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In prolific author-illustrator and Walt Disney animator Benson Shum’s colorful, upbeat new book We Are Lion Dancers, Lunar New Year is fast approaching, and siblings Lily and Noah are lucky enough to learn about and celebrate this festive Chinese tradition.

The adorable duo’s curiosity is piqued when, after kung fu class, they encounter two lion dancers practicing for the Lunar New Year parade. The lion dance “scares away evil spirits,” they explain, “and brings good luck and happiness to everyone for the New Year.”  

The kids are fascinated by the lion costume’s vivid colors and furry details. Even better, “It takes two people to make the lion come alive,” and the dancers let Lily and Noah try it! Alas, although the kids quickly get the hang of various lion-y movements, the costume is too big for their little bodies. Rather than be disappointed, they find another way to participate: Lily plays the gong and Noah plays the cymbals while the adults practice their dance.   

The siblings’ creativity and adaptability comes into play at home, too, where they use a cardboard box, sheet and more to create a kid-sized lion costume. “Together, they LIFT AND SHAKE, LIFT AND SHAKE. They even give a little ROAR.” On parade day, they add the gong and cymbals from earlier to the joyful noise of the Lunar New Year paraders and the appreciative crowd. And afterward, they’re thrilled to receive a special surprise gift as a thank you for their help—and encouragement to carry on the lion dance tradition. 

We Are Lion Dancers is a winning tale that warmly depicts the excitement of discovery, the fun of being part of a team and the value of learning about and participating in important traditions. Throughout the book, Shum provides lots of fascinating historical and cultural details, such as events where the dance is performed (Lunar New Year celebrations, weddings, business openings) and the particulars of two traditional dance styles (Southern and Northern). “The Story of Nian” at the book’s end describes the dance’s mythical origin story, offering both context and inspiration for the next generation of aspiring lion dancers. Roar!

We Are Lion Dancers is a winning tale that warmly depicts the excitement of discovery, the fun of being part of a team and the value of learning about and participating in important traditions.
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Artificial intelligence holds only so much power in the year 2024. Sure, it could help improve your cover letter or maybe suggest a better pumpkin pie recipe. But it doesn’t nurture human life. The future may be quite different, with a million harmonious systems calibrating and updating and sustaining whatever remains of our species. But what happens when the systems that serve us begin to erode? Erika Swyler ponders such a future in her thoughtful speculative novel We Lived on the Horizon

The walled city of Bulwark protects one of the final pockets of humanity from an unlivable Earth. Controlled by a citywide AI system, the city is a near-conscious network of interconnected systems and data. Bulwark’s citizens survive in comfort or squalor based on how much their ancestors gave to the greater good, with the city’s elite, known as the Sainted, living lavishly. But when one of the Sainted is murdered in his home and all the data records are erased, Enita Malovis and her house AI system, Nix, sense something terrible is happening to Bulwark. Systems are quietly shutting down or failing to respond. Can they find out who, or what, is suppressing the truth?

AI systems take center stage in We Lived on the Horizon, and Swyler gives spectacular voice to these nonliving entities. Lines of code hint at emotion with small color changes; long database query times with no responses suggest recalcitrance or confusion. These passages are some of the most interesting and innovative in the novel, and Swyler deliberately paces her story to stretch them to their fullest potential. Moral reflections on the relationship between humanity and machines drive Enita and Nix’s ever-evolving relationship as she tries—literally—to make him human.

Lovers of Octavia Butler or Mary Shelley will easily see We Lived on the Horizon’s direct descent from such literary giants. The novel’s core, however, feels timely and urgent, wondrous and inventive. It’s a marvel and a triumph. At its conclusion, I felt a twinge of dread as I contemplated what our own creations may do to try to sustain us.

Timely and urgent, wondrous and inventive, We Lived on the Horizon is a fascinating mystery set in a city run by AI.

To be a member of one of the country’s wealthiest, most prestigious families means, well, wealth and prestige. But what if your family’s cursed and you’re a woman on the internet—are you ever truly safe? Sara Sligar’s Vantage Point blends family drama, generational trauma and the destructive forces of cutting-edge technology in a disturbing suspense story told from two compelling female perspectives.

For the Wieland family, April is a historically tragic month: 14 Aprils ago, a teenage Clara Wieland witnessed both her parents’ brutal demise. A whirlwind of chaotic world travel, heavy substance use and eating disorder clinic stays later, Clara returns to Vantage Point, the family estate on a remote Maine island. Also living at Vantage Point are Clara’s brother, Teddy, now running for the U.S. Senate, and Clara’s childhood best friend, Jess, now married to Teddy. At the beginning of April, an intimate, graphic video of Clara surfaces online and immediately goes viral, but Clara has no memory of the video’s events. Is it real, or an extremely advanced deepfake? As Teddy’s political campaign is threatened and Jess struggles to hold the family together, Clara experiences disturbing hallucinations she insists are also engineered. Has Clara descended into madness, or are the three surviving Wielands in serious danger?

Author and academic Sligar expertly crafts the history of her fictional dynasty through fictional Wikipedia entries describing the tragic outcomes of the Wieland curse, from wine cellar explosions to rogue horse tramplings. Jess grew up impoverished and became enmeshed with the Wielands at an early age, and Clara is still grappling with the tremendous loss in her adolescence. Close confidantes and now in-laws, they each provide a unique perspective on the family’s collective trauma, and they share common ground as women vulnerable to a society intent on ruining them. The “future” of believable deepfakes is already here, and Sligar’s novel serves as an entertaining literary companion to shows like Succession, but also a warning to women everywhere: Your moment of deepfake reckoning may be just around the corner.

Sara Sligar’s Vantage Point is an entertaining literary companion to shows like Succession, but also a chilling warning about the rise of deepfake technology.
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In an odd corner of Tokyo is a ramen restaurant that, for the right clientele, is actually a pawnshop. Walk inside and the shop owner will greet you warmly. You’ll apologize and say you are in the wrong place, that you were looking for a hot meal, you need to go, but the shop owner will stop you. And he’ll offer you the opportunity of a lifetime: the chance to pawn a regret, or to shed a choice that has been a burden. 

All her life, Hana Ishikawa has anticipated and dreaded the day she will inherit her father’s magical pawnshop, a nook that rests between two worlds: bustling, modern Tokyo and Isekai, or the Other World. She understands it is necessary to collect human choices and to turn them over—in the form of glowing birds—to the Shiikuin, the mysterious, terrifying figures in “pale white Noh masks . . . [stinking of] rusting metal and decaying flesh” who guard Isekai. But on the morning of Hana’s first day as shop proprietor, she finds the place ransacked, her father missing and a choice stolen, presumably by him. To complicate matters, Keishin, a brilliant human physicist, stumbles into the shop on the morning of the disaster and insists on helping Hana find her father. 

So unfurls a story that is equal parts adventure and romance, lighthearted and devastating, philosophical and emotionally resonant. Hana and Kei embark on a journey through Isekai, jumping into puddles and coming out in other realms, folding into paper, climbing ladders through clouds and witnessing the release of the stars. They run from the Shiikuin and chase after Hana’s father, who presumably holds answers to questions about Hana’s past; simultaneously, they circle each other, tentative but magnetic. It’s a Romeo and Juliet love story, after all. They’re from two different worlds: “She was the moon in the water,” Kei observes, “Close enough to touch, yet beyond reach.” 

Author Samantha Sotto Yambao’s world building in Water Moon is marvelous and digestible, utilizing short chapters and precise, direct descriptions. And our protagonists, Hana and Kei, are refreshingly communicative and mature. Yambao has created a work of art that is atmospheric and, above all else, wondrous. Although there are stakes, Water Moon is a heartwarming, low-suspense read that reminds us to take hold of our lives and our choices.

Water Moon, Samantha Sotto Yambao’s atmospheric and wondrous fantasy, centers on a Tokyo pawnshop where people can sell their regrets.
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Although Janie and her mother go birding often, she never manages to spot an owl, which she longs to see in the wild. Fortunately, Janie’s teacher, Mr. Koji, is also a lifelong birder, and owls are his favorite too. After Mr. Koji offers her a tip, she heads to the snowy woods once more and sees not one, but two owls. 

Children often dive wholeheartedly into their interests—many, like the wonderful Mr. Koji, carrying those interests into adulthood—focusing with boundless energy. When something sparks their curiosity, they explore it with pure enthusiasm, driven by a sense of wonder and joy. This is precisely what Matthew Cordell captures so skillfully in To See an Owl, using plain language and short, impactful phrasing: “I look and look in the woods. Deep in the trees. At sunrise. At dusk.” 

As the story unfolds, readers learn about owls: their vocalizations (entertainingly, one is “WHO COOKS FOR YOU ALL?”), their droppings (owl poop is called whitewash) and their habitats. Cordell’s repetition works to great effect. The refrain, “Perfectly stout. Large, round eyes. Silent, knowing faces. Birds of the night,” appears more than once and is beautifully paired with the stunning penultimate spread of two adult owls in a tree, snow falling gently around them. There are moments of subtle humor, like when Janie describes her patient mother, who faithfully joins Janie on her owl-watching adventures: “Mama is not excited about birding in a cemetery.” 

Cordell’s palette features a harmonious blend of earth tones and pastels, with the blue of the sky anchoring these elegant tableaux. In the spread where Janie hears her first owl call, only the blue sky, falling snow and Cordell’s handwritten “Hoo-hoo-hoo Hooooo-hoooo” are present. The closing spread conveys Janie’s awe at finally seeing an owl: “Magic,” she exclaims, her bright eyes reflecting wonder as the word escapes in a cloud of vapor suspended in the cold air. Having experienced the buildup of tension through Janie’s repeated attempts to spot the creature she adores, readers end To See an Owl by sharing in her joy.

 

Caldecott Medal winner Matthew Cordell skillfully captures children’s enthusiasm for their interests through elegant illustrations and plain language in To See an Owl.
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Sociologist and activist Bianca Mabute-Louie has wrestled with a conundrum for her entire life: Is it better to assimilate into mainstream American culture, or embrace one’s own heritage and, thus, stand out? In her scholarly yet personal book, Unassimilable: An Asian Diasporic Manifesto for the 21st Century, Mabute-Louie finds these options to be a false binary. Twining memoiristic reflections with Asian American political and cultural history, her book proposes a third, freeing alternative: becoming unassimilable.

Mabute-Louie grew up in California’s San Gabriel Valley, an “ethnoburb” rich in Chinese groceries, language academies, churches and small businesses. She describes her popo (maternal grandmother) moving to the area from Hong Kong after a stressful divorce in her 70s. Able to speak Cantonese, prepare her favorite foods and make new friends in California thanks to the robust Chinese community, Mabute-Louie’s popo quickly thrived. “My popo and the ethnoburb demonstrate that we can create our own power and belonging without learning English, participating in White institutions, and Americanizing,” she writes. “But it is a communal endeavor, one that requires everybody’s imagination and care.” Rather than an act of individualism, unassimilability is an “interdependent community of popos finding each other.”

The author builds her book’s central case by describing her personal experience coming to racial consciousness, and discussing key selections from Asian American history and culture. She details the contrast between her ethnoburb and her largely white private school, her complex relationship with Chinese American Christian culture, and the liberatory framework she found for herself in academia through Ethnic Studies. The interspersed Asian American history ranges from American immigration quotas and bans during World War II, to the origins of the “model minority” stereotype, to fights over affirmative action’s value and impact on Asian students, to political conflicts both among broader communities of color and within Asian communities. At each chapter’s end, the author’s illustrations and comics provide bonus reflections.

Mabute-Louie shows how being unassimilable provides opportunity for wholeness, mission and community. “I am not ‘torn between two cultures,’ as they say, because I occupy a third space in the diaspora,” Mabute-Louie writes, “from where a collective identity emerges that is neither repulsed by foreignness nor longing for Whiteness, but adamantly unassimilable.”

In her powerful manifesto, Bianca Mabute-Louie unapologetically rejects assimilation and forges an Asian American identity on her own terms.
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Recently, I was talking with a stockbroker about success. She said that she could never take the risk that actors take: While this sad, cold world will always need stockbrokers, as an actor, it is entirely possible that no casting director will ever call you back. Isa Arsén’s novel The Unbecoming of Margaret Wolf shows a group of actors and theater producers trying their best to beat the odds and find success on the stage—or at least avoid absolute failure.

In 1955, Margaret Wolf has moved to New York City and made it, at least in Shakespearean-actor terms. She performs off-Broadway (not off-off Broadway, mind you) in a company of Shakespearean players who take their craft very seriously. Her main friend is also her mentor, Edie Bishop, a bona fide theater impresario who helps Margaret get jobs and navigate the scene. When a new actor, Wesley Shoard, joins the company, the two women do some digging and find out that he is a former film star from the U.K. Margaret and Wesley become fast friends and even better stage partners. Their chemistry in Twelfth Night draws large audiences and lands them the lead roles in the company’s production of Macbeth, the cursed Scottish play. Before rehearsals start, though, Wesley, a gay man, begs Margaret to marry him to protect him from McCarthy-era suspicion. She agrees, and the two begin a life together, helped by the financial support of Edie (who buys them an apartment) and Ezra, their director. However, a mental breakdown after opening night sends Margaret into forced convalescence, and her marriage with social butterfly Wesley starts to get rocky. When Wesley gets an offer to perform in an experimental production in the New Mexican desert, Margaret leaps at the chance to leave the city with him, sending the couple into an even more calamitous unknown.

In the complicated, dramatic theater sphere detailed delightfully by Arsén, Margaret is often caught between the roles she plays and the life she wants to live. She struggles to find authenticity. Arsén beautifully captures the strange kind of love of Margaret’s marriage with Wesley, showing the challenge of caring for someone while letting them be who they are. Though the actor’s life is a risky one, Arsén shows us how richly rewarding the world of theater can be for those who brave it.

Isa Arsén delightfully details the dramatics of the 1950s theater sphere in The Unbecoming of Margaret Wolf, which follows the lavender marriage between two Shakespearean players.
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This is the year Julieta Villarreal will figure out how to escape from the climate disasters threatening her home, the broken friendships she’d rather leave behind, and the grief of losing her twin sister. So when the Cometa Initiative, a private space program, invites New American students to join a space mission, Juli sees a perfect way to restart her life. 

Gloria Muñoz’s This Is the Year is a story about transitions. Perhaps the biggest change for Juli is the loss of her twin, Ofe, in a hit-and-run accident, a loss that lingers over the story. Driven by Juli’s first-person narration—some of which is directly addressed to Ofe—and excerpts of her prose poetry, This Is the Year takes a creative approach to storytelling that allows readers to observe the shift in Juli’s emotions, thoughts and opinions as a teenager growing up. Finishing her senior year of high school means facing the very people, disasters and feelings she’s so afraid of, but when she does, Juli finds that maybe there are things at home worth holding on to.

The rest of the world in this book is also in transition—and it’s less than idyllic. Juli and the other characters must come to terms with the consequences of climate change and heightened socioeconomic inequality, especially as humanity looks to space as the new frontier. There is speculative local and global chaos in this book, yet the world also feels hauntingly familiar—perhaps a warning of what may be to come. However, while This Is the Year is unflinching in its portrayals of natural, social and economic disasters, it is also careful to demonstrate that healing is possible, whether it be in community, through individual effort or even within one’s own self.

Ultimately, This Is the Year is a story of hope, not destruction. Juli’s story asks readers to take an honest look at the world around them and ask: Where is my true place? What does it mean to keep dreaming here? And, as Juli must decide: How do we keep moving even when things don’t go according to plan?

 

While This Is the Year is unflinching in its portrayals of natural, social and economic disasters, it is also careful to demonstrate how healing is possible.

On the morning of December 21, 1832, a Fall River, Rhode Island, man made a dark discovery while crossing the fields of his farm: The body of 30-year-old mill worker Sarah Cornell hung from a pole near a haystack. Word spread quickly through the New England town, the tragedy amplified by the revelations that the unwed Sarah had been pregnant at the time of her death, and that she had recently accused a local Methodist minister Ephraim Avery of raping her. 

The shocking details helped the story spread across the burgeoning United States, catching the attention of two prominent American writers. The first was Nathaniel Hawthorne, whom scholars surmise may have immortalized Sarah in the character of Hester Prynne in his novel The Scarlet Letter. The second was a divorced, Puritan single mother, Catharine Williams, who traveled to Fall River for the minister’s trial and, in 1833, wrote what scholars believe was the first true crime narrative in the United States.

In The Sinners All Bow: Two Authors, One Murder, and the Real Hester Prynne, Kate Winkler Dawson calls Williams her “co-author.” In Dawson’s deft hands, true crime and historical narrative intertwine as these two writers work side by side, long after one has died. Dawson relies heavily on Williams’ text, though she bolsters and sometimes contradicts it by consulting with today’s historians of the time and area. The book fully comes to life when Dawson draws upon modern-day forensics experts to examine the evidence left behind and answer the question Williams posed 200 years ago: Did the religious pillar of a small community get away with rape and murder?

It’s a common concern that true crime media puts more focus on the perpetrator than on their victims. Dawson acknowledges this, and avoids this pitfall by granting Sarah Cornell a deep and affecting humanity—mirroring Williams’ approach in her own book. The Sinners All Bow is thus a worthy tribute to the genre’s inception, where true crime texts were both narratives of compassion and rallying cries against injustice.

Kate Winkler Dawson’s deftly handled The Sinners All Bow examines the birth of the true crime genre and the murder that inspired The Scarlet Letter.

The conceit of using a memoir to frame a fictional narrative is not new, but it’s hard to think of an author who deploys the format as intriguingly as award-winning sports journalist Kate Fagan does in her entrancing debut novel, The Three Lives of Cate Kay.

In The Three Lives of Cate Kay’s foreword, readers are informed that the reclusive author of a bestselling trilogy has finally decided to come forward and claim her true identity by sharing her life’s story. While the world may now know her as Cate Kay, she reveals that she was actually born Anne Callahan (known as Annie to her best friend, Amanda), then later changed her name to Cass Ford, before finally adopting her pen name. She warns that the tale she is about to relate is filled with moments of which she’s not proud; nevertheless, she is finally ready to own her truth.

Fagan makes the ambitious choice to share Cate/Cass/Annie’s story as a multi-perspective memoir: Beginning when she was in the fourth grade, Cate’s life is recounted through not only Cate’s own voice, but also the impressions of various individuals whose lives intertwined with hers over the years. The way these independent storylines from disparate points in Cate’s life slowly begin to intersect with one another is magical, sometimes resolving lingering questions and at other times twisting the plot in a startling new direction.

In addition to whiplash-inducing twists, The Three Lives of Cate Kay also packs an emotional punch as Fagan thoughtfully explores complex topics including identity, sexuality, ambition and female friendships. Although the book’s eponymous heroine is a creation of Fagan’s imagination, she is depicted with the nuance and messiness of a real woman. Readers will find that her story is as relatable as it is riveting.

In addition to whiplash-inducing twists, Kate Fagan’s The Three Lives of Cate Kay also packs an emotional punch, and readers will find that Cate’s story is as relatable as it is riveting.
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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.
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Pagan Kennedy, a veteran journalist who counts Inventology and The First Man-Made Man among her previous 10 books, has long explored how new technologies can bring about social change. With The Secret History of the Rape Kit: A True Crime Story, the author now unearths a remarkable chapter of history that might otherwise have become a forgotten footnote. At the center of her story is Martha Goddard, the woman who spearheaded the creation of sexual assault examination kits.

Goddard was known as Marty; having a name that could be construed as male worked to her advantage in the 1970s while she developed “a new way of thinking about prosecuting rape.” As a volunteer at a Chicago crisis hotline for teenagers, Goddard learned that many runaways were sexual abuse victims. Determined to find a way to hold predators accountable, she developed the first standardized rape kit to gather and preserve criminal evidence. It eventually became one of the most powerful tools in our criminal justice system, pushing “against the widespread belief in law enforcement that sexual assault wasn’t a ‘real’ crime.”

“As I was digging into Marty’s life in the 1980s, the era sometimes felt as if it were ancient history,” Kennedy writes. Ironically, Goddard’s kits originally bore a man’s name—that of Chicago police sergeant Louis Vitullo. Kennedy explains that Goddard “thought the only way forward was to present her vision as a collaboration between the State’s Attorney’s Office and the police department, making it clear that men would be in charge.” Even more ironic, the initial funding came from Hugh Hefner of Playboy magazine, whose private foundation supported efforts to increase female autonomy. (As an extra dash of irony, Hefner has since been accused of sexual assault by Playboy models.)

Kennedy adeptly explores a variety of threads, including her own victimization as a child and teenager. Goddard’s life, it turns out, was incredibly hard to document; before her death, she had virtually disappeared, incapacitated by alcoholism and mental illness. Kennedy remained undeterred, however, and even haunted, “partly because I’d come to think of her as a maternal figure. She was the woman who had believed little girls.”

Part engrossing memoir, part page-turning detective story and part mesmerizing biography, The Secret History of the Rape Kit is a brave, bold story of social oppression and revolution that everyone should read.

Part engrossing memoir, part page-turning detective story and part mesmerizing biography, The Secret History of the Rape Kit is a bold, feminist history of a game-changing innovation.
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A trained anthropologist and writer, Zora Neale Hurston worked on a novel about Herod the Great for much of her life. Planned as a companion to her 1939 book Moses, Man of the Mountain, it was unpublished when she died in 1960. The manuscript, part of the Hurston archive at the University of Florida, has now at last been released in a comprehensive edition that includes commentary from editor (and Hurston biographer), Deborah G. Plant and excerpts from letters Hurston wrote to friends and family as she researched the novel. 

The Life of Herod the Great tells the story of the Judean king who lived during the first century B.C.E. and may be best remembered as the man responsible for the building of the Second Temple in Jerusalem. He is also sometimes said to have ordered the execution of all male children in Bethlehem who were 2 years or younger, although many historians do not believe this event occurred.

Hurston did not either. Her novel begins with Herod as a young man assuming the governorship of Galilee under the direction of his father, Antipater. Hurston’s Herod is not only a canny political mind and brilliant strategist, but also a thoughtful man, drawn to the philosophy of the Essenes—a Jewish sect whose piety and devotion to peacemaking had much in common with early Christianity. Herod was ruthless to his enemies, but fiercely devoted to his family and loyal to the Roman leaders who controlled all the Judean kingdoms. His visits to Cleopatra, Marc Antony and Caesar in Rome are the highlights of Hurston’s novel; her familiarity with the political and spiritual workings of the Roman Empire makes this a thought-provoking read. 

Hurston died before The Life of Herod the Great was finished, and though the novel is cohesive, there are some gaps in the narrative. Herod’s first wife, Doris, and their baby son, Antipater, disappear from the book early on, and there are a few undeveloped plot points that the reader imagines Hurston would have tidied up if the novel had been completed in her lifetime. However, there is much here for any reader to enjoy, whether they are fans of Huston’s fiction or eager for a deep dive into a subject rarely seen outside religious texts or histories.

Read our Q&A with Deborah G. Plant about The Life of Herod the Great.

Zora Neale Hurston’s familiarity with the political and spiritual workings of the Roman Empire makes The Life of Herod the Great a thought-provoking read, particularly in her depiction of Herod’s visits to Cleopatra, Marc Antony and Caesar.

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