You know how literary snobs can debate for hours whether such-n-such an author's work was better early in their career or late? Okay, that's what I do, only I do it with children's authors. Which, when you think about it, doesn't make a whole lot of sense. I mean, what's the point in comparing early Maurice Sendak to his later stuff? What are you really going to determine if you hold up William Steig's cohesive early picture books to his later messiness? But that's just what I do. It's what I like to do. And I have been doing it to Rosemary Wells for years. Ms. Wells was the picture book author I really and truly grew up with. I like to claim loftily that Tasha Tudor was my earliest childhood influence, but I'm just saying that to impress my fellow kiddie lit snobs. If I'm going to be honest, I grew up on Max and Ruby. Books like, "Max's Breakfast". When I became a children's librarian I finally saw Wells' later work and I was, frankly, shocked. To me, it seemed as if Wells had become sloppy in her later years. Max and Ruby books keep getting cranked out, but their plots have become gooey and the illustrations messy. So I grumbled to myself and refused to seriously consider reading and reviewing a single Rosemary Wells picture book ever again. Then, in the process of reading the New York Public Library's, "100 Picture Books Everyone Should Know" I realized that I'd have to read "Yoko". I didn't want to, but admittedly it looked appealing. Reluctantly, I checked it out of my library branch. Tentatively I opened it up and read it through. And just like that my late-Rosemary-Wells prejudice dropped like scales from my eyes. I still think that later Max and Ruby books haven't half the heart of their earlier predecessors. And I still think Wells is getting far too sloppy in her old age. But "Yoko" is honest-to-goodness really well written. It's also doggone cute to boot.
It's a normal school day and for lunch Yoko's mother is packing her daughter all her favorite foods. She gets sushi containing, "the crispiest cucumber, the pinkest shrimp, the greenest seaweed, and the tastiest tuna". At lunch, Yoko enjoys her food but her fellow classmates are deeply disgusted. Mrs. Jenkins, the teacher, tries to convince poor Yoko that by snack time everyone will have forgotten to tease Yoko about her food. Unfortunately, Mrs. Jenkins is underestimating the power of ridicule. Poor Yoko and her red bean ice cream doesn't stand a chance. The minute she gets a chance, Mrs. Jenkins decides to have an International Food Day at school. Everyone will bring in a dish "from a foreign country" and Yoko's classmates will taste just how good sushi is. Everyone makes a dish, and at this point the reader has probably come to the comforting conclusion that everyone will try Yoko's sushi, decide it's good after all, and be her friend forever. Not so much. By the end of lunch everyone has tried almost everything, but not a single piece of Yoko's sushi has been touched. Fortunately, hungry little Timothy is just curious enough to want to try a bit of Yoko's food. Finding he likes it (and Yoko finds she's fond of Tim's coconut crisps) the two happily create their own "restaurant" at school the next day. Yummy tidings for all.
The book narrowly saves itself from what could easily have been a overly sweet and saccharine story that we've seen a million times before. How many cartoons and picture books and children's films have you sat through where a group of prejudiced bullies "try something a little different" and instantly behave as if they've been whacked with a conscience stick? Wells is a clever enough writer to know that teasing doesn't end with mere minutes, a Friendly Song, or even massive food tasting events. That's what makes the ending of the book all the sweeter. When Timothy eats Yoko's food, it isn't because he's been forced to or because he instantly is curious about a different culture. Doggone it, he's hungry! In this way, Wells is able to give us an honestly happy ending without compromising the story along the way. The bullies may not get their comeuppance, but nor do they have a sole victim to berate. Timothy's all about Yoko's food and the two are fast friends by the story's end.
Animals characters that wear clothes and walk around picture books always seem to have Anglo-American backgrounds. Ever noticed that? Maybe that's why I found Yoko the kitten, with her kimono wearing ma, to be such a relief. Wells doesn't reduce her story to stereotypes and there's a great deal of enjoyment that comes with seeing what animals come from what countries. Wells avoids making any political, cultural, or even geographical statements with her furry creatures (a badger is from Nigeria, a pig from Brazil, and a beaver from Ireland) except perhaps in the case of the Boston bulldogs.
With this little book, Rosemary Wells won my heart again. "Yoko" is just the right kind of sweet, interesting, and truly intelligent picture book that I wish we could see more of on library shelves. You'll be hard pressed to find anyone objecting to the tale. And I'll be hard pressed to keep from recommending it to every Tom, Dick, and Harry I pass on the street. Sweet but satisfying.
