Linda M. Castellitto

Dusty, sepia-toned darkness blankets the pages of Oasis, a  poignant and cinematic graphic novel by Guojing, whose prior acclaimed works include The Only Child and The Flamingo. Previously a concept artist for animated TV shows and games, Guojing has a knack for atmospheric lighting and a strong grasp of the power of scale, which is evident in this eerily beautiful story about two children named JieJie and DiDi (“older sister” and “younger brother” in Chinese) and their efforts to create and maintain a sense of family in an unrelentingly harsh world. 

JieJie and DiDi are adorably small, yet hardy and determined: Every day, they hike across massive dunes in a vast desert to a battered phone booth where they can call their mother, who works in Oasis City. In striking contrast to the kids’ lonely existence in a barren, polluted landscape, Oasis City is “a paradise with the purest water and air” that’s “designed, built, and guarded by AI robots.” But the humans—including the children’s mother—who build the robots are “forgotten ones,” who toil in an underground factory.

One fateful day, Mom misses their call. On their way home, the worried children detour into an Oasis trash dump where they discover a broken AI robot. The kids repair it and activate its “Mother Mode,” which kicks off a whirlwind of learning what it would be like to live with a mother every day—as opposed to the children’s reality of only seeing Mom during the annual moon festival. But the children’s longing for their human Mom does not abate, and when she unexpectedly returns, the characters must all reconsider who they are to each other. Can they create a new kind of household that offers hope for their future, and perhaps even the world at large? 

Oasis is a visually arresting, emotionally moving tale sure to resonate with readers drawn to stories about family in its many guises, as well as those compelled to contemplate the ways in which technology can pull us apart—or become a surprising catalyst for drawing us closer together.

Oasis is a visually arresting, emotionally moving tale sure to resonate with readers drawn to stories about family in its many guises.

It was summer 1977 when Mayumi Inaba first met Mii, “a teeny tiny baby kitten” stuck in a high fence on the banks of Tokyo’s Tamagawa River. Inaba stretched up to rescue her, brought her home and, as she reveals in her bracing and beautiful memoir, Mornings Without Mii, set in motion a 20-year relationship deeper and more meaningful than she ever could’ve anticipated.

Mornings Without Mii—first published in 1999, now translated into English by Ginny Tapley Takemori—is a beloved classic in Japan, and Inaba, a poet and novelist who died in 2014, was awarded numerous prestigious prizes for her work. But her writing practice didn’t fully take form until after she opened her life to the calico cat. The fluffy little helpmeet stays by her side through a divorce, as she moves to multiple homes and during the blossoming of her literary career.

In prose and poetry, Inaba earnestly and affectionately describes her enduring fascination with Mii, noting, “Whenever I saw a new expression on her face, I wanted to keep gazing at it until I tired of it.” Mii even inspires Inaba to purchase her first camera, because “it was no longer enough for me to follow [Mii’s] development with my eyes alone.”

Mii is also the impetus for the author’s early-1980s home purchase after yet another round of rental-hunting leaves her frustrated: “How impoverished this huge wonderful energized city called Tokyo was by the fact it had nowhere where humans and cats could live together!” The high-rise apartment lacks the greenery and space the duo had grown used to, but they establish a new routine: Every night, Inaba takes breaks from her writing to roam their building’s hallways and parking lot with Mii.

When Mii’s health declines, Inaba tends to her in the apartment, an experience she recalls in unsparing detail as she reflects on the cat’s suffering and her own grief, tempered by gratitude for their time together. Suffused with honesty and emotional heft, Mornings Without Mii will resonate with readers who’ve communed with beloved pets like Inaba did with Mii: “Our intimacy was spun without words and in time formed into an unbreakable bond.”

Mornings Without Mii, Mayumi Inaba’s classic memoir now translated into English for the first time, tenderly describes the author’s life with her fluffy little helpmeet, a cat named Mii.

The adorably precocious star of Every Monday Mabel is the opposite of famously cranky cartoon cat Garfield: She loves Mondays. In fact, she thinks, “Monday is the best day of the week.”

As Jashar Awan conveys via punchy, vivid art and wryly humorous text, Mabel’s Mondays have a ritual. She rises early, dresses, drags her chair through the house—stopping only to get herself a bowl of Cocoa Os—and sets up shop at “the top of the driveway. The perfect spot to sit and wait.” Suspense builds as Awan traces Mabel’s path through the family home: Where is she going? Why does she need a chair? And what’s got her so focused and determined?

Mabel’s parents and sister engage in their own morning rituals, too. Older sister Mira reads and listens to music as she rolls her eyes at Mabel doing “the most boring thing.” Plant-loving Mom waters an indoor tree and smiles as Mabel “does the cutest thing.” And sports-jersey-clad Dad drinks coffee as he watches her do “the funniest thing.”

Mabel steadily eats her big bowl of chocolate cereal until, at long last, the object of her admiration appears, with a “RRRRRRRRRRRRR!” and a “HONK HONK!”: the glorious garbage truck. It’s big and bright and loud, and makes trash disappear. What’s not to like? She marvels at the green behemoth’s impressive attributes (“The hubcaps shine! The engine roars! The brakes squeak! The lights flash!”) as a bright, sunny yellow background heightens five wonderful pages of intense excitement.

Awan, the creator of Towed By Toad and several other picture books celebrating childlike exuberance, uses a high-contrast palette, fuchsia action lines and skillfully employed onomatopoeia to create eye-catching visuals and fodder for fun read-alouds.Sure to be a favorite reread for kids and grown-ups alike, Every Monday Mabel is an enthusiastic, delightful tribute to community helpers and the many, many people who value and appreciate them. “GAH-DUMP!”

Sure to be a favorite reread for kids and grown-ups alike, Every Monday Mabel is an enthusiastic, delightful tribute to community helpers and the many, many people who value and appreciate them.

You Didn’t Hear This From Me: (Mostly) True Notes on Gossip isn’t a volume of titillating tales. Rather, in this well-researched, passionate ode to shared storytelling, the journalist and author of novel God Spare the Girls (2021) interrogates the concept of gossip, examines its place in popular culture, and reflects on its role in her own life.

Rather, in this well-researched, passionate ode to shared storytelling, the journalist and author of the novel God Spare the Girls interrogates the concept of gossip, examines its place in popular culture and reflects on its role in her own life.

McKinney traces her gossip origin story back to her childhood in the evangelical Christian faith, which considers gossip “unequivocally, absolutely an affront against God, closer to murder or adultery than dancing.” Now, having left the church, she asserts, “It is certainly true that gossip is not helpful if your goal is to maintain the status quo and keep the peace, but those are two things Jesus Himself was very uninterested in doing.” Especially, she realized, when “the codifying of gossip as a sin could be used as a shield for misbehaving men in power to subjugate women in their congregations.”

The theme of gossip as liberation echoes throughout You Didn’t Hear This From Me, as does its ability to inform and, often, prevent harm, create community and help us better understand ourselves. McKinney adeptly leads readers through in-depth consideration of everything from the epic of Gilgamesh to Gossip Girl, saucy Doja Cat lyrics and Françoise Gilot’s Life With Picasso, analyzing gossip-adjacent phenomena like urban legends, conspiracy theories and whisper networks along the way.

McKinney’s fans are sure to be just as obsessed with You Didn’t Hear This From Me as they are with the “Normal Gossip” podcast she created and hosted for three years, wherein she and guests reveled in anonymous listener-submitted juicy stories. (Launched in 2022, the pod has 10 million listens and counting; in December 2024, McKinney handed the reins to a new host.) Her voice is smart and funny, and her arguments for considering gossip valuable and meaningful are compelling and clearly heartfelt. There’s no longer any shame in her game, either; she is “professionally nosy,” and beckons readers to join her in viewing gossip with a more appreciative eye—perhaps luxuriating in “the joy of snooping” while they’re at it.

The host of the “Normal Gossip” podcast, Kelsey McKinney, investigates gossip with an appreciative eye in her winning ode to snooping, You Didn’t Hear This From Me.

Detective Inspector Georgina “George” Lennox is still on the mend eight months after nearly dying in an on-the-job accident in Glasgow, Scotland. And as Laura McCluskey’s eerie, gothic-tinged debut mystery, The Wolf Tree, opens, the impetuous, recently promoted 28-year-old is eager to ditch desk duty and get back out in the field with her partner, veteran DI Richie Stewart.

Their superintendent is open to the idea, but wants George to start with an open-and-shut case: Confirm the manner of death for 18-year-old Alan Ferguson, presumed to have died by suicide on Eilean Eadar, a remote island in the North Atlantic Ocean. “[N]othing happens out there,” the superintendent says. “Those islands are medieval time capsules with a population of relics.”

Postmistress Kathy McKinnon effusively welcomes the detectives to Eilean Eadar for their five-day stay, but the other 206 residents aren’t so friendly. Hostile stares and whispers abound, as do evasive answers to straightforward questions, which sets George’s instincts pinging. If everyone’s as close-knit as they claim, united by enduring the challenges of life on a barren island forgotten by the mainland, why not help the DIs put Alan to rest?

George is also intrigued by the island’s dark history: In 1919, three lighthouse keepers went missing and the case was never resolved—a state of affairs about which the islanders seem strangely sanguine. And while a few locals eventually soften toward the detectives, George’s unease remains, exacerbated by the darkness that blankets the island every afternoon, making excursions creepy and treacherous. Her persistent insomnia and migraines aren’t helping either, especially since it’s getting harder to hide them (and the pills she’s taking) from a concerned Richie. 

And then there are the howling sounds she hears at night, her growing conviction there’s much more to Alan’s sad story and a massive approaching storm that boosts The Wolf Tree’s escalating tension to even greater heights. Thanks to McCluskey’s expert melding of modern crime procedural and ancient folklore, suspenseful slow burns and intense high-stakes action, fans of stories set in closed communities with something to hide will revel in this assured and absorbing debut.

Laura McCluskey expertly melds modern crime procedural and ancient folklore in her eerie debut mystery, The Wolf Tree.

Although she’s just a kid, Cecilia has two full-time jobs: elementary school student, and interpreter for her Spanish-speaking parents. 

In her picture book debut, The Interpreter, Olivia Abtahi (Twin Flames) has crafted an empathetic, gently humorous look at what it’s like to be a go-to translator in immigrant and/or multilingual families. Fittingly, The Interpreter is itself a multilingual book: cleverly conceived watercolor and pencil-crayon artwork by Monica Arnaldo (The Museum of Very Bad Smells) separates out languages by color. Orange word bubbles are for Spanish, blue for English and pink for Farsi when Cecilia’s family encounters another kid-interpreter.

Cecilia’s life has become overwhelmingly blue and orange, to her and her friends’ consternation. She’s a plucky, considerate child who beams when her mom says, “What would I do without you?” But while it’s rewarding to explain her sibling’s medical treatments, ensure the hairdresser doesn’t cut mom’s hair too short, and assist dad with his driver’s license photo (“No smiling. / Sin sonrisa.”), it’s also exhausting. 

Not surprisingly, when a perceptive teacher inquires how she—just her, not her family—is doing, Cecilia loses her cool and releases her bottled-up frustration in a gloriously explosive double-page-spread: “I don’t want to run errands every day and wait at the DMV! I want to be outside, I want to play soccer . . . I want, I want, I want.” Her parents are shocked at her outburst, and then shocked at how Cecilia’s calendar has been overtaken by interpreting without their realizing. “I want to help,” Cecilia says,. “just not all the time.”

Abtahi does a stellar job of introducing the concepts of boundaries, self-advocacy and work-life balance while cautioning readers that being super-accommodating might result in being taken advantage of or overburdened, even by those who care about us. But asking for and accepting help can make things better for all involved: By the book’s happy end, Cecilia’s aunt and brother are pitching in with interpreting, she’s back to playing with friends and everybody is smiling—especially Cecilia.

 

Olivia Abtahi does a stellar job of introducing the concept of boundaries, while cautioning readers that being super-accommodating might result in being overburdened, even by those who care about us.

Throughout Ajay Anthonipillai’s life thus far, he’s dutifully adhered to his Sri Lankan parents’ rules. Their 16-item list, displayed at the end of Maria Marianayagam’s winning and inventive No Purchase Necessary, includes things like “Straight As only,” “No friendships with the opposite sex” and “No working while you’re in school.”

Alas, ever since Ajay started eighth grade at Bridge Creek Middle School, he’s been struggling. At his previous school, kids called him “Obnoxious Ajay” because of his relentless academic competitiveness. Now that he’s grown up a bit, he’s more interested in making friends than viewing classmates as rivals, but he’s unsure how to go about it. So, when popular bully Jacob Underson hints they’ll become buddies if Ajay steals a Mercury bar from Al’s convenience store, Ajay shocks himself by actually doing it . . . only for Jacob to laughingly reject his offering, leaving him defeated and guilty. “How was this my life? What made me so unlikable? This year was supposed to be a fresh start.”

Adding to Ajay’s misery, he gets a 79% in language arts class and lies to his parents about it, drawing his sister Aarthi’s disapproval. A classmate, Mandy, seems friendly, but he’s nervous around her, and she gets better language arts grades (old habits die hard). And that chocolate bar, sold during a 25th anniversary promotion? It’s the winner of Mercury’s million-dollar grand prize. But how can he—legally, morally—claim a prize from stolen candy?

Ajay secretly gets a job at Al’s so he can destroy evidence of his crime. But as he gets to know Al while contending with a cascade of ethical dilemmas, his guilt intensifies, not least because his family could really use that money. Is there any way to cash in without betraying everything they’ve worked for?

No Purchase Necessary is an entertaining, thought-provoking read rife with suspenseful twists and turns and well-drawn characters, and enlivened by the witty, appealing voice of its protagonist. Marianayagam perfectly captures the emotional, social and moral minefields of middle school, and will have readers rooting for Ajay to find happiness as he figures out which rules serve him—and which are meant to be broken.

No Purchase Necessary is an entertaining, thought-provoking read rife with suspenseful twists and turns and well-drawn characters, and enlivened by the witty, appealing voice of its protagonist.

In debut author Trisha Tobias’ Honeysuckle and Bone, 18-year-old New Yorker Carina Marshall is determined to make a fresh start, having recently experienced an upsetting series of events that culminated in the death of her best friend, Joy; her other friends’ subsequent abandonment of her; and an onslaught of online hate. Awash in guilt and shame, Carina decides a summer au pair job in a gorgeous place is just the thing to help her move on.

Sure, the gig is in Jamaica, her mother’s homeland, which she has forbidden Carina to visit. And yes, the job was actually Joy’s, but since she didn’t meet her soon-to-be employer in person, it’ll be easy for Carina to replace her. What could go wrong?

Well, as any fan of eerie, suspenseful tales knows, plenty—and Honeysuckle and Bone is all the better for it. Carina’s new job at opulent Blackbead House entails caring for Jada and Luis, the younger children of brusqueIan Hall, currently running for prime minister, and his regal wife, Ruth. Carina’s coworkers, who call themselves the Young Birds, are friendly, but a couple of them seem to be hiding secrets of their own as they tend to Blackbead, work fancy campaign events and have fun in between.

Despite her busy days and posh surroundings, Carina begins to feel more and more uneasy. A “strong and sweet” floral scent that “sends heat through [her]” plagues her, and someone—or something—has been leaving her messages that simply, ominously, say “Run.” Despite her handsome, attentive coworker Aaron’s efforts to help her figure out what’s happening, Carina can’t escape the dread she feels as she struggles to discern what is real or imagined, felt or seen. Readers who enjoy twisted thrillers in bright tropical settings will revel in Honeysuckle and Bone’s exploration of the contrast between glittery surfaces and the secrets buried beneath them, between people who live life openly and those haunted by what they have to hide.

Readers who enjoy twisted thrillers in bright tropical settings will revel in Honeysuckle and Bone’s exploration of the contrast between glittery surfaces and the secrets buried beneath them.

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.

Jonas Olofsson, professor and director of the Sensory Cognitive Interaction Lab at Stockholm University, is a passionate olfactory advocate who believes “the sense of smell, often unnoticed, influences so many of the most important parts of our lives.” In The Forgotten Sense: The New Science of Smell—and the Extraordinary Power of the Nose, he offers a fascinating overview of this understudied, underappreciated sense and makes a convincing case for bringing our noses to the forefront of research, culture and everyday life.

Conventional wisdom indicates animals are superior sniffers, but at the 2015 Association for Chemoreception Sciences annual meeting, “the old myth was blown out of the water,” Olofsson writes. “Humans were more sensitive than other animals to the vast majority of odor molecules.” Certainly, “Dogs are the olfactory kings of the animal kingdom,” but “we humans actually perform so well in the smell tests that we can even give dogs a run for their money.”

The author also explores culturally prominent scents like Sweden’s “polarizing” sour herring and durian, “the stinking fruit, or as it is called in Southeast Asia, the king of fruits.” He looks at aroma-centric professions (chef, sommelier, perfumer) and pulls back the curtain on scent marketing. Ever enjoyed florals in a hotel or followed your nose to a Cinnabon? Oloffson adroitly explains the corporate strategies that rely on an aroma’s ability to trigger memories and emotions and influence our choices.

In a section on health, he notes that, as for 2022, the COVID-19 pandemic “might have left 20 million people with a permanently impaired sense of smell” and discusses the physical and psychological effects of anosmia, from loss of appetite to a “strong sense of loneliness when you can no longer share the olfactory worlds of others.”

All the more reason, then, to consider his recommendation for brain-boosting “smell training” that could improve quality of life for professional sniffers and regular folks alike. After all, Oloffson writes, “Every smell is an intersection between our thoughts and our emotions.” The Forgotten Sense is an excellent, enthusiastic guide through “the little-known depths of scent and how it shapes us.”

The Forgotten Sense is a passionate, enthusiastic guide to learning how the understudied, underappreciated sense of smell shapes us.

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).

Thirteen-year-old Kaya Song has long been excellent at compartmentalizing whenever something feels strange or scary: “I forced myself to shove the whole mess to the corner of my mind, where so much of my pain was boxed up and stored for another day.” 

It works, to some extent. The tween’s life in Lihiwai, Maui, is in many ways idyllic. She has caring friends; earns excellent grades; indulges in favorite pastimes like reading and drinking boba; and gets to work with friendly, cute Taiyo when she helps out at her parents’ Chinese restaurant.

Nonetheless, in debut author Gloria L. Huang’s fantastical, heartfelt coming-of-age tale Kaya of the Ocean, Kaya’s “anxiety [is] so severe that my skin was raw and red from washing and scratching, that my mind was always filled with worries and my heart filled with dread.” 

Fear of water is central to Kaya’s anxiety, exacerbated by the fact that Maui is, well, an island, and Kaya’s friends are avid surfers. As Kaya of the Ocean opens, they’ve convinced her to join them at a secret cove. She and Taiyo stick to “baby waves,” but a giant yellowfin tuna knocks Taiyo off his surfboard and Kaya must rescue him. Less traumatizing, but no less weird is when, at home, the water in a drinking glass seems to move toward her. What is going on?

Fortunately, Kaya’s aunt is visiting from New York City and may have answers. She’s researched their family history, which includes an ancient Chinese water goddess named Mazu. Could Kaya’s anxiety and water-based goings-on be something else altogether? 

Huang employs vivid flashbacks (to China in 1629 and 1949, and San Francisco in 1876) plus a cascade of present-day revelations as she unfurls the surprising truth about Kaya’s connection to Mazu. “I couldn’t help feeling optimistic that things could change. That I could change,” Kaya muses. Her gradual willingness to talk about her feelings, trust herself and believe she deserves the support she needs will resonate with readers on their own journey to self-confidence, magic-infused or otherwise.

In Gloria L. Huang’s fantastical, heartfelt coming-of-age tale Kaya of the Ocean, the protagonist’s gradual willingness to trust herself will resonate with readers on their own journey to self-confidence, magic-infused or otherwise.

Believe         

Fans of beloved hit television series Ted Lasso will delightedly embrace Believe: The Untold Story Behind Ted Lasso, the Show That Kicked Its Way Into Our Hearts.

Part oral history, part cultural analysis, Believe is an entertaining and insightful behind-the-scenes tour in which New York Times television editor Jeremy Egner offers a wealth of interviews with key players as he reflects on Ted Lasso’s origins as a 2013 commercial; standout influences and episodes (e.g., the divisively trippy “Beard After Hours”); and its rocket-like ascension to national-treasure status.

Like Ted Lasso, Believe brims with enthusiasm, sports-talk and fun. As Egner writes, “It’s a story, appropriately enough, of teamwork, of hidden talent, of a group of friends looking around at the world’s increasingly nasty discourse and deciding that, as corny as it sounds, maybe simple decency and a few laughs still had the power to bring people together.” Believe is a winning read about a stellar show.   

Steven Spielberg     

Steven Spielberg: The Iconic Filmmaker and His Work is an upbeat, photo-packed tribute to the famous filmmaker, written with wit and warmth by British film critic Ian Nathan.

Nathan believes Spielberg is “the medium’s defining artist. Indeed, the embodiment of the Hollywood ideal: the commercial potential of film married to its creative possibilities. Art and commerce.” He proves his point as he traces the filmmaker’s development as director, producer and writer over his 50-plus year career, from his earliest films (1971’s Duel, his first feature-length film) to his most personal work to date, 2022’s semi-autobiographical The Fabelmans

Analysis of the auteur’s favorite collaborators and common themes offers illuminating context, and reveals a bounty of nitty-gritty details about Jaws, Raiders of the Lost Ark, Hook, A.I. Artificial Intelligence, Lincoln and more. Photos and movie posters amp up the fun, and even Nathan’s captions offer fresh insight. Steven Spielberg will absolutely intrigue and enchant fans of “the man with the universal touch.”

Box Office Poison       

There’s always high drama on movie sets, thanks to the studio politics, budget-busting sets and creative intensity that swirls around them. Sometimes a hit is born, but other times, as film critic Tim Robey writes in Box Office Poison: Hollywood’s Story in a Century of Flops, one must wonder, “What the hell were they thinking?”

Robey spotlights 26 cinematic “weirdos, outcasts, misfits, [and] freaks” via well-informed, gleefully snarky takes on what went wrong and what we might learn from flops. Intolerance (1916) exemplifies the “giant folly of trying to be a one-man film studio”; Speed 2: Cruise Control (1997) was waterlogged; and Cats (2019) suffered from “the buttholes” and endless production problems.

Robey notes that many flops become cult classics or are eventually recognized as misunderstood, and due to streaming, it’s become difficult to quantify losses and thereby designate a new ultimate bomb. But on the upside, our cord-cutting world has also made it easier than ever for cinephiles riding high on the spirited Box Office Poison to experience the movies Robey deems “turkeys.” 

Hollywood Pride

In his wonderfully wide-ranging encyclopedia of 130 years of movie history, Hollywood Pride: A Celebration of LGBTQ+ Representation and Perseverance in Film, film critic Alonso Duralde “hope[s] to pay tribute to artists whose contributions on both sides of the camera have been essential to cinema history while also spotlighting films that have told queer stories and/or had special resonance with queer audiences.” 

Mission accomplished: This chronological compendium examines filmic LGBTQ+ representation in key eras like the years after World War II, when “gay men were among the biggest stars in Hollywood, even if almost no one outside the industry knew it”; and the “opening of the floodgates” after 2005’s Brokeback Mountain. There are vivid photos and sidebars galore, and lists of notable films and artists, too. 

Hollywood Pride is a well-written, visually appealing cultural history: a book to learn from, gaze at and celebrate that “as long as there is a cinema . . . we will continue to exist and to thrive and to create.”

The Worlds of George R.R. Martin

George R.R. Martin fans—especially those who wish they lived in Westeros—will clamor for Tom Huddleston’s The Worlds of George R.R. Martin: The Inspirations Behind Game of Thrones, which illuminates the creative process of the much-loved author of the Song of Ice and Fire fantasy series.

Huddleston ponders “What sources—historical, literary and personal—did [Martin] draw upon in the writing, and what inspiration did they give him?” He notes that Martin’s writing has a “sprawling, breathtaking sense of scale” that draws readers in, and certainly echoes that scope and intensity here as he delves into the creation of the hugely popular series, considers how it was translated into TV shows Game of Thrones and House of the Dragon, and assesses its place in pop culture.

Fans who want to spend even more time in Martin’s medieval-esque world will treasure The Worlds of George R.R. Martin: It’s a well-researched, engagingly written and visually immersive experience.

These books are just the thing for screen buffs who want to revel in their favorite stories and auteurs, with deeply knowledgeable experts as their enthusiastic guides.

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