The Inaugural Walter Dean Myers Awards

The Walter Award winner. L to R: Brendan Kiely, Jason Reynolds,
Kekla Magoon, Ilyasah Shabazz, Margarita Engle.

On Friday morning, We Need Diverse Books (WNDB) presented the inaugural Walter Dean Myers Awards for Outstanding Children’s Literature at the Library of Congress.  The Walter (as it is often called) was awarded to Jason Reynolds and Brendan Kiely for All American Boys. Two Walter Honor Books were named: Enchanted Air by Margarita Engle; and X: A Novel by Ilyasah Shabazz and Kekla Magoon.

WNDB President Ellen Oh

Ellen Oh, President and CEO of WNDB, spoke briefly about the award and the gorgeous setting for the ceremony, noting, “We walk in the footsteps of giants, many of whom are in this room.” Author Jon Scieszka, the first-ever National Ambassador for Young People’s Literature, spoke about his memories of Walter Dean Myers, noting: "Walter could do the talk, if he had to, but he was really a doer." He then turned the program over to host Christopher Myers, the award namesake’s son and a multi award-winning author/illustrator himself, who spoke about the various fights involved in creating children's literature that reflects our world.  "We are fighters here, and this is where the fight happens: In an exchange of ideas," said Myers.

Walter Honor recipient Margarita Engle

In her acceptance speech, Margarita Engle said, “Being misunderstood is a writer’s greatest nightmare. And to be understood is a dream.” After reading a poem from Enchanted Air, Engle spoke about the historically tense relationship between the US and Cuba, noting, “When I was a student, it was easier for a US citizen to walk on the moon than to visit Cuba... I hope [Enchanted Air] will not just speak to Latinos... but also to readers from other backgrounds who might feel like a bridge or a storm for any reason.”

Walter Honor recipient Ilyasah Shabazz

Kekla Magoon shared a question that she and Ilyasah Shabazz have frequently been asked: With The Autobiography of Malcolm X being widely read, why do we need a book about the first 14 years of the Civil Rights activist’s life? As Magoon said, even when things are bad, young people have the power to make a change in their lives, a capacity that Malcolm X exemplifies. As Magoon and Shabazz were set to receive their awards, Shabazz returned to the microphone and delivered one of the day’s most powerful statements, directed at adults who work with children: “When young people are in pain, they don’t always make the best decisions. That’s what happened to my father and that’s why we need adults to see the beauty in, and invest in, our kids.”

In his acceptance, Brendan Kiely called for change, both in the world of children's literature and in the larger world.  "This is one of the most dangerously powerful aspects of privilege--the privilege to look away, to choose NOT to engage.  Just as the statistics clearly expose the injustice in the world of law enforcement, the numbers are starkly apparent in book publishing, too.  We need a more diverse workforce, a more diverse array of book reviewers and books reviewed, and a much larger pool of diverse authors getting published regularly."

Jason Reynolds added, "We need stories that appeal to the diversity inside us.  I am not a monolith."

Walter Award winners Brendan Kiely and
Jason Reynolds read Bad Boy by Walter Dean Myers.

"The most exciting thing about The Walter Awards," said Chris Myers, "is that we get to define what is is we're looking for.  It's nice to define our own standards, to have a hand in creating our own Canon."

-by Sam Bloom and Allie Jane Bruce

The Long Haul

Image by Lisa Nowlain

It’s 2016.

It’s 2016 and the increased attention given to discussion of multicultural literature, race, and racism in children’s and young adult literature over the past two years, including the launch and ongoing work of We Need Diverse Books (which looks at all aspects of diversity), and important if sometimes painful discussions of books like A Fine Dessert and A Birthday Cake for George Washington, among others, feels like a turning point of some kind.

Maybe it’s social media and the internet, which has enabled the discussion to extend farther within and beyond the world of children’s and young adult books. Maybe it’s that we’re starting to see effort to create tangible and meaningful change to the status quo. School Library Journal’s commitment diversifying its reviewers is one example of this. So, too, is its launch of Indie Voices, a quarterly review of self-published books reflecting diversity, which builds on the important work of author, activist, and scholar Zetta Elliott, who has been calling attention to the possibilities and importance of self-publishing for some time.

And yet this increased visibility comes with an increased sense of resentment, sometimes vague, sometimes overt. Why are activists calling for changes and challenging racism in children’s and young adult literature so demanding, so radical, so angry, so sensitive, so unwilling to give kids credit? And why can’t we understand that change takes time?

I want to talk about that one in particular.  That change takes time.

It’s true. Change does take time.

But it’s 2016. And as we look at recent, welcome examples of change and progress, it’s important to understand and remember that this work—to get more books published that authentically reflect the diverse lives of children and teens, to get those in the children’s and young adult book world who are gatekeepers in one way or another to do something that is not only meaningful but lasting—has been going on for a long time.  A very long time.

Many people reading this blog know that. They know it because they’ve been part of the effort for years. Sometimes decades.

But not everyone knows—or acknowledges—that everything happening today, right now, has grown out of activism that stretches back years. Not a few years. Not ten or twenty. Not even fifty. Nancy Larrick’s 1965 Saturday Review article “The All-White World of Children’s Books” wasn’t the starting point, either.

Everything happening today is part of an ongoing effort that spans at least ninety years. Think of Pura Belpré, reaching out to the immigrant communities in New York City in the 1920s, and eventually writing books reflective of her Puerto Rican culture, which many of them shared. Think of Augusta Baker and Charlamae Hill Rollins, both advocating for collections reflecting diversity and the lives of children and teens in the mid-twentieth century. This foundational work took place long before the Larrick article, which articulated a reality with which families of color and First/Native Nations had been aware for years and years.

In 1980, the now-defunct Council on Interracial Books for Children published a checklist for evaluating books for racism and sexism. It was published in their Bulletin and has been reprinted and republished in print and online over the past 36 years. Many others have offered culturally-specific insight into racism in children’s books.

And yet stereotypes and racism persist, not occasionally, but consistently.

Add to all of this the numerous books and articles that have been written—and continue to be written—by scholars, librarians, and teachers, not to mention the commitment of activist authors, artists and publishers (Children’s Book Press, Just Us Books, and Lee and Low, to name a few) across more recent decades, and a detailed picture begins to develop of a struggle for change that has more than paid its dues. And sure, we can point to progress, but when we're having some of the same discussions and conversations and arguments we were having ten and twenty and thirty and fifty and more years ago, we can also point to systemic and, yes, willful resistance to change.

Yes, change takes time. But the long haul has already happened, and there is still so far to go.

That’s maddening, to say the least.

If you want a refresher, or want to learn more, about the history of activism around multicultural literature, here are some people and efforts to start reading about (please add your own suggestions in the comments):

•  Augusta Baker
•  Pura Belpré
• Rudine Sims Bishop
• Council on Interracial Books for Children
• Daniel Duran
• Violet Harris
• Coretta Scott King Task Force
• Debbie Reese
• Charlamae Hill Rollins
• Barbara Rollock
• Isabel Schon
• Doris Seale and Beverly Slapin

And the "Kindred Spirits," listed to the right, are among many who are ensuring the work continues.

Finally, when people of color and First/Native Nations and allies demand more multicultural books, and authentic multicultural books, when they call out racism when they see it, they are doing more than advocating for books, they are advocating for the lives of children and teens.

None of us should ever forget that.

(Check out the We Need Diverse Books “Looking Back” series for more history.)

"The All-Too-Familiar Fog of White Authenticating"

Thank you to Lisa Nowlain for our new blogger portraits!

A couple weeks ago I presented online to a class at San Jose State University's SLIS program.  The class was Info 263, "Materials for Children," taught by Elizabeth Wrenn-Estes, who asked me to speak to our work on this blog, and my approaches to critical analysis of children's literature.

There were a few late questions that I didn't have time to answer, and rather than write an email back to the class, I thought I'd try to answer them here.  Some of you may be able to add other thoughts, and I'm hoping some of the class might continue the discussion.

Nina, since so many book reviewers are white, do you think that books written by non-whites will get the same chance at a good review as white authors?

Statistically, in reality? No. Because white people don't "get" everything in stories by people of color or First Nations/Native people.  I've learned so much from people taking the trouble to point out some very obvious things to me.  For instance, long ago I presented an oral review (thank goodness I hadn't published it) in which I complained the pacing was "off" in a picture book because the protagonist, on a journey, encountered four strangers, and it felt like one beat to many to me.  Someone graciously pointed out to me that in many cultures, things in stories happen in "fours" instead of the "threes" of most European traditions. 

Malinda Lo went into this from the writer's point of view last month on Twitter. She said "If you don't explain the context for non-Asian readers they won't get it. But if you over-explain you lose the storytelling tension." Numerous reactions prompted her to expand: 

Nina, how big of an impact do book reviewers have and do you think that a reviewer’s race has a large impact on what books get more publicity and recognition? Do you think that reviewers try to separate themselves from the race they identify with and look at the big picture when reviewing?

Getting any reviews at all definitely has an impact on selling book.  Even a negative review can help sell a book over no reviews at all, though of course it doesn't serve a book as well as a positive review. 

Given my thoughts about the first question above, I certainly think that the race and background of reviewers, as a whole, has a large impact on the recognition of books. On an individual case, theoretically, if we can each hold ourselves individually accountable to reading with an full understanding of our biases, it shouldn't.  But I think it has an exponential impact as you look at the entire publishing output.  If, collectively, we can gain momentum on our individual accountability, we should be able to shift that overall impact. Kirkus Reviews and School Library Journal are clearly making strides to hold themselves and reviewers accountable, especially since Lee & Low started collecting survey data for the Diversity Baseline Study. 

So how do you celebrate diversity without normalizing whiteness?

In the example I gave above about my cluelessness with a review, I was normalizing Whiteness; assuming that my knowledge as a White person was not based in any cultural or racial context, but was somehow "normal."  When you read for analysis, you should try to locate yourself...your own person with your own perspective...within your mind, and observe yourself reading and reacting to a text.  If you are White, you should examine that reaction and assume that not everyone experiences it that way.  "It's not all about you," is a mantra that works for me.  

I do think that normalizing Whiteness has gotten in the way of appreciations of many books by people of color.  It's hard to prove, but I feel like I've seen it enough, in Mock Newbery discussions, for instance, when a mostly White group starts comparing one excellent book with another.  Inevitably, some people "just feel" that Excellent Book A (by a White person) does "more" for them than Excellent Book B (by a person of color).  It probably does; and that's not the point. 

This has dangerous repercussions not just for the immediate reception to a book in its publishing year, but on what standards are set in the literature in general. Since my post on Jump Back Paul by Sally Derby, I've been reading more about Paul Laurence Dunbar.   Poet Kevin Young writes about him in his prize-winning collection of essays The Grey Album: On the Blackness of Blackness (Graywolf Press, 2012).  He talks of the famous review by White "tastemaker" William Dean Howells, which secured Dunbar's success in the White literary establishment.  This review praised Dunbar's dialect poems in a very particular way remains today the most accessible interpretation, repercussions of which can still be seen in Sally Derby's book, for instance, despite the fact that Black writers, like Young, have been offering alternative interpretations for decades. Young says "Howells's simple if not simplistic review is still appended to most editions of Dunbar, making it impossible to get to Dunbar without the all-too-familiar fog of white authenticating." 

Or, as students in the Oakland schools African American Male Achievement classes explained to me, it's "Matrix thinking."  Clear the fog, see through the Matrix.  It's not all about you, White people. 

Reviewing While White: Braids & Buns, Ponies & Pigtails; 50 Hairstyles "Every Girl" Will Love

by Allie Jane Bruce

Don't be fooled by the smiling East Asian girl on the cover of Braids & Buns, Ponies & Pigtails by Jenny Strebe (Chronicle, 2016).  This guide to hairstyles for "every girl" firmly centers Whiteness.

By page 13, I found 9 tips to help "minimize frizz" and make hair more "smooth" and "silky".  Strangely, though, when I perused the "Tools" section (p. 8-10), I saw that Strebe recommends curling irons and silk pillowcases, but not the hot combs, straightening irons, and oil/grease that much of the population would need to pull off these styles (including me--I'd need a bathtub of keratin).

By this time, I'd committed, so I spent a good chunk of tonight doing tallies (it's OK, I was listening to Hamilton the whole time).  Here's what I found:

107 photos of girls who present White
14 photos of girls who present Black
22 photos of girls who present East Asian
4 photos of girls who present South Asian

I'm using "present" deliberately above, as I recognize that I cannot know how a person racially identifies merely by looking at them.


For each hairstyle, the book provides information on the "Difficulty Level", "Ideal Hair", and "Accessories".  "Ideal hair" indicates what texture hair works best for the style, and includes terms like "straight" and "wavy".  Here's how many times the book describes the following hair textures as "Ideal":

Straight - 3
Straight to Wavy - 24
Silky - 1
Wavy to Curly - 10
Wavy - 1
Curly - 2
Straight to Curly - 2
Afro texture to medium coarseness - 1
Thick and curly texture - 1
Wavy to frizzy - 1



...yeah.

This book promotes itself as a resource for "Every Girl" (in the subtitle).  This book features "Braids" as the very first word (of the title).  Yet, nowhere will you find braids or cornrows on Black girls (the closest is a Black girl wearing "ropebraid pigtails").

I guess they didn't mean "those kinds of braids."

What of the Black girl with tightly curly hair who happens upon this book, reads the title and the subtitle, then flips through it to find that nearly three-fourths of the pictures are of White girls, that more than half of the styles describe "Ideal Hair" as "straight" or "straight to wavy", and that not a single image of Black braids or cornrows is to be found?  What messages is this sending her?

I think the message "straight, smooth hair is ideal" is definitely there, but that's only half the problem.

The other half is a tougher nut to crack, and it goes like this: "Black girls, we're going to Other you, and we will never, ever acknowledge that we're Othering you.  You're just not Every Girl."

Sure makes me grateful for books like Hair Dance! (by Dinah Johnson, with photos by Kelly Johnson, Henry Holt & Co, 2007) and Puffy: For People Whose Hair Defies Gravity (by Aya de León, CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform, 2013).  More like this, please (and feel free to leave more suggestions in the comments).

Writing Diversity While White

Megan: In the call for diverse literature, books by people of color and First/Native Nations are essential. But that doesn’t mean White writers are necessarily absolved from responsibility to reflect the diverse world of children and teens. Yet it’s thorny--we know it’s thorny--when it comes to representing characters and cultural experiences that are not one’s own. It’s can be a challenge to evaluate them, too, when you are an outsider to the experience being represented.

Recently Nina and I were talking about two middle grade novels by White authors who brought diversity into the stories by establishing the main characters as biracial (both were Latino/White girls): Moonpenny Island by Tricia Springstubb, and Unusual Chickens for the Exceptional Poultry Farmer by Kelly Jones. We appreciated both of these books, but in our discussions, found we had completely opposite reactions to which book we thought was more successful in terms of how it established and developed the diversity.

Nina: Yes! I read Unusual Chickens for the Exceptional Poultry Farmer first. I was impressed at how Jones incorporated aspects of Sophie/Sofecita’s culture and race into the story, but sometimes pieces felt inserted for expressly that purpose. For instance, when Sofecita goes into a “you must have had a hard time when you were young” aside to her Abuelita on page 75, we can tell this is where we’re supposed to learn something.  To me, Sophie’s biculturality never quite felt intrinsic to her as a character except to emphasize her situation as an outsider. It felt like an embellishment.

So when I read Moonpenny Island, I was wowed at how Springstubb uses biculturality to actually move the story.  It feel less explicit, yet more present, as it is the wedge between Flor’s parents, and her own divided feelings about island life.  

Megan:  And I had almost the exact opposite response.  I read Moonpenny Island first and appreciated Springstubb’s choice to make Flor biracial, but while we are told her mother is Latina, and there is a reference to Flor thinking about how it must feel for her mom to be the only Latino person on the island where they live, I didn’t find there was any deep development of the cultural dimension of their identity. There is an occasional Spanish word or phrase her mother uses, and the reference to Flor’s Dad once trying to learn Spanish. Her mom leaves to take care of her mother, Flor’s grandmother, and is staying with “the aunts.”

None of this was unrealistic to me but it felt a little bare bones. And interestingly I saw the wedge between Flor’s parents as being more about money and economics--they’re struggling financially and it creates a lot of stress and tension--and I thought this dimension of the story was marvelously developed and fully integrated.  

I agree, Nina, that Unusual Chickens… is more explicit but it also felt more authentic in the way Sophie’s bicultural identity and Mexican American heritage is part of who she is--deep down rather than surface. This is in part because a good portion of the story is told through letters to her Abuelita, and she is referencing family stories she’s been told, but it’s also in things like her awareness of being a brown-skinned child in a predominantly White community. Of seeing the boy riding past on his bike and noting that he is a “white boy.”

Nina: You are right that Sophie’s biculturality is much more a part of her character than is Flor’s.  But while Flor’s family’s culture is not deeply developed, I found it to be very firmly interwoven through the book, more than just the references you mention.  I think the first time we understand it is on page 17 when Flor thinks about the way her mother says her name. “No one else pronounces her name that exact way … it’s the way her name is meant to sound.”  We also understand that her mother’s family represents something she’s had to give up by moving to the island, there’s that bit on page 64-65 about how her mother behaves when they ride home to the island from a family visit that was very telling, and spoke to me of culture more than economics.

These are much more subtly presented than in Unusual Chickens, and ultimately I think both are valid; each book has such a different overall style, I think both presentations are warranted.  But because I was looking at these, when I read them, from a “Mock Newbery” frame of mind in which one might be pitted against the other, I did think about whether one presentation was better than the other.   I think, for instance, that many young White readers (especially those unfamiliar with Latino culture) may gloss over the passages in Moonpenny Island that I thought said so much about culture, because there’s nothing explicit. And from the opposite point of view, I wondered if Latino or bicultural readers would feel that Unusual Chickens was written towards a White readership, rather than towards them.  This is the point in my inquiry where I have to say, truly, I don’t know. The opposite read might also be true: that a bicultural reader might see through Moonpenny Island as a White writer’s good but ultimately limited attempt, and Unusual Chickens as refreshingly out there.  I appreciated Cindy Rodriguez’s take on it at Latin@s in Kid Lit.

Megan: I also wondered how the two books would read for cultural insiders. It’s interesting that you point to that scene in Moonpenny Island in which Flor describes how her mother says her name. Overall, it felt to me like Flor spoke about Latino identity in terms of her mom, rather than in terms of herself. But that scene did stand out to me as a vivid moment where Flor is really connected to something specific regarding their Latino identity as it impacts her.  But you are right that this may be an issue of subtlely, and also of not needing to narrate something that is so deeply ingrained for her.

By contrast, Sophie’s Latino identity is something she really owns and claims in Unusual Chickens. She is very aware not only of how it impacts her understanding of herself, but also how others may see her. For example, on page 133 when she goes to her first 4-H meeting: “...I took a deep breath and got ready to answer all kinds of questions as soon as I went in--who I was, when I came here, that I speak English just fine….” (Something I think the author did well are these occasional, small moments where stereotypes and racism are directly acknowledged and challenged.)

But your question of what bicultural or Latino readers would make of this versus me as a White reader is important to think about. So, too, are differences in family culture and individual personalities reflected in these stories. Sophie’s is a family where culture and identity and racism have been talked about--clearly. We see examples of it in the letters. We do not get as much evidence of that in Flor’s family, and yet Flor’s awareness of her mother’s unhappiness as being perhaps about more than money clearly came from somewhere.

I also think it’s important to acknowledge that these two books are different in every way except what we are discussing--that Flor and Sophie are both bicultural. The plots, the settings, the characters, the tone, and the modes of telling are completely distinct. Nothing about Unusual Chickens is subtle; everything about Moonpenny Island is, and this discussion has helped me appreciate how that subtlety can be seen as extending to the way Flor’s cultural identity is revealed and explored.

Nina: And this back and forth has also made me remember that there shouldn’t be one “best” way of writing this. Taking it back to the responsibility of White writers in general, I was curious to check in on how Springstubb and Jones present themselves on the issue.

Tricia Springstubb quotes her character Flor on the front page of her website: “I’ve never liked when people say, There’s more than meets the eye. Everything is visible, if we just know how to look. That’s why we’re here on this earth--to see as much as we can.” Then Springstubb goes on to say: “I’m a writer, so looking is my business. I try to see what’s in front of me, but what’s behind and underneath too. I try to work the hardest trick of all--seeing the world through someone else’s eyes. That’s where I discover the stories most worth telling.”

Kelly Jones includes this at the end of her “About” section of her website:

Curious about Kelly’s heritage?

Kelly is a white writer of Irish/Scottish/Welsh-American heritage. “Kelly” is a Gaelic name from her mother’s family; it means “warrior”. “Jones” is a very common Welsh name, and comes from her father’s family.

To respectfully write people who are not just like her, Kelly uses resources like Writing the Other: A Practical Approach by Nisi Shawl and Cynthia Ward, and asks cultural consultants for assistance. This assistance has been critical to writing good stories; a million, bazillion thanks to everyone who so generously helped her out!

I appreciate that both deliberately state their responsibility to write diversity, in ways as different as they’ve done it in their books.  

Thoughts on "But kids say this stuff!!!"

I frequently debate colleagues (in all spheres and via all media) on individual books’ merits/defects/quality/worthiness/appeal. With disturbing regularity, I raise a concern that a character has said or done something bigoted or racist, and that the book has not countered it. With disturbing regularity, I get a response along the lines of “but kids actually did/said/do/say this stuff!”

I scratch my head every time--does anyone think I don’t know that some kids play "Indian"? Or that some kids make fun of some accents? Or that some kids say or do hurtful things because it’s Tuesday? I was a kid, and I haven’t forgotten a thing. Also, I teach kids five days a week.

Accuracy is not the issue. When we see something problematic, we need to say, “that’s a problem.” Unless books name problematic content as such, they condone and perpetuate the problems.

Now, we can debate whether specific books name problematic content as such, or whether they don’t. I’ll have that conversation. I’ll also debate whether the author has done so seamlessly or clumsily, whether the hand of the author is visible or not. And I’ll gladly debate whether a flawed execution is a dealbreaker or forgivable.

You’ll lose me if I say “This is problematic and doesn’t name it as such” and you respond “Yes, but it’s accurate” (see also my comment on “yes, and” vs. “yes, but” here).

One example is the image of Grace as "Hiawatha" in Amazing Grace.

I'd never deny that some kids played and play "Indian" like this.  And I'll always assert that playing "Indian" like this is a problem.  And what messages does this image send to Native kids whose teachers read Grace aloud?  According to the American Psychological Association, "the continued use of American Indian mascots, symbols, images, and personalities establishes an unwelcome and often times hostile learning environment for American Indian students that affirms negative images/stereotypes that are promoted in mainstream society... the American Psychological Association supports and recommends the immediate retirement of American Indian mascots, symbols, images, and personalities by schools, colleges, universities, athletic teams, and organizations." Let's stop talking about accuracy and start talking about impact on kids.

Ed. 2/12 7:30am: I should mention that the U.S. 25th Anniversary Edition of Amazing Grace does not include this image.  I think this is a smart move, not to mention the right thing to do.

Lastly, take a hard look at that “kids actually do this” phrase. Who are “kids” in that sentence? It usually refers to kids who aren’t marginalized along the identifier being stereotyped or mocked. And that defense then reiterates the centering of non-marginalized kids. Which is the problem in the first place.

Believe it or not, I’m not arguing that we should erase the world’s problems from children’s literature. I don’t think books have the responsibility to present a problem-free world; in fact, I firmly believe that children's literature (and society as a whole) should be more upfront and direct about injustice and racism.

I’m not a fan of sugarcoating the world; I just like to point to the corrosive acid and say “hey, that’s not sugar.”

-Allie Jane Bruce

Diversity in Reviews: Behind the Scenes with SLJ's "Gatekeeper"

By Kiera Parrott

Few people like to think of themselves as gatekeepers—least of all librarians. Yet that’s exactly the position I found myself in a little over two years ago when I left my job in a children’s library, where I spent a large chunk of my days finding the right book for the right reader at the right time, to become the editor of School Library Journal (SLJ) reviews, where I now sit among a privileged minority of “experts,” “tastemakers,” and—yeah—gatekeepers, helping determine what books are good, great, even distinguished. Indeed, review editors can affect the larger conversation about books, selecting which titles merit professional evaluation—and which titles can be ignored. As Peter Parker’s Uncle Ben so sagely warned, “With great power comes great responsibility.” What does all of this mean for diversity and representation within the pages of our magazine? How do I, sitting in a potentially powerful and privileged spot within the publishing ecosystem, ensure that our reviews not only shine a light on a diverse array of authors, illustrators, and subjects, but also surface stereotypes, cultural inaccuracies or insensitivities, or other problematic elements in text or illustrations? 

SLJ publishes over 6,000 reviews every year—roughly 300 book reviews in every issue—almost all of them written by school or public librarians who work with kids and/or teens every day. Working with a team of three other book review editors, I must ensure that the reviews we publish are not merely grammatically correct and factually sound, but that they accurately and fairly describe and critique each work. In an ideal world with infinite reading time and no deadlines (If there is a heaven, I’m really hoping it’s this exactly), the other editors and I would read every single book we assigned from cover to cover. Realistically, beyond some of the picture books, most of the titles we send to our reviewers will not be fully read by an editor. As a result, we place an enormous amount of trust in our reviewers. We trust that they accurately describe the plot and characters. We trust that they carefully articulate both the positive and negative aspects of the writing, pacing, characterization, and so on. We trust that they recognize—and critique—stereotypes, caricatures, or culturally inaccurate or insensitive portrayals. But do they? And how would an editor who hasn’t read the book know if a reviewer missed something important? These are the kinds of questions that keep a review editor up at night.   

About a year ago, Jason Low of Lee & Low Books asked me what our pool of SLJ reviewers looked like in terms of demographics. “Huh…,” I said, staring into the middle distance, my mouth slightly agape. “I have no idea. In fact, I don’t think anyone has ever asked that question.” 

Why not? Well, I had a pretty fair guess. SLJ, like many other professional review journals, recruits a fair share of its reviewers from the ranks of the American Library Association (ALA) membership, specifically its two youth divisions, the Association for Library Service to Children (ALSC) and the Young Adult Library Services Association (YALSA), as well as the American Association of School Librarians (AASL). Anyone who’s ever attended an ALA conference or meeting can attest to the general homogeneity: it’s largely White and female. Still, I couldn’t get Jason’s question out of my head. Sure, we might not be all that surprised by the results, but couldn’t a deeper look at the makeup of SLJ reviewers help us better understand where we stood and where we may need to focus our recruitment efforts? And wouldn’t greater transparency—owning up to those statistics and actively working to change them—be one important step in our efforts to bring more and better diversity to library shelves and, in turn, young readers? 

Shortly after my conversation with Jason in late 2014, we sent out a survey to our active reviewer base (at that time, about 350 individuals) asking about their racial and ethnic background, age, regional location, sexual orientation, language(s) spoken, educational background, and gender—becoming one of the first participants in Lee & Low’s Diversity Baseline Survey. The survey was optional and anonymous. Approximately 250 reviewers responded, offering us unprecedented insight into their demographic makeup. When the results started rolling in, I’m sorry to say, I wasn’t all that surprised. Largely reflecting the overall statistics within the publishing world at large and professional reviewers specifically, at the time of the survey SLJ reviewers were largely White (88%), female (95%), and heterosexual (90%). 

Though sobering, the data was also incredibly powerful for formulating focused goals. Beyond the clear mission to do better overall, we now had at our fingertips specific statistics. For instance, it was excruciatingly obvious that we needed to recruit more people of color. Specifically, we found that we had zero reviewers who identified as Native American. Not a single person. That blew me away. Here was something unacceptable that we didn’t and couldn’t know before sending out the survey—and something we could actively remedy almost immediately. 

Over the following months, we made a conscious effort to diversify our corps of reviewers and target those areas where we knew we were especially weak. I’ll be honest, it’s not been as fast a process as I hoped. One of the requirements of being an SLJ reviewer is that you must be a librarian. Ideally, a working librarian with access to a wide ranging collection, and, even better, regular interactions with kids or teens. Though the profession is slowly becoming less homogenous, children’s and teen librarians still mostly look a whole lot like me: White, female, cisgender, heterosexual. 

Despite the challenges, we’ve seen some excellent progress. Anecdotally, I can tell you we’ve recruited over 150 new reviewers, many of them from a rich diversity of backgrounds. We’ve reached out to organizations like REFORMA and local chapters of the Black Caucus to recruit new reviewers. We created a website, forum, and a monthly newsletter for SLJ reviewers, which contains resources, training material, and best practices with a large focus on how to evaluate literature with an eye towards diversity and representation. We hold monthly online chats with our reviewers, often using those informal discussions as a way to talk about diversity and evaluation of literature. And, this summer, editor Shelley Diaz (recently promoted to lead the SLJ reviews team), will be organizing a free online course for reviewers centered on examining how we look at “diverse books,” how we recognize our own blinders or prejudices when it comes to book evaluation, and how we clearly articulate both praise and criticism in professional reviews. 

The next step is to gauge our progress: are we any more diverse now than when we first sent out the survey? That’s a relatively easy question to answer. We’ll look at the numbers and see how we’ve done; we plan to send a follow-up survey sometime in 2016-2017. But there’s another question that’s much harder to answer: how are our reviews doing? Are our reviewers better equipped to recognize and articulate positive and negative elements within text and illustrations? Are they spotting stereotypes and critically examining literature for bias? Are we, the review editors, doing everything we can to help support our reviewers in this essential work? Are we shining a spotlight on excellent titles from a diverse array of authors and illustrators? These questions are much trickier to answer. And they still keep this review editor up at night. 

Kiera Parrott is the reviews director for School Library Journal and Library Journal and a former children's librarian. Her favorite books are ones that make her cry—or snort—on public transportation.