For too long, horror has spoken in a single accent—one that whispers of European castles, New England graveyards, and monsters born from traditions that never felt like home. But Our Shadows Have Claws (Hatchett, 2022) arrives like a long-overdue reckoning, and this time, the terror speaks in voices I recognize, in languages that feel like family.

Alejandro Heredia offers something far more valuable: the messy, beautiful truth of lives lived between languages, cultures, and identities

While the border is commonly depicted as a site of danger or crisis, Ruiz shows it as a place of community and care. Families move between cultures with ease, switching between Spanish and English, crossing bridges and borders not in fear but as a part of daily life. This depiction honors South Texas as complex, vibrant, and deeply American.

This is about stepping into a world of what-ifs and asking questions that can unravel everything.

It's a book for all time. It's the stories of working Chicanos who build the physical and cultural infrastructure of this country while being told they don't quite belong. Their stories will always matter. They will always need telling.

The film's "mash-up" approach risks reducing the Aztec Empire to a stylized backdrop—a commodity rather than a culture.

Genesis Stanley's Book Talk on Natasha Alford's Extraordinary Memoir, American Negra

This book is, in many ways, a love letter to the Southwest—especially Colorado and New Mexico.

Knowing the truth is painful, but liberating. Without it the scars will never heal.

My hope is that it makes its way to Latin America, to Guatemala, because this history isn't taught in schools there.

I'll be honest—I'm not a fan of demons. Or demon-related things. Suffice it to say I won't be re-watching The Exorcist   (1973) anytime...

Hollywood has put Pascal in an impossible bind: he can't be the traditional superhero leader without invoking the machismo stereotype that Latino men supposedly embody and, thus, must avoid.

When I'm writing, I'm not thinking about representing an entire culture or place. I'm just thinking about representing the experiences of these particular people on the page.

This semi-autobiographical novel lands like a punch to the chest because Pérez refuses to sanitize the migrant experience. Instead, she offers something far more valuable: an unflinching look at how families fracture and heal under the weight of assimilation, how racism operates both outside and within our own communities, and how resilience grows in the most unlikely soil.

From Cocinas to Lucha Libre Ringsides brings together an extraordinary collection of Latinx creators to explore how food and sports serve as powerful touchstones of identity and community in the Latino Americas.

Aldama interviews actor Anthony Mackie who Anthony Mackie wakes audiences to new perspectives, thoughts and feelings about superheroes +

WELTiTA is more than a beachy bop. It's a lyrical portal to the Island, a meditation on home, escape, and longing that speaks directly to Boricuas everywhere—from the bustling streets of San Juan to the apartments of the diaspora.

Gunn's Superman inadvertently maps the persistence of Hollywood's most enduring hierarchy: the sounds of heroism versus the sounds of Otherness or, frankly, evil.

This comic is a tribute: to her, to the borderlands, and to the mestiza consciousness that takes shape in the messy, meaningful rituals of becoming.

oday’s white-optic televisual landscape teems with what I call white-regenerative narratives—stories in which worn-out, broken, or morally adrift white dudes are reinvigorated through contact with Brown suffering.