Minnie Miranda's single mother—an Argentine-American with no close family—labors tirelessly to support her and her two younger sisters.  Mamá is always working overtime at her menial jobs, leaving Minnie in charge.  When she is in their drafty basement apartment, Mamá is exhausted and cranky.  Despite all her hours at work, the fridge is never full, Minnie's sisters have few toys, and all of them make do with embarrassing castoff clothing.  Although the 12-year-old knows she should be grateful just to have a roof over her head, Minnie's tired of being poor, frustrated with all of her grown-up responsibilities, and especially weary of her mother's constant warnings to never let outsiders into their lives.  Mamá insists they don't need anyone's help with anything.  Minnie's not so sure.

Despite the endless hours she works, Mamá always comes home in the evenings to say goodnight to her girls.  When she fails to appear one night, Minnie hopes Mamá has just been unable to get away.  With no word from her, however, Minnie begins to fear the worst: she's been detained by ICE.  Knowing she can't confide in anyone—not even a surprising new school friend—she carries on as best she knows how, trying to keep her sisters calm, fed, and entertained.  Nothing seems to go her away, although somehow, the girls seem to be getting a bit of help from the Peques, the Argentine fairies Minnie's younger sisters still believe in.

Even the Peques can't help with Minnie's upcoming audition for Peter Pan.  Minnie knows a penniless Latinx girl has no real hope of playing Wendy, but she's desperate to try for the part.  Mamá knows how important the audition is to Minnie and promised to be there.  Is she really going to miss it?  If she could be there, Minnie knows she would be.  What has happened to Mamá?  She can't conceal her family's situation for much longer, but her mother has always insisted strangers can't be trusted.  What is Minnie to do? 

Let's be honest here, the cover of On These Magic Shores by Argentine-American Yamile Saied Méndez is...not great.  Thank goodness it came to my attention because of The Whitney Awards.  Had I seen the book in a library or bookstore, I never would have picked it up.  And that would have been a shame because there's a lot to like about this #OwnVoices middle grade novel.  It touches on a lot of tough issues—racism, poverty, fear of deportation, children with too much responsibility, etc.—in a way that is eye-opening but also approachable.  As Minnie struggles, she learns the value of friendship, forgiveness, asking for help when you need it, and being grateful for what you have even if it's not a lot.  Some of the lessons are more subtle than others, but they're all there.  Although the plot of On These Magic Shores isn't always logical, the transitions between scenes not always smooth, and the prose a little rough in places, overall the story is engaging and compelling with enough going on to keep me turning pages.  The magical realism isn't my favorite element of this novel, but it worked well enough.  Character-wise, Minnie and her sisters are sympathetic heroines.  Minnie's prickly personality makes her difficult to like, especially when she acts like a victim-y brat.  She does grow and change because of her struggles, but she's still a bit hard to take.  Others act inconsistently (Maverick, for instance), but they're still a likable lot overall.  There are enough issues with On These Magic Shores that I didn't end up loving it.  However, it is an eye-opening, empowering, empathy-inducing story.  I liked it overall.

(Readalikes:  Reminds me of Land of the Cranes by Aida Salazar and Efrén Divided by Ernesto Cisneros)

Betita Quintero loves going to fourth grade in her East Los Angeles neighborhood.  There, a beloved teacher has been showing her how to express her feelings using vivid "word-poems."  She has plenty of emotions to illustrate—happiness from being surrounded by loving parents and a poor, but supportive community of immigrants; excitement over the impending birth of her baby sibling; and fear of her parents' undocumented status being discovered.  Betita's worst nightmare comes true when her father is arrested by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) and deported to Mexico.  Now, she and her pregnant mother are worried, scared, and on their own.  How can they survive without Papi?  

Things go from bad to worse when Betita and her mom are detained, locked away in a dirty cell with other terrified refugees.  How will they survive in such a hopeless, joyless place?  Will her Mami's baby be okay?  Most of all, will the Quintero family ever be reunited?  

Land of the Cranes by Aida Salazar (who was born in Mexico and brought to the United States by her undocumented parents when she was a baby) tells a gut-wrenching, heartrending story that is all too timely and real.  It's grim and disturbing in a lot of ways, but it's also hopeful and beautifully told in verse.  No matter what you think of U.S. immigration policy and its enforcement, it's impossible not to be moved by this illuminating story.  It's a quick read, but a powerful one that has stuck with me for months.  

(Readalikes:  Reminds me of Efrèn Divided by Ernesto Cisneros)

(Image from Barnes & Noble)

Ever since the death of his wife, Rafe Torres has been disintegrating.  Inconsolable, he drinks too much, gambles too much, owes too much and parents too little.  His four daughters have had it with picking up the pieces after their dad's many mess-ups.  Desperate for escape, they try running away, only to be caught by a despondent Rafe who promises to do better.  Not long after the sisters' botched escape, Ana plunges to her death while sneaking out her bedroom window.  Her death drives Rafe deeper into despair, leaving Iridian, Jessica, and Rosa to fend for themselves. 

A year after Ana dies, the three Torres girls are living a chaotic, feral existence in a house that feels both empty and oppressive with the weight of their grief.  Seventeen-year-old Iridian is biding her time working a part-time job and dating Ana's abusive ex-boyfriend.  Iridian—a 16-year-old dreamer—reads incessantly and pours her heart out in her journal.  An old soul, 13-year-old Rosa roams the city at night, talking to birds and searching for an escaped zoo animal.  Their separate orbits collide when each of them notices strange things happening inside their home.  They hear Ana's laughter whispering through the halls, see her handwriting appearing on the walls, and smell a familiar scent lingering in the air.  Could it be Ana's ghost trying to convey a message to her sisters?  What is it she's trying to tell them?  As the girls puzzle out the clues together, they finally feel a smidgeon of hope that might just show them the way out of the deep, dark well of their grief.

I'm not sure what to say about Tigers, Not Daughters by Samantha Mabry except that it's a strange, strange novel.  With its odd combination of realistic fiction, magical realism, and horror, it seems a little confused about its own identity.  Although Tigers, Not Daughters is a quick read, the story doesn't offer much in the way of plot.  Made up of vignettes told from each sister's perspective, it never feels very cohesive.  In addition, the vibe of this novel is unrelentingly sad, depressing, angry, and just ... weird.  Its depiction of the overwhelming and sometimes destructive nature of grief is on point, but the rest of the story didn't really come together for me.  I wasn't sorry to see it end.

(Readalikes:  Hm, I can't really think of a comparable title.  You?)

Grade:

If this were a movie, it would be rated:

for strong language, violence, sexual content, and disturbing subject matter

To the FTC, with love:  I received a finished copy of Tigers, Not Daughters from the generous folks at Algonquin in exchange for an honest review.  Thank you!

(Image from Barnes & Noble)

Don't Date Rosa Santos, a debut novel by Nina Moreno, is a little hard to describe.  Since my brain is tired, I'm just going to use the book's back cover copy, which sums the story up nicely:

Rosa Santos is cursed by the sea-at least, that's what they say. Dating her is bad news, especially if you're a boy with a boat.

But Rosa feels more caught than cursed. Caught between cultures and choices. Between her abuela, a beloved healer and pillar of their community, and her mother, an artist who crashes in and out of her life like a hurricane. Between Port Coral, the quirky South Florida town they call home, and Cuba, the island her abuela refuses to talk about.

As her college decision looms, Rosa collides-literally-with Alex Aquino, the mysterious boy with tattoos of the ocean whose family owns the marina. With her heart, her family, and her future on the line, can Rosa break a curse and find her place beyond the horizon?

If this were a movie, it would be rated:

for language (no F-bombs) and innuendo

To the FTC, with love:  Another library fine find