The truism that good things come in small packages is affirmed by Ingvild Rishøi's Brightly Shining, an unexpected emotional force disguised by its small stature. It is also true of the novel's narrator, 10-year-old Ronja. Ronja is a burning ember, staying hopeful in the face of her father's alcoholism and the instability it brings. When he has a good stretch of sobriety, Ronja wants to believe, but her older sister, Melissa, knows the good days can't last: "He'd just been at work then come straight home, and I knew what Melissa was thinking, it won't go on like this, she thought, and yet it did."

When their father fails to keep his job at the Christmas tree market, Melissa takes it over, and their father, who looms so large in the opening chapters, drops to the periphery of the narrative. He is there, but sporadically--asleep on the couch, knocking over the hat stand, stumbling down the sidewalk outside Ronja's school--and never in the ways Ronja most needs him to be. Like a poet, Rishøi (translated from the Norwegian by Caroline Waight ) makes excellent use of repetition and distills her story into measured segments, equally denying the maudlin and the saccharine. Yet Ronja's voice is memorable and finely tuned to its surroundings, and readers will ache for her as others step in--for better and for worse--where her father is absent. Despite the darker side to Ronja's story, Brightly Shining radiates hope and goodness, a perfect companion for the holiday season. --Sara Beth West, freelance reviewer and librarian

Former journalist Zahid Rafiq's resounding debut collection, The World with Its Mouth Open, offers 11 stories that distill quotidian moments--a walk, a job search, new neighbors--into opportunities for deep insight. Reflecting his own background, Rafiq's characters live in Kashmir, a disputed territory on the Indian subcontinent uneasily governed by India, Pakistan, and China. They navigate the demands of family and community, struggling to survive amid chaos and violence.

Rafiq's title haunts "Crows," about a young boy subjected to vicious beatings from an in-demand (by desperately ambitious parents) tutor who absolutely won't accept underperformance: "Do you know what is waiting out there?" he ferociously rebukes, "The world... with its mouth open," ready to devour the unprepared. For a while, at least, the boy has a concerned, compassionate friend who bears witness by being the one to tell his story.

Victims reliant on others to record and remember their lives--and deaths--are many here; that indirect exposition seems to be Rafiq's clever reminder of an inevitable interconnectedness, even among strangers. In a society debilitated by destruction, Rafiq deftly finds glimmers of humanity, even among anthropomorphized canine residents in "Dogs" who, like their bipedal counterparts, exhibit bonded loyalty and exhausted disconnection. His characters have doctor appointments, get fired, fall in love, help and hurt each other. Rafiq writes succinctly, almost curtly, encouraging readers to piece together elliptical details to deduce the rewarding narrative: promises, flowers, ancestral grave plots eventually reveal why a young man has come to the cemetery alone in "Flowers from a Dog." Hauntingly astute, Rafiq is a storyteller to watch--and closely read. --Terry Hong

Pushcart Prize-winning novelist Julia Armfield (Our Wives Under the Sea) offers an engrossing look at existential dread and the bonds that keep people afloat in Private Rites. A speculative retelling of King Lear by way of Lars von Trier's Melancholia that focuses on the perspective of the three daughters, Armfield's novel is set in a drowning world where it won't stop raining. Under the constant threat of submersion, most of the world struggles with what it means to live during the probable end of the world. But the source of existential dread for sisters Isla, Irene, and Agnes can be found much closer to home, in their wealthy, manipulative father. After his sudden death, the three women are shocked to find out that he has left his floating home, the design for which made him millions, to only one of them. As they struggle to determine what their relationships to each other will look like in the absence of their father's control, they begin to realize that a larger, more dangerous game is being played with their lives.

As always, Armfield's prose is as mesmerizing as it is cathartic. Whether describing Isla's desperate need to hear her patients' anxieties to assuage her own or detailing the sometimes painfully sensual intimacies Agnes latches onto to avoid feeling adrift, Armfield demonstrates an unmatched intuitive touch for characters and relationships. And while none of the three sisters at this novel's core are perfect, together the intricacies with which they write and rewrite their relationships to one another vibrate with hope. When living in a world in crisis, Armfield asks, who will we reach out to? And who will reach back? --Alice Martin, freelance writer and editor

Amanda Lee Koe's sophomore novel, Sister Snake, is a deliciously provocative examination of female agency, with startling, serpentine bite. Once upon a time in Hangzhou, China, a white krait and a green viper became "sworn sisters" after the latter nursed the former back to health from "unspeakable violence." Disillusioned by her own kind, the white snake longed to be human, and although her sister was satisfied with their way of life, the green snake "would try anything once." In the year 815, the green snake procured "lotus seeds... capable of bestowing human form and ageless immortality." After 800 years in self-cultivation, the sisters finally transitioned in 1615. The white snake named herself Bai Suzhen. The green snake eventually chose Emerald.

Fast forward to now. Wealthy Su lives in Singapore, and she's long realized that "conformity makes for excellent camouflage." Restless Emerald is currently living off sugar daddies in New York City. When an encounter with her latest makes news headlines--Central Park, NYPD, gunshots--Google Alerts pings Su's phone and she's on the next flight to JFK. As fraught as their sororal reunion is, Emerald nevertheless agrees to go back to Singapore with Su. The pair haven't lived together since 1868, and sharing the same space is not going to have a happy ending... although it might inspire much-needed new beginnings.

Koe (Delayed Rays of a Star) is a fabulously subversive, snarkily insightful writer with an extraordinarily keen eye for contemporary human observations. In her acknowledgements, Koe admits to having "had so much fun writing Sister Snake it might be criminal." Her readers will undoubtedly feel the same. --Terry Hong

In his lyrical, gentle novel of events in Faha, Ireland, during the Advent season of 1962, Niall Williams offers the Christmas gift of a tender homage to community.

Time of the Child returns to the village of Williams's 2019 novel, This Is Happiness, but readers new to Faha will feel at home. It's "a place where the tide came in and out like memory and the rain made all the seasons one," and where villagers eagerly follow their neighbors' lives "through hearsay, which travelled quicker than fact and without the baggage of truth." The esteemed Dr. Jack Troy has inherited his father's practice and relies on his genteel, dependable daughter, Ronnie. It seems only logical that when 12-year-old Jude Quinlan, obligingly waiting in the cold to escort his father home from the pub, discovers an abandoned newborn baby at the church gate, he delivers the bundle to the Troys. Father and daughter, "in a confederacy," agree that they "will work out something." Knowing that the baby legally "belonged to the State, who... would hand it off to the Church," the Troys provide baby Noelle a loving, secret family.

Unsuspecting Faha residents continue to rely on Dr. Troy's ministrations to their life-and-death dramas, even as he anticipates the sorrow of Ronnie forfeiting Noelle. The "story that had come knocking on his door" seems destined to end in heartbreak, but when the parishioners gather for Christmas Eve Mass, baby Noelle among them, Dr. Troy realizes "it was possible to believe in human goodness." --Cheryl McKeon, Book House of Stuyvesant Plaza, Albany, N.Y.

A New York couple in their late 30s navigate seismic cultural and socio-economic differences in Weike Wang's intimate drama, Rental House. A PEN/Hemingway Award-winner, Wang thematically centers her third novel on a post-pandemic family vacation, as parents and adult offspring cautiously reunite.

Nate and Keru live in Manhattan with their sheepdog, Mantou. He's a scientist in academia and she's in consulting, earning far more than her husband. Keru is a Chinese American raised with a strict, unforgiving work ethic, a product of her parents' immigrant dreams and sacrifices. Nate, meanwhile, escaped his rural, conservative "white trash" upbringing "at the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains" to attend college on financial aid.

The novel opens as the couple's parents descend on their Cape Cod vacation rental for staggered visits. In the following part five years later, Wang's protagonists are on vacation in the Catskills. With skillful precision, Wang (Chemistry) observes them through the lens of their vacationing neighbors, offering tantalizing glimpses into who Keru and Nate might have been had they not married one another. Against these scenic backdrops of a holiday rental in Cape Cod and later in the Catskills, she masterfully probes the inner workings of a contemporary marriage, exposing cracks that linger long after its foundation settled. The Catskills trip ends eventfully with an unexpected visitor and a confrontation that marks a new direction in the couple's insulated lives. Keru wants more familial connection, even if it means she must carry the burden of Nate's deeply flawed brother Ethan. As Wang succinctly points out, "Marriage is fifty-fifty, but who said that? Who believes this to be true?" --Shahina Piyarali

Any marriage that makes it past 30 years could reach a point where a few surprises might be welcomed; however, Eliza Kratke does not relish the unexpected on that February day when her husband, Robert, collapses in the driveway. Eliza's candid voice and indomitable spirit are the drivers of Sweet Vidalia by Lisa Sandlin (The Bird Boys), a well-paced novel that puts readers in the position of benevolent neighborhood gossip, privy to the details of a good woman's unraveling. Eliza does not unravel, however, and though some of the circumstances may seem unbelievable, her transformation feels both inspiring and true.

In the moments after Robert's death, Eliza wishes herself back to the "ordinary times lived over and over," but she knows that is impossible. As a woman alone in the 1960s, Eliza must contend with the common experiences of grief and loss as well as the thoroughly uncommon ones, those born out of the catastrophic secrets Robert kept from her. Forced to rent out their house, Eliza moves into the Sweet Vidalia Residence Inn, across town in Bayard, Tex. And it is from there that she discovers the woman she never knew she could be.

Though Eliza's Southern dialect can feel somewhat out-of-sync with the voice built in the close third-person narration, readers will marvel at Sandlin's descriptions, as seen in Eliza's tears over "[her father's] mind emptied in the last, bespattered-shirt years." Similarly, they will celebrate every unlikely success Eliza manages, with fans of Fannie Flagg's Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Café hearing the echo of "Towanda!" in this empowering story of one woman's midlife coming-of-age. --Sara Beth West, freelance reviewer and librarian

On the surface, The Polite Act of Drowning is a coming-of-age narrative, but diving deeper reveals that it is also an exploration of the fragility of life and the impact of death on those around it. Charleen Hurtubise, a writer living in Ireland, sets her debut novel in her native Michigan. Her heartrending, immersive prose allows readers to fully experience the small town of Kettle Lake. Joanne, 16 years old in the summer of 1985, does not know the girl who drowns on a sunny day at the local beach, but the tragedy still changes the course of her life.

Kettle Lake, reeling in the aftermath of the incident; a new, troublesome friend named Lucinda; and Joanne's secretive mother, Rosemary, who begins to unveil the mysteries of her past, all add fuel to the fire of the already blazing summer heat. Lucinda offers Joanne companionship in a confusing time. Rosemary, triggered by the drowning, mourns the long-ago death of her brother. The story of Joanne and the women who surround her explores themes of sexuality and mental illness as Hurtubise creates a powerful narrative of family and hardship, exposing how moments can affect people long after they happen.

The small town, experiencing a particularly intense summer, is filled with atmospheric scenery and vibrant yet flawed characters. Joanne's personal narrative is a testimony to experiencing growing pains and seeking out the light at the end of the tunnel. The Polite Act of Drowning finds hope and love in the deepest parts of Kettle Lake. --Clara Newton, freelance reviewer

M.M. Olivas's debut novel is an immersive supernatural horror narrative that pulls from Mesoamerican myth and foregrounds queer and diasporic experiences. Sundown in San Ojuela centers on Elizabeth Remolina's return to her hometown of San Ojuela to handle her Tía Marisol's estate. When she arrives, Elizabeth discovers exactly how much has changed since she left.

She reunites with Julian, her childhood friend, but quickly learns that he's changed too, the result of consorting with dark powers, the ancient gods and monsters that stalk San Ojuela. These creatures and the novel's desert setting are rendered in vivid, singular prose that powers the story forward.

Olivas explores tangled questions of identity, such as what it means to be descended from colonizers or Indigenous people--or both. Elizabeth's mother never taught her daughter about her Latino heritage, a disconnect that adds complexity to the protagonist, her family, and the world of the narrative. These familial and generational conflicts are artfully woven into the horror of the story.

Olivas writes each character in a distinct style, bringing a mix of perspectives and giving an engagingly varied texture to the prose. The descriptions are particularly gorgeous. For instance, as a sheriff investigates a series of strange disappearances, he narrates, "It's only two hours into my shift and there's sleeplessness crumbling from my eyes. He's right off the 74, a back road along a ridge with orange groves not too far off. The tang of them perfumes the smoke-clotted air."

Sundown in San Ojuela is a thoughtful, multifaceted horror novel filled with complex characters and atmospheric writing. --Carol Caley, writer

Megan Tady's breezy, insightful sophomore novel, Bluebird Day, combines the cozy charm of a snowed-in Alpine ski town with a nuanced portrayal of a fraught mother-daughter relationship.

Retired champion skier Claudine Potts and her daughter, Wylie, haven't spoken much since Wylie declined to follow in her mother's footsteps, abruptly pulling out of competitive skiing to enroll at art school. But when Wylie's partner winds up injured right before the fitness competition they're scheduled to attend in Berlin, Wylie grits her teeth and calls her mom. Surprising them both, Claudine agrees to be Wylie's teammate. But for reasons of her own, she insists they stop first in Zermatt, Switzerland. There, they're squeezed into bunk beds in a bare-bones hostel within view of the Matterhorn (a reminder of the life both women have left behind). When an avalanche leaves them stranded for days, they must decide whether to risk life and limb to get to Berlin--or take the much greater emotional risk of mending their relationship.

Tady (Super Bloom) alternates between the Potts women's perspectives, vividly portraying Claudine's glittering career and the costs of her achievements. Tady also depicts Wylie's drive to please her mother, the relentless anxiety that eventually drove her off the slopes, and her difficulty in directing her own life post-skiing.

As the snow swirls down in Zermatt, Claudine and Wylie must navigate terrain trickier than any black diamond slope: the tension between deep love and raw ambition, and the treacherous patches of past mistakes. Though the Matterhorn holds no magical solutions, the Potts women may just emerge from this avalanche stronger--and closer--than they were before. --Katie Noah Gibson, blogger at Cakes, Tea and Dreams

The Greatest Lie of All by Jillian Cantor (Half Life; The Hours Count; The Lost Letter) is a propulsively paced story of intrigue, romance, and suspense starring two women a generation apart navigating family, love, secrets, and art.

Readers meet the young, up-and-coming actress Amelia Grant just after the death of her beloved mother, and in the moment when she discovers her actor boyfriend in bed with his costar. At this low, Amelia is primed to accept her biggest role yet: to play the fabulously successful romance author Gloria Diamond in a biopic. Gloria had been Amelia's mother's favorite; it feels like a sign and a way to be close to the mother she's lost.

Heartbroken but determined, Amelia travels to Gloria's remote Seattle-area home to get to know her subject before filming begins. But "the Gloria Diamond" is distinctly unfriendly, cold, and dismissive. Gloria's career was built on her famous, brief romance with her late husband. But the more Amelia learns, the less convincing that story is. As she pursues the history of the author, Amelia begins to wonder about her own role in the drama unfolding before her.

In chapters that shift between Amelia's perspective and that of the young Gloria, The Greatest Lie of All shines in its plot twists and surprises, and, most of all, its pacing, which accelerates from a slow burn to a heart-thumping momentum. The tension increases, stakes rising as the two women must reckon with their pasts to chart their shared present. Cantor's experienced hand shows in this classically crafted thriller, which will keep its readers tautly engaged to the final scene. --Julia Kastner, blogger at pagesofjulia

In The Verifiers, Jane Pek introduced readers to the quirky, clever Claudia Lin: book-loving, bike-riding English major in search of meaningful work. The Rivals picks up seven months into Claudia's employment at Veracity, a kind of "online-dating detective agency" in New York City that verifies the accuracy of user information fed into the ubiquitous, big-tech matchmakers that dominate the not-too-distant future Pek imagines for the series. Having solved a murder and uncovered a corporate conspiracy in the previous novel, Claudia is unexpectedly co-owner of the agency with her former coworkers, Becks and Squirrel. Now, the three colleagues are in a tentative partnership while trying to figure out why the "Big Three" matchmaker companies are developing artificial-intelligence driven "synths" to mimic human users on their platforms--and to stop them from reaching whatever sinister goal they are racing toward.

Where The Verifiers drew heavily on murder mystery tropes (Claudia is inspired by her favorite fictional detective, Inspector Yuan), The Rivals blends the murder mystery genre with the "pea-souper of the espionage narrative: double agents, secretive organizations, ongoing machinations for influence and control." The resulting genre cocktail is a testament to Pek's skill in building a story arc, at once aware of its tropes and seamlessly threading them into a tightly woven plot that grows ever more complex from start to cliffhanger finish.

With enough detail for those unfamiliar with Claudia's backstory to start in media res, and enough left unanswered to tease another novel featuring the beloved heroine, The Rivals is the best kind of second-in-a-series: the kind guaranteed to leave readers eager for more. --Kerry McHugh, freelance writer

In How to Steal a Galaxy, Beth Revis (Across the Universe; Star Wars: The Princess and the Scoundrel) continues the smart, twisty intergalactic heist story with a dash of romance that she began in Full Speed to a Crash Landing. Ada Lamarr, skilled pilot and expert con woman, goes undercover (in a stunning sea-silk dress) at an intergalactic charity gala that's ostensibly raising funds to save Earth. But Ada's there for other reasons: one, to do a job for the rebel group that paid her to retrieve top-secret plans involving nanobots; and two, to pull off a heist of her own.

The narrative follows Ada and Rian White, straight-arrow government agent and Ada's love interest, as they orbit around each other at the gala. Ada's smart mouth nearly gets her into trouble more than once, but thanks to some sleight-of-hand and her ability to stay three steps ahead of everyone else, she manages to pull off her two heists--business and personal--while thoroughly confusing Rian and (possibly) seducing him. Revis slips in worldbuilding and social commentary via Ada's snarky inner monologue on ancient artifacts, space colonization, and the climate-cleaning nanobots whose potentially lifesaving technology hides a much more nefarious purpose. Revis also throws in classic elements of a heist narrative, including hidden weapons, flashy security, red herrings, and at least one person being set up (but who?).

With shades of Star Wars and Ocean's Eleven, Revis's witty novella will leave readers eager for the trilogy's conclusion. --Katie Noah Gibson, blogger at Cakes, Tea and Dreams

A small cabin, purchased off Craigslist and tucked in Washington State's Cascade Mountains, becomes a life-changer for Patrick Hutchison, who amusingly details a rather impulsive woodland adventure in his first memoir, Cabin: Off the Grid Adventures with a Clueless Craftsman.

While his contemporaries pursued advanced degrees, careers, and starting families, Hutchison felt stuck in corporate life, suffering a "quarter-life crisis" and itching to find meaning. One night, while scrolling the Internet, he became inspired by a picture of a 10x12-foot cabin nestled in a forest: "The cabin begged for someone to cozy up inside, light a fire, take a slug of whiskey, and let the world drift away, all for the price of a used Hyundai. They were asking $7,500."

Hutchison comically details every step of his journey with a cabin that was "charming in a dystopian sort of way." While maintaining his day job, he and a band of his equally adventurous friends escaped regularly to the mountains, intending to spruce up the isolated, shabby cabin that had not "so much as a light switch." What ensues is a comedy of errors where headstrong, learn-things-the-hard-way-Hutchison is drawn down a winding path that ultimately leads to personal enlightenment.

Readers will become immersed in Hutchison's down-to-earth quest to "plant a flag of responsibility, to show others or maybe just prove to myself that I was doing more with my life than just sitting at a desk churning out marketing emails." And the best part is readers won't have to rough it in an outhouse or suffer mosquito bites in order to experience the great fun of Hutchison's grand adventure. --Kathleen Gerard, blogger at Reading Between the Lines

Great novels and great films are rare enough, but a great novel that becomes a great film is a unicorn. Julie Gilbert adroitly tells a double-success story in Giant Love: Edna Ferber, Her Best-Selling Novel of Texas, and the Making of a Classic American Film, and because Gilbert is a biographer and great-niece of Giant author Ferber, her dive goes especially deep.

After introducing readers to Ferber (1885-1968), Gilbert covers the 13-years-in-the-making 1952 publication of Giant, a multigenerational saga about a wealthy Texas ranching family into which a cultured Virginia woman marries, bringing along her freethinking ideas, which include redressing the cruel treatment of Mexican Americans. Gilbert hazards that this character, played by Elizabeth Taylor in George Stevens's 1956 film treatment, was conceived to be fiery liberal Ferber's "Greek chorus." Both book--the most successful of Ferber's 14 novels-- and movie were sensations.

Gilbert reproduces Ferber's finicky notes on the novel and, deliciously, her complaints about the Giant script ("Unless Leslie is suddenly a dull boring stodgy old mess she CAN'T say this"). Better still, Gilbert's personal ties to the film's two male leads make for a couple of exclusives: she includes snippets from her 1977 interview with Rock Hudson and shares her childhood memory of receiving a sickbed visit from James Dean, who had a special bond with the half-century-older Ferber. (Dean gave Ferber rides on his motorcycle.) Giant Love is a celebration of two great American works and a gentle entreaty to remember Ferber, once a giant in her field. --Nell Beram, author and freelance writer

One must visit Callum Robinson's website to assess his manifest talent as a woodworker, but on the evidence of his passionate, insightful memoir, Ingrained: The Making of a Craftsman, he has built the foundation for a successful second career as a writer.

Along with his wife, Marisa, a "disillusioned architectural designer" and teacher, Robinson owned a woodworking business near Edinburgh. Ingrained describes the crisis they endured after 10 years of operation when a commercial client suddenly cancelled a large project and they found themselves devoid of work, "unhappily floundering in the hottest of water."

Callum and Marisa gambled on a storefront in the small town of Linlithgow to display their wares. Ingrained describes in intimate detail the highs and lows of that venture into retail commerce and the unexpected discoveries about business and the life it yielded. Robinson deepens the account of his and Marisa's tenacious battle with glimpses of the episodes that led him to a life in woodworking.

Those who look at furniture as nothing more than dead trees transformed into utilitarian objects should be disabused of that perception by Robinson's prose. He eloquently conveys his deeply personal attachment to hardwoods like the "rich, golden" oak, "ghostly, almost luminescent" sycamore, and, above all, the elm--the "tenacious swaggering dandy of the forest"--that he and his employees shape into exquisite pieces. For Robinson, fashioning tables and desks by hand is the calling of a lifetime, not merely a job.

Anyone who enjoyed Tracy Kidder's House or Matthew B. Crawford's Shop Class as Soulcraft will admire this book as much as they might one of Callum Robinson's lovingly-crafted products. --Harvey Freedenberg, freelance reviewer

"Mortality keeps life interesting," Abigail Thomas declares. She ponders the loneliness and fear that accompany aging in her ninth book, the wry memoir-in-essays Still Life at Eighty.

These microessays consider subjects such as old age, Covid-19 solitude, the appreciation of nature, and the art of memoir. Most pieces are a page or two long and distill everyday moments into concise and perceptive prose. Thomas (What Comes Next and How to Like It) contrasts the "gravitas" of age with the downsides of memory gaps and increasing physical frailty (Thomas broke both wrists within the space of a month). All along, she affirms the continuity of identity: "I feel like myself, only more so." Yet the deaths of friends and two of her four beloved dogs remind her that her own is not far away. She has even chosen an urn to inhabit afterward. Researching the etymologies of "death" and "dread" in The American Heritage Dictionary of Indo-European Roots helps her approach her anxieties with curiosity.

Occasional third-person fragments see Thomas experimenting with turning life into story. "Detail is the antidote to boredom," she insists. She takes her own advice by tracking the daily growth of her wisteria vine and observing birds and insects to combat the monotony of pandemic lockdown. The tone varies, with tongue-in-cheek essays including "Other Uses for Your Cane" and "How to Do Nothing." The goal of memoir, Thomas says, is to gain clarity on one's life. Full of such hard-won perspective--and humor--Still Life at Eighty is perfect for May Sarton and Anne Lamott fans. --Rebecca Foster, freelance reviewer, proofreader and blogger at Bookish Beck

Gay Talese (High Notes; Bartleby and Me), a pioneer of literary journalism, loves people, and one cohort in particular. A Town Without Time: Gay Talese's New York contains 15 pieces published between 1957 and 2023, a significant chunk in Esquire, all scrupulously reported studies of his fellow New Yorkers, both newbie and homegrown. That even the oldest essays retain their authority and dazzle is remarkable given the seismic changes through which the author has written and lived.

In this collection, Talese's subjects include the guys who built the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge; a New York Times obituary writer; entertainers Tony Bennett, Lady Gaga, and Frank Sinatra; and Mafia boss Joseph Bonanno's conflicted son, who could be a model for Tony Soprano. Not that Talese's affection for his city's denizens is limited to humans: 1957's "Journey into the Cat Jungle" pays tribute to New York's "roving, independent, self-laundering" strays.

Alongside his fellow chroniclers of Gotham, Talese is less swaggering than Tom Wolfe, warmer than Joan Didion, and less side-taking than Nora Ephron. In 1989's "The Homeless Woman with Two Homes," Talese submits that being a young reporter in New York "prepared me to be astonished by virtually nothing," which, along with his ironclad sentences, explains his work's endurance: he's not taken in by fads or flimflammers. In his piece about the Bonanno family, Talese notes that "people tended to mind their own business in New York"; readers of A Town Without Time will appreciate that he has spent his career doing the opposite. --Nell Beram, author and freelance writer

Like a personal undersea tour, this enhanced second edition of The World Beneath: The Life and Times of Unknown Sea Creatures and Coral Reefs by marine biologist Richard Smith bursts with vibrant, full-color photographs of fascinating creatures, intriguing natural-science facts, and evocative personal anecdotes.

Smith opens by discussing the origins of his "deep connection with the sea" as well as the science behind coral reefs. Polyps, colonies, symbiosis, and zooxanthellae are presented in very accessible ways to explain how these "towering underwater monuments" were "built by a humble relative of the jellyfish." Readers even learn which current "Nemo used to travel from the Great Barrier Reef... in Finding Nemo."

Smith goes on to describe his experiences of diving the world's reefs, sharing over 300 photos of the enchanting beauty in the waters of the Galápagos Islands, Izu Islands, and the immensely biodiverse region of Southeast Asia known as the Coral Triangle. 

The coral reefs come to life via vivid images featuring tiny speckled pygmy pipehorses; mysterious, ethereal reef mantas and sea turtles; multitudes of maximalist-patterned nudibranchs; and densely layered coral gardens as architecturally astounding as any human city. Later chapters further explore some of these species, including their behavior, reproductive cycles, and threats to their well-being.

Smith's passion for reefs and their conservation runs throughout. "Coral reefs are at a tipping point," he warns, then shares vital actions to support their continued health.

"The reef is a biological powerhouse, full of fantastical creatures with amazing stories," Smith declares. He makes for a captivating storyteller. --Grace Rajendran, freelance reviewer

Noted photographer Alen MacWeeney transforms cartoonists into works of art through stunning, primarily black-and-white portraits in At Wit's End: Cartoonists of the New Yorker. MacWeeney, whose work is exhibited at institutions such as the Museum of Modern Art in New York City, captures his subjects drawing as well as in a spirited array of settings and circumstances. For instance, Gahan Wilson receives a haircut, John O'Brien poses in a shower, and Victor Varnado clutches a rack of eyeglasses.

The book, created in anticipation of the magazine's 100-year anniversary in 2025, features cartoonists living and dead, including legends such as George Booth along with newer folks such as Ellie Black. Michael Maslin, an expert on New Yorker cartoonists (and a cartoonist himself), provides the text accompanying the images.

An ideal coffee-table book for cartoon enthusiasts, At Wit's End contains four pages per cartoonist, generally comprising two portraits, two cartoons, and some words about the artist. Maslin, tapping his extensive knowledge, offers context by exploring the subject's cartooning lineage and interviewing some of the subjects. In some instances, he pulls from podcasts or interviews featuring the subject. Maslin also often includes personal details, such as how he first met or came across certain cartoonists. About Lars Kenseth, whom he met at New Yorker editor David Remnick's apartment, he writes, "He seemed to be having the time of his life, outwardly happier than anyone in the room. This is how I feel about his cartoon characters: they seem to be having a blast." --Nina Semczuk, writer, editor, and illustrator

Sarah Everett's surprising, full-hearted second work of middle-grade fiction, The Shape of Lost Things, depicts the changes that take place in one family when a Black girl's brother is returned home by his abductor father.

Four years ago, Skye and Finn's dad kidnapped then-10-year-old Finn and went on the run. Now 12-year-old Skye fills in for her older brother every September 3rd for his "MIA birthday." But Skye thinks of herself as "a very bad Rent-a-Finn"; Finn was "hilarious and fun and cool" while Skye would rather watch everyone from behind the lens of her Polaroid camera. Then, suddenly, everything changes. First, Skye's mom's boyfriend, Roger, asks Skye's permission to marry her mother; then the family receives a phone call that Finn has been found on the side of a highway, hundreds of miles away from their California home. Everyone is excited to have Finn back, but Skye doesn't know this Finn: "He is quiet and... takes up so little space that the air still feels empty, like he's not here at all." Skye wonders if it's possible they brought back the wrong boy.

Everett (The Probability of Everything) delivers a stellar middle-grade novel told through the eyes of an introverted tween trying to heal from trauma as she finds her place in a new, blended family. Short chapters keep up the pace as Skye navigates the unexpected and her brother's reintroduction to the family. Everett gives Skye plenty of room to explore her emotions, making this an excellent read for fans of Renée Watson or Kekla Magoon's books for young readers. --Natasha Harris, freelance reviewer

Hilary Horder Hippely (A Song for Lena) champions courage and kindness while presenting a difficult and relevant topic--unhoused families--in I Know How to Draw an Owl. Award-winning illustrator Matt James (The Funeral) elevates Hippely's heartfelt story with his richly layered, deeply saturated art.

"Today we're drawing owls," Ms. Rio announces. Among her students' results, Belle's work is especially notable. Belle merely shrugs in response; she knows exactly why, but she's hardly ready to tell. Once upon a time, Belle and her mother had their own house, "with a table and chairs and a sleepy cat." But these days, they live in their "old blue car," in a "shady park." Belle's mother assures her it's "the perfect place." They're lucky, too, Mom insists, because of a nearby hoot owl keeping watch over them. One night, Belle finally meets their avian guardian: "He stayed with me for a long... time, I think to say--I'm glad you're here." And that's why Belle can "draw an owl so well." With the owl's wisdom to guide her, she knows just how to welcome the new kid, recognizing he, too, is likely unhoused. "I understand," she promises. "I'll keep my eye on you."

Hippely's rhythmic text gently reveals the heavy reality happening on the page. James's stupendous spreads, created with acrylic paints, never downplay the hardships children and their families face. James uses artful details to add to the story, showing kitty-less Mom and Belle, cracks in the wall around a classroom windowpane, and fading car paint. Challenges abound, but a caring hand and unexpected friendship are empathetic antidotes to uncertainty and fear. --Terry Hong

Dada and his grandchild are off to the market to shop for a special celebration in the delightful, delectable Seven Samosas: Counting at the Market by author duo Kabir Sehgal and Surishtha Sehgal (The Wheels on the Tuk Tuk) and illustrated by Jing Jing Tsong (Fake Chinese Sounds).

Sona wears a yellow top, Dada sports a pink, patterned shirt, and both hold matching blue bags as they and their little gray dog arrive at the market. The trio is here to purchase "some tasty bites" for this evening's party. This rhyming picture book counts backwards from 20 as Sona and Dada buy a variety of Indian and South Asian treats: "20 ladoos at this store," "19 elaichis from a drawer," "12 paneers sit on a stand," while there are "11 jalebis in Sona's hand." The authors include notes in smaller font with additional information on each page: for example, "Paneer (puh-NEER) is Indian cottage cheese" or "Jalebis (juh-LAY-bees) are an Indian funnel cake made from flour, yogurt, ghee, saffron, and sugar."

An authors' note explains that many of the foods included in the book are some of the Sehgals' personal favorites and that "India has rich culinary traditions, with dishes and recipes that range from spicy vegetarian meals to cool desserts." Tsong's digital art is illustrated in a riot of colors and textures displayed on ample white space, allowing character features, foods, textiles, and market life to take center stage. Rhyming text, parenthetical descriptions of the food and treats, and adventuresome art captures Sona and Dada's excitement and the diverse community with which they joyously interact. --Hadeal Salamah, blogger, librarian, freelance reviewer

Salvatore and the Goats of Mount Etna is a fascinating tale of goats using their "sixth sense" to protect themselves--and their young goatherd--from disaster when a volcano unexpectedly erupts.

Salvatore, his parents, and their herding dog, Gina, live on a farm "at the foot of white-peaked Mount Etna," a rumbling, active volcano. Salvatore loves the goats, especially lead goat Bianca, who seems "to know more about the mountain than he [does]." Usually Papa takes the goats up the mountain to graze, but today Salvatore will do the job solo. Salvatore promises Papa he'll herd the goats--rather than letting them herd him--then, "with a whistle to Gina," he heads off. As they climb, Bianca, who usually leads the way, circles Salvatore; rather than eating grass, she begins "to kick and jump around." The other goats join in, and Gina starts to bark. When Bianca takes off down the mountain, followed by the rest of the goats, Salvatore realizes he's being herded! But Salvatore trusts Bianca, and when they reach the bottom, they hear the mountain roaring. Salvatore ties his scarf around his lead goat, and together they bring the herd safely home.

Debut author Uschi Müller, coordinator of the ICARUS project (International Cooperation for Animal Research Using Space) has crafted an intriguing, fluid story "inspired by true-life events" to illustrate the project's mission: to explore how "animals perceive upcoming catastrophes earlier than humans." Brittany Lane (The Day Dancer Flew) cleverly illustrates Salvatore's scenic home and conveys just the right touches of emotion and urgency through both human and animal body language. Backmatter rounds out this sure-footed offering with a pertinent, kid-friendly introduction to the ICARUS project. --Lynn Becker, reviewer, blogger, and children's book author

Wren's mother disappeared from her home in Fort Gibson, Okla., five years, three months, and 12 days ago. Wren hasn't stopped looking for her mother but the girl's intense focus is cleaved when a rash of other crimes are committed in debut author Ginger Reno's Find Her, a shrewd and enticing upper middle-grade mystery.

Wren has noticed that media attention for missing women is "reserved for those who looked a certain way"--"people who looked like her mother weren't a priority." The 12-year-old lives with her white police chief father and Elisi, her Cherokee mother's mother. Since Wren's father can't (or won't) share much about the investigation, Wren devotes her spare time to her own search, including sneaking peeks at her dad's files. Wren begins a separate investigation, though, when police receive reports of murdered animals. How significant is this new danger? Then, unidentified human remains are found--could it be Wren's mother or, horrifically, yet another victim?

Find Her calls out the disturbing crisis of Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls (MMIWG) in the United States, and highlights the lack of national attention given to their cases. Reno writes a determined protagonist who is dedicated to her culture, the Cherokee language, and uncovering truth. The author also offers readers a nuanced introduction to the mystery genre that doesn't sugarcoat the dark side of crime novels but is never overly gruesome--there is just the right amount of danger and blood, as well as a well-researched and maintained "murder board." Find Her is an excellent mystery for younger readers eager to read thrillers. --Kyla Paterno, freelance reviewer