In her latest novel, The Strongest Heart (Quill Tree Books/HarperCollins, March 4), Saadia Faruqi tells the story of Mohammad Mirza, a Pakistani and Italian American boy whose abusive father is struggling with untreated schizophrenia and whose inattentive mother is working overseas. Mo and Abbu leave Queens to live in Houston with Naila Phupo, Mo’s paternal aunt, and Rayyan, his cousin. Although Mo navigates difficult changes, he also forges new ties that sustain him, even as Abbu’s mental health deteriorates and Mama remains oblivious to his need for her. This gut-wrenching book treats an important and painful topic with honesty and compassion. Faruqi spoke with us over Zoom from her home in Houston; our conversation has been edited for length and clarity.

What do you hope readers will take away from this book?

I think the title says it all: The Strongest Heart. When things get really bad, somebody tells [Mo], “The strongest heart is the one that’s still beating.” I hope that readers take away a message of courage and resilience. This book is for anybody who faces adversity, who’s not in control of their own life, who’s scared or worried or anxious.

Mo’s love for Desi folktales works so beautifully; the retellings offer readers breathing room from the heaviness. Was this element part of the novel from the beginning?

The folktales weren’t in my mind when I started writing. I outline my books in a very detailed manner, but once I started writing, I realized that Mo’s life was just too sad in a lot of ways. I didn’t know how to proceed, so I did what I usually do when I get stuck: put my work aside and read other books just for enjoyment. That always helps spark my imagination. One of the books I read was Everything Sad Is Untrue by Daniel Nayeri. It’s interesting because it weaves stories of older times into the main story. It’s very different, structurally, from a lot of books we read in the West. I thought maybe [I could use] some stories from ancient South Asian kings, like the Mughals, so I did a deep dive but couldn’t find something that would appeal to a younger reader. I kept researching because I realized that I needed something to break the flow of the story. I don’t remember how I came across a folktale from India in my research, but I started remembering stories I’d heard as a child in Pakistan.

Mo has built up a tough, self-protective shell. The book would have been so different if you’d made him instantly likable.

I was thinking of myself and how prickly and difficult I was as a child. This book is inspired by my own childhood, my relationship with my dad, and living under his control when he was severely mentally ill. I was that child. I wasn’t a nice kid. I wasn’t a lovable kid. I was prickly and difficult. [When] you’re a child, you have to protect yourself from physical or emotional danger. So that’s how Mo had to be. I could have made him cute and cuddly, but I always try to relate to my main characters because then I can write a more authentic and realistic story. I know what it’s like to be Mo.

Mo’s being 13 feels just right developmentally for telling this story.

I knew this book was going to be edgy, so I wanted to write a character who’s older than in most of my middle-grade novels. When we’re younger, a lot of things are black and white, but as you get older, you start to see the gray. It was important for me to write a book that showed all the complexities of mental illness because I didn’t understand anything that was going on in my house until I became an adult, immigrated to the U.S., and went to therapy. I started seeing my dad, to whom I’d almost [completely] stopped talking, in a different light. He passed away, and I had a lot of regrets. So it was important for me to show those nuances. I think if I’d understood [those things] when I was Mo’s age, my life might have been better.

Given how personal it is, was this story incubating for some time?

I didn’t ever think that I’d write this. I had other stories in the back of my mind for years. For example, The Partition Project—I wanted to write about the Partition [of India and Pakistan] for a very long time. Even Yusuf Azeem Is Not a Hero: At the time of 9/11, I knew that someday I’d write a story around it, but it took me 20 years. But I never thought, Oh, let me just put all my ugly thoughts and feelings on paper for everybody to read. I also didn’t think anyone would be interested, because in my life, if I wrote it the way that things [actually] happened, there would have been no resolution. When I did decide to write this book, I thought, I can make this something interesting, with an ending that has hope.

Mo’s race and religion aren’t among his challenges.

This wasn’t a story where any aspect of identity was the actual problem. I have written books like that. Kids in middle school face those problems every day—they can be hugely divisive, and kids can be cruel. The problems aren’t going away; us writing about them should also not go away. But Mo’s identity as a Muslim is a help, not a hindrance. His identity as a South Asian is, too, because he leans into the folktales from his culture, just like he leans into the stories he’s told at the mosque. This is a story about mental illness, which doesn’t discriminate between culture or religion or race.

What touched me most was how seemingly small, ordinary gestures by people like the imam, the school librarian, and Naila Phupo had a profound, positive impact.

I also feel that that’s the best part of the story. That’s what makes it hopeful. That’s what makes it uplifting. I had amazing people, like my grandmother. I had my siblings, whom I was very close to, but none of them were helpful in the way that I really needed, which was to take that burden of fear and worry away or help my father become better. I didn’t plan for Naila Phupo to have a big role, but I needed to give Mo a path forward and [offer] a more hopeful message to the reader, something that I didn’t get as a kid: adults who could say, “It’s not your job to take care of your dad.” It’s a reminder to seek out people you trust who can help you be strong.

Is there anything else you’d like to add?

I want to remind readers that the way that Mo’s father is depicted is based on my own real-life experiences with my dad, who was diagnosed with mental illness, which may have been schizophrenia. We lived in Pakistan decades ago; there was almost no awareness of mental illness, and he avoided going to the doctor. This isn’t an informational text; this is something that’s true to my life experience, but not necessarily anybody else’s, even someone who’s living with schizophrenia.

Laura Simeon is a young readers’ editor.