With Transcendent Kingdom, Yaa Gyasi (Homegoing) crafts a superbly nuanced portrait of a Ghanaian American woman trying to make sense of her present through her past--a past tragically rocked by her brother's fatal opioid addiction.

A Ph.D. candidate in neuroscience at Stanford, Gifty spends her waking hours using mice to study the neural factors in reward-seeking behavior and addiction, and returns home only to sleep, eat and, newly, care for her bedridden and depressed mother. Gifty is undoubtedly brilliant and driven, but she is also detached--save for two friendships with gently determined colleagues. Unbeknown to most, Gifty's research and fervor are born of devastating events during her childhood in conservative and often racist Huntsville, Ala., where she grew up in a religious Ghanaian immigrant family. And, thus, Gifty strives to know, "could this science work on the people who need it the most? Could it get a brother to set down a needle? Could it get a mother out of bed?" With her mother a corporeal reminder of shared losses, Gifty scrutinizes her own grief, shame and trauma, turning to memory and revisiting childhood journal entries addressed to God ("Dear God, Please hurry up and make Buzz better. I want the whole church to see").

In this remarkable narrative that is at once beautifully lucid and brimming with emotional complexity, Gyasi examines and challenges the stigmas and stereotypes surrounding addiction and mental health while asking philosophical questions about the power and limits of faith, science and redemption. --Sylvia Al-Mateen, freelance reviewer and editor

Fight Club and Adjustment Day author Chuck Palahniuk's The Invention of Sound is a surreal horror novel that will fascinate and repulse its readers by equal shares. Mitzi Ives is a Foley artist who records the best scream sound effects for the Hollywood machine, by the most violent means possible. She's also a woman on the brink: masochistic, drug-addled and psychotic. Meanwhile, Gates Foster, an investigator who tracks pedophiles, wants nothing more than to avenge the disappearance, and presumed death, of his daughter. As the two race toward one another on a reckless collision course, a nefarious cast, including an actor, a producer and a doctor with their own agendas, influences the two. 

Like Palahniuk's best works, The Invention of Sound is a cacophony of visceral horror. Skipping through scenes that are progressively cringe-worthy and gag-inducing, the narrative keeps a relentless pace as characters become villainous and pathetic, detestable and yet uncomfortably recognizable. In what may be Palahniuk's best fusion of style and concept, the novel's surreal metaphors-made-real, both on a sentence-level and throughout the plot, create a sense that even the mundane cannot avoid being corrupted. From the moment Mitzi mistakes a pill sweat-stamped to skin for a pus-filled boil to the novel's explosive ending, Palahniuk is not so much full of surprises as he is full of fearless revelations. The story's brilliance in concept and prose comes, then, not from producing cheap twists, but from its ability to demonstrate how everything is, as we all fear, exactly what it seems. --Alice Martin, freelance writer and editor

In If I Had Two Wings, Randall Kenan (who died last month) revisits Tims Creek, N.C.--the setting for A Visitation of Spirits and Let the Dead Bury Their Dead--with bighearted stories about people of different races, sexualities and beliefs coexisting in this rural area. In "Ain't No Sunshine," Pastor Barden confesses to beating his wife's lover. Barden realizes just before the beating that "something vital left him as he exhaled and something terrible entered him as he inhaled. It was a transmogrification, a possession, a quicksilver change." The sheriff says, on hearing the story, "I reckon I won't get voted out of office for letting the matter lay where Jesus flung it."

The time frame shifts in the haunting, mystical "Mamiwata." Mandy, an enslaved girl escaping plantation owners, meets a mysterious, even darker, man standing in the river and "not exactly singing, more like humming, but in tune and to a rhythm foreign to her ears, yet familiar." "I am one of you," he tells her, and Mandy ultimately abandons her group and follows him, baptism-like, into the river and away. 

Religion is part of life in Tims Creek, although many residents adhere to church teachings only when it's convenient to do so. Whether it's Presbyterian deacon Terrell wrestling with a phantom hog, or Ed Phelps taking a trip to New York City with the Baptists, where he ends up in Billy Idol's stage entourage, people in these stories are always surprising, forcing those around them to "recalibrate, rejigger, rethink the blueprints of the universe we each haul around in our heads." --Cindy Pauldine, bookseller, the river's end bookstore, Oswego, N.Y.

Swedish author Fredrik Backman has entertained readers worldwide, drawing them into fictional realms with ordinary people facing the absurdities of life and death. In Anxious People, he mines similar terrain, cleverly assembling an ensemble cast of characters, some of them utterly exasperating. He sets them in a darkly comic predicament that will challenge them as a group and personally, opening the story to larger themes about the foibles, pitfalls and traps of living.

Backman's construct is straightforward: an open-house apartment viewing. What could possibly go wrong? Everything, especially when a gun-wielding bank robber targets a cashless bank and winds up, through a series of mishaps, at the open house. In bumbling, snowballing desperation, the robber takes eight people, high-maintenance strangers at the viewing, hostage. When the robber ultimately escapes, two police officers--a father and son facing personal struggles of their own--investigate the crime and try to make sense of the who, how and why of this topsy-turvy, totally-gone-awry robbery scenario and all involved.

Backman (Us Against You) skillfully employs an omniscient narrative voice and short, focused chapters that unwind an intricate plot through interspersed--extremely telling and very funny--police interrogation scenes. Readers are kept off-balance by details of the hostage siege as characters reveal their personal dilemmas. This intensifies the narrative tension and drama, upping the literal and figurative anxiousness of the book's title. Backman's signature storytelling wit and wisdom--the way he unravels his puzzle while peeling back layers of complex relationships, personal burdens and secrets carried by all--enables this fresh, quirky, over-the-top comedy to coalesce into poignant profundity. --Kathleen Gerard, blogger at Reading Between the Lines

Threats of violence and societal constraints loom over women of three different eras in a remote Scotland locale in this haunting, powerful novel.

Viv takes up residence in a house where she was cataloging the belongings in preparation for its sale. Still drifting after the death of her father, she makes two new acquaintances while grocery shopping to whom she becomes strangely attached. Two generations earlier, in the aftermath of World War II and still mourning the loss of her brother, Ruth moves into the house with her new husband and stepsons. Away from her family and with her husband often gone for work, she struggles to find her way in her new community and forms a bond with her maid. Centuries earlier, Sarah, an accused witch, is on the run with a small group.

In The Bass Rock by Evie Wyld (All the Birds, Singing), women through the ages survive the impressive entitlement of the men in their lives and struggle with both mental health problems and societies that pathologize (or, in the case of Sarah, demonize) their choices and needs that do not fit into the accepted models of femininity. Sarah's sections feel more remote than the others, but readers spend the least time with her. In the Viv and Ruth sections, which make up the majority of the book, their anger, their fear and their stifling frustrations are palpable, but the bonds that sustain them affirm that carrying on is, after all, worth it. --Kristen Allen-Vogel, information services librarian at Dayton Metro Library

Scarcely more than 100 pages, That Time of Year by Marie NDiaye (Ladivine) might initially seem spare. The intriguing complexity, however, contained in her superb novel underscores again why she is one of France's most lauded contemporary writers, having received her country's highest literary honors, including the Prix Femina and the Prix Goncourt. NDiaye's taut, noirish horror, complicated by Kafka-esque obstacles, is seamlessly translated into English by professor Jordan Stump.

For 10 summers, Herman has traveled with his wife, Rose, and their son to a remote village where the family has a summer home. As Parisians, Herman and his family are still considered tourists by the locals and, as such, are expected to leave by August 31. This year, however, they've veered from predictable habits and stayed an extra couple of days.

That September 1 afternoon, mother and son venture out to buy eggs. Hours later, they have not returned. The sunny warmth that's always lasted, as least through August 31, has suddenly turned to cold rain. Worried, Herman visits the neighboring farm, but the surprisingly inhospitable woman there insists she hasn't seen his family, nor does she even offer him dry shelter. He searches to no avail. Only the Chamber of Commerce president seems to be willing to help. His bizarre edict that Herman must "become a villager [him]self--invisible, insignificant," is Herman's only hope of family reunion. And so, he stays.

Reminiscent of a Beckett play--NDiaye is also a notable playwright--this surreal narrative quickly devolves into a nightmarish fever dream. With adroit precision, NDiaye transforms Herman's situation into a biting, brilliant exposé on class and privilege. --Terry Hong, Smithsonian BookDragon

"Why would I need to call my therapist just because I made a new friend?" Kelly Medina is affronted when her best friend shows concern over her interest in a new young woman in town with a baby. But "it was simple curiosity," Kelly tells herself, "that's all. Nothing sinister or odd. This was normal. Completely normal." Amber Garza's thrilling and clever When I Was You quickly delves into why Kelly's curiosity may not be "normal" and then doles out twists and turns at the perfect pace, leading up to a fantastic conclusion.

Kelly feels like a ghost. Her beloved son, Aaron, went off to college. Her husband, Rafael, returns to Folsom less and less from his job in the Bay Area. Then an errant phone call from her former pediatrician's office alerts Kelly there is another Kelly Medina in town. Instantly intrigued, feeling she's found a younger version of herself, Kelly can't help but investigate and ultimately finagle a way to meet new Kelly.

Writing from original Kelly's perspective, Garza throws tidbit after tidbit that raises questions about original Kelly's state of mind, past behavior and required therapy, Rafael's distance and attitude, and the million-dollar inquiry--who is new Kelly? Garza deftly uses original Kelly's narration to follow an erratic path, forcing the reader to switch assumptions numerous times. Is original Kelly an obsessive stalker with psychiatric issues? Or is new Kelly playing some game with unknown rules and consequences? When I Was You is a gripping psychological barnburner. --Lauren O'Brien of Malcolm Avenue Review

Steven Dudley's MS-13 comes when an educated voice is needed on the subject of the gang's impact on world violence and, equally importantly, political maneuvering. Dudley is abundantly qualified to write on the subject as the co-director of InSight Crime, a foundation dedicated to studying organized crime. Dudley works with numerous investigators and contributors to offer a more complete and accurate view of how organized crime works and its impact on public policy.

MS-13 is specifically about the Mara Salvatrucha, the ruthless street gang that has spread across countries and continents. Dudley details the origins of MS-13 and its operations, both generally and through specific experiences of a few individuals. "These stories allow us to trace the history of the gang from its beginnings in Los Angeles to its export to El Salvador and other Central American nations, and back again." The sections of the book (origins, maturation, efforts to extricate) mirror life faced by members who are enveloped, become serious, then try to leave.

Dudley addresses the Trump administration's comparison of the gang to Al-Qaeda as a means to rid the U.S. of "criminal aliens." While MS-13 is a threat that trades on its reputation for brutal murders, it is also greatly misunderstood, its power erroneously likened to much more sophisticated groups. Dudley's reporting is unsurprisingly complex, with extraordinary sections on methodology and notes, bibiography and index following the main text. A deep dive written in plain prose backed by years of research, MS-13 is a remarkable resource for thorough understanding. --Lauren O'Brien of Malcolm Avenue Review

Poet Aimee Nezhukumatathil (Oceanic) stuns with her nonfiction debut, World of Wonders: In Praise of Fireflies, Whale Sharks, and Other Astonishments, delightfully illustrated by Fumi Nakamura. These essays explore the natural world and the human experience, finding parallels, meaning and beauty in the intersections.

"A catalpa can give two brown girls in western Kansas a green umbrella from the sun," Nezhukumatathil begins. This is an apt and representative line: place-specific, beautifully phrased, with reference to some of the identities these essays will explore. They are mostly titled for the plants and creatures they focus on, with a few exceptions. The red-spotted newt and dragon fruit that title their respective essays receive Nezhukumatathil's attentive study and, yes, wonder, but the author's own experience is always a second thread. She brings a poet's ear for language and an eye for commonality and metaphor, both reverent of the natural world and specific in her own story.

World of Wonders offers a series of brief naturalist lessons, but is perhaps at its best in drawing connections, as between the axolotl's smile and what to do "if a white girl tries to tell you what your brown skin can and cannot wear for makeup." "And just like the potoo, who is rewarded for her stillness by having her lunch practically fly right to her mouth--perhaps you could try a little tranquility, find a little tenderness in your quiet. Who knows what feathered gifts await?" Wisdom, wonder and beauty make this slim collection one to treasure. --Julia Kastner, librarian and blogger at pagesofjulia

How to Educate a Citizen: The Power of Shared Knowledge to Unify a Nation by E.D. Hirsch, Jr., confronts the precipitous decline in academic performance of U.S. students compared to their international peers. Hirsch illustrates how America's child-centered elementary schooling model is failing its children, especially the most disadvantaged ones.

A lifelong educator, Hirsch (Why Knowledge Matters; The Making of Americans) established the Core Knowledge Foundation to promote educational equity in schools. While other developed countries teach standardized curricula rich in civics, history and tradition, most U.S. schools emphasize general skills such as critical thinking without imparting the essential shared knowledge, including civics and history, that is the mark of an educated citizen. Students grow up untethered to their American identity, resulting in what Hirsch refers to as "a knowledge gap, a communications gap and an allegiance gap."

Addressing parents, Hirsch points to the latest scientific research to demonstrate how young brains are primed for absorbing content and capable of inhabiting more than one identity. He shares examples of successful core knowledge-focused schools around the country, recommending that all elementary schools adopt content-specific curricula to unite the multiethnic nation's children under a shared U.S. nationality and improve their academic performance.

Readers cautious about a nationalistic, uniform approach to educating youth will discover in Hirsch's manifesto several compelling reasons for doing so, including the indisputable fact that a unified nation is better equipped to cooperate on international matters than one as polarized as the U.S. in the 21st century. --Shahina Piyarali, writer and reviewer

The best middle-grade novels centered on sports are often not really about sports. In Before the Ever After, 12-year-old narrator ZJ doesn't even especially like sports. But he's crazy about his dad, the NFL dynamo Zachariah Johnson.

It's 1999 and Zachariah starts behaving like someone other than himself: his hands shake and he sometimes doesn't recognize people's faces. He gets monstrous headaches. For the first time in ZJ's life, he has a dad who's a yeller. ZJ lays all this out in free verse, a form that Jacqueline Woodson employed just as fruitfully in Brown Girl Dreaming: "Used to be I said my dad was home and people would/ come running to my house./ Now it feels like they're trying to run away." ZJ's mom takes Zachariah to various doctors for tests. (Woodson's author's note explains that in 1999 and 2000, when Before the Ever After is set, the medical community was still fuzzy on the link between brain injuries and tackle football.) Finally a doctor has an explanation; as ZJ interprets it, "All those times he got knocked down/ and knocked out, my daddy kept getting up/ but maybe some part of him/ stayed on the ground."

Before the Ever After may spur readers to mull over the risks of playing tackle football, but at heart the book is a love story. Part of the heartbreak of Before the Ever After is the reader's gradual understanding of how far Zachariah came--to achieve professional greatness, to attain material wealth--only to find himself losing his ability to enjoy his success, not to mention parent his child. Woodson's text may be spare, but it has the emotional wallop of an offensive tackle. --Nell Beram, freelance writer and YA author

Duncan Tonatiuh's Feathered Serpent and the Five Suns is a captivating introduction to an epic Mesoamerican myth of creation.

"It is said by the elders that before our time there were four other tonatiuhs or suns." So begins the story of the world. During each tonatiuh, the gods attempted to create human beings and, though they failed, each try gave way to a part of the earth. The first time the gods covered sacred bones with mud, they were too big and clumsy and "these humans turned into mountains." During the second tonatiuh, the gods accidentally created fish. The third attempt was successful--however, those humans angered the gods and were turned into monkeys. The fourth endeavor led to birds. At this point, the gods became tired and sent the sacred bones to Mictlantecuhtli, lord of the underworld, for safekeeping. But one among them would not give up: Quetzalcóatl, the Feathered Serpent, the god of knowledge. A pillar of courage and cleverness, Quetzalcóatl would stop at nothing to make humans.

Tonatiuh's (The Princess and the Warrior) hand-drawn and digital collage illustrations evoke pre-Columbian art, and his modern touches and warm color palette make for vibrant, expressive spreads. Wondrous landscapes magnify Quetzalcóatl's formidable and heroic quest. An author's note and a glossary with pronunciations help deepen readers' historical understanding of the myth. With prose that is accessible and has the abiding quality of myth, Feathered Serpent and the Five Suns feels both classic and refreshing. --Zoraida Córdova, author and freelance book reviewer