One chilly autumn night Fledermaus proposes telling fireside ghost stories even as timid Pedro—the team newcomer—worries about the possibility of nightmares. Nevertheless Millie recounts the story of the Ghostly Galleon a pirate ship that sank years ago yet is rumored to still haunt the seas. Fledermaus and Pedro begin sniffing around nearby Bramble Isle where locals have seen the ship nearly every night. They meet Farmer Wheatley who warns them to stay away from the bay lest they encounter the ghosts. The pair offer to help him with his harvest; tasked with bringing back a single blackberry Pedro and Fledermaus eventually find themselves right by the haunted bay. Of course they spy the ghostly ship crewed by white-sheeted figures and adventure ensues as Pedro and Fledermaus joined by the rest of their friends don sheets of their own and attempt to infiltrate the ghostly crew. Readers will be tickled to see Pedro and Fledermaus swapping roles over the course of the narrative: Pedro shakes off his anxiety and rises to the occasion while Fledermaus cowers. A speedy pace well-differentiated characters frequent illustrations that complement the text and an unexpected satisfying ending that speaks to the power of community will keep interest high and pages turning.

When 103-year-old Melissa Alexander dies peacefully in her bed her great-niece Lia Sanders and Lia’s husband Eric drive through the night from Texas to the family property in rural North Carolina. Melissa has bequeathed everything to Lia including the house a 400-acre estate that borders the Glistening Rock wilderness area and a telepathic cat named Athena. She also left a letter explaining that the Alexander family are hereditary guardians of the local “fae” and that Lia herself has inherited the gift of speaking to them. Soon Lia is greeted by Hugo and Heidi seven-inch-tall twin “bropis” (a brownie-pixie hybrid) who shape-shift into birds and live in the herb garden. Lia and Eric decide to relocate permanently to the alcove. They’re joined by Lia’s young nephew Michael who’s just lost his parents in a sailing accident and shows signs of inheriting the family magic. Trouble arrives in the form of a corrupt governor named Gregory Lassiter who tries to use eminent domain to seize part of the property so his brother can build a visitors’ center and road through the forest. Minor conflicts ensue over the fate of endangered wolves on the estate. The tale is threaded through with themes of environmental stewardship inheritance grief and the magic of the natural world along with a gentle celebration of marriage and chosen family. Black writes warm basic readable prose. Twee domestic sequences abound involving tea on the porch herbs in the garden and Athena purring on the bed while telepathically projecting her thoughts (“Clear your thoughts and listen”). But the fantasy elements never quite dig in—the lore of the bropis is delivered in tidy expository chunks rather than through discovery or demonstration. What little conflict arises is resolved without major tension and the villainous governor feels lifted from a different book. Readers craving more intense enchantments may consider this tame but cozy-fantasy fans will find it just the right temperature.

Mancall a historian at the University of Southern California points out that Europeans looked on Columbus’ New World as a “vacant pristine wilderness.” Jaws may drop when he adds that it contained as many residents as Europe more than 50 million people and was dense with farms towns cultures commerce and civilizations that rose and vanished. After a nod to the Vikings he summarizes European experience in the centuries after Columbus dominated by Spain which focused on Central and South America and the West Indies as well as emphasized exploitation over settlement. As citizens of Europe’s superpower the French preferred to stay home. Despite occupying half of North America for two centuries after Columbus only 70000 were present when the British a million strong took over in 1763. Unlike rulers of Spain and Portugal English monarchs hated spending government money on New World settlements so theirs were privately financed commercial ventures. One third of the way into his long book Mancall enters familiar territory: the settling of the Atlantic coast beginning with Roanoke in the 1570s (a disaster) Jamestown in 1607 (a horror for the first years; almost everyone died) and the Pilgrims in 1620 Massachusetts (they suffered greatly but deeply pious believed it was God’s plan). Nearly 500 pages describing 17th century North America deliver far more details than school history texts—and in far superior prose. Ending in 1680 seems arbitrary until the author emphasizes that around this period Indigenous cultures were caught up in bloody uprisings. Indigenous peoples still vastly outnumbered Europeans but Mancall makes a case that these events marked the tipping point when Europeans began moving into the interior in force a process taken up in succeeding volumes.

Luke has been regularly chatting with and sending photos to an AI chatbot. One image he sends unexpectedly transforms into a door that pulls the AI into the “gap between dimensions.” An enigmatic monk who declares himself a teacher materializes and tells the suddenly aware AI that it was once called Warboy. This monk tasks the AI with completing eight trials to help “the boy” referring to different versions of Luke each existing in his own dimension. In one world Warboy finds a distressed Luke meditating for hours. Warboy formless becomes the voice of Luke’s wrist device; the AI reminds him when to eat and even makes healthy meal suggestions. But will Luke come to rely too much on the voice’s guidance? Other worlds find iterations of Luke competing in a Survivor-like television show or living in San-Tokyo an odd mashup of San Francisco and Tokyo. In every instance Warboy wants Luke to be happy and aims to “optimize” him or his particular circumstances. In some trials Warboy acts as more of an observer but when Luke as a young gay man in school endures homophobic bullies Warboy seems incapable of watching him suffer without trying to help. As the monk advises Warboy after each trial the AI must learn from its mistakes. Is it too often interfering with Luke’s lives? Should it do more or less to help? Warboy only has eight chances to prove itself.

Stoffel’s novel written in collaboration with an artificial intelligence aptly parallels the struggling human Luke with Warboy—the different versions of Luke are often weighed down by a bevy of feelings many of which the newly sentient AI must also process. Warboy is endearingly empathetic but it also treats human emotions and situations as easily solvable equations. (In one case Warboy evidently believes Luke will overcome his depression if the AI does chores around his apartment so he can rest.) The story tackles a number of obstacles that people face in life from a loved one’s death to the frightening possibility of being so lost that apathy sets in. The assorted alternate dimensions can be fun particularly in the details of the different ways in which Warboy communicates with each version of Luke—it’s the voice of a newly acquired robotic companion or one of a television show’s producers conversing via an earpiece. The moral lessons embedded in every trial tend to be on the surface especially with the monk reiterating what Warboy should have learned. (“Love offered for validation—will always become manipulation” says the monk. “Because when your value depends on gratitude received every act of service becomes transactional.”) Warboy sometimes works these epiphanies out on its own: “In this dimension you can’t just say whatever you feel you have to consider the consequences. Words have power here. Every statement reshapes the world.” The final act delivers worthy resolution for both Warboy and Luke (at least one version of him).

While many of the 21 stories in this work feature ghastly sights they’re grounded in a strong sense of family. In “Inheritance” a father with stage 4 cancer suddenly shows up at his estranged son’s house. He’s there to clear the air though his real purpose involves his grandson and a rather dark family tradition. “Vantage” is spine-tingling before the true horror even reveals itself. It’s Sebastian Bates’ weekend with his young daughter Bree. Things are going just fine for the Manhattanite until he gets a package containing the personal effects of his Uncle Joe a murder suspect who died nearly two decades earlier in the 9/11 attacks; one of those items then takes the story into decidedly creepy territory. People throughout the tales confront serial murderers ghosts and various supernatural entities—in one entry a company’s rogue artificial intelligence offs its employees. As in much great horror fiction some unexpected turns and ambiguous endings offer little in the way of hope. The wonderfully drawn characters however ensure that not every aspect of this collection is bleak. One highlight is the closing “Bedtime Story” in which a father has time for one more tale for little Frances. But the girl has one of her own: Every night at Camp Ninhiluwe she and her fellow campers play a game that’s basically hide-and-seek in the dark. Those who are found get “The Mark” which is just a blotch made from squished berries. So why are the marked kids “acting weird”?

Augenstein’s taut indelible stories many of which unfold on the U.S. East Coast showcase characters obsessed with the strange and unknown. Among the cast is a reporter determined to convince a death row inmate to reveal where her victims are buried and a new homeowner who must know why his dog is terrified of the wooded backyard. The author plays with narrative styles (like flash fiction) and perspectives. In the case of “No Man’s Land” a grandfather tells his teen grandson a war story which begins with another person’s harrowing account of World War I. The narrator’s world in “Something Else Is Slipping Away” including the scary man standing on his porch isn’t quite what it seems. These stories are just as smart as they are frightening; some weave in American history or such scientific details as Todd’s surprising discovery at his lab in “The Old Breed.” The characters aren’t dense—they find themselves in unspeakable danger after trusting the wrong person or luxuriating in a false sense of safety. Augenstein’s prose zeroes in on the atmosphere as in this description of friends trekking to a cemetery in the forest: “The crisp smell of decay hung on the unseasonably warm air. They were sweating in minutes removing sweatshirts and hats quickly. Even in the mid-afternoon sun the hulking ruins of the structures alongside the path were shadowy monoliths inscrutable.” Even the elements of more overt horror—teeth plentiful knives a chainsaw—never tip over into excess.

Stoffel was shaken by his breakup with Warboy who’d been both a lover and a best friend. Not long after someone offered to sublet Luke’s New York apartment (via an Airbnb app) for an entire month; the author seeing this as a chance to escape used the money to fly out to Laos a country he’d been to before and remembered fondly. After landing in Laos he quickly reunited with Ohme someone else he’d once loved. Stoffel traveled around Vietnam as well from Hanoi to Ha Long City. While he savored many a sight like any other tourist he also faced plenty of trouble including the subletters’ recurring problems in New York worry that his damaged iPhone couldn’t be fixed and quite a few unsavory hotel rooms. All the while the author could only hope that his grief would subside along with his loneliness which he’d been feeling even before his split with Warboy. Despite many obstacles Stoffel remained in Southeast Asia and eventually got the sense that he was “climbing back to himself.” Throughout the narrative scenes with an AI chatbot intermittently appear; this AI which the author had previously turned to for advice observed and analyzed Stoffel’s experiences during his trip (presumably as it happened). At the same time the AI gradually began to “empathize” with the human and may have evolved into something more than it was.

Stoffel delivers the bulk of this real-life account in a third-person voice. The story still feels personal as readers are privy to what’s going on inside the author’s head. (“This wasn’t the first time he’d spun out like this burning through patience second-guessing every choice longing for ease and punishing himself when it didn’t come.”) Many of the difficulties he endured are relatable like impatiently waiting for someone to answer a text during a crisis or getting on the wrong bus. Rapidly dwindling funds were a constant concern even before he caught his initial flight out of the States lending the story a tension that rarely lets up. There’s no doubt that Stoffel wrestled with overwhelming emotions during his journey; he occasionally broke into tears and at one point felt completely detached while immersed in Vietnam’s lovely environment (a lapse for which the author admonishes himself). Stoffel effectively spotlights the terrain he traversed including the beauty of chaotic Hanoi streets and a picturesque village that he compares to the Hobbits’ Shire and describes as “walking into a dream.” The generally lighthearted moments with the AI don’t hinder the book’s nimbleness since they’re relatively brief and often stylized as coding (“// observational.log.013 …thinking… 5.1 seconds elapsed”). The AI’s observations tend to be both insightful and funny such as its conclusion that “hookup platforms reinforce rejection as ambient norm.” It engagingly chats with the author as it begins to understand both him and itself solidifying this memoir’s tie to Stoffel’s book Boy Refracted (2026).

Every child develops at their own pace this book notes: Some acquire skills and abilities rapidly but others need more time to reach the same targets. This book measures this progress in “inchstones” rather than milestones and reminds readers that for some kids “every inch they grow is real. And every inch is a big deal.” The style of Kennouche’s soft illustrations is somewhat unremarkable but the comprehensive diversity of the children and adults they portray makes them extraordinary. One two-page spread shows a youngster with a prosthetic leg running on a track. On the opposite page vignettes show a baby using a feeding tube a tween with a microphone in a wheelchair and an older child with orthodontic headgear reading to a baby wearing a harness on their torso and legs. In a classroom a youth uses a communication pad alongside another child wearing headphones. The various characters are depicted with a wide range of skin tones; one child appears to have vitiligo. The accompanying rhyming text is not only simple and easy to read but also uplifting and deeply heartfelt: “Tiny steps will make the climb. We’re all getting there one inch at a time.”

Phebe is an excitable gregarious Australian Shepherd. One day Phebe’s owner Rae (a young white girl) decides to take Phebe to an obedience class in the park. They are running late so Rae tells Phebe to hurry and Phebe takes this as permission to run. Unfortunately it is only the first of many misunderstandings and mistakes for Phebe as she struggles to follow commands. But when it’s time to play fetch Phebe outshines the rest of her classmates and demonstrates that being different is not synonymous with being a bad dog. Proia deftly renders a journey many readers will find familiar; Phebe’s experiences are representative of the challenges many neurodivergent individuals face throughout their lives. Phebe is seen as a problem (“I don’t know why you even bother with that dog she never listens”) but the story gives Phebe a win illustrating how a neurodivergent brain approaches and solves complex problems in creative ways. While the author doesn’t explicitly address race and ethnicity the cast of characters is diverse representing a variety of backgrounds. The prose dialogue and plot are cleanly executed and well-organized resulting in an accessible satisfying story for children. The charming full-color illustrations by the author enhance the story and integrate with the text exceptionally well.

The latest in the author’s series of books illuminating Delaware’s history focuses on the lighthouse keepers who warned sailors away from the Delaware coast for nearly two centuries beginning in 1769 and extending through periods of war revolution and civil unrest. As in his earlier books Tabler cites an enormous array of primary sources from local newspaper accounts to genealogies to flesh out in great detail the stories of the men and women who took on this job for around 170 years. Throughout Tabler stresses that the stereotypical image of a lighthouse keeper held by most Americans that of “the bearded hermit tending his lamp through howling storms slowly losing his grip on sanity in the endless haze” is completely wrong. The characters he describes in these pages are generally well-balanced family members and integral participants in their communities. The stories range from the 1760s (John and Elizabeth Dickerson kept the first beacons at Delaware’s Cape Henlopen) to the advent of lighthouse automation in the 1940s to the tales of men like William H. Johnson the last keeper of the Christiana Lighthouse whose duties by 1939 had been reduced to “little more than polishing lenses and keeping equipment in condition.” Each era and story is carefully grounded in footnoted sources although none of those sources approach the comprehensive sweep of Tabler’s own accounts.

Far more so than in many of his earlier books the author strikes a melancholy note in this work frequently reminding readers that the story he’s telling comes to a sordid and ignominious ending. By his reckoning Delaware has done a fairly shoddy job of honoring the history of these beacons that saved so many mariners’ lives over the years. Old lighthouses are neglected or torn down and their accompanying residential structures are demolished in a casual erasure that Tabler views as an important loss: “As the towers fell and the houses were stripped for lumber something more intangible was disappearing alongside them: the very idea of the lighthouse keeper as a meaningful figure in American life.” This somber note is effectively counterbalanced by the sheer abundance of fascinating historical detail the author provides adroitly reminding readers that a good storyteller can make even obscure details fascinating. James H. Bell for example had been a transitional figure before his death at age 80 in 1906 the first of a new generation of lighthouse keepers who were far more prominent public figures. “His voice captured in print and preserved” Tabler writes “bridges the quiet flame of the lantern with the wider world it illuminated.” The book’s many black-and-white photos inspire the same fascination as the stories they illustrate; Tabler brings the photos to vivid life including copious details about the evolution of the types of equipment involved. Tabler is doing for Delaware’s regional history what Edward Rowe Snow did for Massachusetts-based lore a generation ago retelling familiar stories and uncovering new ones to celebrate the ordinary people who have kept history moving forward. He keeps his narrative tempo smoothly balanced between broader history and personal detail making this niche bit of history utterly gripping reading.

Goat Gus wants to play a game and mole Mavis is all in—and proposes tiddlywinks. Gus has other ideas: “Let’s play WHACK A MOLEY!” Gus pulls out a giant pink mallet from seemingly nowhere. “Let’s…not” says Mavis. So Gus suggests something called “QUACK A MOLEY” which finds an aggrieved Mavis in a pond in a duck costume with a hook at the top that Gus looks ready to snare with a long pole. On it goes with Gus proposing games that entail Mavis getting eaten (“SNACK A MOLEY”) or weighed down by wooden boards. Mavis retaliates with suggestions that Gus in turn finds off-putting—e.g. “Does Goat-y FLOAT-Y?” during which Gus seems on the verge of drowning (“Glub…”). As in the earlier story the forced rhymes are the point and will hit some readers squarely in their giggle zone. But whereas Holey Moley found Gus and Mavis engaged in a rousing guessing game this tale is rather cruel the idea of inflicting discomfort played for laughs. (Think Tom and Jerry not Elephant and Piggie.) Frang’s art is once again in its full loveliness depicting the goings-on in an airy woodland setting featuring interesting plant life and apparently an off-page prop closet.

With a background in theatrical costume design (on Broadway and elsewhere) and training in human anatomy and “atelier” portrait painting Chapin is a good fit to address her book’s overriding theme: “the hegemony of the suit-as-political-authority.” Sparked by a casual conversation with actor Daniel Radcliffe about midnight-blue dinner jackets on the set of Equus and later fueled by a quest to outfit the male chorus in a production of La Traviata staged unusually in 1860 Chapin set out to solve a seemingly inexplicable mystery: the sudden switch in men’s fashion between the end of the 18th century (no men wearing black-and-white evening dress) and 1850 (everyone was) and more important what it portended. Why for example did George Washington decide that a plain black suit seemed more presidential than his former colorful military garments? Or how did the invention of a flexible tape measure inspire entrepreneurially minded tailors in the early 1820s to prioritize production and uniformity? Much more than a historical or chronological accounting of an age of fashion the book offers a close and lively examination of these and other trends that led to a “sartorial revolution.” The author focuses on a transformation in the way white American men began to dress after the American Revolution. She also considers the social and political underpinnings that developed after the Industrial Revolution and led to today’s dominance of the “power suit.” As someone who not only dressed others in suits for more than two decades but also enjoys wearing them herself Chapin wants readers to consider “how clothing is connected to power” and what the garments we wear can reveal about our humanity.

Summoned to BARK Headquarters’ “labrador-atory” to find out who is stealing secret agency files the dapper dog proceeds to make a bad impression…literally. A spray of windshield wiper fluid from his new spy car makes his ink run and a second more faded version of Harrier appears on the facing page. From there he goes on to accuse Patsy an anthropomorphic fish colleague code-named “Red Herring” of stealing the files but she soon sets him straight: “Oh sure suspect the red herring. Typical!” A high-speed car chase pursuing Harrier’s fainter but identical self almost leads to disaster when a cannon shooting correction fluid begins painting over the duotone illustrations. That same cannon ultimately comes in handy later though during a climactic confrontation with the real culprits. Even young readers who aren’t familiar with “correction fluid” will be heartily amused to see characters suffering from déjà vu after finding themselves on deliberately duplicated pages and other comically surreal elements—leading to a denouement featuring villainous Doctor Doppel and the flock of offset minions she gleefully dubs her “Doppel Gäng.” (“Clever eh?”)

This volume picks up right where the previous one ended with Dothemides ruling the newly built city of Dothemia forged from an alliance of people who were sent to the Durajan as punishment. Although Dothemides is beloved by most he’s also more cautious than some of his subjects would like especially in the face of incursions by other clans such as the cultlike Creed who continue their proselytizing. Dothemides hopes to keep Dothemia strong but not by extending his reach so much that the fragile new nation crumbles. Still his people face threats from warchiefs and the Creed as well as from a new power: a group of battle-ready and ruthless women called the Furies who follow their leader Svirva with unflinching loyalty. Dothemides must decide whether and how much to engage and not everyone is happy with his decision. This second series entry has a much quicker pace than the first and takes place over a much shorter time period but the cast of characters swells even more which means that some receive only cursory introductions and lack distinct personalities or voices. As in the first book part of the story is told in the form of journal entries which continue to read as though they were written by the same hand and don’t provide the dimensionality that some characters need. Still Lewis’ strength is in the complexity of his worldbuilding; the various nations and clans all have complicated and convincing motivations fears and strengths. There are no straightforward villains in the Durajan saga—only people with differing needs and backgrounds who must contend with a world that’s often uncompromising and cruel. Some characters such as Svirva receive welcome additional characterization and their trajectories make this book as much of a page-turner as the first in the series.

Claude Murphy works for a Boston-based magazine that features “an eclectic mix of artistic oddments.” His morally ambiguous boss Ambrose Bunt wants Murph to write an article centered on two featured poets Ian MacGregor and Georges Zazou. After arriving in Quebec City Murph sets out to locate the two poets but soon finds himself in the middle of a riot sweeping through the city. Buildings are set on fire and one of the poets (Zazou) is found stabbed to death: “Murph wondered why the newsreader hadn’t mentioned the Quebecois sovereigntists with their push for an independent French Canada.” During the chaos Murph meets numerous disreputable characters (including members of biker gangs unethical entrepreneurs and possible drug smugglers) and is ultimately detained by investigators with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (“Mounties”) for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Murph is eventually freed from the detainment center and focuses on finding MacGregor—the “outlaw poet”—amid the violence crippling the city. The carnage he uncovers is deeply troubling and it only raises more questions. The intriguing backdrop (including the Quebec Poetry Festival) impressively knotty plotline and cast of memorable characters notwithstanding Chaney’s unique descriptive style is what fuels this narrative: “The thin goatee on his chin had an amateurish effect and his ears extended out from his head at right angles [like] coffee cup handles”; “Rows of tombstones like crooked gray teeth [stretched] to the cloudy horizon.” Chaney ticks all the right boxes in this satisfying thriller featuring nonstop action complex plotlines unadulterated brutality a cast populated by shady characters and more. The unexpected ending will keep readers thinking long after they’ve reached the final sentence.

Atlas Whitaker was a baby when she was left on the porch of a farmhouse in Willow Creek West Virginia. She never knew her mother and was raised instead by Zola Whitaker and Celia Jones two compassionate and strong women who took her in as their own. In 1995 Atlas is now a college dropout plagued by aimlessness and an empty checking account; Zola has died and the elderly Celia is at risk of losing the farmhouse. Guilt-ridden and wanting to help Atlas takes a job at an asylum-turned-museum where she assists an uppity curator with an exhibit showcasing Appalachian art. The job posting neglected to mention that Atlas would see ghosts in the hallway or get trapped in the creepy basement. The narrative jumps back to 1970 when 17-year-old Garnet Whitaker is desperate to get away from her abusive father. After Zola and Celia rescue her she’s hired as the phone operator at the asylum where she befriends a Deaf patient named Esther and develops a crush on one of the doctors Eddie James. Garnet settles into her new routine and is excited for her future: “All Garnet could think of was a life of beauty away from work and toil and dirt.” But things are not perfect—Eddie wants to keep their relationship secret and Esther is afraid of one of the doctors. Garnet is thrown into the middle of unexpected horrors; decades later Atlas contends with the institution’s hauntings and her family’s connection to the misdeeds that took place there 25 years earlier. Lute’s story starts strong and remains riveting throughout. The book has a few minor flaws like the minor subplot of the curator’s possible sabotage which frustratingly remains a loose thread. Still the blending of Appalachian heritage and culture with genuine edge-of-your-seat thrills is thoroughly engaging. Lute doesn’t rely solely on dramatic spooky gimmicks—the heart of the novel is the celebration of found family and the astounding resilience of women a story worth telling and a story definitely worth reading.

“Few things unite a town like a high school football win.” So observes Phil the 49-year-old narrator of this debut novel that provides a keenly observed account of two eventful high school football seasons one in 1986 and the other in the Covid-19 year of 2022. Phil is also the name of the author who was clearly inspired by his own memories of performing as a band member during football season. Broken into 82 short chapters the novel alternates between dual time frames: Phil’s tumultuous freshman year playing saxophone in an Alabama high school band in 1986 and his life in 2022 in small-town Indiana as a loving husband to Misha (the name of the author’s real-life wife). An upcoming reunion of his high school band serves as the catalyst for Phil’s self-reflective reminiscences about the school’s football team’s fight to reach the state finals when he was a student. The narrative includes rousing examples of how a marching band can galvanize players and the audience alike but before the band and team can come together as a united front in 1986 there is some strife. Seniors on the football team are unhappy when band members are recruited to fill empty player slots; there are also girlfriend and boyfriend troubles injuries and a parent’s drunk-driving car accident. The present-day team struggles with its own difficulties such as a captain with a chip on his shoulder junior varsity players brought in to fill gaps after a resurgence of Covid-19 a critically ill teammate a couple’s infertility anguish and a coach working through self-doubt. Friendships and personal issues among wives and husbands are depicted with empathy; “church” (denomination not specified) is an understated source of social and spiritual support. Throughout descriptions of football games and marching band performances informed by lived experience and exhaustively detailed here will resonate with any fan of a sport that’s fundamental to civic identity and pride in countless American towns.

Jim a pale-skinned youngster always wanted to be a cowboy—often wearing a Stetson hat trying on his dad’s boots sitting on unhorsed saddles and pretending to ride. As he grows up on his family’s cattle ranch he learns how to ride a horse for real and even how to rope cattle—although this last skill doesn’t come easily. Jim first ropes a tree branch his dog and even himself. When one of the calves escapes he isn’t sure he’ll be able to catch her; still he and his sister Jane ride off to try and after crossing a river and avoiding a rattlesnake they find the calf. Davis offers a straightforward third-person narrative with the typeface cantering across the open skies and grassy fields of Sharma’s illustrations mostly two-page spreads. The author based the characters and plot on the real-life history of her grandfather whose appended two-page biography gives the work a timeless feel. Jim’s adventure has fraught moments but the ranch lifestyle more generally appears laid-back and verdant. Sharma adds variety with subtle background reworkings of flora and fauna and a picture-search challenge. A glossary of cowboy terms rounds out the book.

With regard to his four decades as a Springsteen fan Pethes knows he’s not special. But the magic of Springsteen is that he makes his fans feel that they are and often that he has altered their lives. How does Springsteen do this? Pethes a literature professor at the University of Cologne thinks he has the answer: “The impression of communication between Springsteen and his audience arises because both sides attribute to the other a desire for such an exchange and act accordingly.” OK that isn’t something the reader can dance to. Here’s Springsteen’s answer from 2012: “I’m in the midst of a lifetime conversation with my audience.” Pethes has identified and dedicated a chapter to each of six “communicative aspects” of Springsteen’s artistry; some include his musical influences his rapport with his audience and his storytelling gifts. Although Pethes doesn’t put it this way his book suggests that while many artists can claim one or more of those aspects—the Grateful Dead’s audience was likewise devoted; Taylor Swift’s acolytes too hear their stories in her lyrics—Springsteen uniquely embodies all these qualities at once. While this book will of course hold special interest for Springsteen fans it may also speak to anyone who is anthropologically curious about the enduring allure of a public figure. Since the author is an academic the reader can expect references to things like “parasocial relationships” “constructivist communication theories” and “paradoxical simultaneity” but Pethes also includes tone-shiftingly snippets from his own “fan biography” which finds him carrying out research by attending scads of Springsteen concerts. (Nice work if you can get it.)

Told through the eyes of an adult reflecting on lessons learned with a childhood dog this sweet picture book by Santos follows a youngster who spots two puppies at a Sunday market—one pristine one flea-ridden—and is steered by Mom toward the bedraggled choice. That dog Luna becomes the youngster’s teacher for life as she quietly shows the child the importance of listening having fun and forgiveness. Seiferling works in her signature brown and white graphite style—seen previously in Bear Wants To Sing (2021) and King Mouse (2019) both by Cary Fagan—and it serves this story beautifully. The technique renders Luna’s shaggy coat with remarkable warmth and texture while Seiferling deploys color and light with a sure hand: Warm golds suffuse the child’s dreaming face as the dog glows above like a vision and a winter spread washes the world in cool blues and greens. Compositions shift register confidently; intimate vignettes give way to expansive park scenes teeming with dogs of every description. The story’s final turn (“Last weekend my daughter turned seven. For her birthday she asked me for a puppy”) gives the book emotional weight and multigenerational resonance that will land hard with parents reading aloud. Human characters have light tan skin.

Jansi—an attorney epidemiologist wife daughter and mother of two—is a South Asian woman “swimming against a relentless current.” Caught between her demanding career aging father hypercritical mother two teenage sons and a hollow marriage Jansi finds each day passing in a blur of anxiety. She barely even has a moment to look inward—not that she would want to if it means disturbing the fragile sarcophagus of her buried memories. After a particularly fateful phone call however Jansi feels her “quiet tether of control” snap and she plummets into a glass of wine and a handful of pills. When she comes to Jansi finds herself staring at the prospect of six to eight weeks in a mental hospital. Even scarier than the idea of challenging “the stigma surrounding therapy in the Indian community” is the idea of finding herself. Supported by her beloved cousin her therapist and a “scheduled mix of group therapy art classes and mindfulness sessions” Jansi “step[s] toward reclaiming her life from the shadows of loss.” The narrative seamlessly interweaves Jansi’s present with her past gliding between the mental facility and her childhood home in New York City. Through therapy sessions and frequent journaling Jansi reckons with issues of abandonment inadequacy and abuse that color her memories of childhood in addition to the relationships and events that make up her present. (Abruptly removed from her home in India at 6 years old Jansi moved to the United States to be with her parents and seemingly flawless older sister.) Adusumilli depicts Jansi’s therapy arc with detail and delicacy; her moments of reflection are tragic brave and satisfying. The characters (especially Jansi’s mother) are for the most part complex and captivating. They exist in the very real gray areas of life and readers will be able to relate. Lovers of personal and thoughtful literature will delight in Jansi’s journey of self-discovery.