If you’re anything like me, you probably have some sort of collection. It could be small, it could be big, it could be made of anything. Books, DVD’s, potato chip cans, I don’t know. But I want you to think about that collection. This stuff that means a lot to you, even if it isn’t worth a lot. Then I want you to think of the hidden gem in that collection. The thing you might not think of first when asked about your collection, that you might not think of as the most important one in your collection, that doesn’t necessarily stand out from your collection at first glance. But it’s the one that hidden deep beneath, is secretly your favorite. It’s the one you default to when you’re a little sad, or when you have to remind yourself why you started this collection in the first place. 

That’s what reading this book felt like. That little kernel of pure, unbridled joy that feels childlike and limitless. With a plot that packs a punch and characters ready to stand up to it all, The Last Cuentista now sits in its rightful place of honor on my bookshelf. 

When I first picked up this book at my local bookstore, it was the cover that drew me in. The bright colors, the whimsical nature tied in with some sci-fi elements. Then I read the summary, and was intrigued by the Latinx culture as seen in a sci-fi genre, with spaceships and aliens. But when I was reading it, it was the story that kept me captivated. The last storyteller, our main character, Petra, was simultaneously a badass and a beautiful, relatable character. She might only be thirteen, but she feels so real that you forget she isn’t standing right next to you. 

This book gave off the vibes of the movie Passengers, the book series Percy Jackson, and strangely, somehow, the city of Chicago. I can’t really explain that last one, just like I can’t really explain the way this book was perfection in a beautiful casing. 

Read it. Now. I promise you that you will get lost in the story and stay invested until the very last word.