When I was a little girl, my father would tell me the same bedtime story every night.
It was a story about a mother coyote who was looking for her lost son. She traveled from town to town looking for him, describing him in the way loving mothers often do: He was strong and healthy with beautiful, shining fur. No one had seen him. They had only seen a mangy, emaciated animal, dead on the side of the road. Anguished, the mother cried out that that was her son. Based on a Mexican indigenous fable, it was a cautionary tale about deception and truth, and as an impressionable eight-year-old, it stuck with me.
There are stories whose words embed themselves in your soul. They stay there, long after the last page has been turned, and hold the warmth of an old friend’s embrace.
The first time I read a Silvia Moreno-Garcia book, the words didn’t just hug me, they wrapped themselves around my beating heart and squeezed. They demanded my attention and feelings—all of them.