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What initially seems to be a well-researched period piece soon evolves into much more in Ann-Marie MacDonald’s stunning follow-up to her highly praised debut, Fall On Your Knees. It is 1962, and the McCarthy family is moving to Centralia, a Canadian air force station near Niagara Falls. Jack, an officer who never saw combat, takes command of the Central Officer’s School. Mimi is the quintessential military wife who “could make a radar station on Baffin Island into a social mecca.” Mike, 12, and Madeleine, 9, each quickly make new friends, as they have on previous moves.

But the Cold War looms menacingly over this bucolic outpost the Cuban missile crisis and the moon race dominate the weekly cocktail parties. Jack, in fact, has been enlisted by an old air force buddy to assist in the defection of a Soviet scientist to Canada, and eventually into the hands of NASA. He becomes enmeshed in this covert operation, and Mimi is over-occupied with social obligations; they both miss the signs of the family’s biggest threat the fact that Madeleine, along with several classmates, is being sexually abused by their teacher.

A girl is murdered, and an innocent neighbor is convicted and sentenced to life in prison. Madeleine sees no connection between the crime and her own abuse, which her defense mechanisms have locked out of the rest of her life. Jack withholds pertinent information for fear of exposing his defector, and thus causing an intelligence “turf war” with the CIA. After the trial the family moves again, Jack and Madeleine each carrying the burden of a wrong that could have been righted.

Twenty-four years later Madeleine experiences episodes of total disorientation and begins seeing a therapist; the ensuing chapters alternate between her therapy sessions and scenes from her past. MacDonald skillfully draws the reader into the web of her recovery as she gradually recalls secrets she has hidden “like bones buried all over the house.” Beautifully rendered, none of the 736 pages of this poignant novel seems superfluous. Characters are painstakingly drawn, and the multiple plots are meticulously tied together, from the opening page to the last. Deborah Donovan is a writer who lives in Cincinnati, Ohio, and La Veta, Colorado.

Pain, joy, anger and love suffuse Michael Morris’ moving novel Slow Way Home, in which a young boy narrates his turbulent journey toward the defining moment in his life. Exploring the meaning of home, Morris builds his novel on the foundation that family and friends more than any place or structure can truly create a home.

When the story opens, 8-year-old Brandon Willard is at the mercy of his neglectful mother, an alcoholic and drug addict. The boy loves his mother, but when she abandons him to follow a boyfriend, he discovers true caring in the arms of the grandparents who take him in. Brandon’s peaceful life on his family’s North Carolina farm proves be short-lived, however, when his mother returns and demands custody. Determined to save Brandon, his grandparents ignore a court order and flee with him to a coastal Florida town where they assume new identities.

In Florida, the boy assembles an extended family of divergent characters, the good and the bad, the sad and the lost. From charismatic Sister Dolores to cruel Alvin, these struggling individuals leave indelible impressions on Brandon. As the child navigates these relationships, he gains a blossoming sense of self-esteem and a religious faith that remains the only constant factor in the shifting landscape that surrounds him. Morris excels in creating the child’s voice: Brandon’s attempts to comprehend his teetering world are realistic and, at times, absolutely heart-rending. Brandon experiences moments of pain but also finds redemption and hope. Through the kind acts of strangers and family, he discovers the courage to surmount his own problems and give comfort to others. Morris’ debut novel, A Place Called Wiregrass, was a BookSense pick, and in this second effort, he has again crafted an inspiring portrait of a true survivor.

Lisa Porter is a curator at the Cheekwood Museum of Art in Nashville.

Noah Locke is blessed with the gift of fishing. Just by placing his hand on the surface of the water, he can recognize a good place to fish. People like to say that fish are “so eager to get on Noah’s hook that they lined up in the water like tractors in a Fourth of July parade.” A troubled World War II vet who returns home to find his parents dead, his brother in jail and a new family settled on the land where he spent his youth, Noah now spends his days rambling, doing odd jobs and fishing. Although he has always thought of himself as dumb because he can’t read well or do math, Noah is gradually revealed to be a wise man in many ways.

In an author’s note for his new novel, The Valley of Light, Terry Kay tells readers that his story is about “the mysticism of being gifted,” the rare, mysterious ability to do one thing extremely well. As Noah’s mother explains it, when God shortchanges you in one area, he overpays you somewhere else. Noah’s special talent for fishing leads him to a small North Carolina community in an area known as the Valley of Light. There, in the Lake of Grief, a huge bass is said to lurk beneath the waters.

After his appearance in the valley, Noah’s gift draws the attention of the locals who urge him to stay around for the town’s annual fishing contest. Kay’s small-town Southerners are a likable bunch, as innocent and unspoiled as the valley. While fishing and painting the general store, Noah begins to shed light on a number of the town’s mysteries, old and new. Before a week has passed, he has become a legend as a fisherman and a friend who will be long remembered.

Like his classic To Dance With the White Dog, Kay’s lyrical novel has the feel of a fable. This moving story, set in a simpler time, is so skillfully written that images of the valley and its people will remain in the mind’s eye long after the final page is turned. Alice Pelland writes from Hillsborough, North Carolina.