A young Black boy dreams of dancing like his hero, Alvin Ailey, in a joyful book about having the confidence to be oneself.
“Langston liked basketball, but he adored ballet,” begins the text, showing us that Langston isn’t letting himself be limited by people’s assumptions about what a young Black boy might enjoy. In fact, Langston “fell in love” when his mother took him to see the Alvin Ailey Dance Company. When he asks her if he could dance like that, she tells him he can do whatever he sets his mind to doing.
He practices at home until he’s ready for his first dance class, and dances along the street on the way there. A kid passing by tells him “Boys don’t dance like that,” to which Langston responds that he’s seen them do so.
At the studio, he is nervous and wonders if his basketball jersey and shorts are appropriate. He passes by classrooms of children doing tap, hip-hop, and African dance—all with strong histories of Black artists—but doesn’t stop until he finds the ballet class. The classroom is full of girls in pink tutus and white shoes. The teacher welcomes him and helps him to find a pair of black ballet slippers. “They were different from the others” but “fit him perfectly”—an apt metaphor. He shows off his moves and the teacher approves, but reminds him that he’ll have to work hard to earn the shoes,. He promises he will.
Over the final few pages, we see him, older, performing ballet in front of an applauding audience and then leaping, untethered, through a starry sky. If the book doesn’t make you cheer as well, check your pulse.
Mallett’s illustrations are almost photorealistic at times and capture each nuance of expression in the characters. Langston and his mother are Black; the teacher has lighter skin and could be White or Latina, and the other children at the dance studio have a variety of identities.
Langston isn’t explicitly queer, but his desire to do a gender-atypical activity and his queer hero, Alvin Ailey, make this a book that may appeal strongly to queer children, among others. Author Kaija Langley has also written for several queer publications, so we can assume she’s attuned to the possibility that Langston could be queer. Additionally, his name evokes Langston Hughes, who may also have been queer—and the very ambiguity of Hughes’ orientation perhaps reflects protagonist Langston’s own. The ambiguity is not a negative; a boy of Langston’s age (maybe 7 or 8) may not yet think of himself as queer even if he is. (Some kids know this early; others don’t.) Additionally, it’s important for non-queer boys who simply enjoy gender-atypical activities to see themselves, too. This story of self-acceptance has a message for all.
