In his first full-length novel, In the House upon the Dirt Between the Lake and the Woods, Matt Bell (Cataclysm Baby) shatters narrative convention to deliver an allegory with the compelling power of mythology.

Two newlyweds build a house on a faraway shore. Together, they create their home, which the wife furnishes with objects she sings into existence. For a time, all is full of promise as they fish in their lake, keep house and expect the birth of their first child, which the husband desires above all things.

However, when the baby comes early, stillborn and deformed, the husband does the unthinkable and swallows it. The fetus remains in his body, taking on a stilted life of its own and becoming the inner voice of the husband's doubts as pregnancy after pregnancy fails. With every miscarriage, the wife sings more stars out of the sky, until finally the sky is dark save for two moons, one natural, one sung into being by the wife, who intends to crash it into the earth if she loses another child.

With doom literally hanging over their heads, the couple undertakes one last gestation that spells disaster not only for their marriage but also for the balance of life in the woods, where a mysterious and powerful bear reigns supreme over all creatures. To restore equilibrium to the land and his love, the husband must journey deep into the earth where his wife now hides.

Mythic elements give the characters in Bell's allegory a trace of the godlike even as they battle with a very human dilemma: how to sustain an unwillingly childless marriage. With searing, epic symbolism, Bell's debut novel wrings beauty from pain. --Jaclyn Fulwood, youth services manager, Latah County Library District; blogger at Infinite Reads

In Andrew Sean Greer's contemplative, reflective fourth novel, The Impossible Lives of Greta Wells, narrator Greta, a woman in her 30s, tells us early on that she longs to live "in any time but this one"--1985. Her beloved gay brother, Felix, has died of AIDS, and Nathan, her boyfriend of 10 years, has left her for another woman. Distraught and depressed, she turns to electroconvulsive therapy treatments. And then, like Dorothy clicking her magic shoes, Greta intones, "I wish it not to have happened.... Any time but this one," and she's gone.

It's October 1918. Felix, still gay and deeply closeted, is alive; Greta's married to Nathan, but he's at war. This world is kinder, gentler--idyllic, even. She loves it here and thinks: "The impossible happens once to each of us." Yet, just as in The Confessions of Max Tivoli, in which Greer lets Max woo his love in three time periods, here, too, he gives Greta more than one chance at the impossible.

Waking up one day, she discovers that it's November 1941. She's married to Nathan and they have a son. Felix is alive, too. In each period, Greta is always at her home in New York City, aware of being from the future and accepting each of these worlds.

The traveling continues, back and forth, with Greta learning from each visit, trying to make the right choices and the right decisions each "time." Greer's use of time-traveling doesn't dwell on the scientific complexities; this lovely, enchanting novel's focus is on relationships, family, friends and the liabilities of love and loss. --Tom Lavoie, former publisher

Skip tracer Sarah Keller, the protagonist of Edgar-winner Meg Gardiner's The Shadow Tracer, has just nabbed an elusive target when she hears her five-year-old daughter, Zoe, is at the hospital after a school-bus accident. Zoe is deemed fine--until doctors make a shocking discovery, one that causes Sarah to take her daughter and run. She keeps running, both from a trio of killers who want Zoe for nefarious reasons and an FBI agent who wants to use the girl and Sarah as bait. Sarah gets help from a U.S. marshal and a nun, but she knows it's up to her to save her child.

Readers will go on the run with Sarah, too, because the story hits the ground at 60 mph and keeps revving from there. Sarah is a believable combination of everywoman and someone who uses her skip-tracing skills to keep Zoe and herself off the grid. There's a delicious hint of sexual tension between her and Marshal Lawless (yes, Lawless), whom she alternately needs and hates.

The action scenes are fun, especially one involving a baby in the back of a pickup truck; one can almost imagine Gardiner laughing with glee while writing it. The denouement in an airplane junkyard is highly suspenseful and cinematic, too. But none of this would matter if not for the characters, equally vivid whether they're bad or good or somewhere in between. Combined with the blistering pace, The Shadow Tracer is a thriller that fans should not skip. --Elyse Dinh-McCrilllis, freelance writer/editor, blogging at Pop Culture Nerd

Mash up high-tech science fiction with social commentary and what do you get? A novel like The Goliath Stone, the latest collaboration between Larry Niven and Matthew Joseph Harrington (who also contributed to Niven's Man-Kzin Wars XI).

In the year 2052, Dr. Toby Glyer is using illegal nanotechnology of his own to cure those who can afford to pay him. May Wyndham, heiress to the Wyndham aerospace corporation--and a darn good rocket scientist--approaches Glyer for his help in deploying a space vehicle to stop an asteroid hurtling towards the Earth.

Out of direct human control, the nanos in the spaceship evolve quickly, and the resulting artificial intelligence begins to interpret the initial instructions according to its own agenda, putting Earth back into peril. Meanwhile, Glyer also discovers that a former employee, science fiction writer and all-around genius William Connors, has used the same nanotechnology to remake all of humanity--eradicating illness and old age, making it impossible for women to become pregnant unless they reach orgasm and rewiring the human brain for optimal function. Is the looming asteroid or the complete change of life as we know it the more terrifying development?

This rollicking, near-future tale of intrigue, social commentary and high-tech space travel maintains a burning pace from start to finish. The Goliath Stone is a seamless read from a master of the genre and an exceedingly promising newcomer. --Rob LeFebvre, freelance writer and editor

It's easy to become frustrated about global inequity, but the heroes of David Oliver Relin's Second Suns waste no time on frustration. Geoff Tabin is an American doctor with superhuman energy and an addiction to scaling perilous peaks who spends his spare time treating the blind in the developing world. Sandhuk Ruit left his family in one of Nepal's poorest regions when he was still a young child to attend boarding school in Delhi. After studying medicine, he was offered lucrative jobs abroad. Yet he refuses to abandon his roots, volunteering his services for the many in Nepal who cannot afford medical care.

Both doctors work for the Himlayan Cataract Project, and both are the sort of individuals that leave us wondering what we are doing with our lives. What saves Second Suns from feeling overly righteous, though, is Relin's ability to humanize his subjects, flaws and all. Ruit feels, as many of us do, a deep commitment to his hometown; that his hometown happens to be lacking in basic services is simply something he must factor into his commitment. Tabin is inherently compelled to stretch his potential to its ultimate limits, be it on the face of an uncharted cliff or in finding those places where modern medicine is most lacking. These are men whose lives deserve the exquisite storytelling abilities of David Oliver Relin, the co-author of Three Cups of Tea. --Annie Atherton, intern at Shelf Awareness

Juxtaposed with Peter von Ziegasar's childhood memories of summers with his family at Long Island's Peacock Point, The Looking Glass Brother tells the gritty, dirty, drug-infused story of his schizophrenic stepbrother, known as Little Peter. A vagabond, Little Peter roams America, searching for something--but he's never quite sure what that something might be. A musical prodigy, he's unable to maintain a job and, after a horrific accident, his life turns ever downward. They were out of touch for years, von Ziegasar writes, and then "Little Peter's sudden reappearance in my life threw a monkey wrench into what had been for me a prolonged and unaccustomed state of equilibrium."

From outward appearances, the two brothers are complete opposites. Von Ziegasar is no stranger to illicit drugs, though, and he carefully films and videotapes his stepbrother's chaotic lifestyle of living on the streets and in homeless shelters, fueled by an odd sense of curiosity and freedom. When von Ziegasar becomes a father, memories of the difficult relationship he had with his own father resurface, adding a layer of despondency to this love/hate saga. Detailed descriptions of luxurious days at Peacock Point and the almost crazy way Big Peter strives to understand Little Peter and help him get into rehab, find work and build a life will leave readers wondering when they popped down the rabbit hole in this gratifying look at two brothers thrown together by circumstances beyond their control. --Lee E. Cart, freelance writer and book reviewer

In The Time Traveler's Guide to Elizabethan England, Ian Mortimer tells readers what they could expect to find if they visited that era: what they would eat, where they would live, how they would travel. Like modern travel guides, he discusses language, currency, units of measurement and polite behavior. If the physical details of everyday life were all that Mortimer considered, though, this would be no more than another "daily life in" account of Elizabethan England. The extraordinary aspect of the book is the way he uses those details to illuminate ideas central to the Elizabethan world view, from the intersection of science, religion and magic to a new sense of history and new ideas about England itself.

Mortimer's interpretation of Elizabethan England is richer and darker than the familiar "golden age" of poetry, drama, seafaring and expansion. Elizabeth's Anglican compromise was under attack from both Catholics and more radical Protestants. A growing population and poor harvests overburdened medieval structures for dealing with the poor. Violence was pervasive, from official acts of torture to alehouse knifings. Comparing Elizabeth's England not only to the present but also to its medieval roots (which he wrote about in a previous time traveler's guide), he presents the period as one of uncertainty, contradiction and change.

The past is indeed a different country; Ian Mortimer is a reliable guide. --Pamela Toler, blogging at History in the Margins

In the lively and thoughtful Stay, Illusion! The Hamlet Doctrine, the husband-and-wife team of philosopher Simon Critchley and psychoanalyst Jamieson Webster engage closely with the text of Shakespeare's play in brief, conversational chapters, unpacking its many layers and interpretations.

They argue that Hamlet's tragedy rests on his inability to bridge the gap between thought and action, starting with his failure to avenge his father's death, and show that this gap reappears throughout the play. Hamlet can do "nothing" despite his anguished plotting; he is paralyzed by the horror of life's wrongs. They examine very different interpretations of the play by such "outsiders" as James Joyce, Hegel, Freud and Melville, considering issues of historical context; whether it celebrates Christian redemption; the nature of tragedy; and the problem of nihilism. In a particularly intriguing analysis, they question whether Ophelia, equally battered by loss and madness but never losing her ability to love or desire or act, is more the play's hero.

Critchley and Jamieson's take always feels fresh, in part because they address a range of interpretations, many of which they are unafraid to challenge. On Freud and psychoanalytic criticism, they write, "It is not a matter of putting Hamlet on the couch... but rather to hear something in Hamlet that allows us to put psychoanalysis on the couch and to the test." Erudite, witty and probing, Stay! Illusion offers new insights into a literary touchstone while deepening our appreciation for its complexity and its enigmatic core. --Jeanette Zwart, freelance writer and reviewer

In Across the Pond, Terry Eagleton joins the list of British citizens who have offered trenchant observations on how the former colony is doing now that it's had a chance to grow up. This is a mostly generous and often humorous look at the foibles of the U.S., its pleasure heightened by Eagleton's pointed comparisons to his homeland and to Ireland, where he now lives.

The spirits that animate Eagleton's brief book are those of Alexis de Tocqueville, that "supreme observer of American mores," and Henry James, "who knew both civilisations from the inside and never ceased to compare them." Eagleton, who's taught at several American universities, draws on the writings of the diplomat and the expatriate novelist for a lightning fast survey of some of our most prominent cultural touchstones. He starts with the sometimes inexplicable language differences that divide the English spoken here from its British counterpart, puzzles over our nation's fraught relationship with money ("There is an enormous amount of generosity in the States, but not much of it extends to the financial sphere") and decries a political system in which he claims "the diversity of political options hardly rivals up to the variety of candy bars."

Whether it's Americans' persistence in the face of adversity or our willingness to innovate and experiment, Eagleton agrees we have much to celebrate. Though he's critical of the "constant moralising, sermonising and cheer-leading of American society," the tone of this lively study is mainly one of restrained admiration for "this kindly, violent, bigoted, generous-spirited nation." Yet each observation that will make an American reader square his shoulders with a pride is quickly followed by another that may cause a squirm of uneasy recognition. --Harvey Freedenberg, attorney and freelance reviewer

In Building Great Sentences, based on a popular lecture series of the same name, University of Iowa English professor Brooks Landon takes the position that complex "cumulative sentences" are generally more effective than their simpler counterparts--defining "effective" by the way those sentences give readers information. Landon anticipates the howls of protest from those who take Strunk and White's "Omit needless words" as their mantra, reminding the reader that Strunk qualified his own three-word sentence by stating he didn't mean all sentences should be short--only that every word should "tell."

Having established that "simple and direct" does not mean simplistic and short, Landon demonstrates how to build effective complex sentences, looking at questions of rhythm, suspense, surprise and balance. He devotes a chapter to "tweaks and tighten-ups" and considers what happens when long sentences go bad. While his own sentences are occasionally heavy, he uses examples from the masters--including Johnson, Dickens, Faulkner, Woolf and Hemingway, the patron saint of simple and direct--to illustrate the ways in which adding words can improve sentences. Each chapter ends with open-ended writing exercises designed to illustrate the ideas explored therein.

Even readers who remained unconvinced by Landon's central argument will come away from Building Great Sentences with a clearer understanding of how sentences work and an appreciation for the sentence as the building block of great prose. --Pamela Toler, blogging at History in the Margins

Fans of The Mysterious Benedict Society will flock to this fun-filled intellectual puzzle constructed by Mr. Lemoncello, a gamer who prized his local librarian.

Twelve years ago, the library in Alexandriaville, Ohio, was demolished to put up a parking ramp. A young Luigi L. Lemoncello had taken solace there as a boy, learning everything he could. Now an eccentric billionaire who made his fortune designing games of all kinds, he wants to give back to his hometown by creating a state-of-the-art library, complete with a Wonder Dome, holograms and a story corner with audio-animatronic goslings that recite Mother Goose.

Grabenstein (the John Ceepak Mystery series) begins with a premise similar to Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, except that instead of a Golden Ticket, a dozen 12-year-olds will gain access to Mr. Lemoncello's Library for a sleepover if they write a winning essay. The story unspools mostly through the eyes of kind Kyle Keeley, the third of three sons whose only chance to outdo them is in games. The author also shines a spotlight on the other 11 peers undergoing the test. At each stage, the children get a chance at games and prizes, and sometimes the rewards are for moral fiber rather than the "right" answer. The grand prize will go to the child who finds a way to escape the library. Well-read readers will appreciate the many favorite titles integrated throughout the narrative, but all readers will enjoy seeing what Mr. Lemoncello has cooked up next. --Jennifer M. Brown, children's editor, Shelf Awareness

Alex London is better known as C. Alexander London, author of the Accidental Adventures series for the middle grade crowd. But here he crashes onto the YA scene with a futuristic spin on Sid Fleischman's Newbery Medal–winning The Whipping Boy.

In an unfair society where civilization is far from free, 16-year-old orphan Sydney Carton (named after the character from A Tale of Two Cities) has amassed 18 years of debt, owed to the Xelon Corporation. Syd is a proxy to Knox, a rich patron he's never met; he was contracted as a child to accept all of Knox's punishments until he turns 18. When Knox crashes a stolen car, killing the passenger, Syd must pay the price for Knox's crimes: theft, trespassing, destruction of property and homicide. Eventually, Knox is confronted with the boy who was not only tortured for Knox's crime, but who also had his debt extended for another 16 years in a work colony. For once, Knox decides he owes Syd, and must save his life.

Writing in a third-person narrative from both characters' perspectives, London weaves in unexpected romance, high-tech gadgetry and provocative subthemes about imprisonment and bullying. This ambitious thriller hits an emotional chord when Knox experiences true guilt for the first time as it dawns on him that Syd is a fellow human being, undeserving of his beatings. A big twist and heroic ending will leave readers eager for more. --Adam Silvera, Paper Lantern Lit marketing assistant and former bookseller

Meghan McCarthy's (Seabiscuit: Wonder Horse) picture book biography describes an inspiring young woman for any era, but especially for the period in which she lived.

"While most girls played with their dolls," the author begins, "Betty Skelton played with her metal plane." It's the Depression, and "airplanes were still very new... and exciting." Young Betty and her family lived near a navy base where she could view the planes up close. "Betty yearned to know more. She wanted to touch the sky," writes McCarthy. By the time Betty turns 16, she is flying solo.

McCarthy sticks to the facts, yet crafts a lyrical narrative: "As Betty grew bigger, so did her dreams." Betty wants to make flying her vocation. But only men could be commercial pilots in the 1940s. So she became an aerobatic flier instead, and broke an altitude record (29,050 feet--higher than Mount Everest). From there she moved on to jet-powered cars (and broke the women's record with 315.74 mph) and boat jumping: "She'd conquered the sky, the land, and the water. What would be next?" Skelton became the first woman to train for the space program. Although she was not one of the Mercury 7, Betty proved that she had "the right stuff."

McCarthy's mix of full-page illustrations and comics-style vignettes keeps the tone light while also emphasizing the importance of Skelton's ground-breaking achievements. Meaty backmatter offers a sampling of Skelton's clever quotes, a time line and suggestions for further reading. --Jennifer M. Brown, children's editor, Shelf Awareness