Unlikely platinum albums don’t come any more unlikely than the Violent Femmes’ self-titled debut: The trio hailed from a city with no national profile (Milwaukee) had a lead songwriter still in his teens and played acoustic instruments in an era of punk guitars and New Wave synths. But their snappy songs inspired by alt-rock misfits like Jonathan Richman and suffused with emotional (especially sexual) despair gradually found an audience. Today as drummer-novelist Brown notes in this book’s introduction the opening riff of “Blister in the Sun” is a clap-along staple at baseball games. The chief virtue of Brown’s study—part of the “33 ⅓” series of short books on classic albums—is that it recovers the strangeness of the album’s creation and conception. With little cash or scene credibility the band couldn’t have recorded the album without a $10000 loan from drummer Victor DeLorenzo’s father; DeLorenzo’s kit was a spartan contraption featuring a “tranceaphone” a floor tom capped with a metal bushel basket; unlike most guitar albums Brian Ritchie’s bass usually delivers the melody line; they scored a gig opening for the Pretenders just by busking outside the venue; their record label rejected them at first but changed its tune after staffers kept playing their tape in the office. Frontman Gordon Gano is hard-pressed to explain the genesis and meaning of the album’s now-iconic lyrics—what does it mean to blister in the sun anyhow?—but his pleading voice connected with young fans who shared cassette dubs of the album like samizdat. Brown is an unabashed fan—the book closes with him giddily meeting Gano at an Atlanta concert—but it’s the just-the-facts nature of his reportage that best serves the book because the facts are fittingly offbeat.

The author a retired business executive reflects on his retracing of the Meriwether Lewis and William Clark National Historic Trail. He and his wife Carmen twice traversed the route (first in 2003-2006 and then again in 2007 and 2009) by car RV and foot. After his wife received a subsequent diagnosis of an uncurable degenerative neurological disease Ton realized that the most important things he remembered from his time on the trail were not trivial facts pertaining to American history but the experiences he’d shared with Carmen whom he describes as “My compass. My co-captain.” The book traces not only the author’s exploration of the titular trail but also the tangential historic sites and monuments associated with Lewis and Clark from the Natchez Trace (a forest trail in the Deep South where Lewis died) to Monticello (Virginia home to President Thomas Jefferson who commissioned the expedition). Each chapter blends Ton’s account of his adventures with Carmen (including flat tires and other unexpected moments) with the histories of the various landmarks along the trail. The historical narrative provides ample context on the 19th-century political and social milieu that sparked the expedition and the author is careful to honor the stories of Lewis and Clark’s travel companions including the Lemhi Shoshone woman Sacagawea and her son Jean Baptiste. The work pointedly acknowledges “the diversity resilience and sovereignty” of the various Indigenous communities Ton encountered on his journey as the author ruminates on the genocidal tragedies associated with America’s westward expansion. While the historical narratives—which are well researched with both primary and secondary sources cited in a bibliography—are impressive this is ultimately a love story about the ways in which exploring America strengthened the bonds between Ton and Carmen. “Maps can take you to a place” the author notes poignantly adding “[but] love teaches you how to arrive.”

Going with the idea that any household-name celebrity deserves a biography this one gets the job done. Olivia Newton-John was born in Cambridge England in 1948; in 1954 her father accepted a job at the University of Melbourne taking the family with him. After Newton-John’s mother gave her an acoustic guitar the teenager started performing at coffee shops scored a TV appearance moved to London in hopes of snagging a record contract and did precisely that. Newton-John’s voice would ultimately win her four Grammys and a career-resuscitating starring role in 1978’s smash movie musical Grease which both embalmed and spoofed her squeaky-clean image. By all accounts herein—Hild interviewed a good number of the singer’s friends acquaintances and collaborators—Newton-John was a human spigot of kindness which may make her a saint but it doesn’t make her especially interesting. If anyone ever said a negative word about his subject Hild apparently hasn’t heard it. (Going by this book the naughtiest thing Newton-John ever did was in her younger years when she romanced a married man or two.) But Hild does well despite the lack of out-of-the-way drama in his subject’s life. While not a prose stylist he dutifully chronicles Newton-John’s professional ups and downs: a record-label imbroglio her tabloid-fodder divorce her rampant charity work and environmental activism and her recurring ultimately losing battle with breast cancer. (Newton-John died in 2022.) To his credit Hild doesn’t try to manufacture luridness although one wonders if he might have considered not taking everything his ostensibly egoless subject said at face value—e.g. “For Olivia…whether or not the album became a hit was not the point.” Are we so sure it wasn’t?

For many fans the consensus “big three” rappers are J. Cole Kendrick Lamar and Drake distinct artists from different backgrounds and with a history of collaboration. And more infamously feuding: Beef entangling all three consumed much of 2024 culminating in Lamar’s savage Drake diss track “Not Like Us” which won him a Song of the Year Grammy and brought him to the Super Bowl halftime stage. But that spectacle is part of a complex much longer story about hip-hop’s ongoing engagement with social-justice themes. McCool a professor at West Chester University and Hopkins an arts journalist begin their story with hip-hop landmarks like “The Message” and exploring how the genre’s commercial growth in the 1990s both bolstered and complicated conscious rap—N.W.A and Tupac Shakur for instance could at once deliver potent criticism of racist policing while perpetuating misogynistic stereotypes. Cole a native of North Carolina broke through in the 2010s by delivering raps that openly addressed socioeconomic challenges in Black communities; raised in Compton California Lamar touched on similar issues in more personal ways while songs like “Alright” were embraced as empowerment anthems within the Black Lives Matter movement. McCool and Hopkins lean heavily on biographical background on the genre in general and the two MCs in particular and too often decline into platitudes. (“With their combined releases Kendrick and Cole have reached unparalleled heights.”) The book is at its strongest when discussing the “Not Like Us” contretemps which to them represents not just a beef but a pivotal cultural moment that divided hip-hop fandom. A stronger book might more directly address the stakes of that split.

Orion Casey lives for music but she won’t sing in public. She developed a phobia after her frenemy Melissa Rae and her minions openly mocked Orion’s singing voice. So while Melissa Rae takes the spotlight in their school’s musical production Orion is just fine working backstage. Her self-esteem gets a welcome boost from an unlikely source: anonymous text messages signed J. They’re complimentary and encouraging: “You are strong! You are fearless! And super talented.” Orion can’t help but think (and hope) that those texts are from Jesse the guy she’s crushing on. He always says hello and he’s even given her the nickname Red after her fire-emoji-hued hair. Best of all he sings and plays guitar just like Orion. She’s overjoyed when she gets the chance to play music with Jesse and considers rethinking her no-singing-in-public rule. But if Jesse isn’t J then who’s been sending all those texts and why? Orion’s quirky first-person narration gives DaVeiga’s book a sense of buoyancy. She notes that Melissa Rae has someone wrapped around her “press-on-nailed finger”; Orion goes through a “zillion emotions” in a matter of seconds. She’s an immensely likable protagonist although her best friend Izzy nearly steals the story; Izzy is funny fiercely loyal and knows how to draw out a big revelation. Other characters show depth as well—Orion’s and Izzy’s families share history and Jesse eventually drops some particulars about his “mysterious past.” The author deftly portrays the world of middle school with potential bullies hallway interactions and social media providing much fuel for the story. The one downside to this novella is that it’s over too soon; thankfully sequels will follow.

When Zoe Nichols the newbie BLM officer in Eagle Ferry Alaska is accidentally assigned to a land-lease lottery—picking a name from a jar to see who gets to lease a tract of federal wilderness—she does it fairly. Instead of giving it to Sebastian Fisher the oil tycoon who controls the town she draws the name of Heller Mason patriarch of a clan of well-armed environmental zealots who have lived there for over a century. Fisher pressures her into offering Mason $100 million to obtain an easement for his gas pipeline but Heller refuses to let big fossil fuel companies poison the land. Fisher’s mercenaries led by Venezuelan heavy Urso blockade the Masons to prevent them from filing the lease fee by the ten-day deadline—after which the parcel will fall under Fisher’s control. Plagued by alcoholism and guilt over her family’s death in a car crash Zoe initially sits on the sidelines but she’s a Marine combat veteran and can’t resist joining the good fight on the Masons’ side. Assisted by investigative reporter Daniel Reeves and Native Alaskan U.S. Army vet Guwaii (a crack shot and spiritual counselor) Zoe takes command of the Mason militia and girds for a showdown with Fisher Urso and their dozens of gunmen. Reece’s yarn depicts an atmospheric and slightly noirish small-town Alaska that’s visually gorgeous but harsh (in short: mosquitoes and frostbite) with suitably flinty inhabitants: “‘Alaska doesn’t lie’ [Urso] said. ‘It promises death if you’re weak survival if you’re strong.’” The action is gripping balancing precise physical movements with gory results. Zoe is an appealing mix of sodden pathos and hard-bitten leatherneck and also proves to be a captivating center of attention.

God and Luc (the Devil) have waged war across seven battlefields for centuries. The final battlefield is the city of Carnage Coast where God’s “champions” face off against Luc’s minions. Travis Holiday known publicly as the armor-donning Iron Warrior is one such champion. However after enduring darkness in his own soul he’s been largely absent for two years. He rushes back to Carnage Coast when he receives word that the enemy may be too much for Sgt. Rebecca Walters and costumed heroes like Grenade and the Pink Jaguar to handle. The city’s biggest threat seems to come from Candace Loveless who’s apparently dead seton exposing the Iron Warrior’s true identity. Loveless’ agenda entails kidnapping and even killing innocent people to coerce Travis into submission. Soon a series of rumors letters and videos cast Travis in a bad light making his allies believe he’s dirty and convincing his girlfriend Crystal that he’s cheating on her. While some of what’s being said or shown has elements of truth (Travis’ past does indeed mingle with those of a few villains) the rest is absolutely fabricated or so Travis claims; surely this is all part of Loveless’ diabolical plan to turn everyone Travis loves against him. In the meantime Rebecca and the other heroes clash with assorted villains including the Simpleton and the mesmerizing Hypnotion. As the good guys rally to keep citizens safe the threat remains that Loveless will pick one of Travis’ allies as the next abductee in her relentless mission to hurt the Iron Warrior.

A light but unmistakable Christian theme runs throughout Holiday’s novel (and series as a whole). The Iron Warrior is characterized as “God’s fist in the war” and a man “powered by faith.” This particular installment however doesn’t go much deeper; Travis primarily fights opponents to assist his fellow superheroes or for personal reasons with no indication that a divine force is driving him. He asserts that his faith is rock solid (it genuinely fuels his superpowers) but he questions it throughout the story. (“I’ve been resorting to other beliefs. I don’t know what’s right or wrong anymore.”) The narrative teems with colorful heroes and villains: Grenade who’s married to the Pink Jaguar wears a yellow mechanized gauntlet; masked bad guy Diversion seemingly clones himself and each version of himself is a different hue. Candace’s scheme against Travis is frighteningly plausible; characters instantly believe that a video showing Travis in a compromising position is legit despite how easy it is to fake such images. This all results in a welcome vulnerability for Travis whose Iron Warrior armor appears indestructible. As Travis struggles with handling anger and occasionally turns violent Loveless’ machinations provide a potent reminder that the superhero is only human. The dialogue is generally straightforward and refreshingly concise but the one-liners that invariably pop up in the action scenes usually fall flat as in the Simpleton’s taunt: “Damn guy! Looks like you got hit by a parked car…It should’ve looked where it was going am I right?” This third series entry makes it clear where the next installment (and planned conclusion) will go.

This book by communications professor Schatz (The Genius of the System: Hollywood Filmmaking in the Studio Era 1988) covers 15 years—from 1989 to 2004—that set the table for the complex franchise-heavy film era we’re now in. Focusing more on business moves than aesthetics the book is mostly concerned with ever-merging studios and the big high-risk bets they made: Batman (1989) Jurassic Park (1993) Toy Story (1995) Independence Day (1996) Titanic (1997) and other exemplars of ever-bloating budgets and revenue. Though such projects seem like inevitable successes now Schatz shows how they were built out of complex production funding licensing and marketing deals and (quite often) panic. Disney for instance was flailing on its animation side until Beauty and the Beast (1991) and computer animation got it back on track. The explosion in event films occurred in tandem with the rise of what Schatz calls “Indiewood”—independent companies like Miramax (led by Harvey Weinstein) or arthouse-minded subsidiaries looking to reinvent the surprise successes of hits like Sex Lies and Videotape (1989) Do the Right Thing (1989) and The Blair Witch Project (1999). U.S. media deregulation opened the floodgates for a host of mergers and international partnerships but the shifts only seemed to serve the interests of big-budget plays on familiar intellectual property—hence the rise of the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Schatz covers all this thoroughly if a bit bloodlessly more concerned with the financial consequences of various projects that left everyone not named Steven Spielberg artistically compromised. The book’s scope means he can only briefly mention the rise of streaming players like Netflix and Amazon but his outlook is pessimistic: “truly memorable films are in increasingly short supply.”

Noa and Nicole 18 best friends make the pilgrimage from their hometown of Guayaquil Ecuador a place rocked by the violence of men and mountains alike. Noa is on the hunt for her father who left her as a child and Nicole is focused on Noa tied to her in the intensely intimate friendship of young women. Once at the festival Solar Noise they connect with others: Pamela and her partner Fabio; Pedro and his partner Carla; Mario and his friends Adriana and Julián. They mosh do shrooms have sex dance with Diablumas listen to songstresses and congregate around a mysterious figure known as the Poet. Over the days of the festival Noa seems to transform unlocking an inner voice as powerful as the volcanic landscape. Interspersed with the events of the festival are selections from Noa’s father’s notebook reporting on a long-ago visit from Noa and Nicole. Chapter headings tell us 10 years have passed on the Andean calendar; narrative cues tell us the passage of time here does not align with our usual linear conception. Outside of the journal the novel’s narrative voice is a rotating first-person that visits the minds of Nicole Mario Pamela and Pedro in turn with diffusely mythological interludes by the festival songstresses themselves. Each voice feels less like a singular character and more like a member of the chorus just another thread in the novel’s tangled web of words and ideas. Tonally too the prose—resonant brusquely declarative—is often reminiscent of classical theater. It’s an approach that reflects its subject matter leaving the impression of a symphony underpinning the world. At the same time polyphonic narrative satisfies best when each character brings a truly unique perspective and in reaching for cohesion Ojeda’s characters flounder for distinction. Pamela is the standout the one character instantly discernible from the novel’s morass regardless of context.

Lonely Vera makes a wish on her favorite star for Grace’s return but a few nights later her wishing star disappears. At the library Vera meets Malcolm a fellow night sky enthusiast who explains that stars move. “My star didn’t leave me! It’s just on the other side of the world—in Grace’s sky!” Vera realizes. Malcolm helps Vera feel connected to Grace who is seeing the same pattern and movement of stars where she is. Vera makes a map of the stars and mails it to Grace creating a meaningful way to stay in touch while spending time with her new friend. Swemba makes space for Vera’s sadness which notably doesn’t magically resolve by book’s end; while she enjoys her new friendship with Malcolm she still misses Grace. Walker-Parker’s soft illustrations are well matched to the text; though gentle and cartoonish they also convey complex emotions like longing loneliness and contentment. The night sky drawn full of stars is an important presence cluttered and bright a fixture and a comfort. The book ends with advice for how to handle a friend’s move as well as instructions for creating a star map like Vera’s. Vera is pale-skinned; Grace and Malcolm are brown-skinned.

Readers familiar with Harriet Smith as Emma Woodhouse’s mousy unmarriageable protégé will be surprised to learn that Harriet (not her real name by the way) is already at age 18 an accomplished con artist trained by the father she turned on and fled who’s hired by Mrs. Lavinia Churchill to recover some prized jewelry Jane Fairfax pinched from her and prevent Jane from marrying Frank Churchill the client’s nephew ward and heir by any means necessary. Throwing herself into the assignment with vigor Harriet gets intermittent help from her friend Robert Martin a tenant farmer and aspiring author whose lover Reuben Denny is the “heartthrob of the Derbyshire militia.” The plot seriously shades Emma and her future husband George Knightley who have little more than walk-on roles. But it does make room for multiple poisonings a scorpion planted in a box on a dressing table and Harriet’s growing fear that the force behind all these alarums and excursions is none other than her father determined to avenge himself on his treacherous daughter. The melodramatic climax places multiple interested parties three of them armed with guns on a cliff two of them end up plunging over. That aptly summarizes the principal pleasure of this improbable series debut: The tension that arises from Andrew’s desire to duplicate the characters of Austen’s novel inviting the reader to wonder if she’s willing to bend their possible fates—will any of Austen’s own characters emerge as victim or killer?—and then unleash a criminal fantasia that borrows only some names from its celebrated source.

Naina Shetty has no time for romance. If she did she wouldn’t have become the best junior legal associate at Akhtar Kumble & Co. in Bangalore India or be the top pick for a major promotion as the only woman on her team. Naina is a self-proclaimed workaholic with little time for relationships which she swore off for good after last year’s sexy summer fling. Reeling from a broken engagement Naina found herself in Goa 17 months ago in search of two weeks of no-strings-attached fun. She found it with her handsome hostel roommate Tejas who was nursing his own broken heart following his ex-boyfriend’s wedding. Together they ran through the items on Naina’s Anti-Honeymoon Checklist including skinny-dipping attending a rave and kissing a stranger. When the summer ended so did their fling and neither expected to see each other again. But then Tejas unknowingly takes a position at Naina’s firm where they’re placed on the same assignment—a high-profile Bollywood murder scandal. As Naina and Tejas work together to uncover the details of the Preethi Acharya case they discover that a relationship they’d thought was just casual might be something much deeper. Are they willing to let the sparks between them catch fire or are they too afraid of getting burned again? Hegde’s latest romance follows two unlucky-in-love people afraid that committing means getting hurt again. Naina and Tejas embody the phrase "opposites attract" with her studious perseverance and his sunny demeanor and it’s refreshing if slightly out of character to see them let loose in the flashback scenes as they navigate heartbreak and hookup culture. As a second-chance romance their journey will be rewarding to readers who want to see them face their relationship anxieties head on and come out stronger.

It takes time Barack Obama warned for a community to recover from disaster discarding poor prior practices and experimenting with new ones. Vigliotti’s on-the-ground account suggests that at least some of the Los Angeles fire disaster of 2025 was the result of a rush to rebuild in the same old ways and in the same dangerous places after the previous devastating fire of 2018. That hurry he writes has certainly been at play in the aftermath of the 2025 fire and its demand for speedy recovery because the 2028 Olympics are slated to be held in Los Angeles and politicians will pay a price if the venue has to be changed for lack of that recovery—especially L.A. Mayor Karen Bass but also Governor Gavin Newsom. Preparing for the Olympics has included a costly and ineffective effort to remove homeless people from the city’s streets which among other programs diverted significant funds from the L.A. Fire Department—and as one firefighter said “we still have nearly 100 broken-down fire engines trucks and ambulances sitting in the maintenance yard because of those cuts.” Those vehicles could have come in handy amid cascading failures that the author writes included lack of leadership (Bass was in Ghana when the fire that ravaged the Palisades neighborhood broke out though she had ample warning of its likelihood) lack of coordinated communications lack of firefighters and equipment in the face of ever-worsening climate change and the blazes it fuels. That chain of failures Vigliotti writes instantly took on a political dimension with firefighters rendered as “collateral in a political war.” The fire is now out but the gold rush is on: Even as future conflagrations loom speculators have bought up the ash-covered lots “cashing in on ruin.”

In this lively account entrepreneur filmmaker and Sustainable Media Center executive director Rosenbaum takes readers on a road trip through contemporary thinking on AI and truth. From anecdotes lectures blog posts and interviews with both prominent and lesser-known scholars and cultural commentators he assembles a curated collage of issues. Rosenbaum repeatedly notes that AI-moderated truths are slippery especially when motivated by profit. His discussion of the GameStop meme stock saga is emblematic noting that “Truth was whatever enough people decided it would be. Artificial intelligence doesn’t create this phenomenon—it perfects it.” The observation underscores the invocation of “alternative facts” by Kellyanne Conway then-counselor to President Donald Trump. As Rosenbaum writes “Human truth-making was always imperfect—influenced by bias limited information emotional responses. Machine systems introduce a different kind of distortion: a Truth so mathematically complex so rapidly generated and validated that it becomes incomprehensible to human perception.” AI’s algorithmic biases can distort the news medical insurance employment and many other fields. While the book offers numerous examples of AI’s ethical shortcomings connecting the dots between anecdotes is less clear. Readers may wish for more scrutiny of who is building these systems and how power operates within major AI companies such as Anthropic and OpenAI. Rosenbaum concludes “The most urgent question…is not whether AI is inherently good or bad. Rather it is whether the people and institutions developing funding and profiting from AI are willing to confront the profound ethical dilemmas that arise.” Although the book does not resolve these dilemmas or cover much new ground it sketches a cautiously optimistic framework for disentangling truth technology and human responsibility.

Fitzgerald a devotee of tattoos and booze might have been tempted to go gonzo in this rollicking travelogue but he plays it reasonably straight. The author of Dirtbag Massachusetts (2022) opens with a scene out of Steinbeck: On one of the moments that finds him “choosing sobriety occasionally” he’s on the run from a railroad bull a mean-spirited cop enforcing the private property rights of the rail line along which Fitzgerald has been walking narrowly avoiding getting smacked by a locomotive. But Fitzgerald’s options are limited: The supposed Johnny Appleseed Trail is really just a placard on a northern Massachusetts highway as a spokesperson tells him: “‘It’s to encourage tourism in the area’ she says before adding with an almost concerned tenor in her voice ‘for motorists.’” Searching out the path of John Chapman aka Johnny Appleseed puts plenty of wear and tear on his legs but it also gives him the vantage point of seeing small-town America up close. And although that America is sad and frayed it’s also full of interesting and well-meaning people who speak to “human civility.” Having groused at points about how the whole nation though is built not around humans but cars he gives in and buys a used Jeep which affords him a less rigorous journey (and puts a tiny bit of lie to his subtitle). All to the good though for he gets everywhere Chapman did including Chapman’s grave. What we learn about the real Appleseed is fascinating. He was well-to-do religious an abolitionist well-spoken and not at all crazy (and planted apples mostly to make alcoholic cider). What Fitzgerald learns about himself and the state of the nation is more compelling still with all their triumphs and tragedies.

Divya Joshi who’s Indian has grown up in a loving household with no dietary restrictions and has caring friends. But repeatedly experiencing rejection for her size drives her to desire not only to resemble her thin East Asian–presenting classmates but to be accepted by them. She even tries straightening her curly hair to resemble their “silky straight locks.” For her 17th birthday Divya asks for a treadmill. Intense exercise and conscious food choices lead to substantial weight loss—but in public she’s still self-conscious. After a Diwali celebration involving indulgent eating and praise from guests about her thinness Divya descends into obsessive calorie counting. She loses mental clarity and half her body weight isolates herself from friends and realizes she hasn’t had her period in nearly two years. Her family members stay by her side struggling to understand—and when she tells them she may have anorexia they take her to an eating disorder clinic where she receives help including antidepressants. Her recovery is complex and nonlinear but eventually Divya unlearns her own conditioning and embraces a life unrestrained by disordered eating. Divya’s narration is candid and solid—and when her words falter Wong’s illustrations in browns oranges and white fill in the gaps and have a powerful effect. The surreal sometimes dreamlike artwork captures the irrational thinking that accompanies these disorders and renders them tangible.

For generations members of Lili’s family have been delegated as the Town Council’s hunters tasked with killing the monster that slowly eats away at the adults in the community. Lili’s own father is “riddled with holes / can no longer walk”—and she’s desperate to save him. Thanks to rumors about her family particularly her deceased mom Lili is a local outcast so she’s surprised when 17-year-old Caleb comes to her with a proposition. He’ll help her locate the monster if she can find a way for him to escape before his upcoming birthday when “the first hole” will appear and he’ll start to be eaten alive. Their alliance turns into an unlikely friendship and romantic feelings blossom. In Saltview “to be hungry / is to be / monstrous” and the deadly swamp is full of tricks but when Lili learns the truth about the monster she must decide if what she learns will become her burden or set her free. Written in lyrical free verse this evocative story bursts and oozes with the life of the swamp’s flora and fauna. The worldbuilding is gradually revealed and deep feelings—desire shame loneliness and grief—take the spotlight over plot. This lush cross-genre tale swerves between gnarly body horror and sweet romance while maintaining a thoughtful emotional core. The minimally described cast presents white.

But before long Bea becomes upset by her friends’ reminders of her previous reliance on her stuffed rabbit Roger to face social situations. At 13 Bea and her friends are now Froglings the oldest kids at Camp Chordata and they quickly discover that since the camp is “super understaffed” this status comes with less supervision and guidance during activities. They and the two other Froglings are also asked to take on additional responsibilities with younger campers which doesn’t feel fair. Between her disappointment over the way the Froglings are being treated and Virginia’s comments about “the Old Bea” Bea finds herself regretting coming back. The story moves at a rapid pace while still keeping the characters’ emotions front and center. Readers will relate to Bea’s desire to grow and change without being continually compared to her past self. Montague explores healthy communication and the importance of learning to love yourself at every stage of your life as the friends work through relationship hiccups. Her clean boldly executed art accentuates the girls’ expressively drawn faces. Bea has curly brown hair and brown skin Roxy has tan skin and blond hair and Virginia has dark brown skin and red hair.

Lili who is of Chinese descent is excited to pick strawberries from her garden plot to share at the upcoming block party. Her Nai Nai (Mandarin for Grandmother) is busy making fried rice and asks Lili to water the plants and bring back some green onions. Lili’s mother gives her some banana peels to feed “Mr. Nibbles.” (Readers curious about the enigmatic Mr. Nibbles will be rewarded by book’s end.) As Lili works Abuela another grandmother visits asking Lili to pick some tomatoes so she can make arroz roja—and reminding her to check for pests. More grandmothers appear each saying hello in her native language asking for an item from the garden for a dish she’s preparing and help with a chore and offering something for Mr. Nibbles. The ensuing party is a joyous gathering with every grandmother bringing a rice-based dish from her culture. Lili and her world rendered in soft colors and thin-lined details are as charming and adorable as in her first outing. The repetitive parallel construction of the story allows Iwai to pack in a lot more information than she did in her earlier book but the sense of community still shines above all. And Mr. Nibbles? He’s a compost tumbler—explained in Iwai’s copious backmatter.

Cultural critics Druckman and Sen are adoring longtime soap opera fans who infuse their enthusiasm and analysis into a dozen “episode” essays examining the ascent and fanatical obsession of these serials as well as their incremental replacement by modern “reality” versions. In a delightful introductory piece the authors quiz each other about how their fascination with soaps began (Druckman in the mid-1970s Sen in the late 1990s) and is currently sustained through media streaming platforms and wildly opinionated fan-frenzied online message boards. They examine how drama teacher and actress Irna Phillips created the first scripted serialized daytime soap opera Painted Dreams in the 1930s and why the show would evolve into the progenitor of a parade of soon-to-become wildly popular daytime television serials. The authors spotlight the feminist perspective of pivotal soap opera plots like Erica Kane’s abortion on All My Children combined with more convoluted riffs on paternity twins AIDS race queer characters split personalities and more. Druckman and Sen credit provocative prime-time dramas like Dynasty Dallas and Falcon Crest with beefing up the soap playing field through controversial storylines commanding performances dazzling costume design and outrageous cliffhangers. Though the plotlines are frequently repetitive and consistently ludicrous production staff would weave in human interest issues to balance the preposterous with the socially responsible like Guiding Light scriptwriter Agnes Nixon who introduced a uterine cancer storyline to inform viewers about the importance of triennial Pap smear testing. Chatty and personable the authors’ volleying discussion is informative and entertaining and includes updated profiles of long-term soap actors as well as a forecast of the future of the genre and informed opinions on the advent of the soap series reboot. From the “shoulder-padded brio” of Dynasty to more recent productions like CBS’s culturally significant Beyond the Gates these essays appreciate the soap opera as an artform that’s “eternal and eternally changing.”