Through the power of music, Lucimarian Tolliver is reminded of what’s important.

Lucy is one of the only children of African descent on her block—called Lucy Street—in 1930s Akron, Ohio, but all her neighbors share one commonality: poverty. Lucy’s carefree spirit is dampened when her family’s furniture is repossessed one day. She visits her grandfather, who comforts her by singing the folk standard “This Little Light of Mine.” Grandpa tells Lucy that she’s destined for greatness and that she should never stop singing, even through life’s toughest moments. Back at home, Lucy’s father scolds her for singing at the dinner table, so she quickly finishes eating and wanders outside and sings into the night. Her voice reaches her family and neighbors, who are all touched by her song. Digital illustrations evoke the time period in muted tones, featuring endearing characters with simple yet expressive features. The visual subject matter is repetitive from page to page, as are the incorporated lyrics of “This Little Light of Mine.” Based on Lucimarian Tolliver’s experiences growing up during the Depression, the text contains an epilogue but lacks backmatter detailing historical context or more information about Lucy’s life. Though the themes of optimism and the importance of family, faith, and music shine through the text, readers may be left with more questions than answers.

Mulford’s song about the tragic church shooting in Charleston in 2015 is transformed into a picture book.

The rhyming lyrics are simple, describing how a stranger came to a house of worship and was “let…in,” though “he was not friend, he was not kin.” The stranger “seemed to pray” but then he “drew a gun / and killed nine people, old and young.” On this spread, white text contrasts with an all-black painted background. President Barack Obama’s appearance with the community of mourners is then pictured with the chorus: “no words could say what must be said / for all the living and the dead // So on that day and in that place / the president sang Amazing Grace.” The painted pictures, with tones of blue, black, and purple, move from the church to a montage of clasped hands, a crowd of mourners, various pictures of Obama, and a spread showing each of the nine victims. The song can be found online, and its performance is deeply moving; in the video, the lyrics and paintings are a stunning combination, making this book seem like a great idea. Without the music though, the book lacks the soulfulness of the video, and the unfinished look of the static paintings is not nearly so effective. Endnotes describe each contributor’s relationship to the work (including performer Joan Baez and filmmaker Rick Litvin) and contain a QR code to access the video; endpapers provide sheet music.