The Summer I Ate the Rich by Maika and Maritza Moulite is a rare literary entrée—sharp, fearless, and unapologetically subversive. It simmers in satire, sears with righteous fury, and plates its themes with the precision of a chef who knows both pain and poetry. Infused with Haitian zombie mythology and contemporary class warfare, this genre-defying novel blends horror and fantasy with a searing critique of capitalism, racial injustice, and the commodification of bodies—especially Black ones.
Plot Summary: A Hunger Deeper Than Flesh
Seventeen-year-old Brielle Petitfour isn’t your typical YA protagonist. A brilliant cook and dutiful daughter to a chronically ill Haitian immigrant mother, Brielle is also a zombie. But not the pop-culture groaning, brainless kind. She’s more poet than predator—her hunger isn’t just for brains but for justice, for a future, for acknowledgment of her humanity in a world designed to erase it.
Living in Miami’s Little Haiti, Brielle juggles the expectations of her immigrant mother, ailing from a failed workers’ compensation system, with her dream of becoming a chef. But the world doesn’t make room for Haitian girls with ambitions—especially when their family is trapped in a socioeconomic vise and survival demands compromise. So Brielle starts a secret supper club, serving elite clients meals flavored with Haitian spices—and the flesh of the rich. Literally.
That’s the hook, and yes, it’s gory. But it’s never exploitative. Every act of consumption in this novel is laden with metaphor: a system that eats people alive, families who feast on privilege while others starve, and the choice to take control by biting back. It’s revenge, sure—but also reclamation.
Main Character Analysis: Brielle, the Zombie with a Soul
Brielle is the embodiment of duality. She’s both monster and martyr, daughter and devourer. Her emotional detachment isn’t a flaw—it’s survival. She feels deeply but expresses little, echoing how Black girls are often socialized to endure without complaint. Her zombie nature becomes a metaphor for alienation, for living in a society that views her—and people like her—as less than human.
What makes Brielle remarkable is not just her supernatural identity, but her humanity. Her love for cooking, her quiet grief, her reluctant friendships, and her desperate hope are all rendered in vivid detail. The internal monologue laced with dry humor and uncomfortable truths elevates her narrative voice to something intimate and cinematic. She is not a symbol—she is flesh and bone and yearning.
Through Brielle, the Moulite sisters critique the myth of the American Dream and question what dignity looks like when it’s always been conditional.
Writing Style: Macabre Grace with a Dash of Humor
Maika and Maritza Moulite’s prose is a masterclass in tonal balance. They blend horror, heart, and humor in a way that feels uniquely theirs. The writing is evocative—sometimes sensuous, sometimes clinical—but always precise. Consider this: “Scrambled brain looks a lot like scrambled egg. That’s one of my favorite things about food.” That line captures the novel’s brilliant ability to unsettle and delight in the same breath.
The authors lean into sensory detail, which is both a thematic choice and a stylistic strength. Food, flesh, blood, and bone are not just props but narrative devices. And their dialogue? Razor-sharp. From Haitian Creole snippets to philosophical musings from a zombified Greek chorus of sisters, the language is alive with rhythm and resonance.
Themes: Consumption, Capitalism, and Colonial Hauntings
This novel is less about horror for horror’s sake and more about what is truly horrifying:
- Economic Injustice: The titular “rich” aren’t just wealthy—they’re grotesquely insulated from the consequences of their actions. Brielle’s mother works for a pharmaceutical family who both profits from and neglects her care. The irony bites hard.
- Immigrant Struggle and Diasporic Duty: Brielle is caught between survival and self-actualization, duty and desire. Her sisters in Haiti are ever-present through text chains and imagined conversations—reminders that American freedom often comes at the cost of familial fracture.
- Racial and Medical Violence: The novel deftly critiques the healthcare system’s neglect of Black women, especially immigrants. Mummy’s malfunctioning pain pump and denied insurance claims are real-world horrors masked as bureaucracy.
- Zombie as Metaphor: Rather than grotesque spectacle, zombification here becomes a poetic metaphor for inherited trauma, marginalization, and the hunger for something more than mere existence.
Moments of Brilliance
- The Supper Club Launch: Brielle’s ferry-borne breakfast club becomes a revolutionary act. The dishes are delightful, but the subtext simmers: reclaiming power through creation, not destruction.
- The Hit-and-Run Scene: A turning point, both narratively and emotionally. Mr. Beauregard Banks—the patriarch of privilege—is mowed down in a scene that exposes the rot beneath the glittering façade of wealth.
- Zombie Lore Reimagined: By grounding Brielle’s condition in Haitian folklore, the Moulite sisters reclaim a narrative often co-opted by Western media and strip it of its racist, colonial distortions.
Critical Observations: Where the Novel Stumbles
Despite its many triumphs, The Summer I Ate the Rich has a few moments that feel a little undercooked:
- Pacing Fluctuations: The plot sizzles in the first and final acts but sags slightly in the middle. There are sections where thematic exposition overtakes narrative propulsion.
- Supporting Characters: While characters like Marcello add warmth, others feel like placeholders—vehicles for commentary rather than fully developed individuals. Some readers may wish for deeper exploration of Brielle’s sisters in Haiti or her complicated relationship with her mother.
- Limited World-Building: The novel’s speculative elements (zombie physiology, social secrecy, historical origin) are introduced but not always fully explored. Readers curious about the mechanics of Brielle’s undead existence may crave more.
These aren’t fatal flaws—they’re more like minor seasoning miscalculations in an otherwise stunning dish.
Similar Books and Context
If you enjoyed The Summer I Ate the Rich, you might also find nourishment in:
- The Fifth Season by N.K. Jemisin — for its world-shaking metaphors and systemic critique.
- Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno-Garcia — for horror as social commentary and lush, unsettling prose.
- Get Out (film) by Jordan Peele — this book often feels like a literary cousin, sharing its blend of horror, satire, and social outrage.
- The Moulite Sisters’ previous novel One of the Good Ones — another sharp, genre-bending story that interrogates Black identity, loss, and legacy.
Final Verdict: A Subversive Masterpiece Served Hot
The Summer I Ate the Rich is a blistering, inventive novel that dares to say the unsayable with a voice that is both tender and terrifying. It’s a story about hunger—literal and figurative—and the things we’re willing to do to survive, to be seen, to matter.
It’s not just a great horror-fantasy novel. It’s a necessary one.
For readers tired of sanitized stories and predictable endings, this is your feast. For anyone who’s ever wondered how far they’d go for justice, this is your parable. And for those who think satire is just cleverness without consequence—this book will devour that notion whole.