Lamm was a young artist posting her drawings for 200000 followers on Instagram and successfully monetizing her artwork through brand endorsements and magazine assignments when she accidentally typed the wrong password and was locked out of her account for several months. That’s when she realized that her career as she writes in this accessible manifesto was “owned by Meta Inc.” The abrupt break—and the accompanying improvement in mental health—transformed the author into an anti-tech activist permanently logged off her social media accounts and now using a “dumb phone” without a touchscreen apps or internet connection. Observing that people today spend an average of nearly five hours a day on their phones she asks “What would you do with a few extra hours a day?…The point is not necessarily to fill them. The point is to reclaim them from technology.” The first part of the book diagnoses “The Problem” with sections such as “Outsourcing Thought” “The Cost of Availability” and “Chasing Convenience.” As Lamm herself acknowledges her analysis is not new: “Authors have built whole careers on technocriticism.” But she adds “Almost without exception these authors still own and use the very devices they criticize.” She draws on personal experience when she offers “The Solution” with tips for online messaging (you’ll have to do it from a desktop) getting around (write down directions ahead of time but prepare to get lost sometimes) shooting photographs (get a film camera and take pictures more deliberately) and dual-factor authentication (“this is one of the trickiest and most essential smartphone features to replicate” she concedes). A section on “The Downsides of Downgrading” recognizes the very real challenges of giving up a smartphone—not least the “special attention and accommodation” required from those around you.

Francine Garcia’s parents must leave her and her toddler brother Alfond with Auntie Flora; Francine’s infant brother Ramón needs heart surgery and her parents will be spending the next month in Atlanta while he undergoes the procedure. Though Francine’s upset about the disruption to her routine and the separation from her parents she finds solace in Sunday school where the kids are tasked with coming up with a recipe for joy. More heartache looms: A child Francine meets suffers a sudden parental death and Francine learns that Auntie Flora’s fiancée Sylvia died before they could marry. There are no easy solutions when it comes to grief Francine realizes but she discovers that perhaps the key is a willingness to find joy in unexpected places. Storyline takes a backseat to Francine’s emotional growth as she develops compassion and a greater understanding of loss. While Francine’s flaws make her a strong relatable character the rather purposeful plot often drags and feels designed to teach readers lessons; youngsters may lose patience. The narrative is somewhat predictable; any time a precious object is introduced it almost certainly will soon suffer an accident. Francine and her siblings are biracial; their mother and Auntie Flora are white while their father is Latine.

After a passel of animal musicians pass through the forest a wandering cricket finds an abandoned violin. “Oh how practical! A house that can play music. I’m moving in.” During the day she makes pottery and noodles but by evening she plays wonderful tunes that entrance the other insects and small animals. All is well until winter arrives. The insects who once loved the cricket’s music now see her home as a potential source of firewood. Next thing you know there’s a blazing fire and the cricket must live in an old milk carton. But what is to be done when the music is gone and everyone regrets what has happened? Translated from German this well-told cautionary tale offers cogent commentary on the dangers of favoring immediate necessity over the longevity of pleasure in the arts. Alas the rather abrupt ending (which sees the cricket using the stovepipe in her new home as a trumpet) doesn’t quite stick the landing. Readers likely won’t mind though as the true allure is Haifisch’s delightful and detailed ink drawings. Vibrant yellow orange brown green and blue let readers experience the cold the regrets and the eventual relief and joy all in high definition.

Clayton combines speculative fiction with Catholic theology in this reflective self-helper. Through 35 guided meditations readers are encouraged to imagine themselves on a quest led by Ignatian principles. The author who believes that stories reflect divine truths proposes spiritual practices for worldbuilding including trusting your imagination being specific seeing the world as grace-filled and embracing wonder and awe. The first meditation conjures a wizard as readers are “invited to step beyond [their] status quo.” Subsequent meditations contemplate the support of a proverbial walking stick and the companions who journey with us. In a section on spiritual guides Clayton explains the Ignatian tradition of “discerning the spirits” asking if our choices bring us closer to God or serve the “enemy of our human nature.” Fairies teach us that “the universe is greater than we can possibly imagine” and that God is omnipresent. Pixies represent malignant forces that can tempt us off the path while the centaur stands in for the willingness to embrace curiosity creativity and the unknown. Anger is imagined as “winged terrors” that “swoop down unexpectedly into our lives” but ultimately need to be welcomed and accepted. The final meditation focuses on becoming a mage or “teaching hero” for others. Clayton effectively combines personal anecdotes fictional narratives and Bible stories in this unique book. Vignettes featuring the author and his daughters are touching and exemplify the book’s teachings (rebuilding a fairy garden is an act of “sacramental imagination”; meeting a “unicorn” at the Renaissance Faire is an invitation to reinterpret the “hard facts of our lives”). The settings are vividly described like woods where “water bugs drift atop the water’s surface. Leaves drift down and come to rest on plant roots and dirt.” “Tools for sharing” including reflection questions retreat suggestions and family activities provide actionable opportunities to engage with the material. However readers unfamiliar with fantasy may find the niche references (such as those to an orc) difficult to connect with.

Marian’s geologist mom has some truly amazing rocks but Marian’s own collection is nothing to sneeze at; she’s got “an enchanted rock. A prehistoric rock. And a surprisingly speedy rock.” She also has a spot reserved for the very best one still to be found. Then at the playground one day Marian comes across something wonderful: what she is certain is a dinosaur tooth. Her mom is gently skeptical but Marian is sure she’s right. The expert she consults by letter needs to see the object which is “far too precious to send away” so Marian decides to excavate the rest of the dinosaur. She and her very cooperative parents dig up disparate objects (a Slinky traffic cones). Undaunted Marian carefully glues “her dinosaur” together and the big reveal impresses her friends and makes her proud. Now it’s on to the next interest: Has she found a moon rock for that spot in her collection? Fossil facts follow Bontje’s narrative along with profiles of six young real-life fossil hunters (most of them female). Ritchie’s cartoon illustrations are colorful and fresh. Marian is treated with respect by both her parents and the author and her enthusiasm is never quashed; readers will emerge eager to explore their own passions. Marian and her mother are pale-skinned with auburn hair; her dad is brown-skinned and dark-haired.

Each dwelling is a distinctive unexpected shape. At Lucy’s there’s a cat silhouetted in one of the round eyelike windows. “Does [the house] have…ears?” Not only do the attic dormers look just like cat ears but the lunette over the door evokes a nose and the mailbox has feline features. A cross section shows Peter and Lucy inside playing with a cat and there are nine more (count them!)—as well as cat-shaped clocks seats beds and more. Lucy and Peter go on to Georgina’s cupcake-shaped house full of baked goods. Sam’s house looks like a chemistry set and inside Sam’s inventor dad has installed a machine for making every kind of drink. If you had such a machine an unseen narrator asks what beverage would you make? The four friends find that Paul’s house has wheels and can travel; his mum is repairing its engine. Twins Molly and Tom live in a treehouse Olive in a fantastical cloud house. At the end of the day they each return home; it’s a bit of a letdown to find that Peter’s house is pretty typical. As in Takeuchi’s other books the simple forms and clever details of what looks like cut-paper collage encourage discovery while questions in the text stretch viewers’ own imagination inviting them to feel at home in the various houses on display. Peter is round-headed and pink-skinned; his friends vary in complexion.

Award-winning naturalist poet and painter Kaufmann (The California Field Atlas 2017 etc.) invites readers to redefine stewardship of the earth by uniting “ecological science ethical responsibility and the needs of the human community” with the needs and intelligences of the non-human community. Ethical responsibility is central to an “ecological philosophy” that may lead to “people taking care of the land and the land taking care of the people.” He finds that philosophy in Indigenous stories and traditional practices (such as seasonal planned fire burns) born of a deep experiential heritage rather than “ravenous” capitalism. California “a place of starkly disparate ecological plurality” serves as an example but the web of connections among human and non-human life applies to any natural habitat. Thinking Kaufmann argues transcends the human mind: All ecological systems “mediate something like thoughts through matter energy and chemical feedback.” It is possible then to think “like a watershed” and he praises legal decisions that give rivers rights: “When legislation defines water as a commodity—when it does not acknowledge water as an expression of watershed-scale intelligence—the protections it offers fail.” When watersheds are conceived as “thinking systems” then environmental law shifts from emphasizing control toward envisioning “participation and reciprocation.” All life he asserts “exists as one continuum of consciousness”: Vast networks for instance comprise “the mind of the forest.” Drawing on a wide range of thinkers including Roger Penrose Wendell Berry Robert Macfarlane and Gary Snyder Kaufmann makes a compelling argument for a decisive new perspective: What he asks “would the California economy look like if its laws were oriented to resiliency and adaptation rather than to extraction and waste?” His delicate watercolor drawings and paintings enhance his text.

If you want to radicalize someone send them off to an ill-defined poorly managed war. Timothy McVeigh one of Reitman’s subjects is a case in point: “[T]he reality of combat…fucks with the head” she writes of his time in Iraq and so does homecoming in a time of recession and unemployment. Provoked by what he saw as an evil government and styling himself “the ideological descendant of Paul Revere” he embarked on a brief career in terrorism that ended at Oklahoma City. An aimless California skateboarder named Nate Damigo is another case in point: He joined the Marines and like McVeigh was packed off to Iraq “probably the worst place in the world.” In prison for crimes committed after returning home he happened on Klan leader David Duke’s autobiography. Founding a white supremacist organization on his release he mapped out the infamous Charlottesville tiki march—“You will not replace us” slogan polo shirts and all—“with a snarling aggression that was even more intimidating than overt violence.” On the other side of the ideological divide is Terry Albury a brilliant young man who joined the FBI and served nearly a whole career as a Black officer in a nearly all-white and deeply racist organization. Albury himself went to prison on a four-year sentence after leaking information to the press about illegalities such as hacking into journalists’ phone records. A crusading defense attorney working with unjustly charged Arab Americans a neo-Nazi “murdered by a fellow neo-Nazi” a young naval officer disaffected by military life and a teenage girl arrested for trying to join ISIS round out Reitman’s cast of characters in this swift-moving expertly told narrative each grappling in their own way with “what created monsters [and] all the whys.”

“Kids: Don’t try this at home” warns McGee depicting earwig hatchlings preparing to chow down on their mom. Matriophagy though is just one of the gruesome practices highlighted in this rousing grossfest as the author describes with exaggerated relish how assassin bugs inject their prey with an innards-dissolving poison (“Yum! Cockroach smoothie!”) depicts with crunchy sound effects a female praying mantis biting off her mate’s head exclaims over how the “slimy shapeshifter” flatworm uses the same orifice as a mouth and a butt and regales readers with similar need-to-know facts about other back-garden creepy-crawlies. Underscoring his educational motives for all this the author opens each chapter of all-too-clearly drawn comics panels with for example scene-setting references to monster movies or detailed information about how ancient Egyptians prepared mummies then ends with a close-up photo and a roundup of additional facts. The backmatter includes instructions for a homemade “Pooter” and “Beat Sheet” that will give young backyard naturalists the tools to gather more little monsters of their own. Human observers in the pictures are racially diverse.

Historian Williams examines the role of sexism in a thorough look at 3000 years of female rulers whose power she writes is often “erased compromised and twisted by words and images.” Royal women are either “feted beyond measure as warrior queens saints or fairy princesses or castigated as monsters sexual obsessives feminine failures.” Williams considers dozens of reigns discerning a common demeaning conclusion drawn about female monarchs across continents and centuries: “They must be sleeping with any male advisor or supporter. For why else would a man assist or support a woman?” Over time she argues queens have often come to be known for the “worst or most lurid thing that one satirist or critic on the enemy side says about them”—whether it’s that Cleopatra was a “sex-mad failure” or that Catherine the Great “had sex with a horse.” It’s not just these familiar names that have come under fire from male historians the author notes. She examines the assorted histories of lesser-known female royals from around the world including Ranavalonas I of Madagascar called “the female Caligula” and Queen Lili‘uokalani of Hawaii who denied pen and paper in prison but allowed the more feminine tools of needle and thread wove her narrative into a quilt now housed in a museum. “It is not just about sexism” Williams writes. “Queens are written about more harshly than other women; in the end queens are attacked with words and pictures to try to seize their power.”

With its vibrant tapestry of giants trolls Valkyries witches gods elves dragons and monsters Norse mythology delivers an exhilarating mix of adventure heroism trickery betrayal loyalty love magic wisdom and triumphant battles. This collection is presented chronologically starting with the world’s creation out of ice and fire and continuing to the prophesied cataclysm of Ragnarok. Each chapter opens with an illustrated character list that allows readers to easily skip around. Along the way they’ll meet beloved figures like Odin Freyja and Thor as well as legendary heroes like Ragnar Hairy-breeches. The abundant backmatter include a brief overview of Norse civilization traditional sayings information on runes a glossary and a QR code that takes readers to a pronunciation guide. An overview explains that these stories inspired many books films and more and describes how they are rooted in oral traditions but were written down around the year 1200. This engagingly told work focuses on action over deep commentary or characterization although the violence is toned down. The entries omit some details perhaps in a nod to the age of the intended readership; the story of the eight-legged foal Sleipnir skips over the fact that Loki shape-shifted into a mare and gave birth to the creature after luring away and mating with the stallion Svadilfari. Collins’ bright dynamic artwork greatly enhances the text and shows characters with a diverse range of skin tones.

The title says it all: Several hundreds of things are on display here divided into 17 categories among them “School Time” “Sports and Recreation” and “Household Items.” Each section of this Chilean import contains 30 to 40 items over one or two double-page spreads. Hanisch’s mixed-media depictions are clear simple and immensely appealing each object or animal neatly labeled in an accessible serif font. Individual drawings nestle together inviting close browsing and a few conversation-sparking questions accompany every category: “So many ways to travel! Which is fastest? Which is slowest?” Diversity of experience is acknowledged; the “Meal Time” section includes paella sushi ceviche and a cheese board while a mosque a synagogue a church and a Buddhist temple appear “In the City.” There’s some overlap among the hundreds of items: An all-purpose “flower” appears “In the Garden” while the colorful section “Flowers” offers many more varieties such as a tiger lily a rose and a sunflower. And a generic “shark” appears “At the Beach” while a “whale shark” can be found among the sampling of ocean dwellers in the “Animal World.” Some things are nonspecific ("owl" for instance in “Birds”) while others are identified in more detail (Magellanic penguin). Rather than providing a comprehensive visual dictionary Hanisch offers a charming quick take on a lot of well things in this browsable relatable catalog.

Following the trial of their rapist in The Way I Am Now (2023) Eden Gennifer and Amanda face the debilitating fear and anxiety that come in the wake of Kevin’s sentencing to a mere 180 days in prison. Their lives reflect the forces that shaped each of them. Amanda a senior in high school whose father has sided with her brother Kevin grapples with her mental health and wonders whether taking her own life is safer than waiting for him to be released. College student Eden found the love of her life in Josh but she’s unable to take the next step and move in with him wondering if her fear and anxiety will always haunt them. And Gen Kevin’s ex-girlfriend has dropped out of college and is unable to feel safe except when she’s with her rescue dog. The three young women who present white share the narration. Smith describes their complex triggers reactions and coping mechanisms in ways that feel brutally realistic. The story offers a deep dive into the intricacies of survival along with an examination of the injustice that often follows when the rapist is a member of the community and victims are pitted against perpetrators and public opinion.

With its focus fully on friendship and none on the self-promoting aspects of Dale Carnegie’s classic this book offers an earnest approach to being open to those messy unpredictable challenging yet ultimately fulfilling platonic relationships. Agrawal asserts her expertise based on her experience as a social entrepreneur who co-founded three organizations devoted to overcoming what she sees as a “fracture”—a relatively recent break from humanity’s 200000-year history of sharing life within and outside of families with people who care about each other. Two of her organizations share a name with her bestselling 2018 book Belong: The Belong Center and Belong Institute are dedicated to fighting what Agrawal views as “the defining crisis of our era: loneliness.” Her new book is written in the language of TED Talks and motivational speaking: One-sentence paragraphs many in the style of aphorisms (“Friendship isn’t something we have it’s something we practice.”) propel the reader swiftly forward. What Color Is Your Parachute?-style exercises appear regularly to make the reader pause and grapple with the book’s ideas. A handy acronym F.R.I.E.N.D. helps the reader remember those key ideas that friendship is founded in fun reliability inefficiency energy needs and distance. The author’s surprising emphasis on friendship’s “inefficiencies”—the rough-edged awkward imperfections of our interactions with people who are or whom we want to be our friends—gives an indication that she is concerned with something real and not just a self-help franchise’s gimmicks. “[F]riendship isn’t built through perfect responses” she insists. “It’s built through imperfect inefficient often awkward time—shared air shared mistakes shared repair—until our body learns what it feels like to be safe with another person again.”

Kamille Bernaud and Julia Lazarrett are close friends on the verge of adulthood. They’re hoping to have fun before Kamille turns 22 and must choose a husband. It’s the law in Kalgratt—a custom Julia (who appears white) accepts but Kamille (who presents Black) detests. While visiting a traveling circus the pair become separated. Kamille sees something odd—a pretty pink-haired performer holding her own decapitated head. The next day when Julia realizes Kamille is missing she returns frantically seeking her but the massive tanklike circus is on the move—and she accidentally falls off her bike right into its path. Julia awakens among the performers where she’s greeted by the pink-haired pixie who gleefully declares “here at the Anthonn Gremminger Traveling Troupe…we’re all dead!” Julia who makes a shady deal in order to join the troupe struggles with reconciling her support for Kamille and her prejudices toward some members. Kamille meanwhile is eager to discover herself within this strange new racially diverse community. Tur explores discrimination desire and duplicity while utilizing the expansive nature of the webcomic format to build a richly textured world full of alluring characters. The manga-style artwork gleefully captures characters’ emotional interactions and delights in the aesthetics of the circus setting.

Readers not closely familiar with the series opener are also likely to flounder as Haddix closes this duology with continuing underdeveloped plotlines that are made harder to follow by time-travel rules of Byzantine complexity. There’s also some distracting hand-wringing over tangential issues—namely children’s addiction to smartphones and the pitfalls of AI. Stuck in an increasingly fragmentary reality in which only she notices that characters and items are continually changing vanishing and reappearing seventh grader Maisie meets young people who turn out to be from equally dystopian past and future times—and who themselves repeatedly vanish just as they’re about to tell her something important. Meanwhile the author gins up both an AI Club to serve as a discussion forum and a strict no-cellphones policy at home and school that hampers Maisie’s efforts to communicate with a mysterious caller who sounds like a strangely unemotional version of her beloved great-aunt. The events move slowly toward a sudden climax that logically resolves little but at least leaves her with new time-traveling friends. Excepting two Black classmates the central cast presents white.

Ever since she was small Gemma Carroll has spent time in quaint Dove Crossing’s cemetery. As a Seer Gemma is able to interact with the Ethereals—the five ghosts who have been trapped in the graveyard since their deaths inexplicably unable to move on. They include Jimmy Waterford who died 100 years ago at age 15. Now he and Gemma are the same age they develop feelings for each other although a real relationship seems impossible. Gemma’s frenemy Lexy Volkee is determined to make her miserable spreading rumors that she’s sacrificing animals and conducting satanic rituals which leads Gemma to stay away from the cemetery for a time. But Gemma who promised to free the Ethereals decides to deal with Lexy’s lies while investigating the case of a ghost who was able to rise from the graveyard and confronting her feelings for Jimmy. Her new friendship with fellow violinist Mae Wu turns out to be the book’s most tender relationship; Gemma and Jimmy who read white don’t have enough tension-filled scenes to convey a bond that transcends the divide between a human and a spirit. The chapters alternate between Gemma’s and Jimmy’s first-person voices providing useful insights into their perspectives.

“Neighbors point shout. / Hook up hoses open valves— / let’s put this fire out!” A series of poems follow a crew of firefighters as they answer an alarm rescue a puppy and douse fires before returning to their firehouse for a much-deserved meal at day’s end. Cronin’s poems are paired with Marin’s illustrations set against brightly colored backgrounds. The text is immediate and exciting relying on a variety of forms from acrostics to free verse as Cronin describes these true heroes in action. “Attack Hose” for example is filled with thrilling descriptions (“You knock down flames / in a mighty rush”). The accompanying image though depicts a firefighter gazing placidly at the side of the truck no hose in sight. The firefighters are laudably diverse in terms of race and gender but the digital artwork comes off as static devoid of the drama or energy of the verse. The backmatter doesn’t name the poetic forms limiting the book’s use in classrooms but does include further info on firefighting tools and methods.

This stand-alone follow-up to Falling Like Leaves (2025) which centered on Ellis follows Sloane who loves wintertime but tries to avoid painful memories of her late father who shared her enthusiasm for Christmas. Sloane’s mom the mayor of Bramble Falls surprises everyone by deciding to capitalize on the town’s popularity—videos of the Falling Leaves Festival have gone viral—and throw a Falling Snow Festival. When Mom pressures Sloane to help with the frantic last-minute plans—dooming the New York getaway—she teams up with her best friend the unconditionally supportive constant in her life Asher Yoshida. After a meet-cute in which Sloane sleds into hockey star Micah Cook her feelings for both boys complicate the festive season. Romance fans will swoon over the thoughtful and elaborate lengths Asher goes to in expressing his feelings for Sloane. Sloane’s fear of ruining their friendship and her grief over the loss of her father are palpable. The loving joking interactions among Sloane’s friend group add dimension to the story and readers will delight in the movie references woven throughout. They’ll also cheer Sloane as she figures out her feelings. Most central characters are cued white and Asher is white and Japanese American.

In the 1964 film A Hard Day’s Night it’s Ringo who wanders the back streets of London with camera in hand. The other Fabs though were just as interested in photography chronicling their travels and lives on film. Paul McCartney was technically the best behind the lens as witness his fine 2023 portfolio 1964: Eyes of the Storm but Harrison was no stranger to the art even if as George Saunders remarks in his afterword “They’re snapshots really made by a talented young guy with a new toy.” The “new toy” changed from time to time as when Harrison acquired a fish-eye lens and snapped everything in sight with it exulting “everything looks mad through it!” Olivia Harrison writes that her husband used the camera as “a benign shield and playful way to deflect attention that followed him wherever he went.” The cameras—a Pentax SLR a Polaroid SX-70 and many others—also provided an archive that’s much more relaxed than the usual run of Beatles-related photos especially the series shot at the band’s 1968 retreat in Rishikesh India: Paul looking all of 12 years old earnestly shaving; John experiencing a characteristic agony of the acoustic guitarist namely trying to get a dropped pick out of the thing; Ringo showing off some impressively white teeth in a madcap grin. The self-portraits are welcome too the best of them showing off a kid who seems thrilled by most of life whether geeking out in Tahiti with what appears to be a strand of kelp or snapping the band horsing around at a Miami swimming pool. The photographs gathered here attest to George’s own explanation for his interest: “I like cameras because you can see things in a different way and you can make things look how they feel instead of how they are.”