Debut author Yiming Ma brilliantly, presciently constructs a future when the United States is Qin-America, long subsumed by Qin, a new China able to "crush [Western] enemies once and for all." Mindbanks--"devices... directly installed into the hippocampi"--"made Qin into this great empire."

A "MESSAGE FROM OWNER," its metadata redacted, opens what becomes a novel-in-stories, establishing a framing device in which the unnamed sender introduces his mother's "stories of a world before memories could be shared between strangers... a time when our ancestors shared their thoughts using nothing more than words." Her death bequeaths him her precious, banned collection of "Memory Epics." Risking his own freedom in a time of ubiquitous mind control, he releases "these truths" here because "none of these memories belong to me." Order doesn't matter, he encourages--although he slyly challenges in his final message, "Did you embrace your freedom...? Or did you accept the status quo, the default sequence I determined?"

Some memories are heartbreaking: an elderly mother cooking her son's favorite meal--and arduous faraway delivery she attempts in "First Viral Memory: Chankonabe"; a devoted husband reluctantly selling his beloved, quotidian past with his beloved wife to save her life in "The Islander." Others are gloriously intertwined: two high school friends reunited after war in "Patience and Virtue and Chess and America," their fates further revealed decades later in "After the Bloom"; the recurrence of the armless, eponymous "Swimmer of the Yangtze"; the late mother's own (partial) backstory in "Fantasia." With haunting vulnerability, Ma stupendously creates glimpses of the timeless human need for connection. --Terry Hong

Fannie Flagg's comfy quilt of Americana, Something to Look Forward To, is a disarming collection of 30 linked short stories. Flagg's warm, humorous, slice-of-life observations often lead to witty, lightly philosophical conclusions about the human race. Settings include Indiana, Arkansas, Kansas, Texas, Alabama, New York, and elsewhere; years fleet from 1956 to 2025.

The opening story, "Special Agent William Frawley," presents an objective perspective from Planet 8676 of Earth's residents "staring at their hands." Frawley (yes, as in I Love Lucy) is sent to a Fort Wayne, Ind., Marriott hotel to figure out why. He captivates a Baskin-Robbins clerk with his gobsmacked enthusiasm. Focus shifts in "Beware the Weatherman" to Milwaukee, Wis., where a TV news personality returns home and stumbles into the wrong funeral and a pleasant surprise. In Pot Luck, Ark., 66-year-old widow Darla Womble discovers who among her "no-account family" really loves her when it seems she's dead.

Farmer Velma Ruth Vanderhoff, in Cottonwood, Kan., appears in several stories over many years, adjusting to generational differences with her "educated, socially responsible" granddaughter and nonbinary great-grandchild in Berkeley, Calif. The title story, set in Shenandoah, Iowa, is a very funny, very clever take on reincarnation: a publicity man for Warner Brothers Studio ends up as a grub worm. Flagg (Fried Green Tomatoes; The Wonder Boy of Whistle Stop) is superb with ironic, punchline endings. An epilogue underscores her true intentions, perceptive subtexts on how humans "just keep going." A terrific, light-hearted, and fun read with important lessons about all of us. --Robert Allen Papinchak, freelance book critic.

Aoko Matsuda, author of Where the Wild Ladies Are, follows up with a slim but powerful collection of 52 short stories and pieces of flash fiction that address sexism, discrimination, and violence against women in Japanese society, which, with help from Polly Barton's adept translation, will resonate with a broad spectrum of readers.

Though incisive and intense, Matsuda's stories, some of which are only a few sentences long, are rarely straightforward and range from surreal to absurdist. Every piece, however, delivers a pointed message. In "The Purest Woman in the Kingdom," a fairytale prince wears special glasses to see where on their bodies his potential brides have been touched sexually. The only woman in the kingdom who hasn't is one who was taught martial arts from infancy. In "Dissecting Misogyny," the narrator takes apart the hatred of women with a serrated knife as if it were an actual body. And in the title story, Matsuda brilliantly critiques the way women's suffering is used for entertainment: "The woman dies. She dies for the sake of a good story. The woman is raped. She is raped for the sake of a good story. We grow up watching it happen."

There are some lighter stories in the collection, such as "Bette Davis," which describes a séance where a group communes with the actress they adore, but the majority offer a searing critique on the many ways women are marginalized and subjugated. Insightful and vibrant The Woman Dies is both compelling fiction and sharp social commentary. --Debra Ginsberg, author and freelance editor

Author/activist Winnie M Li's perceptive third novel, What We Left Unsaid, centers three estranged Taiwanese American siblings, forced to reunite by their seriously ill mother: "Can't I see my children all at once?" Before arriving back in Irvine, Calif., however, Mom insists the trio must complete the family road trip, inexplicably aborted in 1991, to the Grand Canyon.

In the 31 years since, the Chu children have long left their Taiwanese immigrant parents' home. Bonnie is ensconced in the "blue-blood New England lifestyle, as the wife of Christopher Prescott, the one acceptable Asian blip in a family that is the very definition of WASP." Kevin is "just another Asian guy, a law-abiding, khaki-wearing citizen" with a wife, two kids, and a Wilmette, Ill., mortgage. Alex fled furthest, now living in London with her wife who is almost five months pregnant, working in communications for a domestic violence charity. "Why they never made it" to the iconic destination has never been thoroughly discussed. What happened then is deftly dovetailed piece by piece, interrupting the siblings' contemporary journey from Chicago to Irvine. All those miles together expose vulnerabilities, divulge secrets, and encourage essential healing.

Sexual violence haunted Li's first two titles, Dark Chapter and Complicit, and looms over Unsaid, as well. While this novel is comparatively lighter, Li actively inserts relevant capital-I Issues--belonging for Bonnie, emasculation for Kevin, America's perennial legacy of injustice for Alex--throughout. Still, Li's narrative spotlight never wavers from the importance of family. Despite decades of distance, strained bonds remain unbroken: "Chu's 4-EVA" indeed. --Terry Hong

Prolific, award-winning Japanese writer Mizuki Tsujimura's poignant Lost Souls Meet Under a Full Moon is the first of a duology; its sequel, How to Hold Someone in Your Heart, is scheduled to arrive in 2026. Yuki Tejima's warm translation of this 2010 original will likely place the import on proliferating J-healing shelves and displays, but Tsujimura adds glimpses of unresolved, aching bite, resulting in a resonating read.

Ayumi, "the go-between," is always a bit of a surprise for clients seeking a link to the dead: Ayumi's still a teen, sporting his "Sunday best" designer coat, carrying a tattered notebook. But he knows how to make supernatural connections happen. A lonely office worker asks to meet a superstar idol. A grumpy eldest son wants his mother's advice about the family business. A high school student needs to talk to her best friend about her fatal accident. A businessman longs to see his beloved fiancée who disappeared seven years ago just after he proposed. Tsujimura reveals Ayumi's multigenerational back story, intertwined with affecting revelations from the dearly departed.

Tsujimura clearly lays down the rules. Initial contact happens in a hospital courtyard--"Cafes are expensive. And McDonald's is too loud." The dead must agree to see the living. Neither party can ever experience another reunion. Meetings happen in a fancy hotel room (seemingly in room numbers ending in 7), best arranged for a full moon evening. Tsujimura reveals how results vary: resolve, insight, agony, heartbreak. The service is always free, although the aftermath proves utterly priceless. --Terry Hong

Readers who can't afford an art history degree or a museum tour of Paris will get an excellent survey course with Mona's Eyes, a richly informative novel by art historian Thomas Schlesser, translated from the French by Hildegarde Searle. Ten-year-old only child Mona is drawing polygons in her family's Montreuil apartment when she suddenly goes blind. The blindness lasts for only 63 minutes but is frightening enough to warrant tests. When a physician recommends that Mona see a therapist every Wednesday, Mona's mother asks Henry, Mona's grandfather, to take her. Without telling Mona's parents, however, Henry takes her instead to three of Paris's museums, the Louvre, the Musée d'Orsay, and the Centre Georges-Pompidou, commonly known as the Beaubourg, so that if Mona goes permanently blind, "she would at least have the benefit of a kind of reservoir, deep in her brain, from which to draw some visual splendors."

What follows in this singular novel are 52 chapters, each one dedicated to one work of art. Henry describes each week's piece in loving detail, including the artist's background and the relevant techniques, including da Vinci's use of sfumato in the Mona Lisa to Courbet "combining registers, the dramatic and the comic," in A Burial at Ornans (1849-50). If this all sounds like an excuse for Schlesser to rhapsodize about art, that's because it is. If he's stingy with plot, he's generous with history, with long, erudite descriptions and reproductions of each work inside the jacket cover. Aesthetes are going to love this book, and rightly so. --Michael Magras, freelance book reviewer

"It seems appropriate I begin this story here, with a haze, a transposition, a dislocation, a movement between the borders of language and voice and home," writes Natalie Bakopoulos in her incandescent novel Archipelago. With lyrical, recursive prose reminiscent of Katie Kitamura, Bakopulous (Scorpionfish) tells the story of a narrator who answers to Natalia, although that's not her name. Natalia is a middle-aged translator of Greek into English who considers translation "a dream logic as sound and sensual as math." The daughter of a Ukrainian mother and a Greek father, she grew up in Detroit and seems to absorb languages. At a residency on a Croatian island off the Dalmatian coast, she begins translating a Greek novel.

Each morning, she swims in the sea; much of Archipelago is fascinated with bodies of water, including rivers, waterfalls, and the vessels that carry people across. During the residency, Natalia runs into an old friend, Luka, who becomes her lover. One day, he leaves, and she finds his apartment is for rent. She takes his car and drives to her grandparents' former home in Greece, which is now hers to live in. Around the barest sketches of plot, Bakopoulos builds a layered, subtle luxuriation in sensation, family, the passage of time, and the vicissitudes of change. Memories and dreams permeate. Dread ebbs and flows, sometimes with the threat of violence or danger that never fully manifests. This beautiful novel echoes with what it means to tell a story, to live inside of one. --Nina Semczuk, writer, editor, and illustrator

Farrar, Straus and Giroux Writer's Fellow Addie E. Citchens commands a prodigious talent, and her debut novel, Dominion, is a barnstormer of an opening act. With strong characterization and pacing, Dominion introduces the Winfrey family and the Seven Seals Missionary Baptist Church, headed by the Reverend Sabre Winfrey, Jr., and his dutiful wife, Priscilla. While Sabre holds sway over his Mississippi community, it is his youngest, Emanuel (called Manny, Wonderboy, or just Wonder), who claims the novel's spotlight, but neither of these men get to tell this story.

After opening each chapter with a church bulletin insert for taking sermon notes, Citchens gives the story over to Priscilla and Diamond, the girl Wonder has been dating. Priscilla's view of her husband has changed over the years: "Then, I thought we were in this together; it took a long while and a harsh fall to see it had never been about us, but about him." Diamond, by contrast, can see nothing but good in Wonder. Diamond thrills at how safe she feels when he disagrees with the way his father hits his mother: "you shouldn't have to hit your woman at all. The threat of you should be enough." The threat of Wonder makes itself known in halting revelations, often through the mysterious numbered sections at the close of each chapter. As the mysteries come clear, the Winfrey family starts to disintegrate (so, too, the tidy structure of the chapters), and readers will stand with Priscilla and Diamond as they face down the dominion that has been holding them back. --Sara Beth West, freelance reviewer and librarian

A New York investigative journalist's return to her Claxton, S.C., hometown prompts her to reinvestigate her older sister Natalie's disappearance 22 years ago in Stacy Willingham's engrossing, character-driven Forget Me Not.

Upset that she didn't receive an anticipated promotion, Claire Campbell impulsively quit her newspaper job. Eight weeks later, freelance work hasn't materialized; her morale is dwindling along with her bank account. Claire reluctantly agrees to spend a month or so in Claxton, helping her recently injured mother. But no homecoming welcome awaits; her mother, whom she hasn't seen for 15 years, is distant.

Rummaging through Natalie's preserved room, Claire finds old photographs of her sister taken at Galloway Farm, the small vineyard where 18-year-old Natalie worked before she vanished. Memories overwhelm Claire, who was 11 years old at the time. Tensions between Claire and her mother grow, leading Claire to take a job at Galloway Farm, and Willingham details the farm's sights, smells, and growth. There, Claire feels closer to Natalie. Her interest is piqued when she finds a decades-old diary written by a young woman who lived at Galloway, then hears from Natalie's former best friend that her sister became "obsessed" with the farm, and seldom left it. Claire becomes consumed with learning more about Marcia and Mitchell, the strange couple who owns Galloway, and Liam, the farm's caretaker.

Dynamics among the characters fuel the unpredictable plot. Claire doesn't understand her compulsion about uncovering the Galloway owners' history or why she is drawn to Liam yet also leery of him. Willingham's skill at uncovering her characters' emotional resolve and making connections across the years excels in Forget Me Not. --Oline H. Cogdill, freelance reviewer

Lottie Jones knows how to get away with murder, having been a serial killer decades ago in Samantha Downing's wryly humorous, exquisitely plotted Too Old for This. The lead suspect in at least three murders, Lottie was meticulous in not leaving behind any evidence and was never arrested. Publicity led to her and her son, Archie, being ostracized, forcing them to move to a new community and change their names.

The 75-year-old grandmother now lives quietly, has friends, and attends church twice a week, with Thursday nights reserved for bingo. She considers herself retired from killing. Then producer Plum Dixon arrives at her Baycliff, Ore., home, with her plans to include Lottie in her docuseries on people "wrongly accused" of crimes--with or without Lottie's cooperation. A docuseries would expose Lottie's past and turn her community against her, and ruin Archie's life and his plans to marry his pregnant girlfriend. Goodbye, retirement, as Plum becomes Lottie's victim.

Plum's boyfriend, mother, and investigating cops all focus on Lottie. Lottie doesn't kill for thrills, instead, anger drives her--a teacher blasting her parenting skills, a stranger's disrespect. Too Old for This also becomes an insightful look at dealing with aging and planning for those final days. Lottie finds killing has new challenges these days, with electronics pinging locations, social media posts, and DNA technology. Disposing of a body exhausts her, making her feel her age, which for her necessitates naptimes and a cane to help with her arthritis.

Downing (For Your Own Good) balances dark humor with a hard-boiled approach, impressively keeping the reader on Lottie's side even as the body count increases. --Oline H. Cogdill, freelance reviewer

Alice Rathbone reacts instinctively when a teenager bursts into her kitchen brandishing a knife, rushing past her and her friends toward the room where their children are having a playdate: she grabs the closest weapon and strikes. The fatal blow with a kitchen stool opens The Break-In by Katherine Faulkner (Greenwich Park; The Other Mothers), her third London-set thriller featuring mothers abruptly thrust into danger and mystery.

Alice is traumatized and guilt-ridden by the break-in and the intruder's death. Her husband, Jamie, insists it was a random burglary; the police determine she acted in self-defense. But Alice needs to know more, to prove the tragedy was "out of her hands... not her fault." Ugly social media slurs and whispers of "murderer" spur her to launch an ill-conceived secret investigation. She pursues twisting leads and uncovers unsavory truths that provide more questions than answers. In a state of darkly foreboding obsession, Alice "happens" by the intruder's house and anonymously befriends his family, while readers will detect a sense of duplicity among Alice's closest allies. Stoic Jamie comforts her, a journalist friend offers "to do some digging," and Alice's loyal young nanny abruptly resigns. Chapters from Alice's close third-person perspective alternate with other points of view, revealing connections from well before the break-in and confirming Alice's fears and suspicion that it was not about her. Faulkner's unreliable narrators will entice readers through the shocking turns of this propulsive psychological thriller. --Cheryl McKeon, Book House of Stuyvesant Plaza, Albany, N.Y.

Darcie Wilde's The Heir is a captivating historical mystery that reimagines a young Queen Victoria not just as a future monarch, but as a clever teenage sleuth. Set against the rigid backdrop of the infamous Kensington System--a strict set of rules designed to control Victoria's upbringing--this novel from the author of The Matter of the Secret Bride and A Lady Compromised offers a remarkable perspective on the early life of one of Britain's most iconic queens.

At 16, Victoria is already chafing under the watchful eyes of her mother and the manipulative Sir John Conroy, her mother's adviser. When she spots a dead body during a horseback ride on the grounds of Kensington Palace, her world is upended. Although she is ignored or disbelieved by those around her, Victoria refuses to let the mystery go. With the help of Sir John's daughter Jane, Victoria's investigation takes her from the royal drawing rooms to the servants' quarters as she questions Princess Sophia and a dismissed housemaid with ties to the Conroy family, among others.

Wilde's meticulous research shines through, immersing readers in the political tensions and social constraints of the royal family. The mystery itself has just the right balance of suspense and character development, and Victoria's voice is sharp and curious, making her a compelling protagonist. The Heir is more than just a whodunit--it's a thoughtful exploration of power, independence, and the making of a queen. Fans of historical fiction and mystery alike will find much to enjoy in this smart and satisfying read. --Jessica Howard, former bookseller, freelance book reviewer

"Once the sun sank below the horizon, the villagers closed their doors and shuttered their windows." In Maddie Martinez's evocative debut fantasy, The Maiden and Her Monster, the woods hold a beast so terrible that it forced the villagers to rename it, "Mavetéh. Into death."

Martinez's world building is atmospheric and richly layered, drawing from elements of Jewish folklore. Set in the small village of Eskravé, the story centers around a young Yahadi woman, Malka,and the oppression that her people face from the powerful Ozmini Church. The practice of Kefesh, a forbidden, "contentious Yahadi mysticism "laces the story, intertwining the fates of all the characters. Malka, while fearful of Kefesh, grapples with the implications of using the magic, which has often "flittered across her mind, untamable as a bleating sheep adrift from its shepherd."

The forest has claimed the lives of many young women, including Malka's best friend. When Malka's mother is falsely accused of causing the death of an Ozmini woman, Malka must embark on a perilous journey into the cursed woods to capture the monster as trade for her mother's life.

Martinez deftly explores themes of faith, power, and redemption through her compelling characterization. Malka soon realizes that the "monster" is not as murderous as everyone assumed but is, instead, a dishonored golem, who sets the terms of her own bargain with Malka. Now working together against a new, terrifying menace, Malka is forced to reckon with the growing longing between them, which may threaten the lives of the very ones they are each trying to save. --Grace Rajendran, freelance reviewer

Pyae Moe Thet War's Here for a Good Time somehow manages to transform a remote life-and-death kidnapping into an epic rom-com, complete with well-placed cameos by the lovestruck protagonists from her first novel, I Did Something Bad.

Mired with crushing writer's block--particularly exacerbated by her ex's voice insisting she's "good, just not good enough"--Poe hasn't been much of a friend to Zwe, her roommate and absolute bff since age 10. As a roundabout apology, she spends some of her recent wealth--her first book sold at auction, hit international bestseller lists, and is under celluloid development by Netflix!--on a two-week, all-inclusive dream vacation to a faraway luxury island. Aside from the best drinks, best views, best time they're supposed to have, there's the small problem with middle-of-the-night gunshots that, 48 hours later, lead to Poe and Zwe trapped in a room that's just been set ablaze. Even more scorching is the realization (finally) that the two have been madly in love each other for decades. They'll need to hurry up and take this possible last chance to reveal their truths.

Myanmar-born, U.K.-based Moe Thet War is a dynamic, propulsive writer with seemingly boundless energy. Her storytelling moves forward without pause, her characters seamlessly bouncing between 2 a.m. conversations, sharing finger sandwiches at airport lounges, arguing over snorkeling, discussing loss of home and habitat to billionaire developers, and, of course, valiantly trying to save the other's life at all costs. Pop that corn, grab that plush bathrobe, settle into that comfy couch--Moe Thet War's wacky romance is undeniably audience ready. --Terry Hong

In A Silent Treatment, her third memoir, Jeannie Vanasco (The Glass Eye; Things We Didn't Talk About When I Was a Girl) examines the many ways her mother uses silence: as punishment, as retreat, as enticement, as retribution, as unspoken longing. It all began when Vanasco's mother moved into the in-law suite in Vanasco's home. What started as an elegant solution to her mother's loneliness and distance quickly morphed into something less beautiful: silent treatments, lasting anywhere from days to months, at the smallest of perceived slights. To an outsider, it is easy to label this treatment as manipulative at best, abusive at worst. But Vanasco is loath to use such black-and-white definitions, instead placing these silences under a writer's microscope: "I resent what my mom did and is doing, and I don't want to write out of resentment. I don't resent my mom, however."

In fact, Vanasco dedicates the book to her mother, writes with her mother's consent and encouragement, and includes annotations and comments from her mother throughout. "(Mom: If I didn't want you to write about it, I shouldn't have done it.)" In Vanasco's skilled hands, A Silent Treatment peels back the layers of these maternally inflicted silences, grappling with not only how it feels to experience them, but how it feels to write about them. "A mother inherently has so much power over a child," she writes, "but a writer has so much power over any person they're writing about." Vanasco wields that power carefully in this striking literary memoir, drawing on history, scientific research, and her own experiences to examine the all-consuming effect of words unspoken. --Kerry McHugh, freelance writer

Donna Leon's inviting Backstage: Stories of a Writing Life pulls back the curtain for inquiring minds wanting to know what inspires, challenges, and sustains the creative output of the megawatt mystery writer of 34 (so far) Commissario Guido Brunetti novels (Give Unto Others; Trace Elements). It complements her breezy 2023 memoir, Wandering Through Life. Backstage is not, however, a how-to manual; rather, it comprises 32 brief, invigorating essays that highlight how Leon did it and why.

Leon's passionate Venn diagram trinity is opera, Venice, and other writers. Opera's "essential glories" of plot, motion, characterization, excess, and "the unknown" allow the imagination to "[serve] as a trampoline, hurling us ever higher in spirit at the thought of what is to come rather than at the sound of what is or has been." Baroque music melds naturally into Leon's adoration of La Serenissima (aka Venice) and her first Brunetti novel, Death at La Fenice (1992). Her time in that city is punctuated by a neighbor's blaring television, which triggers a nefarious plan involving toothpicks and a doorbell. She drops many writers' names, but her primary crime-genre influences are Ruth Rendell, Ross MacDonald, and Raymond Chandler.

The essays are sometimes light yet enlightening. In "Jack and Jill," Leon uses the nursery rhyme as a launching point for sexist, Marxist, and Freudian literary interpretations. This kind of explication, she says, is what provokes the "glimpse of common humanity" and is thus "the magic of fiction." When her fiction "demands careful research," Leon seeks out reliable sources, such as a quirky diamond dealer and a sex worker with squirrelly tales. --Robert Allen Papinchak, freelance book critic.

The only roadless interruption in the Pan-American Highway linking Alaska to Argentina is a deadly jungle crucible for hundreds of thousands of migrants en route to the United States every year, as journalist Belén Fernández (Exile: Rejecting America and Finding the World) investigates in The Darién Gap.

The 106-kilometer stretch of jungle straddling Panama and Colombia is known to migrants as el infierno verde, or "the green hell." Not only is the arduous physical crossing perilous, with rugged mountains, rushing rivers, and "all-consuming mud," but there is unspeakable violence--countless murders of people, including children--that makes the Darién Gap a "mass migrant graveyard." It is also a horrorscape of sexual violence perpetrated by guides, paramilitaries, and even Indigenous inhabitants upon male and female migrants. Fernández's gonzo journalism is fearless (reckless, even), as when she details her 2024 incursion into the Darién Gap (before she turned back). Her insightful conversations with refugees, human smugglers, and fellow travelers reveal in dark focus all the ways people can die in the Darién, not to mention the "psychological impact on migrants of having to step over decomposing bodies."

What is clear by the end is that the Darién Gap is the "site of an ongoing made-in-USA migration crisis." The Darién Gap is a revelatory, yet heated, examination of the human costs of seeking asylum and a better life in America that skewers the notion of national borders and ultimately blames the misery of U.S.-bound "have-nots" on the "bipartisan U.S. war on migrants." --Peggy Kurkowski, book reviewer in Denver

Elizabeth Gilbert has been an iconic memoirist in the U.S. since Eat Pray Love landed on bookshelves nearly 20 years ago. Now, in her first memoir in a decade,  Gilbert takes readers to a darker, more complicated space. This is a harrowing, vital, and ultimately transcendent exploration of fierce love, codependency, and grief.

All the Way to the River is the story of Gilbert's profound and life-altering relationship with Rayya Elias. Their bond found new contours when Elias was diagnosed with terminal pancreatic and liver cancer. On the verge of permanent loss, they revealed to each other the depth and nature of their love. But this joy was entwined with the fact that both women were addicts, albeit of different kinds. Elias had been in recovery for a time, but as her pain increased and her time grew shorter, she relapsed in intense fashion, with Gilbert taking part and footing the bill. As Gilbert observes, "Love addiction, drug addiction, dependency, codependency--it's all the same thing: a disease so tireless and dirty and dignity-consuming that it will never rest until you're ruined."

Gilbert confronts not only the anticipatory grief of losing the love of her life but also the chaotic, terrifying nature of their shared addictions. This unflinching examination of codependency, relapse, and the desperate, often messy, business of caregiving and boundary setting marks a stark departure from the aspirational tone of her previous work. The central liberation in the book's subtitle is not a sudden, sun-drenched epiphany, but a slow, painful untangling of self from another in order to love more fully and more honestly. --Elizabeth DeNoma, executive editor, DeNoma Literary Services, Seattle, Wash.

The only thing diehard Scream fans may soon love as much as they love the franchise itself is entertainment journalist Ashley Cullins's debut, Your Favorite Scary Movie: How the Scream Films Rewrote the Rules of Horror, which recounts how the beloved series came to be. The introduction touches on how watching a scary movie in a cinema setting "is really about the moments after the scares. There's often a laugh, a shared feeling of catharsis, where we can wordlessly acknowledge that we survived intact, whether the characters on screen did or didn't." Cullins goes on to share scores of wide-ranging interviews and anecdotes from the film's production team and actors, including the making of the movie and the sense of belonging original director Wes Craven fostered on set. It's full of interesting tidbits, such as how Drew Barrymore thought playing the first character to die instead of serving as the lead would be "unforgettably jarring to audiences" in the first film and how Roger Jackson, the voice of Ghostface, never broke character or interacted with the rest of the cast on set.

Cullins has too much respect for the lasting impact of Scream to fall victim to the temptation to include juicy Hollywood gossip, and she writes with a shared understanding of how much joy a person can reap from Scream's trailblazing balance of humor and jump scares. Part oral history, part investigative reporting, Your Favorite Scary Movie is a fond, captivating look at how a self-aware collection of movies and the people behind them changed pop culture and the horror film genre forever. --Kristen Coates, editor and freelance reviewer

Long before Jack Nicholson, Heath Ledger, and Joaquin Phoenix laughed their way through their respective big-budget movies playing the Joker, Cesar Romero (1907-1994) put his stamp on the role in TV's Batman (1966-1968). Samuel Garza Bernstein's Cesar Romero: The Joker Is Wild is an affectionate biography of the golden-age star, a frank look at the life of a jobbing actor, and a glimpse at the cost of being gay in Old Hollywood.

Romero was born in New York City; his mother was of Cuban descent and his father was born in Spain. Romero developed a passion for dance (his grace would one day help him play the Joker), which led to stage work, which led to screen work and a 1934 move to Hollywood. He could and would play any film genre, and he regularly landed non-leading roles in big movies (1954's Vera Cruz, 1960's Ocean's Eleven) and guest-starring spots on television, including in the campy superhero show for which he's best remembered.

Playing the Joker required white full-face makeup--the rare acting gig that didn't hinge on Romero's ethnicity. In his prime, he was sold as a "Latin lover" in movie magazines that kept asking: When would the tall, dark, and handsome bachelor get hitched? Bernstein (Starring Joan Crawford) handles Romero's probable homosexuality gingerly, speculating but admitting that there's no confirmation, even from interview subjects who knew the actor. Cesar Romero will leave readers appreciative of Romero's gifts and perhaps wistful that, for whatever reason, he didn't find love in his lifetime. --Nell Beram, author and freelance writer

A princess must marry then murder a prince in this dark YA romantasy featuring gorgeous prose, twisty reveals, and untraceable murders.

Radixan Princess Inessa Sinet was poisoned. The princess had attempted to save her monetarily floundering kingdom by marrying then killing Aeric, the prince of the powerful yet "haughty and detestable" Acus. She accomplished neither. Now, Inessa's twin sister, Madalina, must attempt the same task. Inessa, trapped in the purgatorial Bide, haunts Madalina, demanding her sister avenge her. Madalina knows Aeric may have murdered Inessa and she suspects he has sinister aims for her, too, but Aeric, "so hedonistically lighthearted, as though he were made from feathers and sparkling wine," offers "unabashed faithfulness" to Madalina. As Aeric wears at Madalina's resolve, perplexing clues surrounding Inessa's murder lead Madalina to the bleak history of the magical and deadly grave flowers for which Radix is known.

Grave Flowers by Autumn Krause (Before the Devil Knows You're Here) is a Hamlet-inspired tale that twists the heart with serpentine betrayals and tenderly wrought romantic and familial love. Madalina is a compellingly dynamic first-person narrator: she refuses to be weak despite being "the soft spot in our family's mortar" but hates channeling her sister's and father's murderous natures. Moments of vulnerability between Aeric and Madalina are filled with tense longing while grotesque horrors, like carnivorous flowers feasting on fresh corpses, unsettle. A multifaceted cultural backdrop, lyrical writing, and excerpts from the chilling "Guide to Grave Flowers for Tortures and Torments" add layers to the already impressive read. An enchantingly grim tale of duty, desire, and the darkness in between. --Samantha Zaboski, freelance editor and reviewer

Sisters in the Wind by Angeline Boulley (Warrior Girl Unearthed) is a shocking, urgent YA thriller that centers Native voices and cultural identity as it reveals the failures of the foster-care system.

Six months after aging out of the foster-care system, 18-year-old Lucy survives a pipe-bomb attack. She wakes in a hospital with two strangers at her bedside: Daunis, her dead biological sister's best friend (and the protagonist of Boulley's debut, Firekeeper's Daughter), and Jamie, an attorney who helps Native American foster kids reconnect with their heritage. While recuperating, Lucy learns her birth mother is alive, her biological father lied about Lucy's heritage (telling her she was Dutch and Italian instead of Ojibwe), and someone might be trying to kill her. Is it her bio-dad's widow, who would be thrilled to inherit Lucy's college fund? Her "horndog" foster brother from a "godly" family? Or is it her most recent foster parents who are doing shady things on their farm? If Lucy doesn't figure it out, fast, she's at risk of becoming just another statistic.

Boulley delivers a taut YA mystery with unexpected twists that is deeply rooted in reclaiming one's cultural identity and critiquing social systems. Flashbacks deftly reveal Lucy's time in foster care and her negative experiences while in the system, including social workers suppressing her heritage, foster parents threatening her, and foster siblings betraying her. Present-day scenes intensify the suspense as Lucy slowly heals from her injuries and receives threats. Through Lucy's fierce, astute narration, Boulley effortlessly unpacks themes of survival, belonging, and intergenerational trauma, all framed by an engrossing mystery. A powerful testament to restoring one's heritage. --Lana Barnes, freelance reviewer and proofreader

A teen vampire whose adult fangs have come in tries to hide his new difficulties with being around blood--and the way one boy's pulse seems to call to him--in this savvy and sanguine middle-grade graphic novel.

Thirteen-year-old Ivan can't tell any of his friends, all of whom are human, that he's a vampire. When his fangs come in, he hides them, too happy at Day School with the human kids to go to Night School, even though this disappoints his family. He has always eaten a plant-based diet and doesn't understand why he's suddenly woozy at the mention of blood--or why he can hear the heartbeat of Damien, a sweet classmate who is there to catch Ivan "each and every time" he faints. When a date leads to a near kiss, Ivan fears he'll only hurt this kind boy and enrolls in Night School without saying goodbye. "If I'm a monster," he decides, "why not act like one?"

First Kiss with Fangs by Marker Snyder is astoundingly heartwarming. There are secret notes and inside jokes, an encouraging school nurse, and a wonderfully supportive friend group when Ivan comes out as a vampire ("I'm more scared of a toaster"). Snyder uses color as a distinct signifier: humans have a full tonal range of gray skin and always wear sunshine yellow; vampires are and wear blue; red is only used for blood and the crimson streaks in Damien's hair. Snyder's debut is a wholesome and clever story about how to trust others--and oneself--with one's true nature. --Samantha Zaboski, freelance editor and reviewer

Ultrawild by engineer Steve Mushin is an innovative, fact-packed graphic novel about sustainability that combines the humor of Dav Pilkey and the science of Dan Nott.

Rewilding is the act of introducing wildlife back into urban spaces. Ultrawild, already a nonfiction award-winner in its native New Zealand, explores how to stop climate change through "bonkers" rewilding experiments taken to the extreme. "NONE of these ideas have passed ANY KIND OF SAFETY TEST," warns author Mushin. "PLEASE EXPERIMENT WITH THE IDEAS ANYWAY." Human brains often end up in autopilot where they "become scared of anything new," Mushin explains. It's important, then, to think ludicrously and absurdly to break thought patterns, like considering turning lamp posts into luxury hotels for native animals or using abandoned sewers as rivers.

Despite its silliness, Ultrawild treats its imaginative ideas and its readers with the seriousness and care that the underlying issue of climate change deserves. With its well-cited experiments, links to additional scientific resources, and enthusiasm for all things imaginative, it's difficult to read the book and not want to rewild some part of the world--and to build a compost-firing cannon at the same time. The densely packed graphic novel can sometimes be challenging to follow--every page is crammed with flow charts, infographics, text, and images--but at the end of every experiment, a serene double-page spread of a reimagined world gives the eye a break. The amount of information Mushin packs into each page will surely give readers a feeling similar to their first nonfiction lift-the-flap book: if we just keep reading and exploring, anything is possible. --Nicole Brinkley, bookseller and writer

A cute critter meets a Twilight Zone-esque fate in the horrifyingly funny Troubling Tonsils!, first in an early chapter book spinoff series from Aaron Reynolds and Peter Brown's Caldecott Honor-winning picture book Creepy Carrots! and its sequels.

Jasper Rabbit appears in a slouchy suit to emcee the proceedings, warning that the story may have its audience "peeing your pants without knowing whether it's from fright or hilarity or maybe just confusion." He asks the reader to consider tonsils, "tiny, fleshy wads" existing in dark anonymity within the body. Charlie, a happy-go-lucky young marmot in a striped polo shirt, is introduced. Charlie needs a tonsillectomy and wants to keep the extracted tonsils for show-and-tell. His father and doctor see the macabre appeal and agree. Then his doctor tells him at his operation appointment that his tonsils have mysteriously vanished. Charlie's infection seems oddly, miraculously solved until he hears a "slithery, gooey, unsettling sound" in the night and wakes up to find the show-and-tell tables have alarmingly turned.

Reynolds skillfully paces the proceedings in brief, quick-moving chapters studded with moments of ominous foreshadowing. The plot is pitched to both amuse and horrify, helped along by Brown's digital and pencil illustrations rendered in grayscale with fleshy, tonsil-pink accents. The organs are so squishy and real, Brown deserves an award for grotesquerie. This gleefully ghoulish story will go down best with independent readers ready for truly twisted plots with a constant undercurrent of silliness even at its most (bio)hazardous moments. --Jaclyn Fulwood, youth services manager, Allen County Public Library