Estela González is a Mexican American writer with a focus on social and environmental justice from her experience as a Latinex (her preferred term) and LGBTQ+ person. Her debut novel, Arribada (Cynren Press), follows Mariana Celis home from the U.S. to Mexico after her mother’s stroke and uncle’s mysterious disappearance. Mariana quickly realizes that the community she left behind has changed at the hands of developers and vacationers. Gracefully interweaving environmental topics with explorations of queerness and womanhood, the novel is “a suspenseful but tender tale that exemplifies the power of intersectionality,” according to our reviewer, and there’s no wonder why it earned a spot on our Best Indie Books of 2022 list. González answered some questions by email.

What was the original idea that started you working on the book?

Witnessing the ebb and flow of Mazatlán’s fortunes was one main motivator. My family normally spent vacations in my dad’s hometown enjoying Mazatlán’s dunes, the seaside walks, the sight of ships from everywhere. Then, there was a hiatus when I left for grad school. I returned in the ’90s to find many of Mazatlán’s historic homes turned to rubble; beaches thinned to a strip. The city’s economic focus on sol y playa—beach and sun—led to neglecting the center and its beaches.

Other experiences that led me to writing the novel were personal. I, too, had a beloved uncle who disappeared from our lives. Writing toward understanding his fate—and toward mourning—was another great motivator.

In Arribada, we see firsthand the various negative effects tourism can have on communities. What is a takeaway for readers considering vacationing in cultural communities?

Thank you for asking. This is a very important issue for me. I think the most important is to stay curious and humble. Tread lightly, strive to leave no trace, as we do when we visit a national park. Coastal environments are fragile and essential to human and nonhuman communities’ health. Why do we not treat them as such?

How has writing this novel shaped your view of what it means to return home?

During my writing process, the novel became a compendium of the many meanings of coming home. When we return after a long absence we naturally discover our home has changed. We are often not aware of how much we have changed until we arrive in the place we believe we know best. We have taken on cultural traits and assumptions from the new place we live; we take certain freedoms for granted while learning to live without some we relinquished in leaving our ancestral land.

Who is the ideal reader for your book?

My ideal reader is someone who empathizes with the vulnerable and wants to see what some women face in a particular kind of patriarchal society. Someone who cares about nature and coastal societies that live off of—and try to survive—a touristic economy.

Were you able to do live events for the book this year? Any memorable highlights?

Yes! I was lucky to have my book come out toward the tail end of the lockdowns. By May 2022, I launched my book twice in Middlebury, where I live. I have had a number of readings, for instance, at East End Books in Provincetown and Giovanni’s Room in Philadelphia, where the conversation continued into dinner and beyond. I am particularly heartened that my novel is now out in Spanish (titled Limonaria). There has been interest in my creative process since I do not translate but write from scratch in each of the two languages. The result is two novels that tell the same story without being beholden to doing it in the same way. My metaphors and cultural references, my voice and cadence are unique in each language.

What book published in 2022 was among your favorites?

I binge-read Javier Zamora’s Solito, a beautiful, haunting book. The kind that becomes part of your universe of emotions and ideas.  

Costa B. Pappas is an editorial intern.