Fourteen-year-old Mvelo lives in a squatter town on the outskirts of Durban, South Africa, amid "the chaos of human lives engaged in surviving anew every day." She is pregnant after an unwanted sexual encounter with a traveling minister. Her mother is dying of AIDS. These are the facts of Mvelo's life, and in a different storyteller's hands, they could easily result in a story without hope. But for Futhi Ntshingila, "someone with nothing to lose has a chance to arm-wrestle with God, and maybe to win."

This "maybe" is the heart of We Kiss Them With Rain, Ntshingila's third novel. Mvelo never knows if she will win or not, but throughout this slim but powerful novel, she takes chances and pushes forward on the assumption that maybe, just maybe, she can. A series of coincidences and hidden identities that rival a Shakespearean comedy dapple the bleak landscape of Mvelo's life with spots of humor and moments of love. Her story is not about endurance or even survival, though of course she must do both things at far too young an age. It is a story about joy and hope and courage, and what it means to lift up others and be lifted oneself, and how one young girl found her voice in a world seemingly determined to take it away. --Kerry McHugh, blogger at Entomology of a Bookworm

Being an adult is hard for many, impossible for some. The White family of Grand Coulee, Wash., falls near the hopeless end of the spectrum, their lives running to violence, booze, estrangement and recklessness. This is the focus of Whiskey, told with a strong hand by Bruce Holbert (The Hour of Lead, Lonesome Animals), who infuses the upbringing of brothers Andre and Smoker with just enough humor to bridge the hard stuff.

Told in three alternating time periods, the novel begins in August 1991 with "Exodus," which finds the Whites on ever-diverging paths. Andre's marriage is ending, his parents are aging far from gracefully and Smoker's daughter needs rescuing, setting the brothers off on a road trip involving a mysterious preacher and a bear lured from a tree with a picnic ham tied to a rope.

As the brothers discuss life, love, blame and shame, Holbert takes readers through five decades of family saga--sections "Genesis" and "Lamentations." The meeting and courtship of matriarch Peg (a hell-raiser who "could put a year's living into a long weekend") and Pork (who would maim for her) begins when "they took the wrong turn that was each other" and lived life with a full head of booze-fueled steam.

Andre and Smoker's childhood is bleak, ducking thrown dishes just a normal day's calisthenics. Holbert's descriptions and dialogue, however, are to be savored, particularly as the brothers struggle to come to terms with their destructive past and accept who they have become. --Lauren O'Brien of Malcolm Avenue Review

Nourishment--especially of the heart and soul--forms the basis of The Recipe Box, a moving novel about the inextricable bonds of family by Viola Shipman (pen name for Wade Rouse). The story is a multi-generational chronicle of the Mullins family of Suttons Bay, Mich., and their agricultural orchard nestled on the shores of Lake Michigan.

Samantha "Sam" Nelson was given her great-great-grandmother's recipe box at age 13. After high school, she chooses to leave the Mullins Family Orchard and Pie Pantry and attend culinary school. She later takes a job at a Manhattan bakery run by a demeaning reality TV chef. At work, she is befriended by Angelo Morelli, a young man who delivers organic produce to the bakery and is trying, like Sam, to chart his own path. When Sam loses her job, she retreats to the family orchard to reassess her life. There, she gains a new appreciation for the long-held family business and the cherished wisdom of her ancestors. But when Angelo arrives for a visit, Sam is torn between staying at the orchard or returning to the New York culinary scene. 

Shipman (The Charm Bracelet) traces more than a century of Mullins family history, showing how the orchard--and those who passionately tended to it--evolved and endured. The inclusion of scrumptious recipes sweeten this wholesome story where food and baking become acts of love. Shipman has sensitively crafted another tender, deeply resonant novel that readers can savor. --Kathleen Gerard, blogger at Reading Between the Lines

"I know I'm not a woman yet. But I'm also not a girl. I'm a poem no one will ever translate." With Let's No One Get Hurt, Jon Pineda (Apology) offers a wild, yearning, strong-willed protagonist and a novel with both tenderness and violence at its core. Pearl lives in an abandoned boathouse with her father and two other adult men. Dox and Fritter are father and son, and they form a family of sorts, subsisting on catfish and crayfish from the river, mushrooms and wild rice from the woods and building scraps from the wealthy subdivision nearby.

Pearl's coming-of-age and her troubled liaison with the upper-class boys who live in the development near her makeshift home define the novel's timeline. As she grows up, her old dog, Marianne Moore, is dying. Her father, a former poetry professor who named the dog after one of his favorite subjects, also suffers from increasingly poor health. Fritter paints a never-ending mural of pitch black, and Dox noodles on his cigar-box guitar.

Pearl's mother was a scholar who said that "poems were never finished, that they were only abandoned." Pearl likes to think that maybe all abandoned things are poems. She lives in an abandoned place; maybe she lives inside a poem.

Let's No One Get Hurt is thick with the lush warmth of the American South and the harshness of a life scavenged out-of-doors, and Pineda's teenaged girl's perspective is spot-on. This novel of exploration, exploitation and the poetry in it all will stun readers of all kinds, especially those who appreciate strong characters and tough choices. --Julia Kastner, librarian and blogger at pagesofjulia

Harry McCoy grew up in a children's home, is prone to drunkenness, takes speed, likes to use his fists, romances a heroin-addicted prostitute and consorts with criminals. He has more in common with the crooks he chases than with his fellow detectives on the Glasgow Police Force.

On January 1, 1973, McCoy is summoned to Barlinnie prison by an inmate with a tip: a young waitress named Lorna will be killed the following day. Although he's on the scene on January 2, McCoy can't stop a teenager named Tommy Malone from fatally shooting Lorna and then himself at a bus station. McCoy has previously tussled with the wealthy Dunlop family, for whom Tommy was working as a groundskeeper. Now he's forced to grill Jimmy Gibbs, the former dirty cop running the Dunlop house; more gallingly, Gibbs is dating McCoy's ex. After another young woman--like Lorna, a turner of tricks--is murdered, McCoy bears down on the Dunlops, knowing full well how "bulletproof the rich really were."

Alan Parks's thrilling debut teeters on a cultural tipping point: heroin is becoming Glasgow's drug of choice, Barlinnie seems to be run by hippies, one of McCoy's love interests is an outspoken feminist, and he can't get behind the new music--embodied by the androgynous David Bowie, who makes a wordless but tasty cameo in the book. Bloody January's classic-noir feel is reinforced by McCoy's reluctance to let go of the past, no matter how badly it treated him. --Nell Beram, author and freelance writer

Dunya Mikhail, in The Beekeeper: Saving the Stolen Women of Iraq, gives voice to victimized women and one daring rescuer who hope that "people will know the truth about what's happening."

Since 2014, ISIS, called Daesh in Iraq, has terrorized the Yazidi area of northern Iraq by killing men who will not convert to Islam and kidnapping women and children. Those enslaved are raped, tortured, forced into the sex trade and even work with chemical weapons. The unlikely hero of this story is Abdallah, a beekeeper in Iraq until he organized a network of rescuers because "[o]ur mountain has melted from the tears and beseeching of the families." Mikhail, now a United States citizen, is a journalist and poet from the Yazidi area. The book is a series of heart-wrenching conversations between Mikhail and several Yazidi women, interspersed with her reminisces of the brutal world that replaced the Iraq of her childhood.

Abdallah's network consists of often unnoticed farmers, taxi drivers or shopkeepers. His ability to find ransom, plan escape routes across countries and remain calm in the face of terrorists is striking. The fearlessness of the captives who trust those they don't know in order to escape is a testament to the will to survive. As Abdallah says, "Hope is our daily bread."

Headlines cannot do justice to the suffering of victimized groups across the globe. As the surviving Yazidis bear witness, the very least the rest of the world can do is listen. --Cindy Pauldine, bookseller, the river's end bookstore, Oswego, N.Y.

In 2015, Louie Anderson was hired to play Zach Galifianakis's mother, Christine Baskets, on the FX comedy series Baskets. Since he felt that he was channeling his mother to portray the character, he started writing letters to his mom (who died in 1990) to update her on his life and career, ask her questions and try to sort out his childhood. Anderson was the 10th child (of 11 kids) in a poor family dominated by a violent and abusive alcoholic father.

Over the three years he penned these letters, Anderson won an Emmy award for his performance on the series, sorted through troubling family history, grieved the sudden death of his younger brother, and tried to strengthen the ties with his remaining siblings and family. Anderson has made a career out of poking fun at his dysfunctional family and food addiction, so there are some laughs throughout. (Anderson once dreamt he'd died and was embalmed with butter. "People were walking by me, paying their respects and saying, 'God, he smells good.' ") But the comedian primarily delves deeper to reveal painful family secrets, forgive the past and curb his destructive behaviors by joining Adult Children of Alcoholics and entering therapy. Anderson also looks back on his four-decade career, celebrating successes (his animated Life with Louie TV series), acknowledging his failures (losing his job hosting Family Feud) and appreciating his career resurgence.

Hey Mom is an articulate, insightful and openly emotional series of letters that will resonate with those recovering from traumatic childhoods and with fans of Anderson's 1989 book, Dear Dad. --Kevin Howell, independent reviewer and marketing consultant

Parliamentary politics seldom makes for propulsive reading. Yet, with the fate of Weimar Germany and tens of millions of lives on the line, the machinations of men like Paul von Hindenburg, Kurt von Schleicher and Heinrich Brüning in the late 1920s and early 1930s becomes the stuff of thrillers. In The Death of Democracy: Hitler's Rise to Power and the Downfall of the Weimar Republic, historian Benjamin Carter Hett (Burning the Reichstag; Death in the Tiergarten) delves into the death throes of interwar German democracy.

The Weimar Republic's tumultuous foundation made it a fragile system. Created after losing World War I, this parliamentary government became a scapegoat for the humiliating reparations and territorial losses imposed by the Treaty of Versailles. Between hyperinflation in the early '20s, mass unemployment during the Great Depression and a constant simmer of political violence, it was a miracle this system lasted as long as it did. By the early '30s, the Reichstag was paralyzed by radicalized extremes on the left and right--the Communists versus the Nazis--with a crumbling center-left and center-right unwilling to unite against either force.

Still, Hitler's takeover was far from inevitable. Hett shows how personal blunders--often by Reich president and octogenarian war hero Paul von Hindenburg, though also by other conservatives seeking to use Hitler's populist power for their own gain--allowed the Nazis to seize control. Weimar's final destruction came with the 1933 Enabling Act, when the Reichstag--freshly purged of Communists and crawling with armed stormtroopers--gave Chancellor Hitler extraordinary powers. The Death of Democracy is an accessible account of the many missteps that led to that moment, and teaches a few chilling lessons for the modern day. --Tobias Mutter, freelance reviewer

Howard Buffett, philanthropist and law enforcement officer, knows from personal experience what the Mexico-U.S. border crisis looks like. He regularly sees unauthorized immigrants crossing his ranch lands in Arizona. In this well-written, in-depth analysis, Buffett links the U.S. drug epidemic to the use of the border by Mexican drug cartels. Politicians may consider them separate issues, but Buffett's discussions with ranchers, migrants, Border Patrol and other law enforcement officials show readers that the two are inextricably entwined. As long as there is demand for drugs in the U.S., the Mexican cartels will find a way to get them here, whether by using human "mules," shooting packages across open fields with T-shirt cannons, digging extensive tunnels or dropping the drugs by plane.

Buffett reflects on why so many migrants flee their native countries--many are starving or have faced such extreme violence and death threats that the dangerous trek across desert lands where they face heat stroke, dehydration and rape seems like the lesser of the evils. He suggests Mexico step up and enforce stricter rules on the cartels, and that the U.S. help. He touches on the American pharmaceutical industry's role in the drug crisis, but doesn't hit them with any real force. He also considers the effects a full border wall would have on nature and animal migrations. His book is not a call-to-action, per se, but rather a way to open much-needed discussions on how to resolve this multifaceted problem. --Lee E. Cart, freelance writer and book reviewer

Neither Rory Kress nor her boyfriend had ever owned a dog when they moved in together. But the journalist longed to add a furry friend to her household. Kress had heard stories about illegal puppy mills and was leery when she received a recommendation for a pet store where she could buy a puppy. However, the store touted its policy of selling dogs only from USDA-licensed breeding facilities, so the first-time pet owner felt confident that Izzy, her new Wheaten Terrier, did not come from a puppy mill. When her journalistic nature kicks in, though, Kress sets out to discover exactly where Izzy came from. What she uncovers is shocking.

With the determination of a dog after a bone, Kress delves into the world of government-regulated dog breeding. She digs through research, follows paper trails and interviews people throughout the industry. Representatives from the USDA (United States Department of Agriculture), breeders, retailers, veterinarians and other animal scientists--as well as those who have purchased the canines--contribute to Kress's investigation. Her findings are eye-opening, often heartbreaking but not hopeless. They offer potential dog owners much-needed information on which to base their decisions--when acquiring a companion as well as making voting choices.

The Doggie in the Window is a thoroughly researched probe enhanced by Kress's personal experience as a cog in the system. Her raw honesty draws readers into her experiences and journey, encouraging them to take away valuable lessons and to take action for fundamental change. This is a definite must-read for all animal lovers. --Jen Forbus, freelancer

Benjamin Boxer and Charlotte Lockard have a lot in common: they're both smart, they love playing online games of Scrabble together and they're both having a terrible week. Unfortunately, they're about a thousand miles apart. In Pennsylvania, 12-year-old Charlotte's dad just suffered a major heart attack and her best friend is slowly pulling away. Meanwhile, in Louisiana, Ben's parents have announced they're divorcing and his only real-life friends have disappeared into the crowds of middle school. As Ben comes to understand his own loneliness, he begins to wonder if Charlotte could be his friend outside of the game, too. " 'Do you think our generation relies too much on digital communication?' " he texts her. " 'Never thought about it,' " she responds, " 'Why?' " And an Internet-age friendship is born.

Told in Charlotte's and Ben's dual points of view over the course of a week, with charming cityscape illustrations dividing each of the days, You Go First by Erin Estrada Kelly is a delicate look at friendship, bullying and coming of age. Ben and Charlotte are sympathetic characters, each with their own charm. Ben's persistent heart and logical nature are relentless; his initial response to his parents' impending divorce--"it just didn't make any sense, and he lived in a world of sensible things"--is achingly heartfelt. Charlotte's struggles with losing her best friend while also facing the potential loss of her father are introspective and profound. You Go First is a brilliant follow-up to Entrada Kelly's Newbery winner, Hello, Universe, and challenges readers to rethink the rules of friendship. --Kyla Paterno, former YA and children's book buyer

Life would have been very different for Jane McKeene if the dead hadn't "rose up and started to walk" in Gettysburg two days after she was born. As a black child born to "the richest white woman in Haller County, Kentucky," Jane might have become a "proper house girl" or even "taken Aunt Aggie's place as House Negro." Instead, now 17-year-old Jane attends Miss Preston's School of Combat for Negro Girls, located just outside of Baltimore. She and her classmates learn the fine art of killing the undead ("shamblers") who have terrorized the country since the end of the War Between the States. Jane's education at Miss Preston's is important: a trained student from Miss Preston's may be hired as an Attendant to a fashionable white woman. As an Attendant, Jane will keep "her charge from being killed by the dead, and her virtue from being compromised by potential suitors." The War may be over, but the popular Survivalist Party freely compares black people with "apes" and "livestock" while it focuses on "securing the safety of white Christian men and women" and restoring the nation to "its former glory."

When sweet-talking, also multiracial ex-beau Jackson Keats asks Jane to help him find his missing sister, Jane sneaks out of school accompanied by her "passing light" classmate and nemesis, Katherine Deveraux. In their search, the two girls and Jackson find themselves swept up in a plot wherein white families and Attendants are going missing. Witty and subversive, Ireland deftly tackles important issues from our nation's past and present. Themes of racism, power and humanity are blended into this action-packed adventure with a cast of well-developed characters who practically jump off the page. A neat conclusion ties up most plot points, but readers will hope for a sequel. --Lynn Becker, blogger and host of Book Talk, a monthly online discussion of children's books for SCBWI

Caldecott medalist Sophie Blackall (Finding Winnie) illuminates the isolated and ritualistic life of an old-fashioned lighthouse keeper, showing the allure of the iconic structures.

New to his post, the young lighthouse keeper does the constant repetitive tasks necessary to keep his beacon lit--polishing the lens, refilling the oil, winding the clockwork--his actions shown in arched cutaways and porthole insets. In time, his industrious wife joins him, helping with regular tasks and tending the lighthouse when her husband lies ill. Soon, under the serpentine display of an emerald aurora, the lighthouse says "Hello! ...Hello! ...Hello!" to their first child. Around their red-and-white home, the sea shifts through the seasons. Fishscale ripples glow in rosy sunset tones, storm waves evoke Japanese woodcuts and "[t]he sea turns into a carpet of ice" for lounging leopard seals. When the Coast Guard brings an automated light, the family leaves for the mainland, but a gatefold spread shows the lantern from their house on the coast shining a greeting back to their old home.

Blackall's Chinese ink and watercolor illustrations feel nostalgic and comforting, showing a small but homey microcosm warmed by rugs, wooden furniture and a coal stove. The circular shape of the lighthouse walls acts as a motif, reappearing as the frames of insets, the wagon-wheel pattern of the quilt and a reflecting telescope lens. An author's note on lighthouses provides a more in-depth overview of the daily life, duties and dangers of lighthouse keepers. This romantic glimpse into history will captivate readers age four through eight. --Jaclyn Fulwood, youth services division manager at main branch, Dayton Metro Library