71 Books Like Kate, Who Tamed The Wind

Here’s a book to sample and savor again and again!

I loved the combination of poetry bolstered with clear, well-sourced nonfiction text on every single spread. This tribute song to forests is based on groundbreaking work about how trees create communities and sustain the places where they grow.

While placing trees in the context of the “wood wide web,” this book transports us to a glorious range of places. Beeches in Germany, an elm tree in Central Park, tualang saplings in Malaysia, kapoks in Brazil, silver birch in China, diverse forests in Colorado—all of it brings us closer to the wisdom of trees in the places we each call home.  

Trees and us. We’re bound together from breath to shelter and beyond, bound together in every way. That’s the truth of this poem in words and pictures from author-illustrator Corinna Luyken.

The words are as delicate as the rustle of leaves but they’re also completely centered on the child reader. Even the punctuation is placed with care, adding pause and breath, mediating the transition from shade to light, as if the words and their accessories were meant to float off the page as the text is read out loud.

I loved the musicality of this book and its bilingual construction.

I appreciated the centering of the Indigenous languages historically known as Thompson River and Coast Salish. It challenged me to look into the glossary in the back, to pore over the pronunciation guides, to lose myself briefly in the representation of unfamiliar, beautiful sounds while knowing they mean the world to those who hold them dear.

English translations (loon or earth or snake, or even the questions in the refrain) are placed within glancing reach in small print and the first-person narrative is a journey through particular, beloved landscapes of the Pacific Northwest.

The title is a refrain that rings around the world, as the children in two families, in two settings, plant a tree.

As in my book, time is a driving element here, bringing to light the cumulative effects of planting trees. Those effects, from clean air and soil retention to the bounty of fruit and the blessings of shade, are beautifully realized in the final page that brings it all back to the young characters and by inference, to the reader.

I love this book, too, but this time for its sheer poetry. This is the flip side of science writing, focusing less on direct cause and effect and more on a prismatic sense of wonder. DeBlieu’s celebration of the wind does all that but is different, for in addition to the physics of airflow and secrets of meteorology, the effects of the wind on biology, geology, and time, her writing drifts and flows like the breeze itself through history, literature, psychology, myth, and past and future dreams.

It’s really quite hypnotic, a seemingly effortless structure intended to mimic its invisible subject, but as a writer, you know how much craft was needed to create the effect. I often thought I wished I’d written that as I happily went along for the ride.

If you’ve never thought it possible to write about imprisonment at Guantanamo Bay with humor. Alex Gilvarry upends this misconception. This is billed as a “memoir,” but it’s really a madcap novel about a high-fashioned Filipino-born young man who happens to be living in New York City at the wrong moment in history, and who finds out the hard way that the American dream can turn into a nightmare at any moment. “How did I end up in No Man’s Land?” our hero wonders, joining a long list who have asked that question. 

The standing men are the Filipino undocumented migrants to Japan who work as construction workers on a day-to-day basis. They stand on the Kotobuki sidewalk hoping to get selected by a sacho to get a job for the day. 

The book is an in-depth look at their lives—how the men who are considered the underclass in the host country struggle, find love (some of them have second families in Japan), experience leisure, and fulfill masculine ideals of breadwinner in a foreign country.

It is a rare glimpse at the life of an undocumented migrant. This book can be read with Rey Ventura’s Underground in Japan (Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 1992).

This book is a collection of many life stories of Filipino migrant domestic workers, mostly in Singapore. Since the authors of the accounts use pseudonyms, they are all insightful revelations of how these women cope with the issues of loneliness and separation from families.

The most interesting revelation is that some of these women have affairs (which they call ‘one day stands’ since they only have a day off and not the whole 24 hours) with South Asian men. I was surprised by this radical act—radical because Filipino constructions of the feminine idealise the ‘chaste wife’, and while men’s infidelity is tolerated in the homeland, women’s infidelity is not.

Finally, the book also testifies to these migrants’ strength, hard work, courage, and survival skills. 

It’s a fractured fairy-tale featuring three classic fairy-tale characters: Wolfred, Zinderella, and the Non-Evil Queen. This charming book provides a reassuring, empowering perspective on mistakes and perseverance. The vibrant illustrations match the humorous tone of the story, in whole it reminds kid readers to take their mistakes in stride. In The School of Failure where the trio encounter failure and disappointment, they receive support and encouragement to keep trying, and discover that with patience and persistence, mistakes can also lead to the perfect storybook ending. It sets a supporting role model for schools and classes.

Sometimes I read a book and wish I’d written it. With Insurrecto, I cheered and gave thanks that Gina Apostol did write it. Decades ago, I became obsessed with the US conquest of the Philippines after the Spanish American War and how the people of the islands fought back to liberate their country. I knew Mark Twain protested the occupation. I found military histories of the war against Spain. At that time, I couldn’t find anything from the Filipino perspective. Where were books to challenge the American belief we’ve never had colonies? Apostol brings this lost history brilliantly to life with a contemporary filmmaker and a translator who create dueling narratives while trying to make a movie about a 1901 massacre. Insurrecto is a remarkable work, complex enough to repay rereading.