Nobel Laureate Mario Vargas Llosa abandons his familiar Latin American settings in The Dream of the Celt to tell the story of one of the most controversial and enigmatic figures in Irish and British history, Roger Casement (1864-1916). Casement is legendary, showing up in Joyce's Ulysses and as the titular subject of a William Butler Yeats poem defending the reputation of "this most gallant gentleman" after his execution for treason against Great Britain during the First World War. Vargas Llosa says Casement's story "shoots up, dies out, and is reborn after his death" like fireworks; though The Dream of the Celt is a historical novel, it's also a "novelistic" biography that closely re-creates Casement's life while shifting back and forth in time, often returning to the prison where he awaits hanging after being convicted for negotiating with Germany to support an Irish rebellion. It's a powerful tale brilliantly told.

We read about the young Irish boy's love of the explorer Sir Henry Morton Stanley--which turns to hatred when the adult Casement sees firsthand the terrible treatment Congolese natives receive at the hands of the rapacious Belgians. The scenes detailing Casement's deep friendship with Joseph Conrad are excellent, as are the sections dealing with his homosexuality, as detailed in the controversial "black diaries" which the British government seized and then circulated to undermine the movement to have his death sentence commuted. The Dream of the Celt is the fifth Vargas Llosa to be translated by Edith Grossman (who also translated many of Gabriel Garcia Marquez's books), and it's hard to imagine her peerless work is a translation, so smoothly does it read. --Tom Lavoie, former publisher

In Latin, maleficium refers to "an evil deed, injury, sorcery," and Martine Desjardins acknowledges that her novel's title was inspired by the Malleus Maleficarum, the infamous 15th-century treatise on witches. Constructed like a Chinese box puzzle, Desjardins's Maleficium contains confessions from seven men stricken by repulsive ailments--and one "demonic, harelipped" woman responsible for bringing these ailments upon the men.

Set in the heyday of empires, the novel's central theme--the ruthless exploitation of cultures and natural resources for commercial and scientific purposes--still resonates with 21st-century readers. The "evil deed" in Maleficium is civilization itself. Civilization is "evil" because it often gravitates toward plunder and rape. Fueled by perpetual desire, the male confessors--collectors of rare insects; traders of spices, tortoise shells, fragrant soaps, Persian carpets--only want to violate or accumulate, not to connect on a human level. On the other hand, civilization means retributive justice for the disenfranchised, even if this notion of justice--from the oppressor's view--resembles sorcery or usurpation.

Mannered and ornate, the novel's multi-framed narrative yields facets of a deeply conflicted self. Maleficium's core mystery is Vicar Jerôme Savoie, a Montreal priest who transcribes the confessions, thus breaking the vow of secrecy that the sacrament of confession requires. Since there is no other proof regarding the existence of the priest, or even for the veracity of the recorded confessions, the novel becomes an intricate game involving the nature of truth and fiction. --Thuy Dinh, editor, Da Mau magazine

Elizabeth Haynes's chilling debut, Into the Darkest Corner, alternates scenes from a woman's violent past with her struggle to rebuild her present-day life while stalked by her abuser.

When Catherine Bailey met Lee, he seemed like the answer to a single woman's wildest dreams: gorgeous, attentive and sexually insatiable. Although his work as an undercover police officer made their dating schedule erratic, the relationship quickly deepened. Catherine's friends couldn't believe her luck, and a happily-ever-after life seemed certain. Then Catherine realized Lee was following her and picking the lock on her apartment when she was away, and soon her fairy tale became a violent nightmare.

Now Catherine has moved, taken a new job and begun calling herself Cathy, but none of it alleviates her need to check the locks dozens of times before leaving home or her sense of being stalked despite knowing Lee is behind bars. A tentative new romance with a psychologist inspires Cathy to seek counseling, and she begins to improve. When Lee is released from prison, though, her fears are made flesh as the man who nearly killed her decides he wants her back.

Haynes's frank portrayal of domestic violence and post-traumatic stress disorder will both horrify and compel. The alternating time frames quicken the book's pace rather than confuse the plot, heightening the suspense as past and present both hurtle toward terrifying climaxes. Readers will find themselves eerily spellbound, although side effects may include a sudden urge to lock your doors. --Jaclyn Fulwood, blogger, Infinite Reads

Redshirts begins with a simple premise science fiction fans have been pondering since the original Star Trek series aired in the 1960s, when the extras on away missions always wound up dead, and they always wore a red uniform shirt. John Scalzi takes this idea and runs with it--showing a mastery of the extrapolative process while building a tale that's equal parts hilarious and thought-provoking.

Ensign Andrew Dahl is excited about his posting to the Universal Union's flagship, the Intrepid, until he begins to notice something about every away mission. Though the captain and chief science officer always survive the alien encounters, and chief astrogator Lt. Kerensky is always injured (but miraculously heals before the next mission), at least one crew member of lower rank is killed, every time.

As he joins forces with other low-ranking crew members to uncover an explanation, Dahl eventually turns to a reclusive former officer hiding below decks who has theories of "the narrative" and advises the whole crew to stay off the bridge. As Dahl and his friends begin to suss out the truth of their situation, they must bend space and time to save all of their lives.

Redshirts is fast-paced and infused with loads of humor and Star Trek lore. A set of "codas" after the main story concludes show a poignancy rarely seen in comic novels, but Scalzi handles the potentially jarring disconnect with care, extending his established themes and plotlines as he winds down a multi-layered story that will appeal to a broad range of readers. --Rob LeFebvre, freelance writer and editor

At first, The Cost of Hope seems like an economic accounting of the seven-year struggle Amanda Bennett and her husband, Terence Bryan Foley, waged to save his life after his diagnosis of kidney cancer. But the truth lies in the memoir's subtitle: "The Story of a Marriage, A Family, and the Quest for Life."

Amanda, on assignment for the Wall Street Journal, met eccentric businessman Terence in Beijing in 1983, and she relates their tumultuous courtship in hilarious detail. The story of their China years, and their joyous (but still volatile) marriage, parenthood and careers, reveals a loving and vivacious family. The revelation of Terence's cancer feels as stunning to the reader, who knows it's coming, as it must have felt to them.

Throughout his illness, Bennett diligently researched options and was a well-informed advocate. After Terence's death in 2007, she scoured her notes and records, analyzing their choices and the costs of his treatment--$618,616 in all. She doesn't regret their decisions, but she does conclude that health care in the U.S. resembles "payers and providers bargaining like car salesmen or Chinese vendors," noting puzzling discrepancies. For example, her insurance initially paid 80% of the $3,232 billed for one procedure. Later, she discovered that an uninsured patient would pay $1,657 for the same procedure--about $1,000 more than she had to contribute.

At its heart, The Cost of Hope is an homage to a man and the family who relished their life through his sickness, but Bennett leaves no doubt that the financial cost of hope, in the form of American health care, must be examined. --Cheryl Krocker McKeon, bookseller

Marty Nothstein's athletic accomplishments include dozens of national championships and several world championships. His event is the relatively obscure match sprint in track cycling, and he is the most accomplished American sprinter of the modern era. The Price of Gold details his journey from childhood to Olympic gold and silver, with serious injuries, deep disappointments and unimaginable intense training along the way.

The story begins with Nothstein's silver medal at the 1996 Atlanta Olympics, then backtracks to a sleepy Pennsylvania town where a bored teenager seeks an outlet for his aggression. Nothstein's natural talent, powerful physique and hostile, hyper-competitive spirit perfectly suit him for track sprinting. This sport combines cunning tactics with raw power, and Nothstein would become an exemplar of its reputation for ruthlessness. Relationships are built and sometimes broken, but the intense drama is blunted by a surprisingly sweet note, as Nothstein's wife, Christi (herself an elite junior racer), provides constant and complete support.

Cycling fans familiar with Nothstein's reputation for belligerence may be surprised at the thoughtful tale he has to tell here and will be tickled to recognize many cycling greats threading through his story. The Price of Gold focuses on hard work, competition and achievement, pulling no punches in conveying the rough edges, but also communicating great emotion. --Julia Jenkins, librarian and blogger at pages of julia

What if the only way to survive is to join with your enemies?

In April 1975, 11-year-old Arn, who narrates, describes his town of Battambang, Cambodia, this way: "Music is like air, always there." From Cambodian love songs to Elvis and the Beatles, music brings joy to Arn and his fellow villagers. But then the Khmer Rouge arrive, and Arn and his four siblings march with their aunt for days. The family gets separated, and Arn does whatever he must to survive. He is chosen for a band and has five days to learn the khim, a wooden instrument with strings that one hits with a bamboo stick. Once his teacher has taught Arn to play, the man is killed; the authorities do not want anyone around who knows the old songs--only songs that praise "the Angka" ("I don't know this word Angka, but I know not to ask"--and Arn never does).

Patricia McCormick (Purple Heart) bases Arn's story on that of a real survivor of Cambodia's infamous Killing Fields. The soldiers turn even young Arn into a murderous accomplice. The boy heartbreakingly likens his baiting big frogs with small ones, in more carefree times, to being sent ahead with other armed children as the "Little Fish" to flush out Vietnamese soldiers for the "Big Fish," the Khmer Rouge, to mow down. This carefully crafted novel is a chilling reminder of how war can shatter an entire country and generations of its people. --Jennifer M. Brown, children's editor, Shelf Awareness

In Carlson-Voiles's suspenseful and realistic debut novel, two orphaned children survive thanks to the care of their uncle, the beauty of Minnesota's wilderness and their love for the wolves who live there.

Carlson-Voiles tells this story from the point of view of two orphans: 12-year-old Nika and an unnamed female wolf, adding gravitas to what could have been a predictable story. When Nika and her younger brother, Randall, leave Pasadena, Calif., for rural Minnesota to live with their Uncle Ian, a wildlife biologist, Randall adjusts quickly to his new living arrangements. But Nika, a true city kid, is slower to accept the change. Helping raise an abandoned wolf cub, making a friend and caring for an escaped female wolf, open up Nika to the possibilities of her new situation. Nika's ignorance of the wilderness, her conflicts with her Uncle Ian and her confusion about another life change boost the tension, while suspense about the female wolf's fate propels the narrative. A nail-biting climax and an unexpected conclusion nicely tie up the story. This will especially appeal to fans of Julie of the Wolves, of Clay Carmichael's Wild Things and of Gary Paulsen's books. --Ellen Loughran