In the rearview: her old band Spinning Birds on the verge of possibly making it—and her former band mate and newly minted ex Matt Turkish. Ahead of her a dark highway the promise of a rented room from Craigslist and the ghosts of her past. Back in Nashville Maggie returns to her old haunts to lick her wounds grieve the unexpected death of her father and pursue a career as a baker. Maggie struggles to navigate the complex grief surrounding the death of her father the first person who truly cheered her on in her quest to become a musician but also chronically cheated on her artist mother and eventually left for a farm outside the city. The author is skillful at drawing the indie music world that Maggie inhabits—for example the way a dive bar smells of “old smoke and beer top note of spray disinfectant.” The Great Recession is a specter looming in the background but the novel largely fails to grapple with what it felt like to try to survive in such a time much less as a musician. One gets the sense—whether following Maggie’s poetic musings about the “orange brushstrokes of dawn” filtering through the window of a bakery or her interview about her artistic process with a student journalist—that Maggie is the kind of person who though taking a detour through dive bars crappy apartments and heartbreak will always be OK which robs the novel of the kinds of stakes that would have made it abidingly memorable.

Fifteen-year-old Malanthia Duvenne has spent her life in the town of Briel in the kingdom of Athergard knowing little about the mysterious power that runs through her father’s bloodline. When a carriage bearing a strange crest arrives at her family’s home she’s taken north to Stonemouth Keep where her name identity and future are systematically stripped away. Over the next several years Malanthia is trained in surveillance languages combat and assassination alongside a handful of other recruits destined to serve the ruling regime. As Malanthia (eventually renamed Seraphine) excels in her training she begins to uncover unsettling truths about the kingdom’s political foundations failing magical wards and the dynasty that seized power after a devastating palace fire. Once assigned to the capital she becomes handler and eventual fiancée to a young officer who may in fact be the lost heir to the throne. Duty identity and affection are now on a collision course with prophecy and political intrigue. The novel’s greatest strength is its immersive atmosphere. Rich descriptions careful worldbuilding and an omnipresent sense of melancholy make the kingdom feel fully realized while recurring motifs particularly the dark violets tied to the protagonist’s past and name provide emotional connection throughout. The prose is polished and confident lending weight to even mundane scenes. However the narrative’s glacial pace often becomes a liability. Nearly two hundred pages are devoted to training conditioning and institutional life before the central conflict emerges creating the impression of an extended prologue rather than a developing plot. The romance and political conspiracy that ultimately drive the story are compelling but they arrive much later than expected. Minor timeline inconsistencies further complicate an otherwise carefully constructed narrative.

Nicolina is from the suburbs of Columbus Ohio the daughter of a money manager who’s currently in jail for insider trading. The family’s fortunes have thus fallen and Nicolina takes a job with charity group the Red Crest; she eventually becomes "assistant director of operations for the entire Middle East." Moving to New York City she secures an entry-level job in finance and looks for cheaper housing outside Manhattan. The village of West Hillock is perfect for her—far better than East Hillock the old-money side of town which the half Indigenous Nicolina finds racist and snobby. Nicolina meets Julian a polo player from Argentina; he seduces her into a sado-masochistic encounter which Nicolina ends up loving. She also encounters Gatsby a local tycoon. The origin of his wealth is unknown and his backstory is the stuff of rumors but money supersedes everything especially in the borough of Hillock (“any honest citizen knows that full faith in the dollar trumps thoughts of any messianic savior seven days a week”). Upon meeting the mysterious gentleman Nicolina is hooked and possibly by more than his money. Gatsby has secrets and a dominating presence that Nicolina is unable to resist. Jones’ novel boasts strong writing and clearly defined characters but it’s hard to characterize by genre—the S&M scenes seem too infrequent for the story to be comfortably classed as erotica. Gatsby despite his rough upbringing is depicted too blandly to register as an exciting literary creation. Nicolina on the other hand is a compelling three-dimensional character; she’s a career-oriented perceptive person shaped by her experiences with a spirited Indigenous Latine mother and a white-collar criminal father. The author depicts the moneyed amoral community in which she lives in a satisfyingly scathing manner but somehow the narrative never fully coheres—the heightened language is appropriate for a thriller or erotic romp but this novel doesn’t quite fit either category.

Set in a post-human future where remnants of humanity are treated with suspicion this thoughtful graphic novel follows Quirk a teen robot struggling to connect with his peers and understand his place in society. Everything changes in a hidden bunker filled with relics from the human era including a diary a pink hoodie medical testing kits and even human remains. Drawn especially to the hoodie Quirk begins wearing it to school like a protective shield—an outward symbol of the alienation he already feels inside. Initially mocked by classmates for his unusual behavior and fascination with forbidden human culture Quirk gradually finds companionship among other students who feel similarly out of step with the rigid expectations of robot society. There’s Glitch an anxious egg-shaped bot managing OCD tendencies; Fidget a sweet-natured giant whose ADHD makes concentration difficult; and Trig whose misophonia causes sensory overwhelm and who slowly becomes Quirk’s romantic interest. Together they form a club built around mutual support empathy and self-discovery. Rather than attempting to “fix” themselves the robots learn to articulate their struggles confront cruelty from classmates and reinterpret traits once viewed as defects as meaningful parts of their identities (“Hey who knew autism would help me one day?”). The author approaches neurodivergence from an oblique angle that never feels clinical or preachy; by filtering recognizable human conditions through robotic characters the story creates enough emotional distance for readers to engage with difficult topics comfortably while still recognizing the real-world parallels. The graphic format further softens some of the narrative’s darker turns including a devastating subplot in which a student chooses to “deactivate” himself by removing his processor—a clear analogue for suicide that is handled with sensitivity and restraint. London’s artwork complements the story’s emotional accessibility balancing sleek futuristic designs with expressive character work that gives each robot a distinct emotional texture.

The book opens with a counterintuitive premise: The “less we believe the closer we get to religion.” While doctrines creeds and articles of faith are ubiquitous across the world’s largest religions from the Abrahamic faiths to Buddhism Pritikin argues that those seeking genuine spiritual fulfillment should learn from mystics rather than strictly adhere to a set of scripted beliefs. “Mystics empty the mind surrender certainty and embrace mystery” he notes adding that rigid belief systems tend to accomplish the opposite. Building on the research of the American academic James Carse the author argues that while belief systems may provide explanations and create internal dynamics that reinforce one’s religious identity they also lead to authoritarian abuses and strife among those who have differing beliefs. In this interdisciplinary work Pritikin blends his background in psychology (he embraces for instance Richard Schwartz’s Internal Family Systems model) with insights from anthropology history and biology including explorations of Paleolithic spirituality shamanic practices and contemporary neuroscience. The work’s theoretical underpinnings are balanced by practical discussions about the ways in which disinvesting from religious beliefs can lead to greater spiritual clarity. The author also outlines his belief in the power of meditation and the potential effectiveness of drugs like cannabis psilocybin and ayahuasca. The book’s pragmatic advice is supplemented with reflective self-evaluation exams and additional online materials linked in the appendix. While the tome’s theoretical material can be dense it’s made accessible via Pritikin’s engaging writing style and his ample use of visual elements such as illustrations charts diagrams and text box sidebars. The grandson of the late bestselling nutritionist Nathan Pritikin the author places particular emphasis on the connection between spiritual inquiry (not just rote adherence to orthodox beliefs) and overall health and wellness.

Under a dim crescent moon two youngsters—one brown-skinned with long dark hair the other pale-skinned with short red hair—climb an ominous mountain by a switchback trail accompanied by a dog who collects a mouthful of bones along the way. An unseen narrator urgently advises them to stop (“There’s a ghost town in the mountains turn back now!” “There’s a cabin off the main street don’t go in!”). The dark-haired child ignores the cautions and gleefully drags the frightened-looking redhead along as they hurry into the cabin then up a rotting staircase to the “spiderweb-y” attic. Naturally they open the cupboard and then the tiny casket inside. The “magic jawbone” within begins clacking. A skeleton assembles and them sashays to the rattling music of this “ancient mandible” alarming even the bolder child—and precipitating the adventurers’ headlong reverse flight. Garrigue’s cartoonish illustrations and luridly lovely lilac color scheme along with Becker’s jaunty verse make for an exploit that’s creepy but never overwhelmingly so. The varied echoing refrain—“Scrim-scram! Step-stomp! Click-clack! Bump-thump!”—should guarantee enthusiastic audience participation. The book concludes with information on ghost towns and the origins of “She’ll Be Comin’ ’Round the Mountain When She Comes” along with music and lyrics to “Ghost Town in the Mountains.”

As Demers’ rhyming text suggests love occasionally makes parents say ridiculous things: “I great big meal and tiny snack you.” It also stirs overpowering emotions (“And on each clock / My favourite minute / Is every one / That has you in it”). Some of the book’s sentiments are a bit cliched—“And every year / my love lasts longer // And every week / my love grows stronger.” Others are entirely original—and more than a bit goofy: “I sure do love you / Yes I adore you // And I a window / And I a floor you.” The text is silly sweet and easy to identify with; children will find it appealing. The meter is occasionally off by a beat making certain pages clunky when reading aloud. Nevertheless the book’s brevity makes it ideal for short attention spans or when parents are looking for “just one more book” before bedtime. Leung’s muted autumnal hues lend a quiet note to this portrait of a loving family while familiar parenthood moments—checking on a sleeping child reading together—make this a relatable book that will resonate equally with caregivers and youngsters. One of the parents has short brown hair; the other has black hair like the youngster; all three are tan-skinned.

Walking through the orchard in early summer with her parents and big white dog Lilly spots some leafy vines spilling over the old compost heap—pumpkin “volunteers.” Dad explains “We didn’t plant them they sprouted from the pumpkins we threw away last fall.” Over the course of a long hot season Lilly plays grooms her dog rakes and picks apples all the while watching over her crop. She learns that bees pollinate the flowers and her parents tell her how to protect the small fruits from hungry foxes deer and rabbits. Lilly is eager to harvest the pumpkins but must wait until they are big and ripe with dry stems. And when they are picked she leaves many behind for wildlife—and for next year’s volunteers. Final pages offer information on pumpkins and recipes for some of the pumpkin dishes Lilly has dreamed of. Simplified line-free illustrations bring these days to life in clear earthy greens and browns. Those curious about the origins of jack-o’-lanterns or pumpkin pie—or who wish to learn more about rural life—will find this a lucid and appetizing option. Dad is brown-skinned Mom is pale-skinned and Lilly is tan-skinned.

Finlay chronicles the life of a man working for an ambitious (and possibly delusional) chief executive. A third of the way through the book the narrator describes protagonist Hugh Snell as “god-like ant-like altogether paranoid.” It’s a good summary of his contradictory nature; Hugh is at once talented enough to be entrusted with a high-level corporate job and incompetent enough to cause frequent disasters in his personal life. Hugh works at AstroLabs™ for a tech CEO with the auspicious name of Lex Ramesses who has his sights set on interplanetary colonization and a predilection for residing in a “carbon free emission cube.” A series of countdowns provide a signpost to just how far from a groundbreaking event the company is—though there’s also a lingering question of whether Ramesses’ reach has exceeded his grasp. Hugh’s corporate anxieties coincide with familial drama involving his twin brother Ernst—who’s more skeptical of Ramesses’ project—and their cousin Martin. Finlay takes some formal risks here including an array of fonts to differentiate between online and in person interactions. But the highlights include the use of highly specific descriptions: One location is described as “a former factory with an atmosphere midway between illegal rave and corporate trade show” while a particular aesthetic Hugh observes is compared to “an English idea of a French techno DJ circa Y2K.” The targets of this novel’s satire are ripe for mockery from self-serious pseudo-intellectuals to egomaniacal executives. Satire is a subjective thing though and Hugh’s haplessness doesn’t make him the most engaging of protagonists.

The author a historian interrogates the life of Donald Trump and the rise of Trumpism in U.S. politics by elevating recent history to the level of scripture. Calder (signified by the title “the scribe”) begins with the story of Donald J. Trump’s rise to becoming one of the most recognizable figures in real estate finance and popular culture. The author acknowledges the role of the art of making the proverbial “deal” (which the subject has often boasted about mastering) in Trump’s success. As Calder clarifies “the deal is not primarily about money” but messaging. What matters is the story told by the major players in any negotiation and as Trump learned very early on control of the story means eventual success. This theme underlies the rise of Trumpism in politics as well—the author documents Trump’s unexpected success as a presidential candidate by citing the many times when Trump gained the upper hand through persistence the projection of gravitas and keeping control of the story. At the end the work pauses to let the scribe rest with this thought: “Chronicles do not conclude. They stop because the scribe must stop and the events continue without the scribe.” From the outset Calder is clear about the intention to satirize all sides of the story which makes for exceptionally smart and notably unbiased depictions of the many instances in which the American public has underestimated Trump’s will overestimated his scruples or simply stood transfixed by his peculiar charisma. The prose evokes the sense of loftiness evident in many religious texts and deftly captures the qualities of an epic tale. Calder’s choice to present the facts of various scenarios without commentary allows readers to uncover the comedy irony and outright absurdity of each situation on their own landing this chronicle a spot among the great literary satires.

Fourteen-year-old friends Nick Yarrowby and Khenan Kimetto are looking for a way to earn enough money to fly to Boston to see the Bruins hockey team play since their single parents can’t afford to send them. A crime-scene cleanup TV show gives Khenan an idea—and Gross Busters is born. The boys’ “no job too foul” cleaning business goes so well that they hire Florrie Birdwhistle a quirky 12-year-old girl with a passion for science who seems impervious to the disgusting things they have to clean up making her perfect for the team. Their one rule is “absolutely no body parts” a hard line they find themselves crossing during one of their jobs. Working together leads the trio to discover revelations about one another even as they uncover mysteries hiding in their small town of Glummingford. First-person narrator Nick’s coming of age is relatable: He’s thoughtful and kind yet goofy enough to be believable. The flowing narrative realistic characters whose lives have been touched by grief and the ravages of addiction and a satisfying (and not-too-tidy) ending make this book a great choice for readers who appreciate a gentle approach to tender topics. Nick and Florrie read white and Khenan is Black.

Greyson Grim is a grumpy old man—and understandably so. After all as the current owner of the world he’s solely responsible for ridding it of all the bad things in it which are referred to in the ownership manual as “Thingamajigs.” According to the hefty tome the only way to void the world of its troubles is to eat them which Greyson has done for a very long time. Now he’s decided it’s time to sell the world—a transaction that requires no money and just a signature on a contract. He has just the person in mind to be the new owner: a pure-hearted 8-year-old orphan named Tobi. Van Rensburg’s book is clever to be sure if a bit silly as when “bad Thingamajigs” are consumed as food items. Greyson for example drinks a Thingamajig called “RUDE TO MY SISTER” mixed with “NOT VERY NICE” and “BEING BAD”—as coffee sugar and milk respectively. He later eats “LYING” and “STEALING” as bacon and eggs. But although the book is a brisk read some of it feels like filler even when it’s not as when Tobi inexplicably decides that he wants three wishes granted before signing the contract: ice cream a visit to the zoo and an outing at the beach. Although these are fairly conventional wishes for a child Greyson enjoys each wish so much that it sends the story in a completely new direction. Overall though the book carries a positive message without feeling didactic. The book’s length and occasionally sarcastic tone may provide some difficulty for very young readers but Thompson’s vivid cartoon illustrations assist in creating a delightful series-starter.

For all the ways that writers have anatomized the 1964 Beatles film A Hard Day’s Night no one has approached it like Ahmed. An English broadcaster and the daughter of South Asian immigrants she fell for the Beatles in 1979 at age 11 while watching videos of the band’s films. She views A Hard Day’s Night with an outsider’s eyes concluding from a scene in which she identifies several non-white Beatles concertgoers that “Britain for all its complicated social tensions is captured in this film as having a multiracial reality.” This dovetails with a prevailing persuasive contention of Ahmed’s: Unlike other British films of its time A Hard Day’s Night manages not to seem old-fashioned when watched today. The author devotes the book’s first half to unpacking the movie’s plot (thumbnail: The Beatles commute by train from Liverpool to London so they can perform on a TV show); the book’s latter half comprises chapters dedicated to among other topics and most illuminatingly the film’s women. As Ahmed observes they’re not just the screamers of the opening scene’s train-station chase: Female characters have jobs that keep Beatles business humming. Ahmed submits that “the film while always making clear that the Beatles are lively young heterosexual men never relies—in their encounters with females—on promoting the kind of stereotype that has dated so many British social realist films of its time.” Director Richard Lester’s other like-minded choices (such as to ditch a scene from the script that contained what Ahmed calls “questionable racial humour”) reflect an aversion to mean-spiritedness which may well be the key to why A Hard Day’s Night remains such a pleasure as is this incisive nimble title.

Alfred Hitchcock (1899–1980) wasn’t the world’s most recognizable film director for his dashing good looks. In Young’s deep dive into the Master of Suspense’s approach to costuming his actors she hypothesizes that there was “a wish fulfillment to Hitchcock’s filmmaking as he fantasized about being as suave and debonair as Cary Grant in impeccable tailoring instead of being trapped in his own bulky awkward frame.” As a director more invested than most in the clothes that went on his actors’ backs—he would occasionally take them shopping for their costumes—Hitchcock worked closely with the designers spotlighted herein especially the multiple Oscar-winning Edith Head who worked on nearly all of his movies from 1954’s Rear Window onward. Young a Scottish writer behind a previous Hitchcock book Hitchcock’s Heroines is like one of the director’s better on-screen gumshoes sleuthing out and spotting patterns in Hitch’s costume and style preferences. She notes that “his psychopaths were typically dandies—Uncle Charlie in Shadow of a Doubt Bruno in Strangers on a Train and Bob Rusk in Frenzy had a flair for fashion and a desire to kill.” In a Hitchcock film a purse isn’t just a purse: The title character in Marnie “keeps her proceeds from her crimes and her neurosis within a yellow pouch; in Dial M for Murder Tony invades Margot’s maroon bag to frame her for murder; and Lisa in Rear Window proves her resourcefulness by squeezing her nightgown and slippers into a tiny overnight case.” As Young proceeds chronologically from film to film skipping over precious few she reliably supplies casting backstories and plot synopses—although this offering probably isn’t geared for Hitchcock newbies. Fashionistas should of course ignore that advice.

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Many books have been freed from censorship by courts James Joyce’s Ulysses and D.H. Lawrence’s Lady Chatterley’s Lover being only two of the most noteworthy. Aycock a North Carolina writer and librarian who has devoted much of his life to the freedom of literary access argues that another case matters. In 1982 the Supreme Court heard Island Trees v. Pico. “In the process” he notes “it gave us the first—and so far only—library book ban case to be decided by the United States Supreme Court.” The case dates to 1975 when the Island Trees Union Free School District on Long Island sought to ban 11 books from its libraries including Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five Richard Wright’s Black Boy and Oliver LaFarge’s Laughing Boy. “No one had complained about these books” he writes. “There had been no challenges no letters to the editor no public shouting matches. …The board simply acted. Like a sleeper cell.” Was removing these books a violation of the First Amendment? The court split. But what matters is the larger question of how potentially transgressive or challenging content can help young people make personal and social decisions. Each of the books in the case gets a full reading here and the payoff is this: “Teens want sexual information. They need it. …When people search for information they usually have one of three goals: to seek answers to reduce uncertainty or to make sense of a situation.” These goals for Aycock constitute the social function of literature. They also constitute the personal impetus for his book. “I entered middle school in 1985 and never received any sex education at all” he writes. “Is it any wonder I turned to novels?” What makes the book more than a screed against the censor is the author’s unique personal investment. As he says books teach what cannot be taught in class.

“It is still not widely known in the United States just how deeply mambo and Cuban son seeped into American popular music” writes Radanovich Wildman of Rhythm: The Life and Music of Benny Moré (2015). In this biography of bandleader composer and “King of the Mambo” Pérez Prado Radanovich seeks to remedy this by using Prado as a focal point in a cultural history of the mambo. From Prado’s birth in East Matanzas Cuba in 1917 to his death in 1989 and beyond the author traces the mambo’s evolution from the slower danzón to Prado’s greatest successes such as his numerous film roles or his Billboard #1 song “Cherry Pink Apple Blossom White.” The book is most compelling when delving into Prado’s character such as when the author cites Margo Su a staple of 1940s Mexican nightlife in describing Prado as a “diva” who “bought a Cadillac and had the seats covered with tiger skin wore heavy shiny gold chains adorning his neck and wrists.” Unfortunately these insights are rare—Radanovich didn’t use many interviews correspondence or other primary materials; so much of the book reads like an informational guide to mambo. Still he succeeds in conveying how radical this music was from the “strident violence of his saxophones and trumpets” to threats of Prado being excommunicated from the Catholic Church because he was “the true incarnation of the devil.” The author also deftly notes the mambo’s underappreciated influence: “If you took away syncopated Cuban rhythm from early R&B and rock and roll we would have a very different musical heritage.” It’s a perfect introduction to this style of music though readers interested in the music theory of mambo or insight into Prado’s compositional process might want to look elsewhere.

Naja and her best friend Sylda witness a shipwreck one stormy night near their jungle village of Karahvel discovering a lone survivor: an albino woman in the throes of childbirth. The child who emerges is Rowan who brings not joy but terror when a mysterious red crescent mark on his neck leads his mother to abandon him. While the village turns its back a midwife named Kialla claims Rowan as her own before Naja does despite the shaman Isakora’s rants that Rowan is cursed. Naja a skeptic of the shaman and her predictions eventually takes Rowan in only after her father and friends have all died. Crushed by grief Naja is determined to teach Rowan to take care of himself before she dies. Told through the eyes of Naja Rowan’s fourth guardian-mother the narrative deftly pivots from a simple origin story into a complex exploration of society and motherhood imbued with strains of feminism. The author explores the costs of social ostracism both forcefully inflicted and self-imposed on an innocent child and the people who have chosen to be his protectors. Grief over death is ever-present within the story and frequently drives the life-altering decisions the characters make. The burdens and joys—sometimes inextricably intertwined—of being a woman and a mother are a consistent theme as well. The novel’s sympathetic characters and its implicit messages about finding a purpose in life promise a series that a general readership will enjoy. Readers see Rowan’s experiences threatening to shape him into a figure of vengeance a temptation only avoided by the careful teachings of his mother figures and Naja’s mantra from her father: “Still water steady heart.”

Holly Kilgour a former model is newly divorced and enjoying the freedom that comes with finally living life on her own terms. Her 26-year-old son Austin attends medical school and she now embraces a future in which her life is no longer centered on taking care of others. Her newfound confidence is tested when Austin tells her of his discovery that he has a previously unknown sibling. Meanwhile homemaker Lisa Doyle struggles with the growing distance between herself and her teenage children. “Back in the fall Carly still told her everything” she reflects about her daughter but now Lisa “must beg for scraps of information.” She also feels disconnected from her marriage to her husband Dean. She eventually starts a parenting advice YouTube channel that unexpectedly becomes popular giving her a much-needed emotional outlet. Savannah Moore a first grade teacher begins questioning her relationship when her fiancé James assumes without seriously considering her own wants or career goals that they’ll eventually move closer to his extended family. The three women initially connect through playing tennis at a local country club and their friendship deepens as they support one another through family conflicts relationship struggles and changing identities. When Savannah’s tensions with James escalate she temporarily stays with Holly reinforcing the bond between the women. The use of alternating third-person perspectives keeps the story moving and each woman’s plotline remains engaging enough that the shifts between them rarely feel disruptive. The novel leans more heavily on character growth than it does on dramatic plot twists focusing on such aspects as the importance of learning to communicate honestly with family members and partners. Although some characters take a long time to fully recognize their own value the gradual development feels believable and earned. The straightforward prose and dialogue-heavy scenes make the novel consistently accessible and the tennis aspect gives the women a believable reason to connect during different stages of life.

A four-time Emmy-nominated actress and transgender rights activist Cox elaborates on a journey that’s been filled with joyful and challenging moments and ultimately liberating experiences. The book is split into three parts each representing an era in the author’s evolution. She was raised in Mobile Alabama by an exasperated single mother. Even playgrounds became unsafe spaces as Cox was bullied by classmates: “I couldn’t help the lilt of my voice hide the natural fluidity of my wrists the balletic expressiveness of my hands as I talked….Everybody was telling me I was a boy but I knew I was a girl.” After being shuffled off to an orphanage at age 10 and attempting suicide many years later Cox hardened her “armor” reclaimed her footing and embarked on an identity “reinvention.” Together with her brother Lamar she enrolled in the Alabama School of Fine Arts and honed her dance and performance skills as well as academic acumen. The book smoothly moves through Cox’s young adulthood as she resisted her queerness until experiences on both coasts (New York City club life and the actress limelight in Hollywood) changed the way she perceived her Black transgender identity and visibility. As her star rose with an award-winning role in Orange Is the New Black beginning in 2012 it opened the door for additional acting roles. Cox is an engaging storyteller and excels at reanimating anecdotes with candor and wry humor. Toward the end of the memoir she intimately details a relationship with a Republican New York City police officer who’d kept her identity hidden from his public life. Though she fell deeper in love with him she ended things when she realized there had to be more for her in romance than to be treated like a secret. Saturated in themes of resilience empowerment and Black transgender pride Cox’s confessional will resonate with queer readers and anyone who has had to struggle to find and reconcile the true essence of themselves.

Sylvia—along with her faithful girlfriend Charlie—arrives at the lake house of her university friend Karen. The secluded weeklong vacation is intended to be a much-needed reunion of their old friend group which also includes reserved Esben wild Quince and caring Gry who’s also brought her husband Adam. After the first day among the “quiet and dazzling” lake and “silver birch trees” Karen and Esben who have been in love since the group’s undergraduate days announce that they intend to get married during the vacation. Everyone is excited except Sylvia who’s had a decade-long crush on Esben. The news sends her into a tailspin of yearning causing her to doubt her own feelings about monogamy. “We could be living this utopian life together” she argues to her friends who are all settled in adulthood “but instead…you have to choose between loneliness or a twosome which is the same as loneliness.” Ernst’s novel explores the boundaries we maintain and the boundaries we are willing to cross in pursuit of romantic and platonic love. Through the loving reminiscent and sometimes awkward exchanges between old friends the reader learns which insecurities define an entangled group of millennials hoping to impress each other: “Esben looks at the table takes stock—is there an i to dot? He goes back inside returns holding champagne and fruit juice bottles dewy with cold.” Ernst brings the lush setting of the novel alive using descriptions of food—like the “crisp and fatty” fried wild elder blossoms—to highlight the physical decadence of the Danish countryside and the ideological decadence of Sylvia’s proposed nonmonogamous utopia.