Interview With Chantel Acevedo
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Called “a master storyteller” by Kirkus Reviews, Chantel Acevedo is the author of the novels Love and Ghost Letters (St. Martin's Press), A Falling Star (Carolina Wren Press), The Distant Marvels (Europa Editions), which was a finalist for the 2016 Andrew Carnegie Medal for Excellence in Fiction, and The Living Infinite (Europa Editions), hailed by Booklist as a “vivid and enthralling tale of love and redemption.” Acevedo’s middle-grade duology, Muse Squad (Balzer +Bray), was called “riveting and suspenseful" by School Library Journal. The Curse on Spectacle Key (Balzer + Bray), a lightly spooky story set in the Florida Keys, was a 2023-2024 SSYRA Award nominee and winner of the Rhode Island Latino Book Award. No Way Never Sisters is her first co-authored novel. Acevedo is a Professor of English & Creative Writing at the University of Miami. Ahead of the June 2026 release of Cages from Europa Editions, Chantel Acevedo talks to the Latino Book Review readers about her beautifully complex new novel and the inspirations behind the narrative.
TERESA DOVALPAGE: You open the novel with René’s recollections of a day in 1963 Cuba at the Havana Zoo, set against the backdrop of the missile crisis and a state-sanctioned crackdown on homosexuality. What inspired you to choose the Havana Zoo as the starting point for a 30-year journey of exile? CHANTEL ACEVEDO: I have always had a fascination with zoos, and I don’t know how I resisted writing about them for so long. I suppose I was waiting for the right story to come along. In modern zoos, the conservation of species is the driving force. But to do that work, they need to sell tickets and merchandise to the public, which muddies things a great deal. Zoos are also these places where the most incongruous organisms live side-by-side—the tamarinds beside the penguins, etc.—and yet there is a clear system, a philosophy of care, pleasing aesthetics. The world is a mess, but in a zoo, this riot of life is made understandable in the service of education and preservation. When considering Cuba, with its long, messy, sad history, it astonishes me that zoos operate there to some degree of success. Even during the missile crisis, the zoo continued to be. For the protagonist, a queer, closeted zookeeper, married to a woman he loves but in a way society in 1960s Cuba could not understand, the zoo represents a kind of simple order missing from his interior world. The novel takes readers to three zoos—in Havana, London, Miami—and in each place, the order Felix relies on is disrupted, as is his life and the lives of those around him. |
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DOVALPAGE: That disruption of order mirrors Felix’s fragmented and hidden life. Interestingly, readers don’t get to hear about this inner world directly from him; instead, his story is told by other people (his lovers, his wife, his brother-in-law, one of his daughters). Why did you decide to use other voices rather than giving him his own point of view? And which perspective was the most challenging to write?
ACEVEDO: The novel is inspired by the story of my absent father, who was also queer and not entirely out. He died when he was still young and I didn’t get to know him beyond a few encounters when I was little, and then once when he was dying. There was so much left unsaid, questions unasked. Felix’s story, like my father’s, is relayed to his daughter through the narratives of others, the way his life was relayed to me. The book is fictional, mostly, but the truest element is its structure. Felix’s daughter, Eva, is the listener of a story that has broken into fragments. The reader doesn’t ever hear her voice, nor Felix’s, directly. That distance, which is one I lived with personally in relation to my father, felt important to replicate. The book doesn’t offer an easy resolution in this regard, but there’s hope in the end, that a relationship between the two is possible, even if it wasn’t the case for me. As for the perspectives in the novel, we hear from Felix’s lovers, his wife, his brother-in-law, and a younger daughter who did get to know him a bit. Writing the characters posed their challenges in that I think it’s essential, when crafting a multi-POV story, to make sure everyone sounds unique and alive. Having a listener in mind helped since the witnesses are, to some degree, shaping their responses for Eva’s sake or their own.
DOVALPAGE: All the characters sound definitely unique! I could read a couple of paragraphs and figure out who said it. I also loved how you used Cuban sayings like as “I was la última Coca-Cola en el Desierto” and “báñate en Vaselina y todo te resbalará.” These dichos create an instant Cuban connection. Do you see them as a form of cultural armor or a coping mechanism that the characters use to mask the pain of displacement and exile?
ACEVEDO: Is there a culture that uses dichos more than Cubans? I suspect we might take pole position on that. I can have a complete conversation using dichos alone! So many of them speak to values, too, and say so much about the person using them. A person who says, “Camarón que se duerme, se lo lleva la corriente” is the ambitious sort. A recent favorite is “El que no tiene padrino, no se bautiza.” Usually, someone says that when they are about to do a massive favor for you. The two examples you asked about are curious in that they have adopted consumer goods into them, and the fact that these are used in Cuba still is a great irony, proving that dichos don’t always reflect political reality. Mainly, I use them because this is how we speak as Cubans, both those born on the island and elsewhere, and it identifies us instantly to one another. If Cubans ran speakeasies, the code would be half a dicho, don’t you think? “Barriga llena…” You finish it, Te!
DOVALPAGE: Corazón contento, one of my favorites because I love to eat! Now, thinking of cultural truths and what we say versus what we keep hidden, the dialogue in the book carries some heavy wisdom, sabiduría de viejos. At one point, Felix’s brother-in-law, Virgilio, tells his niece Eva: “We can be curious about the things we don’t know, but knowledge? Knowledge can be a torment to the soul.” Considering that the novel is structured like a puzzle where family secrets are unearthed little by little, how do you view this line in relation to the book's broader message?
ACEVEDO: Virgilio would prefer it if Eva did not ask any of these questions. He’s been her stand-in father all these years and the fact that she’s asking about Felix hurts his feelings. Has he not been enough, he wonders? So, he warns her about asking for more. Her life has been easy, despite, or perhaps because of Felix’s absence. He reminds her of this truth—questions are free, but sometimes the answers require their pound of flesh. It’s also a warning for the reader. The testimonies that follow Virgilio’s (Anabél, Felix’s wife, and Rita, his youngest daughter) reveal Felix in ways that make him harder to forgive but also easier to understand. Character-wise, this warning marks the point of no return.
DOVALPAGE: Yes, and as all the characters develop, thanks to the truths, las verdades, the physical world around them changes as well. Speaking of places, you mentioned in an interview that you visited Sylvia Plath’s home in Primrose Hill because she is your favorite poet and you had read that she could hear the lions from the London Zoo from her house. In Cages, readers can actually hear the lions. How did standing in her physical space help you capture that atmosphere, and in what ways did her history influence your characters, particularly Claudia and Anabel?
ACEVEDO: The reader never sees Plath in Cages and only hears about her from a few of the characters. Even then, she’s revealed only in broad strokes. Yet, the novel wasn’t fully formed in my imagination until I stumbled across Plath’s home, and once I did, she became an important piece. For Claudia, Plath represents a theatrical study. She’s been cast in a play about Plath’s life and is trying to understand the poet. But Claudia’s own life has been sheltered. She’s determined to make it as an actor, though she may not have the chops for it, and her choices are driven by her need to be accepted. There is something of Plath’s desire for fame, on and off, and one all writers feel from time to time, in Claudia’s striving. For Anabél, Plath isn’t as much an influence as she is a mirror. Both women are/were married to zookeepers, both felt deeply unappreciated, betrayed, and wounded by their husbands. Both were mothers. Both carried grief around like a pocketbook, with all the ugly bits tucked inside. For me, this is also related to the physical space that is Primrose Hill. It’s a beautiful neighborhood, with colorful terraced homes and manicured parks everywhere. The London Zoo is very close, and indeed, the animals can be heard at night. It’s wonderful. But heartbreak happens everywhere, even in the wonderful places.
DOVALPAGE: And that is another verdad: the most profound human struggles happen everywhere, no matter how beautiful the setting. Thank you for sharing your creative process and the inspirations behind the novel. I cannot wait for more readers to dive into Cages and hear those lions for themselves. Muchas gracias.
ACEVEDO: The novel is inspired by the story of my absent father, who was also queer and not entirely out. He died when he was still young and I didn’t get to know him beyond a few encounters when I was little, and then once when he was dying. There was so much left unsaid, questions unasked. Felix’s story, like my father’s, is relayed to his daughter through the narratives of others, the way his life was relayed to me. The book is fictional, mostly, but the truest element is its structure. Felix’s daughter, Eva, is the listener of a story that has broken into fragments. The reader doesn’t ever hear her voice, nor Felix’s, directly. That distance, which is one I lived with personally in relation to my father, felt important to replicate. The book doesn’t offer an easy resolution in this regard, but there’s hope in the end, that a relationship between the two is possible, even if it wasn’t the case for me. As for the perspectives in the novel, we hear from Felix’s lovers, his wife, his brother-in-law, and a younger daughter who did get to know him a bit. Writing the characters posed their challenges in that I think it’s essential, when crafting a multi-POV story, to make sure everyone sounds unique and alive. Having a listener in mind helped since the witnesses are, to some degree, shaping their responses for Eva’s sake or their own.
DOVALPAGE: All the characters sound definitely unique! I could read a couple of paragraphs and figure out who said it. I also loved how you used Cuban sayings like as “I was la última Coca-Cola en el Desierto” and “báñate en Vaselina y todo te resbalará.” These dichos create an instant Cuban connection. Do you see them as a form of cultural armor or a coping mechanism that the characters use to mask the pain of displacement and exile?
ACEVEDO: Is there a culture that uses dichos more than Cubans? I suspect we might take pole position on that. I can have a complete conversation using dichos alone! So many of them speak to values, too, and say so much about the person using them. A person who says, “Camarón que se duerme, se lo lleva la corriente” is the ambitious sort. A recent favorite is “El que no tiene padrino, no se bautiza.” Usually, someone says that when they are about to do a massive favor for you. The two examples you asked about are curious in that they have adopted consumer goods into them, and the fact that these are used in Cuba still is a great irony, proving that dichos don’t always reflect political reality. Mainly, I use them because this is how we speak as Cubans, both those born on the island and elsewhere, and it identifies us instantly to one another. If Cubans ran speakeasies, the code would be half a dicho, don’t you think? “Barriga llena…” You finish it, Te!
DOVALPAGE: Corazón contento, one of my favorites because I love to eat! Now, thinking of cultural truths and what we say versus what we keep hidden, the dialogue in the book carries some heavy wisdom, sabiduría de viejos. At one point, Felix’s brother-in-law, Virgilio, tells his niece Eva: “We can be curious about the things we don’t know, but knowledge? Knowledge can be a torment to the soul.” Considering that the novel is structured like a puzzle where family secrets are unearthed little by little, how do you view this line in relation to the book's broader message?
ACEVEDO: Virgilio would prefer it if Eva did not ask any of these questions. He’s been her stand-in father all these years and the fact that she’s asking about Felix hurts his feelings. Has he not been enough, he wonders? So, he warns her about asking for more. Her life has been easy, despite, or perhaps because of Felix’s absence. He reminds her of this truth—questions are free, but sometimes the answers require their pound of flesh. It’s also a warning for the reader. The testimonies that follow Virgilio’s (Anabél, Felix’s wife, and Rita, his youngest daughter) reveal Felix in ways that make him harder to forgive but also easier to understand. Character-wise, this warning marks the point of no return.
DOVALPAGE: Yes, and as all the characters develop, thanks to the truths, las verdades, the physical world around them changes as well. Speaking of places, you mentioned in an interview that you visited Sylvia Plath’s home in Primrose Hill because she is your favorite poet and you had read that she could hear the lions from the London Zoo from her house. In Cages, readers can actually hear the lions. How did standing in her physical space help you capture that atmosphere, and in what ways did her history influence your characters, particularly Claudia and Anabel?
ACEVEDO: The reader never sees Plath in Cages and only hears about her from a few of the characters. Even then, she’s revealed only in broad strokes. Yet, the novel wasn’t fully formed in my imagination until I stumbled across Plath’s home, and once I did, she became an important piece. For Claudia, Plath represents a theatrical study. She’s been cast in a play about Plath’s life and is trying to understand the poet. But Claudia’s own life has been sheltered. She’s determined to make it as an actor, though she may not have the chops for it, and her choices are driven by her need to be accepted. There is something of Plath’s desire for fame, on and off, and one all writers feel from time to time, in Claudia’s striving. For Anabél, Plath isn’t as much an influence as she is a mirror. Both women are/were married to zookeepers, both felt deeply unappreciated, betrayed, and wounded by their husbands. Both were mothers. Both carried grief around like a pocketbook, with all the ugly bits tucked inside. For me, this is also related to the physical space that is Primrose Hill. It’s a beautiful neighborhood, with colorful terraced homes and manicured parks everywhere. The London Zoo is very close, and indeed, the animals can be heard at night. It’s wonderful. But heartbreak happens everywhere, even in the wonderful places.
DOVALPAGE: And that is another verdad: the most profound human struggles happen everywhere, no matter how beautiful the setting. Thank you for sharing your creative process and the inspirations behind the novel. I cannot wait for more readers to dive into Cages and hear those lions for themselves. Muchas gracias.
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