Lavinia Hirsu

I am Ana Irene Castiglione, an Argentinian hospital teacher and editor. My work as a hospital teacher involves ensuring the right to education for children and adolescents hospitalised at Ricardo Gutiérrez Hospital in the City of Buenos Aires. There, we teachers visit our students daily in their hospital rooms, or we invite them to attend in-person classes at the school (located inside the hospital) when they are able to move around and leave their rooms. The work is usually one‑on‑one, “at the bedside,” or in small groups in a workshop format. Our students may be hospitalized for many reasons such as oncological diseases, mental health crises, scheduled surgeries, chronic illnesses—in short, anything that can put a person’s health at risk. Through the following three experiences that I share from my journal, I show how literature is always a great ally for building bridges of tenderness in this context.

1. Bruno’s game

Bruno, la oveja sin suerte (2009) [Bruno, the unlucky sheep] has become something of a “workhorse” and a “door of welcome” to the hospital’s school. A while ago, I began to think about crossing literature and play; during the pandemic, I had a great experience creating a board game with mischievous characters from stories of yesterday and today. So why not try it with Bruno?

Victor, S. (2009). Bruno, la oveja sin suerte (Kunas, Spanish Translation) Océano Travesía. (Original title published in 2008 as Michel, le mouton qui n’avait pas de chance).

2. Reading with Azul

I find Azul in a tiny room that, nevertheless, has space for two beds and two armchairs. The person looking after her is her uncle, her mother’s brother; her mother is no longer alive. Azul is a preteen and has a tracheostomy. When I walk in, and she sees me, I sense that she is somewhat intrigued and expectant; her eyes tell me so, as they open wide at my presence.

I begin to talk with her; I tell her that I am a teacher at the hospital school and that I really want to share a book with her, El paseo de Nina (2004) [Nina’s Walk], by Isabelle Carrier. I think that standing in front of Azul and hiding behind the book is not going to work, so I move closer to her and settle as best I can into the armchair next to her bed so that our eyes are at the same height in front of the book. We accompany Nina the elephant on her walk, and I notice that Azul makes an effort to catch each object we come across with her right hand (button, feather, balloon, star). Her movements are somewhat slow and imprecise. Positioning myself as a kind of bodily scaffold, I take her hand so that she can follow the airplane’s trail with her finger.

I do not hear Azul’s voice, the confirming phrase, but the brightness in her eyes tells me that this brief encounter moved her as much as it did me: the word conmover (“to move emotionally”) comes from the Latin commovēre, composed of the prefix com- (“with”, “in company with”) and the verb movēre. We have moved together; we have taken a walk, we have gone away and come back.

Inside the book by Carrier, I. (2004). El paseo de Nina. Edelvives.

In this encounter, I begin to sense something that will be repeated on other occasions. Variations in the use of the voice (volume, rhythm, tone), facial gestures, hands as an instrument of narration, sensitive listening to the surroundings and the moment—these will be the key pieces I will bring into play in each reading.

3. Reading Anthony Browne

I usually take Browne’s books to the rooms when I am in the mood to unsettle and sow questions.

***

Cover and inside of picturebook by Browne, A. (1991). El libro de los cerdos (C. Esteva, trad.). Fondo de Cultura Económica. (Original title published in 1986 as Piggybook).

***

Cover and inside of picturebook by Browne, A. (2004). En el bosque (J. I. Dehesa, trad.). Fondo de Cultura Económica. (Original title published in 2004 as Into the Forest).

***

Cover and inside of picturebook by Browne, A. (1993). Cambios (C. Esteva, trad.). Fondo de Cultura Económica. (Original title published in 1990 as Changes).

By way of conclusion

The three entries I have shared are part of my reading mediation journal as a hospital teacher. In this journal, I have compiled several experiences with child and teenage readers, ranging from the variety of books we have read together to the different modes of reading mediation established according to the medical circumstances that bring us together in a hospital. Mediation, then, is not only reading a book aloud; it is being a bodily scaffold between readers, books, and the hospital room we inhabit at that precise moment.

In this situation of vulnerability—with machines, doctors, medication, physical and psychic pain, and diagnoses that are often hard to hear—children and adolescents often cannot find a space of intimacy that protects them and from which they can unfold their emotions and their potential. In these circumstances, the reading of picturebooks has been an ally in building that private, safe, and comforting space for my readers*.

* All children’s and teenagers’ names mentioned in this entry are pseudonyms.

Ana Irene studied Publishing at the University of Buenos Aires; Teacher Training at Escuela Normal Superior No. 7; the Specialization in Children’s and Young Adult Literature at the National University of San Martín (UNSAM); the Postgraduate Degree in Artistic Resources and Mediations for Teaching at the National University of the Arts (UNA); and the Diploma in Coordination of Narrative Medicine Workshops at the Argentine Society of Narrative Medicine (SAMEN). She has also studied sociology, illustration, and ceramics. She has volunteered on the “Literature and Otherness” committee of ALIJA (the Argentine Association of Children’s and Young Adult Literature), with which they received the 2025 IBBY‑Yamada award. She has also volunteered at the Natalí Flexer Foundation, which supports children with cancer.

by Esdian Boyadjian, teacher of Primary Education with postgraduate training in Literacy for Inclusion (CePA) and in Writing and Literacy from the Universidad Nacional de La Plata. She completed the University Training in Publishing of Children’s and Young People’s Literature Books at the School of Philosophy and Literature at the University of Buenos Aires and is currently studying Publishing there. She is a member of the Language team of the Teacher Training School of the Ministry of Education of Buenos Aires City. She develops independent publishing projects, makes fanzines and collaborates with the British magazine La Tundra Revista and with femiñetas, a transoceanic newspaper of feminism in cartoons. She wrote for children in the popular science magazine Intrépidas and is the author of the calendars Crónicas Meteorológicas, Un mapa del fin del mundo (with Maximiliano Amici) and Año del Dragón de Madera, published by Ediciones Hora Mágica. She published her first children’s comic, Filomena y Clotilde, with the illustrator Lucía Ruiz and the publishing house Muchas Nueces. |  esdian@gmail.com

CLCP team introductory note: In contexts of precarity, there isn’t always a library or a cultural space for gathering readers; however, there is usually a school. This blog provides an example of how dissident reading proposals from teachers can re-signify what is read, written and published within challenging contexts.

When does a text cease to be just a school production and become a cultural object with real opportunities to begin to circulate?

Along these lines, I will try to recover three experiences of school publishing initiatives developed in different educational contexts over the last ten years, with the aim of reflecting on publishing as a pedagogical practice and as a central instance in the construction of meaning in the classrooms where reading and writing are taught. In all cases, publishing made possible the resignification of the practices of reading and writing and broadened the horizon of what is possible within the school, affirming that good books can also come out of school.

1. Planeta Cortázar: Other stories of Cronopios y de Famas.

You were always my mirror. I mean that to see me, I had to look at you
Julio Cortázar

My first editing experience was exactly ten years ago. In 2016, I was a 6^th-grade language teacher in an elementary school located in the neighbourhood of Villa del Parque, a few blocks from where Julio Cortázar, the renowned Argentinian author, had lived.

The book that marked one of the work sequences was Historias de cronopios y de famas. The choice of this text responded to the desire to bring the group closer to a literature that would challenge traditional narrative forms and allow us to enter the author’s universe. From the shared reading, it was possible to discuss the characters, the absurd situations, and the breaking of expectations. Thanks to invaluable audiovisual material, we shared some classes listening to Cortázar through the screen, an act which enhanced the bond we were building.

The final proposal was to write in the author’s style. This initiative was not proposed as an imitation but as an appropriation of procedures that had been progressively developed through previous readings and writings: the invention of characters, the exploration of the everyday, the personification of famas and cronopios, and games with logic and language. The process included planning, individual writing, collective re-readings, and successive revisions, aimed at reaching a final version with its own aesthetics, in dialogue with the sections of the original book.

The decision to edit and publish these texts arose as a natural consequence of the work done. Thinking about the book implied discussing which texts would make up the publication, in what order they would appear, what the title should be, what the design would be like, and what the materiality of the final object would be. These decisions transformed the link with texts: they ceased to be school productions and became writings intended for real readers.

Ten years later, this experience was foundational to my teaching career: understanding that school can be a legitimate space for quality literary production.

2. Poetic spells at school: The assembly of fanzines as a pact between links in the publishing world.

Over the years, my link with the edition of school publications was transformed.

In 2023, in my role as an advisor in the area of Language, I accompanied the work of the 2nd grade at School No. 22 D.E. 19 Juana Azurduy, located in the south of the City of Buenos Aires. In this context, the axis of work of the first part of the year was the reading and writing of versified texts, with special emphasis on poetry.

The sustained encounters with poetic texts enabled a singular aesthetic experience. From this approach, we built reading itineraries that put diverse voices in dialogue and enabled instances of rewriting, memorization and literary conversation.

In the morning shift, together with the teacher Eugenio Ariza and the grade teacher Cecilia Insaurralde, we elaborated a poetic journey with a common axis: the moon. Based on a selection of poems by Alfonsina Storni, Federico García Lorca, Antonio Machado, and other authors, the classroom was transformed into a space for sensitive exploration: texts were circulated on the walls, well-known fragments were rewritten, and the school calendar incorporated observing the sky as part of the literary work. Observing the full moon had been a source of inspiration for several of the authors we were reading. The poem chosen for the final publication was Canción para la luna by Federico García Lorca, and the writing proposal consisted of elaborating a prologue that invited its reading.

During the afternoon shift, teachers Sol Boccardo and Mara Matto worked with the limerick genre from the book Zoo Loco by María Elena Walsh. The reading and writing journey allowed the group to produce their own text: a limerick starring a jaguar, an animal that does not appear in Walsh’s book. In both cases, the writings were planned, textualized and reviewed among students and teachers, considering decisions typical of a real editorial process.

The closing proposal of both projects was the edition of fanzines. Writing to publish meant, for children, taking on other writing tasks: writing knowing there would be real readers. For those of us who were in charge of the edition, it meant finding the most economical and possible way to do it so that each child would have their copy without losing quality.

The illustrators Isol Misenta and Mariana Ruiz Johnson joined us in this adventure.
Isol illustrated the fanzine of the morning class, taking up the lunar theme in dialogue with the poem by García Lorca, while Mariana Ruiz Johnson made the illustration of the limerick of the jaguar for the afternoon class. The fanzines were titled Escucha y Merienda de yaguareté.

The printing was done in a risograph, which allowed a sufficient print run for each student to have a copy and for some to be available in the school library. The presentation of the fanzines at the school was experienced as an encounter that condensed a collective process.

Subsequently, the cooperative publishing house “Muchas Nueces” proposed a new printing, which allowed us to present and distribute the fanzines at the Buenos Aires Publishers’ Fair. In this way, the productions conceived in the classroom crossed the school’s walls and circulated in another public space for reading, editing, and meeting.

3. An Alice in Wonderland ABC

In 2024, I served as an advisor in the Language Practices area at School No. 3 D.E. 7 First Board. There, I began to work with Carla Andrea Lopez. In the second part of the year, together with the teacher, we developed a new editorial proposal: the edition of An Alphabet of Alice in Wonderland.

The choice of Lewis Carroll’s novel was in charge of the teacher and responded to the purpose of expanding the reading trajectory through the reading of a novel of greater length and complexity. The alternating reading moments between the teacher and the students were complemented by spaces for literary conversation, in which the reconstruction of the plot, the location of relevant information, the elaboration of inferences and the identification of the author’s marks were promoted. The reading itinerary was also enriched by the incorporation of other versions of the work, including Alice’s Underground Adventures, with the original illustrations by Lewis Carroll, which enabled comparisons and new conversations around the story.

In this context of sustained reading, the publishing project began to take shape: building a literary alphabet to recover significant words and fragments from the novel. The first editorial decision was to create a bank of words typical of the Alice universe. Completing the alphabet involved discussing selection criteria, resolving letter absences and, in some cases, opting for words that included the letter sought within, decisions that were the subject of debate between the teacher and the group.

Once the list was defined, the children selected fragments of the text for each letter, transcribed them and recorded the corresponding reference. This instance demanded multiple re-readings, underlining, and discussions about the relevance of each passage to history. In this way, textual selection became a complex and reflective reading practice, closely linked to the book’s construction.

The work on the illustrations was carried out in parallel with the textual selection. Collectively, it was agreed that these would accompany the chosen fragments with the aim of sustaining a visual unity. Based on these agreements, Maximiliano Amici sent the cover illustration, and together with the designer Carolina Declerk, we selected a colour palette and decided on the articulation among the text, chosen typographies, and the image. These decisions allowed the children to be introduced to discussions about editorial design and the need to think of the book as an integral project, in which the different languages dialogue with each other so that the book emerges as a beautiful object.

In addition to the text prepared collectively in the classroom, the back cover included brief reviews written by different actors in the educational and editorial fields. The incorporation of these voices sought to offer the teacher and children the experience of seeing their work read, commented on and valued by readers outside the school environment.

Thinking about publication also implied making decisions about the materiality of the book: format, dimensions, type of paper, and binding. The editorial process was organized emulating the stages of the book world – pre-press, press and post-press – and each of them was shared with the group. These instances made visible the times, the comings and goings and the revisions necessary for a work to become an object destined for reading and circulation.

In the final stretch of the production, the style and correction work was incorporated by Sol Bulacio Martínez, from the National University of Córdoba, who accompanied the process by attending to the decisions made in the classroom.

In the first encounter with the book already printed, one of the children said: “In the end, it is difficult to be an editor, because you have to take care that the book is not so expensive, but that it is beautiful.” This sentence, formulated from the amazement of the first contact with the finished work, condenses one of the most significant learnings of the project and accounts for the complexity of the decisions involved in editing for real readers.

Echoes of creation: the paths and forms which publications take

Editing at school is not an obligation or a goal to be achieved in all projects. Many texts need to remain in the privacy of the classroom, circulate among peers, exhaust themselves in everyday conversation, or remain in notebooks or folders. However, when the desire to publish appears, when a text asks to be published, editing becomes an interesting possibility: it allows us to extend the work of reading and writing for another purpose, to open new conversations and to enable other ways of encountering literature. Some of the publishing experiences I accompanied continue to expand, making their way into different spaces and merging the school with the publishing world.

The proposals for teaching reading and writing are enriched when, at some point in the school journey, the experience of publishing appears and when that experience transforms those who accompany the teaching. As Julieta Roffo wrote and Martín Felipe Castagnet rewrote:

Two things that change your life:
—a good grandmother
—a good editor

Photo credits

Gonda, Roxana (2023). Poetic fanzines [Photograph of fanzines published by the publishing house Muchas Nueces for the 12th Publishers’ Fair].

by Veronica Salinas

My name is Veronica Salinas. I am a writer and university assistant professor of children’s and young adult literature. I was born and raised in Argentina and immigrated to Norway 23 years ago. I work as a mediator, writer, and researcher at The Norwegian Institute for Children’s Books.

Waterlily on the Sea

This picturebook is the result of artistic research with refugee children recently arrived in Norway. As a writer, mediator, and researcher, I have met with more than 600 children, reading with them once a month for over ten years. All of them were refugees from wars and conflicts around the world. Some had arrived with one or both parents. Forty per cent of them lived in Norway without their parents. They were between 10 and 20 years old. They spoke Spanish, Arabic, English, Tigrinya, Korean, Polish, Turkish, Thai, Bantu, Dari, Farsi, Filipino, Ukrainian, Kinyarwanda, and Amharic. So many parts of the world suddenly united in one Norwegian classroom! Our literary gatherings took place in the school’s Norwegian classes. The young people had lived in Norway for two to three years, and all had completed a basic Norwegian course.

Group of teenagers part of the research. Photograph by: Tord Paulsen

Through dialogic reading, I tried to provide these children, with altered narratives and undergoing very difficult processes, with tools to continue writing their stories in this new context, in this new country: Norway. Dialogic reading has been an important tool and foundation for my artistic research, and the foundation of “Waterlily on the Sea” (Magikon Forlag 2024). The book was developed between 2022 and 2024. During this period, I worked with 60 refugee children and young people. I met with them once a month. Together, we read literature in Norwegian and discussed the literature we covered. In the project, I investigated the following questions: How do young people who are on a short stay in Norway experience group reading and independent reading of texts? How could I create a close dialogue with them?

Dialogic Reading

The method I used was dialogic reading. I applied it both as a read-aloud methodology to promote vocabulary and language use in children and as an artistic method for collecting data. Dialogic reading was developed as a reading program that encourages parent-child interaction (Whitehurst, 1988). Unlike traditional reading, in dialogic reading, the child plays a more active role, and dialogue about the book’s content is facilitated before, during, and after reading. Through reading, the child becomes the narrator and contributes their own perspective, rather than passively listening while the adult reads and recounts. A key principle is that the mediator asks questions and encourages the child to tell the story, reversing roles so that the child becomes the active protagonist. The difficulty of the questions is adapted to the children’s varying language abilities.

Two teenagers from the reading group. Photograph by: Janne Gravdal

In my case, we initially began with open-ended questions to invite them to immerse themselves in the story, and then gradually encouraged them to participate more. I also followed up the dialogue with individual questions at the end of each reading session, where we worked on words and phrases. I had deep and important conversations about migration with the children. After the reading sessions, I took notes and interviewed them about their experience with dialogic reading. For some of the children and young people, the group discussions about the literature were meaningful and formed an important part of their learning. At the same time, I recognized that each carried their own experiences, and the responses they gave to the stories were linked to their own past and present. Many were traumatized and had experienced distrust of adults and the world. Some children had already “shut down” and become “silent.” They were stuck, like ships in a storm, unable to find their way back. But how could we, through literature, create a safe space where their story, their journeys, could be discussed? In response to meeting these young people, I wrote “Waterlily on the Sea.” The story is based on the children’s real-life experiences. Their words were the basis for the poetry and narrative of the book. I tried to create a narrative space where they could express the unspoken, a form of narrative that connected loss, trauma, and the refugee journey with the hope for a future, based on the possibility of “safe” places.

Boy part of the reading group holding the picturebook “Waterlily on the Sea” . Photograph by: Verónica Salinas

Children refugees of war

In Waterlily on the Sea, the protagonist leads an ordinary life with her mother in a city, but war suddenly strikes. She is forced to leave and must do so alone. She embarks on a dangerous journey and eventually arrives in a new place. The protagonist will continue her life in this new place, where she will likely have to learn a new language, new norms, make new friends, and build a new life.

The picturebook format was my first artistic choice. In a picturebook, text and images allow for interpretation, giving each reader space to fill the pages with their own story. It is also a book in which children can rely on the visual elements if they don’t recognize or understand all the words. The question I asked myself was: Can we, through text and images, create balance within a heavy narrative?

I wanted to find an art form that addressed a journey through the body. Some young people have described powerful experiences of how these bodily sensations manifested. Some have said they felt their bodies fragment during the escape. Others have recounted how powerful it was to receive physical help from others. Suddenly, it can have a huge impact to have someone hold your hand, or to be allowed to sit next to someone you don’t know, but who offers a moment of help.

Double-spread of the picturebook “Waterlily on the Sea”. Illustration by: Narges Mohammadi

Narges Mohammadi, Iranian illustrator

The book’s illustrator is Narges Mohammadi, a visual artist and illustrator based in Iran with more than 30 children’s books published internationally. She shares her name with the Nobel Peace Prize winner. Narges Mohammadi fights against the oppression of women in Iran, for human rights and freedom for all. Our book addresses the issue of children in crisis, boys and war, girls and war. Furthermore, the creative process has been marked by another dark undertone: violence against women in Iran. I remember one night, a few years ago, when Narges wrote: “The girl in our book should show her hair. And her hair should be long.” I said it was a great idea. A few months later, I read the news about the situation in Iran: women under surveillance, restricted freedom of expression, silenced, and minors sentenced to death. The crime? Showing too much hair. I texted Narges: “I’m sorry, I didn’t understand the context when you said, ‘The girl in our book should show her hair.’ I don’t want you to do anything that will put you in danger.” She replied: “The girl in our book shows her hair. This is important to me.”

Narges has done a wonderful job. She has created a strong protagonist; despite the tragedy she is experiencing. Since the book is based on true events, I have reflected a lot on how I handle the stories I have heard and the trust between the children and me. The story doesn’t directly expose any of the personal stories I have been told but rather represents all the stories I have heard.

Double-spread of the picturebook “Waterlily on the Sea”. Illustration by: Narges Mohammadi

Children’s response

When I tested the book with the children during its development, they had varied reactions. Some focused on the text, others on the images. I share a few quotes from the children: “I recognized myself in her. Although I came over the mountains, I travelled by truck and flew to get here. Not by boat. But I also had a similar journey.”; “The book is beautiful and sad. Like life can sometimes be.”; “I think it’s a fun book to flip through, and it was almost a little scary. It’s scary to take journeys like that. It’s scary to experience change, and that’s conveyed very well in this book.”; “There are many children who travel alone, like the girl in the book.”; “The images are very good. Sometimes they helped explain that she is alone. When everyone is holding on to each other, I could see that she is alone. I felt the loneliness in the image.”

The children’s comments illustrate the point that literature is a space where we can find ourselves. Waterlily on the Sea has become what anthropologist Michèle Petit, in her book The Art of Reading in Times of Crisis, would call a “lap” experience (Petit, 2009). When you sit on someone’s lap, you are held. You are surrounded by two loving arms, you feel warm breath on your neck, and you hear kind words in your ear. Even if our voices were close, a lap would undoubtedly be the favourite place for any child, especially one who has experienced one or more major crises.

If we start from the theory that the way society receives refugees is crucial to their subsequent telling of their own story, I have enormous hope in literature as a place of encounter. Literature, with its transformative power and as an act of love, as philologist Irene Vallejo (2019) describes: “If someone reads for you, they desire your pleasure. Reading is an act of love and an armistice amidst the struggles of life.”

References:

– by Josef Lee

The ‘House of Mini Picture Books’, founded by writer-artist Josef Lee from Singapore, is an online library of picture stories, available freely for downloading, and printing, to be D.I.Y. into mini picture books.

www.minipicbooks.com

I am Josef Lee—a picture-book writer and artist from Singapore. My journey with picture books began with a simple, yet profound belief: that simple words paired with the right visuals can create stories with extraordinary meaning. Stories that are powerful, timeless, and capable of gently educating young minds on even the biggest issues.

In April 2020, when the world seemed to come to a standstill, my passion for storytelling was put to the test. The COVID-19 pandemic forced the closure of all 25 public libraries in Singapore, along with bookstores and schools. With these closures, children were left with limited access to physical books, and I worried about how this would impact their love for reading.

Shortly after, the National Arts Council (NAC) in Singapore launched a Digitalisation Grant to support artists in sharing their work online. I saw an opportunity—a chance to bring books back into children’s lives, but this time, in a way that was safe, accessible, and equally magical. That’s when the ‘House of Mini Picture Books’ (HOMPB) was born.

Five months later, in December 2020, HOMPB was launched as an online platform offering 20 original picture stories that could be read online, downloaded, or even printed and folded into DIY mini picture books. Out of the 20 stories, I personally wrote and illustrated 10 of them, and another 10 were created by my group of talented writers and artists friends whom I invited to join the project.

The response was overwhelming. Thousands of parents and children visited the site, and educators eagerly used these resources in their lessons. Each story was paired with learning activities and discussion points, making them not just tales to read but tools to teach and inspire.

But the journey didn’t stop there. In 2023, I received another grant from the ‘Harmony Fund’, which allowed me to create the ‘House of Mini Picture Books – CULTURAL Edition’ — eight new stories celebrating Singapore’s rich tapestry of racial and religious harmony. This project was deeply personal to me, as I had the chance to mentor five young student-artists from NAFA, an arts institution where I lectured at. Together, we refined their stories to make them resonate with children, and the results were incredible.

Another three stories were collaborations between me and three other ethnic writers, each writing a story about their own culture, and I learnt so much from them through the process.

Then came a connection I never expected.

Rosario Obregon, the founder of ‘Mi Primer Libro Peru’ @miprimerlibroperu reached out to me. She shared how in Peru, books are often a luxury, with many children growing up without the joy of reading. She saw HOMPB as a beacon of hope for the books-scarce Peru, as a way to bring books into the hands of children who needed them most.

Rosario’s passion inspired me. With her leadership, communities and preschool teachers in Peru began translating the HOMPB stories into Spanish, creating mini-books and even mini-libraries to promote reading in early childhood. Seeing these stories transcend borders, languages, and cultures has been nothing short of humbling.

Singapore and Peru are 19,122km apart, with a time difference of 13 hours. But in the world of books and curious wonderment, we are magically connected through stories.

Pre-school teachers in Peru with their handmade mini picture books.

Mini libraries created by teachers in Peru, to house their collection of mini books.

Looking back, I’m reminded of why I started this journey—to show that stories, no matter how simple, can spark change. They can bridge gaps, ignite imaginations, and bring people together in ways we never expect.

Storytelling at a public library in Singapore, to launch our new stories from HOMPB’s CULTURAL Edition.

So to anyone reading this: embrace the power of books. Whether you’re a reader, a parent, an educator, or a creator, know that every story you share has the potential to touch lives far beyond what you can imagine. And for me, there’s no greater joy than being part of that journey.

Here’s to the endless possibilities of stories, and to the readers who make them come alive.

By Ivette Girón

In Honduras, one-third of the population is under 18. These children and adolescents face an intersection of significant challenges, including poverty, violence, and forced displacement. In 2022, over 37,000 unaccompanied children and adolescents were intercepted at the US border, while in 2023, one in ten adolescents between the ages of 15 and 17 were victims of violence (UNICEF, 2023; UNAH, 2023). These figures reflect a troubling reality, particularly in rural areas, where opportunities are limited, and school dropout and poverty rates are high.

In such a context of deep insecurity and inequality, resilience becomes key, as it marks the beginning of new development after trauma. Resilience, rather than being an innate trait, is a process built from supportive relationships and available resources. This led me to the following question:

Can children’s literature foster resilience?

My research found that the Riecken Community Libraries^[1] and picture books can indeed be powerful tools to promote resilience in vulnerable contexts. These libraries, managed by the communities themselves, go beyond being simple reading spaces. They are places where belonging and mutual support are built—fundamental elements of resilience. As Milagros, a young interviewee, expressed: “Many of my memories are tied to this place, where I spent time with my mum, who was the first librarian. The library belongs to the community.” This sense of belonging transforms the libraries into symbolic refuges, where children and adolescents find security, opportunities, and a space to grow.

Additionally, I found that resilience can also be fostered through the picturebooks that children and adolescents read at these libraries. To explore how this happens, I used the picture books Ada’s Violin (2016) by Susan Hood and Dreamers (2018) by Yuyi Morales. Both works combine text and images to tell stories of overcoming adversity, creativity, and adaptation. The seven young readers and three reading facilitators involved in the study highlighted how these picturebooks not only offered symbolic refuge but also provided an opportunity to reflect on their own experiences. As Nahomy commented: “[…] they address topics that we have experienced ourselves, and they can be a source of support, showing how the situation unfolds, how it can be dealt with, and how it can be overcome.”

It is worth noting that the images, in particular, proved to be an essential resource for capturing attention and enriching the reading experience. The young participants demonstrated a meaningful connection to the stories through the images. Brandy said: “They’re more beautiful because you imagine things, and it’s like living the moment.” This finding underscores how picture books stimulate a more immersive reading experience, where the images act as symbolic mediators, making interpretation and enjoyment easier in a context like Honduras, characterised by low literacy levels and limited reading practices.

On the other hand, picture books also allow personal experiences to connect with the narratives, creating space for reflection and empathy. Brandy noted: “[…] from the book I read, many things changed, my thinking changed. When I saw that the character could do it, I said to myself, I can too, if I put my mind to it […]” This process, combining cognitive, aesthetic, and emotional aspects, contributes significantly to resilience by helping readers imagine possible solutions to the challenges they face.

In this way, my research demonstrated that resilience is strengthened when children and adolescents have access to resources that support them in processing their experiences and visualising possible futures. The Riecken Community Libraries not only provide access to books but also offer educational and technological resources, reducing inequalities and fostering community leadership. Picture books, in turn, are unique tools that connect emotions, imagination, and learning in one space. However, this is just the first step. Important questions remain: How can the use of picture books be encouraged in other spaces? What lessons from this experience can be replicated in other similar contexts?

For now, I can confidently say that community libraries and children’s literature are more than educational resources: they are pillars for rebuilding social ties, restoring hope, and strengthening resilience. Investing in them is not just an investment in education but in a more equitable and resilient future for new generations.

^[1] The Riecken Community Libraries are a network of 65 libraries located across Honduras and Guatemala. These libraries are managed by local communities and provide inclusive spaces for learning, technology, and community engagement. Their mission is to transform lives by promoting reading and social development through a community-based model.

Acknowledgements:

A special thank you to the young readers, whose participation was essential to this study, as well as to the librarians and coordinators for their invaluable collaboration. I sincerely thank the Riecken Foundation and the Riecken Community Libraries, particularly Paco Alcaide, for their support. I also extend my gratitude to the University of Glasgow and the Master’s programme in Children’s Literature, Media, and Culture (CLMC), especially to Professor Evelyn Arizpe for her supervision.

 References: 

Giron Elvir, I. A. (2023). Fostering Resilience in Critical Contexts through Picturebooks: A Case Study at Riecken’s Community Libraries in Honduras (Master’s Dissertation). University of Glasgow.

UNAH. Universidad Nacional Autónoma de Honduras. (2023). Boletín No. 64 Sobre Mortalidad y Otros.

UNICEF. (2022). Situación de la Infancia en Honduras 2022 [SITAN]. UNICEF.

By Eliana Pasarán

I had the fortune of growing up and walking among books, specializing in the publishing of those aimed at children, conceiving them from scratch, editing them and launching them on the market, but until relatively recently I had the immense fortune of mediating between books with children in a public library. Today I would like to share this experience with you.

 To Paula and all the volunteers that keep La Biblio afloat

I

Sheltered under the generous shade of a mango tree, in the heart of a small town on the Oaxacan coast, lies the “Biblio de Mazunte”, a space for reading that together with the auditorium, the municipality and the basketball courts, makes up the community space of a busy tourist town.

In this hospitable, cool and calm space, an ocean of books of diverse interests hope to awaken the curiosity of readers and speak to them about the things of this world and others through a wide collection of words and images. Books can be taken on loan or read in situ, either inside to escape the heat, in the hammock that swings on the terrace or within the little square that leads to La Biblio which, in the afternoon, as soon as the sun goes down, is filled with children who run and play, musicians and lovers, tourists returning from the beach and sellers of “doradas” and “tlayudas”[1] whose aromas spread with the help of the breeze, attracting locals and strangers.

My love for La Biblio de Mazunte was born when I crossed its threshold for the first time and was overwhelmed by its aroma of paper and ink mixed with salt and sand. It is a loving and inviting place. A librarian welcomed me and allowed me to freely explore the space surrounded by floor-to-ceiling bookcases, full of organized and well-classified books that invited me to caress the covers and spines, to smell songs, to crave their titles.

The recommendations of the month were displayed under the light of the windows and on a long wooden table, surrounded by mismatched chairs. In addition to the traditional sections of books on fiction, poetry, history, spirituality, science, crafts, and encyclopedias, there were special exhibitions of Mexican fiction and the complete Rius collection as well as a set of García Márquez’s work.

After surfing a bit here and there, feeling like a fish in water, I found the pearl of the treasure at the bottom of the library: a very small selection of children’s books that appeared carelessly arranged on a bookshelf and also stacked on a small table with several hardcover and different sized books that I accidentally knocked over as I passed by. When I picked them up, a wave of emotion broke through my chest: Where the Wild Things Are by Sendak, Voices in the Park by Anthony Browne and Niña Bonita by Ana María Machado, were among those I remember in that pile.

Also, in that little corner there were some puzzle pieces scattered on the floor, a few half-open board games under a bookshelf, and a drawing of a whale, all of which suggested that “La Biblio” was a daydreamer.

This encounter, a paradise within a tropical paradise, made me decide to move to the area as I had always wanted to do.

II

Thus, one hot afternoon at the end of 2018, I arrived in Mazunte with a suitcase and the last boxes of my specialized book collection for children and young people, with the intention that the children’s community play with them.

My first task as librarian was to expand the space for children and their books. The entry of this shoal of spines with different colors and sizes left no book unmoved and reconfigured the display and layout of the entire Biblio. The aim was to build a space for girls and boys to inhabit the area in the most comfortable way and that would make it familiar and attractive.

To do this, we put mats and cushions, painted crates and bookcases, and placed the books with their covers facing the front to attract readers’ attention more quickly. Likewise, we classified and displayed the copies by reading stages and subdivisions by genre (fiction, non-fiction, school books, manuals, etc.) and later by sizes, colors or sets, such as fairies and witches, the hour of hammock or silent books, which would change from time to time because, as you know, book exhibitions are one of the most common strategies for promoting reading and they serve to awaken curiosity, generate new interests and present different aesthetics and narrative voices.

We also extended the area at the foot of the mango tree in the little square to enjoy read alouds, explore books and invite play, integration and conviviality.

When the area was finally ready, the first ones to visit was a small group of captive readers who until then had populated La Biblio. They gladly approved the new offer, renewed book loans and began to visit us frequently.

Word spread and gradually other children of different ages and backgrounds began to come closer. Every Saturday they arrived early to take advantage of the activities that we dedicated to them and which we chose according to their various needs and interests because many were babies, others did not speak Spanish or were newly arrived in the area; others were on their way to learning to read and a few already read for themselves…

Fortunately, there were many, and very good, books for babies, books without words, illustrated picturebooks with all kinds of themes and styles, short and long novels, science books, picturebooks in other languages, etc. and with books and children we carried out activities before, during and after reading. We talked, played, made crafts and also let them enjoy the space at their leisure and take home any titles they wanted.

However, in the midst of these activities, a question was on my mind: children’s books, for which children? Those to whom we provided service then were all children of European, South American and Mexican migrants to the area who, knowing its value, encouraged the reading development of their children.

On the other hand, the majority of the parents of the families originally from Mazunte, who grew up with very limited access to education, culture in general and books in particular, did not know or value the space, which they also did not consider theirs, but rather the foreigners’. No matter how much we encouraged them to bring their children, they did not do so, which meant they did not benefit from it.

We could not let this to continue because some of the fundamental bases of reading mediation have to do with access to books, with establishing equal opportunities and creating a balance between the public and the private, with saying or being silent, with doing or letting things simply happen.

Children’s books, for which children? There were books for everyone, without distinction and without doubt; we just had to find a way to build bridges between these confronted realities, to make the unknown interesting and desirable or, in other words, trap them in our nets.

III

At the beginning of 2020, the threat of COVID arrived and, as in the rest of the planet, a commotion started in Mazunte. The schools were the first to close, the tourists began to pack their suitcases, and those of us who lived there started to collect everything we might need after the warning that entry and exit from the town would soon be restricted, something which finally happened at the end of April.

Like all public spaces, La Biblio also closed its doors. I could not find any formula, recipe or manual of practical and universal use that told us how to maintain a living space in the midst of a pandemic, but something told me that I should continue playing with books and children in my free time outside or inside the ocean.

Luckily, I had my books on hand, and the rereading of several authors such as Aidan Chambers, Geneviève Patte, Graciela Montes or Yolanda Reyes, as well as many conversations with Luz Odelinda, teacher of teachers in reading mediation at the FCE, provided me with nautical charts and spyglasses; a theoretical framework with wide freedom of experimentation and several strategies to navigate uncharted waters and open new ports for reading.

Fortunately, Mazunte’s geographical location allowed us to go through the pandemic outdoors and in a family environment, since most of the tourists and temporary migrants left. More than uncertainty, there was a lot of free time and a lot of heat, languid and boring afternoons, especially for girls and boys.

This gave me the opportunity to embark on an intense stage of conquest and take advantage of any opportunity to relate to childhood and get to know it in a closer and more intimate way. To do this I played tag, hide and seek, onions or two, three, “calabaza”; I would go with them to swim and explore the stream or Punta Cometa or ask permission to play Uno or put together puzzles in their homes with the other children (almost always family members) on the same street.

When finally, they were the ones who started looking for me to go out to play and their parents let them go with me with complete confidence, then and only then I started exchanging the games with which we already entertained ourselves for games with books. The first times they threw them aside or pretended not to pay attention to me, but little by little they fell under the seduction of reading aloud like sailors fall when mermaids sing.

So, unintentionally but intentionally, I introduced those who hadn’t met them to Willy and Chigüiro, Toad or Max and his “ojo submarino”, and I left books at their homes that might interest them as I got to know them better, or sometimes I broke all the rules and organized secret expeditions to La Biblio to dive between the pages of books and talk about what happens in this or that illustration, in the verse of a poem or at the moment when the sun goes out and the mosquitoes begin to bite.

IV

By the time the worst waves of the pandemic had passed and the world resumed its normal rhythm, La Biblio reopened its doors with new vigor and children of all ages, “Oaxacans and migrants” were integrating into the space in an organic and assiduous way.

To the traditional reading activities, were added chess and circus classes, art workshops, music, yoga, board games, theater, masks and a long etcetera to further promote integration and creativity, and to provide dynamism to the space that was frequently flooded with girls and boys as soon as we opened.

At the same time, we were creating new links with parents, teachers, artists, groups, and municipal and health authorities to reinforce La Biblio in its social, community and inclusive character, open and with books for all children, without distinction.

Unlike the publisher, who often measures the success of their proposals in the formation of their catalog and its sales, the success of mediation, that vital part in the book and reading chain, is immeasurable, because we cannot quantitatively know the impact that reading a book generates in a child.

However, we know that we are sailing in good waters when those who inhabit a space for reading defend it with love and care against hurricanes and storms, just as the children of Mazunta did before the passage of Hurricane Agatha that devastated the area on the 30^th of May, 2022.

That is a very good story that I will tell you at another time… for now I would like to point out that working with children requires a lot of energy, a lot of will, a lot of humility and patience, and also knowledge and strategies not only to foster a passion for reading, but also to overcome the murky waters that arise along the way of any journey.

Therefore, it is necessary to foresee the path, create itineraries, give continuity to the projects, and above all, create alliances and bridges between various actors so that the reading spaces intended for children are consolidated and can raise their anchors in search of new routes and horizons.

Furthermore, we must continue to train mediators who can transmit their passions, exercise attentive listening, encourage dialogue and know books and their readers in depth, since they are essential figures, especially in adverse social contexts where a good selection of books, an attractive space or good intentions is not enough. It is not only necessary to combat apathy or disinterest, but also marginalization, prejudice and ignorance, since this results in only a few enjoying what belongs to many.

“Books arrive, but we need someone to show us that they exist and that there is something in us that needs them,” my dear Yolanda Reyes said in an interview. I am sure that those of us gathered here today are or have been that “someone” who promotes reading in a tireless, generous and passionate way, and this makes me happy, because “passions are like the winds: they are necessary to set in motion all things, although they frequently cause hurricanes,” as the writer Bernard le Bovier de Fontenelle once noted.

[1] “Doradas” and “Tlayudas” are traditional Mexican food that follow the “quesadillas” principle of a folded tortilla filled with meat, chicken or fish. However, the corn tortilla used on both “Doradas” and “Tlayudas” are relatively bigger than the average and are prepared on wood or coal stoves.

* Presentation by Eliana Pasarán for the closing of the XXIV State Meeting of Reading Mediators within the framework of the Xalapa Book Fair, June 25, 2024.

By Brenda Denisse Renteria Cervantes

In 2022, an intervention project was developed in a “Sala de lectura” (Reading room) to improve the self-perception of social inclusion of girls and boys from an excluded community through a picturebook. This community was the Patios de la Estación neighborhood in Cuernavaca, Morelos, Mexico.

Adult centrism is a system of oppression that does not include a guarantee of children’s participation in life. In addition, girls and boys in contexts of social exclusion find themselves on the border of rights, because it is not enough for them to know that they exist in laws, they need to perceive themselves as subjects of law in everyday life. One way to counteract this situation is through  picturebooks and reading mediation as a strategy that lessens the distance between unequal and power relations.

It is urgent to put the voice of childhood at the centre and at the front. The picturebook as a literary resource is not only an aesthetic object created through words and images, it also provokes a response in the participants motivated by reading mediation, which is the result of the meaning made by the girls and boys, and that can lead to the path of the transformation of realities.

We chose the book Eloísa y los bichos by Jairo Buitrago (2009) which is about a girl who moves with her father to a place inhabited by insects, causing her to feel strange and an “oddbug”. However, little by little, with the help of new friends and neighbours, the protagonist adapts to the change. After presenting the book to the children, we asked them where and who makes them feel mostly like “oddbug”, the answer was that they feel like like this outside their neighborhood and that it is adults who reject them the most. These answers respond to a process deep of discrimination and social exclusion but one way to reverse it is through those resources of hope that make them feel valuable, included and deserving of rights, such as reading about the experience that Eloisa lived through.

By Mery Luz Yataco Chacalliaza

“Ediciones Calabazas” arose in the province of Yauyos as a need to bridge the gap in access to books in school and out-of-school educational services. The pedagogical proposal “Forming reading families” was implemented in educational institutions, especially in those most isolated by the pandemic.

In each district, population centre or annex of the province of YAUYOS there is a variety of cultural and linguistic richness to which children are exposed, including history and customs that are transmitted orally. Through the strategy of “Libros cartoneros” (books made from salvaged cardboard with a hand-painted or collage cover), the aim was to collect the experiences of the communities, as well as to value the languages such as Jaqaru, Kawki and Quechua, which are established in the districts of the “Sur Chico” area, such as Catahuasi, San Jeronimo and VIÑAC.

The use of the strategy of ‘libros cartoneros’ has as its purpose the implementation of reading spaces based on the productions of the children, parents and teachers of the province, this strategy being an alternative of publication of very economic texts due to the materials used in their elaboration, depending on each context, such as cardboard, fabrics, dyes, seeds of the plants, skin of the animals, among others.

This strategy allowed for the development of reading, writing and oral learning, which was reflected in the children’s interviews with the community’s elders, in the production of their texts based on their writing levels, in the development of oral skills in the presentation of their texts and in their participation in the family reading marathons. In this way, rewarding encounters were strengthened in the presentations at ‘cartoneras pedagógicas’ fairs, where the texts created by families and teachers are put on sale, and purchased by visitors to the fair.

The teacher plays an important role in the mediation of readers in early childhood, as it is at this age that the greatest number of synaptic connections can be made. Through the opportunities offered to them at home, at school and in the community, quality learning is developed.

Being a ‘cartonero’ teacher means being recognised as a writer and this allows the sensitizing and enthusing of others in the publication of books, books that have been registered in the National Library and also in the international library of cartonero books, such as the registration at the University of Wisconsin. https://search.library.wisc.edu/search/catalog?q=miradas+sobre+el+sistema+educativo

The reading work succeeded in forming “Reading Families from early childhood”, where reading environments are fostered at home, allowing encounters with reading based on their own experiences. Some of these sessions can be seen in the following link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5CshBhHPk3g&t=32s

By Diana Cruz (Guatemalan writing from the United Kingdom)

Following the trajectory (remotely) of the travelling library ‘Bibliomochilas’ has given me the opportunity to develop as a researcher and to interrogate the metaphors and paradoxes that have formed and continue to form us as readers in Latin America. During the process of online interviews with teachers, mothers, and fathers of the first level of education, I perceived the constant presence of the aphorism ‘The letter enters with blood’ behind the teaching of the reading, an aphorism which resonates in its imperative adherence to the formation of the reading habit in my own country, Guatemala. In contrast, ‘Reading without knowing how to read’ is an inclusive approach that bets on tenderness which the Yauyan community of early childhood level proposes to replace this tradition of reprimand. Through tenderness, the encounters between childhood, adults, reading, and literature are linked.

Community ties are also strengthened through tenderness and this action, in my opinion, oscillates between playfulness and rebellion. The Yauyan teachers/mediators guide a participatory reading where the exploration and interpretation of the image takes precedence over the decoding of the text and in the context of the first years of education, regulates that growing anxiety of hurrying the learning towards the reading of the written text. The potential of reading images materializes in a space where the children narrate the story by connecting each illustration as the pages turn. This is a space of reading where literature is actively created, and where there is an encouragement to want, need, and look for more words to enrich the dialogues between children and adults. In short, it is a space where the appropriation of language, both textual and visual, is encouraged.

The itinerant nature of the Bibliomochilas has managed to trace new routes to neighbouring provinces within the Lima region. With this same dynamic it is expected to generate strategies to expand the geography of the project, and likewise, to expand the range of possibilities for its readers, because “to travel far, there is no better vessel than a book”.

By Rosario Obregón (Peruvian writing from the United States)

Mi Primer Libro Perú (My First Book Peru) is the product of the encounter between necessity and opportunity: between the scarcity in one part of the world and the abundance in others. From 2016, thanks to the generosity of diverse institutions and through the volunteer work, which includes teachers, librarians, university students, and entire families, we procured the rescue of thousands of picturebooks in California, USA, and we sent them to initiatives in Peru, particularly those aimed at reclaiming the role of thousands teachers, and promoters of the first learning level of the public education system. The value of those books resides in the rich visual content that they offer. We saw the opportunity to promote first reading experiences based on the images, textures, forms, diverse art styles, and themes represented in thousands of books that, having completed their circulation in one part of the world, find a new purpose, new readers in new geographies.

COVID brought us technological transformations which under other circumstances would have taken a long time to materialize and gave us the opportunity to create remote training meetings with many of the recipients of these books. Standing out among these was an extraordinary group of women, teachers, reading promoters and mothers that meet the needs of just over 1200 boys and girls enrolled in educational institutions at the first learning level in the province of Yauyos, Peru.

Under the leadership of the then level specialist, Mary Yataco, and her team of ‘Docentes Fortaleza’ (specially trained teacher leaders)  and accompanied by Caroll Castro, founder of ‘Ucumari Cartonero’, a training program was developed prior to the arrival of the books. This allowed teachers and promoters to familiarize themselves with their contents and prepare them for the interactions that would take place through them. Five books were allocated per child, distributed through 1200 ‘Bibliomochilas’ (book rucksacks), travel packs managed by the families themselves, who transported and circulated the books according to schedules agreed upon between teachers and families in both rural and urban areas, bibliographic deserts which are so common in the country.

The possibility of exposing the children participating in the program to the 6000 books that are circulating in the geographical area covered by the Local Education Management Unit (UGEL), Yauyos, also gave us the opportunity to establish academic alliances with institutions like the Faculty of Early Education   School of Education’s Early Childhood Education Program  at the Catholic University of Peru through Carmen Sandoval, advisor to the group of students of the ‘Social Responsibility Team’, whose contribution was decisive for the arrival and distribution of the books. Another strategic strand was the research in charge of Diana Cruz, a scholarship student at the University of Glasgow in the Erasmus Mundus Masters Programme ‘Children’s Literature, Media and Culture’ who also accompanied the project… (See Part 2).