Book Review: Zombies Don’t Eat Veggies by Megan Lacera and Jorge Lacera

 

Review by Mimi Rankin

9781620147948

DESCRIPTION OF THE BOOK: Mo Romero is a zombie who loves nothing more than growing, cooking, and eating vegetables. Tomatoes? Tantalizing. Peppers? Pure perfection! The problem? Mo’s parents insist that their niño eat only zombie cuisine, like arm-panadas and finger foods. They tell Mo over and over that zombies don’t eat veggies. But Mo can’t imagine a lifetime of just eating zombie food and giving up his veggies. As he questions his own zombie identity, Mo tries his best to convince his parents to give peas a chance.

Super duo Megan and Jorge Lacera make their picture-book debut with this sweet story about family, self-discovery, and the power of acceptance. It’s a delectable tale that zombie and nonzombie fans alike will devour.

MY TWO CENTS: This is a fun, silly, and wonderful book about familial acceptance as well as self-acceptance.

Mo Romero is a zombie who comes from a big, wonderful, brain-eating, human-scaring zombie family. His doting parents hope that he will follow in their slow-dragging footsteps by loving comidas de los zombis, like arm-panadas and arroz con spleens. However, Mo has a deep secret scarier than anything on The Walking Dead—he LOVES vegetables!

This book brings up a great conversation about “default” race and ethnicity in literature. Zombies are not monolithic and depending on which canon of origin you adhere to, let’s assume that Zombies are dead humans who have come back to life to eat your brains. Wouldn’t that imply that Latinx zombies exist? Even within fantasy and horror, is society defaulting to white? According to the illustrations in the Laceras’ work, these Latinx zombies are not bound by any particular race as they all have various hues of green skin.

With subtle touches of Spanish (in italics) in this version published in English, the true crux of this story is acceptance within families. Mo desperately wants for his parents to accept that he loves vegetables. He begs and begs to eat veggies, but his parents echo the refrain, “Zombies DON’T eat veggies!” The text goes on to read, “His parents wanted him to accept who he was—a zombie.” As this declaration sets in, Mo struggles to understand his own identity in the light of his parents’ expectations as the text reads, “Mo started to wonder if maybe he wasn’t a zombie after all.” This constant restriction on identity and all the assumptions and implications that go with it contribute to a really great conversation on our own expectations of identity. What is inherent to being “Latinx?” There is a massive range of qualities about ourselves that may make us feel like outsiders in our own families, Latinx or otherwise. In such a beautifully diverse claim of ethnicity, why should there be one definition of Latinx?

In the end, Mo decides to stick up for himself and remind his parents that he is still a zombie and still their niño. This fun and gorgeous story on the importance of family is sure to open up conversations about children’s individual identities.

Check out the book trailer below!

 

Image result for megan laceraABOUT THE AUTHORS & ILLUSTRATORMegan Lacera grew up in the suburbs of Cleveland, Ohio, with a book always in her hands. She became a writer and creator of characters and worlds for entertainment companies, and later formed her own creative company with husband Jorge Lacera. After reading many stories to their son, Megan realized that very few books reflected a family like theirs–multicultural, bilingual, funny, and imperfect. She decided to change that by writing her own stories for publishing, animation, and film. You can learn more about Megan and Studio Lacera at studiolacera.com.

Jorge Lacera was born in Colombia, and grew up in Miami, Florida, drawing in sketchbooks, on napkins, on walls, and anywhere his parents would let him. After graduating with honors from Ringling College of Art and Design, Jorge worked as a visual development and concept artist. As a big fan of pop culture, comics, and zombie movies, Jorge rarely saw Latino kids as the heroes or leads. He is committed to changing that, especially now that he has a son. The family lives in Cypress, Texas. You can find him online at studiolacera.com.

 

 

file-2ABOUT THE REVIEWER: Mimi Rankin received her Master’s Degree with distinction in Children’s Literature from the University of Reading. Her thesis, on which she received a rating of First, centered around claims to cultural authenticity and representation in Hispanic Children’s Literature. She currently works in the publishing industry as a marketing manager for over 20 international children’s publishers. Her reviews do not reflect the opinions of her employer or clients. She currently lives in Nashville, Tennessee.

Author Ava Jae on Not Writing Latinx Characters

 

By Ava Jae

With both of my maternal grandparents born in Cuba, and both of my paternal grandparents born in Mexico, I am, indisputably, a third generation Latina. I learned Spanish before I learned English, celebrated Three Kings Day for the first decade of my life, and looked forward to my Cuban grandma’s incredible Christmas dinners—carne asada, frijoles negros con arroz, platanos maduros, y flan. I listened to my grandma’s stories in Spanish about growing up as the eldest of thirteen in Cuba, saw pictures of relatives I would probably never meet because they lived in a country Americans weren’t permitted to go to, and relished the warm, aromatic smell of café con leche in the morning.

And yet, by the time I’d finished my tenth manuscript—the one that would become my debut, Beyond the RedI still hadn’t written about a single Latinx character.

Looking back, there were a lot of reasons why that happened.

Firstly, I don’t fit the mold the media insists Latinx people fit into. I’m short—painfully so—and have dark eyes, sure, but that’s where the similarities end. Though I tan well when I spend time in the sun, I’m pale 99.9% of the time. My hair is brown, not black. I’m thin, not curvy. Though my pronunciation is native and I can understand it well enough, I’ve forgotten most of my Spanish. I’m not a flirty, exotic beauty who moves her hips like she was born dancing; I’m a tomboy, and awkward, and an introvert. My legal last name isn’t one of the common Mexican last names that’s easily recognizable as Latinx. When people look at me, they don’t see a Latinx person; they see a white kid.

And for a long time while I was writing, I started to see myself as a white kid, too.

I guess, in a sense, it was inevitable—no one in my immediate family looks like a stereotypical Latinx person; we are light-skinned (yes, even the Mexican side of the family), and my grandma is the one of the few of her many siblings who doesn’t have green or blue eyes (hers are hazel). My biological father doesn’t fit any of the Mexican stereotypes I’d learned; he burns instead of tans, he doesn’t like spicy food, and while he’s not super tall, he’s not exactly noticeably short, either.

I looked at my family, I looked at myself, and I internalized the shocked expressions I got every time I revealed I was, in fact, of the Latinx community. I learned it wasn’t in my favor to reveal my ethnicity when applying for a job, I was reminded time and time again with Mexican jokes, with talk about those illegals, with the stereotype of the working class Latinx person stuck doing the dishes, or cleaning homes, or taking the jobs that no one else wanted, that there were really no advantages to saying, “Yes, I’m Latina.”

So I stopped saying it. I justified it a day at a time, with “I can’t even speak Spanish,” with “I don’t even look Latina,” with “I wasn’t raised in a vibrant, Latinx community.” I hesitated on surveys that asked me to check “Caucasian” or “Hispanic.” I started believing I didn’t count.

So maybe it’s not a surprise that I wrote ten manuscripts without once considering writing a Latinx character. Maybe it’s inevitable that I didn’t feel it was my place to write a Latinx character. Maybe the fact that I never saw a character like me—Latinx, but light-skinned and unable to speak fluent Spanish—only reinforced this belief that I didn’t count. That I didn’t belong.

But slowly, things are starting to change. Adam Silvera wrote More Happy Than Not, and, for the first time, I read about a Latino boy who couldn’t speak Spanish. My friends online have spoken about being white-passing, about why this privilege so often hurts, about how people like me who feel stuck between two cultures without fitting completely into either exist. Slowly, I’ve begun reclaiming my identity. I’ve given myself permission to write characters like me.

And after I finished Beyond the Red and realized some of my experience had seeped through—in my male protagonist caught between two cultures, and in some of the pronunciation of the language my female protagonist speaks—I couldn’t help but smile.

Because even when I didn’t see it, being Latinx is, and has always been, a part of me. And I’m not going to hide it anymore.

 

Ava Author Photo_smallJPGAva Jae is a writer, an Assistant Editor at Entangled Publishing, and is represented by Louise Fury of The Bent Agency. Her YA Sci-Fi debut, BEYOND THE RED, released March 1, 2016 from Sky Pony Press. When she’s not writing about kissing, superpowers, explosions, and aliens, you can find her with her nose buried in a book, nerding out over the latest X-Men news, or hanging out on her blogTwitterFacebooktumblr, Goodreads, Instagram, or YouTube channel.