Woodson, Jacqueline. brown girl dreaming. USA: Nancy Paulsen Books, 2014.

I am a little late to be reviewing this title. The starred reviews are out there. The National Book Award has already been won. I don’t need to tell anyone that this lyrical story told in verse is breathtaking. So I will just mention briefly my take aways, and why I will talk it to my kids.

I love from the very beginning how Woodson surrounds the story of her birth with the story of the history of the time. She focuses on the civil rights events that frame her entrance into the world. She remembers the men and women who fought. She wonders if her hands will like Malcolm’s, Martin’s, James’s, Rosa’s, or Ruby’s. Beautiful. She further develops the interweaving of the civil rights movement in the very geography of her childhood. Her father’s family from Ohio, proud to be of the North. Her mother’s from South Carolina - living within the restraints of the South with grace, faith, and dignity. Her mother - forging a new life in Brooklyn, New York. Woodson eloquently relays how she feels at home in both Greenville and Brooklyn and not really at home in either all of the time. In a sense, this will be a history lessons for the students who read it.

I love how she talked about her growth as a writer. From her fascination with letters and words before she could even form them to her love of a blank composition book. From hours spent telling her grandpa stories to distract her when he is ill to her handmade book of poetry about butterflies. She overcomes her struggles with reading and learning and follows that dream that she wishes for from the time she begins to dream. What an example her story will be to my students who dream and my students who struggle. They will be inspired by her.

I love how well I got to know her family. I loved them all and appreciate so much her reflections of their impact on her childhood and adulthood. Again, this will be a thought provoking aspect of this book for the students who read it, who are often just irritated by the adults in their lives.

I could go on and on. I could talk about how I felt inspired to revisit my own childhood. How I wondered how accurately I could trace the variety of influences that have shaped me. How I have always wished to be a writer and love, love, love a new blank notebook. But none of those things necessarily have to do with the library world in which I work. Except that - this enthusiasm I feel - my kids will respond to. I can’t wait.