A mute young storyteller in a feathered headdress draws all the tribes into a giant, mystical tepee to chant and drum and invite everyone in the world to hold hands.
The tale is definitely laudable of purpose, though written in rhapsodic prose and grossly stereotypical in concept and presentation. It puts a lad born silent and clubfooted (“his legs made the shape of a heart”) atop a flying pinto pony to bond with wild animals and then spread stories of the oneness of all creatures with “his hands, his face, his smile and his eyes.” Giving him headdress feathers in gratitude, his enthralled Native American audiences gather in a tepee woven from a “bright, white magical thread,” after which he continues “along the path,” telling tales “without words.” Said stories are vaguely depicted in the lyrically windswept illustrations as sparkling bubbles and glowing animal outlines issuing, oddly, from his mouth. Along with feathers dyed in rainbow colors, Uyá strews the pictures with floating dream catchers, carved poles of smiling totems and like tourist goods. Though ostensibly aimed at children, the most natural audience for this culturally tone-deaf offering is equally well-meaning and clueless adults.
Purest kitsch. (Picture book. 5-8)