Marcia Williams experiences every parent's worst nightmare: the murder of a child, her 16-year-old son, Ryan. As she girds herself to attend the trial of the teenager charged with fatally stabbing Ryan, Marcia's husband, Lloydie, withdraws; each day as she leaves for the courthouse, Marcia hopes he will attend with her, but Lloydie leaves the house before she's even out of bed. Marcia longs to understand why her son was killed, but Lloydie can't face it. So Marcia goes to the Old Bailey flanked by her sister, Lorna, and her family liaison officer, Nipa, to publicly endure the details of her only child's brutal death.

As Yvvette Edwards (A Cupboard Full of Coats) unfolds the story of Ryan's murder through the events of his killer's trial, she also exposes the trauma inflicted on Marcia and Lloydie's marriage. Both parents are barely treading water; close enough to touch, yet fearing if they do, the tiny shift in force will be all that's necessary to drown them.

The Williamses' delicate equilibrium is shattered and the trial upended when a dramatic surprise is revealed in court. It changes the course of the case and the direction of the couple's lives, but will this revelation bring justice for Ryan and salvation for his parents, or will it be the final tug that pulls them under for good?

Told through Marcia's perspective, Mother is intimate and painfully honest. Her voice is authentic, expressing paralyzing conflict between what she should feel and what she actually feels. Ultimately, in this dark story of loss, a glimmer of hope shines in a light called mother. --Jen Forbus of Jen's Book Thoughts

Young adult fiction author Robin Wasserman's first novel for adults, Girls on Fire, has a lot in common with YA literature. The story features protagonists in high school, intense emotions and a mystery that doesn't fully unravel until the final pages. Girls on Fire, however, pushes young adult tropes into decidedly adult territory, cranking the emotional intensity higher and higher while pushing events into truly shocking, subversive territory. Much like her young protagonists, Wasserman takes things shockingly far, creating an irresistible hybrid between coming-of-age stories and Gone Girl-esque psychological thrillers.

Girls on Fire takes place in the early '90s, when grunge was breaking through at the same time Satanic panic was reaching its height. The conservative community of Battle Creek, including mousy protagonist Hannah Dexter, is unsettled by the unexplained suicide of a popular high schooler. Lacey Champlain, a troubled young grunger, forms a fierce bond with Hannah and sets about remaking the naïve, directionless girl in her own image. Suffice it to say that archconservative Christianity, transgressive sexuality and disturbing secrets all play their role in the ensuing events.

Girls on Fire is aware of the strange dichotomy of youth: it's both the best time to be alive and the absolute worst. Wasserman also extends her sympathy to the adults, who "felt, at times, that what had seemed like an infinity of choice turned out to be a funnel." The focus of the story, however, is always on the girls and the dangerous, dying-star intensity of their love for each other. --Hank Stephenson, bookseller, Flyleaf Books

Smoke is set in England, "a century ago, give or take"--a familiar yet strange land where, when the wicked lie or sin in thought or deed, they release Smoke: thin, white wisps, or oily black and oozing, or yellow or green, depending on the crime. They might smoke through their mouths, or the pores of their skin. "One notices it at the shoulders first, and where the sweat has plastered the nightshirt to his skin." It is a remarkably convenient way to judge people. Or so it seems.

With this premise, Dan Vyleta (The Crooked Maid) introduces a world of action, intrigue and challenge. Smoke is told from many perspectives, and as the plot continues to expand, the cast expands as well, eventually spanning social classes to include religious fanatics, compassionless scientists, imitators of virtue, goodhearted working-class misfits--and, possibly, the truly evil. Readers and characters are confronted with revelation after revelation, eventually including the very nature and meaning of Smoke. At a little over 400 pages, Smoke feels both longer and shorter than it is. It begs for a single-sitting read, such is the momentum of the plot. On the other hand, its world-building is so massive and engrossing that the experience feels much larger than a mere novel.

For moralists, or those who question them; for those pondering the difference between good and evil, or whether such a dichotomy even exists; and, especially, for readers who appreciate a wild and large-scale story of action, adventure, risk and destiny: Smoke will entertain and provoke thought. Thinking and feeling readers alike will be left wanting more. --Julia Jenkins, librarian and blogger at pagesofjulia

Thirteen-year-old Maddy Branch knows the odds are against her when she arrives in the fictional Mississippi River town of Reliance, Illinois in 1874. She's posing as the sister of her mother, who's fleeing poverty and abuse and hadn't mentioned a daughter when she replied "yes" to a Reliance gentleman seeking a wife through a "Matrimonial Times" advertisement. With a birthmark covering half her face and no rights of her own, Maddy feels unwelcome in her new home. But Miss Rose Werner, the theatrical and feisty aging daughter of the town's founder, ensconced in Werner Manor, recognizes Maddy's potential and asks to mentor her.

Reliance is close-minded and unforgiving. After a murder, Maddy observes "[the] Sin Society blamed suggestive artwork, novels, dancing, liquor. Liquor implicated the Germans, who blamed the Irish, who blamed the Negroes." Miss Werner, known variously as "a radical, a nuisance, a countess, a blessing, a madam, a suffragette," ignores the talk and savors life. She appoints Maddy as her memoirist, her tales adding mystery and humor to the plot. An outspoken supporter of women's rights, Miss Werner launches a subtle campaign for birth control, which she successfully introduces at gatherings masked as afternoon "soirees." Town politics, a cameo appearance by Samuel Clemens and well-formed characters add rich dimensions to Maddy's story.

"Remember, justice and change comes hard and slow," Maddy advises in 1908 as the novel closes. Volmer's unforgettable protagonist lives through social evolution, the fight for women's rights and personal strife, yet she perseveres, and Reliance, Illinois, with its universal themes and evocative period detail, is ultimately uplifting. --Cheryl Krocker McKeon, manager, Book Passage, San Francisco

Anton DiSclafani's The After Party opens in the 1950s in Texas in the world of the oil-rich. Narrator Cece has a loving marriage and a baby boy. Her best friend, Joan Fortier, lives the night life, although at 25 she is nearing the end of her prime in this glittering culture of money, power and conformity. In flashbacks, Cece reveals the way the Fortiers took her into their home and--almost--their hearts, and Joan's mysterious vanishing acts.

Cece has always been deeply committed to serving the needs of Joan. She may rankle at being called a handmaiden, but she can't help it: Joan has that effect on her. The girls have been best friends since kindergarten, and when Cece is left parentless as a teen, she moves into the Fortier estate, in the closed community of opulent River Oaks, an exclusive neighborhood in Houston.

Cece is obsessively devoted; Joan is carelessly, selfishly wild; and River Oaks is chilling in its regimentation: "We all served the same pimiento sandwiches, from the same recipe, at luncheons." DiSclafani's (The Yonahlossee Riding Camp for Girls) depictions are impeccable. Readers familiar with Houston will recognize landmarks like the legendary Shamrock Hotel, and note DiSclafani's pitch-perfect rendering of River Oaks. The After Party is a puzzle with carefully modulated tension; Joan's disappearances and carefree disdain for luxury perplex Cece, and the reader, until the final pages. Characterization, strong sense of place and the painful riddle of friendship form a novel that is vibrant, sensitive and suspenseful. --Julia Jenkins, librarian and blogger at pagesofjulia

The name "Benedict Arnold" is synonymous with "traitor" today, but it wasn't always. Before Arnold began selling crucial information to the British military during the American Revolution, he was a charismatic general, a colleague of George Washington and a staunch believer in the colonists' cause. Nathaniel Philbrick delves into the uncertain early years of the war and traces Arnold's journey from hero to turncoat in Valiant Ambition.

Philbrick is known for his vivid, compelling explorations of crucial episodes in American history (Bunker Hill; In the Heart of the Sea). Valiant Ambition plunges readers into the chaos of a new, untried country, whose military leaders struggled to unite the groups of inexperienced militiamen under their command. As the colonial army battled the British army in the dense forests of upstate New York, the Continental Congress remained in Philadelphia, arguing about finance, foreign policy and other issues. Bold and impatient, Arnold longed to capitalize on his past battlefield successes, but grew frustrated when he was passed over repeatedly for promotion.

After more than 200 years of telling and retelling, Arnold's story and the players in it are often reduced to simple, almost mythical archetypes. But Philbrick treats his subjects with respect, painting complex portraits of historical figures who were real--and flawed--people. (Philbrick's depiction of the Continental Congress as "stuck in the old familiar rut of partisanship and indecision" may ring uncomfortably familiar today.) Though Arnold did in fact betray his comrades, Philbrick's account sheds new light on his motivations and the struggles faced by the leaders and citizens of a brand-new nation. --Katie Noah Gibson, blogger at Cakes, Tea and Dreams

Mark Kurlansky, the master of exploring history through the lens of a single object (Salt; Cod), pens another such striking work in Paper: Paging Through History. Kurlansky maintains that technology does not change society, but is a response to new needs inspired by changes already in progress. Thus when a civilization needed portable, widespread and relatively cheap forms of written communication, paper became popular. This explains why the widely literate medieval Muslims embraced paper when the widely illiterate Europeans did not--it wasn't that paper was unknown to Europe, but that writing material based on animal skins (expensive and slow solutions like parchment or vellum) suited their needs at the time. Later, in the early Renaissance, when Europeans needed the advantages of paper, they adopted papermaking, and when they needed to reproduce written work more quickly, they invented the printing press.

The history of what we consider paper (a sheet of pulped fibers pressed into a mold and dried) extends back only to roughly 2nd-century China. The development of paper spread from there in fits and starts, and sometimes independently--the Aztecs had a form of paper, though most examples were destroyed by the Spanish. Paper draws together nearly all corners of world history. As he has done so successfully before, Kurlansky weaves seemingly disparate topics into a cohesive narrative, at once full of interesting trivia and sweeping social trends. Art, literature, religion, economics, technology, science--the list of topics touched by Paper is as extensive as the book is fascinating. Each flip of Paper's pages brings a fresh appreciation for the paper page itself. --Tobias Mutter, freelance reviewer

In an Internet world of seemingly infinite options, everyone is a critic. We are bombarded with opportunities to pick our likes, our favorites, our stars, our thumbs-up, our tomatoes or our smiley emojis. But what does it mean to "like" something? Where do our tastes come from? Can we trust anyone's judgment at all? Tom Vanderbilt (Traffic) attempts to address these questions and, in the process, raises and answers dozens more. With curiosity, folklore and equally rich research, You May Also Like tackles the science and serendipity behind the many choices we make every day.

Vanderbilt kicks off by analyzing food preferences, because "we decide what to eat more than we decide what to wear or what to read or where to go on vacation--and what is a holiday but a whole new set of eating choices?" From our myriad restaurant menu and grocery aisle options, he moves on to consider how we choose our music playlists, what art we like and how long we look at it, and even how judges decide the winner at the Paris Cat Show.

With a solid collection of end notes, much data and many interviews, You May Also Like risks getting bogged down in algorithms and acronyms, but Vanderbilt always brings matters back to the real world--frequently his personal real world. In the end, likes and dislikes develop out of a pile of variables like memory, familiarity, conformity or repetition, and they are constantly changing. Once finished with this intriguing study of taste, readers will never again consider clicking a "like" icon quite the same way. --Bruce Jacobs, founding partner, Watermark Books & Cafe, Wichita, Kan.

Life for a fat woman in Western culture is hard. Life for a vocal feminist who is also fat can be downright cruel. But Lindy West (How to Be a Person) doesn't let that stop her from standing up and speaking out on issues she's passionate about. She's battled Internet trolls, misogynistic comedians, fat-phobic supervisors and rude people on airplanes in an effort to change harmful societal beliefs. Shrill: Notes from a Loud Woman is West's often funny, sometimes painful, always blunt story of life as an overweight feminist in a patriarchal world that values skinny, silent, subservient females.

West's bold, passionate insights point a bright spotlight on topics kept in the dark, whispered about or referred to in euphemisms. She proudly proclaims the details of her abortion, and expresses frustration and torment in her campaign against rape jokes. When she writes about body image, a stunning kaleidoscope of experiences crash and bump around on her stage of life then blend together to project a powerful realization:

"What if... I could just decide I was valuable and it would be true?... Denying people access to value is an incredibly insidious form of emotional violence, one that our culture wields aggressively and liberally to keep marginalized groups small and quiet. What if you could opt out of the game altogether?"

Lindy West changes the rules to play her game her way. Shrill is her story; it's also her encouragement to readers to join in the noise. With her moxie, there is potential for a huge, magnificent symphony. --Jen Forbus of Jen's Book Thoughts

Many serious pop music fans have argued the merits of the Beatles vs. the Rolling Stones, Nirvana vs. Pearl Jam, maybe even Prince vs. Michael Jackson. Chances are better that the very same music aficionados haven't quite argued all the listed rivalries named in Steven Hyden's Your Favorite Band Is Killing Me: What Pop Music Rivalries Reveal About the Meaning of Life.

Chapter after chapter details the various clashes in rock, pop and rap music, including the anger the White Stripes' Jack White holds in his heart for Dan Auerbach, frontman of rival blues-infused rock band the Black Keys. It's an off-kilter resentment that somewhat confuses Hyden (and Auerbach), who notes that even though the two men live in the same town and have commonalities like children and divorces, White still avoids the younger musician.

Miley Cyrus provokes Sinéad O'Connor to respond with an open letter on the Internet. Madonna beats out Cyndi Lauper for most lasting impact on the music world--at least according to Hyden. In "Southern Man," Neil Young pokes at Lynyrd Skynyrd, who poke back (in an era long before Twitter) with their own snarky line in the hit "Sweet Home Alabama."

Throughout this book, Hyden is intelligent, informed, cutting and self-deprecating enough to entertain as he helps readers realize that, while many think their musical taste defines them, it's the commonalities of being a fan of any music that bring us all closer together and help define the meaning of our own lives, whether we're arguing for Oasis or Blur, the Dixie Chicks or Toby Keith. --Rob LeFebvre, freelance writer and editor

In San Francisco's Chinatown in 1906, 15-year-old Mercy Wong's graduation from the Oriental Public School effectively means her education has stalled. While she might not object to marrying her handsome childhood sweetheart, she absolutely rejects her limited options as "a mere girl, a Chinese girl no less." She vows to rescue her family from poverty, and is determined to gain entrance into the exclusive St. Clare's School for Girls.

With an unlikely combination of exquisite chocolate, a coveted plant bulb, daring bluster--and a little sly manipulation--Mercy joins the entitled St. Clare's girls. Admission, alas, doesn't mean acceptance; at the request of the deal-making school board president, Mercy enters the elite fold posing as a Chinese heiress. Straining under judgmental eyes, Mercy resorts to mirthful improvisations, even a fake tea ceremony during which she beseeches (in Cantonese), "may I not make a pigeon egg of myself." Mercy's approval-seeking attempts prove short-lived, as the massive earthquake levels San Francisco on April 18. St. Clare's is destroyed, forcing the headmistress to relocate her charges to Golden Gate Park until help arrives. Mercy's "bossy cheeks"--an authoritative streak her fortuneteller mother fully recognized--ensures that this "mere Chinese girl" will not wallow in worry, and instead she takes charge. Her St. Clare's education might have been truncated, but she "picked up something better": true friends.

Stacey Lee (Under a Painted Sky), a fourth-generation Californian with roots in Mercy's San Francisco Chinatown, enhances authentic history with intertwined narratives of longing, first love, unlikely bonds, familial loss, multi-generational alliances and more. --Terry Hong, Smithsonian BookDragon

Twelve-year-old Eliot Dionisi is incredulous that his parents would cruelly send him off to live with "wrinkly old relatives" in Nova Scotia's Point Aconi, depriving him of a glorious summer with his best friends.

Eliot's "wrinkly old relatives" are Grandmother McNeil and his great-uncle Earl with the icy stare, gold tooth and anchor tattoo, but before Eliot knows it, he's made new kid friends and is waist-deep in the "grayish green" ocean with the intriguing, chestnut-haired Mary Beth McGillivery. It doesn't take long for two local boys, Jack and Eddie McLeod, to warn him that their older brother Donnie "won't like some Eye-talian kid from away coming around," and the bully is as scary as they say. Because dangers lurk, promises of future clambakes, blueberry-picking and lighthouse-exploring feel like cold comfort, and even Uncle Earl's "special dinner," involving a bulbous-eyed lobster that "might crawl across the table and eat me," doesn't exactly cheer him up. Things look up considerably as Eliot builds some good, solid Nova Scotia-style skills and deepens his relationships with his new friends and family. Sea Change is about evolution, hope, compassion and second chances, and the wonderfully spun narrative is always buoyant.

Canadian author-artist Frank Viva (Young Frank, Architect) draws on his own memories of Nova Scotia summers. He illustrates his often-funny, often-poignant story with cartoonish, pinkish-red people, trucks and fish, and the type pours into tea cups or beams in rays through an attic window. Sea Change, a literary and visual ode to small-town Nova Scotia, is the novel equivalent of the best summer-vacation postcard a person could get. --Karin Snelson, children's & YA editor, Shelf Awareness