For many Americans, Dorothea Lange's Depression-era photograph of a young mother, brow furrowed, fingers tentatively touching her downturned mouth, summarizes the despair of the Dust Bowl. In Mary Coin, Marisa Silver (The God of War) brings the "Migrant Mother" to life, weaving Mary's story together with that of Vera Dare, a fictionalized counterpart to Lange, and Walker Dodge, the modern-day heir to a California orchard.

Silver's multi-generational novel begins in 2011, as Walker, a college historian, must close down his family's 100-year-old northern Californian ranch. Although Walker lives for research, he knows little of his own family's past. When it comes, the transition to 1920s Oklahoma doesn't jar the reader. There, we meet 16-year-old Mary, barely surviving with her widowed mother and little brothers.

By the time photographer Vera Dare enters the story years later, Mary and her husband are migrant workers, with their four babies in California. (Vera's journey through polio, her work in her San Francisco studio and her marriage to an artist closely mirror Lange's own life.) The reader begins to sense the pending intersection of the women's lives, and the way their stories fit in with Walker's--with the evolution of photography providing a thematic link across the decades--is so well constructed that you can appreciate each narrative thread on its own.

Anyone who meets Marisa Silver's Mary Coin will view Dust Bowl pictures with a new empathy for the subject and the photographer. --Cheryl Krocker McKeon, bookseller, Book Passage, San Francisco

Yoshi is a young Japanese girl living in Tokyo, busy with school and prayers for the emperor, with occasional visits to her father stationed in Manchuria. When the Japanese attack Pearl Harbor, everything changes. Tokyo becomes a target for American bombing raids, and Yoshi's life fills with air raid sirens, prayers for soldiers and hopeless waiting. When Tokyo is at last hit with bombs that have been anticipated for so many months, the city left behind is unrecognizable, nothing more than a collection of corpses and ash and burned-out buildings.

Jennifer Cody Epstein's The Gods of Heavenly Punishment is Yoshi's story, and it is the story of Cameron Richards, a downed bomber pilot in 1942's failed Doolittle Raid; Anton Reynolds, an American architect living in Tokyo before the war; and Billy, an American soldier sent into Tokyo as part of the occupation after the Japanese surrender. Their stories come together in a tale of war and all the chaos associated with it, detailing the everyday cruelties and illogical injustices that became the norm for Tokyo residents after the 1945 firebombing of the city. With stunning clarity, Epstein has re-created Tokyo both before and after the bombing in a novel that raises still-unanswered questions about the horrors of war, the cruelty associated with it and the lasting impression it can make on a person, a people or a place. --Kerry McHugh, blogger at Entomology of a Bookworm

Elif Shafak's Honor is not a whodunit--the reader learns who the killer is in the first chapter--but a whydunit that dramatizes the cultural pressure and family dysfunction that might compel an Anglo-Turkish teenager in 1978 London to execute an ancient ritual. Light on gore and rich in psychological complexity, the novel presents an intricate pattern of events (with a dash or two of kismet) to show how a practice as heinous as honor killing could persist across generations and in spite of assimilation.

Shafak (The Bastard of Istanbul) frames Honor as a memoir by the killer's sister, who juxtaposes recent events in London with family history dating back to her grandparents' era in rural Anatolia. It's a fascinating portrayal of the misalignment that occurs when constructs from the old country, such as arranged marriage and the maternal favoritism for a firstborn son, are exposed to a more open and egalitarian culture.

Shafak gives her characters enough singular motivation to prevent Honor's fictional component from being overwhelmed by its message, and she creates an impressive number of rounded individuals. Two outstanding characters are Pembe Kader and Jamila Yeter, twins whose destinies form the backbone of the novel. The scenes of Pembe's struggles as a single mother in London and Jamila's precarious existence as the "Virgin Midwife" in a cabin near the Euphrates River would be worth reading independent from the novel's central theme.

In Honor, Shafak gives us a novel that manages to be diverting and full of life while simultaneously analyzing the durability of violent cultural traditions. --Holloway McCandless

Ryan McIlvain's impressive debut novel, Elders, focuses on two young Mormons on their required missions in a small town in southeast Brazil. When we meet Seth McLeod, he's been knocking on doors for 18 months, hoping to find someone who will invite him in and listen to his conversion pitch. He's getting tired of it all, even to the point of doubting his faith. His new partner, Passos, with a "face like a tapering ear of corn," a recent convert from Catholicism, is passionate and dedicated. Unfortunately, they're competing with a big soccer tournament, so few will answer their doors--except for Josefina and Leandro. They're Catholics, but they give the Elders time to talk, and invite them back. Both young men are excited to have potential "converts."

McIlvain's prose is quiet and precise, the language seemingly held in check to mirror Seth's repressed feelings and emotions. The words skim above a contemplative surface, while below everything in his being is ready to be let loose, set free. McIlvain reaches back to Seth's years in the U.S. to tell us about his girlfriend, Jen, who rejects his sexual advances and then tells Seth's dad, a Mormon bishop. We also learn more about Passos's past and his desire to find a religious salvation in the Mormon Church his Catholic faith was unable to provide. McIlvain grew up in the Mormon Church but resigned his membership when he was in his 20s; Elders provides a thoughtful, unsettling perspective on this hidden world. --Tom Lavoie, former publisher

Baksheesh (the second in a series that began with Hotel Bosphorus) is a quick-paced look at life in modern Istanbul. The convoluted mystery Esmahan Aykol sets up is intimately linked to deep corruption within the Turkish political system. Kati Hirschel, owner of the only mystery bookstore in Istanbul, needs to move. Her landlady is upping the rent, so Kati finds a government employee willing to accept a little baksheesh in return for putting her at the top of the waiting list for a new apartment. She's offered a place, only to find squatters already there. She argues violently with one of the men; when he turns up dead a few days later, Kati becomes the main suspect.

Kati's already busy dealing with a fight with her boyfriend, fears that she's starting menopause and is irritated that everyone in Turkey keeps telling her how well she speaks Turkish. In order to clear her name, though, she decides she needs to investigate this murder on her own--clearly the Turkish police are no match for her brisk German efficiency.

Kati is a comical heroine whose many quirks (chain-smoking, picking quarrels, worrying about her cellulite) make her very relatable. The language is sometimes stilted--which may be a result of translation, or perhaps reflective of Kati's abrupt style. Either way, Esmahan Aykol has brought Istanbul's chaotic, colorful world to life and has created an engaging detective as its tour guide. --Jessica Howard, blogger at Quirky Bookworm

It's every mother's worst nightmare: giving birth and realizing, after the fact, that something is terribly wrong with your child. In Holding Silvan, Monica Wesolowska has written a deeply moving, affecting memoir about giving birth to a seemingly healthy, full-term baby boy who, she later learns, may have suffered oxygen deprivation during the birthing process.

Silvan's first few days dangle on a precipice of hope and despair as he fights for his life, hooked up to machines in a neonatal intensive care unit. When doctors confirm the irreversible damage to Silvan's central nervous system, Monica and her husband are forced to make a heart-wrenching decision. What is the right course of action in this case? Monica reflects upon her life, the people she has loved and lost and the meaning their lives have given to hers. She grapples with her childhood upbringing and the tenets of her lapsed Roman Catholic faith. Is it a parent's responsibility to keep a child alive at all costs--or is it more conscionable to let nature take its course?

The facts of this story are dark and grim, but the tenderness of the emotional subtext as Monica searches her soul and deals with the opinions and actions of medical professionals, family and friends, propels her courageous narrative. This sensitively drawn portrait of motherhood and marriage explores the meaning of life, survival and letting go in powerful, emotive prose that transcends grief. --Kathleen Gerard, blogger at Reading Between the Lines

Beverly Donofrio thought she was finally living the life God intended for her. A spiritual, divorced, 55-year-old woman, she was enjoying an idyllic existence, residing in an upscale artists' enclave in Mexico and toying with the idea of joining a religious monastery. Then her life was shattered when she was awakened in the middle of the night and raped by a stranger at knifepoint. In the terror of the moment, she felt compelled to recite the Hail Mary prayer aloud, in Spanish, even though the incident, after the fact, tests and challenges her understanding of God, faith and the nature of belief.

In an effort to move past the evil of the attack, Donofrio set off on a six-month emotional and spiritual pilgrimage in search of healing at five American monasteries. In retreat, she turns to solitude, prayer and writing as a means of transformation, reflecting on her fate and meditating on the wisdom and inspiration of the saints and other spiritual thinkers. Along the way, she visits friends and family and wonders if God is calling her to use her experience to deepen the meaning of her life--and future. But how?

Throughout the narrative, Donofrio grapples with making a commitment to the religious life, unabashedly revealing her worldly weaknesses and flaws. The candid, stream-of-consciousness prose style of this intimate memoir supports the thought-provoking message it offers to seekers on their own paths of contemporary spiritual enlightenment. --Kathleen Gerard, blogger at Reading Between the Lines

G. Bruce Knecht (Hooked, The Proving Ground) returns to the seas in Grand Ambition, focusing this time on the rarefied yachting world of the super-rich. It's 2008, and the yachting business is booming: Doug Van Allmen wants his fifth yacht, the Lady Linda, to be the best American yacht ever built, and he determines to spare no expense; the 187-foot boat has a projected coast of around $40 million.

Then the economy starts crashing, and a nervous Van Allmen puts $100 million into what turns out to be a Ponzi scheme in an attempt to recoup his losses. After that investment collapses, the fate of the Lady Linda and the thousands of blue-collar workers employed in building her is at stake.

Knecht gracefully interweaves the stories of the Van Allmens and their incredibly wealthy friends with the lives of the men working on the Lady Linda, from the Australian surfer to the Mississippi welder to the illegal Honduran immigrant. The progress (or lack thereof) on the yacht reflects the state of the U.S. economy as production drags on well into 2012.

Will Van Allmen even be able to afford the Lady Linda if it's ever completed? What will the lack of demand for enormous yachts do to the companies and workers whose livelihoods depend on them? Knecht teases out the political and monetary ramifications of the Lady Linda and all those who are connected to her; but leaves it up to readers to decide for themselves if Van Allmen's ambition was too grand. --Jessica Howard, blogger at Quirky Bookworm

Debut author Carly Anne West hits the perfect mix of horror and psychological thriller with The Murmurings.

Sophie is trying to live in a world without her sister, Nell, who was admitted to Oakside Behavioral Institute, ran off with an orderly and was found dead. Knowing that her sister would never commit suicide, Sophie attempts to piece together what happened, all while dealing with symptoms similar to what her sister experienced before her death: mutterings, catching things out of the corner of her eye, feeling a breath on her neck.

At the halfway point, the novel takes a turn toward the psychological, when Sophie is fully enveloped in her attempt to discover the real reason Nell died. West weaves together a story both interesting and creepy that will keep readers hooked, especially when the plot hits its climax, which is full of jaw-dropping, disturbing action and imagery. It's unlikely that readers will understand the reason behind the murmurings until the story is complete, eliminating predictability and instilling a feeling of urgency. Connoisseurs of creepy stories should try reading in front of a mirror for added intensity. --Shanyn Day, blogger at Chick Loves Lit

Children's books often feature absent parents, but how many revolve around a search for a parent?

Blue Balliett (Chasing Vermeer) introduces the Pearls ("The father is pale, the mother dark, the kids cocoa and cinnamon. Eyes in this family are green, amber, and smoky topaz"). The happy young Chicago family saves for a house, but everything changes quickly when Dash, the family's father, disappears. Within days, the Pearls go from hopeful to homeless, and 11-year-old Early embarks on solving the mystery.

There is more going on than heartbreak and intrigue, however. As indicated from the title (drawn from Langston Hughes's "Dreams"), Balliett places poetry and rhythm at the center of the novel. Early's family is obsessed with words in all forms; and definitions and poetry form the backbone of the story. Like The Phantom Tollbooth, the book guides young readers to appreciating words without being didactic, by simply pointing out the small joys and pleasures of understanding language.

Readers will be excited to root for Early, and likely astonished by the reality of life in shelters and sudden poverty. Under the mystery and the wordplay there is a clear message about the human cost of inequality in the United States, and it is because of the strength of the story and character-building that this message can be well-received by readers, rather than ignored. --Stephanie Anderson, head of readers' advisory at Darien Library and blogger