Nikki Marmery (On Wilder Seas) revisits ancient myths through a feminist, humanist lens in the lyrical Lilith. Lilith and Adam lived as equals in the Garden of Eden until Adam insists that Lilith submit to him. She refuses. Both Adam and his god punish her and banish her from Paradise. She watches as a new woman, Eve, is given to Adam and comes to understand that Asherah, the Queen of Heaven, is missing. Lilith develops a plan: give the gift of knowledge to Eve, find Asherah, and restore balance to the world.

As daunting as that sounds, Lilith's journey in this richly woven tale turns out to be more complex and far-reaching than she imagined. Lilith, frequently demonized and ostracized, follows the trail of the mother goddess as seen by cultures throughout antiquity, occasionally rejoining a society that doesn't know the woman in their midst is the mythologized succubus and child killer. She crosses paths with Noah's family at the time of the flood, Queen Jezebel in her court, and a radical preacher called Maryam the Magdalene. All the way to the modern day, she witnesses the catastrophic consequences of inequality--until at last she comes to the realization of what must be done to right the world.

Marmery grounds her novel in myths and noncanonical scriptures, with a thorough historical note at the end that curious readers will appreciate. Those who remember Michael Moorcock primarily for Behold the Man will be engrossed. --Kristen Allen-Vogel, information services librarian at Dayton Metro Library

The Cobra and the Key, a wicked, ingenious dark comedy from Sam Shelstad (Citizens of Light), tells the story of an unaccomplished author through the surprisingly effective medium of a substandard writer's guide. Sam--a self-centered thrift store cashier, nursing a delusion that his doorstopper novel, The Emerald, is approaching publication--has decided to compile his authorial wisdom in a writer's guide. He shares valuable advice, including a list of the types of pornography a serious novelist should watch. He also advocates for liberal amounts of balloons with poisonous gas as plot devices, as well as the trick of setting stories in Starbucks so "you won't have to waste any precious space describing everything like some idiot from the Victorian era." He frequently uses examples from the Molly novel, a work in progress based on his failed relationship with a married woman several decades his senior. He reasons that both The Emerald and the Molly novel will be famous by the time readers pick up The Cobra and the Key, provided his scheme to trick an editor's child via a scam centered on Pokémon cards pans out, of course.

Shelstad the author winks at readers as Shelstad the character careens through cringe-worthy moments made funnier by an almost total lack of self-awareness. His wrong-headed writing advice provides an additional layer of off-kilter, eye-rolling hilarity. This diary of an unlovable loser should prove a roaring good time for fans of dark humor and anyone who has ever read a self-help book whose writer emphasized self over help. --Jaclyn Fulwood, blogger at Infinite Reads

Tremor, Teju Cole's third novel, is an impressively kaleidoscopic work of autofiction that journeys between the U.S. and Nigeria as it questions the ownership and meaning of Black art. Tunde, a Nigerian photographer and Harvard academic, appears to be an autobiographical stand-in for the author. Tunde's antiquing trip to Maine with his Japanese American partner, Sadako, sparks ethical ruminations. Surprised to find an authentic African headdress on sale, Tunde decides "he ought to rescue it" by purchasing it. Cultural appropriation ("vampirism"), microaggressions, Harvard's history of slavery, and the literal theft of African artifacts are the stuff of his interior musings as well as of his recorded lecture describing museums as "a zone of sustained shocks." Tunde decries the "persistent history of white people thinking they know better than the rest of us."

The time devoted to Tunde's niche obsessions--Black serial killer Samuel Little; jazz and world music; the legend of Sundiata Keita, founder of Mali--edges toward self-indulgent, but Cole (Every Day Is for the Thief) widens the frame with an ever-shifting point of view. The first half sticks close to Tunde via third person, but later his travels occasion a series of first-person testimonials--from a chauffeur, a mural artist, a church musician, and so on--that coalesce into a glistening portrait of contemporary Lagos. Closing sections alternating between Tunde's and Sadako's first-person narration make clear Cole's debt to Virginia Woolf. The sophisticated structure is just one of the highlights of this elegant study of art criticism, suffering, and subjectivity. --Rebecca Foster, freelance reviewer, proofreader, and blogger at Bookish Beck

A white schoolteacher serving an isolated Canadian Indigenous community realizes she is the one who needs an education in the moving, atmospheric The Morning Bell Brings the Broken Hearted by Jennifer Manuel (The Heaviness of Things that Float). Molleigh, a recently divorced teacher, comes to the tiny Nuu-chah-nulth town of Tawakin on Vancouver Island to teach elementary school. She deems the village whimsical--with "houses the colours of blue jays and daffodils and ferns, woven into the rainforest"--but her dreams of a classroom filled with curiosity and joy soon melt into disillusionment. The forest around the village feels ominous. Her students struggle with their lessons, and she struggles to connect with them, particularly a foul-mouthed girl named Hannah. She wonders after only a month if she's in the wrong place. Then a child leads Molleigh to a traditionally forbidden island, and she finds herself caught in a web of mystery and secrets. Giant stones appear in her road without explanation. A potentially dangerous story circulates among the children. Molleigh is left wondering if her misstep started the trouble, and whether she should confess to her transgression or leave it buried with her own dark secret.

Manuel's prose, as lush as a rain forest, blooms and possesses an immediacy that speaks to her own history as an educator in Indigenous communities. The story flips the script of a white teacher inspiring impoverished, othered students, instead prioritizing community and tradition. This beautiful, nuanced exploration of crossing a cultural divide echoes with respect and hope. --Jaclyn Fulwood, blogger at Infinite Reads

In The Berry Pickers, the debut novel from Indigenous author Amanda Peters, parallel stories span the lifetimes of a Mi'kmaq woman, kidnapped as a toddler, and the families who love her. A poignant quest for truth and an equally determined coverup of a grievous wrong play out over decades, ultimately resolving in peace and forgiveness. Fifty years after the day in 1962 that his sister Ruthie went missing, Joe recalls the typical summer that brought his Mi'kmaq family from Nova Scotia to pick Maine blueberries. With no clues and a cursory police response, the four-year-old's disappearance remained a mystery--and a heartbreak for her family. 

Chapters from Joe's point of view alternate with those of Norma's. Raised in an overprotective, affluent Maine home, Norma feels "watched, guarded like a secret," and recalls childhood dreams of a brother, a friend named Ruthie, and a comforting woman "cloaked in darkness." It is apparent early in The Berry Pickers that Norma is Ruthie, which does not detract from the story's suspense. Though the couple who snatched her from the berry field are never sympathetic, Norma questions her past yet remains dutifully loyal to her parents. Familial love is a constant theme: Norma's mother's desperation for a child is echoed by Ruthie's mother's grief at the loss of hers. When Norma has a stillborn daughter, she muses, "no word exists for a parent who loses a child," unaware of the irony of her words. Norma and her Mi'kmaq family eventually find truth and healing in this compelling, poignant novel of loss and hope. --Cheryl McKeon, Book House of Stuyvesant Plaza, Albany, N.Y.

In Allison Epstein's enthralling Let the Dead Bury the Dead, tsarist Russian society is in turmoil after the war with the defeated Napoleonic forces, now in retreat. Army captain Sasha returns to his lover, the charming and mercurial Grand Duke Felix, whose father, the tsar, has exiled him for his wanton ways. Sasha discovers a mysterious woman seemingly in distress in the snow and carries her to the safety of Felix's palace. Once installed in Felix's estate, the enigmatic Sofia captivates the Grand Duke, alienating him from Sasha and sending him out to confront his father with demands for better treatment of the common people. Sasha deeply mistrusts Sofia, suspecting her of being a destructive, manipulative figure he knows from legends: a vila. Sofia also infiltrates a group of dissidents called the Koalitsiya, similarly dividing its constituents as she pushes all factions toward greater conflict and bloodshed. When Felix's attempts at mitigating his father's callousness toward his people go as poorly as Sasha predicts, Felix flees imprisonment, ending up in league with the dissidents and rioting with them.

Epstein (A Tip for the Hangman) imbues this alternate history with elements of fantasy and folklore to create a heady, transportive read. Each character is driven to confront or succumb to the pressures of history and their own desires, and to choose between the people they love and their own ambitions. Let the Dead Bury the Dead is a remarkable rendering of character and history that manages to feel both timeless as well as absolutely of its historical setting. --Elizabeth DeNoma, executive editor, DeNoma Literary Services, Seattle, Wash.

A charming baron with a questionable past, a gothic castle with a possible haunting, a lonely mystery writer working through her past traumas: What could possibly go wrong? Anna Biller, the director of the cult film The Love Witch, tells the sordid fairy tale of lonely author Judith Moore in Bluebeard's Castle.

Judith, always pushed aside for her much more beautiful sister, falls in love with an attractive and mysterious nobleman named Gavin, who seems to be straight out of her novels. He pulls out all the stops and says all the right things--so much so that Judith, for the first time, "wanted to be merged with another, to be carried away by voluptuousness, to be inside of the sublime." Gavin whisks her away: a quick marriage, a beautiful and adventurous honeymoon, intense sexual games of power, and then the purchase of her very own castle.

But things start to splinter and crack. The mystery of Judith's lover begins to eat away at her. He is also quick to anger, moving from a sweet and supportive husband to a wrathful beast in the blink of an eye. Despite this, Judith repeatedly finds ways to forgive or explain away her husband's behavior, tempting readers to yell, "don't go back into that house!" It's such a classic and fun horror trope, however, that readers will watch her go back into the house anyway. Anna Biller's writing is full and luminous, mirroring the classic fiction of Mary Shelley and Charlotte Brontë--but with a modern bite that keeps readers going back for more. --Dominic Charles Howarth, book manager, Book + Bottle

Nat Cassidy (Mary; Steal the Stars) explores terror and sorrow in Nestlings, his urban horror novel written in part to process his own loss and trauma. Reid and Ana win a housing lottery for an affordable apartment in New York City's notorious Deptford building, convincing Reid that their luck is turning following the traumatic birth of their daughter, Charlie. Ana isn't so sure: the top floor isn't safe for a mother in a wheelchair, something is going on next door, and Charlie has changed. But Reid, enamored with the building and its strange residents, remains steadfast that this is what his family needs. Tension builds as readers watch how dreams denied change a family from the inside out: "This felt real. This felt like a life she'd known. When the screams began in the other room, Ana's immediate thought was: This does, too."

Blending real-world emotions with supernatural shadows, both readers and characters alike wonder: What is the nightmare buried in the core of the building? When will Reid's lies of omission catch up with their marriage? What came through the window Ana definitely closed? What's the breaking point of everything unsaid? Would you do anything (really, anything?) to keep your child alive? Cassidy's exercise in horror houses the raw pain of grief: that of an anticipated life that is no longer possible, a body that worked in a way you were used to, a family that didn't always feel such guilt--and, ultimately, whether one is ever really out from under grief's weight. --Kristen Coates, editor and freelance reviewer

Veteran New Yorker cartoonist Roz Chast's graphic memoir I Must Be Dreaming is a laugh-out-loud funny tour through her dream journal, as well as a brief introduction to dream theory. Chast (Going into Town; Can't We Talk About Something More Pleasant?; What I Hate: From A to Z) characterizes dreams as "free entertainment" and "a nightly reminder of the mystery of consciousness." They follow different logic and use language in surprising ways, she notes. She depicts recurring dream incidents that will resonate with many readers: being lost in a foreign city; finding herself alone at a party with no one to talk to; noticing with alarm that her everyday New York City haunts look unfamiliar. Food is another general category with unexpected manifestations, such as using frozen peas as ear plugs. Tooth problems are common, whether in nightmares tinged with body horror or in pleasingly bizarre situations: in one dream, Henry Kissinger exits her dentist's office as Chast arrives, and then she is suddenly transplanted to Tel Aviv.

The book delightfully captures the randomness of dream topics and dialogues. The handwriting font and full-color illustrations are vibrant and lend a congenial intimacy. Chast dips into ancient understandings of dreams and Freud and Jung's contributions to dream theory (Freud called dreams "day residue") but doesn't get too technical. She prefers to retain the sense of the "miraculous" as she asks herself whether dreaming of watching a Chris Rock-narrated documentary or of being wrapped in hot towels is a sign of a reality one is trying to ignore, a message from ancestors, or a link to the collective unconscious. --Rebecca Foster, freelance reviewer, proofreader and blogger at Bookish Beck

Idealism meets violence in Chris Oliveros's Are You Willing to Die for the Cause?, a thorough but approachable nonfiction graphic novel that looks beyond the headlines of the Québec sovereignty movement of the 1960s and '70s. Le Front de Libération du Québec (FLQ)--known as the Québec Liberation Front in English--was a small but impactful group of self-styled revolutionaries who decided to secure, by any means necessary, social and economic equality for the French-Canadian population of Québec. Oliveros (The Envelope Manufacturer) focuses on the key founders of the FLQ: Georges Schoeters, François Schirm, and Pierre Vallières. A variety of observers and participants--including several of the militants themselves; former mayor of Montréal Jean Drapeau; and Claude Ryan, former editor-in-chief at Le Devoir--narrate the events. The FLQ's intended plans repeatedly failed, the seeming naïveté of these men existing in stark contrast with the bloody results of their actions.

Oliveros's art has a retro feel, with a muted palette of black, white, and shades of orange and green. Strong lines and loosely defined human features keep the focus on action and plot. For readers looking for additional context and details, the sequential art portion of the book is followed by nearly 30 pages of supplemental material. Oliveros notes that the follow-up will cover the next phase of the movement in the 1970s. Are You Willing to Die for the Cause? will appeal to readers of graphic nonfiction, history, and the brand of stylized, informative comics for which Drawn & Quarterly is known. --Suzanne Krohn, librarian and freelance reviewer

Those for whom variety is the spice of their reading lives will find much flavor in A Memoir of My Former Self, a collection of nonfiction from the late novelist, memoirist, and cultural critic Hilary Mantel (The Mirror & the Light; Bring Up the Bodies; Wolf Hall). This collection, which spans her career of more than three decades, gathers personal reflections; essays on history's characters, major and minor; book reviews; movie reviews; lectures on the nature and meaning of historical fiction; and much more. It is an all-you-can-eat buffet for the curious mind: ruminations on her life as a writer; her experience living in Saudi Arabia; her struggle to be diagnosed and to live daily with the pain of severe endometriosis; reviews of academic titles and thoughts on popular literary fiction authors Annie Proulx and V.S. Naipaul; and reviews of popular movies. (And don't worry, Jane Austen superfans--there's a long essay in here for you, too.) Mantel's prose is poised, clear, and often soothing--like a pleasant daydream--but punctuated with sharp wit, precise declarations, and barbed but compassionate judgment. Every piece testifies to an author with a first-rate and wide-ranging intellect, immensely disciplined in the art and science of language.

A Memoir of My Former Self is full of delights big and small--RoboCop good, Fatal Attraction awful, When Harry Met Sally a mixed bag--joys and griefs, and intense examinations of the past and present. It is a stunning monument to a brilliant mind and the extraordinary breadth, skill, and talent of a singular writer. --Walker Minot, writer and editor

Prominent U.K. writer, performer, and playwright Travis Alabanza, the youngest recipient of the Artist-in-Residency program at Tate Galleries, is no stranger to archiving their existence. Burgerz, their award-winning debut show, was born out of an incident in which a burger and transphobic slurs were thrown at them. In None of the Above: Reflections on Life Beyond the Binary, Alabanza again beautifully memorializes their experience as a Black, trans, gender-nonconforming person. They interrogate categorization and the gender binary through the use of seven phrases that have been spoken toward them over the years (e.g., "So when did you know?" and "This ain't a thing we do round here, son"), "phrases that will immortalize the experience of those who are None of the above." At times, Alabanza struggles with the exhaustion of harassment; of being perceived; and of how white supremacy, race, and class complicate their transness. Their honesty is refreshing and affirming to anyone feeling like an imposter in their body: "I also can't remember the last time I read about someone in flux. Not reflecting on their transition as a past event, but instead trying to grasp the disorientating nature of being within one."

None of the Above concludes with hope for trans futures, Alabanza noting that untethered imagination and a reclamation of the narrative by trans people around trans bodies offers a path toward embodiment of a life beyond the binary. Much like Solange's "F.U.B.U.," Alabanza's mantra-like phrase--"This is for us, baby, not for them"--grounds them and ultimately reminds them and readers that choice and, most importantly, transness are a gift. --Sydney Tillman, freelance publicist

In Charlie Chaplin vs. America: When Art, Sex, and Politics Collided, Scott Eyman describes the Tramp, the filmmaker's bowler-hat-wearing, cane-carrying signature role, as "a well-meaning outsider at perpetual cross-purposes with his surroundings, doomed to isolation because of a basic imbalance in the relationship between an individual and conventional society." That's not a bad description of the Tramp's creator, as Eyman makes painfully clear in his layered and cautionary look at Chaplin, the most famous victim of mid-century America's Red Scare.

Chaplin (1889-1977) was born into poverty in London. In 1906, the teenager joined a comedy troupe that toured the United States. Chaplin proceeded to produce and star in movies that had broad appeal, but some members of the public took issue with his personal life. Although blood tests occasioned by a paternity suit that went to trial in 1944 proved that Chaplin wasn't the father of his sometime girlfriend Joan Berry's baby, he lost "in court and, far more damagingly, in the court of public opinion," Eyman writes. The public's certainty of Chaplin's moral deviancy fueled an overzealous FBI already on the Communist-hunting warpath.

Eyman (Cary Grant: A Brilliant Disguise; Hank & Jim) has the finesse to shape Charlie Chaplin vs. America into a sympathetic portrait without overlooking his subject's moral squishiness. He writes that Chaplin's is "the story of one of the earliest junctions between show business and politics," and it's certainly an early example of cancel culture--not an outcome one might have anticipated for Chaplin, given that, in Eyman's words, "the foundation of his work was the pain of abandonment seasoned by compassion and kindness." --Nell Beram, author and freelance writer

Readers who enjoy or aspire to more fully appreciate the work of Homer will find in Homer and His Iliad a treasured, entertaining, and knowledgeable companion in author Robin Lane Fox (Travelling Heroes; The Classical World), winner of the James Tait Black Memorial Prize and the Duff Cooper Prize. Lane Fox's investigation is vast in scope and addresses controversies and conflicts that have attended Homeric scholarship throughout the centuries, including when the Iliad came into being, whether it was authored by a single individual, and how the material was composed and intended to be performed. He also provides a bracing discussion of orally composed narrative poetry. His analysis and insight shine equally brightly when he turns to the literary craft of the narrative itself, demonstrating how storytelling conventions mixed with the skill of the author to create this enduring masterpiece. One such example illustrates the humor Lane Fox injects into what, in other hands, could be a dry academic work: "The heroes' diet of meat was probably not Homer's own invention, but by making it their exclusive diet he gave a sense of epic distance to their world. It was out of the question for a hero to be a vegan." 

Homer and His Iliad is for readers who wish to engage with this timeless classic and appreciate that, as Lane Fox puts it: "The values of the Iliad are not a remote historical oddity. Shame and fame, honour, rage, and disgrace engage us because they are still at large." --Elizabeth DeNoma, executive editor, DeNoma Literary Services, Seattle, Wash.

"[D]on't watch The Exorcist" is the warning of a mother to her daughter in Marlena Williams's Night Mother, a mesmerizing mix of cinematic, cultural, and personal history. Based on the novel by William Peter Blatty and filmed by award-winning director William Friedkin, The Exorcist was a movie, Williams writes, that helped make "fear of the devil pressing and real." Her mother, who defied her mother's wishes not to see it when it released in 1973, was scarred by the movie and felt it would scar her daughter, too.

Williams dissects The Exorcist's most iconic scenes and finds parallels in her own Catholic upbringing and rebellion, even the real-life horror of her mother's losing battle with cancer. Seeing the movie as "just a story about a mother and a daughter," Williams pivots seamlessly between film history, sexism, racism, and the female body, as she plumbs fraught memories and emotions. Williams resonates with Father Karras and applauds the film, which she describes as "haunted by dead mothers," for daring to "confront the comingling of grief and guilt in all its raw, debilitating intensity." Some of Williams's cultural critiques are debatable, as when she claims the demonic Regan can be understood as the "snarling and vengeful embodiment of white anger" at societal gains made by Black Americans after the civil rights movement. But overall, Night Mother--an unorthodox love letter in which Williams attempts to exorcise her own demons--is a powerful reckoning. --Peggy Kurkowski, book reviewer and copywriter in Denver

Project F by Jeanne DuPrau (The Books of Ember series) is a gentle and affecting children's solarpunk novel about a 13-year-old boy's misadventures with a mysterious (and dangerous) technology.

Keith Arlo lives with his parents in sustainable and peaceful Cliff River City, one of only seven surviving cities on Earth. Fossil fuels have been banned and much of the planet is covered in wild natural areas from which humans are forbidden. When the family receives word that Keith's aunt and uncle have died in a tragic accident, Keith sets off to retrieve their daughter, Lulu. On the steam train to Sandwater City, Keith meets a man named Malcolm, who informs Keith that he's working on a covert engineering endeavor called Project F. After an accidental baggage mix-up leads Keith and Lulu to the Project F headquarters, Keith finds himself caught up in the machinations of a shortsighted plan that aims to revolutionize travel and foster freedom--but may destroy the world in the process.

Project F is a thoughtful, urgent meditation on the origins and dangers of climate change. DuPrau employs an empathetic and lighthearted tone to translate the threatening nature of climate catastrophe into simple, declarative prose. The author engages deeply with charged topics but does so in a way that avoids fear mongering and didacticism. Instead, she invites readers to critically evaluate the world and what it would mean to exist sustainably: a world painted lush greens and sea blues, where cars and planes are abandoned in remote graveyards, and steering wheels become little more than a convenient perch for goldfinches and chickadees. --Cade Williams, freelance reviewer

Asha Ashanti Bromfield's second YA novel, after Hurricane Summer, is an arresting, romantic coming-of-age story set during a time of intense political violence in Jamaica.  

In 1976, "Jamaica is under a tribal war" between opposing political factions, and "talking about politics can easily get you killed." Best friends Jilly and Irie exemplify the stark divide between the country's rich and poor: the girls attend the same school in Kingston, but Jilly's family are "fairly-complected, mixed race, and extremely well off" while "fully Black" Irie's family lives in "the heart of the ghetto" where violence and poverty are daily realities. Jilly and Irie have bonded over a shared love of reggae music, sound that was "born in rebellion to... political violence and centuries of oppression." The radical songs introduce Jilly to a world beyond her sheltered upbringing; Irie finds an outlet in writing her own reggae music that expresses her desire for "an end to the pain and suffering." Over the course of a summer the girls' friendship evolves into a heady, passionate romance that is threatened by the mounting tension in Kingston's streets.

Bromfield creates a piercing examination of colonialism, economic inequality, and privilege, told from the first-person perspectives of two teenagers questioning their responsibilities and desires. The author conveys the emotional intensity of a relationship between queer young women that "toe[s] the line between lovers and friends." Songs of Irie breathes radiant life into Jamaican history and illuminates present-day struggles for equality. --Alanna Felton, freelance reviewer

National Book Award-winner Jacqueline Woodson (Brown Girl Dreaming; The Year We Learned to Fly) uses personal experience to honor her childhood in Remember Us, a poignant work of middle-grade historical fiction about how a little-known event shapes one girl's transition to young woman.

It is the summer before seventh grade in the mid-1970s, and while 12-year-old Sage dreams of being the first woman to play in the NBA, her Brooklyn neighborhood burns. New York City is experiencing a rash of fires, both by accident and by arson, and many homes have been destroyed, including that of Sage's best friend, Freddy. Together, Sage and Freddy spend their days shooting hoops, trading stats about Knicks players, and enjoying their last summer before they become teens. As the days shorten, Sage faces new, sometimes upsetting challenges: her identity is attacked, even as she feels the first stirrings of attraction; an adjacent yet serious loss unnerves her and distresses the neighborhood.

Woodson expertly frames Sage's feelings about this awkward life transition through text that is gentle yet lands with force and aching accuracy: "That year, the strangest things hollowed my throat and brought the sting of tears to my eyes." Sage's lyrical, accessible first-person narration features a history lesson hidden within the dynamic experience of Woodson's rounded characters. Fans of Woodson should appreciate this novel, which builds and expands upon some of the autobiographical aspects of Brown Girl Dreaming. --Shannan L. Hicks, freelance writer and librarian

Rock Your Mocs joyfully invites readers to take part in a "wonderful celebration of Native and First Nations cultures" as Indigenous children show their Native pride on November 15--and perhaps every day--by "stepping out" with "beauty on [their] feet."

"There's a celebration beginning," and it's time for children of Indigenous Nations to be "kicking it up" wearing traditional footwear. These "vibrant expression[s] of tribal pride and individual style" are created with deer, elk, moose, or seal, as well as with "love, stories, and laughter." Beaded and fringed, shimmering and shining in a "blend of colors and shapes," moccasins are crafted with "skilled hands and knowledge passed down." The mocs themselves can be passed down, too, or they can be new ones that are "traced to fit," thereby honoring "deep-rooted traditions, while adapting to [the] sacred present." Children of all clans--Yurok, Osage, Seminole, and many more--boldly rock their mocs with pride and style, because these exuberant creations are precious gifts, works of art, and symbols of community.

Author Laurel Goodluck's graceful, buoyant text beautifully honors the proud connection between moccasins and "history and identity," as well as how they can be a meaningful way of "stepping into the future." Madelyn Goodnight's energetic, festively colored digital illustrations likewise take care to focus as much on the lifestyles, passions, and communities of the children as they do on their moccasins, further communicating how integral the footwear is to linking Indigenous children with the best version of themselves. Indeed, Rock Your Mocs encourages readers to celebrate their very best selves, each and every day. --Lynn Becker, reviewer, blogger, and children's book author

In Andreu Llinàs Durán's My Favorite Animal, translated from the French by Carine Laforest, the day-in-the-life-of-a-kid picture book meets the kid-who-loves-animals picture book. The inclusion of a Where's Waldo?-esque search challenge yields a book that adds up to much more than the sum of its parts.

"Ariadna LOVES animals!" announces a narrating parent (who remains largely off-page throughout the book). Ariadna may LOVE all animals, but she does have a favorite, and it's the reader's job to "see if you can guess which one it is" as she proceeds through her day. Ariadna starts her morning "as cuddly as a cat"; an illustration shows her and her mom at the center of a feline friendship circle. When it's time to get dressed, she becomes "Ariadna the squirming lion"; an illustration finds her wriggling along with her leonine pals. She finally gets dressed (she looks "as majestic as a peacock"), goes swimming ("as swiftly as a shark"), and so on.

Ariadna's favorite animal? The book's penultimate page discloses the giveaway: at least two cats appear in every spread, sometimes camouflaged. This revelation will send readers scuttling back to the beginning to hunt for kitties in Durán's bewitching art, in which he employs a unique palette for every spread--blues and greens for the swimming pool scene, autumnal reds and browns for a park scene, black and white for a portrait of a sleeping Ariadna. As for what she's dreaming about: the final spread shows her at a party where not only all animals but all colors are welcome. --Nell Beram, freelance writer and YA author