Edie, the matriarch of The Middlesteins, can't stop eating, and Jami Attenberg (The Kept Man) weaves an entire novel around how Edie's marathon gorging breaks her family apart. Despite her severe diabetes, Edie, some 350 lbs., persists--she goes from McDonald's to Burger King to dinner at a Chinese restaurant, followed by a raid on the refrigerator when she gets home. One day, Edie's husband, Richard, after more than 30 years of marriage, announces he's leaving her.

Richard and Edie's two children, Benny and Robin, are horrified at their father's behavior. Robin cannot believe her father would leave his ailing wife; Benny's wife, Rachelle, a pencil-thin perfectionist, wants to save Edie. Part of her plan is to eat healthily in her own home, until a nasty incident involving kale leads to her own daughter falling off the roof in an attempt to get out of the house.

Clues abound as to what Edie's mothering has done to her children's lives. Benny is an affable, pot-smoking, don't-make-waves guy who visits his father occasionally but doesn't want to cross Rachelle. Robin is furious, a knot of anger who drinks too much and is afraid to admit that she is falling in love with her downstairs neighbor, Daniel.

Attenberg mines every bit of humor, sadness, poignancy and pathos possible from the story, switching voices and perspectives and skipping back and forth in time. The Middlesteins masterfully reveals the emotional landscape of one family's unusual connections and disconnections--and allows the hope that different connections may take place. Just another quirky family story? Anything but. --Valerie Ryan, Cannon Beach Book Company, Ore.

When people think of Thornton Wilder these days, it likely involves a vague memory of a high school performance of Our Town. Few know Wilder's other plays or bother to read his seven novels, like The Bridge of San Luis Rey. Thanks to Penelope Niven (Carl Sandburg: A Biography), this void in American literary biography has been exquisitely filled.

Thornton Wilder: A Life is biography as biography should be, and as the conservative classicist Wilder would no doubt have wanted. Niven quotes extensively from "ninety banker's boxes" of papers at Yale, the letters of Wilder's many friends, and conversations with his family and colleagues.

In straightforward, mostly chronological chapters, Niven taps Wilder's own words to tell much of his remarkable story and that of his equally literary family. They lived peripatetic childhoods in Wisconsin, California, Connecticut, China and Europe as his father struggled to raise them according to his strong convictions and earn enough to educate them, while serving his country as a diplomat. Wilder's was a writing family--letters, books and journals became the glue that held the scattered family together. From this background, the shy Thornton emerged to become a lifelong world traveler, reader, scholar, teacher, playwright, actor, novelist, soldier, financially successful family benefactor and friend to seemingly everyone he met from Ernest Hemingway and Gertrude Stein to boxer Gene Tunney, actress Ruth Gordon and (perhaps his closest friends) critic Alexander Woollcott and University of Chicago president Robert Hutchins.

Penelope Niven's biography doesn't embellish the facts but lets Wilder's words and accomplishments quietly speak for themselves, fascinating chapter by fascinating chapter. --Bruce Jacobs, founding partner, Watermark Books & Cafe, Wichita, Kan.

As anyone familiar with the work of Joe Queenan would expect, One for the Books might just be the most sarcastic book about books ever written. What may come as a surprise to fans of Red Lobster, White Trash and the Blue Lagoon and other Queenan titles, though, is that the habitually acerbic cultural critic has a huge soft spot for books.

"There's nothing I would rather do than read books," Queenan confesses. The attachment began as a source of refuge, described in his memoir Closing Time, while growing up with an alcoholic father whose sole redeeming quality, in Queenan's eyes, was that he, too, was a reader. He estimates he's read somewhere between 6,000 and 7,000 books, conceding that, alongside the classics, "the mysteries, the beach reading, and the out-of-out trash really puff up the numbers."

Though he's a committed book buyer, libraries have been the source of some of Queenan's most entertaining reading adventures. There was the year he spent reading books he pulled haphazardly from the shelves, and the year he devoted to reading an entire short book every day. Queenan also reveals some quirks, like his determination to hang on to every book he has purchased as an adult and his refusal to accept reading tips from strangers (or most friends, for that matter).

Even at his most caustic, Queenan defines himself as a true book lover. "Every life, even the best ones, ends in sadness," he writes. "Books hold out hope that things may end otherwise." That's a sentiment every avid reader will appreciate. --Harvey Freedenberg, attorney and freelance reviewer

At one point in the early 1960s, Richard Burton recalled, he thought about giving up his acting career to become a writer. "Not for a living, not for money," he clarified years later. "I wanted to write because I sought for some kind of permanence, a cover-bound shot at immortality." This is just one of many frank self-assessments in The Richard Burton Diaries.

The core of this material, as collated by Welsh historian Chris Williams, spans 1965 to 1972, and his turbulent relationship with Elizabeth Taylor is a dominant subject. "I have been inordinately lucky all my life but the greatest luck of all has been Elizabeth," he would write, just before recounting a brutal argument: "Christ if you can marry Eddie Fisher you can marry anybody, I said, and having created wounds, rubbed the salt in nicely for an hour or so." (He stopped keeping entries shortly after their eighth wedding anniversary, so there's no contemporaneous account of their first divorce, and his entries during their brief second marriage are sparse.)

The ultimate subject of the diaries, though, is Burton's own self-image, including his frustrations with acting: "I am fundamentally so bored with my job that only drink is capable of killing the pain," he writes. He was also a canny observer of the world around him, with unflinching verdicts on colleagues from Franco Zeffirelli to Lucille Ball. The glimpses of celebrity life are entertaining, but it's the eloquence with which Burton shares his innermost thoughts that makes The Richard Burton Diaries endure. --Ron Hogan, founder of Beatrice.com

Peter Criss, the original drummer for KISS, may not be the most sophisticated of storytellers, but his take on the wild evolution of a hard rock band into an enormous licensing machine is told with heart and honesty.

Born Peter Criscuola, he began his journey in Brooklyn, N.Y., in the 1950s, a gang member who narrowly avoided life in prison. His musical talent, however, gave him another way to find meaning and belonging as he helped shape KISS into a juggernaut of rock music during the late 1970s. The picture he paints is fairly bleak, however: a life on the road with demanding, narcissistic band mates and fans who saw him only as his stage persona.

The amount of money made by other people--both in the band and out--never quite made it to Criss, even though he certainly earned a boatload or two. He doesn't flinch from telling the ugly truth about himself and the people he worked with in his 40-something years in the music business. Criss survives it all (including suicide attempts, failed marriages and breast cancer), coming out the other end a bit happier and far stronger than when he started.

Makeup to Breakup is a fascinating ride through the excesses at the height of glam-infused rock and roll--and the depressing reality underneath. The makeup, the bombastic stage show, and the simple, heavy, guitar-based music endeared them to millions of KISS fans worldwide. Peter Criss tells all about it directly, with a refreshing honesty and passion. --Rob LeFebvre, freelance writer and editor

"He is the father of us all," Ted Hughes once said of the Welsh-British poet Edward Thomas (1878-1917). He's generally thought of alongside the British poets of the Great War--Brooke, Owen--but his poems were primarily about nature and the countryside. In fact, he wasn't a poet at all until he met Robert Frost. Thomas earned a basic existence for himself and his family writing reviews and prose works; then Frost arrived in England with his family in 1912 and, as he began meeting the literati, struck up a friendship, a very deep one, with Thomas. Frost read his good friend's writings and said that they could very well be turned into poems. And so, at the age of 34, with Frost's guidance and encouragement,  he began to craft his first poems.

Frost, meanwhile, was writing some of his greatest poems, including "The Road Not Taken," which so inspired Thomas that he felt he had to enlist. In April 1917, at the front, a German shell exploded close to him, killing him instantly. When his first poetry collection was published after his death, it was dedicated to Frost.

Now All Roads Lead to France, a biography by the poet Matthew Hollis (Ground War), covers the last four years of Thomas's life. It is an impeccably researched and beautifully written tour de force. For those interested in the changes English poetry was going through in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, this book is a must. --Tom Lavoie, former publisher

"I've always been able to count on a dog. I've never truly felt the same way about people. I know I'm not alone," writes Jennifer Skiff. "I've learned to never underestimate the ability of a dog to provide comfort where a person can't." Skiff's The Divinity of Dogs presents real-life testimonials of dogs serving as celestial intermediaries, providing insight and inspiration through their very presence. (It's a companion piece to Skiff's God Stories, which also features real-life anecdotes of inspiring encounters with the divine.)

Part of the book is Skiff's memoir and a tribute to the dogs that have played significant roles in her own life. The greater portion, however, offers true stories from others revealing how the unconditional love and devotion of some canines have miraculously helped them through trials and offered enlightenment.

There's the story of an extraordinarily perceptive Doberman whose persistence saves a family from a catastrophic fire; a black mixed breed that forges an alliance with a troubled war veteran and helps him transcend disability; and a nine-pound Yorkshire terrier who helps a former battered woman find the right man to share her life.

Some entries are "Wow!" revelations, while others offer more quiet, touching epiphanies. Each story delivers a profound spiritual lesson infused with healing and hope--a perfect read for dog lovers and those wishing to adopt. --Kathleen Gerard, blogger at Reading Between the Lines

Follow Pamela Redmond Satran's charts and discover which category of dog-person you are, or maybe where you'd file your neighbor, such as the one who dressed his schnauzer like Sarah Palin last Halloween. Rabid: Are You Crazy About Your Dog or Just Crazy? offers definitive answers to such questions, along with pages of fun facts and hilarious photos gleaned from the world of canines and their--perhaps--wacky humans.

Satran covers the pup business from birth to death, ending with a dog-cloning how-to (which involves paying a company in South Korea $100,000). Dog worship is not new, and Satran's timeline of dogs throughout history ranges from cave paintings right up to Queen Elizabeth II's corgis. Frequent quizzes help the reader analyze a human's craziness, and there's a veritable shopping list of canine-pampering possibilities: from a Tempur-pedic dog bed to a Disney pet resort to leaving your entire estate to your pets when you die.

On the plus side of dog adoration, pets do unite humans. Witness the annual Woofstock, a Humane Society benefit in Wichita, Kan., or the Doggie Art festival celebrating greyhound rescue efforts in Winter Park, Fla. Or the pup crawl in Chicago, or Seattle's dog yoga studio.... Dog lovers, whether in denial or proud acceptance, will read Rabid with delight. --Cheryl Krocker McKeon, bookseller

When humans bioengineer their own tropical paradise, what could possibly go wrong? In Beta, author Rachel Cohn (Gingerbread; Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist), examines themes of free will, entitlement and justice in a highly readable futuristic fantasy.

Elysia, a newly emerged clone, inhabits the body of a beautiful 16-year-old girl. She is a Beta, a test model, and not yet perfected. She lives on the island of Demesne, constructed to be as perfect as possible--with its super-oxygenated air and soothing violet sea water to pamper its citizens, the world's richest and most privileged people. Demesne's population is served by clones designed to be immune to the euphoria of this island paradise. At first, Elysia is a most desirable clone, "exquisite," respectful and subservient. She follows every order put forth by her imperious human family. But Elysia soon comes to realize that she has Defects, which may prevent her from serving as her humans intended. She can taste her food and feel emotions, which are against the rules for clones. Even worse, Elysia begins to develop her own sense of values. But she must be careful: any clones who exhibit Defective behavior are immediately reprogrammed or "expired."

Teens may well identify with the characterization of clones as second-class citizens without control of their own destinies. A satisfying start to a new series, Beta ties up some necessary story threads, but a powerful cliffhanger will leave readers looking forward to the next installment. --Lynn Becker, host of Book Talk, the monthly online discussion of children's books for SCBWI

The team behind the Caldecott Honor book Coming on Home Soon delivers a doozy of a picture book about the insidious consequences of bullying.

Maya shows up at school on a snowy winter morning. The teacher, Ms. Albert, asks the children to greet Maya, "But most of us were silent," observes narrator Chloe. When Maya smiles at Chloe, Chloe moves her chair away. Lewis places readers outside the window looking into the classroom, evoking what Maya must be feeling--the sense of being left out in the cold. They turn down Maya's invitation to play jacks and pickup sticks. On a warm day when Maya wears "a pretty dress and fancy shoes," one child calls her "Never New" because the outfit looks secondhand. The next day, Maya does not show up at school. Ms. Albert asks each student to think about how kindness ripples out, like dropping a small stone in a bowl of water. The children report the kind things they've done. All except Chloe, who "couldn't think of anything and passed the stone on."

Woodson perfectly captures that feeling of belonging that comes from turning someone away from the sacred circle--as well as the hollow feeling that follows when you're alone with your conscience. Woodson and Lewis inject a sense of hope through Chloe's sense of remorse. We believe she will do things differently next time. The emotional honesty of Chloe's narrative and Lewis's ability to mirror her mood through her surroundings make this an ideal tool for self-reflection. --Jennifer M. Brown, children's editor, Shelf Awareness