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• Isabel Quintero website - https://laisabelquintero.com/

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  Isabel Quintero
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  Isabel Quintero
  Quintero at the 2019 Texas Book Festival
  Quintero at the 2019 Texas Book Festival
  Born Inland Empire of California
  Occupation Writer
  Language English; Spanish
  Nationality Mexican American
  Education B.A. in English; M.A. in English Composition
  Alma mater California State University, San Bernandino
  Spouse Fernando Flores (2003-present)
  Website
  laisabelquintero.com
  Isabel Quintero is a Mexican-American writer of young adult literature, poetry and fiction.

  Contents
  1 Early life
  2 Career
  3 Works
  3.1 Books
  4 Awards
  5 Themes
  6 References
  7 External links
  Early life
  She was born in the Inland Empire of Southern California. Quintero grew up in the city of Corona. An elderly couple, Victor and Lucia Mejia, helped raise Isabel and her younger brother, and they became their grandparents (Spanish: abuelito). Quintero attended California State University in San Bernardino where she earned a Bachelor of Arts in English, and later a Master of Arts in English Composition [1]

  Career
  She taught English at San Bernardino Valley College and Mt. San Jacinto College. Quintero also is a freelance writer for the Arts Council of San Bernardino[2] and an active member of PoetrIE, an organization working to bring literary arts to Inland Empire communities. She wrote a young adult fiction novel Gabi, A Girl in Pieces (2014),[3] and two books for younger children, Ugly Cat and Pablo (2017)[4] and Ugly Cat and Pablo and the Missing Brother (2017).[5] She has also written a graphic novel, Photographic: The Life of Graciela Iturbide[6]

  Works
  Quintero has published several books.

  Books
  Gabi, a Girl in Pieces. El Paso, TX: Cinco Puntos Press, 2014.
  Ugly Cat & Pablo. Illustrated by Tom Knight. New York, NY: Scholastic, 2017.
  Ugly Cat & Pablo and the Missing Brother. Illustrated by Tom Knight. New York, NY: Scholastic, 2018.
  Photographic: The Life of Graciela Iturbide. Illustrated by Zeke Peña. New York, NY: Abrams Books, 2018.
  My Papi Has a Motorcycle. Illustrated by Zeke Peña. New York, NY: Kokila, 2019.
  Awards
  Gabi, a Girl in Pieces has received multiple recognitions:
  Winner of the William C. Morris Award for YA Debut Novel[7]
  Gold Medal Winner of the California Book Award for Young Adult 2015
  School Library Journal Best Books of 2014
  Booklist Best Books of 2014
  Amelia Bloomer List, part of the American Library Association, Social Responsibilities Round Table's Feminist Task Force
  2015 YALSA Quick Pick for Reluctant Young Adult Readers, Top 10 Selection[8]
  2015 YALSA Best Fiction for Young Adults[9]
  2015 Tomás Rivera Award, Works for Older Children
  2015 Paterson Prize for Books for Young People, Grades 7-12
  2015 Capitol Choices: Noteworthy Books for Children and Teens
  Photographic: The Life of Graciela Iturbide won the 2018 Boston Globe–Horn Book Nonfiction Award[6]
  Themes
  A few key themes arise throughout Quintero's writing. In all but one of her published works, the protagonists are women. Quintero unwraps sexism and prejudice through both young and adult characters, in both adolescent and middle-aged periods of life. Gabi is coming of age, whereas Martha concludes in her coffin. The male characters often demand submission, as in Moanin' the Blues, and in Stories Our Mother Told Us and Mi Tía La Bruja, an element of magical realism dances around witchcraft.

  Another key theme is racial inequality, especially that of the Mexican American community in Southern California and the southwest region of the United States. Quintero writes about the immigrant experience, often through the eyes of a first-generation character. She highlights the struggles of a working-class family and the socioeconomic status that binds the Mexican American community. In a 2017 interview Quintero stated, "Whenever I drive on 91 going toward Orange County, and I see the homes on the hills, I think about how much my dad worked in homes we could never afford...That is a strange paradox in which to exist." In the same interview, Quintero declared, "My writing is my activism."[10]

• Amazon -

  Isabel Quintero lives and writes in the Inland Empire of Southern California, where she was born and raised. She attend Cal State San Bernardino where she received her B.A. in English and M.A. in Composition, and is currently an adjunct faculty instructor at two community colleges and teaches English. For fun she reads and writes, watches comedy movies, and obsesses over television crime dramas. Gabi, A Girl in Pieces, from Cinco Puntos Press, is her first novel. She is working on a few projects at the moment, one of which is a fantasy story about a young girl who is on a quest to save her family and encounters legends and folklore. Isabel enjoys carne asada tacos, pepperoni pizza (thin crust only please), dark chocolate, poetry, folk music, and looking at cute animal pictures. Oh, and long walks on the beach.

• Los Angeles Review of Books - https://lareviewofbooks.org/article/my-writing-is-my-activism-an-interview-with-isabel-quintero/

  “My Writing is My Activism”: An Interview with Isabel Quintero
  Jackie Rhodes interviews Isabel Quintero

  FEBRUARY 1, 2017

  UPON ITS PUBLICATION in 2014, Isabel Quintero’s Gabi, a Girl in Pieces (Cinco Puntos Press) was named one of Kirkus’s Best Books of the year, as well as a “Quick Pick for Reluctant Young Adult Readers” by the Young Adult Library Services Association (YALSA). The novel has also won a number of awards, including the William C. Morris Award for Debut Young Adult Novel and the 2015 Tomás Rivera Book Award, and has been placed on reading lists in high school and college classrooms.

  Gabi tells the story of a teenage girl coming to (messy) terms with the pressures of a complicated life: body image, teen pregnancy, coming out, rape, drug addiction, love, death. The book has been variously described as a “fresh, authentic and honest exploration of contemporary Latina identity” (Kirkus), as “sad, honest, raw, bold, and hopeful” (Teen Librarian Toolbox), and, I think most notably, as “joyous” (Booklist).

  I’ve known Isabel for over 15 years, since she was a first-year student at CSU San Bernardino, sitting in almost the back row of my composition class. Then, as now, she was curious, almost shy, and more talented than she knew. Over the last six months, we’ve been emailing questions and answers for this interview. It’s hard to catch up with her, since she’s busy writing, and helping coordinate readings for the nonprofit organization PoetrIE in California’s Inland Empire. Until recently, she was also teaching part-time at a community college and working as a library technician. These days, she’s reviewing galleys for her upcoming children’s book from Scholastic Press, Ugly Cat & Pablo, and writing a YA graphic novel for the Getty.

  ¤

  JACKIE RHODES: So, why Gabi? The name, the book …

  ISABEL QUINTERO: Growing up I often felt alone in a lot of my experiences, for many reasons. One of the reasons, I’ve come to realize, is that oppression by omission worked really well in my public school experience. There were barely any women writers taught in my English or history classes, and definitely less non-white folks. When I started writing Gabi, it was during a moment of crisis — I had just failed as a high school teacher and needed to look closely at myself and who I really was. I thought about those experiences, about expectations of me as a woman, as a Chicana, as a wife, a daughter of immigrants, and a lot of it made me angry. I thought about the conversations I had had with other women my age and how they had gone through similar things and how we had felt alone, and how we weren’t alone. At the same time, I was taking a Young Adult Literature class at CSUSB, and Gabi just started talking to me. This was in 2007. The name Gabi just felt right. It didn’t mean anything extra special, except that I went through a list of names and Gabriela was the most fitting.

  I grew up in Corona and Riverside. My grandparents lived in Corona and since they were the ones who watched me and my brother, we went to school there, but we lived in Riverside. My mom worked in the kitchen of a convalescent hospital until I was in junior high, I think, and later as a teacher’s assistant at a private preschool for children with special needs. My dad worked installing cabinets in new tract homes. Whenever I drive on the 91 going toward Orange County, and I see the homes on the hills, I think about how much my dad worked in homes we could never afford. It’s strange to think that some family in some suburban home, most likely a white family, opened and closed doors in kitchens and bathrooms where my dad worked relentless hours, while we sometimes had to collect cans to get by. That is a strange paradox in which to exist. For a long time we struggled. One year, we even got a Christmas basket and a voucher to the Salvation Army to buy clothes. That same year, Mr. Alfred, my sixth-grade teacher, gifted me the entire Goosebumps collection (it was the early ’90s, so it wasn’t very big yet). We were the poor kids. I still have a stuffed bear that I keep from all those gifts, as an artifact of where I’ve been. My parents worked hard for my brother and me, but we had our own kind of dysfunction.

  When I was in high school, things were a little better, but attending a mostly white school in an upper-middle-class neighborhood with mostly white teachers will definitely do a number on your self-esteem and sense of belonging. I used to joke that I didn’t know I wasn’t white until I got to college. I mean, I knew I wasn’t, my parents are Mexican, but in school there was no acknowledgment of our different cultures and how we are all part of the social fabric of this country. We were taught to assume that we were all descendants of British colonizers and that our history was one of brave resistance. And I guess it is, we do have a history of resistance, but we were not all resisting the same oppressor. This negation of our existence, and the omitting of our stories and histories, is one of the reasons I write — I write to exist. We cannot escape our past; our past determines what choices we make for the future. It determines how we act, how we see ourselves. Of course, I’m not only speaking about familial pasts, though those definitely inform our behaviors. I was talking to a poet friend and she was saying how past traumas — our parents’, our ancestors’ — affect our lives and the lives of our descendants, and we don’t have a say in this.

  What’s been the reaction of your family and friends to Gabi?

  My family has been great. I don’t think my mom has read my book, and my dad won’t, and I am happy he won’t be reading it to honest. But both of them are proud. My brother has also shown a lot of support, as well as my now-former husband and in-laws. As for my friends, I couldn’t ask for better friends. I couldn’t have done it without them.

  Do you know why your mom hasn’t read your book?

  You know, I’m not sure if she’s read it. If she has, she hasn’t told me about it. Part of it might be because she prefers to read in Spanish, but also maybe, since she knows what some of it is about, she just would rather not. I’m okay with that.

  How did you come to writing?

  Writing is a way for me to control things — emotions, narratives, outcomes. In 10th grade, I read E. E. Cummings, and I learned that language could be manipulated in so many different and beautiful ways. It’s interesting how it took a dead white guy to teach me that but that’s how it happened. I started writing shitty poems and then just never stopped. Sophomore year of college I took a Chicano lit class, where I read Michele Serros and realized that I could use all my languages — Spanish, English, Spanglish — in my writing and that my experiences and reality were worthy of poems. But fiction, that took me a few more years to get to.

  I’ve only ever taken poetry workshops. After reading Cummings, I was smitten with poetry. It was an awakening of sorts. I saw myself as a poet before I saw myself as a fiction writer. Later, I started reading novels in verse in a YA class I was taking at Cal State San Bernardino, and I realized that I could write both fiction and poetry. Initially, Gabi was a novel in verse. Along the way, an agent said she wanted exclusive opportunity to consider it if I would switch from verse to prose, so I did. She never got back to me. But poetry is still fundamental to my writing. I am part of a poetry critique group, and being in it has helped me grow as a writer. I cut a lot of things from my writing because I am constantly asking, “Do I need this? How could an image work better here? Word choice?”

  Being part of a writing community has been one of the most efficient ways I have learned to write; we are honest with each other and push each other to do better. I have an MA in English Composition, but I didn’t go through an MFA program. I was lucky enough, however, to make friends with people in MFA programs who would look at my work and give me critical feedback. These folks are amazing; many of them have published poetry collections. I’ve learned how to write from so many people — authors, teachers, workshop community, and even from friends and family who are excellent storytellers. For example, one thing I learned from taking poetry classes at CSUSB was discipline and revision. Revising in a way that we shouldn’t be scared of: burning it down and working with the ashes. That was huge for me.

  Could you talk a bit more about that? How do you revise? Do you have disasters that will never see the light of day, or do you manage to always salvage something?

  Revising is a lot like love: sometimes you don’t want to let your manuscript out of your sight and you work on it and work on it, trying to make to stronger. And other times you want nothing to do with it, and you can’t even stand the sight of it. I just realized that maybe I have an unhealthy perspective on love. Ha. But it’s true. Revision also depends on what I am working on. If I am working on poetry, usually I have some poet friends look at my work and they’ll make suggestions. If it’s children’s or YA fiction, my editors at Scholastic — or, now, the Getty — will look at it. Zeke Peña, the cover artist and book designer for Gabi, is also pretty good at guiding. I like to read my work out loud and revise. I ask myself, does this sound right? Does this make sense? Are there extra words here? I think the poet in me really helps with the fiction because I can cut extra shit out. At least, I like to think so.

  What’s surprised you in the last couple of years — about your writing? About yourself? About Gabi?

  So many things. One, that maybe I am a better writer than I originally thought. Or better yet, that I am a writer. For some, this may seem like one of those situations where the statement, “You can be anything you want to be!” would be appropriate to insert, but that is not true for everyone. For someone like me, who never saw her culture reflected in K–12, never knew there were Chicana authors writing about our culture, our lived experiences, our American realities, it was hard to see myself as a writer. Thankfully that changed at CSUSB. I used to think that only white folk could be writers; I mean, that’s who we read. That’s who still pretty much has a hold on the American canon, right? I remember looking through an anthology for a lit class, and Juan Felipe Herrera was categorized with writers from Mexico. I couldn’t believe it. Here was this Chicano, this American poet, now our poet laureate, othered.

  Sometimes it feels like we’re constantly othered until it’s convenient to fulfill some sort of diversity quota, and editors and publishers can say, “See, we included so and so; we’re diverse,” as if they’re doing us a favor instead of actually representing the whole landscape of American literature like they should be doing. This also means that I’ve learned how white the publishing industry really is, and how uncomfortable it is with our presence and the shift that we are making happen. It’s cool, though — no sweat off my ovaries. I’ve learned that I am not here for other people’s comfort — that I am as ocicona, as my mom feared. Sometimes I just can’t keep my mouth shut, but I’m getting to be okay with that.

  I think, overall, that Gabi has taught me how to love myself and find worth in my voice. Worth that I hadn’t acknowledged. Also, I learned which book festivals have the best food in their greenrooms. So there’s that.

  On the heels of the awards for Gabi, I’ve noticed you’ve done a lot of traveling to conferences, given numerous readings, et cetera. Can you talk a bit about “a day in the life”? What keeps you going? What gets you up? What gets you down?

  It really depends on the day. Sometimes I’m procrastinating, visiting my parents or friends. Often, I’m just sitting in my living room/office or at my kitchen table, pantsless, hair unbrushed, with a mug of black coffee, typing, reading out loud, and cursing at my work for not coming together the way it needs to. Some days, I am at Augie’s Coffee in Redlands so as to not get distracted by things like laundry or dishes. I go for walks in the hills by my house or for a short jog at the gym. The school year seems to get busier; conferences, schools, and libraries begin to request visits and so I travel a bit more.

  You’ve done more than just read at your events — there’s been scrapbooking and zine-making. What inspires that?

  I like the idea of getting the audience involved in the reading — it’s less boring that way. The scrapbook’s purpose was twofold: I wanted there to be a record of my travels and the folks that came to the readings, and also I wanted to take their voices to the different cities and states I visited. Sometimes I still take it but it also depends on the venue and the time allowed. Eventually, I’m hoping to update my website with it.

  Why young adult literature?

  Why not young adult literature? YA literature is literature. It’s about a universal topic: coming of age. Yes, the intended audience is young, but I think that a good story is a good story, and a bad story is a bad story, no matter who the audience is. I think we underestimate young people all the time. I’ve met folks who have trouble seeing YA as “real” literature because it is not for adults and therefore the assumption is that it cannot be complex or compelling. Fuck that. I’ve read books that were supposed to be for adults that I had to put down because they made my head hurt, they were so bad. One of my favorite books of the last few years is Jack Gantos’s Dead End in Norvelt (2011), a dark comedy for middle-schoolers. Though, you know, I understand some of those misconceptions because I used to have a similar attitude. This was, of course, before I read K. L. Going’s Fat Kid Rules the World (2003) and Juan Felipe Herrera’s CrashBoomLove (1999). I have repented and changed my ways and am a much better person for it. Or, at least, not so narrow-minded.

  I think that (at least among my friends and colleagues), YA literature is really hot. Good stories, interesting plot twists, intricate characters. It really draws people in, if you know what I mean. But I’m wondering … what do you think makes good “literature?”

  It’s easier for me to point out what makes bad literature: forced language, too much description, poor word choice, writing things just for shock value, shitty plots, clichés, lack of research, lazy writing, people who are trying to write “diversely” for the sake of diversity. Good literature is the opposite of that. The reader should be invested in the characters and in the world the writer has created. When the story is over, the reader should feel something — anger, sadness, happiness, dread, hope — something that suggests that the story lives beyond the page. Bad literature is a dead wet rat.

  What are you reading these days?

  I am trying to whittle away at my TBR [to-be-read] pile. Trying to read more comic books and graphic novels. I am reading my first serial comic, Bitch Planet, right now — it’s so good. I’m also reading Pointe by Brandy Colbert, a YA novel about ballet, abduction, and eating disorders, as well as Herrera’s Notes on the Assemblage, a collection of poetry by our US Poet Laureate. Sooooo good. On deck are: Nepantla: Essays from the Land in the Middle by Pat Mora and The New Jim Crow by Michelle Alexander.

  You are known for posting “portrait of a writer” pics on Facebook. Always fun. How do you see yourself as a writer, and do those self-aware photos help construct that?

  I started taking those pictures because I think it’s funny that people have this idea that authors live some exciting or eccentric life. I had that idea, too. But it turned out to be me trying to get work done and wondering if the pool in my apartment building had been cleaned. So, not so eccentric. Also, I have to remind myself that I am writer. It took me a while to come to terms with the fact that that’s what I am. For a long time I thought writers could only be white; the pictures are kind of like a “this is what a writer is, Isabel. You are a writer.” And, I try not to take myself too seriously.

  What are you working on now? How do you make time for it?

  I am currently working on the second book in a middle-grade series for Scholastic about a cat and a mouse who are friends, Ugly Cat & Pablo. That series is due out in spring 2017 (I just got the galleys in December). I am also working with Zeke on a YA graphic novel biography of Mexican photographer Graciela Iturbide, which will be released fall 2017 with the Getty. It will be a very busy year next year. Also, a poet friend and I, Allyson Jeffredo, are putting together a Trump Zine. That should be fun. And poetry, always working on poetry.

  Currently, I’ve been fortunate just to dedicate myself to writing, and not have two full-time jobs, so making time is easier. It’s also a bit tougher to manage my own time now that there is no one telling me when to come in and when to clock out. The good thing is that I make my own schedule and the office is always open.

  What else do you want people to know about you and your writing?

  I don’t like bullshit or pretentious attitudes. Fancy literary events make me nervous. I mean, I’ll go, but I often feel out of place there. But the question is probably getting at something deeper. Ha. My writing is my activism. I had always talked about the power of writing and how it could change things, because it had changed my life. Other writers’ work changed how I saw the world and how I thought about things like patriarchy and white supremacy. It taught me to call those things by their name. Most importantly, their work taught me to question everything. I would like my work to do that; to have readers question things they had otherwise accepted.

  ¤

  Jackie Rhodes is a professor of Writing, Rhetoric, and American Cultures at Michigan State University.

• Weekend Edition Sunday, NPR - https://www.npr.org/2019/08/25/753746555/my-papi-has-a-motorcycle-pays-loving-tribute-to-a-california-childhood

  'My Papi Has A Motorcycle' Pays Loving Tribute To A California Childhood
  August 25, 20198:06 AM ET
  Heard on Weekend Edition Sunday
  Leila Fadel at NPR headquarters in Washington, D.C., September 27, 2018. (photo by Allison Shelley)
  LEILA FADEL

  SAMANTHA BALABAN

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  My Papi Has a Motorcycle, by Isabel Quintero and Zeke Peña, pays tribute to the rapidly-changing city of Corona, Calif., where Quintero grew up.
  Kokila
  In My Papi Has A Motorcyle, a little girl named Daisy Ramona waits for her dad to come home from work so they can ride around their city, Corona, Calif., on the back of his motorcycle. They pass a tortilla shop, a raspado shop, her grandparent's house, and her dad's construction site.

  Zeke Peña, left, and Isabel Quintero
  Zeke Peña/Charles Lenida
  The book is illustrated by Zeke Peña and written by Isabel Quintero. It's a love letter to the city, and her father.

  "When I was a kid my dad would get home from work, and he put me on the back of his motorcycle and he would drive me around the neighborhood I grew up in in Corona," Quintero remembers, "and you know, it was the '80s, so there were no helmets — in the book, obviously, there's helmets, but it was a different time. And you know, I really was holding onto that memory and it was so special to me, that relationship between myself and my dad."

  My Papi Has a Motorcycle, by Isabel Quintero and Zeke Peña
  Kokila
  This summer we've been asking authors and illustrators how they work together to bring stories to life. They often don't — but illustrator Zeke Peña says he and Quintero chatted back and forth constantly. "She even was cool enough to go drive in her car around the neighborhood that she grew up in so I could physically see the space and see the turns of the corners, see the trees, the way the homes are built — kind of those things. This shows through in the story, right? Like there's really specific things that are from Isabel's memory, you know? I sneak some things from my own memory in there a little bit as a kid, but there's this specificity. That's what for me makes the story so strong, is that Isabel has this personal experience, and we're we're trying to tap into that and illustrate that, and kind of create that spark for for other readers young and old."

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  My Papi Has a Motorcycle
  My Papi Has a Motorcycle
  by Isabel Quintero and Zeke Peña

  Hardcover, 40 pagespurchase

  "When I was a kid in Corona there was a tortilleria — in the book it's Tortilleria Estrella, in real life it was Tortilleria Don Leon — and that was torn down," Quintero says. "I think those things are are pretty specific to where I was at. But I think other people can connect to living in a community where you walk to places like a tortilleria or to Joy's Market. Zeke did such an amazing job with that market, that so many people have told me, like, I know that market. That market's in my neighborhood, you know, with the piñatas outside, and the little gumball machines, and the carnicería inside the store. So it is very specific, but it's also a story that especially Latinx kids in other parts of the country can enjoy or relate to."

  "For me in the book, it's like that first page — Daisy Ramona's working on the motorcycle, and she's working with this toolbox, and that was my dad, like that's kind of really what I got from my dad, was you know, learning how to work with my hands, learning how to work hard and stuff," Peña says. "But I think that with Isabel and I, it's nice because a lot of our backgrounds as people who identify as Latinx or Chicanx or Chicanos, there's this really narrow definition of what that is. But the nice thing with my collaboration with Isabel is that we span like a spectrum of that, right? And it doesn't necessarily look just one way. I hope that the youth reading our book walk away with a validation of their own story, and where their own family comes from and their heritage. And their right to it, their right to express that as they wish."

  Isabel Quintero says she teared up at this image of Daisy Ramona's visit to her dad's work site.
  Kokila
  "Going off the toolbox," Quintero adds, "my dad also works with his hands. And so that scene, that spread, where Daisy Ramona gets to the worksite with her dad is probably one of my favorite scenes in the book, because Zeke was able to capture so much emotion of what it's like for a kid like myself, like when I was a kid, going to work with my dad, and that happiness and that joy of getting to see where my dad worked. You know, hearing the sound of the the music, the music in Spanish in the background, and the men yelling at each other and cracking jokes. So when I opened to that spread I cried, because you don't see a lot of celebration of working class people in children's books, especially not working class brown men. And I know there will be a lot of children who will be able to say, oh, that's my dad."

  One Word Builds A World In 'La La La'
  One Word Builds A World In 'La La La'
  The Pinkneys Are A Picture Book Perfect, Author-Illustrator Couple
  AUTHOR INTERVIEWS
  The Pinkneys Are A Picture Book Perfect, Author-Illustrator Couple
  We couldn't ignore that we're talking about Isabel Quintero's love letter to her city and her people; Zeke Peña is from El Paso — and earlier this month his city suffered an enormous loss, a mass shooting that targeted the Latinx community and took the lives of 20 people.

  "It breaks my heart, it breaks my heart to see these people suffering. To see my people suffering. Our community," he says. "You know, who am I to be commenting on it. I do have friends and family that were affected directly. My love goes out to those people. And also my action goes out to those people, right? That's something that we're all going to have to live with for the rest of our lives. And we're going to hopefully do something to change it."

  This piece was produced for radio by Samantha Balaban and Barrie Hardymon, and adapted for the Web by Petra Mayer.

• Texas Book Festival website - https://www.texasbookfestival.org/ft_author/isabel-quintero/

  Isabel Quintero was born and raised by Mexican immigrant parents in Southern California’s Inland Empire. She earned her BA in English and her MA in English Composition at California State University, San Bernardino. Her debut YA novel, Gabi, A Girl in Pieces, won the 2015 Morris Award for Debut YA Fiction and the Tomás Rivera Mexican American Children’s Book Award.

• Publishers Weekly - https://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/childrens/childrens-authors/article/80000-q-a-with-isabel-quintero-and-zeke-pe-a.html

  Q & A with Isabel Quintero and Zeke Peña
  By Antonia Saxon | May 09, 2019
  Comments Click Here

  Isabel Quintero and Zeke Peña met when Peña was chosen to design the cover for Quintero's debut YA novel, Gabi, a Girl in Pieces (Cinco Puntos, 2014). Peña texted Quintero, Quintero responded, and the cover became a joint project. The book took off, and the two won a commission to produce a graphic novel about the life and work of seminal Mexican photographer Graciela Iturbide, Photographic: The Life of Graciela Iturbide (Getty Publications, 2018), which won the Boston Globe-Horn Book Nonfiction Award. In their new picture book, My Papi Has a Motorcycle, Quintero writes about the motorcycle rides that a girl named Daisy shares with her father every evening when he comes home from work. The story is set in the Mexican community of the southern California town where Quintero grew up. Peña’s artwork conveys the power and joy of the ride while bearing witness to the tenderness Daisy’s father shows her. PW spoke to Quintero and Peña about collaboration, memory, and making stories that open up the meaning of the word “American.”

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  Where are you both right now?

  Quintero: I’m in a parking lot in southern California.

  Peña: And I’m in Texas.

  Isabel, how did the story grow? Did it start with the memory of your father, or with the memory of Corona?

  Quintero: I wrote it, I think it was before Gabi was published, and it is a memory of riding on my dad’s motorcycle. He would get home, I would ride on the back—it was a good time. Sometimes my cousins would be over and we’d take turns; he’d take us around the neighborhood.

  Were you one of those kids who hung out in the garage and helped him?

  Quintero: I pretended to help him. I was too young. I probably would have been around when he was working on stuff. He taught me how to change a tire, to change the oil, all of that stuff, give it a tune-up—I wasn’t allowed to drive until I could do those things.

  How did the memories of Corona enter the story?

  Quintero: [My editor] Namrata [Tripathi] said, “I think there’s more to this.” She helped me see that I could write a better story that more kids or folks could relate to. It was like, don’t hold on too much to the memory, because memory doesn’t always serve the purpose of the story.

  And it sounds as if Zeke had a role in this, too?

  Quintero: My situation with Zeke is unique in that [unlike most author-illustrator collaborators] we communicate throughout the whole process. He’s a really amazing editor. With Photographic, he really pushed the story. A question that Zeke always asks me that I don’t like is, “What do you want the reader to get out of this?”

  Peña: I’m treating Isabel as the director, as if she were making a film, and I’m trying to serve her vision. It’s always questions, like asking what she sees when she’s writing: “What colors are there?”

  Isabel, can you talk more about Namrata’s part in the story’s growth?

  Quintero: When my agent, Peter Steinberg, sent out the book it went to auction—there were six editors interested. I had already been thinking about the story in different ways, and Namrata seemed to be on the same page. I felt that she had really read the story and I connected with the way that she had read it.

  Peña: You’re really interested in language and the way it sounds. She encouraged you on some edits. Some you went with and some you didn’t. She was very supportive.

  Quintero: I write on the more lyrical end and she’s very supportive of that—maybe even pushing that. Namrata is coming at it from, “How do we make the writing better?” and Zeke is coming at it from, “How do we make the story better?” It also helped me to think of the story that I was trying to write more visually. How could I make it so that Zeke could illustrate it and we could both create the best story possible?

  Zeke, as you worked on the illustrations, what did you discover about picture book conventions?

  Peña: If there are picture book conventions, I don’t really know them. The way I was approaching it was as a reader. A lot of the stuff was books that I had read when I was a kid, and things that I had read more recently. I know there are schools for this, where they teach this. I didn’t have that. So I sort of made it like a comic for early readers, using tropes and techniques of sequential storytelling. I used what I knew instead of what I needed to learn.

  A lot of the energy does seem to come from sequential storytelling techniques—that aerial view of the motorcycle, the action words right in the artwork, the action bursting out of the box—What is that called?

  Peña: “Breaking the panel”—it’s like breaking the fourth wall, I guess that’s what it’s called—I honestly I don’t know those terms either. I just draw.

  Were there any books that you were thinking about as you drew?

  Peña: I can’t think of any specifically. I mean, we definitely gave a shout-out to Cathy Camper and Raúl the Third [Daisy is shown reading one of their Lowriders books]. Raúl is definitely utilizing comic making and sequential storytelling.

  I was influenced by Bill Watterston, by Calvin and Hobbes. Although those strips are not children’s books, they’re really dynamic. The drawing is really cartoonish. There’s a lot of movement. I think that’s at work in this book. That’s what I was working on—how to make it an exciting and dynamic ride, a vivid ride.

  There’s a calm part to the book, too, to Daisy’s relationship with her father. How did you approach that?

  Peña: Yeah, for sure. It’s really vivid. She’s tapping into a very specific memory. I can sense that warm relationship. A lot of it I got from conversations with her. She sent me photographs of her father. You can tell from the body language and things. I’ve had the privilege of meeting her dad and I’ve seen his smile. He has smiling eyes—I tried to capture those things.

  How did you go about drawing the town of Corona?

  Peña: Isabel drove around and sent me these really cool videos that showed what the houses would look like, what the vegetation would look like...

  Quintero: They’re real places—or my memory of those places. A lot of the stuff isn’t there anymore. Corona was the lemon capital of the world, there was a lot of citrus. Now there’s hardly any. The city has expanded. There were specific locations, specific memory landscapes of my childhood. The tortilleria, where there were a lot of stray cats, and the church are next to each other in the book. The church is still there, but the tortilleria is gone—and they were never next to each other.

  Peña: That’s a beautiful phrase, Isabel—“memory landscape.”

  Quintero: The important thing is the memory itself. What is most important is the emotion and what we connect to it. Zeke has helped me think about memory more. Not 100% factual, but focusing on emotions and smells. It was really helpful—not only with this book, but with other things that I’m working on.

  Isabel, there’s a strong sense of the passage of time in the book. Can you talk about that?

  Quintero: When I was in school, we’d do a lot of walking field trips. We went to the library, and we had a presentation on the history of Corona and it really gave me this incredible feeling. Years ago, my city, where I lived, where my grandparents lived—it was a racetrack! That was when I first started to realize that nothing ever stays the same.

  On that note, my dad was a carpenter, and he still works as a cabinet installer. I come from a working class, lower-income background, and we make up a lot of that city, but we also built that city. When I was little, I was proud that my dad built homes, that he was part of this.

  And those things are often lost. The buildings are celebrated, but not the people who were involved in building them. As I got older, all of those things stayed with me, and now I have words that I can put together to talk about it.
  I know you two are fans of the work of Raúl the Third. He talks about the importance of finding your own voice, and about telling new American stories. Would you call this book an American story?

  Peña: Oh, Isabel, that’s so much a question for you!

  Quintero: I want to say, yes, it is an American story. And it’s a Mexican story. I’m the child of immigrants. Being the child of immigrants is always this liminal space of, where do I fit in? It is complex. And the older I get, the more complex it becomes. I was born here. What I celebrate is the America that I grew up in—it’s very brown, it’s very Mexican. It’s not hot dogs on the Fourth of July. But it’s just as important and it’s part of this country.

  [When]
  Gabi [was published], I remember there was a critique about the Spanish language in it—wouldn’t it ostracize American kids who don’t speak Spanish? And my reaction was, which American kids are you talking about? It’s important that these kids be seen, and that their differences and our background be respected. I appreciate Zeke’s Daisy. Daisy is brown, and her dad is brown. It’s not a stereotype. It is a happy family.

  Peña: Just because Isabel and I collaborate doesn’t mean we grew up the same way. I think that Isabel and I have had different experiences growing up. Even in my own family, one side of the family looks really different from the other. My story looks different from some Latinx people, but what I’m hoping for is the space for us as a community to explore those complexities. I heard Daniel José Older in a panel discussion say—I’m not sure exactly what words he used, but he said something like, it’s not about us trying to be all the same. It’s about us being different and leaning into those differences.

  What have kids said to you about seeing themselves represented in your work? Has there been some way a child has let you know that you made a difference in their life?

  Quintero: I’ve gotten several emails from readers telling me that they’d never seen themselves in a book before, and how much they connect with the characters. They’ll tell me, “That’s like my mom,” or, “Tia Bertha is just like my tia.” On school visits, students will often open up about their own families’ addiction, or other vulnerable details about their life. I feel privileged that because of my book, young people feel empowered to talk about things they’d felt cautious about before.

  Peña: I think the most significant feedback I get is when young people feel inspired to tell their own story. They connect a certain part of a character or story to their own experience and want to make something about it.

  Can you share something about the projects you’re working on now?

  Quintero: I’m working on some novels—and a few picture books, too.

  Peña: I am finishing up some book covers, and I’m also making illustrated short stories about the river between El Paso and Juarez, which will be published online.

  Will we see another collaboration from the two of you?

  Quintero: Yes, I hope so!

  Peña: At some point!

  My Papi Has a Motorcycle by Isabel Quintero, illus. Zeke Peña. Kokila, $17.99 May 14 ISBN 978-0-525-55341-0

  ALSO ON PW

• Los Angeles Public Library website - https://www.lapl.org/collections-resources/blogs/lapl/la-libros-fest-interview-isabel-quintero

  LA Libros Fest: Interview With Isabel QuinteroPatricia Valdovinos, Librarian, Multilingual Collections, Thursday, September 19, 2019

  email
  Isabel Quintero
  Isabel Quintero is a writer and the daughter of Mexican immigrants. She lives and writes in the Inland Empire of Southern California. Her first novel Gabi, a Girl in Pieces, is an honest exploration of contemporary Latina identity. The book has received several awards, including the William C. Morris Award for Debut YA, the California Book Award Gold Medal, and Boston Globe-Horn Book Award. Isabel also writes poetry and essays. My Papi Has a Motorcycle is her first picture book for children.

  Isabel will be one of the featured authors at the Los Angeles Libros Festival, a free bilingual book festival for the whole family. Celebrating oral traditions, the festival will feature stories and music from Latin America—including México, Guatemala, El Salvador, Colombia—and the United States. LA Libros Fest will take place at the Los Angeles Central Library on September 28, 2019, from 11 a.m. to 4 p.m.

  How did you begin writing?
  Words and stories have always been a part of my life, whether oral or written. As a little girl, my mom would read to me on her nights off from working in a convalescent hospital kitchen. She’d get home and we’d shower, put on our pajamas, then sit on our couch to read. Amelia Bedelia stands out because my mom and I enjoyed the silliness and would laugh so hard.

  I think I probably started writing around this time. Stories, poems, anything. My mom and dad still have poems I wrote for them when I was in first or second grade saved. In fifth grade, though, is when I really began to know what it meant to write a story. Mrs. Laing, my teacher, had us write a Halloween story and I remember how my imagination just took off and how good that felt. I didn’t want to stop. And then in 10th grade, I read e.e. cummings and his work did the same thing for me—it opened up my mind to the possibilities of language and white space. From then on it was only poetry. Even Gabi, a Girl in Pieces was a novel in verse at first. I strongly believe that reading and writing poetry makes stronger prose writers.

  What does being an author mean to you?
  It means that a dream that I never let myself dream as a young person became a reality. I’ve always been a writer, but a published author, of children’s books? That was something other folks did. But now that I am here, it means that I am able to share my stories, my family stories, histories, whether they be dark, funny, sad, weird, nonsensical, with the world. I wanted to be a teacher, to work in education because I believe that education is one way to work towards justice and equity. In the last few years, I’ve learned that being an author is another way to actively work towards those things.

  What inspired you to participate in the Los Angeles Libros Festival?
  I was invited to participate by LA Libreria, the folx there have been so supportive over the last few years. I was more than thrilled to be part of this inaugural event. Los Angeles Libros Festival is filling a need, especially in a city as Latinx as Los Angeles, and a region as Latinx as Southern California. I mean, qué chido, no? This is an event that families can go to together and then have a dialogue about after. So many times, I feel, events are English only, and our Spanish only families don’t get to understand or enjoy to the fullest extent. But this is not the case here. Who wouldn’t want to be a part of something so special?

  What is your creative process like?
  Erratic. I think most writers do what works for them and that’s true for me. I write at home on my kitchen table or on my couch. Somedays I write for hours and somedays I write a sentence. It varies on the project. For example, for Photographic: The Life of Graciela Iturbide and My Papi Has a Motorcycle, during the later drafts, I would hang up my clothesline in my living room and walk through the stories—revising like that because it made it easier to read. I still like to print out drafts and edit on hard copies, then transfer them to the document I’ve saved. It takes a little longer but makes more sense to me.

  Part of my creative process is also to engage in creative activities. I’ll watch movies, read poetry, go to museums, read comics. It feeds the soul. Also, hiking. I get some great ideas when I’m out wandering hills and looking at birds and brush.

  Tell us your favorite library story from when you were a kid growing up in the Inland Empire.
  As I said, my mom worked a lot and so when she had days off she spent it with my brother and me. We would walk, from our home on the eastside in Riverside, down Mission Inn Blvd. to the main Riverside Public Library. Usually, on those days, my amá would take us first to the museum across the street to check out the exhibits and then we’d make our way to the library. We’d walk up to the second floor, to the children’s section and spend time looking through books and annoying the librarians with my incessant questions. I’d pick around 15 books and then we’d walk back home that much richer than when we left.

• The Iris - https://blogs.getty.edu/iris/author-isabel-quintero-on-writing-the-life-of-photographer-graciela-iturbide/

  Author Isabel Quintero on Writing the Life of Photographer Graciela Iturbide
  A conversation with writer Isabel Quintero on the joys and challenges of authoring a graphic biography.
  SARAH WALDORF | NOVEMBER 21, 2017, UPDATED DECEMBER 12, 2019 | 5 MIN READ

  Author Isabel Quintero on Writing the Life of Photographer Graciela Iturbide
  Isabel Quintero standing in her home, in front of a framed illustration by Zeke Peña. The two collaborated on Photographic: The Life of Graciela Iturbide.
  This summer, writer Isabel Quintero and illustrator Zeke Peña came out with their latest book, My Papi Has A Motorcycle. It’s a love story between a father and daughter and their city, Corona, California.

  I’ve been excited about the work of Quintero and Peña since meeting them in 2017, when they published >Photographic: The Life of Graciela Iturbide, a graphic biography, with Getty Publications. The book follows the life and legacy of Iturbide, the famed Mexican photographer. The book explores the places, people, and emotions that have shaped Graciela Iturbide’s life and photographic career.

  Book cover featuring an illustration of a woman in the center holding a camera. She has an iguana on her head.

  Quintero’s background is in poetry; her first book, Gabi, A Girl in Pieces addressed topics including teen pregnancy, coming out, and drug addiction in a raw and real way. “YA literature is literature. Adults underestimate young people all the time,” she said. Her stories shed light on marginalized voices, giving agency to young women of color often missing from coming-of-age narratives.

  I visited Isabel in her home in Loma Linda, California, as part of a multimedia story on the book, and we talked about her process as a poet and writer, her encounter with Graciela’s work, and what it was like to write her first-ever graphic biography.

  Sarah Waldorf: You’ve just written a graphic biography about photographer Graciela Iturbide. How would you describe yourself, and the book?

  Isabel Quintero: I’m the daughter of Mexican immigrants, a writer, and an author of poetry, fiction, young adult fiction, and children’s books.

  The new book is a biography of Graciela Iturbide, but it looks at her life through the lens of her photography.

  SW: How did Graciela Iturbide’s photographs influence the way you approached the book?

  IQ: I wanted to tell her story in a way that reflected how I was feeling when I looked at her images and learned about her life. Graciela says that photography was a way for her to understand the world, and with that in mind I’d ask myself when looking at her images, “Ok, what was she trying to understand here?”

  I think the photographs in the book focus on Graciela’s interest in in-betweenness. Sometimes I’d find myself in my living room pacing about, talking out loud to myself about her photographs and what it is she’s really trying to show the audience with her images. One of the things I find interesting in what she talks about is how photography doesn’t really document a real moment—to her, a photograph is more similar to an idea, and is just one perspective on reality.

  I read about how she wanted to be a writer and a poet when she was younger and how poetry has influenced her work, and that really touched me because I write poetry. There’s a lot of metaphor—and I know as writers we aren’t supposed to say “hey, that’s a metaphor” and point to metaphor in our own work—but she uses birds a lot and so I wanted the bird to really pop out as a character in story.

  SW: What do Graciela’s photographs mean to you personally?

  IQ: I’m Chicana—Mexican American—and I feel this strong connection to my Mexican heritage. I feel as though I’m in this in-between space culturally. I’m constantly in the state of being both American and Mexican, and I think her work is in a state of present and past simultaneously.

  Her work speaks to me in different ways about Mexico. Though her intent isn’t to be political, my viewing of them is very political. They really speak to me, of constantly being in between and searching for a place to stay or a place to exist.

  Two pages open in a graphic biography.
  Spread from Photographic: The Life of Graciela Iturbide. Illustrations by Zeke Peña.

  SW: Birds appear several times in the book. Why? What do they mean?

  IQ: Graciela is in two forms throughout the book—Graciela as a woman on the page speaking, and also Graciela as a bird.

  In interviews, Graciela has said that to her birds mean freedom. A bird goes out, it flies, it can do all these things unattached from the earth.

  The first time she takes photographs of birds is in a cemetery, and she’s photographing a child who has passed away. To her, the birds are an omen telling her “you’re free.” She had been mourning the death of her own daughter and was photographing funerals to better understand and process the death in her own life.

  Zeke, the illustrator of the project, did an amazing job with all the different kinds of birds throughout the book.

  SW: You are a poet. What is poetry to you—and how can a photograph have “poetic” qualities?

  IQ: Julie Paegle, a poet and professor at Cal State San Bernardino, said, “Poetry is the art of language.” Evoking emotion through words. When I think of poetry sometimes—not always—there’s a lyrical quality to it. I think that is the same for Graciela’s images.

  When you look at her images, you imagine what the subject is feeling, you try to put words to it. There is movement and exchange between you as the viewer and her images.

  She has said that she doesn’t photograph things with the intent to be political or to make people feel a certain way. I think that’s interesting, because to photograph something is very deliberate. Just like writing a poem, it’s very deliberate. But you don’t necessarily want to tell people how to think, you want to prompt readers to bring their own experience to the work.

  SW: Let’s talk about your process. This was your first time writing a book in this format—as a graphic biography. What was the experience like?

  IQ: I’ll be honest. It was very hard for me at the beginning, and I’m fortunate that Zeke is very patient and that he’s had experience with the process before. He gave me tips, book recommendations, and helped shape how I was formatting the text. Writing a graphic novel is more like writing a screenplay—it was totally different than what I’m used to with a novel. With a graphic novel, I have to take into consideration the space on the page. How much room is there for dialogue? How much room for narration? Where can we fit the date or some sort of expository text?

  If I’m writing a novel or short story, I can write the contextual cues of a place in a story. However, in a graphic novel, I had to give stage directions. I had to think, what would Zeke draw here? What is he supposed to draw here? I had to ask myself these questions.

  I hope to collaborate with Zeke again in the future—because I’m certain I’d frustrate him less!

  A hand holding a pencil makes notes (not legible) on comic book panels depicting hands holding birds.
  Isabel making edits to an early draft of Photographic: The Life of Graciela Iturbide.

  Who do you hope reads the book, and what do you hope they’ll get out of it?

  IQ: I hope the reader feels transported into her photographs. Zeke did an amazing job of bringing her photographs to life. I think the book is really immersive and readers will feel as though they’ve gone through her life and to these places with her.

  ____

  Interested in Graciela’s response to the book? Read our multimedia story on the making of the book, including a visit with Graciela in her studio in Mexico City.

  Read our interview with Zeke Peña, illustrator of Photographic: The Life of Graciela Iturbide on The Getty Iris.

  Photographic: The Life of Graciela Iturbide is available from the Getty Store.

My Papi Has a Motorcycle

by Isabel Quintero; illus. by Zeke Pena

Primary Kokila/Penguin 40 pp. g

5/19 978-0-525-55341-0 $17.99

Spanish ed. 978-0-525-55494-3 $17.99

Quintero's picture-book text acts as an evocative love letter to her apa and to the interconnected web of Mexican immigrant working-class people who built her hometown of Corona, California. When Papi gets home from work, young Daisy jumps into his arms for a hug (the warmth of his body language expressing "all the love he has trouble saying"), then grabs their helmets, eager to zoom through their neighborhood on Papi's speedy blue motorcycle before the sun goes down. Pena's joyous digital and hand-painted watercolor illustrations capture the sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and "redbluegreenorangepink" colors of the town. They observe the community's many people and institutions that contribute to the well-being and harmony of "everyone and everything [Daisy and Papi] pass" on their motorcycle ride. There's Abuelito and Abuelita's yellow house with the lemon tree and the nopales; murals "that tell our history"; there's Mr. Garcia, the librarian in the Dodgers cap, with whom they exchange nods ("this is how we always greet each other"); and the raspados man. All of this--plus the text's nuanced alliteration, its use of Spanglish, and the realistic linguistic mix in the illustrations (even the cat says both meow and miau)--marks the quotidian specificity shaping Daisy's memory-making as well as her loving reflections on Corona's unfolding changes, its history and future. An appended author's note tells more about Quintero's inspiration. Concurrently published in Spanish as Mi papi tiene una moto.

g indicates that the book was read in galley or page proof. The publisher's price is the suggested retail price and does not indicate a possible discount to libraries. Grade levels are only suggestions; the individual child is the real criterion.

* indicates a book that the editors believe to be an outstanding example of its genre, of books of this particular publishing season, or of the author's body of work

Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2019 The Horn Book, Inc.. A wholly owned subsidiary of Media Sources, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
http://www.hbook.com/magazine/default.asp
Source Citation
Source Citation
MLA 8th Edition APA 6th Edition Chicago 17th Edition
Terrones, Lettycia. "My Papi Has a Motorcycle." The Horn Book Magazine, vol. 95, no. 3, May-June 2019, p. 130+. Gale General OneFile, https://link.gale.com/apps/doc/A585800674/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=ITOF&xid=ef053656. Accessed 8 Apr. 2020.

Quintero, Isabel MY PAPI HAS A MOTORCYCLE Kokila (Children's Fiction) $17.99 5, 14 ISBN: 978-0-525-55341-0

A screaming, bright-blue comet zooms through the streets of Corona, California, in a race against the orange setting sun.

A unicorn-decorated purple helmet can't hide the grin of the young girl tightly gripping the waist of her carpenter father, who's hunched over his blazing motorcycle as a comet tail of sawdust streams behind them. Basking in her father's wordless expression of love, she watches the flash of colors zip by as familiar landmarks blend into one another. Changes loom all around them, from the abandoned raspado (snow cone) shop to the housing construction displacing old citrus groves. Yet love fills in the spaces between nostalgia and the daily excitement of a rich life shared with neighbors and family. Quintero's homage to her papi and her hometown creates a vivid landscape that weaves in and out of her little-girl memory, jarring somewhat as it intersects with adult recollections. At the end, her family buys raspados from a handcart--are the vendor and defunct shop's owner one and the same? Pena's comic-book-style illustrations capture cultural-insider Mexican-American references, such as a book from Cathy Camper and Raul the Third's Lowrider series and the Indigenous jaguar mask on the protagonist's brother's T-shirt. Dialogue in speech bubbles incorporates both Spanish and English, and the gist of the conversation is easily followed; a fully Spanish edition releases simultaneously.

Every girl should be so lucky as to have such a papi. (Picture book. 7-11)

Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2019 Kirkus Media LLC
http://www.kirkusreviews.com/
Source Citation
Source Citation
MLA 8th Edition APA 6th Edition Chicago 17th Edition
"Quintero, Isabel: MY PAPI HAS A MOTORCYCLE." Kirkus Reviews, 1 Apr. 2019. Gale General OneFile, https://link.gale.com/apps/doc/A580520833/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=ITOF&xid=1fc6abdd. Accessed 8 Apr. 2020.

Quintero, Isabel UGLY CAT & PABLO AND THE MISSING BROTHER Scholastic (Children's Fiction) $14.99 5, 29 ISBN: 978-0-545-94096-2

Ugly Cat and Pablo are back following series opener Ugly Cat & Pablo (2017); this time they are on a mission to find Tamarindo, Ugly Cat's missing brother.

When Ugly Cat realizes he hasn't seen his brother in a couple of weeks he jumps to all sorts of unlikely conclusions. The favored hypothesis? That he's been taken by a chaneque--a mythical creature in Mexican folklore that lures children with his flute playing. On a tip from a hamster that lives in Tamarindo's house, the unlikely cat and mouse duo set off on a rescue mission to a haunted house. With the help of friends and some "killer cucarachas," Tamarindo's whereabouts are soon discovered. In the end, all is happily resolved, with no ghosts or chaneques involved. Knight's illustrations contribute to the silliness. His depiction of Pablo wearing a makeshift raincoat fashioned out of an old lunch bag is priceless. The visual fun gets a further boost by the distinctive typeface given to each protagonist. As with the first book, there is a liberal amount of Spanish sprinkled throughout the text, but a glossary at the end of the book is there for those who need a little help.

With lots of talk about farts, some grossness, a good bit of silliness, and loyalty to friends and family as the central theme, there is everything to like in this addition to the series. (recipe) (Fantasy. 7-10)

Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2018 Kirkus Media LLC
http://www.kirkusreviews.com/
Source Citation
Source Citation
MLA 8th Edition APA 6th Edition Chicago 17th Edition
"Quintero, Isabel: UGLY CAT & PABLO AND THE MISSING BROTHER." Kirkus Reviews, 15 May 2018. Gale General OneFile, https://link.gale.com/apps/doc/A538293990/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=ITOF&xid=896d6d48. Accessed 8 Apr. 2020.

Quintero, Isabel, and Zeke Pena. Photographic: The Life of Graciela Iturbide. Getty Publications, March 2018. 96p. $19.95. 978-1-947440-00-5.

5Q * 4P * J * S * G

Iturbide is a Mexican photographer born in 1942. In her 20s, she was a film student at the Universidad Nacional Autonama de Mexico. After her daughter passed away at an early age in 1970, she served with Manuel Alvarez Bravo as a photographer's assistant. Iturbide used her newfound photography skills to help deal with her grief. She sought answers and unearthed even more questions as her journey took her all over the world--Mexico, Germany, and India. Iturbide has won numerous prizes for her photographs, and her work is housed in many museums globally. Iturbide's experiences with diverse people and cultures can be seen in her photographs.

Iturbide's biography, told in an easily digestible poetic form, will leave readers wanting more. The poetry combined with the illustrations creates an outstanding format for following the photographer's journey. The illustrations, mirroring Iturbide's photography, are black and white. About the lack of color, Iturbide said, "Well for me, color is fantasy. I see reality in black and white." Readers, however, will witness the colorful life she has led across the globe. The knowledge and wisdom Iturbide has accumulated from her travels can be gleaned from her photos. She proves to readers that life does not have to be picture-perfect in order to be spectacular. Young adult readers will enjoy this biography and perhaps be inspired in many different ways. --Tom Malinowski.

Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2018 E L Kurdyla Publishing LLC
http://www.voya.com
Source Citation
Source Citation
MLA 8th Edition APA 6th Edition Chicago 17th Edition
Malinowski, Tom. "Quintero, Isabel, and Zeke Pena. Photographic: The Life of Graciela Iturbide." Voice of Youth Advocates, vol. 40, no. 6, Feb. 2018, p. 74. Gale General OneFile, https://link.gale.com/apps/doc/A529357198/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=ITOF&xid=25a77aa9. Accessed 8 Apr. 2020.

Quintero, Isabel UGLY CAT & PABLO Scholastic (Children's Fiction) $14.99 4, 25 ISBN: 978-0-545-94092-4

Ugly Cat and Pablo are two tough dudes with hearts of gold and a penchant for miscommunication and (mis)adventure.Pablo is a mouse who dreams of adventure; his best friend, Ugly Cat, dreams of food. When Pablo suggests an outing to the park, Ugly Cat is hooked. After all, there is always the possibility of food in an outing to the park. Sure enough, food abounds, but then they see "THE CART." The cart sells paletas--the Spanish word for Popsicles--Ugly Cat's most favorite treat. An "easy peasy lemon squeezy" plan is hatched to obtain a paleta, and from there on, it is all a series of mishaps and misunderstandings. Knight's black-and-white illustrations energetically capture the zaniness of the caper. Each protagonist speaks in a distinctive typeface, which also adds to the visual fun. The book has a liberal sprinkling of Spanish throughout; most of it will be understood by the context, but there is enough vocabulary that will be understood only by readers familiar with Spanish to make them feel extra accomplished. (There is a glossary for those who are not.) And our heroes? Well, they come out of the escapade unharmed and ready to plot their next adventure--"as long as we go together. And as long as there are snacks." A series is born. Both chapter-book and reluctant readers will go for this one like cats to paletas. (recipe) (Fantasy. 7-10)

Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2017 Kirkus Media LLC
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"Quintero, Isabel: UGLY CAT & PABLO." Kirkus Reviews, 15 Feb. 2017. Gale General OneFile, https://link.gale.com/apps/doc/A480921928/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=ITOF&xid=9b21ed6e. Accessed 8 Apr. 2020.

Ugly Cat and Pablo.

By Isabel Quintero. Illus. by Tom Knight.

Apr. 2017.112p. Scholastic, $14.99 (9780545940924); paper, $6.99 (9780545940917); e-book, $3.99 (97805459409311. Gr. 2-5.

Ugly Cat and Pablo are a cat-and-mouse team of best friends, and when they decide to go to the park one day, they hit the jackpot: a girl is buying their favorite foods, chicharrones and a paleta. When their plan to make the girl drop her food goes wrong, Pablo finds himself in the girl's clutches, and she plans to make him lunch for her snake! With the help of their neighbor dog Big Mike, Ugly Cat manages to get the girl to drop Pablo, but further mishaps follow. Comical illustrations accompany the text and do a good job of showing Ugly Cat and Pablos predicaments. The author successfully includes the serious and important topic of how to properly treat a friend, through Ugly Cat and Pablo's interactions with each other and with Big Mike. Spanish words are included on every page and reflected in street and neighborhood names. Short chapters and the bold, unique text, especially when expressing dialogue, will be sure to keep the attention of young readers.--Selenia Paz

Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2017 American Library Association
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Paz, Selenia. "Ugly Cat and Pablo." Booklist, vol. 113, no. 13, 1 Mar. 2017, p. 71. Gale General OneFile, https://link.gale.com/apps/doc/A488689606/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=ITOF&xid=04e0b7cd. Accessed 8 Apr. 2020.

QUINTERO, Isabel. Ugly Cat & Pablo, illus. by Tom Knight. 112p. Scholastic. May 2017. Tr $14.99. ISBN 9780545940931.

Gr 2-4--Pablo has adventure in his bones, and he knows the best way to motivate his lazy best friend, Ugly Cat, is through his stomach. Pablo convinces Ugly Cat to vamonos al parque because there is sure to be adventure and food there. They hatch a plan to scare a little girl and an ice-cream man in order to get some treats, but the best laid plans often go awry, especially when friends are thinking with their stomachs and not their hearts. In this tale of the push-and-pull of friendship, Spanish and English words are intermixed; enough context is given that those who do not read Spanish should easily understand the text. Knight's outstanding illustrations add humor and give real personality to all of the neighborhood characters. In the text, the characters are each given a distinct font for their dialogue. VERDICT A funny new series that will find an audience with fans of Nick Bruel's "Bad Kitty" and Megan McDonald's "Stink."--Stacy Dillon, LREI, New York

Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2017 Library Journals, LLC. A wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
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Dillon, Stacy. "Quintero, Isabel. Ugly Cat & Pablo." School Library Journal, vol. 63, no. 5, May 2017, p. 75. Gale General OneFile, https://link.gale.com/apps/doc/A491032044/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=ITOF&xid=4b2a2996. Accessed 8 Apr. 2020.

QUINTERO, Isabel. My Papi Has a Motorcycle. illus. by Zeke Pena. 40p. Penguin/Kokila. May 2019. Tr $17.99. ISBN 9780525553410.

K-Gr 2--A radiant ode to a young girl's father and her L.A. neighborhood. Every evening, Daisy and her papi snap on their helmets (hers is purple with a unicorn, his a black vintage variety) and begin their ride on his electric blue motorcycle through Corona, CA. At times they "roar past" taquerias and murals, and other times they "cruise," greeting family and neighbors as they pass by. All the while, Daisy absorbs the sights, sounds, and smells of her beloved hometown, imprinting its idiosyncrasies into memory. Daisy's experiences mirror Quintero's childhood memories, recounted through tender language and vivid sensory details. Recalling the motorcycle rides with her papi is an exercise in familial love, but also a way to honor a hometown and present the changes from gentrification. Although the topic is touched upon lightly, its complexity percolates and becomes much more vivid with multiple reads. The illustrations faithfully capture the merriment and love through careful details and a low-key color palette that alludes to warm memories being made and recollected. Pena makes felicitous use of his comics chops, incorporating speech balloons with Spanish phrases, onomatopoeia, and panels to convey movement. Quintero's writing and Pena's art coalesce most beautifully in the infectious look of joy on Daisy's face throughout. VERDICT A book that radiates sheer happiness without shying from reality. Highly recommended for all libraries.--Jessica Agudelo, New York Public Library

Caption: My Papi Has a Motorcyle (Quintero)

Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2019 Library Journals, LLC. A wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
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Agudelo, Jessica. "QUINTERO, Isabel. My Papi Has a Motorcycle." School Library Journal, vol. 65, no. 4, May 2019, p. 87. Gale General OneFile, https://link.gale.com/apps/doc/A584328837/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=ITOF&xid=c116bea2. Accessed 8 Apr. 2020.

QUINTERO, Isabel. Photographic: The Life of Graciela Iturbide. illus. by Zeke Pena. 96p. further reading, photos, reprods. Getty. Mar. 2018. Tr $19.95. ISBN 9781947440005.

Gr 7 Up--Mixing original illustrations, first-person prose, and lyrical interludes with gorgeous reproductions of photographer Graciela Iturbide's work, Quintero and Pena patiently reveal their subject's many angles, producing a "kaleidoscopic unraveling" of the artist. In this presentation, time is fluid, the text moving between pivotal moments in Iturbide's career to explain reoccurring themes and concepts in her work. The graphic novel format lends itself particularly well to this nonlinear style, as Pena deftly portrays Iturbide over the course of 50 years. The illustrator incorporates much of tire artist's signature motifs into the visuals, and his choice to use a black-and-white palette is another nod to Iturbide's point of view. This mesmerizing book conveys profound ideas yet also adheres to the artist's vision. (Quintero reminds readers that the use of words such as magical and surreal to describe Iturbide's work is incorrect; "her images are as real as they get.") Teens will come away with an evolved sense of how to look at a creator's life and work and how to think critically about art as a process. The importance of being seen, specifically in regard to indigenous communities in Mexico and Mexican Americans in the United States, as a narrative thread will resonate strongly with readers. VERDICT Quintero and Pena have set a new standard in artist biographies. A must for teen collections.--Della Farrell, School Library Journal

KEY: * Excellent in relation to other titles on the same subject or in the same genre | Tr Hardcover trade binding | lib. ed. Publisher's library binding | Board Board book | pap. Paperback | e eBook original | BL Bilingual | POP Popular Picks

Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2018 Library Journals, LLC. A wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
http://www.schoollibraryjournal.com/
Source Citation
Source Citation
MLA 8th Edition APA 6th Edition Chicago 17th Edition
Farrell, Della. "QUINTERO, Isabel. Photographic: The Life of Graciela Iturbide." School Library Journal, vol. 64, no. 2, Feb. 2018, p. 125. Gale General OneFile, https://link.gale.com/apps/doc/A526734190/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=ITOF&xid=7c4a5352. Accessed 8 Apr. 2020.

Terrones, Lettycia. "My Papi Has a Motorcycle." The Horn Book Magazine, vol. 95, no. 3, May-June 2019, p. 130+. Gale General OneFile, https://link.gale.com/apps/doc/A585800674/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=ITOF&xid=ef053656. Accessed 8 Apr. 2020. "Quintero, Isabel: MY PAPI HAS A MOTORCYCLE." Kirkus Reviews, 1 Apr. 2019. Gale General OneFile, https://link.gale.com/apps/doc/A580520833/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=ITOF&xid=1fc6abdd. Accessed 8 Apr. 2020. "Quintero, Isabel: UGLY CAT & PABLO AND THE MISSING BROTHER." Kirkus Reviews, 15 May 2018. Gale General OneFile, https://link.gale.com/apps/doc/A538293990/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=ITOF&xid=896d6d48. Accessed 8 Apr. 2020. Malinowski, Tom. "Quintero, Isabel, and Zeke Pena. Photographic: The Life of Graciela Iturbide." Voice of Youth Advocates, vol. 40, no. 6, Feb. 2018, p. 74. Gale General OneFile, https://link.gale.com/apps/doc/A529357198/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=ITOF&xid=25a77aa9. Accessed 8 Apr. 2020. "Quintero, Isabel: UGLY CAT & PABLO." Kirkus Reviews, 15 Feb. 2017. Gale General OneFile, https://link.gale.com/apps/doc/A480921928/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=ITOF&xid=9b21ed6e. Accessed 8 Apr. 2020. Paz, Selenia. "Ugly Cat and Pablo." Booklist, vol. 113, no. 13, 1 Mar. 2017, p. 71. Gale General OneFile, https://link.gale.com/apps/doc/A488689606/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=ITOF&xid=04e0b7cd. Accessed 8 Apr. 2020. Dillon, Stacy. "Quintero, Isabel. Ugly Cat & Pablo." School Library Journal, vol. 63, no. 5, May 2017, p. 75. Gale General OneFile, https://link.gale.com/apps/doc/A491032044/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=ITOF&xid=4b2a2996. Accessed 8 Apr. 2020. Agudelo, Jessica. "QUINTERO, Isabel. My Papi Has a Motorcycle." School Library Journal, vol. 65, no. 4, May 2019, p. 87. Gale General OneFile, https://link.gale.com/apps/doc/A584328837/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=ITOF&xid=c116bea2. Accessed 8 Apr. 2020. Farrell, Della. "QUINTERO, Isabel. Photographic: The Life of Graciela Iturbide." School Library Journal, vol. 64, no. 2, Feb. 2018, p. 125. Gale General OneFile, https://link.gale.com/apps/doc/A526734190/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=ITOF&xid=7c4a5352. Accessed 8 Apr. 2020.

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