In childhood, a big move can be a big deal.

“It’s very hard to adjust to a new place,” says Carmen Agra Deedy, author of The Peanut Man (Margaret Quinlin Books/Peachtree, March 4), a story inspired by her family’s flight from Cuba to the United States in the 1960s.

Like Deedy, the book’s protagonist, Coqui, spent her early years in Havana, where the nightly song of the local peanut vendor—“¡Mani! ¡Mani!”—beckoned her to the bedroom window. Forced to flee due to political persecution, the family eventually resettles in Decatur, Georgia, which feels like a world away: new school, new rules, new language, and, as Coqui is crestfallen to learn, no peanut man strolling the streets. But when her father takes her to a baseball stadium to see “Hammerin’ Hank” Aaron play, Coqui hears a cry—“Peanuts! Peanuts!”—that brings comfort and a taste of home.

Deedy’s hope for young readers is that “a child who’s traveled a long way will see that just maybe, somewhere, waiting for them, is one small moment—one thing, one person—that’s going to connect them to the place they knew and remembered. And it will help anchor them and bring them to shore.”

Illustrator Raúl Colón, who grew up in New York City and Puerto Rico, “masterfully conjures up a past that still feels immediate” in lush watercolors layered with colored pencil and lithograph crayon, according to Kirkus’ starred review. The resulting book is “exceptionally lovely, like a gentle tug at the heartstrings.”

Deedy and Colón recently spoke with Kirkus via Zoom; our conversation has been edited for length and clarity.

How do you two know one another?                                                          

Carmen: My God, I was in love with Raúl’s books way before I ever met him.…And I really love children’s books, so I want to preface with that. I don’t mean it’s something peculiar to me—if you’re in this work, you love children’s books—however, I have particularly strong feelings that the illustrator is critical to a story, can transform a story.

For many small children, museums and art galleries are not things that will likely be in their regular outings, if ever, and their first introduction to beautiful art will come by way of a free library book. It should be as exquisite as an artist can render it.

The first time I saw one of Raúl’s books, I was smitten. The color palette is always very beautiful. There’s a dreaminess to it. There’s also the kid in me that I always trust—and I’m sure Raúl has that kid, too—who immediately knows when you’re gonna connect, right? The kid that goes, Oh man, oh man, I would love this story!

Raúl, what about The Peanut Man spoke to the child in you?

Raúl: Well, baseball was one thing. Very few women write about baseball, and I’ve had the privilege of working with two. It’s also the story of a song that I like, a famous song—of the peanut man—so those two things drew me to it.

It reminded me of when I moved to Puerto Rico from New York in the 1960s. There was a guy who used to sell—not peanuts, but a pailful of what they call alcapurrias in Puerto Rico [fried pastries made from green plantains or yuca]. And he would sell this stuff, [hollering], walking down the street. I could see the pictures in my head, and that’s how I got into it.

For Coqui, you see why this memory is so significant, so vivid: She hears the peanut man’s song; she smells the peanuts; she knows how they taste. They have this lovely rapport—she’s up in the window, he’s down in the street—but they blow raspberries at one another, they play games.

Carmen: It was a very difficult time [when I was growing up]: There was a lot of anxiety and a lot of violence in the country, and our parents tried to shield us as much as they could. But at nighttime, when I was supposed to be sleeping, I remember being in my crib and looking out, and the peanut man would always stop and say, “Good night!” One night, my sister, who was seven years older and slept in another room—because, you know, sisters—she said, “I know a great game that you could play with him.” So I stuck out my tongue and made silly sounds. And the wonderful thing was that he played back! For a child, the idea of a grown-up with a sense of humor is such a glorious thing.

This story takes readers from Havana to Georgia. Raúl, you capture both places so vibrantly. How did you choose the palette?

Raúl: Well, Cuba is very tropical, so I had to play with colors a little more, make it a little brighter, right? Give more colors to it.

Carmen: Delicious, delicious palette.

Raúl: The golden undertone of everything I do, I left it in. That helps. So that’s how I thought of the colors—colors that you see in the tropics, the blue-greens and the greens. When she’s in Atlanta, it changed a little bit.

Carmen, do you have a favorite image from this book?

Carmen: You’re gonna make me cry [tearing up]—

Raúl: Must be the scene with Dad.

Carmen: —shut up! Nobody asked you! [Both laugh.] Yes, it’s the one where I’m listening to the baseball game with my dad…

It’s funny, because I’d asked through our respective people—I have to tell my editor, who tells his art director, who tells him—that I’d had a doll when I left Cuba. Raúl used a rabbit, which I kind of loved. And I said, “Can the rabbit look a little frayed by the time that I’m listening with my dad?” It’s sort of metaphorical. It shows a little bit of what it went through and what we went through. And when I got the books, I got to that page and I did a double take. I saw that poor little bunny and I thought, Oh my God, Raúl did it! It just looks wonderful. It’s such a small detail, but it’s beautiful.

Raúl, what do you admire about Carmen’s storytelling?

Raúl: I love how she gives us those little details, like [the fraying] of the doll. Those little details make it work, make the story relatable. I can take those [cues] and expand the picture, go in different directions with it. I’m sure other artists have said this, but you should never illustrate a book just by what’s written on the page. You have to take the illustrations beyond that.

Carmen: Something that you don’t know about, Raúl: When I spoke to my editor, I said, “I want someone who’s able to take the story further. They can even have a secondary visual story that has nothing to do with what I’m saying. Whether it’s a balloon or a mouse, whether it’s something that is happening that you want to also include—anything goes.” I knew from your work that you would do that. That one way or the other, you would take the story and make it shine. There are so many lovely moments.

Raúl: Thank you. I always chose what I thought would work best with the story. Now let’s hope people like it as much as we do.

Editor at large Megan Labrise is the host of the Fully Booked podcast.