Django: World's Greatest Jazz Guitarist

Publishers Weekly

Richly expressive paint and ink illustrations portray the hard-earned successes of Django Reinhardt, whose childhood was spent traveling with his impoverished gypsy family, where music was a constant and illuminating presence: “Music... sighing/ weeping singing/ laughing breathing/ reeling spinning.” Christensen’s soft, rhythmic prose echoes her evocative images as Django explores the music scene of 1920s Paris, before suffering serious burns on his hands and leg when his wagon catches fire. Despite his injuries, Reinhardt teaches himself to play again, his career “just beginning/ Bright and brilliant stages waiting.” A sensuous tribute to an illustrious musician. Ages 5–9. (Sept.)

Children's Literature - Ken Marantz and Sylvia Marantz

On single and double pages, Christensen delineates in terse poetic prose the early life of "the world's greatest jazz guitarist." Music and dancing are all around Django, born in 1910, as he grows up in a gypsy encampment. He moves to Paris while still young, playing music on street corners and in dance halls. The jazz there influences his music. In 1928 he is invited to join "the king of Europe's jazz bands." Instead, he retreats to the gypsy encampment. There he is terribly burned in a fire; it is feared that he may never use his hands again. After many dreary months, Django finally finds a way to play again, "to float his music to the stars." Double-page oil paintings, while naturalistic, tend to emphasize much of the intense emotion as Django evolves as a musician. There is a lushness to Christensen's color choices, reinforcing the jazz atmosphere of the time and place. Her depiction of the burning gypsy wagon is particularly effective both as an event and perhaps also a metaphor for his future. Along with notes on Django's life after the fire and on the Roma people, a section on additional facts, a bibliography, and a discography are included. Reviewer: Ken Marantz and Sylvia Marantz

School Library Journal

Gr 2–5—Christensen uses impressionistic oil paintings and lyrical text to introduce readers to Reinhardt in this appreciative tribute. Her subject's youth was marked by poverty; a spread depicts the Gypsy encampment where he was born, the gaily painted caravans in eerie contrast to their icy bleak surroundings. With a natural agility (he caught trout by hand), Reinhardt taught himself to play guitar and found escape. While still a boy, he began to make a living playing music on the streets of Paris and in jazz clubs; he was on the brink of success when a tragic fire left his hand so badly burned that doctors predicted he would never play again. In stark colors, Christensen conveys the hopelessness of the musician's situation, trapped in his iron-railed hospital bed. He refused to give up, though, and the next page finds him rapt, guitar clasped to his chest, eyes closed in the effort of drawing forth music again. Christensen completes the tale of the guitarist's success with an author's note, a brief paragraph on the Roma people, and a bibliography/discography. She includes enough detail to give perspective, but it is her lush paintings that so effectively give life to the man's effervescent charm and determined courage. This inspiring account of an individual overcoming tragedy and adversity should find a wide audience.—Marilyn Taniguchi, Beverly Hills Public Library, CA

Kirkus Reviews

The brilliant jazz guitarist's life from birth in a Roma camp to stardom on a floodlit Paris stage,is sketched in free verse and vibrant oils. Occasionally ranging into trochaic tetrameter (think "Hiawatha") and arguably over-reliant on gerunds for punch, the author reduces biographical details to an essence that sometimes jars. "Still a boy he's playing dance halls. / Fingers flying down the fretboard. / Writing waltzes, making records, / Putting money on the table." The narrative finds its dramatic core in the fire that rages through Django's wagon, badly burning his hands. His long recuperation is depicted against grays that gradually brighten as he heals and adapts to playing without the use of two fingers on his left hand. Christensen excels as a colorist: The blue-violet light of a jazz club is offset by ochre horns and a pianist's green-gold sheath dress. Faces throughout seem curiously devoid of emotional depth; roughly sketched features result in sad or wry or neutral miens that contribute an air of detachment that color alone fails to redeem. Meritorious but ultimately disappointing. (author's notes, bibliography, discography) (Picture book/biography. 5-9)