Cover Reveal: My Year in the Middle, an MG by Lila Quintero Weaver

 

Dear friends: Today I’m excited to offer a sneak peak at my forthcoming middle-grade novel. This story comes straight out of my heart, and I can’t wait to share it with you! The release date is July 10, 2018.

Here is how my publisher, Candlewick Press, describes it:

Inspired by the author’s own story of growing up as an Argentinian immigrant in Alabama, My Year in the Middle introduces a sixth-grade girl with a newfound gift for running track—and a growing sense of racial injustice.

Lu Olivera just wants to keep her head down and get along with everyone in her class. Trouble is, Lu’s old friends have been changing lately—acting boy crazy and making snide remarks about Lu’s talent for running. Lu’s secret hope for a new friend is fellow runner Belinda Gresham, but in 1970 in Red Grove, Alabama, blacks and whites don’t mix. As segregationist ex-governor George Wallace ramps up his campaign against the current governor, Albert Brewer, growing tensions in the state—and the classroom—mean that Lu can’t stay neutral about the racial divide at school. Will Lu find the gumption to stand up for what’s right and to choose friends who do the same?

Three wonderful Latina authors took time out of their incredibly busy lives and wrote the following blurbs. I cannot thank them enough!

My Year in the Middle is both powerful and sensitive, offering a unique view of important historical events through the eyes of an immigrant girl who longs for social justice, friendship, and romance.” —Margarita Engle, Young People’s Poet Laureate and Newbery Honor-winning author of The Surrender Tree

“A timely and powerful story, My Year in the Middle conjures an era of American racism and shows how a strong immigrant girl can make a difference in her community. This is a book that will resonate for young readers in these fraught times.” —Ruth Behar,  author of Lucky Broken Girl

“Wonderful! A heart-touching story with a spunky heroine who shows her grit and determination during troubling times. I was cheering for Lu from beginning to end!” —Christina Diaz Gonzalez, award-winning author of The Red Umbrella and the Moving Target series

Now that you’ve gotten a glimpse of the story, I invite you to scroll down to see the cover. Its creator is Matt Roeser, art director and designer extraordinaire!

 

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Almost there!

 

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Behold!

 

 

My favorite thing about it: Matt captured the essence of a girl caught in the middle of two seemingly irreconcilable worlds.

Huge thanks to Latinxs in Kid Lit for hosting this reveal! Please share this news with someone you know who digs kid lit!

Lila Quintero Weaver is the author-illustrator of Darkroom: A Memoir in Black & White. She was born in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Darkroom recounts her family’s immigrant experience in small-town Alabama during the tumultuous 1960s. It is her first major publication and will be available in Spanish in January 2018. Her next book is My Year in the Middle, a middle-grade novel scheduled for release in July 2018 (Candlewick). Lila is a regular contributor to this blog and one of its founding members. She and her husband, Paul, are the parents of three grown children. For news on events and publications, see her website, or follow her on Facebook, or Twitter .

 

Changes I’ve Seen, Changes I Hope to See

 

For our first set of posts, each of us will respond to the question: “Why Latin@ Kid Lit?” to address why we created a site dedicated to celebrating books by, for, or about Latin@s.

By Lila Quintero Weaver

Lila, the bookworm, way back in the day.

Lila, the bookworm, way back in the day.

1963, Small Town, Alabama: I’m an immigrant kid in the second grade, well in command of English by now and eighty percent Americanized. Nobody brown or trigueño whose last name isn’t Quintero lives around here. Matter of fact, we’re one of the rare foreign families in the whole of Perry County—a bit of exotica, like strange but harmless birds that show up in the chicken yard one day.

With our nearest relatives in Argentina, seven thousand miles removed, my mother’s best friend is a war bride from Italy whose nostalgia for the old country goes hand in hand with Mama’s pining for Buenos Aires. Their conversations are peppered with overlapping terms from the Romance languages of their backgrounds. My father has his own ways of navigating the cultural void. He’s no communist, but he listens to Radio Habana Cuba on the shortwave radio. Fidel’s propaganda is something to ridicule, yet nothing else on the dial delivers Spanish. And he craves Spanish. That’s what your native tongue does—transports you back to the place you sprang from.

In 1963, nobody uses the terms Latino or Hispanic. Diversity may be in the dictionary, but if anyone’s applying it to ethnic groups, it hasn’t reached these backwaters of the American South. And as far as I know, the word multicultural hasn’t been invented; for that, we’ll have to wait another twenty years.

When I, the second-grade immigrant kid, drop by the Perry County Public Library, it’s to a creaky old clapboard house whose floors sag under the weight of books. The library at my elementary school is much the same, dusty and clogged with outdated materials. Luckily, my dad’s faculty status at a local college gives me library privileges. There, a small but gleaming collection of children’s books entices me up to the second floor.

I’m a bookworm. I devour everything published for kids. The books I love best entrance me through the power of story, not by how well their characters reflect me. Even so, I can’t help but notice that none of the characters has snapping brown eyes and olive skin. The girls in the books I read have names like Cathy and Susan. No one stumbles over these girls’ surnames and their parents don’t speak accented English. The closest thing to a Latino character I come across is Ferdinand, the Bull. ¡Olé!

Thirty-eight years later, when my youngest daughter is in fifth grade, we read aloud together almost daily. In Pam Muñoz Ryan’s Esperanza Rising, it’s wondrous to encounter a Latina character that feels like a real girl, not a shadow puppet with easy gestures that stand in for Hispanic. Fast forward to 2013, when Dora the Explorer is almost as well known as Mickey Mouse, and authors with names like Benjamin Alire Saenz and Guadalupe Garcia McCall show up in the stacks of the local public library with regularity. Compared to the Latin@ offerings of my childhood, this feels like an embarrassment of riches.

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Lila, the bookworm and author, today.

In March 2012, just after publishing my coming-of-age graphic novel, Darkroom: A Memoir in Black and White, I find myself at the National Latino Children’s Literature Conference. There, my eyes are opened. I discover that the exploding population of young Latin@ American readers is still under served. On the whole, children’s publishing favors a model that reflects the Anglo world familiar to most editors, agents, and booksellers. The terms diversity and multiculturalism roll off the tongue easily now, but books about minority kids are still not rolling off the presses in sufficient numbers to match the need.

Through this blog, together with my younger collaborators— all of whom grew up in an era far more open to diverse cultures—I have the glorious opportunity to make a difference. I can celebrate the Latin@ characters that do exist in children’s books. I can help promote authors and illustrators who incline toward such stories or whose heritage broadcasts the message to Latin@ youth that they too can write and illustrate books. I can connect parents to new offerings in the biblioteca and hunt down librarians, scholars, and teachers eager to share their expertise with a non-academic audience. That’s what I’m here for—to dig out books, authors, and experts that affirm Latin@ identity and give them a friendly shove into the limelight.