Jane Gardam's Old Filth introduced readers to the formidable barrister Sir Edward Feathers, along with his wife, Betty, and his archrival Terry Veneering. The Man in the Wooden Hat revealed Betty's internal life to be far more complicated than her placid facade in the earlier novel indicated, and now this enigmatic trio's relationships reach a complex coda in Last Friends--a novel that is slimmer than its predecessors and also more dependent on a prior knowledge of those books. Gardam explores in all three books the ways in which stereotypical English respectability can function as a smokescreen of deception.

The story begins with Veneering's funeral, with Feathers's following shortly, but even after death, the lives of these three characters remain a mystery to those around them. In Veneering's case, only the dour and eccentric Fiscal-Smith knows the truth--he knew Veneering as Venetski, the child of a Russian immigrant rumored to be a spy.

Last Friends is about the limits of intimacy, with Gardam subtly insisting that everyone is alone even when they are together. Consequently, no one knows the whole truth about anyone, least of all those closest to them. Gardam's dialogue is disjointed in a way that is keenly realistic--often, her characters hear only themselves. Yet hope still remains for some bridging of the distance, even between deadly rivals--and very old friends in the last phase of life. --Ilana Teitelbaum, book reviewer at the Huffington Post

Jennifer Close's debut, Girls in White Dresses, was a bestseller with a devoted following. The Smart One is every bit as good; Close has a fluent, conversational style and writes pitch-perfect dialogue, no matter the gender or age of her character.

The Coffey family--Will and Weezy and their children, Martha, Claire and Max--all love each other, but they are a family, after all, so it gets tricky at times. When the story opens, Claire, almost 30, is breaking her engagement to Doug, or he's breaking up with her--it doesn't really matter. Claire is living way beyond her means, on the verge of eviction, her credit cards maxed out. She decides to move home and pay her bills.

At 31, Martha is a needy worrywart, socially inept, in love with crisis and disaster. After her nursing career flames out, she goes to work at J. Crew and glories in the perfectly folded sweaters and khakis--until she can't look at them for another minute. She is back at home, living in her old bedroom and taking temporary caregiving jobs, promising herself that she will become re-certified as a nurse. To round out the cast, Max, a senior in college, suddenly learns his girlfriend, Cleo, is pregnant; upon their graduation, they move in, too. It's high school all over again: slammed doors, fights over the bathroom and sniping.

Claire is the smart one who sees everything clearly even though it takes her some time to sort herself out. Martha takes smaller steps than Claire, while Max and Cleo and baby Nina Grace stay with Will and Weezy. Still, great changes take place--even some growing up--in Jennifer Close's great portrayal of family life. --Valerie Ryan, Cannon Beach Book Company, Ore.

A hot, sweltering Florida summer is the setting for Heart of Palm, a debut novel by Laura Lee Smith. The story centers on three months in the lives of the Bravo family of Utina, a sleepy little town near St. Augustine, where Palm Sunday palms and moonshine once offered a prosperous economic existence--but that was years ago. Times have changed for the town and for the Bravos, whose long-held properties on the Intracoastal Waterway are of great interest to enthusiastic developers. What will it take for the Bravos to sell?

The prospect dredges up repressed emotions for the family's matriarch, Arla, and her adult children: Carson, a philandering investment manager with secrets; Frank, the dutiful son and proprietor of Uncle Henry's, the family's waterfront restaurant; and Sofia, an emotionally wounded woman with hair as red as her mother's used to be and a fiery temper to match. But it is their father, Dean, whose absence casts a long shadow over the family's past, as old wounds, secrets, heartbreaks and missed opportunities have woven themselves into the fabric of the present--and maybe the future, too.

Well-developed characters confronted by an undercurrent of change propel this unhurried family saga. Smith is a careful, detailed writer who assembles big, bold, well-drawn scenes--moments from the everyday lives of the Bravos that resonate with deeper insights into how personal regrets and longings shape the fates of all involved. --Kathleen Gerard, blogger at Reading Between the Lines

In The Flamethrowers, a novel dense with stories and storytellers, Rachel Kushner (her debut was the National Book Award-nominated Telex from Cuba) visits 1977 as it plays out in New York City's downtown art scene and Italy's violent workers' rebellions. At the nexus of these disparate worlds are the young narrator, Reno and her lover Sandro Valera, an artist and estranged heir to the wealthy founding family of an Italian tire and motorcycle manufacturer.

Hoping to become a filmmaker, Reno moves to New York and stumbles into a job as a "skin tone model," her anonymous face clipped into films for editors to set their color spectrum--an apt metaphor for Kushner's view of the artist's role. She drifts among artists, Mulberry Street mafia and disillusioned '60s radicals. Her waifish innocence attracts Sandro, with his paternal attention, money and connected friends.

Reno's youthful fantasy ends when she visits Italy and the Red Brigade calls a violent strike at the factory. Confronted with the Valeras' petty profligacy and Sandro's philandering, she runs off to Rome with the family's politically radical chauffeur. When Reno returns to New York, she gets caught in the 1977 blackout, when the city erupts in looting and violence.

In this pivotal year of global discontent, Kushner sees the seeds of the future; in Reno, she has created the memorable voice of an unfocused young woman who creates art from the pieces of her own life. As Reno reflects, "It was half art and half life, and from there, I felt something would emerge." In Kushner's case, what has emerged is a remarkable novel, rich in detail and broad in scope. --Bruce Jacobs, founding partner, Watermark Books & Cafe, Wichita, Kan.

The social network of Fiona Maazel's l Woke Up Lonely isn't a virtual thumbs up/thumbs down world of "friends," "followers" and "shares." Instead, it's a tangible contemporary organization of regional "packs" where the isolated gather to hear inspirational talks, meet forlorn fellows and get practical pointers on overcoming loneliness.

The Helix is a social organization led by the charismatic Thurlow Dan, himself a victim of solitude after his wife and daughter left him. Counseling failed him: "A shrink at SUNY told me I should believe in myself. And I did. I believed I was stupid and evil and without hope." So he haphazardly built a cult-like empire by seeking out companionship and building relationships a few people at a time, a fictional composite of organizations as diverse as AA, Scientology, Promise Keepers and even the Sweet Potato Queens. When Kim Jong-Il makes a North Korean financial contribution to Helix to help win him "friends" in the West, the already suspicious feds go DEFCON and set up a high-priority covert infiltration operation to unseat Dan and break up the Helix.

It's not just Maazel's off-the-wall plot that makes this novel special; there's also her on-the-money descriptions of the Helix members, its leadership sycophants and the reluctant federal undercover agents assigned to monitor them. Maazel's imaginative sense of the absurd is well-balanced by her sensitivity to the real isolation that characterizes so many in 21st-century America. Social media's got nothing on an ambitious novel like this. --Bruce Jacobs, founding partner, Watermark Books & Cafe, Wichita, Kan.

Walter Mosley, best known for his Easy Rawlins mysteries (Devil with a Blue Dress et al.) has described the theme of his Crosstown to Oblivion series as "a black man destroys the world." Following the first two volumes, Merge/Disciple and The Gift of Fire/On the Head of a Pin, in 2012, Mosley's third and final pair of short novels, Stepping Stone/Love Machine, makes the theme literal.

The two stories are printed "back to back"; choose either story and, once you've finished reading it, flip the book over and start again. Love Machine tells the story of Lois Kim and her involvement with Dr. Marchant Lewis, a heaving bulk of a man who has created a way to share consciousness with other creatures, both human and animal. What follows is a roller-coaster ride of speculative fiction, ending in a final battle with another life form. Stepping Stone takes an archetypal Mosley loser with no prospects, mailroom manager Truman Pope, and makes him the key to humanity's future--a transformative process that will reveal the ultimate direction of Pope's moral compass.

Mosley tells deep, smart allegorical tales with an equal mix of poetry and social commentary, encouraging more than a single close read. His characters breathe with life, and the alien in the stories is most frequently our own deep, hidden desires and fears. The monsters, meanwhile, are the ones who think they run the show. --Rob LeFebvre, freelance writer & editor

G.J. Meyer's The Borgias is a fascinating look into the lives of the notorious Italian Renaissance family and its reputation for womanizing, murder and corruption. Meyer (The Tudors: The Complete Story of England's Most Notorious Dynasty) turns centuries of accepted wisdom about the Borgias on its head, probing deep into contemporary documents and neglected histories to reveal some surprising truths.

The story begins with Alonso de Borja, a rather unassuming Spanish cardinal who moved to Italy, and started going by the Italian version of his name: Borgia. In 1455, a series of political maneuverings between the other cardinals in conclave to select the next Roman Catholic pope--most of whom were Italian and had grudges against each others' families--meant that the quiet outsider won the vote. After his election, relatives of Pope Calixtus III flocked to Italy hoping to capitalize upon his new status. Over the next 60 years, the Borgias would achieve great wealth, a second papacy and a notoriety that would expand over the centuries.

Meyer delves deeply into Italian politics and the history of the papacy, and he clearly demonstrates why the clever, ambitious and sometimes ruthless Borgias--especially the best known, Rodrigo, Cesare and Lucrezia--were the perfect family on which to cast aspersions, and who gained by making up outlandish stories about these non-Italian outsiders and their crimes. The Borgias: The Hidden History is a gripping history of a tempestuous time and an infamous family. --Jessica Howard, blogger at Quirky Bookworm

In addition to the 60,000 American casualties, both dead and wounded, of the first 11 years of war in Iraq and Afghanistan, there have been hundreds of thousands of cases of post-traumatic stress disorder and traumatic brain injury. No one knows how many more may be undiagnosed victims of these latter disabilities, but clearly the work of treating our veterans is an enormous undertaking that will last for many decades. One small but successful approach is exemplified in the work of Christine Dumaine Leche, a creative writing professor who left her husband and family for the war zone in Afghanistan, where she teaches active military personnel to overcome the stress of war by writing about it.

In Outside the Wire, Leche collects the stories of 32 soldiers whose first-hand accounts not only describe their personal experiences and frequent ambivalence but also illustrate the therapeutic powers of storytelling. We see a soldier's life from enlistment ("The 'hood don't give a damn about you! There's no future for you out here! The Army can open a whole new world to you!") to combat ("War has its rules... if you pass a fallen enemy, it is illegal to turn around and shoot him, so be sure to shoot him twice before you step over him") to coming home ("I feel like I let everyone down. Life is not good for me right now. But maybe someday it will change").

This is powerful stuff. We can only hope the power of written self-reflection can somewhat mitigate the pain so many soldiers are suffering. --Bruce Jacobs, founding partner, Watermark Books & Cafe, Wichita, Kan.

The Lawyer Bubble is a cogent critique of the legal profession by Steven J. Harper, who for 25 years was a partner at the Chicago megafirm of Kirkland & Ellis, after which he became an adjunct professor at Northwestern University and its law school. The two types of institutions at which he's spent his professional career--a large law firm and a law school--are at the heart of what he believes are the profession's most serious ills.

In 2011, some 44,000 students graduated from American law schools. Nine months later, only about half had obtained full-time jobs requiring a law degree. Employed or not, many stagger under debt. Instead of responding to their plight, Harper argues, law schools pay focus on their annual U.S. News & World Report rankings, willing to resort to unethical tactics to move up the list.

Big law firms are engaged in similarly fierce competition for a place in the Am Law 100, the ranking of the nation's top 100 firms compiled by American Lawyer. These massive firms (the largest exceeding 4,000 lawyers worldwide) are driven by an obsession with short-term profits at the expense of traditional values of collegiality and mentoring young lawyers.

Harper offers some useful prescriptions--from curbing law school admissions to reducing reliance on the billable hour--which he believes may help restore the law to its former status as a learned profession. As someone who has spent 37 years in that profession, I can only observe that change, if it comes at all, will come slowly. --Harvey Freedenberg, attorney and freelance reviewer

A first glance at the cover of Nell Dickerson's photography collection Porch Dogs suggests another ho-hum House Beautiful‑style review of elegant Southern mansions. But look again: the proud spaniel is indeed claiming the top step of an expansive entryway, but those flowerpots could use some pruning--and are those strands of twinkle lights dangling from the post railings? Yes, this a real porch, and the rest of Dickerson's 100 canine portraits are just as down-home, kitschy, yet sometimes elegant, too.

Lamenting the demise of porch-sitting precipitated by the invention of air conditioning, Dickerson credits dogs with keeping the tradition alive, and separates her collection by favorite dog-sitting spots, including swing and bench dogs, shop dogs and yard dogs. Her spare sentences anthropomorphize her subjects, ascribing porch-sitting perspectives to each, and her photography is technically careful and evocative.

Dickerson's Gone: A Photographic Plea for Preservation established her passion for architectural preservation, and she obviously loves both structures and canines. She poses the pups perfectly, as in "Maggie and BB discuss what to do with the caged bird," where a terrier/cattle dog mix and lab/beagle relax on wicker rockers with an antique birdcage between them. With details including palmetto trees, big white columns and rusted barbecue drums, the settings all say "southern," none more so than the 1834 antebellum porch where poodle/Jack Russell/Maltese Stella receives callers, noting that "strangers are always so kind."

All a reader needs to fully enjoy this charming book is a pitcher of sweet tea, and maybe a folding fan. --Cheryl Krocker McKeon, bookseller, Book Passage, San Francisco

Lizi Boyd's wordless book chronicles one child's exploration of the four seasons, and presents views of nature's cycle from inside and outside the boy's home.

The action begins in wintertime. Through die-cut holes, which serve as windows, snowmen peek inside to where the boy hero prepares seeds for planting. With a turn of the page, the die-cut windows shift the focus from the interior to the outside, where the child builds snowfolk. Over the next few page turns, the colors of spring appear outside the windows. The boy spreads out books, pencils, paints and paper inside the house to document his findings. The artwork the child creates--indoors--reflects the growing season coming to life outdoors: the birds singing in the trees, rain falling, sprouts popping. Then turtle, fish, a pond and boats signal summer. His works of art reveal his own unusual interpretation of each season's joy. Finally, he rakes the leaves, then moves back inside to a puppet theater, as hints of winter bring readers full circle.

Boyd's book is a celebration of imagination and creativity throughout the year, providing ideas for play and creation at home (and beyond). Gouache painting on kraft paper gives the proceedings a natural, understated feel. A variety of characters appear throughout the book, providing a subtle seek-and-find for readers as they look for the child, the dog, the cat and the mice. Inside Outside is a book to return to again and again, with new discoveries to be made with each rereading. --Mollie Welsh Kruger, graduate faculty, Bank Street College of Education

Aaron Hartzler's memoir will captivate teens looking for a solid coming-of-age story grounded in strange truths about growing up in a religious family. 

Aaron's parents believe in heaven and hell, and that Jesus will one day return to transport believers to heaven. At six years old, Aaron isn't concerned about being left behind when the Rapture happens, because he's already accepted Jesus into his heart--just as his conservative parents expect of him. Aaron's youthful faith comes alive under his mother's tutelage and constant recitation of Bible verses, and his father keeps Aaron safe from temptation by forbidding distractions such as TV, movies and rock music. But when Aaron gets older and grows curious about the life he's not living due to a salvation he begins to doubt, he rebels against his parents' belief that right and wrong are absolute and that the Rapture is written in stone.

Aaron is not only afraid of disappointing his parents, but also of the omnipresent God who may or may not care about what his parents consider rebellion. ("Do I really believe if I walk into this theater, God is going in with me?") Hartzler's ear for teenage dialogue is spot-on, and his queries on faith are refreshing without being sacrilegious. The final revelations encompass the freedoms and uncertainties of taking a leap of faith, and they're sure to win Hartzler fans who will eagerly await a second book from him. --Adam Silvera, Paper Lantern Lit intern and former bookseller