MY CITY SPEAKS

A blind child introduces readers to their city en route to a violin recital.

Accompanied by their dad, they step out, white cane in hand. In simple, declarative sentences dotted with vivid adjectives and verbs, they narrate the many ways their city “speaks.” “It rushes and stops / and waits and goes” as they navigate a pedestrian crossing. It “grows” as they stroke a sunflower and construction workers build nearby. It’s “busy” as they feed a flock of pigeons and “relaxed” as they lounge with their dad on a park bench. “Sometimes it’s smelly,” they note as they pass a dumpster, and “sometimes it’s sweet” as they sample ice cream flavors. It “speaks with whispers and giggles and sometimes meows” as they ride a subway crowded with racially and ethnically diverse passengers. As they cross one more busy street, it “also speaks with hasty honks, impatient beeps, distant chimes, reliable rumbles, speedy sirens and urgent clangs.” “My city speaks,” they repeat, joining fellow musicians on an outdoor stage, “and sometimes it just listens” as they serenade an appreciative crowd. In a warm finale, the narrator and their dad embrace, beaming. With cheerful, doll-like human figures, Barron’s bright illustrations highlight the quiet tenderness between father and child—a rarely represented duo in books featuring disabled characters. The narrator and their dad have brown skin. (This book was reviewed digitally.)

A celebration of city life’s sounds, sensations, and faces.