‘The stories are all narrated by women, from the daughters of crime bosses to designer-clad socialites, whose voices are all so alive and vibrant that reading this collection was a genuine thrill. Reservoir Bitches doesn’t shy from portraying Mexico’s gritty underbelly but, much like her fellow countrywoman Fernanda Melchor, De La Verda’s stories scrutinise Mexican society with great humour. It is a remarkably good debut collection.’
Barry Pierce, The Big Issue
‘Women lie, cheat, kill, and die in Mexican writer de la Cerda’s searing English-language debut … de la Cerda offers a refreshingly unapologetic voice for women who refuse to be placated. This is worth a look.’
Publishers Weekly
‘[de la Cerda’s] tactics succeed in creating the enchanting feeling that one is sitting across from each narrator, being told their stories as a close confidante … The author’s demand that we bear witness to the senseless murders, in all their gruesomeness, of these bright young women is sobering and commendable.’
Kirkus Reviews
‘This book has the force of an ocean gully: it sucks you in, it drags you through the mud, and it cleans you in equal measure.’
Andrea Abreu, author of Panza de burro
‘The brutal, fascinating, and truthful stories in Reservoir Bitches describe, without self-indulgence, the highly complex reality of young women in Mexico.’
Berna González Harbour, El País
‘It's been a long time since I’ve read a book like this: the kind that makes you feel like your chest is going to explode.’
María Teresa Priego-Broca, La Silla Rota
‘Not only do these Reservoir Bitches not back down, but they also have the ability to laugh at themselves. Even in the most terrible moments, when as a reader you feel like you can’t breathe, the narrative voice knows how to make us smile, and even laugh out loud.’
Irma Gallo, Mexican cultural journalist and writer
‘Dahlia de la Cerda’s work has become a reference point for its groundbreaking characters, for its fusion of expressionism and irony.’
Manuel García Pérez, Mundiaro
‘A small monument to transgressive, tough, soft, romantic, painful literature … While the author beats us up, we revel in pleasure. Laughter. Because the prose is delicate despite everything. Because humour thrives among narco-socialites, contract killers, wannabe high society women, and influencers who worry about how many likes they have on Instagram.’
Gerardo Lima Molina, author of Megaloceros
‘Dahlia de la Cerda is the armed wing of morras who write, the long-awaited apostle of morras who help morras. Barrio counterwriting, misoprostol mixed with weed, narcocorrido tweets, a fuckload of violence, Dahlia’s books are all or nothing — luxury literature that is proletarian, radical, and carnal for our era of idiots and cowards.’
Gabriela Wiener, author of Undiscovered
‘I couldn’t put this book down! Equal parts punk, brilliant, and urgent, with a side of Mexican goth. Dahlia de la Cerda’s blend of raw, at times brutal storytelling is exactly what we need right now. A force on its own that refuses to be tamed, the writing here is a literary gift.’
Julián Delgado Lopera, author of Fiebre Tropical
‘With sharp social criticism and sardonic humour, de la Cerda balances brutality with compelling portrayals of characters whom readers may otherwise be tempted to condemn … A work of narrative art and a powerful testament to diverse experiences and stories that deserve to be heard.’
Necessary Fiction
‘Reservoir Bitches offers a foundation on which working-class, provincial, and otherwise marginalised writers in Mexico and elsewhere can add the detail necessary to transform tales into nuanced stories that reflect the richness of the world of their protagonists.’
Los Angeles Review of Books
‘De la Cerda’s writing has flair, and fangs.’
Full Stop
‘The reservoir dogs may have drafted the outline, but the Reservoir Bitches get the last word. Embodied or not, human or not quite, they’re alive. That’s their resistance. So alive they walk right off the page. So alive you could invite them to your party. So alive you can hear their voices for real. And if you listen hard enough, to the sound under the silence, you might.’
Southwest Review
