Any book that attempts to introduce young readers to another culture, and impel them to question the values of their own, is admirable. Originally published in Brazil in 1996 as Historias de indio, and translated by Jane Springer, Daniel Munduruku’s Tales of the Amazon is a very personal, heartfelt portrait of the indigenous peoples of Brazil, and a cri-de-coeur for social justice and respect for the environment. Generously adorned with beautifully luminous illustrations by Laurabeatriz, the book is filled with noble sentiments; unfortunately, it is also naive, vague, and, most regrettable for its intended young audience, a bit on the boring side.

Part of the book’s problem is its dog’s breakfast format. Divided into three parts, the book opens with “The Tale of the Boy Who Didn’t Know How to Dream,” a fictional account of Kaxi, the boy chosen to be the village’s next paje (or spiritual leader), his training, and his rites of initiation into adulthood. The second part, “The Indigenous Peoples of Brazil,” is an assortment of factual information about the Brazilian Indians, arranged into brief segments with headings like “linguistic diversity,” “music,” “marriage,” and “myths.” The final portion of the book, “Chronicles and Testimonies,” is a series of personal vignettes by the author, centring on people’s erroneous perceptions of Indians.

The trouble with this choppy mix of fiction and non-fiction is that it doesn’t deliver enough of either: it lacks the compelling characters and plot of good fiction, and it doesn’t offer the breadth, detail, or impartiality of good non-fiction. The book’s opening story about Kaxi fails to engross us because Kaxi is not a real character, merely a narrative prop for the author to describe village life, the process of training a paje, and the ever-present threat posed by the pariwat, or white people. The omniscient narration rarely gets inside the boy’s head, and so we get a strangely generic account of life among the Indians, and a rather romanticized one: “Kaxi’s people were very happy, living together in harmony with Nature.” Apparently, there’s not a single internal social tension – the only source of evil is the pariwat who, Kaxi realizes in his climactic dream epiphany, are degrading the landscape and the people of the Amazon with their infernal technology, their religion, and their “fire water.” I personally have few doubts about the avarice of the developed world, its gleeful rapacity, and indifference to the environment – and I think kids need to be made aware of this, the earlier the better. But Munduruku’s presentation lacks immediacy and emotional force: we never see Kaxi’s people in confrontation with white people, and we don’t experience firsthand any of its tragic, human consequences. For kids, this becomes just another sad fairy tale about noble people getting crunched by a faceless, marauding evil power.

At the end of Kaxi’s story, his resolve is “to guide his people toward their future…” but the reader gets no indication what this might be, or how Kaxi thinks it might be achieved. It is Munduruku himself, at book’s end, who articulates his hopes for the future: “I dream about the end of racial, religious and political discrimination in Brazil. However, what I would like most is for there to be no more social discrimination. I don’t want there to be so few rich people with tables overflowing with food and so many poor people who don’t even have a table. If I had some magic power, my first act would be to change this situation. I would also give special attention to my Indian relatives, who have suffered greatly from other people’s preconceptions and disrespect.” Admirable goals to be sure, but so hugely amorphous and morally unassailable they are unlikely to engender anything other than a warm, fuzzy nod of agreement, instead of serious debate. Surely the means to this glorious end might have been discussed if this were to be a truly useful and inspiring book.
This same vagueness mars some of the factual information in the book’s middle section as well. For instance, Munduruku talks about the different arrangements of houses in various villages, without revealing their significance. Similarly, the reasoning behind the rules for marriage is not as clearly explained as it might be.

While I am very sympathetic to Munduruku’s aim, I couldn’t help wishing he had written a more effective, inspiring book, which engaged its readers either through a powerful fictional story, or a similarly visceral memoir. To put the readers in the skin of the Indians would have made more of an impact than reciting the litany of motherhood statements that kids have heard over and over again, and relegated to their mental trash bins just as often.