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The most engaging aspect of The Resurrectionist isn’t its gaslamp adventure or macabre thrills. It’s the poignant queer love story at the center of the book—which is surprising, because the plot revolves around the theft of cadavers. Those two elements should feel at the very least incongruent, but in author A. Rae Dunlap’s hands, they gel to create a heartfelt yet gruesome work of historical fiction.

The Resurrectionist is a difficult book to categorize; it is equal parts thriller, historical fiction, gothic romance and madcap adventure. While it might be a challenge to shelve, it’s eminently readable, in no small part due to the narrator’s captivating tale. The third son of a landed aristocrat, James Willoughby was destined for either the church or the military, but he found that his passion was science. Despite his family’s protestations, he enrolls in medical school in Edinburgh, Scotland, but quickly learns that the real education is occurring in private surgical schools where students learn by dissecting cadavers. James is a natural surgeon, but a dire change in his family fortune means he’s suddenly unable to pay his tuition.

Aneurin “Nye” MacKinnon, the assistant of one of James’ instructors, offers a solution. The only cadavers legally available for dissection are those of people executed for murder—and there are simply not enough murders to satisfy the growing number of medical students in Edinburgh. James initially serves only as a lookout for Nye’s body snatching crew, but he finds himself drawn further into the gang and their schemes. Body snatching is at first only a means to an end, but he begins to enjoy the mad scramble of adventures the crew experiences every night—and he grows closer to Nye, although James cannot quite articulate the feelings he knows society forbids.

When the infamous real-life body snatchers Burke and Hare make their appearance, it’s obvious to James and Nye that they aren’t stealing cadavers from graves, but rather murdering the corpses they provide to the medical schools. Burke and Hare threaten first to drive James and Nye out of business, and then to drive them into early graves themselves, leading the pair to undertake a nail-biting quest to see justice done.

While the subject matter of The Resurrectionist is certainly macabre (and Dunlap doesn’t skimp on the gory details), the novel remains upbeat and fun, never sinking into a dour gothic spirit. Even if they find their work distasteful, readers will come to love James and Nye’s irreverent crew of miscreants.

A. Rae Dunlap’s The Resurrectionist is a heartfelt yet gruesome historical thriller following two body snatchers as they fall in love and evade Burke and Hare.

Matty Matheson doesn’t have to tell you that Matty Matheson: Soups, Salads, Sandwiches isn’t your typical cookbook. You’ll know just by looking at it. The charismatic chef, restaurateur and actor (he consistently steals scenes as Neil Fak in the FX series The Bear) is dressed down in a worn-to-the-point-of-translucency Grateful Dead T-shirt on the book’s cover, tattoos scattered across every bit of skin up to his slicked-back yet still rumpled hair. The simple bowl of tomato soup in front of him looks practically conformist by comparison, and shows that the unfussy nature of his cooking is a byproduct of authentically good taste, not pretension. Matheson seems incapable of faking it, and his audience loves him for it. This isn’t his first cookbook—in fact, it’s his third—but by limiting recipes to three of the most user-friendly, indispensable meals, this one might become his most popular. The section on soups includes more ways to make the dish than I knew existed, including a fish stew called cioppino and a Scottish soup called Cullen skink. (“This soup should make you feel good, like you’re the one last remaining Highlander,” writes Matheson. “You’ve cut everyone’s head off, and you can finally just live your life.”) There are various chowders, phos and vichyssoises, but it’s simple stuff like Matheson’s corn maple Parmesan soup, which is made in a blender with frozen corn, that really highlights his enthusiasm for no-frills tasty food.

Matty Matheson’s new cookbook highlights the chef’s (and The Bear actor’s) unfussy nature and enthusiasm for no-frills tasty food.

Natalia Shaloshvili’s Pavlo Gets the Grumps is the sweetly funny story of an eventful day in the life of a grumpy kitten and the loved ones who attempt to jolly him out of his bad mood. Will their efforts be successful?

First, while she and cranky little Pavlo eat their breakfast, Mama suggests a trip to the park. But a downcast Pavlo says no: “The swings are too swingy, the sandbox is too sandy, and . . . the slide is too SLIDEY!”

Well, that’s hard to argue with, so Mama moves on: How about swimming? “You love making big splashes!” But even as Pablo envisions himself and Mama floating alongside a friendly frog, he demurs, noting, “The water is too wet and . . . the fishies will nibble my toes!” 

When even a trip to the movies doesn’t appeal (that’ll involve sitting, and Pavlo’s “bottom is very wriggly today!”), Mama decides they’re off to the playground. “The best thing to do with the grumps,” she explains with fake-it-’til-you-make-it gusto, “is to go out anyway.”

And thank goodness they do, because not only does Pavlo’s friend Mila greet him with a sympathetic hug, she convinces him to join her and Mama on the slide, which this time is cause for giggling, not grouchiness. Even better, they have ice cream without anyone saying the ice cream is too ice creamy! Happiness is achieved, grumpiness dissipated, and day salvaged in a charming, amusing story that any reader who’s ever been cranky will relate to—especially if they’ve ever dramatically laid tummy-down on the couch while feeling irritable in a way they can’t quite explain.

Shaloshvili’s outstanding art, done in acrylics and watercolor pencil, is rife with appealing texture, spot-on body language and humorous details galore (especially endearing: a book-reading, bicycle-riding mouse). Her visual humor is finely tuned and dovetails nicely with her comforting, uplifting message to readers who get the grumps: It’s okay to feel grouchy sometimes, but don’t forget about the restorative power of play, hugs, friends and joy—not to mention ice cream.

Natalia Shaloshvili’s finely tuned visual humor in Pavlo Gets the Grumps dovetails nicely with her comforting, uplifting message to any reader who’s ever been a bit cranky (aka all of us).

The wife-and-wife team of Mikaella Clements and Onjuli Datta (The View Was Exhausting) are back with Feast While You Can, a queer horror-romance about a monster that feasts on the “passion, heartbreak and mess” of life. 

Angelina Sicco has lived in the small European mountain town of Cadenze for her entire life. The large Sicco family is entrenched in the conservative community, and Angelina is well-liked despite being a lesbian. But this was not the case for Jagvi, Angelina’s brother’s ex-girlfriend. After Jagvi broke up with him and came out as a lesbian, she moved away. In the decade since, each time Jagvi returns to Cadenze, she proves to be “the chaos element in Angelina’s equilibrium.” That is, until Angelina has a terrifying and visceral encounter with a monster, and realizes that Jagvi is the only thing that can hold it at bay. 

In Feast While You Can, Clements and Datta are firmly in the realm of psychological horror: A serial killer hiding in a closet isn’t the scariest thing in the room; rather, the underlying trauma of homophobia and racism feeds the horror and the menace. In the small community of Cadenze, the familiarity of family, friends and neighbors is both comforting and suffocating. This robust cast of secondary characters adds to the weighty conflicts between responsibility, family and self-preservation that Clements and Datta investigate, but at times the extended family drama is a distraction from the forward momentum. 

There are so many layers of horror, trauma and sexy trysts to unpack here, with the monster functioning as both a real entity and a manifestation of the taboo desire Angelina feels for Jagvi. It’s like an unseen devil on her shoulder, willing her to act out her most secret desires so it can live vicariously through her until there’s nothing left of her to give.

You might want to read this one with the lights on, lest you look over your shoulder and realize the monster’s in the room with you.

A terrifying monster is both a real entity and a manifestation of taboo desires in Mikaella Clements and Onjuli Datta’s Feast While You Can.
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Dania is in prison for a murder she did not commit. She spends every day plotting her escape and listing off the people responsible for her imprisonment: Vahid, the cruel emperor; Darbaran, the loathsome head of the palace guards; and Mazin, Vahid’s ward and Dania’s ex-lover. After a failed attempt to break out, Dania is surprised when Noor, a fellow prisoner, tunnels into her cell. When Noor reveals that she has a plan to escape, as well as a way to access hidden djinn magic, Dania sees a clear way to get her revenge.

A fantasy-fuelled retelling of The Count of Monte Cristo, For She Is Wrath takes the tension and mystery of Alexandre Dumas’ classic novel and transfers it to a lush, exuberant, Pakistan-inspired setting. Emily Varga’s narrative drops readers straight into the action from the very beginning: A prison escape, dark magic power and secret identities set up heart-pounding action that remains present throughout the entire tale.

But For She Is Wrath is not just about getting revenge. It’s also about how shaky the path to it can be. Dania’s growing desire for retribution is a force that not only drives her forward, but also compels her to look backward. As they work together to achieve revenge, Dania and Noor must come to terms with the price of vengeance—and decide whether that price is worth it. The book is not shy about the impact of Dania and Noor’s actions, asking them to sit with the repercussions of their schemes. Is violence ever warranted? Is it all right to harm others in the pursuit of justice?

This is a fresh story with bold heroines and a unique, vibrant setting. For She Is Wrath has the intrigue of The Count of Monte Cristo, but is ultimately sweeter, with wholesome characters and nuanced themes about justice, healing, and forgiveness. Readers, especially fans of Dumas, are sure to appreciate Varga’s multilayered twists and turns as Dania and Noor uncover world-altering truths about their imprisonments, their backgrounds and the empire in which they live, and learn what it is they truly stand for.

A fantasy-fuelled retelling of the Count of Monte Cristo, For She Is Wrath takes the tension and mystery of Alexandre Dumas’ classic novel and transfers it to a lush, exuberant, Pakistan-inspired setting.

New Yorker Emma is 26 years old and has been sober for a year. With her sponsor’s restrictions on dating lifted, she might be ready to meet someone, and Ben, the sweet guy in her IT department, seems too good to be true. Though Emma believes her life is definitely better now, some things remain unchanged, like the way she hides her personality at work, and her mother’s relentless matchmaking. Emma is also hesitant to open up to those in her life about her sobriety, and continues to wrestle with lingering guilt and shame. This makes her workplace even harder to navigate leading up to the annual holiday party, especially because Emma’s been tapped for the planning team—and so has Ben. 

Emma’s quietly resilient and mostly optimistic response to her internal struggles make her a relatable and likable character. Author Ava Robinson astutely captures Emma’s growing awareness of how her alcoholism has affected not only her life but also her relationships with those around her, particularly in her interactions with her meddlesome mother and somewhat distant father, both of whom have been waiting to disclose their own news. 

Nuanced, hopeful and insightful, Robinson’s debut may especially resonate with readers who enjoy titles like Iona Iverson’s Rules for Commuting by Clare Pooley or Big Girl, Small Town by Michelle Gallen. Definitely Better Now strikes a delicate balance between humor and gravity. The dynamics of Emma’s support group, with its rules, unspoken signals and understanding, feel authentic. Equally credible and effective is Emma’s adjustment to her newfound clarity, and how she navigates returning to the world of romance, amid gossip and miscommunication. Definitely Better Now is an endearing portrayal of a young woman redefining herself. 

Nuanced, hopeful and insightful, Ava Robinson’s Definitely Better Now is an endearing portrayal of a young woman redefining herself after one year of sobriety.
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When Abby Lai was young, she wished for a sibling to play with. Her parents granted her wish . . . four times over. Now the oldest of five, 12-year-old Abby tries to spend as much time outside her house as possible. After all, as she says in the epigraph of Chickenpox, “Younger siblings are like viruses. They’re tiny, and they can make you sick.” 

But then Abby is the one to accidentally bring a virus into her home, by having one of her best friends come over to play and unknowingly infect the household with chickenpox. Soon enough, all five siblings have caught it. The only thing that makes Abby’s skin crawl more than her inevitable rash is the thought of being in quarantine with her siblings for the next 10 days. 

Chickenpox is award-winning author and illustrator Remy Lai’s first semi-autobiographical work, following several acclaimed graphic novels such as Pawcasso and Ghost Book. Lai made the unique decision to write from her big sister’s point of view, acknowledging in an author’s note, “I could only write this book as an adult because it took me growing up to understand, empathize, and appreciate the things my sisters did and felt.” Her portrayal of her sister as a funny, anxious, sweet and headstrong main character carries a love for Abby that readers are sure to catch, leaving them hoping that Lai will tell more stories about her siblings.

Lai’s illustrations shine as always, with many hilarious metaphors drawn in, and vibrant backgrounds and expressive characters to emphasize the intense emotions that come with being a kid approaching adolescence. Lai clues present-day young people in to what life was like in Indonesia in 1994 through historically accurate details accompanied by occasional parenthetical additions that provide crucial information, such as how a home’s telephones all run on the same line.

This graphic novel is the perfect blend of the friend drama of The Tryout by Christina Soontornvat and the family drama in Twins by Varian Johnson. Laughter about the Lai siblings’ antics will be as contagious as chickenpox was in the ’90s! 

 

Laughter about the Lai siblings' antics in Remy Lai’s semi-autobiographical novel Chickenpox will be as contagious as chickenpox was in the '90s.

Former competitive skier Wylie Potts is trying to find a new identity. Her mother and coach, World Cup and Olympic medalist skier Claudine Potts, put so much pressure on Wylie that she began to experience panic attacks and, eventually, walked away from the sport. She’s found a career she loves at an art museum and a boyfriend with athletic interests of his own, Dan.

Wylie and Dan have been training for the BodyFittest Duo competition in Berlin. She sees it as a chance at redemption after quitting skiing, a decision that fractured her relationship with her mom. But when an injury sidelines Dan from the two-person competition, Wylie turns to her mother in desperation.

As it happens, Claudine, whose bad knee ended her own ski career, is in Switzerland, trying to find closure for a secret shame of her own that she can’t allow Wylie to uncover. Wylie joins her on the way to the competition, and the two women are faced with their own insecurities, bad behavior and opportunities for redemption. Together, perhaps they can win and reclaim both Wylie’s pride and their relationship.

In Bluebird Day, journalist and author Megan Tady (Super Bloom) takes readers on an alternately hilarious and touching romp through Zermatt, Switzerland. Switching between Wylie’s and Claudine’s perspectives, Tady delves deeply into both their psyches, and with the patience of a gifted therapist, she uncovers the wounds that fractured their relationship. Their interactions are sometimes painful to read—just as a mother-daughter argument can be difficult to witness. But Tady knows when to pull back. She offers just enough pain for readers to understand the characters’ plight.

Throughout the Potts women’s adventure, Tady tosses in references to Swiss icons and ski history, introduces an entertaining supporting cast—a “motley crew that’s sworn off extravagance in the heart of a luxurious town”—and includes conversation about climate change. Bluebird Day is the ideal read for anyone looking for a fast-paced, lighthearted novel you could enjoy equally beside a crackling fire or at the beach. Tady delivers a cozy tale with layers as numerous as midseason snowpack.

In Bluebird Day, Megan Tady delivers a cozy tale with layers as numerous as midseason snowpack, delving into the psyches of mother and daughter competitive skiers Claudine and Wylie.
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Tove Jansson and Tuulikki “Tooti” Pietila spent 30 years on Klovharun, an island off the Gulf of Finland, painting, writing and exploring the lush seaside. Known for her novel The Summer Book and the popular comic strip Moomin, Jansson reflects on her and Tooti’s time on Klovharun in Notes from an Island (2 hours).

Notes from an Island is a sweeping, meditative exploration of time spent in nature. Orlagh Cassidy’s narration is emotive, taking a knowing, buoyant tone for everyday events, laughing during funny moments and dipping into a reflective murmur when Jansson is introspective. A relatively short listen, the audiobook comes with a downloadable file of personal photographs, paintings by Tooti and a map created by Jansson’s mother, Signe Hammarsten Jansson. Listeners will be immersed in the story of how these women loved, created art and built a life together.

Listeners will be immersed in this meditative exploration of time spent in nature—the story of Moomin creator Tove Jansson and her partner Tooti Pietila’s life together on an island off the Gulf of Finland.
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Sara always had an outsize impact on her best friend, Magda. Even after her death, Sara still manages to coerce Magda into going on a road trip. With Magda at the wheel and Sara’s ashes on the front seat, Anna Montague’s moving and surprisingly humorous debut, How Does That Make You Feel, Magda Eklund? (9 hours), depicts Magda’s struggle with the insanity of grieving.

Tony and Emmy Award-winning actor Cynthia Nixon’s performance sensitively juxtaposes Magda’s sorrowful introspection with the vitality of the people in her life and the vibrancy of her memories of Sara. Nixon also brings out the dark humor that frequently accompanies mourning. The result is a convincing portrayal of not only the sheer hell of grief, but also its potential for leading to reconciliation with the past and hope for the future.

Read our review of the print version of How Does That Make You Feel, Magda Eklund?

Read by Cynthia Nixon, Anna Montague’s moving and surprisingly humorous debut, How Does That Make You Feel, Magda Eklund? shows grief’s potential to lead to reconciliation and hope.
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Lifeform (5 hours) is a collection of comedic and heartfelt personal essays from acclaimed actress and comedian Jenny Slate. These essays encompass the chaos and wonder of living during the COVID-19 pandemic, focusing in particular on Slate’s experiences with romance and new parenthood. She writes with immense imagination, opening doors to rooms filled with raccoon rumor mills, extended therapy dialogues and codependent dishwashers. At the same time, Lifeform explores subjects like pregnancy, body image, social anxiety and depression with authenticity and gratitude.

The narration, done primarily by Slate herself with appearances from George Saunders, Vanessa Bayer and Will Forte, is a theatrical delight. Slate’s droll tone is perfectly paired with her roundabout style of humor, while simultaneously capturing her writing’s air of innocence. This audiobook is ideal for listeners who prefer shorter-form audio experiences like podcasts. The essays build on one another but also stand alone, meaning you can easily set Lifeform aside and pick it back up when it’s convenient for you. Or, feel free to finish it in one sitting: Slate’s writing (and reading) is insightful, witty and definitely binge worthy.

Read our starred review of the print version of Lifeform.

Comedian Jenny Slate’s Lifeform is insightful, witty and definitely binge worthy. She writes, and reads, these essays with immense imagination.

Artist and poet Douglas Florian has created numerous award-winning picture books over the years, including Dinothesaurus and Insectlopedia. A book by Florian is often destined to become part of family lore, lovingly passed down from child to child to grandchild. And that’s certainly true of his newest title, Windsongs: Poems about Weather

Each poem in this appealing collection appears in white lettering on a bright page, opposite illustrations rendered with gouache paint, colored pencils and rubber stamps on primed paper bags, giving the volume a cheerful, homespun feel. Weather, of course, fascinates everyone, and after reading this book, kids and parents alike might find themselves creating their own poems, inspired by Florian’s poetry about the dew, drought, thunder and frost, among other topics. 

Some of the poems here are silly, others playful or evocative. A poem entitled “Fog” begins: “The fog is just a cloud that’s lost. / A cloud that’s gone astray. / It woke up in a hazy daze / and slowly lost its way.” The collection concludes with a poem about climate change, including a reminder that “Mars is too cold, and Venus too hot. / Our blue planet Earth is all that we’ve got.” Back matter includes a glossary and weather websites for kids. Windsongs is a gift for the whole family!

After reading Windsongs, kids and parents alike might find themselves creating their own poems, inspired by Douglas Florian’s poetry about the dew, drought, thunder and frost.
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It’s curiously refreshing to find a good book whose main character you despise. Such is the case with Ella Baxter’s Woo Woo. It’s evidence of Baxter’s talent that you stick with her self-obsessed and often mean-spirited protagonist, Sabine Rossi. At first, you just want Sabine to get her comeuppance. By the end of the book, less so.

Sabine is an artist, specifically a conceptual artist. The story follows her in the days before the opening of her gallery show, titled “Fuck You, Help Me.” It features puppets big enough for her to wear. She stages happenings with these objects that she photographs and livestreams for fans with social media handles like Pignut666 and KibbleJoy. People in her inner circle, from the gallery owner to her put-upon husband, Constantine, are not merely supportive but worshipful. But Sabine’s dramatics are nonsensical. Woo-woo just about describes her.

Consider that Sabine is mentored by the ghost of body artist Carolee Schneemann. Even more troubling, she thinks she’s being stalked by a personage she calls the Rembrandt Man because he reminds her of a portrait by the great Dutch master. A crafty writer, Baxter makes you wonder whether this man is real or not; though this reader concluded that he’s not, another reader may disagree. Whether he’s a genuine threat or another figment of her psychosis, Sabine nearly destroys her house fighting him off in one harrowing scene. She livestreams this too.

Woo Woo deftly sends up a subtype of conceptual art that is, as one critic writes of Sabine’s work, “contrived, boring, and egotistical.” It’s a world where people say things like “The tapestries of her internal and external diaspora are more evocative than your whale cakes,” with a straight face. One feels compassion for Sabine because she and her loved ones can’t see how ridiculous she is even as the rest of the world does. It matters that each chapter is headed with a quote or title of a work from artists as varied as Ovid, Chekhov, Cindy Sherman and Lana Del Ray. Art, even bad art, is essential. And so the Sabine Rossis of the world persist.

Woo Woo tells the story of self-obsessed conceptual artist Sabine Rossi’s brush with a stalker, while deftly sending up that subtype of conceptual art that is, as one critic writes of Sabine’s work, “contrived, boring, and egotistical.”

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