Anishinaabe creators Fairbanks and George encourage young people to consider the history behind the land they live on.At home, surrounded by family, a white-presenting child with long red hair contemplates the past. "Before us, another family lived here. Before that, another family lived here, too. And another. And another." The unnamed narrator recounts how European colonizers expelled Native Americans from their homes and forced them onto reservations. An Anishinaabe boy named TJ, who's friends with the protagonist, and his grandmother Noko have taught the young narrator to honor Indigenous peoples' connection to the land. They remind the protagonist that "Indigenous people have always been here, and they're still here, wherever we go." The child reflects on these principles often: "Now, whenever my family goes somewhere, I ask, ‘Who lived here before the people who live here now?'" Thoughtful backmatter urges readers to take land acknowledgments seriously and to find ways to act beyond merely cultivating awareness. Though the book's lessons will resonate more with non-Native audiences, many young Native readers will appreciate the reverence shown to Indigenous people (past and present). Accompanied by engaging, comic-style artwork, this is a gentle, age-appropriate introduction to Indigenous history and cultures.A stirring tale that fosters respect for Native peoples. (discussion questions, learn more about Indigenous people in your area) (Picture book. 5-9)

In delicate digitally finished multimedia drawings, Morstad (A Rose, a Bridge, and a Wild Black Horse) meditates on faces—as seen in crowds, clouds, and elsewhere (“Even a potato/ has eyes!”). Each detail draws the viewer in: “The soft and smooth/ or crinkly skin,/ the just-so nose,// the delicate/ scratchy hairs/ and all those/ one-of-a-kind-marks.” Images blend the real and the dreamlike, sometimes in black-and-white, sometimes in gently tinted wash. On one page, a group of people examines a huge sculpture of a head; on another, a starry constellation makes up a visage (“A face is a poem/ with all the parts put together,/ adding up to someone/ you love”). A grid of thumbnail-like portraits depicts beings young and old from arrayed angles—gazing up two nostrils, looking closely at a pair of lips. Other pages imagine faces traded (“to see through someone else’s eyes”) and survey expressions and imaginative features. “A face is to love,” concludes this untethered session of wondering, a look at the way bodies and countenances can change and endure. Individuals are