Not My Girl by Christy Jordan-Fenton (review)

Two years ago, in When I Was Eight, Olemaun was taken by white settlers from her Inuit village into a boarding school. Now she’s returned home, but with her hair cut short, thin frame, inability to understand Inuktitut, and a Christian name of Margaret; her mother’s words of “not my girl” sting as Margaret readjusts to her traditional ways of life. Facing rejection from family and neighbors, she turns to sledding and to a new puppy (which she accidentally almost kills) to help her settle back into her old home. The authors’ text, based on Margaret’s own experience, is unsparing in its depiction of the alienation faced by Inuit kids affected by the residential school experiences, but the story uses gradual development of kid-understandable challenges to make its history lesson accessible. There’s also strong imagery in Olemaun’s words (“I wondered what kind of bird I had become”) that carries over to the illustrations: the delicate lining of the pencil and gouache adds a haziness that still manages to make visible her sense of isolation, while stunning coloration makes a scene in which the girl looks up to the Northern Lights for guidance gorgeous and affecting. For kids who are ready to tackle the not so sunny portion of history, this is a deeply felt exploration of identity and cultural crisis rendered as a deep, satisfying sigh appropriate for sharing aloud.