In her electrifying debut novel Oye, Melissa Mogollon delivers a narrative as unpredictable as a Florida hurricane and as complex as family ties themselves. Through a series of phone conversations between Luciana and her older sister Mari, we experience a story that unfolds with the messy authenticity of real life—complete with its humor, heartbreak, rage, and moments of unexpected tenderness.
Oye—Spanish for “listen”—commands our attention from the first page, inviting us to eavesdrop on the private communications between two sisters navigating the tumultuous waters of family crisis, identity, and growing up. The result is a reading experience that feels startlingly intimate, as if we’ve accidentally picked up someone else’s phone and can’t bring ourselves to hang up.
Structure That Both Succeeds and Stumbles
Mogollon’s decision to tell the story entirely through one-sided phone calls is both the novel’s greatest strength and occasional weakness. On one hand, it creates an immediate sense of intimacy and authenticity. On the other, this format sometimes feels constraining, particularly when conveying complex backstory or when the emotional beats demand more nuance than a phone call might naturally provide.
The novel is divided into three parts, with each chapter titled after a common Spanish phrase parents or grandparents might say to their children—phrases like “Pásame el teléfono” (Pass me the phone) and “Bájame el tono” (Lower your tone). These chapter titles serve as both thematic anchors and wry commentary on the generational dynamics at play.
What works brilliantly is how Mogollon captures the cadence of teen speech, particularly the way Luciana’s voice evolves throughout the novel. Her rapid-fire delivery, punctuated with “lol” and “dude” and sudden emotional pivots, feels authentic without becoming caricature. The linguistic code-switching between English and Spanish enhances this authenticity, subtly reinforcing the cultural duality Luciana navigates.
Characters Who Linger Long After the Final Page
At the heart of Oye by Melissa Mogollon is Luciana – an 18-year-old Colombian-American navigating her senior year of high school in Florida while grappling with her sexuality, her future, and the complicated women in her family. Mogollon crafts a protagonist who is both achingly vulnerable and fiercely resilient. Luciana’s narration is a masterclass in character voice – sarcastic, self-deprecating, occasionally profound, and always compelling.
But it’s Abue (grandmother) who steals the show. Through Luciana’s descriptions and recounting of conversations, Abue emerges as a force of nature – vain, stubborn, occasionally cruel, but also capable of surprising wisdom and tenderness. Her insistence on maintaining her appearance even as her health deteriorates (“I want a sexy outfit for my funeral”) speaks volumes about her character and the cultural values she embodies.
The relationships between the women in this novel—Luciana, Abue, Mari, and their mother Elena—are rendered with nuanced complexity. Each woman is shaped by generational trauma but responds to it differently, creating a fascinating exploration of how pain is inherited and transformed across generations.
Cultural Resonance and Universal Themes
While deeply rooted in Colombian-American culture, Oye by Melissa Mogollon explores universal themes with remarkable insight:
- Intergenerational trauma: The novel delves into how trauma is passed down through families, particularly as revealed through Abue’s devastating backstory
- Coming-of-age and identity formation: Luciana’s struggle to define herself amidst family chaos resonates regardless of cultural background
- Mortality and grief: The novel’s unflinching look at illness and death avoids sentimentality while honoring the complexity of loss
- The immigrant experience: Through subtle details and family dynamics, Mogollon illustrates the particular challenges of straddling two cultures
For Latinx readers, there’s a special recognition in the small details – from the obsession with appearances to family communication styles. Mogollon expertly balances cultural specificity with universal emotional truths, creating a story that feels both particular and widely accessible.
Shortcomings That Don’t Sink the Ship
Despite its many strengths, Oye by Melissa Mogollon isn’t without flaws. The phone call format, while innovative, occasionally strains credibility—particularly when Luciana recounts entire conversations verbatim or delivers extended backstories. This format also means we only ever experience Mari’s reactions through Luciana’s responses, which sometimes feels limiting.
The pacing suffers in the middle sections, where the hurricane plot gives way to medical drama without quite maintaining the same narrative momentum. Some readers might find the profanity-laden teen dialogue excessive, though others will appreciate its authenticity.
Additionally, while the novel boldly tackles heavy themes, it occasionally resolves complex emotional situations too neatly. Abue’s decision regarding her treatment feels rushed given the gravity of the choice, and some family revelations are processed with a speed that undermines their emotional weight.
Prose That Pulses with Life
What ultimately elevates Oye above its structural limitations is Melissa Mogollon’s vibrant, muscular prose. Even within the constraints of the phone call format, she crafts sentences that surprise and delight:
“He couldn’t believe his friends had never mentioned how beautiful she was! And Mom said something must have come over him, because he then asked Fernanda out right there. On the spot. Before she could even finish her sentence.”
“But imagine having to sleep next to the possibility of that visual for the past six months. Your feelings are not my priority here.”
Mogollon particularly excels at capturing the rapid emotional pivots of adolescence – the way Luciana can swing from profane fury to tender vulnerability within a single breath. The dialogue crackles with life, each character distinguished by speech patterns that reveal their personalities and backgrounds.
Verdict: A Flawed but Formidable Debut
For all its occasional missteps, Oye announces Melissa Mogollon as a formidable new literary voice. Like its protagonist, the novel is sometimes messy, occasionally frustrating, but ultimately impossible to ignore.
The novel will particularly resonate with:
- Readers who appreciate contemporary family dramas
- Those interested in Latinx literature and the immigrant experience
- Anyone who has navigated complex family dynamics
- Fans of novels that blend humor with serious themes
If you enjoyed the cultural specificity and family dynamics of Elizabeth Acevedo’s work or the narrative innovation of Jenny Offill’s “Dept. of Speculation,” Oye offers similar pleasures with a distinctive voice all its own.
Strengths:
- Vibrant, authentic character voices
- Nuanced exploration of family dynamics
- Skillful blending of humor and heartbreak
- Rich cultural specificity
- Bold narrative structure
Weaknesses:
- Phone call format occasionally strains credibility
- Uneven pacing in middle sections
- Some emotional beats resolved too quickly
- Limited perspective due to one-sided conversations
Final Thoughts: A Voice Demanding to Be Heard
In Spanish, “oye” is both a command and an invitation—”listen”—and Mogollon’s debut novel earns our attention. Though not without flaws, Oye by Melissa Mogollon introduces a writer with a distinctive voice and a keen eye for the complexities of family, culture, and growing up.
Like Luciana herself, who finds her voice amidst family chaos, Mogollon emerges as a talented storyteller unafraid to explore messy emotions and complicated truths. By the novel’s end, we feel as though we’ve not just read about these characters but actually know them – their quirks, their flaws, their fierce loyalties and equally fierce grudges.
Oye reminds us of the power of listening – to each other’s stories, to the painful truths of the past, and to the voices of young women figuring out their place in the world. It’s a reminder that sometimes the most important stories are the ones shared when no one else is supposed to be listening.
As Luciana herself might say: it’s messy, it’s complicated, sometimes it’s frustrating as hell – but ultimately, it’s worth it.
