Tatsuro Kiuchi

My grandmother saw the emperor cry the day he lost his golden dragon throne,'' begins a young Vietnamese-American, whose lyrical narrative tells how the girl took a seed from the Imperial garden to remember the emperor by, then kept it as a talisman of hope through all the events of her life—marriage, raising her children alone after her husband went to war, crossing the sea in a flimsy boat, making a new life in America. When her little grandson takes the seed and plants it without remembering where, ``BÖ'' is deeply distressed. But the seed isn't lost—it comes up and blooms in the spring, a symbol of renewal: ``No matter how ugly the mud or how long the seed lays [sic] dormant, the bloom will be beautiful. It is the flower of my country,'' says BÖ—and now there are new seeds for the next generation to treasure. The Japanese illustrator debuts with spare, formally composed paintings reflecting the quiet mood and elegiac tone. A thoughtful, beautifully designed book that will find a place in many discussions. Historical note. (Picture book. 5-10)

-Kirkus Review… (més)

This story follows a Vietnamese woman from childhood to old age as she carries a lotus seed that she took from the imperial gardens the day the Vietnamese emperor gave up his throne. She carries it all the way through the Vietnam War, and then again on a refugee boat to America. She safeguards the seed for many years until eventually one of her grandsons finds the seed, takes it, and plants it in her garden. At first she is distraught because she no longer has the seed that reminds her of her childhood home. But then the lotus blooms in her garden, and she tells her grandchildren her story, and gives them all a seed from the lotus pod from her garden to remember it by. This story has a nice underlying theme of home and accepting change as inevitable, and also of letting go of the past. The idea that heritage should be cultivated and shared instead of guarded and kept away is good for children to have, they often neglect to find the stories of their elders until it is too late.… (més)