A darkly comic memoir-in-essays about the scam of the American Dream and doing whatever it takes to survive in the Sunshine State—from the American Book Award-winning author of High-Risk Homosexual

The cover of the book Alligator Tears. Soft pink background with a billboard that says “Alligator Tears.” The pole leading up to the billboard sign is covered in vines that resemble alligator scales. A child sits on the edge of the billboard, reading. The words “a memoir” and “in essays” are written horizontally on the cover in light blue, like tears.

In Florida, one of the first things you’re taught as a child is that if you’re ever chased by a wild alligator, the only way to save yourself is to run away in zigzags. It’s a lesson on survival that has guided much of Edgar Gomez’s life.

Like the night his mother had a stroke while he and his brother stood frozen at the foot of her bed, afraid she’d be angry if they called for an ambulance they couldn’t afford. Gomez escaped into his mind, where he could tell himself nothing was wrong with his family. Zig. Or years later, as a broke college student, he got on his knees to put sandals on tourists’ smelly, swollen feet for minimum wage at the Flip Flop Shop. After clocking out, his crew of working-class, queer, Latinx friends changed out of their uniforms in the passenger seats of each other’s cars, speeding toward the relief they found at Pulse nightclub in Orlando. Zag. From committing a little bankruptcy fraud for the money for veneers to those days he paid his phone bill by giving massages to closeted men on vacation, back when he and his friends would Venmo each other the same emergency twenty dollars over and over. Zig. Zag. Gomez survived this way as long as his legs would carry him.

Alligator Tears is a fiercely defiant memoir-in-essays charting Gomez’s quest to claw his family out of poverty by any means necessary and exposing the archetype of the humble poor person for what it is: a scam that insists we remain quiet and servile while we wait for a prize that will always be out of reach. For those chasing the American Dream and those jaded by it, Gomez’s unforgettable story is a testament to finding love, purpose, and community on your own terms, smiling with all your fake teeth.

Click through to pre-order at Barnes & Noble or Bookshop. It’s also available through Amazon, but please support your local indie bookstore if possible!

(Breaking fourth wall to say I get a 10% kickback if you buy through the Bookshop link, but do you!)


What People Are Saying:

“Edgar Gomez is a young writer of deep talent and enormous grace. Alligator Tears speaks for the lost tribes of “other.” They walk the earth among us, invisible, without a voice. I am so glad that Gomez has given them one.”

James McBride, New York Times bestselling author of The Heaven & Earth Grocery Store

“Alligator Tears is gorgeous, poignant, and raw, chock full of hope and want and irrepressible, aching beauty. This is the kind of Florida writing that I love most: a daring, swampy slick of a collection where the humidity hangs like a hug. Edgar Gomez is a tremendous talent. I'll read anything he writes.”

Kristen Arnett, author of Mostly Dead Things and With Teeth

"Through honest writing, Edgar Gomez beautifully depicts the importance of creating and having a queer community. At times funny, at others crucially poignant, Alligator Tears establishes Gomez as a voice of their generation.” 

Javier Zamora, author of Solito

“No one writes the terrors of late-stage capitalism with such humor, candor, and aplomb. In every sentence, Gomez elucidates the unnecessary horrors of suffering in the American context. To our benefit (and relief), he accomplishes this feat with the wonder of a child and the wit of a satirist. Affecting and inspiring, Alligator Tears is more proof that Gomez is a writer who deserves our attention.”

—Alejandro Varela, author of the The Town of Babylon

“Meticulously evoked and darkly comic. This portrait of the artist as a young flip-flop salesman will inspire, amuse, and empower its audience.”

—Kirkus, *starred review*