Sea change in children’s books since 1950s

Back in the 1950s, I walked around the block to my local library in Castro Valley — a first taste of independence at the age of 8. I loved the blond Swedish triplets Flicka, Ricka and Dicka. I loved reading about the Founding Fathers plus some Betsy Ross. Then there were the BetsyTacy books by Maud Lovelace and some Beverly Cleary.

By current standards, the library shelves (and my favorites) were devoid of diversity and reallife angst. But much has changed, as can be seen in four new books that give visibility to the once unseen and recognition to subjects once taboo. I can’t help but compare what was available back in my day to what is available today.

I first learned about slavery from singing Stephen Foster in fourth grade and reading about “docile” servants in 180page biographies. Shocking, in retrospect. Now we do better. Example: A short but sweeping journey through African American experience fills “The Undefeated” by Kwame Alexander; illustrated by Kadir Nelson (Versify/ Houghton Mifflin Harcourt; 40 pages; $17.99; ages 47). The prefix “un” unifies a pantheon of powerful words to recall a proud but often painful past. “Unforgettable” for those like Jesse Owens; “unflappable” for painters and poets; “unafraid” for audacious black soldiers fighting for an imperfect Union; “unspeakable” for the Middle Passage slave trade and later murdered youth in Birmingham, Ala., and Ferguson, Mo.; “unlimited” for Martin Luther King and a legion of athletes; and “unbelievable” for the musicians. Dramatic oil paintings expand on a deeply personal poem to showcase “dreamers and doers,” united in solemn testimony: Black history matters.

The Brothers Grimm drew me into the good and evil of folk tale Europe. But stories from other lands? Except for Ali Baba, mostly missing. But there was an early exception. Way back in the ’20s, a lone immigrant from Puerto Rico took a job with the New York Public Library and found none of her abuela’s stories. So, she wrote them down and got them published. For her nascent efforts, she is fondly remembered in “Planting Stories: The Life of Librarian and Storyteller Pura Belpré” by Anika Aldamuy Denise; illustrated by Paola Escobar (Harper; 40 pages; $17.99; ages 48).

With merry digital illustrations, this enchanting biography renders Belpré’s books as mirrors for Puerto Rican kids and as windows into her culture for everyone else. By the ’60s, in library circles, Belpré became an influential agent for change, predating the recent “We Need Diverse Books” movement. Today a prestigious children’s book award for Latino authors and illustrators is named for her — a reminder that one person can make a difference and that kids deserve diverse books.

Published in 1956, Cleary’s “Fifteen” is about a first kiss. Tame stuff compared to “Shout: A Poetry Memoir” by Laurie Halse Anderson (Viking; 304 pages; $17.99; ages 12up). Rape culture fuels this searing memoir about longsuppressed secrets, trauma and rage. With hardearned empathy, Anderson connects two generations of pain — Dad’s posttraumatic stress disorder from World War II and his domestic abuse, Mom’s passivity, her own date rape at 13, and the enduring anguish of sexual assault. Free verse — tender and raw, long and short — falls into three sections: growing up, being a published and praised author, and family reconciliation. Breathtaking turns of phrase amplify candor around violations and violence, silence and shame, guilt and rage. Survivor and censorship stories gathered on Anderson’s book tours add fodder. (Outed? Predatory professors and priests.) In this #MeToo moment, “Shout” is a loud call for accountability, activism and tempered optimism.

I was rather fond of the Bobbsey twins, too. Two cute sets of twins in one family and nothing really bad ever happens! In recent decades, the pendulum has swung. Lots of heavy novels have a dead mother or broken family. Both situations are handled with a light touch and understated grace in “Sweeping Up the Heart” by Kevin Henkes (Greenwillow; 184 pages; $16.99; ages 812). It’s 1999 in Madison, Wis. Twelveyear old Amelia is grappling with sadness, disappointment and impatience. Her widowed and melancholy father won’t take her to Florida for spring break. (Her mother is barely a memory.) Amelia yearns to start life. Enter her art teacher’s nephew with his own issue: warring parents. The tweens start a peoplewatching game that turns from good fun to serious business. Deftly handled is the growing girlboy rapport as well as the rounded supporting cast, including a lovingly maternal neighbor. Altogether compatible, pathos and humor interface as creativity, imagination and friendship offer antidotes to loss, loneliness and longing.

Susan Faust is a member of the Association for Library Service to Children, most recently serving on the 2018 Children’s Literature Legacy Award selection committee. She was a librarian at Katherine Delmar Burke School in San Francisco for 33 years. Email: books@sfchronicle.com