I'D RATHER BURN THAN BLOOM

In New Mexico, a grief-stricken family grapples with the sudden loss of their matriarch.

Marisol Martin is a sophomore when her Filipina immigrant mom dies in a car accident after one of their many screaming fights—they were constantly, painfully at odds with one another. Marisol’s final condescending question, “Why don’t you understand anything?” reverberates in her guilty conscience; she believes the accident was her fault. Left with her emotionally unavailable White dad, a nonresponsive younger brother, and Filipina childhood best friends Yvonne and Tes, all of whom are unable to help her in her sadness, Marisol spirals. Despite never having been drunk or “even made out with a boy” before her mother’s death, the vicissitudes of grief lead Marisol to drink vodka, sleep with Yvonne’s boyfriend, and even punch Yvonne in the face. Suspended from school and sent to juvie, Marisol meets Mexican American Elizabeth, a clever, adventurous overachiever who breathes new possibility into her life. Readers who relish deep character development will appreciate Marisol’s messy evolution toward self-forgiveness. Her confessional first-person narration often reads like a movie, and it teems with vivid insights about crushes, longings, friend breakups, and complicated family dynamics set against the burning backdrop of the Albuquerque desert. The representation of a Filipino experience in the United States is done with superlative skill, rendering this beautifully written debut a model for how to expertly weave culturally specific cues into a universal story.

Heart-wrenching and heart-filled.