I Am Clarence, the first novel by Elaine Kraf (1936-2013), was originally published in 1969. This rediscovered classic was ahead of its time with its wrenching, kaleidoscopic account of a single mother struggling with mental health and raising a child with a disability.

The lion's share is narrated by this unnamed New York City woman, a would-be poet and devoted caregiver to Clarence, who has frequent seizures, poor eyesight, and aphasia. The woman has had many lovers, including Clarence's hematologist and a violinist. She considers them all "Clarence's fathers" but regrets never settling down with Ferdinand, the tattooed circus performer. Memories from her time spent traveling with the circus blur into those from her two years hospitalized with psychosis. Images of elephants and masks abound. How much is real?

It's all deliciously off-kilter. Kraf (The Princess of 72nd Street) complicates the picture by presenting vignettes out of chronological order, supplementing them with poems and letters, and inserting a variety of first- and third-person perspectives on mother and son. The novel pushes the envelope through experimental form and passages voiced by those including the woman's brother, her doctor, a post-lobotomy patient, and a dead character. Readers must piece together the fragments--and question the woman's competence.

Novelist Sarah Manguso's astute introduction praises the "unnerving funhouse mirror" Kraf has created. As brilliant as it is unsettling, this story of desperate maternal love threatened by mental illness is a hidden gem like The Shutter of Snow by Emily Holmes Coleman and The Pumpkin Eater by Penelope Mortimer. --Rebecca Foster, freelance reviewer, proofreader and blogger at Bookish Beck

On its surface, Sarah Damoff's debut novel, The Bright Years, is about a nuclear family struggling with a present affected by past experiences. As a young woman, Lillian placed a baby for adoption. Meanwhile, Ryan hopes to escape the specter of his abusive, alcoholic father. When they meet, both are desperate to build something beautiful out of their pain. They fall in love in a glittering montage: "He looks at me... like pain can't touch us. Never mind that it has touched us all our lives, and our parents before us." Damoff's moving prose reads like a held breath, even as hope for the future arrives in the form of their daughter, Georgette, whom they call Jet: "In many ways, Jet saves us. But salvation is not erasure--it's a redistribution of pressure."

Each character narrates their own section, and the sections bounce between years as Lillian holds onto her secret, Ryan descends into addiction, and Jet wonders how her mother can bear to let her father back in. When a seismic loss rocks the tentative stability they achieve, Damoff explores through Jet how the weight of love measures up against the twin burdens of anger and disappointment. Jet builds her own family as she learns that in order to truly live, she must embrace the pain that comes with it, not shut it out. With a title that intentionally belies the emotional depths within, The Bright Years is a dazzling, true-to-life depiction of adoration and damage, and the lovely ache of living as the pendulum swings between them. --Kristen Coates, editor and freelance reviewer

Isabel Allende brings the experience of more than 20 books to My Name Is Emilia del Valle, a swashbuckling tale of the life and adventures of a young woman born in San Francisco in the 1860s. Emilia travels from California to her father's native Chile during that country's civil war, bucking social norms and going wherever she's told she can't.

A young Irish novice nun named Molly Walsh is seduced and abandoned, pregnant, by a Chilean aristocrat. Devastated, she accepts a marriage proposal from a colleague and friend in San Francisco's Mission District, who will be the devoted stepfather, "Papo," to her child. Emilia lacks for nothing in the loving household.

Emilia first makes a living by writing sensational dime novels (under a pen name, of course). Next, she decides to become a journalist, launching a newspaper career, traveling to New York and then abroad; she journeys to Chile to cover the civil war as a reporter for San Francisco's Daily Examiner. Female reporters are vanishingly rare, but as war correspondents, unprecedented; and Emilia del Valle writes under her own name.

As she has in previous acclaimed novels, Allende (The House of the Spirits; A Long Petal of the Sea) applies riveting storytelling to an exploration of history through the lens of a fictional heroine. Allende's language, and Frances Riddle's translation, is evocative in its descriptions of Chile's lovely landscapes, a young woman's complicated love for her family, and the horrors of the battlefield. This enthralling novel leaves Emilia, still young, in a position of some uncertainty: readers may hope for more from this plucky protagonist in a possible sequel. --Julia Kastner, blogger at pagesofjulia

The dozen meticulously crafted short stories in National Book Award finalist Karen E. Bender's The Words of Dr. L and Other Stories speculate about the near future, reflect on the recent past, and imagine an alternative present.

Bender (Refund) dives deeply into family dynamics and extends her exploration outward to the community. Readers may be tempted to connect the title story with the present-day challenges of ending a pregnancy, except for the narrator's mission to connect with Dr. L and learn the top-secret words--rather than a medical solution--that will keep her child-free. Bender balances this futuristic element with the protagonist's memories of her relationship with her own mother, and with the woman who was once her best friend, now preoccupied with motherhood. "The Hypnotist" mines the dynamics of a father-daughter relationship, and how an aging father makes use of pandemic boundaries to conceal from his daughter his own fragility.

Despite a premonition of disaster in many of Bender's riveting selections, an atmosphere of gentleness envelops her characters. They yearn for connection. In "The Shame Exchange," the government issues a mandate in which citizens "who held too much shame" would hand off their shame to "a government official who had none." The citizens could then acknowledge that these officials, now burdened with shame, "needed to be treated with a bit of tenderness."

In Bender's investigation of isolation and community, parents and children, friends and seeming enemies, these 12 stories allow readers a wide lens through which to both contemplate world events and what may lay ahead--and to consider the vital role of compassion when weighing one's choices. --Jennifer M. Brown

Sarah Yahm's debut novel, Unfinished Acts of Wild Creation, is a pulse of energy, a current of light, a harmonic hum expressed through the unforgettable story of the Rosenbergs: Leon, Louise, and their daughter, Lydia. With impeccable pacing, Yahm passes the narrative of their lives across the decades--from the 1970s Shabbat dinner where Leon meets Louise mere hours after her mother's funeral and forward into the uncertainty of life after unspeakable loss. Winner of the Dzanc Books Prize for Fiction, Unfinished Acts of Wild Creation is full of beauty and intelligence, showcasing Yahm's confident prose and wry humor.

Louise is a free spirit and a classical musician. She carries in her body the prolonged death of her mother, whom she actively disliked despite her undeniable influence. Leon, a therapist, does his best to care for Lydia. Years later, when she learns she also carries her mother's neurological disorder, she's desperate to save Lydia and Leon from the torture of her slow decline, and leaves their home, installing herself in a kibbutz thousands of miles away.

Art, music, and profound acts of sacrificial care provide a compelling rhythm to the novel. Maybe "her mother was right," Lydia muses as she hums in a cave and finds that "the distinction between her voice and her mother's disappeared, like the two of them were one body made only of sound." Or maybe the magic is found in the ordinary bonds of a family, carried through impossible situations by the improbable strength of their love. --Sara Beth West, freelance reviewer and librarian

Booker Prize-winner Graham Swift (Mothering Sunday) makes history personal in the stunning Twelve Post-War Tales, a collection of stories about the consequences of pivotal memories. Epiphany and nostalgia permeate the slices of life that delineate characters in crisis enduring loss, grief, and emotional regeneration. Every story (a half dozen previously published) is a keeper, but several stand out. In the Kafka-like opener, "The Next Best Thing," a German bureaucrat in 1959 officiously dismisses a 19-year-old Jewish private in the British Army seeking information about missing relatives, recalling how they've all been lucky ones. A widowed 72-year-old retired respiratory specialist driving "between heaven and hell" while volunteering during the Covid-19 pandemic in "Blushes" has a "gush of memory" of having had scarlet fever on his 10th birthday. In "Chocolate," one of four geriatric friends sheltering from the "cold dank darkness" in a Kilburn pub reminisces about a flirtatious encounter in the 1970s with a woman who worked in a chocolate factory in York.

In "Beauty," the perplexing anguish of a double grief pursues a 68-year-old grandfather visiting a college dorm room where his 18-year-old granddaughter, who had an "unmissable" resemblance to his late wife, overdosed. The closing story, "Passport," is the most startling and revelatory. A once-orphaned octogenarian seeks the document "clutching the proof of her identity" and reconstructs her past. Twelve Post-War Tales underscores Graham Swift's supple prose, crisp dialogue, and brisk narration, challenging readers to investigate their own primary lifemarks. --Robert Allen Papinchak, freelance book critic

Tennessee Hill's first novel, Girls with Long Shadows, is a dreamy, atmospheric tale of sisterhood and coming-of-age in the fictional town of Longshadow, on the Texas Gulf Coast. Nineteen-year-old triplets Baby A, Baby B, and Baby C were orphaned when their mother died in childbirth; their father's identity remains a mystery. But they have always known family in the form of their loving but distant Gram ("Manatee" to the townsfolk, for her swimming prowess) and their adopted, nearly deaf younger brother, Gull. The whole town looks askance at the girls, spookily identical and associated with their mother's early death. The family's golf course, Bayou Bloom, provides respite, and the bayou itself offers a connection to nature, with its fecundity and floods. Then one fateful summer, an act of violence, combining desire and objectification, ruptures the triplets, the family, and the town.

A tautly plotted Southern gothic, Girls with Long Shadows takes a distinctive perspective in Baby B's elegiac narration. Baby B speaks as "we" as often as "I." Only a few people other than themselves can tell the girls apart; even the boys they date may not make the effort. And intermittently the perspective shifts to a "Front Porch Chorus," in which the town speaks collectively, observing the girls from without: "They're a blur we never bothered to untangle." This lack of distinction is both a wound for the triplets and an indelible part of their identity.

Encompassing a single summer in the dripping, humid South, Hill's haunting debut deals in lyricism and tragedy as it considers the harm done to young women by the outside gaze. --Julia Kastner, blogger at pagesofjulia

Singapore-born author Jemimah Wei opens her resonant debut, The Original Daughter, at "the end," in May 2015 Singapore. Gen, short for Genevieve, is the titular daughter whose mother has received a fatal cancer diagnosis, and has just four to six weeks left to live. "Call your sister... I want to see you and Arin together one last time," Ma implores. Gen knows Arin, now an internationally in-demand actor, would "drop everything and reappear," but even after four years of silence, Gen is desperate to maintain separation. With meticulous detail, Wei unfurls the aching provenance of the family's irreparable fracture.

Eight-year-old Gen was living with her parents and grandmother, when "[Arin] was dropped into our lives, fully formed, at the age of seven," relinquished from their relatives after the recent demise of a "politically 'disappeared' " grandfather, long presumed dead. He had, in fact, been living in Malaysia for decades with a second, "secret family."

Despite the sisters' closeness--or perhaps because of it--what Gen deems Arin's betrayals begin as teens, including an award-winning school essay publicly exposing family shame, and mining Gen's trauma for the screen as young adults. Excising Arin might be Gen's only option to survive.

Although Gen's relentless, self-admitted "hubris" occasionally threatens to weigh down the narrative, Wei's glorious phrasing and revelatory observations provide buoying antidotes: "simply ripping away the gauze of courtesy"; "our desperate arms locked around each other, both snare and salvation." Pa's simple declaration, "Now we are five," proves to be prescient warning of inevitable upset. From there, Wei reveals a tragic, haunting exercise in the limitations of not-quite unconditional love. --Terry Hong

Four women discover the cracks in their all-female utopia in Eleven Percent, the sharply written debut from Maren Uthaug, translated from the Danish by Caroline Waight.

Everyone in the new society agrees that men, with their high levels of testosterone, cannot be allowed to roam free. The minimum number of men necessary for breeding are kept in "spas" for procreation and recreation. Yet all is not perfect. Medea and Silence fight for the survival of their pagan convent, where Medea works magic, raises snakes, and sometimes protests for better treatment of the men in the spas. Wicca, heir of an important family of priests in the remade matriarchal Christian church, did well in her "body" classes in school but now struggles with her ritualistic duties and is still haunted by a lover who left her years before. And Eva, who cares for the young males in a Center, is hiding a childhood secret that could destroy her position.

Uthaug's vision of a matriarchal society falling into the same traps as patriarchal ones is strikingly realized. Although conception is voluntary, maintaining the ideal ratio of males to females leads to its own impingements on reproductive freedom. As brutally as Uthaug depicts the struggles of the haves and have nots in her new world, she also includes moments of sly humor. The sexual slang in the more advanced levels of the body classes makes for some particularly witty inversions of the world as we know it. Fans of social science fiction will be well pleased. --Kristen Allen-Vogel, information services librarian at Dayton Metro Library

Jessie Rosen's breezy sophomore novel, All the Signs, follows a type-A Leo who goes on a mission to disprove her horoscope and unearths some unexpected insights about her life.

Dr. Leah Lockhart is poised to take over her father's medical practice when he retires. But right after an astrology reading at a friend's party says that she's living way out of alignment with her destiny, Leah's struck by a severe case of vertigo. Barred from work and determined to debunk the reading, she sets off on a winding journey to Venice, Istanbul, and Los Angeles--home of the mother who left her long ago. Leah meets fellow "Star Twins" who share her astrological map, and she gains a new perspective on her parents' stormy marriage and its implications for her past and present self. Coincidentally (or not?), her childhood best friend, now a handsome physical therapist, resurfaces just in time to help Leah heal her vertigo--and maybe her heart.

Rosen (The Heirloom) explores how astrology affects people's lives; though Leah is a diehard skeptic, she meets people whose own turning points have left them more open to its influence. Leah struggles to make sense of the sudden changes in her life, while she's also forced to confront her fears and desires, and what they mean for her future. Though her journey includes blissful moments of self-indulgence and freedom, Leah also asks herself tough questions about the kind of doctor, daughter, and woman she wants to be. All the Signs is a whirlwind escapist journey and a thoughtful meditation on identity and self-love. --Katie Noah Gibson, blogger at Cakes, Tea and Dreams

Even the irrepressible Vera Wong, making her second appearance in Jesse Q. Sutanto's humor-laden Vera Wong's Guide to Snooping (on a Dead Man), can fall for a phone scam. But this 61-year-old San Franciscan tea shop owner, who delights in calling herself an "intermediate murder investigator," refuses to be a victim, and reports the incident to Officer Selena Gray, her son Tilly's girlfriend. Outside the police station, Vera meets Millie, a young woman upset that her friend Thomas Smith has been missing for three days. Vera's snooping uncovers that Thomas's real name is Xander Lin. He's a social media influencer, part of a world Vera knows nothing about. Although Vera tracks down his girlfriend, talent manager, and grandfather, she finds that no one knows the real Xander.

Sutanto dispenses a fine layer of comedy while adding heavier themes such as ageism, loneliness, and the manipulation of the vulnerable. She also touches on the value of family and provides a look at Chinese culture. Vera feels empowered after having uncovered a murderer in her first outing, Vera Wong's Unsolicited Advice for Murderers, which leads her to take chances as she interrogates suspects. Vera's misleading appearance as a "helpless little old lady" disarms others; she brings food to each interview, for instance, but commands people to return her containers once they're finished. Vera goes a step further when she ventures into the social media world, overlaying videos of her cooking with narration about her ongoing Xander investigation, hoping to solicit aid from the public. Vera's good-natured rivalry with a fellow storekeeper and the found family she has cobbled together help her deal with isolation. A third outing with the energetic and sharp Vera would be most welcome. --Oline H. Cogdill, freelance reviewer

In Bailey Seybolt's strong, moody debut novel, Coram House, the husk of a shuttered Catholic orphanage notorious for its legacy of abuse looms on the shores of Lake Champlain. True-crime writer Alex Kelley hopes Coram House will offer her a career restart. She's been offered a contract to ghostwrite a book about the orphanage and its history of violence.

The contract isn't very lucrative; furthermore, she had to sign "a punishing nondisclosure agreement," her name won't be on the cover of the book, and she'll have to stay in Burlington, Vt., for six months as she works on the project. But Alex feels she has no choice, because she is at her lowest. Her last true-crime book had numerous problems, and she is mired in grief for her recently deceased husband. The crux of Alex's work hangs on what happened to children who may have been killed at Coram House 50 years ago. Alex studies VHS tapes filled with interviews with former Coram House residents and the nuns, which only add to the mystery. Some remember brutal discipline but insist that no child died. Nevertheless, as Alex digs through old files and conflicting memories, new murders occur that might be connected to Coram House.

Seybolt maintains high suspense, making even searches through faded papers exciting. Scenes in which Alex learns how the children were disciplined are chilling. Although the Coram House property is being developed into luxury condos, the evil lingers. Seybolt convincingly shows Alex's growth in regaining her confidence as she works to uncover the truth. --Oline H. Cogdill, freelance reviewer

In the Philippines, the outdoor "dirty kitchen" is where the heavy-duty cooking takes place, as opposed to the indoor show kitchen where the privileged keep Western-style appliances meant to impress guests. Dirty Kitchen is a perfect title for Jill Damatac's debut memoir, given the themes of deception and inequality that followed her traumatic path from the Philippines to 22 undocumented years in the U.S.

In 1992, Damatac, then nine, flew from Manila to Newark, N.J., with her mother and sister to join her father. Whereas in the Philippines they'd lived in a "big marble house" he designed, in the U.S. they shared one cramped room in a relative's home. A crooked lawyer took thousands of dollars from them but never produced the promised visas. That lack of paperwork limited the family's opportunities and access. Damatac became a scapegoat for her father's anger over his frustrated ambitions. He beat her daily and demanded her earnings from part-time work.

Damatac is understandably angry about the lie of the American Dream, and she decries American imperialism in the Philippines, deftly incorporating the history of this multiply colonized country. Food becomes her primary way of reconnecting with her Indigenous culture. Filipino legends and recipes arise throughout the memoir, with each chapter named after a different dish she cooks. Pinikpikan (chicken stew) was traditionally made to appease the gods; Spamsilog (fried rice with canned pork) reflects American GIs' influence.

Though harrowing at times, this memoir is recommended to readers of Elaine Castillo, Stephanie Foo, Qian Julie Wang, and Tara Westover. It showcases the survival of the spirit and the sustaining power of heritage. --Rebecca Foster, freelance reviewer, proofreader and blogger at Bookish Beck

One man's quest for truth after a genocidal regime killed his family is the haunting focus of The Elimination by acclaimed documentarian Rithy Panh and translated from the French by John Cullen.Panh was just a teenager when the Khmer Rouge stormed into Phnom Penh, the capital of Cambodia, in April 1975. Originally published in 2014, this edition includes a new introduction where Panh relates how his country experienced "a radical transformation and a radical suffering" for four horrific years that saw the deaths of an entire class of humanity in the killing fields of Cambodia.

In his graphic account of the evil perpetrated against the "new people" (i.e., the educated middle class), Panh decodes and deconstructs the ingenuous ways the Khmer regime rationalized mass murder, best embodied by the man known as "Comrade Duch," the dissembling commandant of Security Prison 21, or S-21. The narrative moves seamlessly from Panh's severe experiences of survival to his interview decades later with Duch for a documentary, Duch, Master of the Forges of Hell. The snippets of the q&a between Duch and Panh juxtapose the incongruity of the Khmer Rouge's pursuit of "pure ideas" against the utter depravity and moral filth it spawned.

In his interviews, Duch is a mild-mannered, educated cipher who talks, laughs, and lies. In his repeated denials of torture and murder, "Duch wants to believe that redemption can be bought with words," Panh notes. As this harrowing autobiography reveals, it cannot. Citing works by other genocide survivors throughout, Panh bequeaths the world an intimate yet universal rumination on the nature of humanity and evil not soon forgotten. -- Peggy Kurkowski, book reviewer and copywriter in Denver

In her fourth book of nonfiction, Lessons from My Teachers, playwright and poet Sarah Ruhl (Smile) celebrates the wisdom she's gained from traditional and unlikely sources. In brief, luminous essays, Ruhl shares not only what she has learned from her teachers and mentors, but how they taught: by example, presence, and "the nimble strength of connection."

Ruhl begins with her mother and her early teachers, sharing kindergarten insights such as "snacks are good" and "story time is sacred." She highlights lessons from classroom instructors, friends, students, animals, and even her childhood bookstore. She also writes about her father's death when she was in college, and finding her way to mentors whose teachings continue to ring through her life. The lessons themselves are often specific to Ruhl's experience but carry universal themes: about kindness, curiosity, grief, asking big questions, listening deeply, and believing in oneself.

Although each essay contains a kernel of joy or insight, the collection's heart lies in Ruhl's evocation of her grandmother's secret to life: "to be always and forever interested, deeply interested in other people and the world." Like her grandmother, Ruhl harbors an ardent curiosity about humans and the world they inhabit. Lessons from My Teachers is a tender, thoughtful, humorous slice of the wisdom gained from years of teaching and being taught. Readers will appreciate Ruhl's generous sharing of her own epiphanies and be moved to reflect on what they've learned--and from whom. --Katie Noah Gibson, blogger at Cakes, Tea and Dreams

Amid the real-estate development battle between advocates of "hyper-dense" urban living with ever-taller towers at the center, and those who instead push for a return to human-scale city life, Wonder City is a call to action in which Lynn Ellsworth deftly argues in favor of the latter. This rigorously researched but approachable volume navigates architectural philosophy, legal precedent, and historical building patterns. Urban activist and economist Ellsworth's organized approach aims to bring more people to this conversation--not just those who might already be involved on various sides of the fight--and she makes the stakes of losing the "wonder city" clear not only for New York City but for urban development everywhere.

Ellsworth disentangles talking points from the reality of their ineffectiveness when put into practice, placing facts in the face of what many Americans are feeling: that affordability and quality of life worsen in urban centers as more towers go up, and public space, access to sunlight, and amenities dwindle with increases in private development. Ellsworth proposes a commitment to reinvesting in the "public realm" and to fortifying the ideal of the lost "commons"--areas and points of public use, utility, and rights that the assault of modernist architecture has been chipping away at for decades. Her thorough fact- and history-based approach, which is rooted in the lived contexts of cities and underscored by her personal experience as someone who knows what is being lost as the human-scale New York City disappears, presents a compelling argument for readers interested in the future of urban development, as well as anyone who has ever been enchanted by the Big Apple. --Michelle Anya Anjirbag, freelance reviewer

Written amid one of the world's worst pandemics in a century and published in the wake of catastrophic California wildfires, journalist Lizzie Wade's Apocalypse widens the lens to describe vividly how multiple societies have experienced massive upheavals and have emerged altered in sometimes unexpected ways. Combining extensive research and reporting with some speculative digressions, Wade travels from prehistoric Europe to the contemporary West for stories of extreme hardship and humankind's response.

Wade, a correspondent for Science, defines "apocalypse" as a "rapid, collective loss that fundamentally changes a society's way of life and sense of identity." It can be triggered by climate change, disease, and foreign invasion. In her view, "apocalypses are not endings. They are transformations." Among other epochal changes that Wade describes are those affecting a region known as Doggerland, once occupied by tribes of hunter-gatherers and now submerged below the North Sea; and the scourge of the Black Death that wiped out 30%-60% of the population of Europe and simultaneously laid the foundation for the Renaissance. She devotes considerable attention to the fall of the Aztec civilization and to the evidence of its existence that survives beneath the streets of modern Mexico City. It's only one of the admiring descriptions she offers of the work of contemporary archeologists, who are among the heroes of her story.

One comes away from Apocalypse with mingled feelings of empathy for all the suffering--self-inflicted and imposed from outside--that humanity has endured over the millennia and of admiration for the resilience we have shown in the face of it. Lizzie Wade has done an impressive job recounting some of these stories. ---Harvey Freedenberg, freelance reviewer

"If wanting more awe is a kind of greed, I was greedy," writes Tamara Dean in her luminous essay collection, Shelter and Storm. Struggling with the realities of climate crises, Dean and her partner spent 15 years trying to live a sustainable life in a rural area of Wisconsin known as the Driftless: an unglaciated landscape marked by steep bluffs, old-growth forests, and, increasingly, natural disasters. They planted a garden, built a house of clay bricks, and worked to re-create a prairie habitat on their land. But Dean also searched for wonder and the species that inspire it: monarch butterflies, coneflowers, freshwater mussels, "slow blue" fireflies. Her essays chronicle her efforts to live in concert with the land and make it more hospitable to flora and fauna in danger of disappearing.

Dean's narrative is no naïve rural idyll: she writes honestly about floods, fires, tornadoes, and the debilitating effects of Lyme disease. "Nature has an agenda of its own," she admits, "and a certain degree of wariness is wise." Dean explores the complications of living amid natural phenomena that are indifferent or downright harmful to humans. She also writes about the challenges faced by her neighbors in the Driftless, many of them farmers with deep roots in the region who must deal with rising temperatures, extreme weather events, and unstable geopolitical forces. Shelter and Storm is a thoughtful portrait of an area whose beauty is often hidden, and a call to consider the implications of one's personal choices for the planet's future. --Katie Noah Gibson, blogger at Cakes, Tea and Dreams

Artfully merging the author's formidable storytelling gifts with research findings, The Family Dynamic: A Journey into the Mystery of Sibling Success by Susan Dominus examines the rare domestic alchemy that motivates siblings from the same household to reach great heights. An enduring fascination with the "rites and rhythms" of high-achieving families fuels Dominus's debut, offering readers an opportunity to hear directly from, among others, Ellis Marsalis Jr., father of acclaimed musicians Wynton, Branford, and Jason, and elite athlete Sarah True, sister of award-winning novelist Lauren Groff.

Dominus is a writer for the New York Times and mother to twin teenage boys. Her goal here is to introduce parenting themes gleaned from the notable families she interviewed. Parental inspiration matters but, as Dominus finds, siblings are often the ones who guide the direction of family achievement, as demonstrated through delightful forays into the lives of the phenomenally accomplished Brontë sisters.

Mary Murguía, chief judge of the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit, is one of several extraordinarily successful siblings. Her parents demonstrated a solid work ethic but it was the children who pushed one another to succeed, motivated by a desire to "[burnish] the Murguía name." Dominus also refers to Harvard economist Raj Chetty's research on the power of a neighborhood to shape a child's future.

Are family expectations "a blessing and a gift or a burden that came with a steady low-grade pressure?" According to a 2014 study, if the expectations are framed in "the right way," they can improve a child's performance. Unearthing what constitutes this elusive right way is at the heart of Dominus's excellent book. --Shahina Piyarali

In Nikki Van De Car's dazzling blend of myth and magic, The Invisible Wild, a Hawaiian teen who can see menehune endeavors to stop construction that endangers the forest spirits' sacred home.

Part-Hawaiian Emma Arruda, 16, and her family are busy preparing their Big Island home for her sister's wedding. Their chores, however, seem to be undone overnight. Emma, who has grown to believe that she imagined speaking to spirits as a child, is the one to catch the culprit: a strong, three-foot-tall man--a menehune. The being of legend leads her to a plot of 25 "miraculously pristine," "gorgeous acres" recently purchased by a developer. A bulldozer has already leveled many of its 'ōhi'a trees and hāpu'u (giant ferns). The menehune's community lives under all the destruction: "We have a sacred duty here," Koa, the menehune, explains. "We protect this forest, and we cannot leave it." Staying, however, will mean their deaths. Emma, unable to stop the construction, attempts to convince the menehune community to abandon a duty (kuleana) she doesn't understand.

Emma's forthright first-person narrative exudes a love for her Big Island home; her inextinguishable desire to help the menehune is part of her deep celebration of her Hawaiian identity, as well as her fear that a tradition and way of life is being erased. Van De Car's wondrous and magical YA debut cherishes Hawai'i's every day, developing a stunning atmosphere through creation chants, a pālila's "bubbly warble," mist "like the breath of an unseen dragon," and heaps of haupia (a coconut dessert). The Invisible Wild is altogether enthralling, hopeful, and great fun. --Samantha Zaboski, freelance editor and reviewer

Frank's Red Hat is a hilarious tale of creativity--first scorned, then redeemed--as one inventive penguin tries to get his fellow seabirds to appreciate the finer qualities of his functional, fashionable way to keep warm.

Frank is known within the penguin community for "doing things differently" and being "full of ideas." Unfortunately, most of his ideas are not great. The penguins are understandably nervous when, one day, Frank wears a red hat. Not only had the seabirds never seen a hat before but they had never seen anything red. When Neville dons the hat, a killer whale leaps out of the ocean and eats the penguin. The other penguins don't believe Frank's assurances that the hat had nothing to do with Neville's tragic death. Frank tries to get the penguins to appreciate his creation by making several differently colored hats, but the wary seabirds don't trust him. So, Frank tries to make one final, perfect hat: "The evil hat will end us all!" the terrified penguins yell. Frank is crushed until... a non-penguin someone asks for his masterpiece!

Sean E Avery (Happy as a Hog Out of Mud) uses jaunty text that is active, direct, and suitably sly. His characters feature large, round eyes with expressive eyebrow lines, and his world is rendered almost entirely in black, white, and grays, which allows the colorful hats to stand out. The clever, digitally collaged illustrations add plenty of humor and depth to the story, and readers are advised to pay attention: sight gags amplify the fun and loose ends are often tied up in the art. Frank's Red Hat should serve as both a boisterous read-aloud and an excellent choice to linger with after story time. --Lynn Becker, reviewer, blogger, and children's book author

Two-time Newbery Medal winner Erin Entrada Kelly (Hello, Universe; The First State of Being) turns her immense talents to nonfiction in an inspiring middle-grade biography about Filipino hero Josefina "Joey" Guerrero. The spy and guerilla fighter overcame tremendous odds while supporting the Allied troops in the Philippines, and went on to win the U.S. Presidential Medal of Freedom, but died in obscurity. At Last She Stood tells Guerrero's story with compassion and respect, and enables the young audience to appreciate the incredible depth of her courage and resilience.

Kelly's approachable account introduces Joey and swiftly builds momentum and intrigue with her spy activity during World War II. Joey is diagnosed with leprosy around the same time the Japanese occupy the Philippines, so she decides to spend what is left of her life in the guerilla movement supporting the Allies. The formidable young woman faces mortal dangers as she delivers important messages that help the American and Filipino forces fight the Japanese--her condition means she is ignored and shunned, allowing her to bypass Japanese soldiers. Once the war ends, Joey receives permission to move to the United States, where she can be treated for her leprosy.

Kelly's exemplary research offers fascinating knowledge about Guerrero as well as the Philippines, the history and horrors of leprosy, and World War II. At Last She Stood gives a remarkable woman the respect and recognition she deserves. Photographs, maps, sidebars, an author's note, and other supplemental materials enhance this already gripping biography. Kelly's nonfiction debut shows her incredible versatility--here's hoping it's only the first. --Jen Forbus, freelancer

Michelle Jabès Corpora (Holly Horror) celebrates Egypt, the country of her parents' birth, in the epic, strikingly picturesque His Face Is the Sun.

King of High Khetara Amunmose's 17-year-old triplets, Meryamun, Sitamun, and Bakenamun, live in the palace at Thonis. As her father wastes away from a mysterious illness, Sita, a princess born between two princes, begins to recognize the brutality and deceit inherent in palace life.

Among the commoners, Neff is haunted by a nightmare of a wounded lamb: "beware, for soon the Great River of Khetara will turn to blood." When the patron goddess of Neff's home parades through town on the way to her festival, Neff is singled out; the 13-year-old cries tears of blood and is told she will "be prepared for the priesthood." Meanwhile, 19-year-old Rae, a farmer's daughter in Low Khetara, is disgusted by how Amunmose's regime increasingly takes from her poor neighbors; she turns to revolution when Amunmose's nomarch demands an impossible task. And Karim, a 19-year-old tomb-robber from the western Red Lands, stumbles upon a terrible power. His flight from the menace places him on Neff's prophetic path, along with Sita and Rae, and all must "beware of what is unseen."

Corpora integrates several historical texts into this grand first novel in a trilogy, including the Oracle of the Lamb, an actual ancient prophecy that plays a central role in her majestic fantasy. The author develops beguiling characters, cinematically describes landscapes, and builds a sense of realism within the fantastical; His Face Is the Sun is an excellent choice for fans of Tomi Adeyemi and Sabaa Tahir. --Siân Gaetano, children's and YA editor, Shelf Awareness