The Birthparents

The Bronx. It’s America at its most vibrant and chaotic; it’s also where one foster care caseworker—a would-be white savior from New England, a twentysomething kid prematurely jaded by the system—takes it upon
himself to reunify a troubled birthmother with her children, against the recommendation of his world-weary but wise Hispanic boss. (Nevermind the fact that the mother in question just might have a crush on him—either that, or she’s running game for her own purposes. And nevermind the fact that her ex-husband, a serial abuser whose casefile’s thick with bruises, just might have killed someone to protect her in the past—and might be willing to do so again.) What follows is a vivid portrait of lives intersecting and colliding as they grapple with timeless issues: poverty and privilege, parenting and responsibility, drug abuse and insanity.

As gritty as a cracked city street, as full of light and shadow as a crumbling row house, as hard to discard as a piece of summer sidewalk bubblegum stuck to your shoe, The Birthparents does for early 21st century New York what Charles Dickens did for mid-19th century London, not only preserving it for posterity but bringing it to life, and showcasing the shared humanity of characters climbing up (or clinging to) every rung on the societal ladder. It’s a stunning debut by an incredible new voice—Frank Santo.