Halfway through Vivek Shanbhag's novella Ghachar Ghochar, translated from Kannada by Srinath Perur, the unnamed narrator drops by the wood-paneled Bangalore coffee shop he visits "for respite from domestic skirmishes," and asks a waiter named Vincent what's new. Referring to a type of South Indian pancake, Vincent replies, "Holes in dosas in everyone's house, sir"--which is another way of saying, "Each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." That's an apt description for this darkly entertaining work, a Tolstoyan portrait of family conflict and shifting priorities in modern-day India.

At the heart of this work is the effect that sudden wealth has upon the narrator's family. The breadwinner used to be his father, a salesman for a company that sold tea leaves until the firm forced staff to accept early retirement. Now it's his chikkappa (uncle), whose wildly successful spice business has allowed the family to move from its small, four-room house to a much larger dwelling. But that doesn't solve the family's problems. Among the more vexing are the lavish wedding and troubled marriage of daughter Malati, "quick to anger and inconsiderate of others"; the narrator's own arranged marriage; and the appearance at the family home of a woman whom the narrator's chikkappa wants to avoid. Malati's mother-in-law disapprovingly states, "They say the newly rich carry umbrellas to keep moonlight at bay." Maybe so, but as this captivating work makes clear, it would have to be an awfully big umbrella to guarantee complete protection. --Michael Magras, freelance book reviewer

Katie Kitamura paints a nuanced picture of the dissolution of a marriage in her third novel, after New York Public Library Young Lions finalists The Longshot and Gone to the Forest. Married five years, the sensible narrator accepts that her philandering writer husband, Christopher, will not change and divorce is inevitable. She recognizes that "it was no small thing, dismantling the edifice of a marriage... some continuous and ongoing thing, rather than a decisive and singular act." Besides, she's also taken a lover. A full stop is imminent.

But Christopher has disappeared from London. His willful mother locates him at an off-season resort hotel in a southern seaside Greek village and bluntly instructs her daughter-in-law to bring him home. Off she goes, intent on confronting Christopher with divorce and getting on with her life. Upon arrival in Gerolimenas, however, she discovers a bleak scene: the hotel is nearly empty, the countryside is charred by fires set by feuding farmers, the sea is too cold for swimming, feral dogs prowl at the hotel gate, the Greek economic collapse has shuttered much of the village, and Christopher has disappeared again. He's left a young, lovelorn hotel receptionist and a suite full of scattered clothes and pages for an unfinished book. Through the narrator's sensibilities and observations, Kitamura adeptly fills in this portrait of a woman gradually understanding that her marriage and her husband aren't what they seemed--and neither is she. A Separation is a tightly wound novel of self-discovery and forbearance. --Bruce Jacobs, founding partner, Watermark Books & Cafe, Wichita, Kan.

A butterfly squirms in a web. Even if it escapes, remnants of the entanglement will hang on to cripple all efforts to survive. This early scene in Michael Farris Smith's Desperation Road is mere paragraphs, but the author skillfully casts an unrelenting web over his characters through nearly 300 bleak yet dazzling pages of life struggle.

Returning to McComb, Miss., after 11 years in prison, Russell Gaines is trying to assimilate, with the support of his father. Still, the web pulls on him in the guises of his former fiancée and a vengeful family whose lives he changed irrevocably. Russell isn't looking for redemption when his troubled path introduces him to Maben, a woman on the run. She seems to have been born in a web, and though she tries desperately to break free from constant abuse and create a life for her young daughter, brutality continues to threaten her.

Russell finds meaning in the idea that "the things he could put his hands on needed someone to put out those hands." But rough lives only get rougher, and the slightest breeze could push them further into disaster.

Smith (Rivers) is incredibly gifted; emotion and poetry soak his straightforward prose, its easy flow masking the precision behind every word. He imbues the everyday slog of difficult lives with reverence and grace, painting the faintest glimmer of hope in opportunities lost and prices paid for flying too close to the web. --Lauren O'Brien of Malcolm Avenue Review

Just when Kailey "KC" Crane is about to start a new chapter of her life, the successful journalist--in her 30s, working for a Seattle newspaper--is brought face to face with an old flame. The chance encounter happens one night after KC and her handsome, attentive fiancé, Ryan, a high-end property development manager, dine in an upscale French restaurant. As Ryan fetches the car after dinner, good-natured KC offers a painfully thin, homeless man her leftovers and discovers the man is Cade McAllister, a once-successful music business mogul and the long-lost love of KC's life.

What ensues is a richly drawn, emotional story rife with conflict. Cade has suffered a traumatic brain injury of unknown origin, which has compromised his memory. KC eagerly volunteers to help Cade, while trying to piece together what happened to him and why he disappeared from her life 10 years before. In her quest, KC's heart is pulled in two directions, and she is forced to reconcile the choices that have shaped her own life: Will KC have a fulfilling future with Ryan? Might she still be in love with Cade, even in his altered state?

Sarah Jio (Goodnight June) braids a thought-provoking narrative that examines the forces that brought KC and Cade together and pulled them apart--the tenuous bond of their love--versus the cushy, comfortable life she shares with Ryan. Contrasting past and present perspectives, and KC's choice between old love and new, makes for a suspenseful and highly charged romantic conclusion. --Kathleen Gerard, blogger at Reading Between the Lines

David Mark (Taking Pity) ventures into the dark corners of human evil in his twisted crime thriller Cruel Mercy. The fifth novel in the Detective Sergeant McAvoy series, it finds the resilient Scottish detective embroiled in a mob plot gone haywire in New York City. McAvoy is called in to assist NYPD Detective Ronny Alto investigate the murder of boxing protégé Shay Helden, and the near-fatal maiming of the man's coach, Brishen Ayres. Both victims have connections to McAvoy's family back in England, including his missing brother-in-law, Valentine Teague. McAvoy quickly learns the brutal crime involves not only the deepest levels of New York organized crime, but also the local Catholic parish and a series of bizarre ritualistic killings.

For this installment of the McAvoy series, Mark couldn't have conjured a more complicated plot, yet he pulls it off, successfully head-hopping from one character to the next in order to weave a sinister tapestry of motives and murder. Point-of-view passages from victims are harrowing and display Mark's talent for internal monologue and characterization. His external scenes are just as convincing, peppered with quick-witted dialogue and blunt yet brilliant metaphors. Falling snow in the city is likened to "a plague of butterflies," and prayers are described as "urgent, skittish things, specters born behind locked teeth." Mark is able to turn his language on a dime and evoke a pervasive sense of evil. As much as Cruel Mercy is an elaborate crime saga, it's also a story of occult horror loaded with lurid religious themes. It's a brutal, bloody read, brimming with gothic splendor. --Scott Neuffer, freelance journalist and fiction author.

Peek at the acknowledgements for this homage to one of America's favorite comfort foods, note that the authors credit the "sage counsel" of their publisher, and you have an idea of the wit in A Meatloaf in Every Oven. Former New York Times chief restaurant critic and current columnist Frank Bruni (Born Round) and Times reporter Jennifer Steinhauer (Treat Yourself) share their admiration for "a dish desperate for illumination," in this product of a decade's worth of conversations prone to shift "from Obamacare to oregano." The 50 recipes span the globe; contributors range from chefs (April Bloomfield's Lamb Loaf with Yogurt and Mint; Bobby Flay's Korean-Style Meatloaf with Spicy Glaze) to members of Congress (Oh, Deer, Speaker Paul Ryan's venison loaf; Nancy Pelosi's Italian-Style Bison Loaf).

Leslie Bruni's Sweet Nostalgic Loaf is here, too, with the traditional Worcestershire, tomato sauce (Hunt's, to be true to the Bruni kitchen) and brown sugar. Steinhauer's Jewish Christmas Loaf honors "the urban tradition of Jewish families trekking to Chinese restaurants on Christmas" and uses garlic, soy sauce and five-spice powder. Bruni embraces lamb, Steinhauer agrees it is a "protean protein" and they're off: Greek Loaf with Lamb and Feta, Jerusalem Loaf with Suman and Couscous, and more.

Nudging ground beef (not lean; meatloaf "is not a diet food") and lamb aside are ground turkey, pork, veal and--vegetarians, you're included!--zucchini (from chef Daniel Patterson) and kasha (by chef Michael Schwartz).

The friendly banter between the authors is reason enough to add this cookbook to a collection. The recipes will guarantee it moves from the bookshelf to the kitchen. --Cheryl Krocker McKeon, manager, Book Passage, San Francisco

Writer and photographer Bill Hayes first met the great writer and neurologist Oliver Sacks in 2008, when Sacks contacted him to say how much he enjoyed Hayes's The Anatomist. They corresponded, found shared interests and met once for lunch.

Hayes was grieving his partner of more than 16 years, who one night suddenly went into cardiac arrest and died. In 2009, Hayes moved from San Francisco to Manhattan for a change of scene. Although he had not moved for Sacks, he was now his neighbor, and they began spending time together. "He was without a doubt the most unusual person I had ever known, and before long I found myself not just falling in love with O.... I adored him." Sacks told him to keep a journal, and Hayes's brief impressionistic entries are woven throughout Insomniac City, which seems written in heightened states of feeling that infuse every detail with meaning and transient beauty.

Hayes is one of those people whose appreciation of daily life and capacity for love only expand with age and the awareness of death. His compassionate curiosity extends to everyone and everything around him. He meets all kinds of New Yorkers in the streets and on the subway, talks with them, photographs them (his photos bookend numerous prose segments throughout), builds acquaintanceships and friendships. His relationship with Sacks is filled with domestic detail and tenderness, through to Sacks's death in 2015. Thankfully, Hayes has no pat answers for anything in life, but many reasons why it continues to be worth living. --Sara Catterall

On January 7, 2015, a day that started like many others, Maryse Wolinski woke to find her husband, Georges, a satirical cartoonist, already up and getting ready for work, headed to an editorial meeting at the Charlie Hebdo offices. This turned out to be no ordinary day: this was the one on which the Kouachi brothers barged into the meeting with Kalashnikovs and murdered Georges and 11 others in cold blood.

With tenderness and affection, Wolinski weaves memories of her 47 years with Georges together with almost minute-by-minute accounting of that fateful Wednesday, when her life, and that of so many others, was irreparably shattered. She shares the sweetness of Georges's affection for her, his adoring gaze--"a look that inspires longing, confidence, a desire to live, a desire to love. A look that makes you addicted to it"--along with the numerous sticky notes he left throughout the decades expressing his love for her.

She questions why the police were so slow to respond to urgent calls from a number of people that day, and why there was such a long wait to see Georges's body. She wonders what more could have been done to prevent such a tragedy. Expressive and heartrending, yet not melodramatic, Wolinski's narrative places readers inside the soul of a smart woman deeply in love with her partner despite his flaws, a man whose loss is profoundly felt throughout her testimony. Having a tissue handy while reading is a good idea. --Lee E. Cart, freelance writer and book reviewer

To make it in the largely unregulated hedge fund world, one has to have an edge on the competition, and the savvy founder of SAC Capital Advisors, multi-billionaire and dilettante art collector Steven "Stevie" Cohen had just that. His is what the industry calls the "black edge," where advantage is acquired in the shady underworld of loose-lipped corporate gossip and flat-out illegal insider trading. When Cohen's SAC racked up consistently remarkable 30%-50% returns in the '90s and he began to flaunt his wealth publicly in the art market, a half dozen federal agencies began to dig into his business with the intent to put him away.

In her first book, Black Edge, former financial analyst and staff writer for the New Yorker Sheelah Kolhatkar tells the dramatic story of Cohen's rise and the investigative and legal maneuverings arrayed against him. It is a tale about the allure of money--lusting for it, manipulating it, spending it and ultimately having so much that it no longer means much. It is also a chronicle of the diligent pursuit of justice by overworked bureaucrats, forensic accountants and lawyers (lots of lawyers). In the end, the feds almost got their man, but "left him with only a bruise." The long legal wrangling set Cohen back only a couple billion dollars in penalties, leaving him free to savor the art collection in his massive Greenwich estate. He can go back to wheeling and dealing on Wall Street in two years and do it all over again. --Bruce Jacobs, founding partner, Watermark Books & Cafe, Wichita, Kan.

Journalist Matt Taibbi collects 25 of his Rolling Stone articles from the 2015-2016 United States presidential race to create this emotionally charged overview of the "end of an era... the one that began back on August 28, 1963, with Martin Luther King's 'I Have a Dream' speech."

Insane Clown President opens with a look at Taibbi's 2009 The Great Derangement, in which he outlined the electorate's growing mistrust of government and media. He saw people moving away from facts toward conspiratorial politics, valuing spectacle over ideology--in essence, fleeing the political establishment. Meanwhile, the factions of the establishment remained isolated and ignorant of their constituents' dissatisfaction. Even though Taibbi didn't foresee Trump, the Rolling Stone articles that follow illustrate just how much his earlier observations prophesied an unprecedented U.S. election.

Taibbi's collection includes astute analysis of the left and the right, as well as the media's role in the political climate. His knowledge and grasp of the U.S. government's inner workings, as well as his understanding of the citizens' explosive discontent, allows Taibbi to dissect the circus-like events. His words are often acerbic, which may rankle some readers--especially if they identify with the target of his criticism--while amusing others. But the insights are powerful and thought provoking, with the potential to kindle vital dialogue. Insane Clown President is not reassuring or comforting, but it is a passionate, intelligent record of this monumental time, one Taibbi believes is "the end of the dream." --Jen Forbus, freelancer

"The dead always have stories to tell. They just need the living to listen." The dead find a voice in Rowan Chase, the 17-year-old biracial girl at the center of Dreamland Burning by Jennifer Latham (Scarlett Undercover). On the first day of summer, Rowan is shocked when renovators discover an old skeleton under the floorboards of her family's 100-year-old property in Tulsa, Okla. With only an old wallet and a faded receipt found among the remains, Rowan launches an investigation into the skeleton's identity.

In a parallel story set in 1921, 17-year-old half-white, half-Osage Will Tillman's world is changing in baffling ways. Though the Ku Klux Klan's power is rapidly growing in Tulsa, Will's white father makes a surprising and unorthodox business deal with a young black delivery boy named Joseph. Racial tensions are rising and Jim Crow laws make such deals highly illegal. As Tulsa spirals toward a violent eruption, Will sees how "complicated the world really was, what with some folks being good and some being bad and most sitting in the middle with room to slide either way."

Based on Tulsa's 1921 race riot, one of the deadliest in U.S. history, Dreamland Burning raises questions about historical truth, segregation and more. Rowan and Will tell their respective stories in alternating chapters, each with a strong narrative voice, revealing unexpected commonalities in their experiences. Latham's skillful handling of race, choice, and opportunity is impressive. No character is beyond redemption, and in the end all must answer for their actions. --Kyla Paterno, former children's & YA book buyer

Little Louie doesn't need his mom "every minute of the day." But when he catches a cold--his nose is clogged, his ears crackle and his brain feels full ("He didn't know of what")--he doesn't want to color or watch TV or even shoot baskets with wadded-up tissues. All he really wants is his mom. He tries to call for her, but his nasally voice can only wail "Bob!" Then, because his big black-spotted dog happens to be named Bob, it's the pooch that comes bounding "[a]nd slobbering," ready to play. Frustrated and sapped of energy, Little Louie flops and moans in a manner familiar to anyone who has ever spent time with a sniffling, sneezing family member. Luckily, his mom knows just what her miserable boy needs: her undivided attention and an afternoon of snuggling.

In Bob, Not Bob! authors Liz Garton Scanlon (The Good-Pie Party) and Audrey Vernick (Brothers at Bat) and illustrator Matthew Cordell (Wolf in the Snow) form a perfect team to capture the woeful state of a kid with a rotten cold. The agony Little Louie feels as he tries to pronounce words through his "weird, all-wrong, stuffed-up nose" is palpable. "NO! I wan by BOB, not BOB!" (Keen-eyed readers will notice that a heart forms the center O in "Bob" the mom, textually differentiating the word from Bob the dog.) Cordell's slap-happy watercolor-over-pen illustrations are wonderfully reminiscent of Quentin Blake's art. Bob, Not Bob! will have kids and their chicken-soup-bearing caregivers laughing aloud. --Emilie Coulter, freelance writer and editor