“Although the publishing house describes Dios fulmine a la que escriba sobre mí as a hybrid text somewhere between an essay and a memoir, the way it explodes in front of readers’ eyes makes it so that it doesn’t only surpass that ubiquity (...) but also exceeds those constraints and becomes a novel that paints a portrait of the growth and conflicts between generations, as well as the encounters and disagreements between fathers and their children, and, above all, about illusions and disillusions, hopes failures, love and grief.”

“I’ve always thought that there’s a difference between things that are sad and things that are moving. I’ve also thought that you can’t define that difference—you recognize it when you see it. This book is one of those rare moments of clairvoyance: it’s moving, but not sad. The narrator tells the story of her father and her relationship with him through the library she inherits when he dies. This is how an investigation of who her father was unravels—masculinity, periphery, eccentricity, incomprehension, compassion. And a question that has stayed in my mind and that I believe, luckily, has no answer: why do we insist on treating those who put all their efforts into being anti-heroes like heroes?”

“Writer Aura García-Junco presents many fascinating questions in this book that is like no other. An autobiographical, political, and radical book in which she talks about her relationship with her father, the 10,000-volume library she inherited after his death, Italo Calvino, and the bridge between generations that extended between her re-reading of two different editions of Cosmicomics. And at the center of the plot is a narrator with a critical, astute, and reflexive perspective....In the pages of Dios fulmine a la que escriba sobre mí there is an abundance of glimmers of truth and intelligence that allow us to know an intimate side of this young Mexican writer.”

“This is a book about literature, about filial love, about fathers and daughters, about practicing tolerance and compassion in a profound way, about writing, but most of all about reading—about the vital impulse that animates many of the craziest endeavors (an impulse that can be self-depleting) and about the arduous task of accepting not only loss, but the readjustment of one’s perspective on issues that can become blind spots when they aren’t treated with enough care. This is a journey anchored in a series of books and personal episodes, but it is also a path of reconciliation because, in the end, Aura García-Junco’s work goes beyond the margins of the personal to enter the field of the biographical, with edges that are well-defined by that final point that is someone’s death and chooses to recalibrate one’s own memory to keep what is most valuable: the lucidity of life.”

“An extraordinary book by one of the leading Mexican writers.”

“One of the virtues to be applauded in Dios fulmine a la que escriba sobre mi is the freewheeling generational criticism that García-Junco levels against her father. In a way that is energetic and always moving, she addresses the disgust of the new feminism against old or atavistic machismos and real or imaginary misogynies (...) the author hit the nail on the head.”

“If by any chance you’re worried about borders between literary genres, we might need to clarify that this book perfectly fits into an essay or memoir category; however, the voice that brings it together is definitely narrative, as is the objective it achieves: the thorough construction of a character. More concretely, of García-Junco’s father, a relevant figure of Mexican counter-culture who died of a heart attack. ‘Another book about mourning a father?’ you might say, and I would understand that initial resistance. But this is a very stimulating achievement: a daughter attempts to understand her father through his personal library, through a conversation between two readers that end up being stripped naked by others’ literature. The result is exciting.”