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Brown Girl Dreaming Paperback – Illustrated, Oct. 11 2016
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A President Obama "O" Book Club pick
Raised in South Carolina and New York, Woodson always felt halfway home in each place. In vivid poems, she shares what it was like to grow up as an African American in the 1960s and 1970s, living with the remnants of Jim Crow and her growing awareness of the Civil Rights movement. Touching and powerful, each poem is both accessible and emotionally charged, each line a glimpse into a child’s soul as she searches for her place in the world. Woodson’s eloquent poetry also reflects the joy of finding her voice through writing stories, despite the fact that she struggled with reading as a child. Her love of stories inspired her and stayed with her, creating the first sparks of the gifted writer she was to become.
Includes 7 additional poems, including "Brown Girl Dreaming."
Praise for Jacqueline Woodson:
"Ms. Woodson writes with a sure understanding of the thoughts of young people, offering a poetic, eloquent narrative that is not simply a story . . . but a mature exploration of grown-up issues and self-discovery.”—The New York Times Book Review
- Reading age10 - 13 years
- Print length368 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- Lexile measure990L
- Dimensions13.97 x 2.21 x 20.96 cm
- PublisherNancy Paulsen Books
- Publication dateOct. 11 2016
- ISBN-109780147515827
- ISBN-13978-0147515827
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Harbor Me | Hush | Locomotion | After Tupac & D Foster | Before the Ever After | |
Read more by Jacqueline Woodson: | Jacqueline Woodson celebrates the healing that can occur when a group of students share their stories. | Jacqueline Woodson weaves a fascinating portrait of a thoughtful young girl's coming of age in a world turned upside down. | Jacqueline Woodson's poignant story of love, loss, and hope is lyrically written and enormously accessible. | A Newbery Honor Book that includes a discussion guide by Jacqueline Woodson. | National Book Award winner Jacqueline Woodson's stirring novel-in-verse explores how a family moves forward when their glory days have passed and the cost of professional sports on Black bodies. |
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Peace, Locomotion | The House You Pass On the Way | From the Notebooks of Melanin Sun | Miracle Boys | Feathers | |
Read more by Jacqueline Woodson: | The stunning companion to Locomotion. | A lyrical coming-of-age story. | Jacqueline Woodson explores race and sexuality through the eyes of a compelling narrator. | A novel that was awarded the 2001 Coretta Scott King award and the Los Angeles Times Book Prize. | Jacqueline Woodson once again takes readers on a journey into a young girl’s heart and reveals the pain and the joy of learning to look beneath the surface. |
Product description
Review
A Coretta Scott King Award Winner
A Newbery Honor Book
One of TIME MAGAZINE’s 100 Best YA Books of All Time
"Brown Girl Dreaming, Jacqueline Woodson’s highly lauded collection of free-verse poems about her childhood in New York and South Carolina, has language simple enough to be accessible to tweens and young teenagers and more than enough complexity to engage older readers. The winner of a Newbery Honor, NAACP Image Award, National Book Award and Coretta Scott King Award, Brown Girl Dreaming presents the story of Woodson’s experiences living with the remnants of Jim Crow during the 1960s and 1970s. The author confronts issues like faith, racism and sexual abuse using the elegant, spare language and powerful imagery she has come to be known for." —TIME MAGAZINE
“Gorgeous.”—Vanity Fair
“A radiantly warm memoir.”—The Washington Post
“Moving and resonant . . . captivating.”—The Wall Street Journal
“This is a book full of poems that cry out to be learned by heart. These are poems that will, for years to come, be stored in our bloodstream.”—The New York Times Book Review
“A profoundly moving memoir.”—San Francisco Chronicle
* “The writer’s passion for stories and storytelling permeates the memoir, explicitly addressed in her early attempts to write books and implicitly conveyed through her sharp images and poignant observations seen through the eyes of a child. Woodson’s ability to listen and glean meaning from what she hears lead to an astute understanding of her surroundings, friends, and family.”— Publishers Weekly, STARRED REVIEW
* “Mesmerizing journey through [Woodson’s] early years. . . . Her perspective on the volatile era in which she grew up is thoughtfully expressed in powerfully effective verse. . . . With exquisite metaphorical verse Woodson weaves a patchwork of her life experience . . . that covers readers with a warmth and sensitivity no child should miss. This should be on every library shelf.”—School Library Journal, STARRED REVIEW
* “Woodson cherishes her memories and shares them with a graceful lyricism; her lovingly wrought vignettes of country and city streets will linger long after the page is turned. For every dreaming girl (and boy) with a pencil in hand (or keyboard) and a story to share.”—Kirkus Reviews, STARRED REVIEW
* “[Woodson’s] memoir in verse is a marvel, as it turns deeply felt remembrances of Woodson’s preadolescent life into art. . . . Her mother cautions her not to write about her family but, happily, many years later, she has and the result is both elegant and eloquent, a haunting book about memory that is itself altogether memorable."—Booklist, STARRED REVIEW
* “A memoir-in-verse so immediate that readers will feel they are experiencing the author’s childhood right along with her. . . . Most notably of all, perhaps, we trace her development as a nascent writer, from her early, overarching love of stories through her struggles to learn to read through the thrill of her first blank composition book to her realization that ‘words are [her] brilliance.’ The poetry here sings: specific, lyrical, and full of imagery. An extraordinary—indeed brilliant—portrait of a writer as a young girl.”—The Horn Book, STARRED REVIEW
* “The effect of this confiding and rhythmic memoir is cumulative, as casual references blossom into motifs and characters evolve from quick references to main players. . . . Revealing slices of life, redolent in sight, sound, and emotion. . . . Woodson subtly layers her focus, with history and geography the background, family the middle distance, and her younger self the foreground. . . . Eager readers and budding writers will particularly see themselves in the young protagonist and recognize her reveling in the luxury of the library and unfettered delight in words. . . . A story of the ongoing weaving of a family tapestry, the following of an individual thread through a gorgeous larger fabric, with the tacit implication that we’re all traversing such rich landscapes. It will make young readers consider where their own threads are taking them.”—The Bulletin of the Center for Children's Books, STARRED REVIEW
* “Woodson uses clear, evocative language. . . . A beautifully crafted work.”—Library Media Connection, STARRED REVIEW
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
I am born on a Tuesday at the University Hospital
Columbus, Ohio
USA—
a country caught
between Black and White.
I am born not long from the time
or far from the place
where
my great, great grandparents
worked the deep rich land
unfree
dawn till dusk
unpaid
drank cool water from scooped out gourds
looked up and followed
the sky’s mirrored constellation
to freedom.
I am born as the south explodes,
too many people too many years
enslaved then emancipated
but not free, the people
who look like me
keep fighting
and marching
and getting killed
so that today—
February 12, 1963
and every day from this moment on,
brown children, like me, can grow up
free. Can grow up
learning and voting and walking and riding
wherever we want.
I am born in Ohio but
the stories of South Carolina already run
like rivers
through my veins.
second daughter’s second day on earth
My birth certificate says: Female Negro
Mother: Mary Anne Irby, 22, Negro
Father: Jack Austin Woodson, 25, Negro
In Birmingham, Alabama, Martin Luther King Jr.
is planning a march on Washington, where
John F. Kennedy is president.
In Harlem, Malcolm X is standing on a soapbox
talking about a revolution.
Outside the window of University Hospital,
snow is slowly falling. So much already
covers this vast Ohio ground.
In Montgomery, only seven years have passed
since Rosa Parks refused
to give up
her seat on a city bus.
I am born brown-skinned, black-haired
and wide-eyed.
I am born Negro here and Colored there
and somewhere else,
the Freedom Singers have linked arms,
their protests rising into song:
Deep in my heart, I do believe
that we shall overcome someday.
and somewhere else, James Baldwin
is writing about injustice, each novel,
each essay, changing the world.
I do not yet know who I’ll be
what I’ll say
how I’ll say it . . .
Not even three years have passed since a brown girl
named Ruby Bridges
walked into an all-white school.
Armed guards surrounded her while hundreds
of white people spat and called her names.
She was six years old.
I do not know if I’ll be strong like Ruby.
I do not know what the world will look like
when I am finally able to walk, speak, write . . .
Another Buckeye!
the nurse says to my mother.
Already, I am being named for this place.
Ohio. The Buckeye State.
My fingers curl into fists, automatically
This is the way, my mother said,
of every baby’s hand.
I do not know if these hands will become
Malcolm’s—raised and fisted
or Martin’s—open and asking
or James’s—curled around a pen.
I do not know if these hands will be
Rosa’s
or Ruby’s
gently gloved
and fiercely folded
calmly in a lap,
on a desk,
around a book,
ready
to change the world . . .
it’ll be scary sometimes
My great-great-grandfather on my father’s side
was born free in Ohio,
1832.
Built his home and farmed his land,
then dug for coal when the farming
wasn’t enough. Fought hard
in the war. His name in stone now
on the Civil War Memorial:
William J. Woodson
United States Colored Troops,
Union, Company B 5th Regt.
A long time dead but living still
among the other soldiers
on that monument in Washington, D.C.
His son was sent to Nelsonville
lived with an aunt
William Woodson
the only brown boy in an all-white school.
You’ll face this in your life someday,
my mother will tell us
over and over again.
A moment when you walk into a room and
no one there is like you.
It’ll be scary sometimes. But think of William Woodson
and you’ll be all right.
the beginning
I cannot write a word yet but at three,
I now know the letter J
love the way it curves into a hook
that I carefully top with a straight hat
the way my sister has taught me to do. Love
the sound of the letter and the promise
that one day this will be connected to a full name,
my own
that I will be able to write
by myself.
Without my sister’s hand over mine,
making it do what I cannot yet do.
How amazing these words are that slowly come to me.
How wonderfully on and on they go.
Will the words end, I ask
whenever I remember to.
Nope, my sister says, all of five years old now,
and promising me
infinity.
hair night
Saturday night smells of biscuits and burning hair.
Supper done and my grandmother has transformed
the kitchen into a beauty shop. Laid across the table
is the hot comb, Dixie Peach hair grease,
horsehair brush, parting stick
and one girl at a time.
Jackie first, my sister says,
our freshly washed hair damp
and spiraling over toweled shoulders
and pale cotton nightgowns.
She opens her book to the marked page,
curls up in a chair pulled close
to the wood-burning stove, bowl of peanuts in her lap.
The words
in her books are so small, I have to squint
to see the letters. Hans Brinker or The Silver Skates.
The House at Pooh Corner. Swiss Family Robinson.
Thick books
dog-eared from the handing down from neighbor
to neighbor. My sister handles them gently,
marks the pages with torn brown pieces
of paper bag, wipes her hands before going
beyond the hardbound covers.
Read to me, I say, my eyes and scalp already stinging
from the tug of the brush through my hair.
And while my grandmother sets the hot comb
on the flame, heats it just enough to pull
my tight curls straighter, my sister’s voice
wafts over the kitchen,
past the smell of hair and oil and flame, settles
like a hand on my shoulder and holds me there.
I want silver skates like Hans’s, a place
on a desert island. I have never seen the ocean
but this, too, I can imagine—blue water pouring
over red dirt.
As my sister reads, the pictures begin forming
as though someone has turned on a television,
lowered the sound,
pulled it up close.
Grainy black-and-white pictures come slowly at me
Deep. Infinite. Remembered
On a bright December morning long ago . . .
My sister’s clear soft voice opens up the world to me.
I lean in
so hungry for it.
Hold still now, my grandmother warns.
So I sit on my hands to keep my mind
off my hurting head, and my whole body still.
But the rest of me is already leaving,
the rest of me is already gone.
the butterfly poems
No one believes me when I tell them
I am writing a book about butterflies,
even though they see me with the Childcraft encyclopedia
heavy on my lap opened to the pages where
the monarch, painted lady, giant swallowtail and
queen butterflies live. Even one called a buckeye.
When I write the first words
Wings of a butterfly whisper . . .
no one believes a whole book could ever come
from something as simple as
butterflies that don’t even, my brother says,
live that long.
But on paper, things can live forever.
On paper, a butterfly
never dies.
Product details
- ASIN : 0147515823
- Publisher : Nancy Paulsen Books; Illustrated edition (Oct. 11 2016)
- Language : English
- Paperback : 368 pages
- ISBN-10 : 9780147515827
- ISBN-13 : 978-0147515827
- Item weight : 340 g
- Dimensions : 13.97 x 2.21 x 20.96 cm
- Best Sellers Rank: #58,857 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- Customer Reviews:
About the author

Jacqueline Woodson's memoir BROWN GIRL DREAMING won the 2014 National Book Award and was a NY Times Bestseller. Her novel, ANOTHER BROOKLYN, was a National Book Award finalist and an Indie Pick in 2016. Among her many awards, she the recipient of the Kurt Vonnegut Award, four Newbery Honors, two Coretta Scott King Award, and the Langston Hughes Medal. Jacqueline is the author of nearly thirty books for young people and adults including EACH KINDNESS, IF YOU COME SOFTLY, LOCOMOTION and I HADN'T MEANT TO TELL YOU THIS. She served as Young People's Poet Laureate from 2014-2016, was a fellow at The American Library in Paris, occasionally writes for the New York Times, is currently working on more books and like so many writers - lives with her family in Brooklyn, New York.
Customer reviews
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Top reviews
Top reviews from Canada
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Perhaps if my expectations had not been so high I would be giving this book a higher rating right now. As it is, I have positive and negative things to say about it. On the positive side, it is a lovely feel-good childhood memoir. It provided me when many, many, warm-and-fuzzy feelings throughout. You really feel that the author felt deeply loved as a child, although, if you read between the lines, it is pretty obvious that she was probably quite poor growing up, her father seems to have abandoned the family, and then her mother suddenly gets pregnant by an unidentified man, and the father of that boy (Roman) seems to be absent as well. Plus, the mother’s sister dies in a terrible accident and her brother spends time in jail. So, from an adult perspective, although tragedies befall this family (it certainly isn’t a bed of roses), the grandparents’ and mother’s love for the children is absolutely palpable and a delight to behold. The children clearly love and support one another as well, which personally I think is a rare gift. The character I loved the most was “Daddy”, the children’s grandfather; I could practically hear his voice, see his lean, work-worn body, and feel the love that emanated from him. It was sad when he passed away, but Woodson really showed the reader what a blessing he was in their lives.
On the negative side, as I said earlier, I was not too impressed with Woodson’s “poetry”. Perhaps if it had been marketed as “prose-poetry” it would have been more accurate. After a while, the fact that it was just prose with judiciously-placed line breaks got on my nerves. Writing good poetry is a different art form from writing good prose. Personally, I found her style too predictable to be called poetry. I feel that good poetry should, through veiling and unveiling, hint at nuanced meanings that can be interpreted in multiple ways, and this book didn’t provide that.
This week it received the greatest compliment of all: a student asked, "Do you have any more books like this?" I'm so glad this book exists.
Top reviews from other countries

Woodson is a black American, and tells her story as a `brown girl' born in 1963, both as her own, individual family story and the wider story of black history from a particular time and place. She is an award winning writer for children and teens, but her reach goes way beyond being confined to appeal `only to children'
In many ways, I think the challenge involved in recognising that children are completely capable of understanding great and subtle complexity of meaning, but that they may not have quite the sophistication of adult vocabulary, is a brilliant discipline for a writer - it hones their craft. Some writing about complexity for adults leads to writing becoming over fussy, even designed to confuse or show off dexterity, but the really excellent writer who chooses to write for a younger audience - like Woodson - somehow keeps all the layers of meaning held within simply arresting, clear images, clear language
I had to take this clear and pared down book extremely slowly and very carefully, anxious not to miss anything.
Woodson's words are spoken softly, but they are powerful, and her images rolled unstoppably over me, leaving me, many times, breathlessly weeping
The starting point, is a poem by Langston Hughes, the rest of the story is Woodson's
Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow
Born in Ohio, but raised also in South Carolina, where her mother and her father's mother were from, she tells of an experience from the North and the South.
She reminds us that in 1963:
In Birmingham, Alabama, Martin Luther King Jr.
is planning a march on Washington, where
John F. Kennedy is president.
In Harlem, Malcolm X is standing on a soapbox
talking about a revolution
meanwhile :
In Montgomery, only seven years have passed
since Rosa Parks refused
to give up
her seat on a city bus
She recounts the confusing experience of marital break-up, from the child's viewpoint, and the pain when families are torn apart, the conflicts when the people you love are no longer all living together - a sense that `home' is forever lost because it now belongs in several different places
Our feet are beginning to belong
in two different worlds-Greenville
and New York. We don't know how to come
home
and leave
home
behind us.
To set against the pain of loss and breakup as relationships end and the older generation who were strong and powerful become frail and the ones to be looked after, is Jacqueline's secret excitement at beginning to master words, to discover that she is, she will be, a teller or stories
For days and days, I could only sniff the pages
hold the notebook close
listen to the sound the papers made.
Nothing in the world is like this-
a bright white page with
pale blue lines. The smell of a newly sharpened pencil
the soft hush of it
moving finally
one day
into letters
This would indeed be a wonderful book for a child, and probably an even more wonderful one for parents and children to find delight in together.




Reviewed in the United Kingdom 🇬🇧 on October 25, 2019



