The heartbreak bakery

Review by Booklist Review

In the vein of many contemporary LGBTQ+ young adult novelists--among them Malinda Lo, Alex Sanchez, Kacen Callender, Leah Johnson--A. R. Capetta's The Heartbreak Bakery delivers on the idea that queer and trans teenagers can find hope, love, community, and maybe even a little bit of magic. And there's plenty of magic to be found at the Proud Muffin, a queer-owned bakery that doubles as an LGBTQ+ community space in Austin, Texas, where our headstrong protagonist, Syd (no pronouns, please), has worked ever since convincing owners Alec and Vin to let a high-school senior be a full-time baker.The story begins with Syd, fresh off a painful breakup, baking brownies and serving them to customers of the Proud Muffin. Confused and hurt, Syd is too lost to realize this batch of brownies has become infused with magic of a heartbreaking nature--thanks to Syd's emotional state--and certainly doesn't expect everyone who eats one to begin seeing their own relationships falling apart. The brownies wreak havoc, starting arguments between romantic partners and even threatening to split up Alec and Vin. It's up to Syd--with a little help from the Proud Muffin's cute bike messenger, Harley--to fix things before relationships crumble, the bakery closes, and Syd's only true safe space is lost.Throughout the book, Capetta emphasizes the importance of community. Syd's world is populated with a chosen family of vibrant LGBTQ+ characters whose personalities and identities also develop over the course of the novel--all in a way that feels as sweetly earned as a decadent dessert. It's easy to fall in love with sidekick turned love interest Harley, who loves dancing and their younger siblings; caring mentors Vin and Alec, who value boundaries and honesty; intense baker Marisol, who views Syd like a kid sibling; creative, funny erotica novelist Jessalee, who writes at the Proud Muffin; Syd's thoughtful older sister, Tess; and even Syd's parents, who have their own compelling love story.When Syd veers from determined and inspired to stubborn and shortsighted, Harley and the others are there to help with the parts of life and love that Syd is still figuring out. Meanwhile, Syd is also coming to terms with being agender and the exhausting reality of coming out over and over again in a cis-heteronormative world, all while navigating a close-knit family that is supportive but doesn't always get it right. Capetta's writing--via Syd's colorful, sympathetic voice--shines brightest in the moments when Syd is wrong, messy, and uncertain, and as the baking magic intensifies, Syd finds that, with the power of magic-infused baked goods (which include everything from Breakup Brownies and Very Sorry Cake to Shiny New Scones and Agender Cupcakes), it's possible to inspire breakups as well as truth telling and make-out sessions.In trying to save both the Proud Muffin and other people's relationships, Syd learns that not every love lasts forever--or is supposed to--and that sometimes it's OK to design new dreams when your original plans don't work out. Problems can't be fixed by steamy whipped cream or apologetic cake; rather, the beauty of relationships--romantic or otherwise--is in being unafraid to go to uncomfortable and difficult places with the people you care about. Through this new understanding, Syd builds a connection with Harley that goes deeper than surface level, allowing each of them to be fully seen by the other as they figure out what a romantic relationship looks like when you create it with intention instead of defaulting to what you think it has to be. The romantic moments between Syd and Harley are tender, and the heartbreak they contend with satisfyingly nuanced.Of course, heartbreak abounds in The Heartbreak Bakery, but so, too, does love, and crucially, Capetta holds more than just romantic love up to the light. Relationships with chosen family, friends, and community are given equal weight here, polyamory is considered just as valuable as monogamy, and the titular heartbreak doesn't surround anyone's identity. LGBTQ+ characters are allowed to experience joy, fall in love, and break up. Between all that, a groundbreaking agender protagonist, a love interest who uses both he/him and they/them pronouns, and a cast of complex queer and trans characters, this book proves a necessary addition to the young adult romance genre. Every scene involving magic baking is pure perfection, and the romance is as mouthwatering as Syd's recipes, all of which will make readers want to pull out a bowl, a baking sheet, and a sprinkle of their own magic.

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

In the wake of being dumped by their girlfriend, 17-year-old agender baker Syd--who works at the Proud Muffin, South Austin's best queer bakery--accidentally infuses a batch of brownies with their heartbreak and confusion, causing every couple who tries them to break up soon after. Determined to fix their mistakes, Syd teams up with Harley, a transmasculine, demisexual bike delivery person, to find the brownies' victims, starting with the Proud Muffin's owners, and cure them with more baked goods. But as Syd and Harley navigate the intricacies of Austin's queer community in their quest to save relationships, they unexpectedly start one of their own and must figure out what they want from each other. Capetta's (The Storm of Life) recipe for the story involves equal parts romantic comedy, heartfelt explorations of queer identity, and mouthwatering descriptions of baked goods, as well as interstitial recipes for treats such as Breakup Brownies and Very Sorry Cake. A natural chemistry between Syd and Harley and an intersectionally inclusive supporting cast help to fuel the narrative. The final product is a tasty romance with subtle hints of culinary magic. Ages 14--up. Agent: Sara Crowe, Pippin Properties. (Oct.)

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

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Review by Kirkus Book Review

Syd navigates relationships and discovers a magical power. After a rough breakup, 17-year-old Syd, who works at the Proud Muffin in Austin, Texas, bakes all the negative feelings into a batch of brownies. Unfortunately, Syd has also just unlocked a magical power, and the customers who buy the brownies start to go through breakups of their own--including the gay couple who own the bakery, putting its very survival at risk. Aided by genderfluid delivery person Harley, Syd is determined to repair these broken relationships. This may seem simple at first, but Syd soon discovers that no relationship is entirely cookie cutter. LGBTQ+ characters take center stage in this work, led by agender narrator Syd (who does not care for pronouns) and demisexual Harley; there's a polyamorous triad among the supporting cast, and at one event, a nonbinary elderly person serves as a reminder that queer people come in all ages. While outright bigotry is not shown, Syd's life demonstrates the difficulties of having to explain one's orientation and gender and the burden of feeling unheard. Syd's love of baking shines throughout the text, with actual recipes that Syd uses interspersed throughout. Over the course of the narrative, Syd examines different types of romantic feelings, from infatuation to love, and considers what precisely is key to a healthy relationship. Syd and Harley are White; the supporting cast is racially diverse. This sweet story shows that relationships don't follow a recipe. (Fiction. 14-18) Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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1 The splintered crack of my egg on the counter sounds like an ending. I raise my hand and tip the runny liquid into the bowl, letting the yolk slip out. It's bright, orange, unbroken. It's beautiful, and I want to keep it that way. Maybe forever. But I have to whisk it, and with a few turns of my wrist the batter swallows it up. The yolk disappears like it was never there. I dump the dry ingredients in with the wet, then check my recipe card for the fourth time. Red velvet. My hands know how to do this. Snap the bowl into place on the stand mixer. Stir on the lowest setting until everything barely swirls together. Don't overmix, or the cake comes out stodgy. I flick the switch at the perfect moment, as the last of the dry, crummy bits dissolve into silk. My hands are good at this. Which is helpful, because the rest of me isn't really here. I slap butter-flour paste into four round cake pans, then pour batter into each one. It folds on top of itself like a ribbon. This part usually feels like I'm finishing off a present, and the people who eat the cake later will be able to taste that it's a gift I made with them in mind. Even if we're strangers. They'll taste it, and they'll know I want them to be happy. Baking is magic that way. But I don't feel like giving presents right now. And I'm not really here because I'm still in her bedroom, wrapped in her towel, shivering as she peers at me without her glasses on and says, "Maybe this isn't working." Like we're a recipe that isn't coming together right. "Syd, do you have a minute to take muffins to the front?" Marisol calls from across the kitchen. She's being delicate with me. Marisol isn't delicate with anything, not even meringues. On a normal day she'd let me know how unacceptable it is that I'm four cakes behind when we're about to open. She'd remind me that I'm so young, too young to be a full-time baker, even though she's only a few years older than I am. I do the whole routine in my head. Then I throw my red velvet rounds in the oven. I grab the muffins, warm and waiting. Drop them in pale wicker baskets, inhaling the comforts of triple ginger, oatmeal and peaches with a brown sugar crumb topping, cherry vanilla strewn with dark chocolate. Each smell hits my nose and burrows into the part of my brain that believes things will be all right. But then I get to the savory breakfast muffins, sharp cheddar and smoky bacon and green onion. Those are W's favorites. I don't know whether I should put one aside for her. I don't know what she wants anymore. I head to the front, where Vin is standing at the cash register, settling rolls of change into the little nooks. "Hey, Syd darlin'. " His voice is a dark crackle, his southern accent like a drizzle of honey on top of burnt popcorn. Actually, that sounds good. I start a recipe in my head. Anything to avoid thinking about W. "Need to talk?" Vin asks, without looking up from the quarters. "What?" "Seems like you're holding something in," he says. "That's not good for your constitution." I look around the bakery. The front room is filled with early morning light and nooks where people can have private conversations. Beyond that is the wooden porch painted in thick rainbow stripes, and wrought iron tables set in a lush, wild garden. Upstairs is a wide-open community space lined in vintage couches and bookshelves stuffed with queer literature. Vin and Alec have done everything they could to make this place safe and comfortable for someone like me. Every day since I found it on a lucky wander through South Austin, that's how I've felt. Safe. Comfortable. But right now the Proud Muffin's magic isn't working. I feel foul. And Vin can tell just by looking at me. "Don't worry," I chirp. This isn't my normal voice. Did I leave it behind at W's? How much of me is missing? "It's my job to worry about all of you," Vin says. He means it, too. He and Alec treat everyone who work for them like the ever-expanding family that seems standard in Texas. I was born in Illinois. I have parents, a sister, a scattering of aunts, and a single awkward cousin. When I told her I was dating W, she said, and I quote, "That's a bad idea, but okay." "Syd, you still with me?" Vin asks. I can't let him think that my feelings about W are shaking my ability to get through a shift. I could lose the best job in the world. No matter how nice Vin and Alec are, I'm the youngest person they've taken on as a baker--and it wasn't a picnic to convince them. Actually, now that I'm thinking about it, every picnic I've been on has felt like a high-stakes situation involving me making lots of food with the likelihood that the entire outing will be ruined by some unforeseen factor. Convincing them was exactly like a picnic. "I think I'm hungry," I say, and my voice sounds as least halfway mine. "Didn't get a chance to eat this morning. I'm going to grab a Texas Breakfast if that's okay." Those are the peachy oatmeal muffins. Vin nods sagely. He does everything sagely. He rides a motorcycle and listens to endless history podcasts and works out constantly. His tanned white skin is heavily tattooed, mostly with poetry running in all directions, and even though he's as friendly as Alec, he hides it better--which all adds up to a burly dad vibe. "Take the register for a few minutes, will you? Gemma's coming in, but I need to run to the bank and get change. Y'all keep going through my singles like this is a strip bakery." Marisol would have laughed at that. I just nod at Vin, completely mature and trustworthy. Excerpted from The Heartbreak Bakery by A. R. Capetta All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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