I knew Jacqueline Woodson’s book Brown Girl Dreaming was going to be something special when I saw the three stickers for its Caldecott Award, Newberry Honor Award, and National Book Award on the cover. The praise printed within the covers and personally expressed to me set a high bar. I wasn’t prepared, however, for how I felt when I finished reading it. I felt a multitude of emotions, but mostly I felt honored to have read it. It felt like a privilege to have had the opportunity to read Woodson’s story and words.
What was so magnificent about this book? What earned it these and many other prestigious awards? Other than Woodson’s graceful lyric verse and remarkable talent, it’s easily the content and its accessibility. The book, written for readers age 10 and up, is an autobiographical collection of poetry that tells the story of the author’s family and childhood in Ohio, South Carolina, and New York City in the 1960s and 1970s. Throughout the text, she revisits memories, places, emotions, and moments that informed who she became as an adult.
In many ways, this is just a book about a girl. She guides you through universal trials and joys growing up, relishing her mother’s and grandmother’s embrace, playing with siblings, making friends, feeling left out, the sorrows of change, and the rush of discovering something new. So many of these are human experiences that go beyond any socially constructed divides.
But this book’s title is not just “Girl Dreaming.” It’s Brown Girl Dreaming, and race is an essential element of this book. It’s woven into most of the poems, sometimes explicitly and other times more subtly. The book is written in present tense, through Woodson’s childhood eyes, but there is a feeling of retrospection in the pieces as she writes about her own childhood. Woodson effectively situates the reader in the same position—one of looking back on childhood events. She gently ties moments of history that shaped her life–the Great Migration, the Civil Rights Movement, and the Black Power movement, to name a few—into the narrative. She links herself to an experience much bigger than herself, pressing readers to reflect on their position within the whole. As she guides the reader through her childhood, she paints a stunning masterpiece of what it’s like to grow up as a Brown Girl, dreaming.
People of color in literature, both as authors and characters, have not received the treatment they deserve. This was illustrated when, after Woodson descended the stage from accepting the National Book Award for Brown Girl Dreaming, Daniel Handler, one of her colleagues and author of many other young adult books, made a joke about how Woodson was allergic to watermelon.
Though Handler later apologized for his inappropriate and racist crack, it highlights the uphill battle many creators of color have had to fight. The joke was made after she accepted one of the most esteemed prizes for literature in the country for a book that beautifully explores race, childhood, family, and dreams. But in a single off-the-cuff jab, he marginalized Woodson as an award-winning author of color to the confines of a racist stereotype.
In Sister Citizen, author and professor Melissa Harris-Perry uses the analogy of the crooked room, a room purposefully designed to be perceived with angles at odds with the actual position of the earth, creating a challenge for those inside to correctly right themselves. She discusses common identities projected onto black women that many struggle to combat or locate themselves in. She further elaborates that if they don’t feel like are being recognized for who they really are, and are only being identified by these stereotypes, then they feel like they are not valued citizens of the society they live in. That struggle for recognition is part of the reason why diverse books from authors of color and featuring characters of color are so woefully underrepresented on our bookshelves.
But luckily, jokes like the one made at her acceptance ceremony don’t stop creators like Woodson. Right after the incident, she wrote an editorial in the New York Times where she said
“This mission is what’s been passed down to me – to write stories that have been historically absent in this country’s body of literature, to create mirror for the people who rarely see themselves inside contemporary fiction, and windows for those who think we are no more than stereotypes they’re so afraid of. To give young people – and all people – a sense of this country’s brilliant and brutal history, so that no one ever things they can walk onto a stage one evening and laugh at another’s too often painful past.”
She is still on this mission; her most recent book, Another Brooklyn, was her fourth nomination for the National Book Award.
Authors like Jacqueline Woodson and her colleagues are voices that need to be heard and celebrated. They give the wider reading community a valuable gift – the mirror and window she set out for her readers. We should be honored and humbled for that gift, because we have a lot we can learn from it.
 Woodson, Jacqueline. “The Pain of the Watermelon.” The New York Times, November 21, 2014. Online. https://www.nytimes.com/2014/11/29/opinion/the-pain-of-the-watermelon-joke.html
 Yahr, Emily. “‘Lemony Snicket’ author apologizes for ‘watermelon’ joke at National Book Awards.” The Washington Post, November 20, 2014. Online. https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/arts-and-entertainment/wp/2014/11/20/daniel-handler-apologizes-for-watermelon-joke-about-jacqueline-woodson-at-national-book-awards/?utm_term=.f2cb17a019bd
 Harris-Perry, Melissa. “Crooked Room” in Sister Citizen, (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2011), 28-50.
 Woodson. “The Pain of the Watermelon.”