Excerpt from Fonseca by Jessica Francis Kane, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"Thank you," Penelope said. "I'm sure we'll be fine."

"We'll see." Chela opened the once-blue door with a key and ushered them in. "Laundry is on Mondays, bedclothes every other week." She closed the door and left them, the peppery scent of marigolds lingering behind her.

Valpy looked as if he were about to cry. "Are Mr. and Mrs. Tuttle old friends too?"

"I'm sure they are," Penelope said.

The room, up under the eaves of Mirando, had a sloped ceiling and a set of mullioned windows that did indeed, when Penelope opened the shutters, look over rooftops toward the blue-tinged mountains. There was a double bed with a blue quilt, a small desk without a chair, and a wardrobe in the back left corner. To the right was a chaise upholstered in dark red velvet that felt large for the room, but would do nicely as a second bed. There was a glazed jug and basin under a shelf and mirror on the wall, a little wooden bench, and a small electric fan. The room was clean and tidy though the air was still. Penelope turned on the fan.

"Is Jesús going to bring the trunk? Is that really what's going to happen?"

Penelope explained that it was probably not an uncommon name in Spanish.

"We are very far from home," Valpy said.

She was prepared for this and gave him the best advice she had based on her own experience being sent away to school at eight. The words came out with a ferocity that startled them both.

"Homesickness is a real illness, Valpy. Don't believe anyone who tells you it isn't."

Dear --

I was so interested in your letter with its description of how you came to know my mother's work. Interested and also reassured because I can see that you understand her and her life as far as one can ever know or understand other people's lives. I often wonder why I didn't ask her more about herself and decisions she made and then I remember that she always evaded questions and never gave direct or detailed answers.

My brother Valpy lives in a remote mountain village in Spain most of the year though he also has a small town house in Oxford where he was a professor. He would like to get in touch to share his memories of the 1952 trip to Mexico (to Saltillo, not "Fonseca").

Thank you for telling us about Hopper. His Mexican paintings are so atmospheric and you can feel the heat. I think the dividing line between fiction and fact is quite blurred in her biographies and her novels so you push on.

With all best wishes,

Tina

Excerpted from Fonseca by Jessica Francis Kane. Copyright © 2025 by Jessica Francis Kane. Excerpted by permission of Penguin Press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.