In bestselling author Carmen Agra Deedy’s forthcoming picture book The Peanut Man (Margaret Quinlin Books/Peachtree, Mar.), a young girl makes a deep connection with a peanut vendor in her native Cuba before her family immigrates to America. PW spoke with Deedy about why she wanted to tell this semi-autobiographical tale, which has received a starred review from PW, and about her powerful memories of her homeland.

The Peanut Man is based on your experience as a Cuban refugee who came to Decatur, Ga., at age four. What can you tell us about that experience?

It was a time of tremendous upheaval—not only in Cuba, but in our hemisphere and in the broader world. The Cuban Revolution was in 1959. This was followed by the Cuban Missile Crisis of 1962––a heart-seizing stand-off between the U.S. and the Soviet Union over nuclear missiles placed in Cuba and aimed at North America, from a mere 90 miles away. When Nikita Khrushchev backed down, John F. Kennedy emerged the clear winner in a high-stakes game of “who blinks first.” The U.S. and her allies exhaled, and the world believed it had dodged a bullet.

­­­­And so it did.

But one year later, Kennedy did not. In November 1963, he was assassinated. The month following the Kennedy assassination, my parents, my sister, and I at last were allowed to leave Cuba, with the help of unmet but generous cousins who lived in Mexico.

This is the bigger, global setting of that time.

But the life of a young child is small: a favorite snack, a treasured toy, a swing at the park. Or a much-loved playmate. And that is who Emilio was to me. A funny, joyful grown-up who was my friend. When we were at last free to leave Cuba, after four years of false starts, we could bring nothing with us––no clothes, toys, or even my mother’s wedding rings. But our parents filled our lives with stories of our homeland and of their respective childhoods. They sang us Cuban folk songs. They taught us the history of the island; from the tales of early Taino and Ciboney people to the struggle for independence, and into the present day. My sister, Tersi, and I often remarked to one another that, despite owning nothing that originated in our homeland, we had left Cuba rich in stories.

The Peanut Man is a story of immigration, of being displaced, and of cultivating meaningful connections with people no matter who they are. Why was it important to you to tell this story?

Children are chattel in the migratory stories of the world. And whether their journey is alongside loving adults or in the company of harsh and uncaring people, the result is the same. The child has little choice in the matter.

I hope that sharing my story will in some small way help other refugee and immigrant children feel less alone as they struggle to find their footing in a new country. And that they will know it is possible to find a place to call home again, as I and many others have done.

What does the Peanut Man represent to you?

When I described the Peanut Man’s song as “a red velvet ribbon,” I hoped to convey the lyrical, almost haunting, aspect of his song as it echoed along the cobblestoned streets––the Cuban-ness of it, with all its joy and tragedy. And the longing it can still provoke in those of us who remember his pregón, his street song.

For Cubans, el manisero––the peanut man––is Cuba.

You’ve shared this story as a storyteller for years. Why did you want to release it in a picture book format?

I felt the story had a vivid quality––color, if you will. And I very much wanted to see how an illustrator would enhance that. I feel Raúl Colón did a glorious job with the palette, the interpretation, and the pacing of the story. It feels beautifully dreamlike at times. Much the way memories do.

How has being a Cuban refugee impacted you as an artist?

There is a necessary adaptability that comes with displacement. You don’t live there anymore? Very well, now you must learn to live here. You can’t find that food you loved in this new place? Aha! Here is something you can learn to like, even love, for a time. You may even find the thing you once thought gone forever. Like the song of a peanut man.

The Peanut Man will be published simultaneously in English and Spanish. Why was this important to you?

I visit more than one hundred schools throughout the year. Many are schools with large numbers of second-language learners. As I stand in a library or auditorium and look out at small expectant faces, I am met by an enormous challenge: What story can I tell them that will bring them comfort, or simply give them an hour’s escape, from whatever life they are living?

Also, I won’t always be around to tell this story. I suppose this is a way to leave it behind for children who know what it’s like to be uprooted, to let go of everything you once knew and start a new life. Again, to offer them hope in the knowledge that we are all, in the end, made up of the same human stuff as the next person. That the alien place where they find themselves may not really be so foreign and the unfamiliar people not so different from themselves.

The Peanut Man has received starred reviews from both Publishers Weekly and Kirkus Reviews. How does it feel to receive rave reviews for your work?

It’s always an honor, in the truest sense, to have one’s work receive a nod of recognition from highly respected publications. So, am I thrilled? But, let’s see what the children have to say.