Forget Princess—Every Little Girl is a Queen
Some singers shouldn’t act; some rappers shouldn’t sing. And most people shouldn’t declare themselves authors just because they have a story to tell. This, however, is not the case for the Grammy award-winning Queen that is Latifah.
Her children’s book, Queen of the Scene, steeped in the ways of black folk and ornamented with fun, neck-twisting rhymes, snapped its way into the publishing world with two fingers and an attitude last September—and it is finally a bargain buy. Through animated, rainbow-rich illustrations, the book takes its readers back, way back, to a time before text messaging and XBOX. While reading about old-school childhood glories like double-dutch and stickball, parents can educate their princesses on queendom.
Her children’s book, Queen of the Scene, steeped in the ways of black folk and ornamented with fun, neck-twisting rhymes, snapped its way into the publishing world with two fingers and an attitude last September—and it is finally a bargain buy. Through animated, rainbow-rich illustrations, the book takes its readers back, way back, to a time before text messaging and XBOX. While reading about old-school childhood glories like double-dutch and stickball, parents can educate their princesses on queendom.
Queen Latifah and artist Frank Morrison tell of an unnamed bubble-blowin’, pigtail-with-ball-balls wearin’ little girl who proclaims herself Queen of the Scene. She has so much glitz that, even through chalky but precise illustrations, the story dazzles. Her face is confident, and sneakered children in every shade of brown wearing zigzag parts or sideways caps watch her as though she has superhero powers.
Queen of the Scene takes readers through a day in the life of this playground queen who is by far a diva. Rockin’ a powder-pink dress over jeans, she’s a firm advocate of playing hard and getting dirty. Over a two-page illustration, she declares “In any sandbox/ Nobody can be mean./ My castles are the very best—/ They’re fit for a queen,” as an afro-puffed tot looks on in amazement and a brown-eyed boy, lying in the box, stares over his makeshift triangle sand hill, far inferior to the queen’s.
The rhymes in the story are thick with black vernacular, what Scholar Henry Louis Gates Jr. penned as “signifyin” to reflect the boastful humor of the black community. Queen of the Scene displays this as well as sass in narrative lines like “You don’t want to race me—/ I’m as fast as spinning dice./ If it looks like I’m just catching up,/ I really passed you twice.”
Queen Latifah’s narrative is bright from the page and complimented by her own interpretation on a CD included with the book. As one who never leaves hip-hop in the shadows, her voice is water over a soft beat and she reads for a child’s ear, with exactness and a spacious tone drenched in confidence. Yet another reason Queen of the Scene is a new goodie in children’s literature.
