Eating Ashes by Brenda Navarro

First published in Mexico in 2022; published in translation by W.W. Norton/Liveright on January 20, 2026

The disturbing but familiar tropes of fiction from Mexico — drug cartels, violence against women — take a back seat to Brenda Navarro’s story of a woman whose move from Mexico to Spain did little to ease the pain of daily living. Most stories of emigration focus on the hope for a better life in a stable country. Navarro’s narrator has a different perspective: “Everyone wants to be something more, and they don’t even know how to be something less.” This is the only novel I can recall that looks back at the violence of a country like Mexico with nostalgia.

We never learn the narrator’s name, but her brother is Diego García. The narrator describes three defining events in her life. The first is her mother’s departure for Spain with the promise to send for her kids later. The narrator and her grandmother raise Diego as the years pass, waiting for their mother to make good on the promise. The narrator is clueless about what her mother has to do before she can obtain a residence card and arrange for their entry into Spain, but that is largely her mother’s fault for failing to keep her kids updated.

The second is the narrator’s eventual relocation to Spain with Diego. Most of the novel takes place in that country, first in Madrid where her mother lives and then in Barcelona where she joins her cousins to get away from her mother.

The third is Diego’s death by suicide. The narrator tells the reader about that death early in the story. It is the central event that shapes her young life.

While living in Spain, the narrator tells us that she misses everything about Mexico: “my grandmother cooking for me, even if there were times when she’d blow a gasket and get all intense, and my grandfather taking me to the movies. … And I missed the noise of the street, the music, how loud the cars were, and the tension.” She misses “not Mexico the country,” but “Mexico as a yearning.” Mostly she misses the innocence and joy of Diego as he was when they lived in Mexico. It appears that what she misses is not Mexico but the childhood she left there.

Oddly, she also misses “that strange sense of belonging, but at the same time of being a crab in a bucket climbing onto the backs of the others, trying to get out.” She misses “the passion that comes from hunger, from exhaustion, from discontent.” By contrast, Europe is passionless, a place where “what you breathed in was a sort of calm that was more like boredom. Europe seemed boring and old and lonely.”

The narrator isn’t saying that life is too easy in Spain — she still lives in relative poverty and hates the menial jobs she takes — but in Mexico she shared her hardships with others. She does not feel she belongs in Spain, where people look down on her because of her Mexican ancestry, her low station in life. She doesn’t like cleaning houses or the rear ends of old folk. She tries a gig job making deliveries but it wears her out. She doesn’t like her Scottish boyfriend because he exploits her. One message the novel delivers is that emigration leads to isolation for immigrants who are not accepted as equals in their new home.

While I appreciated that message, the story is not without its downsides. I came to think of the narrator as a whiner who has a sense of entitlement that people are usually born into. Yes, it’s hard being poor, but her stubborn refusal to return to Madrid where she could live a modestly better life with her mother, like her persistent lie to her boyfriend about being a college student, are not endearing actions. The narrator refuses to return because she “needed to prove to my mom that I could fend for myself, that we could have another kind of relationship where she wasn’t the one in charge, the one who decided for me.” Her uncle is the only character who has the courage to put her in her place: “In this family, he said, pointing a finger at me, your mother was the only one who was able to shake off all this shit we live in. Quit feeling sorry for yourself and honor her decision.”

By the novel’s end, the narrator redeems herself a bit by confessing her hypocrisy (she criticizes Diego for stealing but is herself a thief) and recognizing her selfish nature. In that sense, Eating Ashes might be seen as a coming-of-age novel with a “you can’t go home again” theme.

A more traditional theme in novels about immigration is the unfortunate reality of intolerance that pervades most nations. Ethnic Catalans in Spaiin don’t like other Spaniards, Spaniards don’t like immigrants, immigrants from Spanish-speaking countries don’t like Pakistanis, the old and the young dislike each other, and on and on. Diego’s school in Madrid punishes him for fights that were started by Spanish kids; school officials assume that the immigrant kid is the troublemaker. The narrator undergoes body cavity searches for drugs at border crossings while white people are unmolested. A character named Jimena who emigrated to Spain reminds readers of Mexico’s intolerance of the LGBTQ community.

After the narrator carries her brother’s ashes back to Mexico, we catch glimpses of the disappearances and sexual harassment that plague Mexican society. In the most vivid scene, a woman recounts the death of her sister, who is killed in a bar with a dozen others because her husband is in the military.  But this is not a story of human rights violations so much as it the very personal story of a young woman who has not yet overcome the grief and alienation that defines her life. The novel is a bit uneven but its most moving and insightful moments make it worthwhile for readers who want a different perspective on the experience of immigration.

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