the stories from the girls’ perspectives, all readers can identify with them and celebrate the success of the underdog. From an indigenous African perspective, it could be tremendously satisfying — and contribute to continental pride — to deal the same fate to foreign invaders that happened to evil Mr. Dog and Crocodile. Tension also exists in these stories between the obedience that elders expect of their children and the young girls’ need for independence. While older (and wiser) people counsel that it is safest to stay away from trouble, youngsters don’t always heed their warnings and often seem drawn directly to danger. Indeed, perhaps we could argue that the very purpose of the Little Red Riding Hood tale itself is adult control of children. Nodelman and Reimer suggest that children’s literature by its very nature “represents an effort by adults to colonize children” (97). (However, the portrayal of Salma and Makwelane — certainly, Flossie — as capable in the end of devising their own solutions to their predicaments demonstrates their agency and contests that argument.) This paradigm, of course, isn’t just manifested in African cultures, but it certainly does exist there in many places and in numerous political situations. For example, under Apartheid in South Africa, it was youth who led the way in the Soweto uprising of 1976 that finally resulted in the regime’s demise by 1990. Finally, for a continent that to this day is widely perceived by outsiders as wild, untamed, uncivilized, dangerous, and even “barbaric” (Yenika-Agbaw, 5), these stories carry particular resonance. On a basic level, the portrayal of the Little Red Riding Hood story in both urban (Pretty Salma) and rural (Makwelane) settings disrupts the stereotype that Africa is all primitive and undeveloped or exotic. In these stories, we see that Africa contains many kinds of places, both more traditional (and rural) and more modern (and urban). The stories depict Salma’s and Makwelane’s lives as ordinary and typical, not romanticized. On another level, however, as noted earlier, Pretty Salma critiques whether urbanity really is more civilized and what is truly “wild”— the natural dangers of wild animals or the man-made threats of city violence. Such questions certainly challenge the supposed advantages and attractiveness of rapid urbanization that is causing widespread demographic shifts across the continent.

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Thus, placing Little Red Riding Hood in Africa can acquire larger sociopolitical significance by interpreting the story within an African context in order to illuminate themes of dominance and resistance, naiveté and cleverness, obedience and independence, and wildness and civilization. A postcolonial reading can alter the typical perspective from a “universal” interpretation of personal danger to a particularized warning about stereotypes and the cultural and economic exploitation of one continent by other regions of the world.

The Roles of Masks in Storytelling Now to return to the original focus on masks, I consider their roles in storytelling and, more generally, in literature and life. First, I have shown that not all “masks” are literal in the stories I’ve discussed. In Pretty Salma, they are most apparent, with Salma’s grandfather using Anansi costumes and other masks in his storytelling, but in the other stories we need to consider “masks” as disguises or even ruses — from the very subtle crocodile “smile” and a fox’s charm to giants,’ monsters,’ and wolves’ attempts to disguise their voices; a cat playing dead; or Mr. Dog dressing in Salma’s clothes. In one way or another, these are all forms of masquerade, and sometimes they are coopted by the intended victims against the villains for their ultimate just reward. Second, masks are employed in storytelling as signification, as most literally shown by Salma’s grandfather. He uses masks when he tells stories to help his audiences believe that whoever is wearing the mask represents the mask’s character. Thus, masks are symbols of something or someone else, and they perform the role of all symbols in stories as concrete stand-ins for more abstract and imaginary ideas. Third, as symbols, masks reveal truths about these abstractions to us, and we can gain insights about our problems, concerns, and the world around us by applying them to our lives and contexts. We often understand deeper meanings by having abstractions exemplified symbolically and thus made more concrete. Symbols also can help us to see a larger picture and gain perspective rather than focus too much on particular situations that may be overwhelming in themselves. Fourth, at the same time, we may receive those life lessons more easily precisely because “masks” conceal that it is a lesson we are learning. In addition, masks can symbolically hide (or mask) the exact nature of ideas that may be too dangerous to express openly. In this way, masks can be subversive or deliberately deceptive, shielding radical notions behind the guise of a benign

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symbol — only grasped by the truly discerning. Some traditional literature and even modern fantasy or allegory are thought to have served and continue to fulfill this purpose, for example. What, then, does the use of masks mean for storytelling? I have argued that symbolically masks both reveal and conceal, depending upon the narrator’s/author’s purposes and the audience’s understanding, while signifying larger truths behind the masks. In turn, stories and all literature serve the same function: to entertain and educate, but most of all, to illuminate indirectly the meanings of our human lives. For African tales, in particular, masks enable a teller to become the medium for spirits symbolized by the masks and to preserve the culture’s oral tradition, while effacing the teller’s true identity. The listeners’ focus, then, is trained on the power of the (sometimes uncomfortable) truths behind the stories and to confront deceptions or resist injustices of their own lives.

NOTES 1. In fact, Daly revealed that the story was inspired by his observation of a young girl who passed his house on her way to school and sometimes used a dangerous path along the railroad tracks nearby. “How to Travel Lightly (with 60 Years of Baggage?).” Speech delivered at the International Reading Association’s 52nd Annual Convention, Toronto, 15 May 2007. 2. http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Folk-Lore_Journal/Volume_7/ A_South_ African_Red_Riding_Hood. 3. http://www.telegraph.co.uk/science/science-news/6142964/Fairy-tales-haveancient-origin.html. 4. Henry Louis Gates, in The Signifying Monkey (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988) provides a thorough treatment of signification in African American language patterns and even calls it “linguistic masking” (75). Thus, Flossie is covertly ridiculing fox while masking her true intentions.

WORKS CITED Achebe, Chinua. Things Fall Apart. London: Heinemann, 1958. Print. Bettelheim, Bruno. The Uses of Enchantment: The Meaning and Importance of Fairy Tales. New York: Knopf, 1976. Print. Bishop, Rudine Sims. Free Within Ourselves: The Development of African American Children’s Literature. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann, 2007. Print. Botelho, Maria José and Masha Kabakow Rudman. Critical Multicultural Analysis of Children’s Literature: Mirrors, Windows, and Doors. New York: Routledge, 2009. Print. Daly, Niki. Pretty Salma: A Little Red Riding Hood Story from Africa. New York: Clarion, 2006. Print. Dunbar, Paul Laurence. The Collected Poetry of Paul Laurence Dunbar. Joanne M. Braxton, ed. Charlottesville: University Press of Virginia, 1993. Gates, Henry Louis. The Signifing Monkey. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988. Hendriks, Maria. Makwelane and the Crocodile. Illus. Piet Grobler. Cape Town: Human & Rousseau, 2004. Print.

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Kiefer, Barbara Z. Charlotte Huck’s Children’s Literature, 10th ed. New York: McGrawHill, 2010. Print. Lewis, Cynthia, and Jessica Dockter. “Reading Literature in Secondary School: Disciplinary Discourses in Global Times.” Handbook of Research on Children’s and Young Adult Literature. Shelby A. Wolf, Karen Coats, Patricia Enciso, and Christine A. Jenkins, eds. New York: Routledge, 2011. 76–91. Print. McKissack, Patricia, C. Flossie & the Fox. Illus. Rachel Isadora. New York: Dial, 1986. Print. Naidoo, Beverley. Aesop’s Fables. Illus. Piet Grobler. London: Frances Lincoln, 2011. Print. Nelson Mandela’s Favorite African Folktales. New York: W.W. Norton, 2002. Print. Nodelman, Perry and Mavis Reimer. The Pleasures of Children’s Literature, 3d ed. Boston: Allyn and Bacon, 2003. Print. Prelutsky, Jack. Zoo Doings. Illus. Paul O. Zelinsky. New York: Scholastic, 1983. Print. Rode, Linda. In the Never-ever Wood. Illus. Fiona Moodie. Trans. Elsa Silke. Cape Town: Tafelberg, 2009. Print. Yenika-Agbaw, Vivian. Representing Africa in Children’s Literature: Old and New Ways of Seeing. New York: Routledge, 2008. Print.

Selected Black Animated Fairy Tales from Coal Black to Happily Ever After, 1943–2000 RICHARD M. BREAUX

The lyrics “Fairytales” by the legendary Ella Fitzgerald and the Mills Brothers has as much, if not more meaning for African Americans because most fairy tales told to and printed for children rarely tell our stories. Moreover, they often demonize Africans, African Americans, and even the word black itself. The dual racialized and gendered reading of some fairytales doubly strike young African American girls caught in the crosshairs of racism and sexism in a cultural space that has rendered them not beautiful because they are black, helpless because they are women, and emasculating and asexual because they are black women. African American boys, too, are often invisible or belittled and restricted by the confines of gender and race in hearing stories that reflect their realities, dreams, or imaginations. Film, as a reflection of society, sees them as dangerous, hyperactive and hypersexual troublemakers. They are seemly lazy, manipulative, or deadbeat dads, but rarely presented as lovable or loving partners. Outside of Public Broadcasting Services children’s programming representations of animated African and African American folktales, fairytales, and nursery tales have crawled along at a snail’s pace since the 1970s. This essay explores the presence and representation of African and African American characters in selected, mostly mainstream animated fairytales, nursery rhymes, folktales, legends, and “lies and other tall tales” from 1943 to 2000. It offers an analytical overview of the era when animated fairytales, legends, and folktales presented Africans and African Americans as sambos, coons, mammies, Sapphires, and jezebels from 1943 to 1970, and provides a 173

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few examples of all-black or all–ALANA (African, Latino, Asian and Native Americans) remakes of historically European and Euro-American tales from 1970 to 2000. It particularly focuses on the years between 1995 and 2000, when directors Bruce W. Smith, Anthony Bell and Edward Bell, created the Home Box Office Family (HBO Family) channel’s Happily Ever After: Fairy Tales for Every Child, an animated series that took mainstream, traditional European fairytales and repackaged them with characters of African, Latin, Asian, or Native American descent. Although not explicitly stated, this was in response to criticisms that most books, movies, cartoons, and other forms of media that retold these so-called timeless classic tales were either 1) never inclusive of darker-skinned people or ALANAs or 2) stereotyped and/or demonized ALANAs in these tales. Thanks to media companies like Disney, Warner Brothers, and MGM, film, movie, and cartoon versions of these stories continue to be retold with very little attention to characters or tales from nonwestern and non-white literary or oral traditions unless we include Disney’s Aladdin (1992), Mulan (1998), Pocahontas (1995), and The Princess and the Frog (2009) as recent, albeit problematic exceptions. Despite seemly honest attempts to create animated stories that seek to encourage, empower, and heal rather than images that harm, disfigure or injure (Lester & Ross, 2003), these recent animated tales offer little outside of revised mainstream European tales with black or brown faces inserted to make them appear more racially inclusive. I argue that a more substantive solution to the absence or distortion dilemma would be to animate and present stories — tales, myths, and legends that reflect African and/or African American traditions, cultures, and histories. This can be specific to nationalities or ethnic and racial group traditions throughout the diaspora or within certain African countries such as Benin, Ghana, Kenya, Namibia, Niger, Nigeria, Malawi, Senegal, Sierra Leone, South Africa, Tanzania, Zimbabwe, and so on. The earliest references and representations of Africans and African Americans in animated film were largely created to reinforce the white American imagination. Creators likely had no African or African American audiences in mind when creating these films. These features presented blackness as irony, other, and inferior for the purpose of white entertainment and humor. Even if and when studios responded to black demand for less racist or more representative images in animated or live-action films, they were never free from racial stereotyping, caricature, and the grossest of racialized distortion. Prior to the 1940s, if such films bothered to capture any accurate image of African and African American expression and experience, the content could rarely escape the white supremacist ideals in United States popular or academic culture.

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While the civil rights, black power, and multicultural inclusion and empowerment movements have rid us of the worst and most offensive animated representations of blackness they have not developed much with regard to capturing African or African American cultural forms with any complexity and depth. We largely see more contemporary remakes of tales once created for and by Europeans or European Americans in the 1930s and 1940s with rap music substituted for jazz, hip hop dance as a stand in for popular jazz and swing dances, and current slang as a replacement for dated slang. Before understanding where black animated fairytales and folktales are now, we must explore their animated predecessors. The 1910s through the mid–1960s were the worst of times socially, politically, and for animated black characters. Film companies saturated live-action and animated feature film and shorts with the most distorted of caricatures.

Just Add Racist Caricature and Jazz: 1943–1970 From 1900–1970 MGM, Warner Brothers, and Disney produced some of the most overtly racist animated film in existence. Some of these cartoons have been released in video form, but a dozen or so have since been banned from re-release in the DVD and video-streaming era including the so-called “Censored Eleven”1 and Disney’s Song of the South, some of which I discuss below. Others have been edited or had their racist content removed by studios. The most well known and most overtly racist of European fairytales remade with an all-black cast was Warner Brothers Merrie Melodies Coal Black and the Seben Dwarfs (1943). From the opening scene when a largefaceless “black dialect-speaking” mammy with a bandanna on her head rocks a baby in front of a fire to the shorts end, one racist stereotype after another rolls across the screen. The main characters include: (1) the curvaceous, sexualized, short skirt wearing jezebel-like, Coal Black whose name is So White; (2) the asexual, rotund and dark-skinned Queenie, who drinks Eli Whitney’s Cotton Gin and eats Chattanooga Chew Chews; (3) the gold-toothed, zoot suiting-wearing Prince Chawmin’ [who sports dice fronts on his teeth]; and (4) the “seben dwarves” a miniature group of black zip coons dressed in U.S. army uniforms. Warner Brothers animators clearly meant to comment on the increased effort of African Americans to protest segregation in the 1940s and their call for the desegregation of the United States military which led African American labor activist A. Philip Randolph to help organize the March on Washington Movement. Coal Black was likely modeled after Katherine Dun-

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ham’s character Georgia Brown from the musical Cabin in the Sky (1940) and Prince Chawmin’ was a composite of Cab Calloway and lindy hopper “Twistmouth George” Ganaway. Typical of animated film with black characters during this time, the whole film was set to jazz and boogie woogie music while the characters rhyme and scat their lines to the background beats. Animated shorts like these sought to reinforce or add weight to the racist claim that African Americans are inherently good dancers and singers with in-born rhythm. The film also presents African Americans as hypersexual, lacking self-control, and incapable of being responsible adults. In a departure from Disney’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937), when Coal Black is poisoned by Queenie, Prince Chawmin’ proves incapable of waking Coal Black and a kiss from one of the dwarves (which makes Coal Blacks hair stand and spin with waving United States flags) revives the heroine. The anti–Japanese sentiment in this and other World War II era animated films is evident when Queenie telephones Murder, Inc. to “BLACKOUT SO WHITE” and the neon sign flashes “We Rub Out Anybody-$1.00, Midgets — price, Japs — Free.” The blatant anti–African American and anti–Japanese ethos was ubiquitous during the 1940s and would be reflected in a host of animated films now a part of the “Censored Eleven” in addition to Paramount’s Popeye the Sailor short You’re a Sap, Mr. Jap (1942), and Warner Brothers’ Tokio Jokio (1943), and Bugs Bunny Nips the Nips (1944). This ethos was consistent with the attitude that led to Franklin D. Roosevelt’s Executive Order 9066 in 1942 calling for Japanese American relocation and internment. On the heels of Coal Black and the Seven Dwarfs, Warner Brothers’ Merrie Melodies team created the equally stereotypical Goldilocks and the Jivin’ Bears (1944). It, too, is a member of the now “Censored Eleven” and carries the marks of World War II politics. Warner Brothers version of the all-black remake of Goldilocks merged the tales of Goldilocks and the Three Bears and Little Red Riding Hood. In this animated short, three male bears live in a forest cabin where they regularly play jazz on the piano, clarinet and bass. They play themselves into such as frenzy that their instruments start to burn causing them to take a walk in the woods while their instruments cool off. The bears’ neighbor is grandma from Little Red Riding Hood, who by the time the audience arrives, has been locked in the closet by the wolf. The wolf in sheep’s, or rather grandma’s, clothing comfortably sits in a warm bed waiting for Red Riding Hood. After a telegram notifies the wolf that Red will be delayed at work in the Lockheed plant, the wolf spots Goldilocks at the bears’ house and decides to eat her instead. The wolf gets more than he bargained for when the bears return home to find the wolf and Goldilocks in a struggle that the bears proclaim looks like the jitterbug. The wolf initiates the dancing, but

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he is soon overpowered and danced to exhaustion by Goldilocks. Grandma’s house is no refuge because a thin, dark-skinned Red Riding Hood, with exaggerated racial features, tries to get the swollen-foot wolf to eat her. Once again the bears intervene, strike up a tune, while Grandma escapes from the closet and jitterbugs with a resistant and tired wolf. Here, as in Coal Black, the point emphasized is that African Americans are inherently good dancers and singers with in-born rhythm. Bears who act like and cohabitate with blacks take on similar qualities and personality traits in this short. In 1946, Disney released Song of the South, which drew protest from African Americans and the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (Archer, 1973). It is one of the few films deemed so offensive that Disney refuses to release it on DVD or on any Disney-owned television channels. The film featured a host of African American co-stars and extras that included James Baskett as Uncle Remus, Hattie McDaniel as Aunt Tempy, and Glenn Leedy as Toby. Baskett and the white American actor Bobby Driscoll, who plays Johnny, are the films protagonists. The film largely follows Johnny, the son of an abolitionist reporter, who, with his mother visits his grandmother’s plantation and befriends the former slaves Uncle Remus and the young child Toby. While Song of the South escapes some of the more overtly racist antics of blackface characters, it does cast African Americans in the limited and restrictive roles of uncle, mammy, and pickaninnies. Blacks are also represented as not working for their living in the Reconstruction South. This view of Blacks during the Reconstruction followed the ideas set for by the William A. Dunning school of Reconstruction first critiqued by W.E.B. Du Bois in his classic Black Reconstruction (1935). Despite the criticism of the NAACP and of Joel Chandler Harris for exploiting black folk and oral traditions with the publication of his series of Uncle Remus tales that began with Uncle Remus: His Songs and His Saying (1860), this was one of the first attempts to animate African American folktales in a way that was not one hundred percent coonery and buffoonery. Sadly, most animated representations of fairytales, tall tales, and folktales inclusive of African Americans since the release of Song of the South have followed the formula first laid out in Coal Black and the Seben Dwarfs and Goldilocks and the Jivin’ Bears. They are what cultural critic, Stanley Crouch and many before and after him, call “a coon update” (Larkins, 2006) If animated cartoons before 1968 to 1970 offered any consolation to African Americans through the Jim Crow era it was in the employment of African American voice actors. There is no question that some African American voiceover actors were paid. Hattie McDaniel reportedly claimed that she’d rather “make $700 a week playing a maid than earn $7 a day being a maid.”

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African American Folklore and Fairytales in the Post–Civil Rights Era, 1970–2000 From 1970 to the present there has been a massive overhaul of racist images and African American caricature in animated film. While some television shows on Public Broadcasting Service like the Electric Company (1971– 1977), Reading Rainbow (1983–2006), Between the Lions (2000–2010), and Super Why! (2007–Present) re-enacted and refashioned mainstream fairytales with multiracial casts or animated children’s books with characters representing a number of ethnic and racial backgrounds, major network and pay television have been slow to implement similar changes. One also has to question whether the presence of ALANAs in non-stereotypical roles provides enough of a reflection and representation of reality to offset the culture of white supremacy and white privilege that dominates film and television? One of the earliest examples of animation to avoid historic stereotyping was the Motown-Rankin/Bass Production collaborative Jackson 5ive cartoon (1971 to 1973). On occasion, the series writers adopted the formula of recasting the Jacksons in popular children’s stories, fictional novels, and fairytales that traditionally contained European or European American characters. Six of the twenty-three episodes that followed this recipe included “Cinderjackson,” “The Wizard of Soul,” and “Jackson Island” in season one and “Michael White,” “Michael in Wonderland,” and “Jackson and the Beanstalk” in season two. “Cinderjackson” marked the first appearance of Michael’s wish-granting, guitar-wielding Hairy Godfather, a composite of Black rock and soul musicians including James Brown and Sly Stone. In this episode the older Jackson brothers forced Michael to stay in the hotel because he had a cold, while they went off to a ball to meet Samantha Christy, a Black film and music star dubbed the “Princess of Pop.” With Hairy Godfather’s help, Michael makes it to the ball, loses his glass sneaker, but wins a date with Christy in the end. Of course in classic Jackson 5ive cartoon fashion, it all turns out to be a dream. “Jackson Island” is a retelling of Robert Lewis Stevens’ Treasure Island and in “Jackson and the Beanstalk” a white used car salesman-type swindles Michael into trading Tito’s car for magic beans and the group later encounters a notso-fearsome giant. Earlier in the 1900s, three of the six adaptations had earlier been converted from children’s stories into Disney classics Snow White (1937), Cinderella (1950), and Alice in Wonderland (1951). Episode eleven, “The Wizard of Soul,” found the Jackson 5 in a “soulful” version of L. Frank Baum’s 1900 classic The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, with Michael as the Dorothy character, Tito as the Tin Man, Marlon as the Scarecrow, Jermaine as the Lion, and Jackie as the Wizard. Michael uses his kite to drum up cheap advertising

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for the group and a strong wind comes along a carries him away to the Land of Soul. Michael’s pet snake Rosie stands in as a substitute for Toto and the music-hating Wicked Witch has two flying mice, Ray and Charles, which stand in for the flying monkeys. Seven years later, in 1978, Michael Jackson, Diana Ross, Ted Ross, and Nipsey Russell starred in the film adaptation of the Broadway musical The Wiz produced by Motion Productions (Breaux, 2010a). In 1997, Walt Disney Pictures produced Rogers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella the Musical, with singer Brandy Norwood as Cinderella, Whitney Houston as her Fairy Godmother, and Whoopi Goldberg as the Queen. The prince in this revised and updated version was not Black, but Latino and was played by Paolo Montalban, son of famed-actor Ricardo Montalban. The musical was a hit among children, but faired much worse among critics who applauded the talent of the cast and the attempt to create a multiracial society that demanded we suspend many of our ideas about race and what constitutes a family (Breaux, 2010b). Despite the release of this and The Princess and the Frog, Disney continues to roll the stone up the hill with respect to its films being free of racism or sexism, only to have the proverbial stone roll back. A few months after Disney announced that it would make The Princess and the Frog, animations’ first black princess, Princess Pea, appeared as a member of a quartet of superheroes on the PBS series Super Why. Princess Pea, along with her super-powered-alter-ego Princess Presto, is a bi-racial member of the Super Why quartet and was conceived as a black princess long before Tiana. At first glance, viewers might wonder why Princess Presto is drawn with a dark skin and bright green eyes, until episode #116 when we discover that Princess Pea’s parents are the princess and prince from the story The Princess and the Pea-–her mother is black with brown eyes, her father is White with green eyes. The show, of course, is named for the White male character Whyatt Beanstalk or Super Why. The other members of the quartet include Pig or Alpha Pig and Little Red Riding Hood or Wonder Red, a White female character. Each of the Super Readers has a super power; for example, Princess Presto has special spelling power that contributes to the revealing of the mystery word at the end of the episodes (Breaux, 2010b).

Happily Ever After: Fairy Tales for Every Child In 1995, HBO Family channel aired Happily Ever After: Fairy Tales for Every Child written by Joe Menendez, Daryl G. Nickens, and Gordon Lewis and directed by Proud Family (2001–2005), Bebe’s Kids (1992), C Bear and

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Jamal (1996–1997) and Da Boom Crew (2004) character creator and director Bruce W. Smith. Smith also worked as the supervising animator for Dr. Facilier and general consultant in the Princess and the Frog. Billed as multicultural fairy tales HBO Family released the following announcement: “Happily Ever After: Fairy Tales for Every Child” is a series which retells the world’s most famous fairy tales with a cast of animated characters from many ethnic backgrounds. For the first time ever, children of different races will find themselves represented as the royalty, fairies, and folk of the fairy tale world. The charm and mystery of the original tales are enhanced by this diverse spectrum of cultures. As the title suggests, these are truly fairy tales for every child. Thirty-nine fairy tales have been adapted, including such classics as: “Jack and the Beanstalk,” “Hansel and Gretel,” “Little Red Riding Hood,” “Rumplestiltskin,” “Rapunzel,” “The Frog Prince,” “Sleeping Beauty,” “The Emperor’s New Clothes,” “Cinderella,” “Snow White,” “The Valiant Little Tailor,” “The Princess and the Pea,” and “Beauty and the Beast” [HBO Family.com].

Actor Robert Guillaume of Soap and Benson fame and the voice of the mandrill Rafiki in Disney’s The Lion King (1994), narrates all episodes. A review of all thirty-nine, thirty minute episodes is beyond the scope of this article, but a selection from the twenty-two of those episodes that focused on people of African descent places the series in greater context. Those episodes that focused on African and African American characters or settings in the African diaspora included the following: Jack and the Beanstalk #1, Rumplestiltskin #5, The Frog Prince #6, Rapunzel #8, The Valiant Little Sailor #9, Beauty and the Beast #11, Pinocchio AKA Pinoak #14, The Pied Piper #17, The Golden Goose #19, Goldilocks and the Three Bears #21, King Midas and the Golden Touch #25, Mother Goose: A Rappin’ & Rhymin’ Special #26, The Bremen Town Musicians #29; The Empress Nightingale #30, Henny Penny #32, The Frog Princess #33, The Princess and the Pauper #34, Rip Van Winkle #35, The Snow Queen #36, The Steadfast Tin Soldier #37 [IMDB].

With time and space restrictions, I will focus on “Goldilocks and the Three Bears,” and “The Frog Prince/Frog Princess” pointing out the ironies, critiques, and influences these pose when compared to some of the well-known representations of Africans and African Americans in animated film already mentioned on discussed in the previous sections of this essay. The Happily Ever After episode of “Goldilocks and the Three Bears” takes place in the West Indies, most likely Jamaica, and features Goldilocks, voiced by Raven Simone, and the three bears: Desmond, voiced by Tone Loc; Winsome by Alfre Woodard; and Dudley by David Alan Grier. Viewers see that this Goldilocks, with locked hair who “Can Get Away with Anything,” is quite mischievous and gets into trouble at school. She blames all her mis-

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fortune and misbehavior on her various classmates, especially, Jeffrey who receives more than his fair share of punishment from the schoolteacher Ms. Gruff. Because the bears’ food is too hot they decide to go to a reggae concert while their food cools. In route to the concert they jam to an original reggae tune “We Are the Bears.” While they’re away, of course, Goldilocks eats the bears’ food, smashes Dudley Bear’s chair, and is caught sleeping in Dudley’s bed before she’s chased away. In this tale, however, the bears fix their broken furniture and Goldilocks takes responsibility for her actions and sees the error of her ways thanks to her classmates. The Happily Ever After “Goldilocks and the Three Bears” uses some of the same gimmicks as the 1943 Warner Brothers’ Goldilocks and the Jivin’ Bears such as music obsessed characters, stereotypical hairstyles — the more contemporary bears all have locked hair, and ethnic slang. What sets this last twentieth century rendering of this story from its mid-century counterpart is the absence of racist racialized caricature. The goal of the contemporary version seems to be inclusive and presents Afro-Jamaicans as a diverse group amongst itself while the purpose of the older film seems to be ridiculing African Americans for their supposed inborn rhythm and natural dancing and musical prowess. Viewers of “The Frog Princess” the thirty-third episode of the Happily Ever After series will notice the influence this production had on Disney’s The Princess and the Frog. In the “Frog Princess,” for example, the white King Big Daddy, voiced by Beau Bridges, orders his three sons Princes Gavin, Rip, and Bobby to find wives by driving a golf ball. Toward whoever each respective golf ball falls closets that particular prince will marry. Rip and Bobby’s golf balls land near women of European descent, but Gavin’s ball lands near a frog. All couples subsequently go through a dating ritual and it turns out the frog, Layla voiced by actress Jasmine Guy of A Different World fame, is quite the cook, but argues with Gavin about his inability to cook and his expectation that others will cook for him. It is only after Gavin fails to appreciate Layla that she runs away and the later heartbroken Gavin reunites with and kisses Layla that she turns out to be a beautiful woman of African descent. The similarities between facets of this story and Disney’s The Princess and the Frog include the use of the name Big Daddy who is King of the Mardi Gras parade in Disney’s story, an interracial romance between a white prince and black princess-to-be who had been turned into a frog, and the scene where the discussion about gender, social class, and cooking occur. Combined with “The Frog Prince episode,” it becomes clear that Bruce W. Smith had some influence, even if indirectly, on his fellow Disney imagineers. In “The Frog Prince,” the sixth episode in the Happily Ever After series,

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Smith and co-creators of this tale refashion the Brothers Grimm story with a predominant African American cast to voice its characters including cartoon voice impresario and former A Different World co-star Cree Summer as Princess Ebony, comedian David “Sinbad” Adkins as the Frog, actor Danny Glover as the King, jazz musician Branford Marsalis as Branford Frog, and Roots and Reading Rainbow star LeVar Burton as the Monk. The rude and spoiled Princess Ebony loses her golden ball down a well and a talking frog promises to retrieve it in return for a life-long friendship with the princess. Princess Ebony repeatedly breaks her promises, abandons the frog on numerous occasions and only after physically abusing the Frog Prince does the King claim that he has enabled his daughter’s rude behavior. In this story, unlike “The Frog Princess” or Disney’s Princess and the Frog, the Prince turns out to be black. Moreover, both Ebony and the Frog Prince are both royalty rather than the female character marrying into a royal family. Finally, in a rare television or animation moment the Frog Prince sings “Someday my princess will come,” a twist on the song by Snow White in Disney’s 1937 classic film.

Audience and Access Sadly the most diverse and inclusive series to date appeared only on HBO Family — a pay-channel network, not included in most basic cable television programs and was consequently not seen by many ALANA children. While the percentage of African American, Latino, and Asian American families with televisions and who subscribe to basic cable with pay channels increased from 1995 to 2000 and continued to increase most among African Americans and Latinos through 2012 roughly a twenty percent margins exists between African American and Latino families with basic cable versus basic and at least one pay channel. The gap between Asian Americans is even greater suggesting that in all instances shows and series created to be representative of ALANA populations were far less likely to reach ALANA children (Neilson, 2011). Over its run, Happily Ever After, received sixteen nominations and six awards including the Humanitas Prize in 2000, NAACP Image Awards in 1998 and 1996, and a San Francisco International Film Festival Award in 2000 and 1998 (IMDB, 2013). It seems that although it largely presented mainstream European and European American stories with multiracial casts, some in the industry applauded these more racially inclusive retellings. Few major network, cable stations with advertisement, and cable pay channels like HBO Family have attempted anything as ambitious as Happily Ever After: Fairytales from Every Children, yet the airing of these revised ani-

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mated fairytales begs the question, what constitutes an African, African American, or African disasporic tale? Does the race of the directors, creators, characters, animators, voice actors matter most in designating an animated film African, African American, or black? And what of fairytales, folktales, folklore African in origins? Hundred of books contain folktales and tall tales by Africans of various nationalities and ethnicities and African Americans such as Thomas Green’s edited Stories from the American Mosaic: African American Folktales (Green, 2009), African Folktales in the New World (Bascom, 1992), Writings by Zora Neale Hurston From the Federal Writers’ Project: Go Gator and the Muddy Water (Bordelon, 1999), From My People: 400 Years of African American Folklore (Dance, 2002), Lies and Other Tales (Myers, 2005), Nelson Mandela’s Favorite African Folktales (Mandela, 2002) and others. Most of these have remained untapped, untouched, and underutilized when developing series, movies, to present to audiences in animated form. An excellent example of an animated film that portrays pre-colonial African life is Michel Ocelot’s Kirikou and the Sorceress (1998). Released in the United States four years after it original premier date because of the nonsexual nudity in the film. Kirikou and the Sorceress is a coming of age story about an extremely small boy, who through a number of exploits proves himself worthy of his people’s admiration, overcomes several obstacles to secure his community’s survival, and finds a way to redeem and marry the once evil sorceress Karaba. The film and its images were painstakingly researched and rendered brilliantly. Despite the largely positive reviews it received (Mitchell, 2000), Kirikou and the Sorceress is not beyond critique. For some, Kirikou perpetuated the idea of Africans as the primitive, exotic others, trapped in the pre-colonial or colonial era, clothesless, religiously superstitious, incapable of feeding, governing, or caring for themselves. Others have critiqued the virtual absence of African men in the film, outside of a few, the majority have been turned into Karaba’s fetishes although they are believed to be eaten or killed by her. Differences in the reception of Kirikou seemed to have varied with some Africanborn blacks being negatively critical of the film, while American-born blacks positively reviewed the film. This is perhaps a result of the break in our commonly shared histories. Contemporary Africans seemed bothered by the idea of black Africans frozen in time, this story could have easily been told and rendered in modern-day rather than pre-colonial Africa. African Americans, on the other hand, seemed to have been longing for pre–Transatlantic Slave trade images of Africans that presented them as civilized, articulate, people, with dignity and complexity. These completing and contradictory interpretations of the film speak to the inability of animators and the films creator to

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understand the complicated and varied experiences, histories, and desires of its diasporic audiences. Animators cannot escape criticism about persons viewing and creating films through a mainstream, western, of Eurocentric lens. Even when Africanborn whites, or African Americans create animated folktales, fairytales, and lore, films lack an in-depth understanding or complexity of black experiences outside a rudimentary understanding of African and African American expressive culture. Simply adding ALANA characters into animated film is not progress enough given the decades of black misrepresentation in animated and live-action film. Whether its Bruce W. Smith, Motown, HBO Family, or Disney, all seem to be engaged in a practice of pouring brown or black color into the mold created for white children. Perhaps, Ella Fitzgerald was correct when she sang, “Fairytales, like a child I believed you. Fairytales, none of them came true.” Certainly this seems to be the cases with animated film and television for ALANA audiences.

NOTES 1. The “Censored Eleven” are “Hittin’ the Trail for Hallelujah Land” (Harman and Ising; 1931); “Sunday Go to Meetin’ Time” (Freleng, 1936); “Clean Pastures” (Freleng, 1937); Uncle Tom’s Bungalow” (Avery, 1937); “Jungle Jitters” (Freleng, 1938); “The Isle of Pingo Pongo” (Avery, 1938); “All This and Rabbit Stew” (Avery, 1941); “Coal Black and De Sebben Dwarfs” (Clampett, 1943); “Tin Pan Alley Cats” (Clampett, 1943); “Goldilocks and the Jivin’ Bears” (Freleng, 1944); and “Angel Puss” ( Jones, 1944).

WORKS CITED Archer, Leonard. 1973. Black Images in the American Theater: NAACP Protests Campaigns Stage, Screen, Radio & Television. New York: Pageant and Poseidon. Bascom, William Russell. 1992. African Folktales in the New World. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Bordelon, Pamela. 1999. Writings by Zora Neale Hurston from the Federal Writers’ Project: Go Gator and the Muddy Water. New York: W.W. Norton. Breaux, Richard M. 2010a. “I’m a Cartoon! The Jackson 5ive Cartoon as Commodified Civil Rights and Black Power Ideologies.” Journal of Pan-African Studies. March, 79– 99. _____. 2010b. “After 75 years of Magic ... Disney Seeks to Answer Critics, Rewrite African American History and Cash in on its Racist Past.” Journal of African American Studies. December, 398–416. Dance, Daryl Cumber. 2002. From My People: 400 Years of African American Folklore. New York: W.W. Norton. Green, Thomas, ed. Stories from the American Mosaic: African American Folktales. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2009. Internet Movie Data Base. Accessed December 28, 2012 — January 15, 2013. Lehman, Christopher P. The Colored Cartoon: Black Representation in American Animated Short films, 1907–1954. Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 2007. Lester, Paul Martin, and Susan Dente Ross. Images that Injure: Pictorial Stereotypes in the Media, 2d ed. Westport, CT: Praeger, 2003.

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Mandela, Nelson. 2007. Nelson Mandela’s Favorite African Folktales. New York: W.W. Norton, Mitchell, Elvis. 2000. Review of “Kirikou and the Sorceress.” The New York Times Films Review, February 18, 244–245. Myers, Christopher, and Joyce Carol Thomas. Lies and Other Tall Tales. New York: HarperCollins, 2005. Neilson Ratings. Television Audience #51, 2010–2011; http://www.nielsen.com/us/ en/insights/reports-downloads/2011/television-audience-report-2010–2011.html. Accessed January 15, 2013. Sampson, Henry T. That’s Enough Folks: Black Images in Animated Cartoons, 1900 –1960. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow, 1998. Schneider, Steve. That’s All Folks! The Art of Warner Bros. Animation. New York: Holt, 1988.

“Snow White in Africa” Afrocentric Ideolog y in Marilyn Shearer’s Tale TYLER SCOTT SMITH

Marilyn Shearer uses Africa as the backdrop for her interpretation of the Grimm’s Snow White tale. She uses an “African” setting with “African” characters but stops short of utilizing traditional or authentic African folktale motifs. The question of motivation comes quickly to mind when analyzing Shearer’s work. While the initial reaction to works of this nature may be well received by those hoping to expand on racial diversification in characters in children’s texts, there must be a deep critique to ensure the full quality of the piece and the important role it can play, for better or for worse, in society. The interrogation of a text like Shearer’s Snow White must address why the story, from an Afrocentric perspective, shortchanges Black children in the United States and why an analysis of the historic and social accuracy of the text is so important.

The Stories of Snow White The Snow White story told by Shearer differs from other versions of the story, like the Brothers Grimm, the version most popular in the United States. In the Brothers Grimm (1812) story, Little Snow-White, the tale starts off in an undefined location; however the mention of a “mid-winter, when snowflakes were falling like feathers from heaven” would put the story in a colder climate and because the Brothers Grimm wrote primarily from Germany, it is also likely their setting. By contrast Shearer’s Snow White takes 186

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place in equatorial Africa; however it does still snow in Shearer’s tale. The Brothers Grimm relay the story of a cruel queen who is obsessed with her own beauty. This obsession is fueled by a prophetic mirror that tells her she is the most beautiful woman in the land. When the queen’s daughter turns seven years old the mirror tells the queen that now her daughter, little Snow White, is the most beautiful. The queen quickly sends one of her huntsman into the woods with Snow White to kill her so the queen can once again be the most beautiful. She orders him to bring back her lungs and liver so that she can eat them. In Shearer’s story the mother is the loving wife of the president of an unnamed African nation. She gives birth to Snow White and quickly disappears after the baby is born. This leads to the president remarrying. Snow White’s stepmother is beautiful but vain. She also has a mirror that declares her beauty. When Snow White is seven, the mirror declares Snow White the most beautiful and the stepmother orders one of her servants to take the child into the forest and leave her there. In contrast to Shearer’s servant leaving Snow White, the huntsman from the Grimm tale is moved by Snow White’s pleas for mercy and decides that “the wild animals will soon devour her anyway” and in her place he kills and butchers a boar for a lung and liver for the queen to eat. The Grimm’s Snow White then stumbles upon the house of the seven dwarves who take her in and allow her to stay only as long as she performs the housework. Shearer’s Snow White also finds a home inhabited by dwarf men that Shearer identifies as “pygmies.” They allow Snow White to stay with them in exchange for the same domestic chores. In Shearer’s tale the stepmother then asks her mirror about her beauty and the mirror declares Snow White still to be the most beautiful and reveals she is living with the pygmies. The stepmother dons a disguise and tricks Snow White into letting her in the pygmies’ house. The stepmother poisons Snow White with hair combs and leaves her. The pygmies return home and remove the combs, reviving Snow White. This is also the process of Snow White’s poisoning in the Brothers Grimm version, though in the Grimm version the poisoner is Snow White’s biological mother. In Shearer’s story the stepmother then uses an apple to curse Snow White, upon which Snow White chokes. When the pygmies try to place her in a crystal casket she falls and the piece of apple becomes dislodge from her throat reviving her. At the same instant a prince appears on the scene and it is “love at first sight” for Snow White. In an ending reminiscent of a Dallas episode, it turns out that Snow White’s mother was merely dreaming the entire time and her infant child was safe. The Brothers Grimm have their Snow White experiencing a similar fate. The prince finds her in the crystal coffin and after his offer to buy her from

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the dwarves is refused he tells them he will take her anyway because he could not live without her. While she is being moved around his castle, one of the servants in a fit of frustration hits her in the back, thus dislodging the apple and she awakens. Snow White and the prince fall in love and have a wedding; Snow White’s mother was invited and when she arrived, “they put a pair of iron shoes into the fire until they glowed, and she (the mother) had to put them on and dance in them. Her feet were terribly burned, and she could not stop until she had danced herself to death” (Grimm, 1812). Shearer’s rendition of the Snow White tale was no doubt written and published with good intentions. Live Aid had put Africa on the map for many Americans in the late 1980s, during the same time there was an increase in the publication of multicultural children’s literature that was prompted by work such as Larrick’s 1965 article “The All-White World of Children’s Books,” in which she addressed the utter lack of literature written for and about African American children and set the foundation for literary criticism of multicultural children’s literature. Other influences include the creation of the Coretta Scott King Award in 1969 which sought to “encourage the artistic expression of the African American experience via literature and the graphic arts” thereby perpetuating the visibility of the genre (American Library Association). Larrick may have highlighted the lack of African American, and, by extension, multicultural images in children’s literature. While the Coretta Scott King Award encouraged authors with monetary awards and the promise of increased sales for their work, real change required legal mandates and the money attached to it. This came in the form of the Elementary and Secondary Education Act (1965), whose goal was to reduce achievement gaps between students where issues of race, class, language usage, e.g., bilingual learners, impacted their access to resources and overall learning. It is this combination that precipitated the substantial increase in the publication of multicultural children’s literature in the 1980s. These same forces, combined with the work of scholars such as James Banks, facilitated the inclusion of multicultural literature into the K-12 curriculum. Shearer participated in this renewal by writing stories that were familiar in American culture with Black or African characters. Shearer published three texts in 1990, each taking a familiar tale and inserting Black protagonists. The texts, The Original Three Little Pigs Re-Told, Cinderella and the Glass Slipper and Snow White take the traditional European versions of the stories and simply impose Black characters into the familiar formula of the tales. All three stories are melting pot books as defined by Sims since they offer an image of a Black child who, other than being shaded as such, was totally devoid of Black culture. During the same time as Shearer’s publications,

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Molefi Kete Asante was recalibrating scholarship with his research and philosophy of Afrocentrism, an intellectual and social movement where subscribers to the movement articulated worldviews that reflect traditional African values. Again, by revising traditional European fairy tales within an African setting, it was her intention to provide Black children with a mirror of themselves as children of the African Diaspora (Shearer, Reader’s Note). Here, I am interested in whether or not she succeeds in providing an Afrocentric version of Snow White. By setting Snow White in Africa Shearer gives her readers what Bleichenbacher would identify as the ease of familiarity. The basis for this imposition of familiarity is Bleichenbacher’s linguistic replacement theory, which notes people’s desire to only want to experience the exotic within the context of the familiar (180–1). Shearer’s replacement of setting allowed western audiences to read familiar concepts and more importantly to read familiar social constructs to their children while also offering them a “multicultural” or African tale. This can be read in one of two ways, that the familiar Snow White fairy tale serves as an entry point into Africa and African folklore for the reader unfamiliar with both such that they will feel more comfortable exploring additional stories about Africa. Or, the one that is the focus of this essay, that even though Shearer goes to great lengths to render to an African tale she falls short of the mark. From the shirtless president who resides over his court in an outdoor area to the fezzes worn by many of the male characters, the stereotyping is only one of the shortcomings of the revised Snow White. The more important one is the failure to present an African worldview, one that is distinctly different from the European one in which the traditional Snow White is set.

Afrocentric Ideology in Shearer’s Snow White Asante is the pioneering mind behind the Afrocentric movement, authoring the authoritative texts that outline the conceptualization for the philosophy. In his landmark text, Afrocentrictiy: The Theory of Social Change (1980, 2003), Asante defines Afrocentrictiy as “a mode of thought and action in which the centrality of African interests, values, and perspectives predominate. In regards to theory, it is the placing of African people in the center of any analysis of African phenomena” (2). This definition is concise though sells short the entirety of the movement that is represented by the volumes that Asante has written on the subject. He emphasizes in The Afrocentric Idea (1998) that Afrocentrictiy is not simply a new viewpoint; instead he states it

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is the seeking of agency and of action. He explains the relationship Afrocentricity has with Africanity, pointing to the references to customs, traits and traditions of the people of Africa and the results of diaspora on those items (19). Asante’s work attempts to divert from the dominant, Eurocentric teachings and philosophies and recalibrate the thought of people to show that Afrocentric analysis also yields a huge amount of information for investigation. He explains that despite most people in the West coming from Eurocentric educational backgrounds “the Afrocentric idea does not seek to review the structure of domination and oppression of African people; it seeks to produce a more human response” to western society as experienced by African people and their descendants (42). Returning to Shearer’s work one has to question if she presented the customs, traits and traditions of an Afrocentric world and worldview in her revision of Snow White through her use of setting, characterization, and alignment with culture while staying within the parameters of the traditional fairy tale.

Retelling a European Tale in an African Setting The books Shearer creates are hard to not support because they fill the need for multicultural children literature, e.g., Shearer introduced a Black Princess almost twenty years before Disney and did not turn her into a frog in the first thirty minutes of the story (Princess and the Frog, 2009). But, the book becomes troubling when read with a critical lens. It becomes clear very quickly that the story is not about an African princess or about Africa at all. The story remains a European fairytale that simply exchanges white skinned characters for Black skinned characters. The illustrations create a generic “Africa” for the story to take place in, but the inaccuracies and stereotypes within the story quickly moot any of the aforementioned positive results from reading the story. Further, there is more to revising a traditional European fairytale to reflect an African worldview than just altering the physical representation of the character and the setting. Other authors have done this quite successfully, e.g., Patricia McKissack’s Flossie and the Fox where the characterization of Little Red Riding Hood/Flossie is revised to reflect traditional African American storytelling troupes. Regardless of Shearer’s intention, there were very important items she did not consider when writing. The second item she neglected to consider was the cultural insensitivity of imposing an alien tale, with its own set of societal complexities and social mores into a setting that has preexisting sets of both. This is a remnant of the old colonial mentality, the same mentality

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that fueled boarding schools and missionaries. By trying to impose the Europeanized tale she enters into the waters of assimilative practice. Similar to the boarding schools that were opened in the late 19th century throughout the United States to “civilize” and assimilate the American Indians, writings like Shearer’s confirm the fears of researchers like Robbins, et al. who state that “too few people are aware that assimilation of American Indians continues in our country today in multitudinous forms, including Indian boarding school residential environments. The assimilation of American Indians entails the replacement of tribal sets of beliefs and actions directly linked to the beliefs of distinct tribal groups with western sets of beliefs and actions” (71). This same kind of replacement is seen in Shearer’s text by imposing the “western sets of beliefs and actions” onto the African fairy tale. Or, stated another way, failing to incorporate an African worldview in the revision of Snow White.

Shearer’s Snow White While one may question issues of cultural authenticity in fairy tales, Cai warns that such stereotyping can cast marginalized groups as nonentities (13). This kind of marginalization can inform young children’s perception that the African diaspora is unimportant, e.g., “If it were important we would have learned about it in school.” Lenox explains that very early on children develop an understanding of cultures: “The early development stages of young children are an ideal time to engage their minds and hearts and to build attitudes of appreciation and respect for those unlike themselves” (97). So while authors take artistic liberties when retelling traditional tales, it is also important that they pay attention to cultural nuances that are specific to the geography in which the revised fairy tale is set. For example, although snow is common in Europe, it is rare in the part of Africa where Shearer’s Snow White is set, so sticking to the original text that closely in her retelling poses a problem as she adapted it to this region. Steiner, Nash and Chase explain that reading of multicultural and international literature to young audiences can help them form a more holistic and accurate worldview. They say that “stories can generate an attitude that does not see race as a barrier but as a natural identity contributing to the beauty of our world” (88). This can only happen when these are accurately portrayed, otherwise the barriers they refer to become cause for confusion. Most parents, librarians and educators want to share accurate information that is sensitive and informative, however, because of increased cultural awareness and knowledge, what many adults use as multicultural resources can

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sometimes reinforce negative images and stereotypes. Shearer’s text, though well-intentioned may fall under the category of a resource that reinforces stereotypes even as it strives to enlighten readers about African culture. Lenox provides a set of guidelines on what makes a “good” story for children. To make the criteria visible she poses the following questions: Does the story avoid stereotypes while at the same time acknowledging the cultural and racial differences? Is there an attitude of equity and inclusiveness in the story, as appropriate? Who holds the power in the story? What cultural and ethnic assumptions are made about the story or its characters? In selecting, reading and telling the story, what images come to mind? [100].

These simple questions establish guidelines with which to analyze an overall text. It goes without saying that the criteria are subjective, but they set the framework for analysis and instigate investigation into the story which helps vet the material. When considering Shearer’s text with the questions provided by Lenox it becomes clear that Shearer’s Snow White falls well short of the guidelines established. The story fails to avoid stereotypes, the first of Lenox’s questions, because of the illustrations in the story. Throughout the text the pictures display generic and clichéd costuming, especially with the introduction of the pygmies, which in and of themselves are stereotyped. From the shirtless president to the fact that all of the characters wear only sandals, the images set a distinctive tone for the assumptions made about the generic “Africa” Shearer sets her story in. The story starts with the birth of a baby “who lived near the equator in beautiful Africa” (Shearer, 1990, 1). This statement allows us to narrow the location, dispelling the ambiguity of “Africa” and finding a more exact location for the story. Gabon, Congo, Democratic Republic of Congo, Uganda, Kenya and the southernmost tip of Somalia all fall within the possible context of the story. The story displays a series of pictures presented throughout that show a mountainous region and also a “deep forest.” Based on these characteristics it can be inferred that the location of the story is in the north of what is now the Democratic Republic of the Congo. The location is also identified by the use of the title “President” for the authority figure (Shearer, 1990, 3). The President is a throned, black skinned man who is wearing ambiguous African regalia. The reason the title of president is so telling is because of the colonial practice of Direct Rule over subjugated peoples. Both Mamdani and Pels have researched the process in which this style of governing was carried out. The basis was for a colonial power to undercut the power of traditional leaders by selecting a person or group to elevate into puppet leadership, often times giving the title of ‘King’ or ‘President’ was used to create a “civilized” elite from the native population for ruling the colonies (Mamdani

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862). Shearer makes no reference to the ruling structure or policies that saw the President rise to power, however the context of the story has the man likely rising to power through colonial undercutting of traditional African leadership. Next, Lenox asks if there is an attitude of equity and inclusiveness in the story. Here the answer is yes. The power relations between Snow White, her mother and the dwarves in the European version and the African version are equal. Lastly, Lenox asks what cultural and ethnic assumptions are made about the story or its characters. The assumption is that they have a European worldview. At Snow White’s birth, Shearer explains that it is a snowflake shaped birthmark that is on her left cheek. The birthmark is a spot of white on her brown face and it marks her apparent beauty, along with her “silky, thick and black” hair (Shearer, 1990, 1). While the idea of being beautiful because of her “Whiteness” has superficial connotations, the problem of it being presented in a book for children that purports to present Afrocentric ideals, increases the likelihood of the damage this detail could cause. Maddox and Gray explain that skin tone has historically been ingrained as not only an aesthetic indicator of beauty but also an indicator of intelligence, noting that historically that lighter skinned slaves in the American South were “Perceived as more intelligent and skilled laborers, light skinned Blacks also brought a higher price than their darker counterparts when sold on the slave market” (251). They go on to cite decades of studies that explore the bias placed onto skin tone and the association of positive characteristics for lighter skin and the opposite view of those with darker skin. Sekayi shows that the negative impact of this conscious and subconscious skin bias causes guilt, body image dissatisfaction and loss of the feeling of womanhood. Sekayi also points out that it is accepted in mainstream entertainment that emphasize the “Eurocentric ideals in terms of body type, skin color and hair texture” that is to say “light skin, slim bodies and straight hair” (469). Sekayi touches upon another issue within Eurocentric beauty standards and Black women’s hair. Shearer’s Snow White represents the Eurocentric beauty standard with her silky hair, instead of allowing the character to be African; Shearer still abides by the Western standards of beauty. There has been a deluge of research that has gone into African American culture and hair care. In Neal Lester’s 2000 article “Nappy Edges and Goldy Locks: African-American Daughters and Politics of Hair” he summarizes the research done on the subject in a series of publications. He points to a huge collection of scholarship that has been undertaken and compiled over the last thirty years pointing specifically to bell hook’s and her important publication “Straightening our Hair” which describes the concept of straightened

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hair in Black culture. She points to the tradition as part of the problem, noting: Within white supremacist capitalist patriarchy, the social and political context in which the custom of Black folks straightening our hair emerges, it represents an imitation of the dominant white group’s appearance and often indicates internalized racism, self-hatred, and/or low self-esteem [hooks 1988].

hooks explains that the importance of imitation was born out of the need to feel the possibility of success in a white world. By the end of her work hooks points out that all Black females feel the need for this imitation reinforced daily through many outlets. The fact that Shearer selects this defining feature to represent beauty for her Snow White and gives it the characteristics of “good” white hair by making it “silky” shows the reinforcing that hooks and Lester, and many other scholars, point to as a problem. As Shearer’s Snow White matures the story follows the familiar tale where Snow White’s step-mother is informed that someday Snow White will surpass her in beauty (Shearer, 1990, 4). A seven-year old Snow White is sent into the forest to die. She finds a curious home that to her seems uninhabited (Shearer, 1990, 5). It turns out that the home Snow White finds is the home of “seven small dwarf men, each standing about four feet eight inches tall. In central Africa, these small dwarf people are called pygmies” (Shearer, 1990, 7). Shearer’s choice of words in this line is jarring. While there has been some attention paid to the issue of little people in books and the negative or positive portrayals within those books and stories, the use of the colonial term for a little person from Central Africa is horrifying. Kidd (2009) explores the historical representation of Central African Forest People and defines that representation process as “inventing ‘Pygmy’: representing the ‘other” which is also the title of his article. In his article, Kidd explains the colonial desire to find a Darwinian link to display the supremacy of white Europeans over the Africans of the colonies. With the growing interest in finding a “missing link” to pseudoscientifically create stratification between the two groups (400–1). With the “discovery” of the Forest People, they were quickly given the name Pygmy by anthropologists of the 1920s. The common portrayal was a romanticized primitive culture and because of that simplicity it was imposed with the assumed characteristics of being carefree and childish and above all, primitive (401). Kidd points to Klieman (2003) when he states, “Klieman charts the construction of the “other” with specific reference to Central African Forest people and discusses the “Idea of Pygmy” which has been used as a “commonplace icon for the alien ‘other’” (10). This constructed idea of creating an “other” to redefine

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European views on social Darwinism is the foundation for the astonishing use of the term “Pygmy” by Shearer. Kidd’s context for a Pygmy as a colonial “starting point” for man is confirmed by Ballard (2006) who explains that “Pygmies have long served as a global sheet anchor for racial hierarchies which have sought to account for apparent differences among human groups in terms of the supposed evolutionary progress” (134). Ballard takes his research further into the issue making the statement that there is no such thing as a Pygmy, quoting ethnographer Serge Bahuchet who states, “In truth, there are no Pygmies. Instead there are people who bear the name Baka, BaBongo, BaKola, etc.... Who knows what else they might have in common, other than the ability to excite the imagination of Westerners” (134). These scholars all point to the fact that the concept of “Pygmy” is fabricated out of racial hierarchies and the social Darwinian popularity of the time. To incorporate this kind of character into the story causes concern because of the obvious social ties to racial assumptions and pseudoscience that was dominant almost one hundred years ago. For Shearer to incorporate this symbol of European repression and misrepresentation and to name in such a way to lend credence to the racial and social bias shows not only a lack of sensitivity toward the people she is trying to represent but also a lack of research and awareness for her subject. The end of the story presented by Shearer becomes rushed. The last page of the story explains that the pygmies were transporting her casket and they tripped. By tripping the apple that had choked Snow White becomes dislodged and she begins to breathe again, “at that same moment, a handsome prince rode by. It was love at first sight” (Shearer, 1990, 12). In this same moment it is suddenly revealed that Snow White’s mother had been asleep and it turns out “Snow White was never in any danger, and there was no evil stepmother. This was all just a dream” (Shearer, 1990, 12).” Shearer includes a passage on the last page that provides a moral for the story: Even though people sometimes disappoint us and do not live up to our expectations, we must continue to have faith in mankind and strive to make the world a better place. The second lesson to be learned is that the real beauty we possess is inside ... this inner beauty is far more important and attractive than outward appearances [Shearer, 1990, 14].

Though the moral is pleasant enough, at no point in the story are either of the lessons conveyed. In fact, throughout the text the step-mother and Snow White are only judged on their outward beauty. The quality of the story and the incorporation of its time period are important, however these items do not define its cultural accuracy. Lenox requires a few criteria for judging accuracy, starting with the development of

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the characters, asking if the characters evolve in a socio-cultural framework to observe difference and similarities to the readers. Also, she insists that the characters must be believable, by having emotions, traits and feelings (99). She goes on to explore the setting, asking where the story takes place and if it is factual? Is the authenticity of the setting accurate? Lenox is very insistent on the context of the setting being factual to the characters (100). Cai also addresses the issue of imposing a storyline onto another culture considering such practices a form of cultural arrogance. This kind of assumed awareness of the existing story and then the imposition of the “new culture” shows the reader that the dominant culture retains the underlying importance, regardless of how the story “dresses up” into the superficial culture on display. The kind of arrogance that can plainly be read in Shearer’s Snow White is the use of early American literature’s “negro character” that Sterling Brown identified in the 1930s. His seventh character type, the “exotic primitive” is the framework on which Snow White and the setting of the story are built (197). The inherent problem in Shearer’s writing, from a western perspective, is that while she sees the European storyline and culture as portrayed in her story to be the driving force of the story and discredits the skin deep portrayal of the “Africans” she casts as characters. The dangers of Afrocentric zealotry can be seen in the text by Shearer. She ignores the emphasis that Afrocentric theory places on accuracy. Shockley and Frederick state that “from an Afrocentric perspective, historical and cultural studies of Blacks require deep engagements with African history and culture...” (1212). The need for historical and cultural context is ignored by Shearer when she imposes the Eurocentric story onto a generic and inconsistent Africa. Because the underlying culture portrayed is European, as is the storyline, Black children may experience a detachment with what could have been an informative experience with cross-cultural readings. Brooks and McNair note that instead of using texts like Shearer’s where European stories are told with African actors, authentically African “children’s literature can also assist readers with establishing beliefs, racial and literate identities, as well as sets of literacy, social, and cultural practices” (126). Shockley and Frederick go on to note that within Afrocentric ideology the need to fully understand African roots must be a precursor to all work done (1213). While the dangers of adopting Afrocentric goals without fully knowing the roots and basis of African culture can be dangerous to readers, it also can be detrimental to the entire theory of Afrocentrism. Shockley and Frederick point to the series of criticism it has drawn over the years noting that it has been accused as creating “mythical pasts and imagined homes” as it “purports Afrocentric ideas as being overly simplistic and an attempt to ‘romanticize African history’” (1215).

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So what’s the harm? The statement I am most faced with by those unconcerned with accuracy is that these texts “are just children’s books anyways?” Why the need for complete accuracy? “Surely some is better than none” is the common assumption based on the idea that any exposure is good exposure when it comes to multicultural learning especially with fairy tales. This attitude dismisses the need for contextualizing in the learning process and violates the entire premise of Afrocentrism. Reisman and Wineburg explain that the act of placing an event in its proper context, within the web of personalities, circumstances and occurrences that surround it allows people to weave a rich dynamic portrait of a historical period (203). The absence of historical context or for that matter cultural context in Shearer’s work displays a clear bias to the European storytelling. This bias stems largely from the forced construct of racial inequities within the Western world. Ladson-Billings builds on the concepts drawn out by Delgado and Stefancic (1993, 2012) and suggests that our concept of racial inequity and European bias is so embedded and fixed within our psyche that even when conceptually and contextually a cultural or racial bias fails to make sense, we continue to employ and deploy it (9–10). These ideas in mind, the interrogation of Shearer’s text must be done with recognition that her Afrocentric attempt to provide stories that are both educational and entertaining. Every story is written and illustrated to allow all children of color to see themselves in literature and to develop positive self-images [Shearer Readers Note].

Shearer’s story has the tragic possibility of misinforming the targeted audience of children and other readers of African culture while at the same time providing a poor historical context. For example, a child reading this story might assume that they know something about the social mores and values of traditional African societies based upon this fairy tale and be less likely to accept authentic, traditional African fairy tales because they are not aligned with those in this version of Snow White.

Conclusion The importance of this investigation is rooted in the need for accuracy in multicultural texts. The negative impact of presenting children with inaccurate information about different times and cultures can have a debilitating effect on all cultural groups. Cai posits that the “experience of being victimized culturally and politically, members of oppressed groups are actually aware of what the stereotypical representation of them in literature and art can inflict

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upon their lives” (70). This awareness, coupled with the devastating mental anguish that can be brought on by stereotyped representations, can be damaging and very scary for children. In addition to the pain and confusion inaccuracy can cause for members of a victimized culture, it is also damaging for dominant cultures. Cai explains further that “stereotypes not only injure dominated cultural groups mentally, but also breed ignorance and prejudice in children of the mainstream culture” (71). With all of the aforementioned goals and criticisms in mind, the analysis of the Shearer text reveals much about our societal assumptions about beauty, history and culture. The story itself is well known in the West because of the popularity of fairytales rendered into films by Disney. Drawing loosely on the Grimm Brother’s version of the story, the Disney film features a classic medieval Europe and the first of the “Disney Princesses.” Culturally it has helped define the juggernaut success of Disney and also has come to defined western society (Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, 1937). Because of the recognition power of the title and popularity of the tale it is no mystery as to why Shearer chose this tale to convey her story. Marilyn Shearer saw what she felt was a gap in children’s literature and wanted to give children multicultural stories that had familiarized western tales projected onto settings that were not tailored or native for such stories. When she wrote Snow White she no doubt did so with good intentions. The good intentions however cannot take away the fact that her poorly researched work can cause more damage to a culture than she realized. She allowed herself to become incensed with her interpretations of what she believed were the Afrocentric ideas that cause the kind of blinded assumption that all things Africa, regardless of factual merit, were good as a form of exposure and pride. From every indication, her version of Snow White somehow falls short of the Afrocentric ideals espoused by Asante, the customs, traits and traditions of the people of Africa that Asante insist be an important part of any Afrocentric work are ignored by Shearer. She also has no mention or indication of the need Asante puts on any works focus on agency and action. Shearer’s text comes up short as an Afrocentric work by neglecting to align with Asante’s points. In so doing, it negates her effort at educating the Western masses on African culture and heritage and/or offering alternative reading materials for Black families in need to see little Black princesses in picture book versions of popular traditional tales. Despite the text’s incorporation of a Black princess and the attempt to place the story in “Africa” the text falls short of being an important vehicle of inclusionary multicultural practices even within the Black community.

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Nodelman, Perry. 2008. The Hidden Adult: Defining Children’s Literature. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Print. Princess and the Frog. Dir. R. Clements, and J. Musker, Walt Disney Pictures, 2009. Film. Reisman, Avishag, and Sam Wineburg. 2008. “Teaching the Skill of Contextualizing in History.” Social Studies 99.5, 202–207. Print. Robbins, Rockey, Steven Colmant, Julie Dorton, Lahoma Schultz, Yevette Colmant, and Peter Ciali. 2006. “Colonial Instillations in American Indian Boarding School Students.” Educational Foundations 20.3/4, 69–88. Print. Sekayi, Dia. 2003. “Aesthetic Resistance to Commercial Influences: The Impact of the Eurocentric Beauty Standard on Black College Women.” Journal of Negro Education 72.4, 467–477. Print. Shearer, Marilyn J., Daryl J. Moore, Jacob Grimm, and Wilhelm Grimm. 1990. Snow White. Beverly Hills: Lauren Ashley and Joshua Storybooks. Print. Shearer, Marilyn J., Charles Perrault, and Ron Edwards. 1990. Cinderella and the Glass Slipper. Beverly Hills: Lauren Ashley and Joshua Storybooks. Print. Shearer, Marilyn J., and Jonathan Smith. 1990. The Original Three Little Pigs Re-Told. Beverly Hills: Lauren Ashley and Joshua Storybooks. Print. Shockley, Kmt G., and Rona M. Frederick. 2010. “Constructs and Dimensions of Afrocentric Education.” Journal of Black Studies 40.6, 1212–1233. Print. Sims, Rudine. 1982. Shadow & Substance: Afro-American Experience in Contemporary Children’s Fiction. Urbana: NCTE. Print. Sleeter, Christine E., and Carl A. Grant. 1987. “An Analysis of Multicultural Education in the United States.” Harvard Educational Review 57.4, 421–445. Print. Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. 1937. Dir. D. Hand, Walt Disney Productions. Film. Steiner, Stan F., Claudia Peralta Nash, and Maggie Chase. 2008. “Multicultural Literature That Brings People Together.” Reading Teacher 62.1, 88–92. Print. Walter, Mildred P., Diane Dillon, and Leo Dillon. 1985. Brother to the Wind. New York: Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Books. Print.

Black Aesthetics in Revised African American Fairy Tales LARETTA HENDERSON

What defines a story as African American? What elements of narrative form, rhetoric, setting, or audience, and so on, in combination or alone, define a text as being aligned with traditional African American literary form(s)? It has to be more than just changing the racial signifier of skin color of Cinderella from White to Black 1 as in John Kurtz’s Cinderella. While such undertakings are inherently problematic in that they present a static, essentialist view of the African American community and its literature, they are nevertheless helpful in defining the genre and classifying the ethnic traditions of a text. That said, I will employ the Black Aesthetic to discuss Robert D. San Souci’s The Talking Eggs: A Folktale from the American South; Melodye Rosales’ Leola and the Honeybears: An African American Retelling of Goldilocks and the Three Bears; and Patricia McKissack’s Flossie and the Fox as African American literature. I will also discuss the overall representation of African American culture in the narratives and illustrations of these revised fairy tales.

Folklore: The Foundation of Literature Folklore functions as a vessel of culture and information for pre-literate societies. “As they speculated about the power of nature, the forces behind it, and human behavior, the people of primitive societies created stories to explain the unexplainable” (Galda 175). Such folklore is even relevant to contemporary children as it functions as the foundation of Western literature. For example, teachers use it to focus on literary elements such as archetypes and plot that 201

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facilitate an informed reading of subsequent literature, e.g., the good sister/bad sister dichotomy common to Cinderella tales. Certainly one of the most popular sub-genres of folklore is the fairy tale. From Disney’s Cinderella to The Little Mermaid, fairy tales, especially in video form, pervade a child’s corpus of stories. In fact, the Disney Princess franchise — Snow White, Cinderella, Aurora, Ariel, Belle, Jasmine, Pocahontas, Mulan, Tiana and Rapunzel — packaged and promoted as such since 1999, includes movies, television programs, books, live entertainment, among other things, which amounts to $4 billion in global sales. These same stories are recycled for each generation; today’s children see the same version of Snow White that their parents probably saw. Again, fairy tales are an inescapable aspect of children’s lives and their impact on society is immense. Their influence can even be seen in adult women who want to look like princesses at their weddings. And, until the inclusion of the last three “princesses”— Pocahontas, Mulan, and Tiana — the Disney Princess society was all White women. There are some caveats to this such as John Kurtz’s Cinderella that featured a Black protagonist. Yet, the setting, storytelling conventions and characterization of Cinderella remain unaltered from the traditional European version. Other than making her skin dark, there is nothing about the story that makes it Black. Therefore one has to ask: What elements can be revised to transition a fairy tale from one culture to another? With the increased publication of multicultural children’s literature and post-modern picture books, there has been a proliferation of revised fairy tales. Authors manipulate the historical moment, setting, characterization, conflict, plot development and the resolution of the conflict of traditional tales to make them reflect contemporary social mores (Cummins). The manner in which the author does this defines the tale as, among other things, fractured or as a cultural variant. A fractured fairy tale such as The Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairly Stupid Tales by Jon Scieszka is “a classic folk or fairy tale rewritten with tongue-in-cheek or as a spoof using twists and spins on the story’s features; text and visual references poke fun at the original, resulting in a witty, clever, and entertaining tale” (Cummins 50). Teachers use them as a pedagogical device to discuss the writing-language-plot development that also leads back to appreciation of the original story by studying revised tales and possibly having children write their own fractured fairy tale based upon a traditional, European version (Cummins). Cultural variants are versions of a story that vary based upon the culture they represent. Major plot elements such as characters, point of view, and the like may differ from the traditional version but not to the degree that they are in fractured fairy tales. And, while cultural variants may be funny, the

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story has not been altered to make it more humorous than the traditional version. Cultural variants are said to arise from various sources: they could have been the result of polygenesis, independent origination of the same story in different settings, or monogenesis where the original story is altered by the cultures through which it migrates. The Talking Eggs, Leola and the Honeybear, and Flossie and the Fox are more aligned with being cultural variants of monogenesis origin than fractured fairy tales because all three are written by authors who take a European tale and through changes in setting, characterization, and so on redefine the culture represented in the story. Further, none of them were revised to be more humorous than the original. Beyond this, one can use the Black Aesthetic to critique that which posits itself as African American literature.

Black Aesthetic: What Makes the Text Afrocentric? Prior to the mid-twentieth century, Whites were the audiences for African American art because one of the primary goals of the art was to prove that Blacks were fully human, e.g., as exhibited by our ability to use written language. By mastering the ability to write using European American literary elements and plot construction, early African American authors and works, such as Frederick Douglass’s Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave: Written by Himself, sought to convince the White reader of their humanity and right to full human and civil rights. But this approach meant that there was little to no art being produced for the African American community. Therefore, proponents of the Black Arts Movement (1965 to 1975) sought to redirect the construction of and audience for African American art away from European Americans and their artistic forms and toward those of the African American community. Thus, the art would facilitate racial pride, strength, and self-definition. The Black Aesthetic, a component of the Black Arts Movement, is “a system of isolating and evaluating the artistic works of black people [to] reflect the special character and imperative of black experience” with the intent of meeting the goals of the Black Arts Movement (Fuller 9). It sought to be Afrocentric in form, content, and audience with the goal of creating a psychologically and spiritually healthy and unified African American community. As such, it is a form of counter-storytelling in that it attempted to include untold stories and storytelling styles in the literary imagination. The Black Aesthetic sought inspiration from the artistic elements of African American

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folk culture. In “Blueprint for Negro Writing,” Richard Wright designated the church and the Blues as such sources because the content and structure of both were created by African American folk. The call and response so commonly attributed to the African American church service — where the preacher calls out and the congregation responds — has its origins in the folk songs of enslaved African Americans. This pattern is also present in the Blues, where the repeating chord progression of the music and lyrics reflect the socio-economic conditions and storytelling style of the African American community. Still considering form and content, elements of the Black Aesthetic that are particularly relevant to this reading of African American retellings of fairy tales include authorship, audience, characterization, setting, language usage, and intertextual references.

Literary Elements and Racial Classification One of the first aspects one considers when determining the ethnic group with which a book may be associated is the ethnicity of the author. If a narrative is written by an African American author it is usually considered African American literature, especially if the plot focuses on the Black community. African American authorship is a given in the Black Aesthetic since the goal is to produce art reflective of the culture of the community in production, form and content. In regard to children’s literature, the Coretta Scott King Book Award, aligned with the tenets of the Black Aesthetic, seeks to “encourage the artistic expression of the African American experience via literature and the graphic arts” by African American authors and illustrators. So, again, one may note the ethnicity of the author as a primary element to consider in defining the ethnic genre of the text. The age, gender, and ethnicity of the protagonist can also be used to determine the audience for a book since the audience and protagonist usually share these characteristics. If the protagonist is a seven-year-old African American girl, one assumes that the intended audience is African American girls between five and nine years old (two years older and younger than the protagonist). If the plot does not hinge on the race of the protagonist the book could be considered a universal tale with race becoming a non-issue. It is also assumed that boys prefer a male protagonist where girls will read about either gender. Nevertheless, the race of the protagonist is an element one considers when evaluating African American children’s literature. While it may occur, it is unlikely that a book lauded as contemporary African American children’s literature has a protagonist who is not African American. The setting of the narrative is another aspect to consider. African Amer-

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icans are historically and geographically situated within the United States. Prior to the 20th century they were primarily located in the rural south but, after the Great Migration (1910–1930) and the Second Great Migration (1940– 1970) they were also found in great numbers in the urban north. Therefore, these are common settings for African American literature. Yet there are authentic books set outside these locations, e.g., the West is the context for Angela Johnson’s Toning the Sweep. However, based upon population migration patterns of African Americans such settings are less common. If the story is culturally relevant, the characterization — the manner in which the author reveals the personality of a character — will be informed by the culture it represents. This may be done via direct description, the thoughts and speech of the character, their actions, or their physical representation. For the text set of interest here, the language used by the protagonist is grounded in the African American community. One aspect of the language used in the African American community — even with the ever changing nature of language — is African American Vernacular English. It has vocabulary, grammar, and patterns of pronunciation that are grounded in West African languages and storytelling tropes (Gates). It reflects a foundation in southern English and evolves with time and with various influences upon the African American community. Signifyin(g) is another aspect of the linguistics in the African American community. It focuses on the “connotative, context-bound significance of words, which is accessible only to those who share the unique cultural values of a given speech community” (Gates 51). It is a mode of discourse that can be employed for insult, “to make a point,” or “just for fun” (Smitherman 96). It “is black double-voicedness; because it always entails formal revision and an intertextual relation” (Gates 51). This may be accomplished via indirection, metaphorical language, puns and/or humor (Smitherman). The theory references the trickster archetype found in West African folklore in which Monkey manages to dupe the powerful Lion by using figurative language that befuddles the more powerful Lion. “The monkey speaks figuratively, in a symbolic code; [while] the lion interprets or reads literally and suffers the consequences of his folly” (Gates 241). Thereby the less powerful Monkey, a trickster, excels because he out-witted the foe through the use of figurative language that double-speaks, that means something other than what it appears on the surface. Oral and written forms of signifyin(g) are prevalent in the African American community. Alongside intertextual references of West African folklore are allusions to the bible, specifically to Moses who led his people out of slavery, and African American popular culture such as the music. For the revised fairy

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tales upon which this essay focuses, the intertextual references also include the traditional European tale.

Revised Fairy Tales African American retellings of European fairy tales resist an all–White world of fairytales thereby serving as a mirror for the African American child and a window for others. The rationale for these stories may have rested in evolution of post-modern literature, the Black Arts Movement and the increase in the publication of multicultural children’s literature in the mid–20th century. Based upon this historical context, I will use the Black Aesthetic that arose from the Black Arts Movement to evaluate San Souci’s The Talking Eggs: A Folktale from the American South; Rosales’ Leola and the Honeybears: An African American Retelling of Goldilocks and the Three Bears; and McKissack’s Flossie and the Fox. In so doing I will critique the authorship, audience, setting, characterization, language usage, and intertextual references for each story.

The Talking Eggs: A Folktale from the American South San Souci’s The Talking Eggs: A Folktale from the American South is a revised version of a Creole folktale from folklorist Alcee Fortier’s Louisiana Folk Tales: In French Dialect and English Translation (1894). “The tale appears to have its roots in popular European fairy tales, probably brought to Louisiana by French émigrés. Variations of the story, with Cajun or Gullah overtones, suggest that it was gradually spread orally through other areas of the American South” (San Souci). As such Talking Eggs has multiple intertextual references: One prominent intertextual reference is to Cinderella. San Souci set the story in the American South, made all the characters African American and used African American English Vernacular. Whether or not the child reader currently lives in the South, they will recognize the landscape as being the United Stated thereby closer to their own than the European settings of the traditional versions of the tales. Again, Talking Eggs contains core elements of a Cinderella tale beginning with the good sister/bad sister dichotomy with an evil parent. Rose, the bad sister, is described as “cross and mean and didn’t know beans from birds’ eggs” (San Souci, n.p.). The mother likes Rose “the best because they were alike as two peas in a pod — bad-tempered, sharp-tongued, and always putting on

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airs” (San Souci, n.p.). The protagonist of the story, Blanche, the good sister, “is sweet and kind” and charged with doing all the work while the mother and sister sit in “rocking chairs on the porch fanning themselves and talking foolishness about getting rich and moving to the city” (San Souci, n.p.). One such task is hauling water from a nearby well to the house. While at the well, Blanche meets a kind, elderly woman who was so overcome by the heat. Blanche gives her a drink of water and respectfully refers to her “Aunty” to which the woman replies, “Thank you, child.... You got a spirit of do-right in your soul. God is gonna bless you” (San Souci, n.p.). Afterwards Blanche takes water home to an ungrateful mother and sister who pronounce the water too hot, unfit to drink and pour it on the ground. They berate and beat Blanche so much that she runs away. Lost in the woods crying, Blanche sees the old woman from the well. The woman offers her food and shelter in exchange for a promise that Blanche not laugh at anything she sees in the woman’s home. Blanche readily agrees. At the farm Blanche sees a cow with two heads and chickens of every color who whistle like mockingbirds. She then sees the woman take off her head and replace it after a brief break. Finally, the old woman directs Blanche in making a pot of soup from a beef bone and one grain of rice “that looked like a pretty sad meal for the two of them” but turns out to be plentiful and luscious (San Souci, n.p.). The next day the old woman gives Blanche a gift — eggs of her choice. Blanche passes up silver and gold eggs for the plain ones that spoke to her, saying, “Take me.” On her way home Blanche tosses the eggs over her shoulder and finds that diamonds, silver coins, and silk dresses have sprung from each one. These were the riches that her mother and sister crave. When she gets home Blanche shares her treasures with her greedy family who immediately hatch a plan to have Rose trick the old woman out of her special eggs. Given the same offer and asked not to laugh, Rose goes home with the old woman where she immediately laughs at the two-headed cow. Later when she is given the ingredients to put into the supper pot that should multiply, we learn that Rose’s touch does not nurture the elements to create abundance. Of course Rose tricks the old woman into telling her about the eggs and proceeds to take them all — even those who yell for her not to take them. When Rose tosses her eggs on the path snakes, frogs and a wolf spring forth. Rose runs home to her mother who tries to help but both are overwhelmed by the marauding pack. When they lose the pack and return home, Rose and her mother learn that Blanche has taken her wealth — material and spiritual — and moved to the city to live in the style of a “grand lady” (San Souci, n.p.).

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Talking Eggs and the Black Aesthetic Clearly Talking Eggs is a Cinderella tale; but what if anything, makes it African American children’s literature? What literary elements common to African American storytelling does San Souci employ in Talking Eggs and how do they intersect with European American references aligned with the traditional version of the story? Here I will focus on his use of intertextual references and rhetoric. Before doing so, one must consider other factors such as authorship and the physical representation of the characters — elements of importance in the Black Aesthetic and in multicultural children’s literary criticism. While a Black author is assumed in the Black Aesthetic, such is not the case in multicultural children’s literary criticism where culturally accurate literature can be produced by a cultural outsider. Instead of dismissing a title because the author is not Black, multicultural children’s literary criticism looks at the content of the narrative to determine if the book is aligned with the literary and cultural tradition and norms of the community represented in the text. As such, San Souci, who is not African American, has used literary elements from the Black Aesthetic in Talking Eggs successfully while adhering to the Cinderella archetypes. First, Blanche, the Cinderella character, is a kind and generous person with a positive attitude who is mistreated and misunderstood by mother and sister. Rose and the mother, who are portrayed as evil in their selfish, manipulative behavior, overwork her and berate her for her kindness. Next, Blanche is given tasks to prove her virtue and goodness. She works hard to take care of her family while they do very little. And her kind nature is shown in her gentle respect for the thirsty, old woman at the well whom she calls aunty — a title of respect — even though Blanche could see no immediate benefits from being nice to the woman. But because of her unselfish “do right spirit,” the woman blesses Blanche verbally, “God is gonna bless you,” and physically when Blanche runs away from home and the woman gives her housing, food and magical eggs that turn into treasure. Because Blanche has been long suffering with her family and kind to the old woman she is elevated from a humble servant to a grand lady who lives in the city. Finally, Rose and the mother are punished for being manipulative and greedy when she does not honor her promise to the old woman not to laugh and then when she seizes eggs she was told not to take. Instead of riches, she receives snakes, frogs and a wolf— all symbols of evil and misfortune in this tale. Inherent in the tale is a moral lesson about being kind. In addition to Cinderella, Talking Eggs references African American lit-

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erary and cultural elements. One is the biblical references. African American literacy and literature — oral and written — has traditionally been grounded in the Bible. White Evangelical missionaries from the North went to the American South in the late 19th century to teach enslaved and newly emancipated African Americans to read the Bible because searching the scriptures for oneself is important to that religion. Further, the Bible and New England Primer are repeatedly noted in slave narratives as the primary texts through which enslaved African Americans learned to read because they were the books most readily available. Finally, biblical characters such as Moses, who led his people out of bondage, were common in 18th and 19th century storytelling. So again, Biblical references in this literature for an African American audience is aligned with the Black Aesthetic in that it is grounded in historical and cultural influences. Two biblical stories are referenced in Talking Eggs: Jesus meeting the woman at the well and Jesus feeding the multitudes. Like the thirsty, old woman in tattered clothes that Blanche met, Jesus met a woman who was a social outsider at a well. When Jesus asked the woman to give him a drink of water she reminded him of the social stigma of a Samaritan giving a Jew something to eat or drink. Jesus tells her, that if she knew who she was talking to that she would ask him for water because “whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life” (NIV Bible, John 4:14). Because of her experience with Jesus at the well, the Samaritan woman is blessed throughout her life. Blanche has a similar experience when she gives the thirsty, old woman a drink and receives “eternal water” in the form of the treasures that arose from the talking eggs that provide her with the wealth she needs to have a comfortable life on the physical plane. The other biblical stories alluded to in Taking Eggs are “The Feeding of the 5,000” and “The Feeding of the 4,000.”2 In both instances Jesus had been preaching to crowds that grew hungry but had no food. Therefore, Jesus took a few loaves of bread and fish, prayed and broke the bread. He then put the bread in baskets and directed his disciples to distribute the food to the crowd. In each story the disciples were not only able to feed the crowd but, they collected multiple baskets of leftover food. Similarly, the old woman gave Blanche a paltry beef bone and one grain of rice to make a soup “that looked like a pretty sad meal for the two of them” and they ended up with a plentiful pot of soup (San Souci, n.p.). As in the Feeding stories, Blanche found that the food multiplied greatly once put inside the vessel (the pot and the person) and she and the old woman had more than enough to eat. And, they, like the disciples feeding the multitudes, had food left over. One can’t but notice the parallel made between the old woman and Jesus in that they have the power to bless others. The old

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woman told Blanche that God was going to bless her, clearly she, like Jesus, has access to divinity and spiritual power that normal people do not possess. And because of her kind nature, Blanche was abundantly blessed by the old woman. On the other hand, Rose, who was greedy and manipulative, is cursed by her greed when she pursues the blessing and treasures of the old woman. The cover illustration of Talking Eggs makes another biblical and cultural reference. It features the old woman, leaning on a walking stick, leading Rose out of the woods to her home where she will later feed and comfort her. The cover illustration is similar to the painting of Harriet Tubman’s Underground Railroad by Paul Collins in which she leads a group of African Americans through some woods. Both the old woman in Talking Eggs and Harriet Tubman in Collin’s painting are bent over, using walking sticks and leading people through a forested area toward a better life. That life is freedom in the North or Canada for the enslaved African American and a warm home and financial prosperity for Blanche. Another culturally relevant reference and literary trope common in Talking Eggs is the use of language. For the most part the characters use speakerly language appropriate to folktales but not African American Vernacular English. For example, San Souci uses hyperbole when describing the setting: “They lived on a farm so poor; it looked like the tail end of bad luck.” Such is common in African American literature, but it is also common in fairy tales in that both troupes have their foundation in oral storytelling and retain components of that style in the written form, such as hyperbole. Overall, Talking Eggs incorporates enough elements of the Black Aesthetic in its use of African American characters, a setting appropriate for such characters at the historical moment in which the story is situated, culturally specific intertextual references, and the use of speakerly language. This is enough to classify the book as using the brace of the Black Aesthetic.

Leola and the Honeybears Another revised fairy tale with African American characters is Melodye Rosales’s Leola and the Honeybears, a retelling of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. In the author’s note Rosales says her “great-grandmother, [an enormous woman in size and stature] was born into slavery in a rural community in Lawrence County, Mississippi” (n.p.), and says Leola and the Honeybears is a reflection of “memories of growing up with old-fashioned values in a family filled with love and understanding” that she thinks the reader will connect (Rosales, n.p.). As an African American, Rosales is a cultural insider. Leola

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and the Honeybears is a revised version of the Goldilocks and the Three Bears with little variation in the plot, e.g., the story makes use of the number three where she tries three products (the food, chair and bed) three times before being discovered by the homeowners. The Black Aesthetic is apparent is Rosales’ use of African American characters and historically appropriate setting, the focus on community and its role in child-rearing, and African American (or traditionally Southern) cultural references. The picture book begins with Leola trying to help her grandmother with the laundry but she is actually getting the clean clothes dirty. Therefore her grandmother sent her off to play with the warning not to “go straying off anywhere. And, [not to] go talking to any strangers!” (Rosales 7). Leola did hear her grandmother “but she paid her no mind. She didn’t even answer her” (Rosales 7). Bored, Leola strays into the woods and gets lost. She then meets and is frightened by Mister Weasel who threatens to “eat [her] whole” (Rosales 16). She runs away from him and further into the woods until she comes across the empty home of the Honeybears. And, although her “Grandmama said, ‘Never go inside folks’ houses until first being politely asked,’” she does so anyway (Rosales 18). While one may understand her going into the house to evade Ol’ Mister Weasel, Leola continues to break her grandmother’s rules later when she eats the special treats Mama Honeybear made for her family. Her grandmother had told her, “Never help yourself in folks’ kitchen until first being politely asked” (Rosales 20). The rest of the story ensues in the same manner as the traditional Three Little Bears story except instead of porridge she finds pies, cobblers and tarts. Because Mama Honeybear is firmly acculturated in African American cultural mores, when she comes home to find that Leola was in her house and had eaten all her family’s treats, “Mama Honeybear said sternly, ‘But didn’t your folks teach you any manners?’” (32). Indeed, Leola says, her Grandmama did tell her not to go into folk’s home or eat their food unless she was invited to do so. Mama Honeybear quickly realizes that she is “only a youngster, no different than her own Lil’ Honey” and “soon all was forgiven” (Rosales 32). After packing treats for Leola’s journey, Mama Honeybear asks Miss Blackbird to lead Leola home to her grandmother. Once in the safety of her grandmother’s arms, “even when she wanted to do what she wanted to — Leola always listened to her Grandmama. (Well ... most of the time. ) And she never strayed too far from home again” (Rosales 37).

Leola and the Honeybears and the Black Aesthetic Leola is easily identified as Black visually because of her skin color and hair texture. The style of Leola’s dress and hat are from the 1990s which for

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a contemporary child reader is still a long time ago. Irrespective to the historical moment in which the story is set, Leola’s character is defined as willful: “sweet as sugar” when she “got her way” and “stubborn as Grandmama’s old mule” when she did not (Rosales 8). She is not a trickster who uses this type of behavior to keep herself safe. On the contrary, she is bored and intentionally disobeyed her grandmother’s directive to not “go straying off anywhere. And don’t go talking to any strangers” (Rosales 8). As any “good” child knows, ultimately no good is going to come of this type of disobedient behavior. In the end, Leola says, “even when she wanted to do what she wanted to — Leola always listened to her Grandmama. (Well ... most of the time. ) And she never strayed too far from home again” as she looks playfully into the distance beyond the illustration of the setting (Rosales 37). So, we know that her willful ways will continue. Initially one could view the Honeybears as a race-less family of bears. The seemingly working class family sits beside a fireplace enjoying one another’s company (Rosales 13). But, within the tradition of miscegenation in the South, and books like Garth Williams’ Rabbits Wedding (1958), one notices that Papa Honeybear is a Black Bear, Mama Honeybear appears to be a Polar Bear, and Lil’ Honey is a Brown Bear. Racially they can be read as: an African American father, White mother and bi-racial child. Either way, their color can be read as race aligned with that of the African American community — even in its diversity. Or, again, it could just be a family of bears eating nuts and visiting with each other. Another element that situates Leola and the Honeybears within the African American storytelling tradition is the references to traditional, African American culture. One of the moral lessons in Leola and the Honeybears that differs from the traditional version of the story is the importance of community. “Woodland folks from far and near came to visit the Honeybears’ inn” (Rosales 12). In the illustration the Honeybear’s home is filled with animals of every type, even Ol’ Mister Weasel, who are talking, eating and enjoying one another’s company. This community orientation is an aspect of the moral of the story because the Honeybears do not scare Leola/Goldilocks off. Instead, Mama Honeybear “saw that she was only a youngster, no different than her own Lil’ Honey. Soon, all was forgiven” (Rosales 35). She even assures that Leola makes it home safely. Therefore Mama Honeybear, is reminiscent of the grandmother — they are about the same size and wear the same clothes — a blond, straw hat with a black sash and red flower, black skirt and apron (although the aprons are different colors). It is easy to make a connection between Leola’s Grandmama and Mama Honeybear. Both love and care for their families and community. Again, the Honeybears are more connected to

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their neighbors than their European cousins, the Bears, who lived exclusively in a nuclear family. Making the connection to the community aligns Leola and the Honeybears with the Black Aesthetic in that it focuses on the interconnectedness of members of the community. By contrast, the Bears from the traditional tale live as a nuclear family removed from the larger community. Another African American cultural reference from the story is the food. Mama Honeybear fed her neighbors, “delicious daily delights like dandelion stew, double-dipped daffodil custard, and sweet daisy-dough cakes. Cheerful chatter and hearty laughter always filled the [Honeybear’s] inn” (Rosales 12). She even gave the “last of her boysenberry grits to Mister Hare and his grandbaby, Bunnie” (Rosales 15). Not only was she generous, she made more than just the plain porridge Mama Bear from Goldilocks and the Three Bears fed her family. Mama Honeybear made plum pie, rose petal cobbler and huckleberry tart for each member of her family to eat and while the dishes cooled — yes, they were too hot — the family went to the local pond to “catch a mess of catfish” (Rosales 15). The dishes are grounded in traditional Southern foodways: huckleberry is an American plant commonly called Southern cranberry and catfish is traditionally eaten more in the South than in the North. Rhetoric is also an element of concern in the Black Aesthetic and in the criticism of folklore in general. For the Black Aesthetic, the question is: Does the language used in the text reflect that which is used in the African American community even as it evolves? For folklore in general the concern is: Does the language reflect the oral tradition of storytelling associated with the community in which the folktale represents? The language is aligned more with Standard English than with African American Vernacular English. The language in Leola and the Honeybears reflects the needs of a new oral tradition — the read-aloud. Some literacy professionals who read books aloud find vernacular, of any sort, a barrier to their delivery. They are often unfamiliar with the language, unsure of pronunciations and how to pace the flow of the language. Morales’ use of literary devices that aid in such a delivery such as alliteration, “they dined on delicious daily delights like dandelion stew, double-dipped daffodil custard, and sweet daisy-dough cakes” (Rosales 12), is accessible to adult readers and would amuse many child audiences. The idea that the book might be read aloud is even seen in the use of varying font sizes to prompt reader on what text to emphasize and how, e.g., “Papa Honeybear was a GREAT, BIG bear” (Rosales 12). The italics (in the original) are a sign for the reader to make a voice that denotes bigness, e.g., slowing and deepening the speech. Morales’ use of speakerly, Standard English peppered with Southern sayings and visual clues for emphasis may work best for readalouds.

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Flossie and the Fox Such is not the case with Patricia McKissack’s, Flossie and the Fox as it is more grounded in the Black Aesthetic than the other two narratives, specifically in rhetoric and characterization. This is probably not by chance. Like Toni Morrison, Patricia McKissack writes stories she wanted to hear as a child: “When we were growing up we didn’t have African American heroes in our history books” (McKissack and McKissack 104). While she did hear stories in church about religious and African American heroes, she longed for other genres of stories, e.g., fairy tales, that reflect the history, culture and storytelling heritage of the African American community — that offered an image of her in the overall discourse. In addition to the church-based stories, McKissack recalls how her grandfather, “a master storyteller ... charmed his audience with humorous stories told in rich and colorful dialect of the rural South” such as Flossie and the Fox (n.p.). As you can guess, Flossie and the Fox is a revised version of Little Red Riding Hood. Based upon the illustrative and narrative clues, e.g., references to Flossie’s home as “quarters” which denotes a reference to the antebellum period or soon thereafter, Flossie and the Fox is set in the 19th century. In the story, Big Mama has Flossie take a basket of eggs to Miz Viola “over at the McCutchin Place” because Miz Viola’s chickens have not been laying eggs because they were frightened by a fox. The fox, who according to Big Mama is “one sly critter,” has avoided being captured by Mr. J.W McCutchin and his dogs (McKissack n.p.). But, Flossie “disremembers” what a fox looks like and asks her Big Mama for a description. Big Mama replies, “Chile, a fox be just a fox” and that foxes love eggs (McKissack n.p.). Not knowing what a fox looks like physically but knowing its character, Flossie starts her journey. Big Mama tells her not to “tarry” and to be careful not to break eggs, to which Flossie replies, “Yes’um.” Flossie takes the route to Miz Viola’s through the woods rather than the open road under the sun. Of course she meets a fox who happens to be sitting on a rock. Even though Flossie passed him by, the fox introduces himself, “Top of the morning to you, Little Missy.... And what is your name?” Flossie introduces herself and asks that the fox do the same. Looking longingly at the eggs and smiling “as best a fox can,” he says, “I am a fox.... At your service” (McKissack n.p.). After studying the creature, Flossie tells him, “I just purely don’t believe it.... I don’t believe you a fox” (McKissack n.p.). The fox rebukes her claim, questions her overall education and ignorance of the natural world. Flossie notes his bravado and self-assuredness as she continues along her journey. The fox asks why she isn’t afraid of him to which she replies, “I aine

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never seen a fox before. So, why should I be scared of you and I don’t evennow know you a real fox for a fact” (McKissack n.p.). The fox sees that Flossie will need proof that he is a fox before she will be frightened of him. So, the “fox fella rushed away lookin’ for whatever he needed to prove he was really who he said he was” (McKissack n.p.). The fox proceeds to try to convince Flossie of his identity by bringing her attention to his fur, long pointed nose, bushy tail, and sharp teeth as proof. To each feature Flossie counters with an alternative possible identity for him. All of which demean and belittle him, e.g., she says his pointed nose could be that of a “rat trying to pass yo’self off as a fox” (McKissack n.p.). In turn Fox is insulted and indignant. But Flossie continues her journey until she could see the McCutchin Place where Miz Viola lived. All the while Fox, not noticing how close she is to the McCutchin Place, continues to follow her “begging to be believed” (McKissack n.p.). Finally the fox declares his identity by citing his sharp teeth and ability to run fast. By then Flossie calls his attending to Mr. J.W McCutchin’s hounds that are quickly approaching the fox. But he is not worried because “I sure can out-smart and out-run one of Mr. J.W McCutchin’s miserable mutts any old time of the day, because like I told you, I am a fox!” Flossie replies with a wry smile, “I know” (McKissack n.p.). And relieved of the pest, she delivers the basket of eggs safely to Miz Viola.

Flossie and the Fox and the Black Aesthetic What is most remarkable about Flossie and the Fox is the portrayal of Flossie/Little Red Riding Hood as a trickster who uses signifyin(g), a linguistic tools common in the Black community, to “out fox the fox.” She distracts him from the basket of eggs by denying his identity and belittling him so that she could complete the task assigned by her Big Mama. One can’t help but align Flossie with other famous African American tricksters such as Brer Rabbit and High John the Conqueror and the West African Anansi. A Trickster is an archetypical folklore character who overcomes physical weakness with cunning and subversive humor to disarm more powerful characters. The Trickster alternates between cleverness and stupidity, kindness and cruelty, deceiver and deceived, breaker of taboos and creator of culture (American Folklore). In the African American tradition, the Trickster is often representative of oppressed African Americans as they cope with the systematic oppression of Whites — symbolized by the more physically powerful character in the story. As already mentioned, the Signifying Monkey is a key figure in African American folklore whose figurative language befuddles Lion, who

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interprets it on a literal level. This misunderstanding leads Lion to be manipulated by Monkey. Flossie functions as such a Trickster. According to the sly smile and wry look Flossie gives the reader, we know early on that Flossie knows the true identity of the fox. But she denies such knowledge in a way that belittles the fox’s nature, and consumes him with trying to convince her that he is a fox while she safely travels toward Miz Viola’s. Another important element of Flossie’s success is that she comes from a long line of strong female characters. McKissack approached this story in the same manner she did the biography of Sojourner Truth — to offer a Black Feminist perspective of the story with a protagonist who has agency. Referencing notable African American women in history, McKissack considers how they have coped with systematic oppression. They “jumped over it, ran around it, catapulted over it, went over, under, through and beyond it, do what they had to do” (McKissack and McKissack 109). And Flossie does the same when she uses her signifyin(g) to outtalk the fox. Flossie, like Sojourner Truth, “is sassy — strong, smart, brave, ‘quick witted’” and has a “complete abandonment of fear; she would walk into a totally hostile environment, but she remained fearless” (McKissack and McKissack 104). Flossie is not the naïve victim of some European versions of Little Red Riding Hood. Instead Flossie is fearless as she befuddles the fox into distraction.

Flossie and Language Another way we know Flossie is a trickster is through critical discourse analysis. Flossie uses African American Vernacular English and Fox uses Standard English. Their dialect denotes their racial and sociocultural standing and, one might assume their intellectual abilities. African American Vernacular English contains patterns of pronunciation, grammatical structures, and vocabulary specific to the American South and African Americans specifically. “When we examine Flossie’s language, we have a clear example of African American English patterns. She has changed her subject-verb, and she uses double negatives: ‘He sho’ use a heap o’ words’ and ‘that still don’t make you no fox’” (Milner and Stewart 213). The pronunciation of, what in Standard English would be “sure,” is denoted by the spelling “sho.” Even the narrator uses this rural language —“when she come upon a critter she couldn’t recollect ever seeing” (McKissack n.p.). Fox’s Standard English, “Top of the morning to you, Little Missy, ... at your service,” is rather haughty considering that he says this while lustfully eyeing the basket of eggs. Based upon her response, “I be Flossie Finley,” one might assume that this little girl is intellectually outmatched because she uses the language of the “uneducated.” But nothing could be further from the truth.

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Flossie, like the Signifying Monkey, uses various linguistic devices to get the fox so involved with trying to prove his identity that she is able to complete her journey successfully. Again, signifyin(g) is the use of linguistic tools and discourses to overcome the more powerful character who does not understand illusionary language. This may include indirection, metaphorical language, humor, and hyperbole. Flossie’s approach is to deny the identity of the fox — to use double-speak — to say that something is not even though she knows it is — as a device to protect herself and her basket of eggs. Flossie also “snaps” on Fox. To “snap” is another aspect of signification in which one degrades the opponent verbally to goat them to anger. This may be to divert them from the task at hand, jockey for social status, or for the sheer joy of it. Flossie knowingly says things to the fox to aggravate him and distract him from the eggs. Flossie snaps on the fox when she tells him, “Shucks! You aine no fox. You a rabbit, all the time trying to fool me.” And then later, “she snapped her fingers, ‘that’s it! You a rat trying to pass yo’self off as a fox’” (McKissack n.p.). And the fox is dually insulted, as that comment “near ‘bout took Fox’s breath away, ‘I beg your pardon,’ he gasped” (McKissack n.p.). Adding insult to injury, she says, “You can beg all you wanna, ... that still don’t make you no fox” as she “skipped on down the road” continuing her journey unaccosted (McKissack n.p.). Flossie knows that he is indeed a fox but, her denial combined with her degradation of him, saying that he must either be a rabbit or rat — both animals that the fox thinks are beneath him — qualify as snaps/signifying. With this Flossie shows that, irrespective of her use of African American English Vernacular, she is much smarter than the fox. That in essence “affirms a dialect which is a valued part of her own heritage by associating it with wit, goodness, and a clear sense of identity, while the standard American English-speaking fox is comparatively slow, avaricious, and not so clear as he thought about his identity” (Milner and Stewart 213). Flossie speaks with the voice of McKissack’s father from whom she initially heard the story thereby situating the discourse within the African American community. His voice contains “rich dialectical patterns that flavor the story and engender an authenticity that probably wouldn’t be available without it” (Milner and Stewart 213). This, in addition to the traditional West African archetype of the Trickster and signifyin(g), lends authenticity and credibility to the story. But it may be these same elements that make some literacy professionals pause when selecting Flossie and the Fox for a read-aloud. They may worry about pronunciation and capturing the rhythm of African American speech patterns. But this is easily overcome by pre-reading the book and listening to others reading the book online. Flossie and the Fox is a rare gem in that it offers an African American

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fairy tale that combines European and African American literary troupes more successfully — as defined by its ability to tell a traditional, European fairy tale, Little Red Riding Hood, using the storytelling tenets of the African American community as embodied in the Black Aesthetic. And, like most other folktales, it attempts to teach the child reader about “the importance of universal truths, as well as courage and fortitude, determination, and love. Those are the tools that they’ll need to get through their lives” (McKissack 105). Such stories are even more important to contemporary children since many of today’s youth lack “that generational support system. They are not linked to anything” (McKissack and McKissack 109). Here is where the wisdom of folktales serves their function in that they relay culture — both European and African American — and values to the child reader via story.

Conclusion The Black Aesthetic is a literary theory grounded in the Black Arts Movement of the mid–20th century and sought to perpetuate racial pride and selfdetermination in the arts. It consists of a body of literature — oral and written — constructed consciously (even, at times, self-consciously) aware of longstanding [cultural, artistic and political] values and significant experiences of their culture. By embodying these experiences and values in expressive form, the writer provides one means through which those who share the same culture can recognize themselves and move toward fruitful self-definition [Baker 113].

As such, it outlines various aspects of African American art that grounds it in the African American experience(s). San Souci, Rosales, and McKissack altered elements from traditional European fairy tales such as setting, language, and characterization to create narratives that reflect the images and culture of the African American community, and theoretically, the African American child reader. They looked to storytelling devices from the African American community and the troupes from the European fairy tale both to inform the construction of a new tale. One that, like African Americans, shares the influences of West African, American and European influences to create something unique. One can evaluate the effectiveness of the confluences of these traditions, and of the books as African American children’s literature via the literary theories of the Black Aesthetic. Specifically, I considered audience, setting, language, and characterization among other elements. The picture books of interest here all share an Afrocentric orientation.

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One can assume that African Americans is the primary audience because all three books have African American, female protagonist. The African American audience is further defined by the cultural references in that the narrative most notably is speakerly language and African American Vernacular English used by the characters to varying degrees. The historical moment and geographical settings of all three stories was changed from medieval Europe to the late 19th and early 20th century in the American South. While relatively recent for many adult readers, this time frame is “a long, long, time ago” for the child audience. The illustrations contain symbols that signify the setting and historical moment of the stories. For example, the architecture of the homes, dress of the characters, e.g., Mr. Weasel’s 1920s zoot suit in Leola and the Honeybears, and material culture are clues to the setting and historical moment. The landscape is rural and can be assumed to be in the South as it is the ancestral home of the majority of the African American community based upon the population distribution of the slave trade. Again, these devices situate the story with the African American experience more than the European one. The portrayal of the protagonists also offers clues to the culture being represented in the revised fairy tales. True to standard storytelling devices, the three tales offer conflict of Man versus self, society and nature. Leola’s conflict is primarily versus herself. She is defined as willful when she did not get her way and disobeyed her grandmother who told her not to “go straying off anywhere. And don’t go talking to any strangers” (Rosales 8). Instead she strays and ends up at the home of the Honeybears which leads to trouble. Even after Mrs. Honeybear talks to her and sends her home safely, at the end of the book Leola vows that “even when she wanted to do what she wanted to — she always listened to her Grandmama. (Well ... most of the time. ) And she never strayed too far from home again” (Rosales 37). But her mischievous look and the stipulation that she was obedient “most of the time” tells the reader that Leola’s naughty ways will continue. Leola would be better served to embrace the family and larger community and use her energy more productively. Leola’s agency, or some semblance of this, in the form of her rebellion is directed at her grandmother while Flossie’s agency is directed at larger oppressive forces of the environment as represented by the fox. Unlike Leola, Flossie is obedient to her Big Mama, responding, “Here I am, Big Mama,” when called. Her conflict is man versus society if one interprets the fox via his language and manipulative ways as a representative of the forces of racial oppression. Or, it is man versus nature if one views the fox as purely an element of the natural environment. Either way, Flossie uses her skills as a Trickster — one who uses linguistic devices such as indirection —

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to cope with the dangers represented by the fox. On the other hand, Rose’s conflict is man versus man as she battles, most prominently, with her cruel mother and sister as in any Cinderella tale. But underlying that conflict is the one represented by the poverty of their rural life, as demonstrated by the mother and sister’s constant daydreams about getting rich and moving to the city and by Rose’s ability to do so once her gentle, obedient nature was rewarded by the old woman. In the end, whether or not the story aligns perfectly with the aspects of the Black Aesthetic, all three: San Souci’s The Talking Eggs: A Folktale from the American South; Rosales’ Leola and the Honeybears: An African American Retelling of Goldilocks and the Three Bears; and McKissack’s Flossie and the Fox fit easily into any text set as African American fairy tales. All three are grounded in and focused upon the African American community, address sociopolitical issues relevant to the community, and encourage racial pride, strength, and self-definition as delineated by the Black Aesthetic. They accomplish this by being situated within African American history, culture and storytelling styles through their settings, characterization of the protagonists, and rhetoric. Some adhere more to the Black Aesthetic than others. Yet they all function as mirrors and windows into the African American experience and as such, all have their place in any library, classroom, or home collection as African American fairy tales.

NOTES 1. The terms used to designate African Americans have changed with time, politics, and social attitudes, and as such they pose a challenge for me as I write across historical moments and political discourses. Unless dictated by the historical moment, I will use the term “African American” to refer to those people of African descent who share a history of slavery in the United States and the term “Black” to refer to all people of African origin. In addition, I capitalize all racial identifiers. 2. The crowds were larger than the numbers reported because women and children were not counted.

WORKS CITED “Assessing Children’s Literature.” Assessing Children’s Literature. N.p., 2003. Web. 29 Oct. 2012. http://www. adl.org/education/assessing.asp. “The Coretta Scott King Book Awards for Authors and Illustrators.” American Library Association. N.p., 2012. Web. 24 Oct. 2012. http://www.ala.org/emiert/cskbook awards/slction. Baker, Houston A., Jr. “On the Criticism of Black American Literature: One View of the Black Aesthetic.” African American Literary Theory: A Reader. Ed. Winston Napier. New York: New York University Press, 1976. 113–31. Print. Brunvand, Jan Harold. The Study of American Folklore: An Introduction. 4th ed. New York: W. Norton, 1998. Print.

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Cummings, Julie. “Fractured Fairy Tales: Spin-offs, Spoofs, and Satires.” School Library Journal 43.10 (1997): 50. Print. “The Elementary and Secondary Education Act (The No Child Left Behind Act of 2001).” The Elementary and Secondary Education Act (The No Child Left Behind Act of 2001). U.S. Department of Education, n. d. Web. 24 Oct. 2012. “Fractured Fairy Tales.” Fractured Fairy Tales. IRA/NCTE, 2006. Web. 27 Dec. 2012. Fuller, Hoyt. “Towards a Black Aesthetic.” The Black Aesthetic. Ed. Addison Gayle. Garden City, NY: Doubleday-Anchor, 1971. 3–11. Print. Gates, Henry L. Figures in Black: Words, Signs, and the “racial” Self. New York: Oxford University Press, 1987. Print. Gayle, Addison, Jr. “Cultural Strangulation: Black Literature and the White Aesthetic.” Within the Circle: An Antholog y of African American Literary Criticism from the Harlem Renaissance to the Present. Ed. Angelyn Mitchel. Durham: Duke University Press, 1994. 207–12. Print. Hughes, Langston. “The Negro Artist and the Racial Mountain.” Within the Circle: An Antholog y of African American Literary Criticism from the Harlem Renaissance to the Present. Ed. Angelyn Mitchel. Durham: Duke University Press, 1994. 55–59. Print. Johnson-Feelings, Dianne. Telling Tales: The Pedagog y and Promise of African American Literature for Youth. New York: Greenwood, 1990. Print. Larrick, Nancy. “The All-White World of Children’s Books.” The New Press Guide to Multicultural Resources for Young Readers. Ed. Daphne Muse. New York: New, 1997. 19– 25. Print. Martin, Reginald. Ishmael Reed and the New Black Aesthetic Critics. New York: St. Martin’s, 1988. Print. McKissack, Patricia, L., and Fredrick McKissack. “Author Profile in Two Voices.” Beauty, Brains, and Brawn: The Construction of Gender in Children’s Literature. Ed. Susan Lehr. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann, 2001. 104–11. Print. McKissack, Pat, and Rachel Isadora. Flossie & the Fox. New York: Dial for Young Readers, 1986. Print. McNair, Jonda C. “Classic African American Children’s Literature.” The Reading Teacher 64. 2 (2010): 96–105. Print. Milner, Joseph O., and Loraine Moses Stewart. “Flossie Ebonics: Subtle Sociolinguistic Messages in Flossie and the Fox.” The New Advocate 10. 3 (1997): 211–14. Print. Rosales, Melodye. Leola and the Honeybears: An African-American Retelling of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. New York: Scholastic, 1998. Print. San Souci, Robert D., Jerry Pinkney and Jane B. Bierhorst. The Talking Eggs: A Folktale from the American South. New York: Dial Books for Young Readers, 1989. Print. Schlosser, S.E. “Tricksters.” American Folklore. N.p., 20 Aug. 2012. Web. 6 Dec. 2012. Wright, Richard. “Blueprint for Negro Writing.” Within the Circle: An Antholog y of African American Literary Criticism from the Harlem Renaissance to the Present. Ed. Angelyn Mitchel. Durham: Duke University Press, 1937/1994. 97–106. Print.

Conclusion Traditional Tales and Children — Nurturing Competent, Imaginative, Cultural and Critical Readers VIVIAN YENIKA-AGBAW, RUTH MCKOY LOWERY and LARETTA HENDERSON

Certainly we advocate for the retelling of traditional European fairy tales within a Black context using Black characters for multiple reasons. First, fairy tales have always been revised: as stories migrate through space and time they evolve to reflect and meet the needs of their audiences. And, again, we promote a continuation of this process. Further, we suggest that the representation of Black protagonists is relevant even to young children — the supposedly, primary audience for fairy tales — because they are able to discern race, and that these images may inform their ideas about themselves and the group presented in the picture book. Presenting children with literature that allows them to see themselves is a way to engage them in dialogue. It helps strengthen connections within schema and can ignite the will to read more books representing characters with whom they can ethnically and culturally align themselves. They also function as vehicles for cultural tourism — ways to visit and investigate cultures other than one’s own. Finally, we discuss the need for a multicultural text set which includes the multiplicity of cultures within the Black Diaspora. Storytellers have ashe — the fundamental energy of the universe — or, stated another way, the power to make things happen. These stories can change the listener and the listener’s worldview. Stories can ease turmoil in a community, and most relevant to this book, guide a listener through the perils of 222

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childhood, in preparation for the complexities of adulthood. Indeed, “transformation [of the individual and the community] is the key to the fairy tale, and fairy tales have been endlessly transforming themselves throughout history and, by some strange alchemy, endlessly staying the same” (Philip 39). These stories undergo what Zipes terms “miraculous transformations” as the culture or local environment changes (xii). This transformation references the evolution of fairy tales as they are passed from one teller to another and from one culture to another. At the same time it refers to the fairy tale’s ability to spark the imagination and psyche of the audience. Folklore, in general, is timeless; even though the setting, characterization, etc. of a narrative evolve to reflect the culture in which it is told, the essence of the story often remains the same. And, it may even be understood by cultural outsiders if not as a lesson for themselves, as insight into the culture the story represents. Fairy tales remain vibrant today because they have been able to evolve over time. Because of this timeless and, to some degree, universal nature of folklore, it is at the foundation of multicultural literature in the mainstream; if one gauges such by awards like the Caldecott. For example, besides Keat’s Snowy Day, key early winners are primarily folklore, e.g., McDermott’s (1972) Anansi the Spider: A Tale from the Ashanti and Aardema’s (1975) Why Mosquitoes Buzz in People’s Ears. While one can criticize such a move as canonizing stories that set the Black protagonist outside the U.S. and in the distant past of “once upon a time”; besides often being universal and accessible to the audience, folklore provides wonderful fodder for language arts lessons. For this reason, among others which we discuss below, we applaud the publication of Black fairy tales whether they are culturally conscious in that they incorporate Black culture(s) in the characterization, plot, setting, and style, etc., or are melting pot books that construct a Black child protagonist sans any cultural trappings. Although we must note that in this case, instead of presenting the child as “any child,” in essence they end up being a dark, White child. Nevertheless, the revisions of traditional fairy tales for a Black audience are valid, for “the multi-layered quality of a fairy-tale text is resistant to any single simplified meaning” and to any single representation (Philip 42). Again, they are all valuable additions to a text set, which offers multiple cultural learning opportunities to children. Some adults may say that there is no need for Black versions of traditional, European fairy tales since the (White) characters are archetypes and reflective of “every child.” We have two responses to this: first, children do see race; the White characters posited as “every child” is read as a White child. And second, storytelling styles, cultural worldviews, and the moral contained

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within them vary amongst cultures and subcultures. Thus, multiple versions of the same archetypical story are necessary to appeal to and be applicable to various cultural contexts. Research shows that children as young as six months old recognize racial differences as demonstrated by the fact that they look at a face that is racially different from their primary caregiver longer than a face that is of the same race as their caregiver. They notice the variation in the color of one person to the next. By two to five years old, children use racial categories to classify people and begin to develop racial bias even if these biases are not expressed by their caregivers (Aboud; Hirschfeld; Kat; Katz & Kofkin; Patterson & Bigler; Van Ausdale & Feagin as cited in Winkler). “Researchers have found that even very young children develop what psychologists call ‘ingroup bias,’ or favoritism towards the groups in which they are members” (Patterson & Bigler as cited in Winkler). But, as children become more aware of societal norms and the value and privileges associated with various groups, they develop bias toward the socially privileged group irrespective to whether or not they are a member of this group or not. Some of these biases may come from seeing predominately White characters in literature and in the media. Within this context, we reiterate the importance of cultural retellings of traditional fairy tales accompanied by related illustrations. According to Xhosa storyteller Nongenile Masithathu Zenani, “These are the storyteller’s materials: the world and the word” (Scheub as cited in Philips). And for Black children both the world and the word differ, no matter how slightly, from that of the mainstream child and amongst the subcultures of Blackness. For example language usage varies even with Blackness e.g., amongst those of African, Caribbean, and African American ancestry, and all of them should be reflected in the literature. Therefore, culturally relevant worldviews and linguistic devices are necessary to offer children a greater range of stories from which to view the world. The essays in this book attempt to address these issues and more. We conclude that Critical Race Theory is an appropriate vehicle through which one can have a dialogue about all Black fairy tales — revised from traditional European ones or not. Critical Race Theory states that while race is a social construction, racialized oppression is, nevertheless, a given in contemporary society so much so that the unique voice of the racialized is often marginalized. Critical Race Theory provides a lens through which to interrogate, analyze, and contest the way in which race, and racist ideologies have shaped the literary canon and re-present the stories of underrepresented groups in literature. Thus, Critical Race Theory advocates counter-storytelling, the propagation of the stories like those discussed in this volume, that focus on

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Black protagonists in a traditional, European fairy tale narrative to put alongside the traditional European and American ones, in addition to original tales from continental Africa that disrupt a White only world of European fairy tales like those experienced by many adults born before the 1980s. As a theoretical frame, Critical Race Theory can enable readers to interrogate these differences that exist amongst Blacks in the different retellings, reminding many of the different cultures and histories of Black people just as it validates the multiple narratives.1 The logic/understanding then is that “we” may be human beings and some are Blacks; however, to avoid issues of essentialism it is necessary to acknowledge cultural differences and how these may position groups in society as insiders, outsiders, and/or in between. Critical Race Theory, then, gives voice to the unique perspectives and lived experiences of Black people. We also advocate for critical literacy as a lens through which educators and librarians should encourage children to read any piece of literature regardless of the culture of the teller and/or the tale. In so doing, the children are not only participating in “constructing texts world as social worlds” (Beach, Appleman, Hynds, & Wilhem 12), but will also begin to understand the complex nature of literary texts as vehicles through which they can further explore the cultural workings of their worlds. As already mentioned, this will allow young children the opportunity to see themselves and their culture(s) represented in the text. For older children it may facilitate their ability to become aware that all stories are cultural tools that may, to some extent, reveal and/or propagate multicultural realities in our global society. Creighton too agrees that all children “need to ‘see’ themselves or their cultural/gender background reflected in a story quite literally in the words and illustrations” (441). But these same stories oftentimes remain on the margin of institutionalized literary experiences. It is such tales that add to the rich diversity of cultures, allowing children to connect with stories, see themselves in stories, and learn about their cultures. The tales referenced in the preceding essays belong to this category of overlooked stories. They are rich and diverse in perspective. In this way, readers understand that stories from Black perspectives adhere to the dictates of traditional literary conventions while steeped in literary traditions that can be traced back to the continent or circulates amongst Blacks in the diaspora.

NOTES 1. For more on this, see Vivian Yenika-Agbaw’s “Black Cinderellas as Multicultural Tales in the School Curriculum,” Pedagog y, Society & Culture (forthcoming).

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WORKS CITED Aboud, Frances E. “A Social-cognitive Developmental Theory of Prejudice.” Ed. Stephen M. Quintana and Clark McKown. Handbook of Race, Racism, and the Developing Child. Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley & Sons, 2008. 55–71. Print. Beach, Richard, Deborah Appleman, Susan Hynds, and Jeffery Wilhelm, Teaching Literature to Adolescents. Mawah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum, 2006. Print. Creighton, Donna C. “Critical Literacy in the Elementary Classroom.” Language Arts 74.6 (1997): 438–445. Print. Giroux, Henry. Schooling and the Struggle for Public Life: Critical Pedagog y in the Modern Age. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1988. Print. Hirschfeld, Lawrence A. “Children’s Developing Conceptions of Race.” Ed. Stephen M. Quintana and Clark McKown. Handbook of Race, Racism, and the Developing Child. Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley & Sons, 2008. 37–54. Print. Katz, Phyllis A., and Jennifer A. Kofkin. “Race, Gender, and Young Children.” Ed. Suniya S. Luthar. Developmental Psychopatholog y: Perspectives on Adjustment, Risk, and Disorder. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997. 51–74. Print. Katz, Phyllis A. “Racists or Tolerant Multiculturalists? How Do They Begin.” American Psychologist 58.11 (2003): 897–909. Web. Patterson, Meagan M., and Rebecca S. Bigler. “Preschool Children’s Attention to Environmental Messages about Groups: Social Categorization and the Origins of Intergroup Bias.” Child Development 77.4 (2006): 847–60. Print. Philip, Neil. “A Companion to the Fairy Tale.” Ed. Hilda Roderick, Ellis Davidson and Anna Chaudhri. A Companion to the Fairy Tale. Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 2003. 39– 45. Print. Van, Ausdale Debra, and Joe R. Feagin. The First R: How Children Learn Race and Racism. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2001. Print. Winkler, Erin N. “Children Are Not Colorblind: How Young Children Learn Race.” PACE: Practical Approaches for Continuing Education 3.3 (2009): 1–8. Web. Zipes, Jack. Why Fairy Tales Stick: The Evolution and Relevance of a Genre. New York: Routledge, 2006. Print.

About the Contributors Richard M. Breaux is an assistant professor of racial and ethnic studies at the University of Wisconsin, La Crosse. His work has appeared in the Journal of African American History, the Journal of Pan-African Studies, the Journal of African American Studies and the History of Education Quarterly. Xiru Du is a doctoral candidate in curriculum and instruction with emphasis in language, cultural and society at Pennsylvania State University. Her main research interests include translated and adapted children’s books, literary and cultural exchanges, and representation of construction of childhood. Ritam Dutta received his bachelor’s and master’s degrees in comparative literature from Jadavpur University. He is a doctoral candidate in the College of Education at Pennsylvania State University, where he researches the relationship between youth cultures and situated social learning in informal spaces outside classrooms, particularly during student Adda in colleges and universities in Calcutta. Annette Gregerson received her master of education in curriculum and instruction from Pennsylvania State University and is a PhD student in the College of Education, and instructor of language and literacy classes in children’s literature there. She has worked with non-profit organizations in high density population areas as well as with museum sponsored art enrichment programs in California and Hawaii. Laretta Henderson is an associate professor in the School of Information Studies at the University of Wisconsin, Milwaukee, where she teaches children’s and young adult literature. She is the author of Ebony Jr! The Rise, Demise and Return of an African American Children’s Magazine, as well as various articles in publications such as Children’s Literature in Education and Multi-Ethnic Literature in the United States. Laura Anne Hudock teaches at a Title I elementary school in Fairfax County, Virginia, has been twice-honored as “Teacher of the Year” and has received numerous classroom grants to promote the scientific method. She is pursuing a master’s degree in education from Pennsylvania State University’s World Campus. Her academic interests include strategies to increase reading comprehension and using wordless picture books as a story medium for English language learners. 227

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Dianne Johnson is a professor of English at the University of South Carolina where she teaches children’s and young adult literature, African American film, and American autobiography. As “Dinah Johnson,” she is the author of several children’s books with Henry Holt, including All Around Town: The Photographs of Richard Samuel Roberts, Hair Dance, and Black Magic. Barbara A. Lehman is a professor of children’s literature at Ohio State University, Mansfield campus. Her scholarly interests focus on multicultural and global children’s literature. She co-edited (with Marilou R. Sorensen) Teaching with Children’s Books (1995) and co-authored (with Evelyn Freeman) Global Perspectives in Children’s Literature (2001). Her book Children’s Literature and Learning was published by Teachers College Press in 2007. Her most recent co-authored (with Evelyn Freeman and Patricia Scharer) book is Reading Globally, K–8: Connecting Students to the World Through Literature (Corwin, 2010). Ruth McKoy Lowery is an associate professor in language and literacy education in the College of Education at the University of Florida, teaching children’s literature and multicultural education. Her research incorporates students’ responses to literature, school curricula, immigrant populations, and teaching diverse populations. Her work has been published in the Journal of Children’s Literature, Multicultural Education, Multicultural Perspective, Alan Review and Dragon Lode and she is the author of Immigrants in Children’s Literature (Peter Lang, 2000). Dellita L. Martin-Ogunsola is a professor emerita of Spanish in the Department of Foreign Languages and Literatures at the University of Alabama at Birmingham, with interest in the literatures of Peninsular Spain, Latin America, Afro-Latin America, the Caribbean, and the United States. Among her publications are The Best Short Stories of Quince Duncan (1995); The Collected Works of Langston Hughes, Volume 16, The Translations (2003); and The Eve/Hagar Paradigm in the Fiction of Quince Duncan (2004). She is a consulting editor with the Afro-Hispanic Review, Langston Hughes Review and Hispania. Joy Meness earned her master of education degree from Niagara University and is a PhD candidate at Pennsylvania State University, in curriculum and instruction, language, culture and society, and an instructor of children’s literature. She has a background in elementary, high school, and literacy education and has worked with non-profit cultural and arts organizations in western New York. Katharine Capshaw Smith is an associate professor of English at the University of Connecticut, where she teaches African American literature and children’s literature. Author of Children’s Literature of the Harlem Renaissance (Indiana University Press, 2004), she is the editor of the Children’s Literature Association Quarterly. She is working on a book on civil rights photographic texts for young people. Tyler Scott Smith is a historian and instructional librarian at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, where he is completing a PhD in information studies with a focus on the history of children’s literature. His other major research interests are childhoods and video games as learning tools.

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Deborah L. Thompson is an associate professor in the School of Education at The College of New Jersey. She teaches courses in emergent and early literacy, elementary and middle school reading instruction, multicultural children’s literature and gender in children’s literature. She has conducted workshops on effective instruction, using children’s literature in reading programs, school reform and using nonfiction children’s books in social studies and science instruction. Nancy D. Tolson specializes in Black children’s and adolescent literature, African folklore, and storytelling. She has a master’s degree in African world studies and a PhD in curriculum and instruction from the University of Iowa. She is the author of Black Children’s Literature Got de Blues (Peter Lang, 2008) and co-author (with Laura J. Bryant) of Tales of Africa (Perfection Learning, 1998). Her critical and creative work can be found in various academic journals and books. Vivian Yenika-Agbaw is an associate professor at Pennsylvania State University, where she teaches children’s and young adult literature. An assistant editor of Sankofa: Journal of African Children’s and Young Adult Literature, she has published numerous journal articles and served on Notable Book for a Global Society and Children’s Africana Book Award committees. Her books include Representing Africa in Children’s Literature (Routledge, 2008) and (with Mary Napoli) African and African American Children’s and Adolescent Literature (Peter Lang, 2011). Her African Youth in Contemporary Literature and Popular Culture is forthcoming.

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Index Aardema, Verna 223 Aarne, A. 75 Achebe, Chinua 159 Adotey Addo, Peter E. 145 Aesop’s fables 32, 166 aesthetic figures 61 African American caricature 178 African diaspora 5 Afrocentricism 5, 189, 196, 203 Aho, William R. 65 Akan-Ashanti Folk-Tales 145 The Akan Trickster Cycle 150 Aladdin 174 Alice in Wonderland 178 Anancy and Miss Lou 105 Anancy Stories and Dialect Verse 155 Ananse 145; see also Anansi Anansi 104, 118, 127, 159, 223 Andersen, Hans Christian 17, 44 Anglin Edwards, Joyce 134 Appleman, Deborah 225 Asante, Molefi 5, 189 Aschenputtel 74

Black Arts Movement 205 Black History Month 61 Black Reconstruction 177 black theories 5 Bleichenbacher, Lukas 189 The Bluest Eye 95 Bootman, Colin 60, 69 Borrero, Lucia 104 Botelho, Maria 2, 55, 106, 168 Boym, Svetlana 63 The Brave Tin Soldier 44 Breaux, Richard 179 Briggs, Cyril 68 Brodie, Carolyn 20 Brooks, Wanda 196 Brothers Grimm 29, 44, 57, 106, 164, 186 Brown, Domingo 58 Brown, Ethelred 58 Brown, Sterling 196 Browning, Robert 62 Bryan, Ashley 74, 83 Bugs Bunny Nips the Nips 176 Burkert, Rand 37

Baker, E.D. 92 Baldwin, Brooke 81 Ballard, Chris 195 Banks, James 3, 188 Bascom, William 75 Beach, Richard 225 Beast 2 Bell, Derrick 27 Bennett, Louise 104, 155 Ben’s Trumpet 44 Bettelheim, Bruno 168 Billy Beg and His Bull 77, 81 Bishop, Rudine Sims 2, 54, 167

Cabin in the Sky 176 Cai, Mingshui 2, 54, 191 Caldecott award 41, 84, 156, 223 Cardinall, A.W. 151 Caribbean 62, 81, 101, 118, 153 Caribbean Harlem 69 Caribbean immigrants 67 cartoons 175 Carvajal, Doreen 13 The Cat Cinderella 74 Catskinella 87 Celeste’s Harlem Renaissance 60 Cendrillon 76, 81

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Index

Chambers, Veronica 86 Chamoiseau, Patrick 154 Chase, Maggie 191 Chinye 83 Cinder-Elly 2 Cinderella 74, 81, 96, 100, 178, 201 Cinderella, or the Little Glass Slipper 74 Cindy Edna 2 Cindy Ellen: A Wild Western Cinderella 1 Civil Rights Movement 14 Climo, Shirley 83 Coal Black and the Seben Dwarfs 175 Cole, Babette 2 Colon, Raul 109 Cooper, Floyd 60 Coretta Scott King Award 188, 204 Costa Rica 133 counter-storytelling 203 Courlander, Harold 117 Cox, Marian 74 Creighton, Donna 225 Crew, Hilary 28 critical literacy 224 critical multiculturalism 6, 55 Critical Race Theory 2, 28, 224 Crosswaith, Frank 68 Crouch, Stanley 177 Cullen, Bonnie 74 cultural literacy 4 cultural representation 51, 54 culturally conscious texts 4 Cummins, Julie 202 Daly, Niki 159 Dave at Night 60 Delgado, Richard 197 DeLuca, Geraldine 84 The Dictionary of Cultural Literacy 4 digital age 36 Dillon, Diane 108 Dillon, Leo 108 Disney 74, 88, 92, 174, 190, 202 Dockter, Jessica 168 Domingo, W.A. 67 Douglas, Mary 14 Douglass, Frederick 132, 203 Dreisinger, B. 14 Dresang, Eliza 36 Du Bois, W.E.B. 25, 60, 177 Dudek, Debra 6, 14 Dunbar, Paul Laurence 167 Duncan, Quince 140

Dundes, Alan 74 Dyson, Michael Eric 2 ecocriticism 32 Ekholm, Nancy 37 Ella Enchanted 2 The English Reader 4 Eurocentric traditions 4, 44, 51 fairy tales 2 Falk, Lisa 18 Ferguson, Phyllis 102 The Fisherman and His Wife 44 Fleischman, Paul 88 Flossie and the Fox 25, 166, 190, 201 Floyd, Samuel 112 Frederick, Rona 196 Freire, Paulo 113 French Creole 81, 88 The Frog Princess 92 Fuller, Hoyt 203 Galda, Lee 201 Garcia, Jesus 119 Garvey, Marcus 60, 68 Gates, Henry L. 205 gender 25 Gentles-Peart, Kamille 102 Giovanni, Nikki 60 The Girl Who Spun Gold 101 Giroux, Henry 2 Glass Slipper, Golden Sandal 87 Glotfelty, Cheryll 32 Goin’ Some Place Special 13 The Golden Sandal 2 Goldilocks 176 The Gospel Cinderella 82 Goudvis, A. 56 Greene, Deric 103 Greene, Ellin 77, 83 Grimm, the Brothers 29, 44, 57, 106, 164, 186 Grimm Fairy Tales 2, 93 Grobler, Piet 162 Gutierrez, Mariela 134 Hage, Ghassan 4 Hall, Maurice 102 Hall, Stuart 14, 24, 45, 52 Hamilton, Virginia 87, 101 Hansel and Gretel 44 Happily Ever After 174

Index Harlem Renaissance 14, 60 Harris, Joel Chandler 155, 177 Harris, Violet 2 Harrison, Hulbert 68 Hart-Cellar Immigration Act of 1965 64 Harvey, S. 56 Haskins, Jim 60 Hendriks, Maria 162 Herman, David 45, 51 Herskovits, Melville 152 Hickey, Dennis 9, 34 Hickox, Rebecca 2, 87 Hill, Christine 60 Hirsch, E.D. 4 Holloway, Joseph 155 Honeyghan, Glasceta 104 hooks, bell 2, 194 Howarth, William 33 Huck, Charlotte 80 Huggan, Graham 33 Hughes, Langston 60, 67 Hurston, Zora Neale 60 Hutcheon, Linda 63 Hynds, Susan 225 immigrants 63 international children’s literature 56 The Irish Cinderlad 83 Isadora, Rachel 44, 166 Iser, Wolfgang 46 Jackson, Ellen 2 Jacobs, Joseph 75 James, Cynthia 103 Jim Crow 68, 129 John Henry 13 Johnson, Angela 205 Journeys with Elijah 13 Kasinitz, Philip 64 Keats, Ezra Jack 223 Kennedy, James 121, 131 Kidd, Christopher 194 Kiefer, Barbara 164 Kimmel, Eric 156 Klieman, Kairn 194 Kuntz, Patricia 50 Kurtz, John 201 Ladson-Billings, Gloria 2, 197 Lang, Andrew 75 Larrick, Nancy 57, 188

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Latin America 118 Lee, James Kyung-Jin 61 The Legend of Chico Rey 118 Lenox, Mary 193 Leola and the Honeybear 201 Lester, Neal 193 Lester, Paul 174 Levine, Gail Carson 2, 60 Levine, Lawrence 128 Levy, Michael 78 Lewis, Cynthia 168 The Lion and the Mouse 26, 31, 35 The Little Match Girl 14, 44 The Little Mermaid 202 Little Red Riding Hood 14, 86, 159, 176, 190 Logan, Mawuena Kossi 105 Lowell, Susan 1 Lupton, Mary Jane 80 MacCann, Donnarae 105 The Magic Circle 2 Mahurt, Sarah 106 Makwelane and the Crocodile 162 Mamdani, Mahmood 192 Manna, Anthony 20 Marshall, Elizabeth 7 Marshall, Emily Zobel 154 Martin, Michelle 18 Martin-Ogunsola, Dellita 118, 135 masks 159, 170 McDermott, Gerald 156, 223 McKay, Claude 68 McKissack, Fredrick 216 McKissack, Lisa Beringer 60 McKissack, Patricia 25, 166, 190, 201 McNair, Jonda 196 Melendez, Carlos 133 melting pot 4 Midnight 88 Milner, Joseph 216 Minters, Frances 2 Minty 13 Mirandy and Brother Wind 13 Mitchell, Elvis 183 Moffett, J. 129 Moore, Richard 68 Morpholog y of the Folktale 45 Morrison, Toni 95, 214 Mosby, Dorothy 133 motifs 20, 79, 82 Mouse & Lion 37

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Index

Moynihan, Sinead 14 Mufaro’s Beautiful Daughters 78, 83 Mulan 174 multicultural discourse 5 multicultural literature 43, 202, 222 multiculturalism 1, 54 My Dog Rinty 69 Naidoo, Beverly 34, 166 Napoli, Donna Jo 2 Napoli, Mary 43 narratology 45, 51 Nash, Claudia 191 Natov, Roni 84 El Negro en Costa Rica 133 Nelson Mandela 164 The New Dictionary of Cultural Literacy 4 The New World Negro 152 The Nightingale 14, 20, Nodelman, Perry 39, 46, 57, 169 Nomi and the Magic Fish 77, 83 Nwangi, Evan 40 Okpewho, Isidore 118 The Old African 13 Onyefulu, Obi 83 Opoku-Agyemang, N. J. 104 O’Sullivan, Emer 53 The Ox of the Wonderful Horns 74 The Patchwork Quilt 13 Perkel, Stephanie 88 Perrault, Charles 74, 81, 164 Petioni, Charles Augustin 65 Pewewardy, C. 35 Phelan, Jim 46 The Pied Piper of Hamelin 62 Pinkney, Brian 81 Pinkney, Jerry 13, 31, 81 Pocahontas 174 post-colonial Africa 51 Pretty Salma 159 The Prince and the Pond 2 Prince Cinders 2 The Princess and the Frog 174 The Princess and the Pea 44, 51 Princess Furball 80 Propp, Vladimir 46 Puss in Boots 87 Querino, Manuel Raimundo 120

Rabaka, Reiland 5 Rabbits’ Wedding 212 Rabinowitz, Peter 46 Rapunzel 44 Ratcliff, Anthony 102 Rattray, R.S. 145 Ravitch, Diane 4 Reimer, Mavis 57, 169 Reisman, Avishag 197 Reuckert, William 41 Rey, Chico 120 Richardson, Brian 46 Rio, Al 2 Rode, Linda 165 Roney, R. Craig 129 Rosales, Melodye 201 Rosenberg, Donna 119 Ross, Susan 174 Rudman, Masha 2, 55, 106, 168 Rumpelstiltskin 101 Salkey, Andrew 105 San Souci, Robert 81, 201 Schlossberg, Linda 24 Schroeder, Alan 2, 60 Scieszka, Jon 202 Sekayi, Dia 193 semiotic transmediation 49, 54 Serafini, Frank 113 Shadow and Substance 3, 54 Shearer, Marilyn 186 Shelley-Robinson, Cherrell 103 Shenandoah, Leon 40 Sherlock, Philip M. 154 Shimmy Shimmy Shimmy Like My Sister Kate 60 Shockley, Kmt 196 Shusterman, Neal 2 Sierra, Judy 87 Sipe, Lawrence 46 Sleeping Beauty 86 Sleeter, Christine 2 Sloan, Ann 74 Smith, Katharine Capshaw 105 Smoky Mountain Rose 2 Snow White 176, 186 Song, Min Hyoung 61 Song of the South 175 South Africa 35, 169 Spatialization 49 Spinners 2 Spitz, E. 28

Index steel drum music 69 The Steel Pan Man of Harlem 62 Stefancic, Jean 197 Steiner, Stan 191 Stephens, John 2, 51, 56 Steptoe, John 76, 84 Stevens, Janet 156 Stewart, Lorraine 216 Stewart, Marian 104 The Stinky Cheese Man 202 Storace, Patricia 101 Storyteller 146, 222 Strange Future 61 Sugarcane Girl 101 Sullivan, C.W. 48, 56 Survey Graphic 68 Swartz, E. 9 Tales Told in Togoland 151 The Talking Eggs 80, 201 Tanna, Laura 104 Tanya’s Reunion 13 Tarpley, Natasha 93 Tarry, Ellen 69 Tate, Eleanora E. 60 Tate, William 7 Taxel, Joel 1, 57, 106 Tedesco, Ralph 2 Tehrani, Jamie 165 Their Eyes Were Watching God 60, 96 Things Fall Apart 159 Thomas, Joyce Carol 82, 92, 97 Thompson, Stith 75, 83 Three Little Bears 211 Three Little Pigs 188 Tiffin, Helen 33, 128 Toads and Diamonds 81 Tokio Jokio 176 Toning the Sweep 205 A Treasury of African Folklore 117 Turner, James 5 The Twelve Dancing Princesses 44, 51 Tyler, Joe 2 The Ugly Duckling 44 Ukala, Sam 78

Uncle Remus 177 universal culture 5 Universal Negro Improvement 60 universal themes 15 Urban Triage 61 Vardell, Sylvia 74 variants 74, 164, 202 vernacular 205 Vernon, V.S. 32 Vital, A. 34 Vygotsky, Lev 31 Walker, Felicia 103 Wall, Steve 40 Walrond, Eric 68 Wanley, Nathaniel 62 Warhol, Robyn 46 Warner Brothers 175 Warner-Lewis, Maureen 112 Watkins-Owens, Irma 68 Wattle, Jesse 65 West Africa 102, 146, 160, 205 When the Nightingale Sings 93, 97 Why Mosquitoes Buzz 223 Wilhem, Jeffery 225 Williams, Garth 212 Williams, Joan 56 Wineburg, Sam 197 Winkler, Erin 224 The Wonderful Wizard of Oz 178 Woodson, Carter G. 145 World War II 64 Wright, Richard 204 Wylie, Kenneth 9 Yenika-Agbaw, Vivian 7, 43, 114, 168 Yeoman, Elizabeth 88 Young, Terrell 102 You’re a Sap, Mr. Jap 176 Zel 2 Zipes, Jack 20, 55, 223

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