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Brown Girl Dreaming, by Jacqueline Woodson
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Jacqueline Woodson's National Book Award and Newbery Honor winner, now available in paperback with 7 all-new poems.
A President Obama "O" Book Club pick
Raised in South Carolina and New York, Woodson always felt halfway home in each place. In vivid poems, she shares what it was like to grow up as an African American in the 1960s and 1970s, living with the remnants of Jim Crow and her growing awareness of the Civil Rights movement. Touching and powerful, each poem is both accessible and emotionally charged, each line a glimpse into a child’s soul as she searches for her place in the world. Woodson’s eloquent poetry also reflects the joy of finding her voice through writing stories, despite the fact that she struggled with reading as a child. Her love of stories inspired her and stayed with her, creating the first sparks of the gifted writer she was to become.
Includes 7 new poems, including "Brown Girl Dreaming".
�
Praise for Jacqueline Woodson:
A 2016 National Book Award finalist for her adult novel, ANOTHER BROOKLYN
"Ms. Woodson writes with a sure understanding of the thoughts of young people, offering a poetic, eloquent narrative that is not simply a story . . . but a mature exploration of grown-up issues and self-discovery.”—The New York Times Book Review
- Sales Rank: #2958 in Books
- Brand: Puffin Books
- Published on: 2016-10-11
- Released on: 2016-10-11
- Format: Deckle Edge
- Original language: English
- Number of items: 1
- Dimensions: 8.25" h x .91" w x 5.63" l, .82 pounds
- Binding: Paperback
- 368 pages
- Puffin Books
Review
* “The writer’s passion for stories and storytelling permeates the memoir, explicitly addressed in her early attempts to write books and implicitly conveyed through her sharp images and poignant observations seen through the eyes of a child. Woodson’s ability to listen and glean meaning from what she hears lead to an astute understanding of her surroundings, friends, and family.” — Publishers Weekly, STARRED REVIEW
* “Mesmerizing journey through [Woodson’s] early years. . . . Her perspective on the volatile era in which she grew up is thoughtfully expressed in powerfully effective verse. . . . With exquisite metaphorical verse Woodson weaves a patchwork of her life experience . . . that covers readers with a warmth and sensitivity no child should miss. This should be on every library shelf.” — School Library Journal, STARRED REVIEW
* “Woodson cherishes her memories and shares them with a graceful lyricism; her lovingly wrought vignettes of country and city streets will linger long after the page is turned. For every dreaming girl (and boy) with a pencil in hand (or keyboard) and a story to share.” — Kirkus Reviews, STARRED REVIEW
* “[Woodson’s] memoir in verse is a marvel, as it turns deeply felt remembrances of Woodson’s preadolescent life into art. . . . Her mother cautions her not to write about her family but, happily, many years later, she has and the result is both elegant and eloquent, a haunting book about memory that is itself altogether memorable. — Booklist, STARRED REVIEW
* “A memoir-in-verse so immediate that readers will feel they are experiencing the author’s childhood right along with her. . . . Most notably of all, perhaps, we trace her development as a nascent writer, from her early, overarching love of stories through her struggles to learn to read through the thrill of her first blank composition book to her realization that ‘words are [her] brilliance.’ The poetry here sings: specific, lyrical, and full of imagery. An extraordinary—indeed brilliant—portrait of a writer as a young girl.” — The Horn Book, STARRED REVIEW
* “The effect of this confiding and rhythmic memoir is cumulative, as casual references blossom into motifs and characters evolve from quick references to main players. . . . Revealing slices of life, redolent in sight, sound, and emotion. . . . Woodson subtly layers her focus, with history and geography the background, family the middle distance, and her younger self the foreground. . . . Eager readers and budding writers will particularly see themselves in the young protagonist and recognize her reveling in the luxury of the library and unfettered delight in words. . . . A story of the ongoing weaving of a family tapestry, the following of an individual thread through a gorgeous larger fabric, with the tacit implication that we’re all traversing such rich landscapes. It will make young readers consider where their own threads are taking them.” — The Bulletin of the Center for Children's Books, STARRED REVIEW
* “Woodson uses clear, evocative language. . . . A beautifully crafted work.” — Library Media Connection, STARRED REVIEW
About the Author
Jacqueline Woodson�(www.jacquelinewoodson.com) is the 2014 National Book Award Winner for her�New York Times�bestselling memoir�Brown Girl Dreaming, which was also a recipient of the Coretta Scott King Award, a Newbery Honor Award, the NAACP Image Award and the Sibert Honor Award. Woodson was recently named the Young People’s Poet Laureate by the Poetry Foundation. She is the author of more than two dozen award-winning books for young adults, middle graders and children; among her many accolades, she is a four-time Newbery Honor winner, a three-time National Book Award finalist, and a two-time Coretta Scott King Award winner. Her books�include�The Other Side,�Each Kindness, the Caldecott Honor Book�Coming on Home Soon; the Newbery Honor winners�Feathers,�Show Way, and�After Tupac and D Foster, and�Miracle’s Boys�which received the�LA Times�Book Prize and the Coretta Scott King Award and was adapted into a miniseries directed by Spike Lee. Jacqueline is also the recipient of the Margaret A. Edwards Award for lifetime achievement for her contributions to young adult literature, the winner of the Jane Addams Children’s Book Award, �the 2013 United States nominee for the Hans Christian Andersen Award, and a 2016 National Book Award finalist for her adult novel Another Brooklyn. She lives with her family in Brooklyn, New York.
Excerpt. � Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
february 12, 1963
I am born on a Tuesday at the University Hospital
Columbus, Ohio
USA—
a country caught
between Black and White.
I am born not long from the time
or far from the place
where
my great, great grandparents
worked the deep rich land
unfree
dawn till dusk
unpaid
drank cool water from scooped out gourds
looked up and followed
the sky’s mirrored constellation
to freedom.
I am born as the south explodes,
too many people too many years
enslaved then emancipated
but not free, the people
who look like me
keep fighting
and marching
and getting killed
so that today—
February 12, 1963
and every day from this moment on,
brown children, like me, can grow up
free. Can grow up
learning and voting and walking and riding
wherever we want.
I am born in Ohio but
the stories of South Carolina already run
like rivers
through my veins.
second daughter’s second day on earth
�
My birth certificate says: Female Negro
Mother: Mary Anne Irby, 22, Negro
Father: Jack Austin Woodson, 25, Negro
�
In Birmingham, Alabama, Martin Luther King Jr.
is planning a march on Washington, where
John F. Kennedy is president.
In Harlem, Malcolm X is standing on a soapbox
talking about a revolution.
�
Outside the window of University Hospital,
snow is slowly falling. So much already
covers this vast Ohio ground.
�
In Montgomery, only seven years have passed
since Rosa Parks refused
to give up
her seat on a city bus.
�
I am born brown-skinned, black-haired
and wide-eyed.
I am born Negro here and Colored there
�
and somewhere else,
the Freedom Singers have linked arms,
their protests rising into song:
Deep in my heart, I do believe
that we shall overcome someday.
�
and somewhere else, James Baldwin
is writing about injustice, each novel,
each essay, changing the world.
�
I do not yet know who I’ll be
what I’ll say
how I’ll say it . . .
�
Not even three years have passed since a brown girl
named Ruby Bridges
walked into an all-white school.
Armed guards surrounded her while hundreds
of white people spat and called her names.
�
She was six years old.
�
I do not know if I’ll be strong like Ruby.
I do not know what the world will look like
when I am finally able to walk, speak, write . . .
Another Buckeye!
the nurse says to my mother.
Already, I am being named for this place.
Ohio. The Buckeye State.
My fingers curl into fists, automatically
This is the way, my mother said,
of every baby’s hand.
I do not know if these hands will become
Malcolm’s—raised and fisted
or Martin’s—open and asking
or James’s—curled around a pen.
I do not know if these hands will be
Rosa’s
or Ruby’s
gently gloved
and fiercely folded
calmly in a lap,
on a desk,
around a book,
ready
to change the world . . .
�
�
�
it’ll be scary sometimes
�
My great-great-grandfather on my father’s side
was born free in Ohio,
�
1832.
�
Built his home and farmed his land,
then dug for coal when the farming
wasn’t enough. Fought hard
in the war. His name in stone now
on the Civil War Memorial:
�
William J. Woodson
United States Colored Troops,
Union, Company B 5th Regt.
�
A long time dead but living still
among the other soldiers
on that monument in Washington, D.C.
�
His son was sent to Nelsonville
lived with an aunt
�
William Woodson
the only brown boy in an all-white school.
�
You’ll face this in your life someday,
my mother will tell us
over and over again.
A moment when you walk into a room and
�
no one there is like you.
�
It’ll be scary sometimes. But think of William Woodson
and you’ll be all right.
�
�
�
the beginning
�
I cannot write a word yet but at three,
I now know the letter J
love the way it curves into a hook
that I carefully top with a straight hat
the way my sister has taught me to do. Love
the sound of the letter and the promise
that one day this will be connected to a full name,
�
my own
�
that I will be able to write
�
by myself.
�
Without my sister’s hand over mine,
making it do what I cannot yet do.
�
How amazing these words are that slowly come to me.
How wonderfully on and on they go.
�
Will the words end, I ask
whenever I remember to.
�
Nope, my sister says, all of five years old now,
and promising me
�
infinity.
�
�
�
hair night
�
Saturday night smells of biscuits and burning hair.
Supper done and my grandmother has transformed
the kitchen into a beauty shop. Laid across the table
is the hot comb, Dixie Peach hair grease,
horsehair brush, parting stick
and one girl at a time.
Jackie first, my sister says,
our freshly washed hair damp
and spiraling over toweled shoulders
and pale cotton nightgowns.
She opens her book to the marked page,
curls up in a chair pulled close
to the wood-burning stove, bowl of peanuts in her lap.
The words
in her books are so small, I have to squint
to see the letters. Hans Brinker or The Silver Skates.
The House at Pooh Corner. Swiss Family Robinson.
Thick books
dog-eared from the handing down from neighbor
to neighbor. My sister handles them gently,
marks the pages with torn brown pieces
of paper bag, wipes her hands before going
beyond the hardbound covers.
Read to me, I say, my eyes and scalp already stinging
from the tug of the brush through my hair.
And while my grandmother sets the hot comb
on the flame, heats it just enough to pull
my tight curls straighter, my sister’s voice
wafts over the kitchen,
past the smell of hair and oil and flame, settles
like a hand on my shoulder and holds me there.
I want silver skates like Hans’s, a place
on a desert island. I have never seen the ocean
but this, too, I can imagine—blue water pouring
over red dirt.
As my sister reads, the pictures begin forming
as though someone has turned on a television,
lowered the sound,
pulled it up close.
Grainy black-and-white pictures come slowly at me
Deep. Infinite. Remembered
�
On a bright December morning long ago . . .
�
My sister’s clear soft voice opens up the world to me.
I lean in
so hungry for it.
�
Hold still now, my grandmother warns.
So I sit on my hands to keep my mind
off my hurting head, and my whole body still.
But the rest of me is already leaving,
the rest of me is already gone.
�
�
�
the butterfly poems
�
No one believes me when I tell them
I am writing a book about butterflies,
even though they see me with the Childcraft encyclopedia
heavy on my lap opened to the pages where
the monarch, painted lady, giant swallowtail and
queen butterflies live. Even one called a buckeye.
�
When I write the first words
Wings of a butterfly whisper . . .
�
no one believes a whole book could ever come
from something as simple as
butterflies that don’t even, my brother says,
live that long.
�
But on paper, things can live forever.
On paper, a butterfly
never dies.
Most helpful customer reviews
89 of 92 people found the following review helpful.
Jacqueline Woodson's BROWN GIRL DREAMING is a literary gift
By Cyrus Webb
Less than one day.
That is how long it took me to take the journey with Jacqueline Woodson through her book BROWN GIRL DREAMING---and boy was it worth every moment.
Woodson has a way of telling a story through words that is a true gift. Whether utilzing the simplicity of the Haiku like HOW TO LISTEN (Even the silence * has a story to tell you. * Just listen. Listen) or sharing a narrative about God, Family or Herself, we are able to get snapshots into what helped her become the woman she is today.
There are the clever poems about her identity and wanting an afro as well as the realization of wanting to be a writer and how some might see that as not wanting enough. There are the poems I can definitely connect with about Faith and God and wanting to please Him---and not wanting to leave others that we love behind.
Throughout it all there is hope: something that is not always easy to hold on to when you are going through challenges both inside and outside yourself---but it is definitely necessary if you are going to survive.
Brimming with nostalgia and a real grasp of the power of words, BROWN GIRL DREAMING is the realization of a dream for readers.
7 of 7 people found the following review helpful.
Real. Honest. Gorgeous Prose.
By CS
There is something so very real, honest, and about Jacqueline Woodson’s writing, regardless of what she’s writing about in “Brown Girl Dreaming.” Her prose contains heartrending stories, thoughts, musings, and emotions ranging from bliss to anger. There’s a childlike purity in her work, these snippets of thoughts that tell her story, stories… the story of her family, friends, her beliefs, her religion.
Growing up in the south in an era where so much change was taking place, where children were surrounded from the outside with the message to be proud, and where the message from the older generation was still to avoid eye contact, you might expect more anger, more focus on the ugly side of that time. It’s not glossed over, it’s that the focus for those years shared in “Brown Girl Dreaming” is love for the place, the people and her memories. The nostalgia is sweet without sacrificing any truth, her power in the restraint she shows.
“The first time I write my full name Jacqueline Amanda Woodson without anybody’s help on a clean white page in composition notebook, I know if I wanted to I could write anything. Letters becoming words, words gathering meaning, becoming thoughts outside my head becoming sentences written by Jacqueline Amanda Woodson.”
This is the story of one girl finding her voice.
This is also the story of a part of America’s racial history.
This is Woodson’s story, but it’s also a story that is part of all of us.
“The people who came before me worked so hard to make this world a better place for me. I know my work is to make the world a better place for those coming after. As long as I can remember this, I can continue to do the work I was put here to do.”
13 of 14 people found the following review helpful.
A Childhood Beautifully Written
By Kem White
This book came to my notice because it just won the National Book Award. I wanted to see what an award-winning young person's book was like. The book itself is a delightful childhood biography as young Jacqueline grows up in South Carolina and New York City. The book is written in free verse. It wasn't till I was halfway through that I realized that this was the perfect way to write it as everyone remembers their childhood as small vignettes, not as lengthy, continuing narrative. And while her young life is thoroughly ordinary, the stories she remembers imbues her childhood with a warmth and "extraordinariness" that's undeniable. Probably everyone's childhood would be seen this way if we only stopped to reflect and remember our stories and the people in them. To be honest, I'd like to meet the child who would relish this nonfiction biography. Hopefully, African American children could relate. Jacqueline grew up during the Civil Rights era. But with many kids today having a fast-paced video game mentality, would they slow down to savor the beautiful writing and stories in this book? I hope so. It's definitely worth the effort. Highly recommended for children especially if read and reread aloud. Recommended for adults - particularly aging boomers - as we look back on our extraordinary, ordinary lives.
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