Ari Tison

Ari Tison:
I've been thinking about the wildness of childhood, in that we are introduced to this entire world, and how wild of a task that is. And some of us experience different kinds of sorrows earlier than others.

Jordan Lloyd Bookey:
Part of growing up is learning about the world around you. You discover the why, the how, the what. But, oftentimes, the depths of our emotional journey precede that understanding. Ari Tison needed a way to work through complicated feelings long before she could make sense of what was causing them. Art offered her that outlet.

Ari Tison:
I talked about how I didn't process things in my journals, well, in poetry, I did. All of a sudden, it was cracking that door opened.

Ari's career is just beginning, but she's already making a significant impact. Her debut novel, Saints of the Household, has earned the Walter Award, the Walden Award, and the Pura Belpre Award. She's also a poet, whose work explores themes of identity and healing.

In this episode, Ari shares how art connects to her ancestral heritage, and how it has allowed her to explore her childhood trauma at her own pace. My name is Jordan Lloyd Bookey, and this is The Reading Culture, a show where we speak with authors and illustrators about ways to build a stronger culture of reading in our communities. We dive into their personal experiences, their inspirations, and why their stories and ideas motivate kids to read more. Make sure to check us out on Instagram for giveaways @thereadingculturepod, and you can also subscribe to our newsletter at thereadingculturepod.com/newsletter. All right, onto the show.

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Can we talk a little bit about your early childhood, where you grew up, and family structure, from a very, very young age?

Ari Tison:
Yeah, absolutely. So I grew up in Minneapolis, Minnesota. And I feel really lucky to have grown up there because it's such a literary hub. We have so many independent bookstores that I grew up going to, whether it was Louise Erdrich's Birchbark Books, which meant a lot as a native kid, or Red Balloon, or Wild Rumpus, those bookstores were hallmarks of my childhood. My stepmom is a writer, so she surrounded me with books. And she was really intentional with giving me lots of stories that perhaps would be difficult to find elsewhere. She really dug deep for Latin American stories, African stories, because that's also part of my ancestry. She did a lot of work with just finding native stories. I have this really intersectional identity, and so she really puzzle pieced things for me and created a lovely library for me growing up.

Yeah, so I grew up in South Minneapolis, and they're two different households, fractured family style of things. I joke that I'm the oldest and middle and youngest child, depending on what family you look at. So it's very complicated, which is helpful for writing books though, because I can, for the most part, think about what that role would feel like. Even though Saints is two brothers that are very close in age, which is more my sister's relationship, which was fun to think about. So, yeah, childhood was complicated and messy. I'm painting it as a pretty thing, the good stuff. It was very complicated from the beginning. My parents weren't together. There was separation and drama and all this stuff. I feel like I won't ever write my memoir because it's just too much for a book. But I'm grateful for all the narratives of truth that showed up through stories that really gave me a compass, I think, and continue to do so.

Listeners, I think it may be helpful to let you know that Ari was born into two separate households. Her dad was married earlier to her stepmom and, eventually, her mom married her stepdad, both of which had step-siblings, so she had two blended families. As Ari puts it, she was with an unsafe person at her mom's home where she spent more time. And beyond that, she does not discuss specifics publicly. She did, however, share about the importance of the relationship with her stepmom.

Ari Tison:
My stepmom and my dad would often read books on road trips, so they would... And before bed, and just throughout childhood. So, oftentimes, that was the Narnia series. When I was younger, they would read aloud. So Narnia series, I remember Esperanza Rising was such a big book for me too. Which was wild when Saints won the Pura this year because it was like that book was so influential to me. And then getting up on stage and talking about the people that shaped me, and it being people who had been in that space before and in that community. There wasn't a ton of native rep, so we did have the Birchbark series, which I loved. I wasn't really into historic books as much. I loved the contemporary books, but that was what we had at the time. It was either that or Kaya American Girl series and things like that.

Oh my God. Okay. Yeah, I'm shocked, I guess, that they didn't ask you before to write for them. Okay, but in all seriousness, your father is indigenous Costa Rican, he's Bribri, and you're one of very few living in this country, right, like five?

Ari Tison:
Yes, I'm one of five, yes. And I'm making one right now as I'm pregnant.

So you're going on a personal mission to increase exponentially.

Ari Tison:
Yes, I know, I am. I've got a power going on here. I'm the only woman.

Oh, really? Oh my God, okay.

Ari Tison:
So this is my job. No, I'm just kidding.

You've been personally responsible, okay. And then is your mom living? I know your father recently passed away.

Ari Tison:
Yes, she's living.

I'm really sorry.

Ari Tison:
Yeah, yeah, it was about two years, a couple of weeks ago that he passed away. But my mom, yes, my mom's still living. And, yeah, she's American white farm girl from rural Minnesota.

Oh, what an interesting experience in Minnesota, which I don't know if every... I feel like, as a Midwesterner, I understand Minnesota has many native populations. And so it's interesting for you because that's not your territory, your homeland, but you are native. And then being there, but then also having this white mom, it's just such an interesting way for you to grow up.

Ari Tison:
Yeah, yeah. Margarita Engle referenced me in one of her recent books because she talked about how it was wild to hold your territory, which is rainforest and tropical and warm and humidity and all that stuff, in a cold space like Minnesota. We get these wild winters and stuff. It definitely speaks to the diaspora experience. We carry so many different places that we call home. Going to my grandparents' dairy farm was quite the experience, because that's where my mom and her 10 siblings grew up. And I was the only brown kid in that family. There's nobody else. I was it. And so that space was interesting too, and navigating that... Especially going out to the country instead of being in the city, where my best friends were people of color, where most of them were. My soccer team was.

But then my family was incredibly white. I think there was a lot of learning for them too, a lot of give and take. For the most part, I'm amazed by them, and how wide open arms they've been. And part of that maybe is just the wildness of family, what family does. It can break down a lot of things that could have been there. It's hard to otherize when you've got a grandchild that's a kid of color.

Oh my god, yeah.

Ari Tison:
All of a sudden, it changes the story. Or you have a niece, or you have a nephew, all of that stuff changes things.

Oh yeah. I think that's the game changer for a lot of families. I also heard that you did theater when you were growing up, yeah?

Ari Tison:
Well, yeah, I did. I did theater when I was little. And I don't think that art form couldn't have been possible for me because it is too performative. And writing is quieter, and easier to skirt away, and not in community, frankly, most of the time. There are parts of it, absolutely, that are community, and I love those parts. But then there's that sacred between you and the page. And for me, me and the page and God, we're all doing a thing. And I feel like, yeah, that's a special space to be in. And if I had gone into acting or something like that, I don't think it would've been possible for me, knowing my childhood. I was told I couldn't go out for a musical in high school, even though I really wanted-

Wait, why?

Ari Tison:
Yeah, this is why-

That was just part of the-

Ari Tison:
Just my family, complications of my family. Yeah, I wasn't allowed to because it was something I really wanted, and I wanted it too much apparently. So it tells you something about, I guess, the sadness, the truth, the hard stuff of my kidhood, that's one thing. But writing did not get taken from me. It was something I could keep quiet. Which is funny, it's in the spaces where I say that I have to be careful, because I'm like, "Hmm, are there any weird people around here?" Don't go digging for your kids' journals.

Right, is some parent taking that... Are they taking that, and being like, "Oh."

Ari Tison:
Exactly. It is, it's one of those things.

It is one of those things. I think it was actually in the panel that you were on with Jackie Woodson for We Need Diverse Books, when you won. You were just on a winning tour. You were riding around with your medals this year. But on one of your other stops on your tour for Saints of the Household, we should say the full name, she spoke to that in light of book vans. And just how you can take a lot of things away, but you cannot take story.

Ari Tison:
You can't. No, absolutely. Well, and I think it's cool to see the iterations, sad, but cool, to see the iterations of things like colonialism, where people tried to overtake my tribe. People tried to take our stories, our language, our names. Ultimately, they weren't successful. We still have them after how many years of colonization, and genocide, and rape, and all this stuff. And I remember one of my friends, Cherie Smith, who's an author, she's an amazing author, she asked me if Saints was a metaphor for colonialism. Because it's not just in those big things that we talk about that happened historically, and we know have waves now. These things happen in households too. For Max and Jay, it was a white dad. For me, it was a white man that disempowered me in so many different ways that those kinds of ideas and concepts of colonialism and just injustice-

And wounds.

Ari Tison:
And wounds, yes, are still happening. And they can happen in a space of a house. It's not just an entire community. They happen in small ways and big ways. Thinking about all of those themes of knowing that, "Oh my goodness, look at what my people were able to do." And thank goodness, and I was able to do similarly. And because words also, yes, there are words in the page, absolutely words in the page, but words exist without that. Language and story exists. My people didn't, we weren't writing down our stories. We were orally passing them along. And so there's a power to that too, let's say, I couldn't have even written on paper. I could still have my stories. I could still figure out a way because my people did. In fact, that was built into how we just automatically shared our stories. That's definitely something I am grateful for. I think about my family and my ancestors, and in so many different ways as ways to empower me in present situations and past.

Oh yeah. And so with the wisdom of age, it sounds like you're uncovering these layers of context for your own ideas and your books and all of that. And I wonder, when did you really start processing through writing, or realize what it was doing for you?

Ari Tison:
Yeah, early, early, I was writing little short stories, absolutely. I was probably six or seven. And my stepmom is typing them out on her computer as I'm dictating them. So that's the oral storytelling now, that's not a flex, just I couldn't type. But I think that writing was definitely just a part of my life. A lot of my writing throughout being a young person was fiction, for sure, but also journaling. I journaled a lot. I had prayer journals, and journals where I was processing stuff or not, which is interesting to look back at. I found a journal of mine. I had actually thrown away a bunch of them because they were just too hard to look at.

When did you throw them away, later in life when you saw them?

Ari Tison:
Yeah, yeah, yeah. And it was like I had a box of a bunch of stuff, and I knew the journals were in there, and I was just like-

You didn't even reread them? You knew what was in there.

Ari Tison:
Just like, "Yep, those can go." I don't know if I regret that or not. I try not to live life with regret. I really try. That's hard to do, but I don't. You know what I mean? Part of me is like, "You know what?" I felt like I needed to not have those. And I think they would be really hard to look back. One, however, slipped through, I recently moved and I found one. And it was over years that were particularly... I knew, now, knowing now what was going on, and I was not able to process that stuff. I didn't write about it. It was all superficial things.

Like what was in there?

Ari Tison:
Yeah. It was just about friendships or general vague spirituality, stuff like that. Or the manipulation stuff that was happening to me, which is why the journals are hard to read because I could see how manipulated I was, how my brain was so influenced by problematic, and difficult, and, frankly, narcissistic people. So that's hard to read, hard to read yourself in those spaces because you realize how heavy those things are and what they do to your mind. But it was interesting to read some passages, or little notes to self, that would be truth that I could be proud of myself for.

Could you think of something like that?

Ari Tison:
Well, there was one list. I had a list of who I trusted and who I didn't. That was interesting to look back at and be like, I could see what was going on even if I wasn't writing about it. So then we talk about journaling as a way of writing, and being in practice, and thinking about things, but then also the books are able to reach those places that you can't always reach. I didn't have the language to do that work as a kid, but the books were doing that for me. I liked to cry while I was reading books. I liked the books that talked about melancholy, sadness. Those were the books that were doing it for me. That's where I think it's why we need books, why we don't just say, "You are a writer, kiddo. Write, don't read." Because we need both. We need that space of creating and being met.

You were both processing with the books and then processing through your writing. You were doing both. They're complementing one another.

Ari Tison:
Yeah, and there's something that Claire Rudolf Murphy says. She's a lovely author that used to teach in the program I studied at. And she would talk about how the narrative of your life happens, and then the books follow that, almost like a wave. And I think about that all the time. I'm way more conscious of that now, being older. It's similar. Here are the things that were going on in my childhood, how in the world... They mean it wouldn't have been safe for me to probably process those at the time. I was in survival mode.

Yeah, your story's following behind you, this idea, you're ahead of the story.

Ari Tison:
Mm-hmm, exactly.

I see.

Ari Tison:
Yep, and then the writing comes.

I didn't go to sleep right away. I lay there and thought how life was like a Littmus Lozenge, how the sweet and the sad were all mixed up together, and how hard it was to separate them out. It was confusing. "Daddy," I shouted. After a minute, he opened the door and raised his eyebrows at me. "What was that word you said? The word that meant sad." "Melancholy," he said. "Melancholy," I repeated. I liked the way it sounded like there was music hidden somewhere inside it. "Good night now," the preacher said. "Good night," I told him back. I got up out bed and unwrapped a Littmus Lozenge and sucked on it hard, and thought about my mama leaving me. There was a melancholy feeling. And then I thought about Amanda and Carson, and that made me feel melancholy too. Poor Amanda and poor Carson. He was the same age as Sweetie Pie, but he would never get to have his sixth birthday.

At the turn of the century, Kate DiCamillo seemed to have decided it was time for readers everywhere to get in a good cry, as she does, the good kind of cry. The cry that releases an emotional buildup you might not even realize you have. The cry that sends you on a journey through sadness, and eventually reaches the other side, hope. She gave us that experience through her now classic novel, because of Winn-Dixie. And while reflecting on and understanding why we cry, or feel the way we do, is important, we're not always ready for that. Sometimes, what we need most is simply to have a safe outlet to feel. And that's what Kate DiCamillo gave Ari.

Ari Tison:
I've been thinking about the wildness of childhood, in that we are introduced to this entire world, and how wild of a task that is. And some of us experience different kinds of sorrows earlier than others. For me, I was born into a separated house already. And there's a lot of fear and concern and all that kind of stuff. And so growing up in that space, from being a little baby into a young kid, these kinds of books meant so much to me because there was something very true about them. I remember feeling abandoned in different ways, or feeling uncared for, feeling left, a lot like Opal. And not every kid, thank God, does not experience that. But some of us do, and we experience it at young ages. And so to have books that are able to just be art, and tell those stories in such beautiful ways, and promise things like good and sad together, it's such an important utility of storytelling that, of course, is more than just utility. It's so many things, which is why I love writing so much.

But, yeah, so that passage I knew right away when you all asked me to read a passage, I was like, "Oh, this is it. I already know."

You read that with your stepmom?

Ari Tison:
I did read this book with my stepmom, yep, and then I read it over and over and over again all on my own.

You came back to that book as a comfort, really.

Ari Tison:
Mm-hmm. Oh yeah, totally.

I've always been safe from Dad and my art. When someone only cares about themselves, they don't make time for what you love. Maybe this is how God keeps it safe just for me. Dad's never asked to see, never wanted to look, never wanted to even care. Art wasn't a threat to him, not something to him worth controlling, even though if he did take one moment to look, he'd see that he is all over it.

That's from page 96 of Ari's book, Saints of the Household, in which the character, Max, explains how he finds refuge in art. Through reading stories like Because of Winn-Dixie, art allowed Ari, like Max, to process her emotions and her trauma. But, similarly, writing stories and poetry and journaling offered the same abstract emotional output that she needed so much.

Ari Tison:
It's such a wild gift that we have with storytelling, and with writing in general. I really do think that writing helped heal me in so many different ways, as a young kid, and a teenager, and then even as an adult. And I continue to look at it as a healing process. You get to separate yourself from so many influences, and then lean into what is it that you need? What is it that young person needs? And, oftentimes, the closer we get to what we need, we're getting into that human experience. And so we're going to be reaching into those spaces of what others need, and that's a service. It's like art is a service, and that we need to go deep with ourselves in order to serve other people, and to be useful and helpful.

Yeah. How did poetry enter your life?

Ari Tison:
It was in middle school, when there was a lot of stuff going on in my life especially. And we read Nikki Grimes' book, Bronx Masquerade. And that book is all about, to me, all about secrets in a way. Kids have their present lives, and then poetry opens this door to their real lives. That is where I started opening that door. I talked about how I didn't process things in my journals, well, in poetry, I did. All of a sudden, it was cracking that door open. That, I think, was one of the first times I did the little cry for help. And it wasn't really heard because it wasn't loud enough, but to me it felt obvious.

What was it? What was the class, or what was the-

Ari Tison:
It was a literature class or a English class in maybe seventh grade when we read that book. And I remember other of my friends who were going through heavy things, who were in safer households, could open that door more and then get help. Mine was a little too under the radar to get help. Tons of my friends got a bunch of help during that time, and I slipped through. But there was a poem that I wrote that I still remember that, for me, meant a lot, but to somebody else, it was harder to pick up on. But I don't mean that as a way to bash my teacher because I think that tool was necessary, more than somebody reaching out or something like that.

Yeah. And you said that poetry cracks open a door to let you process things, and I wonder if the spareness of that medium is what makes that possible for you? Because unlike prose, with poetry, you don't really have to spell things out for people, right?

Ari Tison:
Yeah, yeah. Well, I think there's a demand, often in poetry, for vulnerability. There's something that poetry is doing that is vulnerable and emotional. Fiction can do that, it's just thicker. It's a different kind of muscle. Poetry, naturally, has that built into it. Oftentimes, there's a shape of poetry that almost looks like a pig's tail. And it's like you're noticing and you're paying attention, and then there's some realization or turn that's just one of the most natural ways that poetry is created. Very different than the old school plot structure of fiction, where it's like a big triangle. You're running up the mountain, and then you go down a little bit. You reach the peak, and then you go down a little bit. Poetry is just a lot more subtle, but there's emotionality to it. And there's some realization or some happiness that's there.

Yeah, I'll have students that write poetry, and maybe they haven't done much through following the structure already. They know that they're going to pay attention to something and then, "Oh, I need to have a turn here." And then you dig in your soul a little bit, and you figure out what's going on, and then you have a poem. Not all poems are shaped that way, but many are. That's, I think, why poetry. It has it in its structure. It demands that vulnerability. And it did. And then it demanded vulnerability of me too. And then it continued to do so.

I think in high school, I didn't get as much access to contemporary poetry. It was a lot of Shakespeare and classics and all that stuff. We read maybe some contemporary poetry. I remember writing a poem about my favorite pair of pants, but it was more surface. We didn't get super deep with it. We didn't read a verse novel in high school. I wish we would have. I did in middle school. We didn't read one in high school. Part of why I think I wanted to write Saints too was because it wasn't until college that I experienced contemporary poetry.

Who are some of those poets that did that for you?

Ari Tison:
Oh, Ada Limon, she was getting going. Tracy K. Smith, Lucille Clifton, Joy Harjo. These poets were incredibly formative for me.

Yeah, you have such a strong connection to those who came before you, both what you're describing, that literary world, but then, also, in terms of your identity and connection with your ancestors. And that really comes out in Saints. Do you feel those connections when you're writing?

Ari Tison:
Yes, with the writers? Oh my gosh, yes. I remember, it was funny, so when I was first starting to write poetry in college, contemporary poetry, where you just get to create something, I really love Lucille Clifton, and I remember my teacher being like, "Well, you're not her. This doesn't really work yet." But I think it was because I wasn't really accessing my voice yet. I had a very voicey voice. I was used to writing fiction so I could put on that persona voice, that flavor of my character for my poetry, which meant then, to the faculty, "Oh, that must be her voice." But it wasn't.

Like a mask.

Ari Tison:
But it wasn't, yeah. And my poetry now is much more kindred to Lucille Clifton's work to Joy Harjo. I'm not saying I'm near... Not there, holy smokes, not there, but it is shorter. It is more spare. It's more simple. I put in quotes. It's more accessible, but not in the way that doesn't mean it's not doing something artistic. There's still art there. But those are the kinds of poems that I love. And I look at the poems of my people, that we have these more narrative, more simplified, yada, yada, yada, poems. Because when you're native, your art has utility. Your art needs to survive. And if your poem is 10 pages long, flowery language, yada, yada, yada, that thing's not going to survive, honey. It's beautiful.

Right. Yeah, succinct, right?

Ari Tison:
Exactly. It's beautiful. It's necessary.

Oh, I love that. I love that's a beautiful story. I also wanted to talk about something else I've noticed in your work, which is the presence of monsters. And I know they also play an important role in your culture. And I'd just love to hear your thoughts on that.

Ari Tison:
Yeah, that's so interesting. I think that our traditional stories have such wisdom and knowledge to them that is so incredibly, first, one to know as a native person. Kids who know their indigenous stories are less likely to experience suicidal ideation and things like that. Because our stories are so foundational to who we are, and our ancestors, and our people group, we need those. Those are life-saving. We know that books save lives. Also, for native people, our stories save our lives. They are a gift because of that. Our ancestors knew to pass these on.

I think about monsters in our traditional stories often, because those are the stories that often are the ones getting passed down. Because they are incredibly metaphorical. If you are going through something heavy, it can be helpful to identify, where is the monster in this? And then to then protect yourself and figure out what you're going to do about it. And there are different responses to it. Different things require different actions, you know?

Yeah.

Ari Tison:
And it can remind you, again, about what's true, and what's good, and what's worthy of protecting. We have this great story in Bribri culture about this gigantic python that will literally drag away somebody, if they have hurt kids, in the night. And I think about that one often. Those are the stories that it reminds you of the truth. With monsters, we realize the magnitude of what's actually happening in our world, and we are able to then recognize true monstrosity.

Are you a religious person?

Ari Tison:
Yeah, for sure. Yeah, so I'm definitely a Christian, for sure, which is funny as an indigenous person because that's such a colonized faith so often, primarily colonized faith. But actually a lot of Bribris are Christians, and a lot of us hold that space of having a ton of respect. And knowing that our stories are true, and that they have wisdom and knowledge and goodness in them, all of that stuff.

You can hold both, yeah.

Ari Tison:
You can hold both. My life is holding a lot of things. But, yeah, it's interesting. My faith has been a huge rock for me, yeah, that relationship with God. I have that line, and I think it's Max who talks about, in Saints of the Household, who talks about creating artists, agreeing with God. And I feel like that in my practice. If I didn't have that part of my practice, I don't know what I... I think I would feel very lost. And I'm not putting that on anybody else, but for myself, I have to be connected with the creator. I feel like that's a big part of my own healing. It can be definitely a complicated space, but I think when I boil things down and I go to what's true and what's real about the world, those are the things that, my faith, I think, remain with. There's a lot of things that people like to add and otherize and create with faith. There's the people and then there's God. And so I'm more about the God part than the people.

The spirit, yeah.

Ari Tison:
The people I will work on. Yeah, we're working on the people. But the rock of it all is connecting with a good and beautiful creator, and I'm happy to do that in my life. That's a practice I will always welcome.

Yeah, that's beautiful. I'm sure your work means a lot to kids who need those words as much as you needed those similar stories growing up. And I wonder what it has been like to hear from, and just interact with kids who are really resonating with your work?

Ari Tison:
It's one of those things where it's like a heavy thing. Even I wish that it wasn't so, but we know that it is. And so having a kid come up to you and say, "This really connected with me," or, "I've gone through something like this before. I haven't read a book that talks about what happens after," things come to a head and maybe are dealt with in some way. For Max and Jay, there's some form of justice for their dad. Then there's the healing afterwards, there's the work of working through all that stuff, the reclamation of the mind, like we talked about earlier, all of that healing, that what do you need to do now? There's a student who really connected with that, which meant a lot to me because that's one of the things I really wanted this book to do. I wanted it to not just end when there was justice for the abuser, and when there was healing for the kid. And justice for the kid too, obviously, when abusers get put away, there's justice all over the place. Those are really important books.

I'm not knocking those. Those books have changed my life. Speak was a huge part of why I even eventually got to speak because that book, dang. Yeah, so I know those books do something. We talked about middle school stuff, middle grade and elementary books. There were those YA books that did that, especially Speak. And so you think about those books, and they rock the world a bit because they do some of that work. They do that utility, like I talked about. They upset things. That was really amazing to hear that from a young person.

It's one of the biggest gifts. I say this a lot, but I can't be with every kid. I can't sit down and have a conversation. But when you have a book that does that, it's really special. Because it's like I get to get out of the way, and they just get to have that experience with the words, and find whatever it is that they need, if it's useful to them. And if it's not, they can close it. And that feels really special to me. It's like I just get to step back and listen, if they have something to share with me. That's a big gift.

We talked about kids who might be experiencing many of the challenges, and just things that the boys are dealing with, but there's also the beauty of the culture that comes through in the book. And so many more people are familiar with the strength and the rootedness and all these things of Bribri culture and story. And I'm thinking that also when I think of Costa Rica, as a white American woman, I think many people think of Costa Rica as a place for adventure tourism and rainforests, and are not thinking about the indigenous cultures, honestly, and the place. And so for you to bring that forward, I think, for many people, I just wanted to talk a little about what that feels like and to bring that forward for kids.

Ari Tison:
Absolutely. It's an interesting part of that. There's so little Costa Rican literature already in the US. It feels really good to start with indigenous voices at the table, at least one, at least. That feels really good to have recognition already. We didn't get that in the States in terms of publishing. Those native stories weren't right away. That took a long time for publishers to even catch up. And the stories have been here for way longer than we have. I'm like, "Catch up." So it's interesting to enter that space again, of being part of... There's three of us that came out in traditional publishing in 2023. And there's a picture book, there was a YA, and there was an adult book. It was really special to come out with them and to be like, "Yeah, BriBris are right there." And even a lot of Costa Ricans don't even know about Bribris, even though we're recognized by the UN and have our rights and sovereignty with the government.

Yeah, I've read more about the very interesting history.

Ari Tison:
Right?

Yes, exactly.

Ari Tison:
Us and our sister tribes were the ones encountering Columbus when he showed up on his fourth and final trip to the Americas. We've gone through some things.

Ari's second book, entitled Together We See, should be out in fall 2025, and, in it, she uses an unconventional structure. That experimental unconventional structure is also the inspiration for Ari's reading challenge.

Ari Tison:
So I have a list of young adult books with creative structures. One is Man-Made Monsters by Andrea Rogers, which is a collection of short stories that go through history, so it plays with time. But, also then, is a collection of short stories that have these themes of monsters that show up. I have Code Name Verity, which is OG, by Elizabeth Wein. That book, super fascinating, plays with point of view too, and the fluidness of it. I have Red Hood by Elana K. Arnold, which is written in second person. I love how she plays with autonomy and consent in this book. Because of second person, you have to have this contract with the reader when you use second person. She uses it so smartly in Red Hood. There's also poetry in that book too. A blockbuster we probably all know of, Firekeeper's Daughter by Angeline Boulley. This book, it follows the medicine wheel, in terms of its structure, which is really beautiful. And Anishinaabe or Ojibwe belief system of about the life cycle is how she goes about that structure of the book, which I think is fascinating.

This episode's Beanstack featured librarian is Jared Lessard, the branch manager at the Calcasieu Parish Public Library System in Southwest Louisiana. He told us about an experience that constantly reminds him about the power of libraries in rural communities.

Jared Lessard:
We created a portable virtual reality kit some years ago, before 2020, and this is before they were really, truly portable. So we had a laptop and this big, bulky virtual reality kit that we forced, and made it mobile, and it worked, and it was great. And it was wonderful because we got to take it around our parish to all the different branches. And I had an experience one time, where I got to go to one of our far-flung outlying branches. I'd gotten to do this experience several times before with people, but this time it was different. We were doing the program, and as the teens were going in and doing their virtual reality stuff, getting up there, playing the games and everything, what I found usually would be the case is that once teens got done, they hung out for a couple more minutes and then they left.

But for this one, the crowd kept getting bigger as the event went on, and this place was getting more and more packed. And I looked over it, and what happened is they were texting their friends like, "Dude, you got to come see this. This is so fun. This is so cool." And so, after the program, we're just swamped with teens, and I was so excited to be there. And one of them came up to me afterwards and they said, "We follow all of our favorite social media platform," or social media influencers, whatever. "We watched hundreds of videos, and hours and hours of them doing all this VR stuff, but we never thought that we would get to do that," because of their location. They were further away from easy access to that. And the technology divide is a very real thing in the world. And they came up to me and it was their face. They were just so genuinely thrilled to be able to do this experience that they honestly never thought that they were going to get to do.

And it reminded me, then and there, it's like I said, the power of libraries. It's such a wonderful experience that we can bring to people in such a varied way, whether it's your favorite book, or whether it's this just whole new experience of things that you didn't think you were ever going to get to wake up in the morning and get to do. I just thought it was a wonderful experience. And it reminded me of why we all wake up in the morning and do the things that we do.

This has been The Reading Culture, and you've been listening to my conversation with Ari Tison. Again, I'm your host, Jordan Lloyd Bookey. And, currently, I'm reading The Fire on High by Elizabeth Acevedo, and The God of the Woods by Liz Moore. If you enjoyed today's episode, please show some love and give us a five star review. It just takes a second and it really helps. And, today, I want to give a big shout-out to our summer reading giveaway winner, Alicia V, who is a librarian in Indiana. She won the book of her choice by a guest from this podcast. And in her case, she chose The Getaway by Lamar Giles in anticipation of spooky season. And side note, that's being turned into a movie now. She also won a pair of Cozy Earth PJs for herself and her reading buddy of choice. So in her case, that's her daughter, Annalise, who just took the bar exam. Woohoo, and good luck with that, Annalise.

Remember to follow us on Instagram @thereadingculturepod, and subscribe to the newsletter for future giveaways like this one. This episode was produced by Jackie Lamport and Lower Street Media, and script edited by Josia Lamberto-Egan. To learn more about how you can help grow your community's reading culture, check out all of our resources at beanstack.com. Thanks for listening, and keep reading.

Ari Tison

Ari Tison

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About this episode

Author Reading Challenge

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