The culture-crossing, time-spanning quest for the elixir of life has always told us more about human nature than about chemistry. Eternal youth and immortality remain as desirable as they are elusive--and the tales of our relentless pursuit of them, whether they're grounded in mythology or scientific inquiry, often turn out to be great conduits for stories about longing, grief and love.

Jake Wolff joins this canon with his debut novel, The History of Living Forever. It contains many stories in one, but at its heart is 16-year-old Conrad Aybinder, a sensitive high school student who has received a terrible shock: his chemistry teacher, Sammy, who was also his lover, has just ended his life. And, confusingly, he seems to have done it as part of a lifelong quest to concoct a mixture that would guarantee immortality.

Conrad inherits Sammy's notebooks, which document his 20 years of research and self-experimentation. They're full of clues that may lead to the definitive recipe for the elixir of life--as well as to the man Sammy truly was.

True to its title, The History of Living Forever sprawls across time and space. Conrad's quest is paired with "case histories" of the many before him who have sought immortality, tenderly demonstrating that Conrad isn't alone in his grief and desperation.

With uncommon perceptiveness and a vivid imagination, Wolff has crafted a story that is both highly unusual and, in its way, universal. The History of Living Forever is not only another entry on the long list of stories about the quest for eternal life, but part of another grand storytelling tradition: the coming-of-age tale. --Hannah Calkins, writer and editor

Nicole Dennis-Benn's sophomore novel, Patsy, offers a searing portrait of a young Jamaican woman and her quest to make a better life for herself--even if that means leaving her young daughter behind when she sets out for the United States. But the U.S. is not what Patsy imagined, and she is faced with an impossible choice: struggle to make ends meet in New York and remain cut off from her daughter, or find a way home and admit defeat in the eyes of her family and neighbors in Jamaica--a land "full of people who have discovered that certain seeds the land will not nurture."

Dennis-Benn (Here Comes the Sun) brings to life the bustling energy and sometimes frenetic hope of two distinct but colorful places: New York City and Jamaica. Set against these vivid backdrops, Patsy and her daughter, Tru, struggle and mourn and grow and change. "But di weirdest t'ing 'bout life is dat it's only understood backward. Yuh neva known what's at di end a dis tunnel waiting fah you, sweetheart," Patsy is reminded by a friend in New York. Though it is but a small line in a large novel, this sentiment lies at the heart of Patsy and Tru's story as they learn to lead the lives they expect for themselves, rather than what others expect of them. In Patsy, Dennis-Benn delivers a novel of love and sexuality, parenthood and childhood, hardship and opportunity whose every page sparkles with complex and imperfect characters fighting to make their way in a harsh world. --Kerry McHugh, blogger at Entomology of a Bookworm

Sarah Gailey (River of Teeth) riffs lovingly on the magical boarding school trope in a mystery-fantasy hybrid about a lie's power to hurt both its teller and its recipients.

Private investigator Ivy Gamble says, "My job is to pursue the truth." Still, after years of convincing herself she doesn't care that her twin sister, Tabitha, was born with magic while she was not, Ivy has had plenty of practice at lying. So what if Tabitha turned out to be a genius mage who teaches at the prestigious Osthorne Academy for Young Mages while Ivy catches Bay Area adulterers for a living? They don't really talk anyway, which is fine with Ivy. When a teacher is found split perfectly in half in Osthorne's library, though, Ivy finds herself drawn more deeply into the magical world than she ever thought possible.

Magical law enforcement rules the tragedy an accident. The headmaster disagrees, and because Ivy is a qualified outsider who's aware magic exists, she is hired to catch a mystical murderer. Passing herself off as a mage to students and faculty, Ivy learns teenagers with magic still act like teenagers; reconnects with her sister; and kindles a romance with the sexy physical magic professor Rahul. The magical world is luxurious and seductive but, as Ivy investigates, she learns magic cannot cure dark secrets. It can only hide the lies.

Magic for Liars is perfect for fans of Rainbow Rowell's Carry On and anyone who ever mourned the Hogwarts letter that never came. Though the ending leaves little room for a direct sequel, Gailey's world deserves further exploration. --Jaclyn Fulwood, blogger at Infinite Reads

Artist Maia Kobabe is genderqueer and uses pronouns e, em and eir. In the gorgeous and candid graphic memoir Gender Queer, e illustrates an aching journey toward reconciliation with being nonbinary and asexual.

Kobabe grew up in a progressive home, with parents who didn't enforce gender roles, but such things are socialized early in places like school and neighborhoods. The dysphoria e experienced became more acute with age; e frequently felt out of step with eir peers. There were awkward Tinder dates and excruciating Pap smears. All the while, Maia searched for an explanation, a language to assign to this internal trauma and confusion.

Midway through the book lies a two-page spread of weighted scales. Each side of holds a gender assigned at birth, as a frantic Maia piles pronouns, clothes, hair style, hormones, etc., on the other. "The end goal wasn't masculinity," e writes, "the goal was balance." Had e been assigned male at birth, e would be playing with makeup and nail polish every day.

Kobabe's drawings, colored by sister Phoebe Kobabe, casts eir life and truths in splendorous, vivid light. And the relationship between the siblings on the page is one of Gender Queer's sweetest elements. Often scared of what lies ahead, Maia confides in Phoebe, a lesbian, about eir queer hopes and fears, and is met each time with the gracious enthusiasm of a sister who has eir back: "I lucked out so hard in the sibling lottery." A challenging yet heartwarming memoir, Gender Queer succeeds on all fronts. --Dave Wheeler, associate editor, Shelf Awareness

The ideals of liberty and equality clash with cultural and religious oppression in We Have Always Been Here by Samra Habib. An accomplished journalist, writer and photographer, Habib is a queer Muslim woman from a persecuted sect of Islam known as the Ahmadiyya faith.

Life as an Ahmadi in Pakistan is dangerous. They are shunned by fellow Muslims and attacked for their beliefs, and they receive no protection from local law enforcement or the government. Habib was raised to shield her religious identity; her parents were adamant on this point--it was literally a matter of life and death. Fearing for their lives, her family was forced to flee Pakistan when Habib was in middle school.

From her early years as a religious minority in Lahore to the dissonance of refugee status in Canada, Habib became an expert at disguising her true self and subjugating her own needs and desires for the sake of others. Her parents commandeered complete control over her life, coercing her into marriage while she was in high school. But Habib was blessed with good friendships in college and beyond. It was through friends that she acquired the strength to envision a life of bold self-determination and the courage to forge her own path. She blossomed as a fearless activist defending the rights and freedoms of the LGBTQIA community, including queer Muslims like herself, all the while strengthening her spiritual commitment to Islam.

Among the most gratifying aspects of Habib's remarkable story is the transformation her parents undertake in an effort to regain their daughter's trust after years of estrangement. Theirs is truly an inspirational example of cultural and generational reconciliation. --Shahina Piyarali, writer and reviewer

Coinciding with the 50th anniversary of the Stonewall riots/uprising, Jason Baumann, coordinator for the New York Public Library's LGBTQ Initiative, has created a spellbinding anthology that collects firsthand accounts from participants in the fight for LGBTQ civil rights. This battle did not begin with the three days of rioting outside the Stonewall Inn gay bar in 1969. But it did represent "an oceanic change in thinking," according to Edmund White's foreword. "People saw homosexuals no longer as criminals or sinners or mentally ill, but as something like members of a minority group."

Divided into three sections (before, during and after Stonewall), the book's selections pulsate with vitality, wisdom and bravery. Setting the stage, John Rechy remembers cruising Greenwich Village in an excerpt from his 1963 autobiographical novel City of Night. Transgender pioneer Christine Jorgensen recalls her headline-making 1952 sex-change surgery. Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon recount forming the lesbian organization the Daughters of Bilitis in 1955. And Hugo Award winner Samuel R. Delany writes of coming out to other patients at a mental hospital.

Actress Holly Woodlawn recalls the trans Latinx community at the Stonewall Inn, and activist Marsha P. Johnson relives her part in the actual uprising. Furthermore, activist/journalist Mark Segal and gay historian Jonathan Katz (Gay American History) discuss the activism that bloomed in the wake of the riots.

The Stonewall Reader is a vivid and articulate collection of first-person narratives. This oral history of the early fight for gay civil rights is empowering and unforgettable. --Kevin Howell, independent reviewer and marketing consultant

The landscape of LGBTQ rights has shifted dramatically in the 50 years since the Stonewall riots of 1969, but one consistency that spans the decades is the decision to acknowledge publicly a sexual or gender identity that diverges from heterosexuality. Dean of the School of Public Health at Rutgers, Perry N. Halkitis explores the variety of "coming out" experiences apparent in three age groups: the Stonewall generation, the AIDS generation and the Queer generation. While Halkitis limits the scope of Out in Time to cis gay men, the breadth of race and age representation offers plenty of material to discuss.

More than a survey of coming-out stories, this collection of interviews considers the significant crises each generation has faced while coming to terms with their sexual orientation. For the Stonewall generation, it was the criminality of their desires; for the AIDS generation, a virus that still threatens lives today; for the Queer generation, an economy undermined by the 2008 recession. Halkitis also critiques rampant frictions within gay spaces that prevent men from finding community there: racism, toxic masculinity, body shame. "People are always going to hate other people," says 62-year-old drag queen Ryan. "It sucks. Not as well as I do, but it sucks."

Out in Time is a refreshing assessment of progress. However: "The inability of gay men to speak with each other across generations is a missed opportunity," writes Halkitis, "as they fail to take full advantage of each other's knowledge and experience to learn from one another." Here's to more dialogue like this! --Dave Wheeler, associate editor, Shelf Awareness

The Pope of Trash. The Prince of Puke. John Waters, the transgressive filmmaker behind Pink Flamingos, became an unlikely success in the 1970s with several low-budget, warped and filthy films that have earned cult status. But what happens when the man on the margins of moviemaking suddenly becomes respectable? Has John Waters lost his edge?

In Mr. Know-It-All, Waters (Role Models) reveals that there is no cause for alarm. Waters enjoyed mainstream success with Hairspray, which despite its PG rating "had the power to sneak into middle-class homes and espouse gay marriage and teenage race mixing without anybody noticing." This was followed by Cry-Baby with Johnny Depp, Iggy Pop and Joey Heatherton, which was "like a dinner party in a celebrity mental institution of my choice." By the mid-2000s, Waters was a household name, but reception of his movies had cooled and it became harder for independent movies to be made; the NC-17 rated A Dirty Shame was his last.

But fear not--John Waters is still delightfully profane and weird. In a wide-ranging essay on music, Waters reveals his love for "car-accident teen novelty records," a micro-genre if there ever was one. His roots as a Yippie ("angry left-wing hippies who were tired of giving peace a chance"), sexual exploits in the pre-AIDS era, fondness for drugs (including an LSD trip at the tender age of 70) and his musings on Brutalist architecture and a monkey-artist named Besty prove that John Waters is as irreverent as ever. --Frank Brasile, librarian

It's September of 1989, and Reza is beginning his senior year, having just moved to Manhattan from Toronto "by way of Tehran." His father is dead, and Reza's mother has remarried a wealthy Iran-born businessman. Reza has no intention of stepping out of the closet: he can't forget that he comes from a country that punishes homosexuals.

At school Reza meets the fashion-forward and ample-figured Judy, who finds him dazzling. Judy's best friend, the out-and-proud Art, picks up on her crush. When Reza's stepbrother brings Art, his science-project partner, home to study, Art goes to Reza's room to warn him against leading Judy on. He also gives Reza a Madonna CD. So begins Reza's infatuation with them both, even though he starts dating Judy, not Art. Two months into their relationship, following Judy's botched attempt at seduction, Reza finally comes out to her, admitting his attraction to Art. Reza finds the courage to confront Art about his feelings, which are ultimately reciprocated, but the romance costs them their friendship with Judy. The couple has another problem: although Reza is happily paired with Art, he's terrified at the prospect of intimacy. While Art considers Judy's gay activist Uncle Stephen (who is battling AIDS) his "spiritual father," Reza sees the man as a warning that gay sex can mean a death sentence.

Like a Love Story, Abdi Nazemian's socially real--very real--young adult novel, makes a compelling case that there's a psychic cost to fearing sex. The book has too many comic book homophobes and Islamophobes, and the comic book aspect is reinforced by the frequent use of ALL CAPS, but Like a Love Story is an absorbing drama that doubles as a gay-history primer. --Nell Beram, freelance writer and YA author

Richie Chevat's (The Omnivore's Dilemma, Young Readers Edition) adaptation of Michael Bronski's A Queer History of the United States provides biographical sketches of "LGBTQ people" and their achievements throughout history. Bronski grounds individual narratives in a loose chronology of U.S. history, discussing female soldiers who dressed as men to serve in the Revolutionary and U.S. Civil Wars, the beginnings of "modern LGBTQ life" after World War II, and influential gay rights activists amid the feminist, civil rights and women's movements. Other profiles mark critical moments in queer history, including the start of the HIV/AIDS epidemic and the 2015 Supreme Court ruling guaranteeing the right to same-sex marriage. Throughout, Bronski calls out notable firsts, such as Victoria Woodhull, an advocate for sexual freedom and the first woman to run for president.

Among stories of lesser-known achievers, Bronski touches on prominent figures whose connections to the LGBTQ community rarely receive mention, including George Washington, Emily Dickinson and Jane Addams. The author and adapter avoid using labels or pronouns their subjects did not adopt themselves, and they incorporate frank reminders of discriminatory laws or homophobia during the periods recounted. A new prologue about Bronski's emotional and political reaction to Stonewall and a revised introduction titled "What Is Normal?" kick off a people-focused history distilled for a teen audience. Poems, excerpts, letters, song lyrics and illustrations, as well as sidebars detailing tangential events, enhance various chapters. With its focus on individuals who dared to fight for their rights, A Queer History of the United States for Young People will serve as a touchstone for LGBTQ readers seeking proof of the greatness that preceded them and confidence in the success that awaits in their future. --Samantha Zaboski, freelance editor and reviewer