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).
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.
In London, Nate Macabuag designs and builds prosthetics for people with limb differences. “To be able to give someone something that they didn’t have access to before—it’s a good feeling,” he says. At Chicago’s Field Museum, Lauren Nassef helps care for specimens used in scientific research. And in the Bronx, shopkeepers Dan Treiber and Reina Mia Brill spend their days surrounded by toys. “We sell things that bring people joy,” Dan says. “We sell happiness!”
Those are just a few of the 28 professions depicted in Shaina Feinberg and Julia Rothman’s fascinating and inspiring Work: Interviews with People Doing Jobs They Love.
The duo, who write and illustrate the New York Times’ popular Scratch column (about “money—and the people who deal with it”), previously teamed up for How We Got By, a collection of 111 personal accounts about getting through hardships. This time, they wanted to create a book for kids in the vein of their newspaper column.
For Work, Feinberg and Rothman interviewed people around the world about their skills, motivations, daily tasks and favorite aspects of their careers. The answers are varied and intriguing, presented in brief biographies that also include discussion prompts such as “If you could invent anything, what would it be?” Rothman’s art is detailed and vibrant, ranging from portraits of people at their jobs, to illustrations of a wildland firefighter’s helicopter and a cobbler’s custom shoes.
Those looking for answers to “What do you want to be when you grow up?” will delight in learning how youthful propensities might translate into grown-up jobs: For example, an artist who climbed trees as a child now paints murals on very tall buildings. They’ll also gain insight into Rothman’s and Feinberg’s own work via the final entries in this engaging, illuminating collection, as well as the “How We Made This Book” section that follows.
Another nice touch: The duo note that many illustrations were based on photos, and include credits for each one, ensuring that, from start to finish, their book explores, celebrates and values work and the people who undertake it. Work is a helpful resource and entertaining read that’s sure to broaden horizons and inspire exploration.
From start to finish, Shaina Feinberg and Julia Rothman’s book explores, celebrates and values work and the people who undertake it. Work is a helpful resource and entertaining read that’s sure to broaden horizons and inspire exploration.
Fans of Jane Pek’s 2022 debut, The Verifiers, starring irrepressible, clever, bike-riding Brooklynite Claudia Lin, will be delighted to learn of Claudia’s return in The Rivals.
While she’s still reeling from the dramatic events—including murder, alas—depicted in The Verifiers, Claudia’s also proud to be a new partner in Veracity, a Tribeca-based private investigation agency that discerns whether clients’ prospective partners are being truthful on dating apps. But Claudia’s also nervous about her new role, thanks to her ongoing internal conflict about the ethics of Veracity’s work (are they background-checking, or stalking and hacking?) and her conviction that, despite her hard-won career advancement, her mother will nonetheless stick to her favorite “look at my lousy Chinese daughter topic of conversation.”
There’s the matter of her own love life, too: Sure, she’ll dutifully tail Amalia, the intelligent and gorgeous date of obnoxious new client Mason Perry (“His opinion of himself is so high, you can see it from outer space.”), but things get complicated when Claudia accidentally-on-purpose befriends her and starts wishing Amalia were her girlfriend instead. She’s also attracted to her mercurial co-worker Becks, but Claudia’s not sure if her feelings are reciprocated. Pek does an excellent job exploring the particular humor and suspense inherent in the mysteries of the human heart.
The author also delves into the gritty mysteries of the tech world as Veracity discovers a corporate conspiracy centered around dating apps, complete with manipulation via AI and the untimely demise of anyone who raises suspicions about the apps’ overlords. Even worse, Claudia’s brother, Charles, works for one of the “Big Three” matchmaking platforms, and she fears he’ll be harmed by their machinations: “He can’t even imagine how deep the deception actually goes, like a tunnel right to the molten center of the earth.”
It’s a lot for Claudia to juggle, especially on a bicycle. Anyone who appreciates a witty contemporary whodunit with a tech-y twist will enjoy the entertaining, thought-provoking goings-on in The Rivals as it explores the insidiousness of technology, the dark side of dating algorithms and the often amusingly complicated life of a dedicated amateur sleuth.
Amateur sleuth Claudia Lin delves into a dating app conspiracy in Jane Pek’s entertaining, thought-provoking The Rivals.
Valeria “Magic” Salomon is the star of the Overlords, the best boys soccer team in Utah. As Yamile Saied Méndez’s The Beautiful Game opens, expectations are high: The Overlords are defending state champions, and Coach and his assistant José are determined to conquer Nationals this year.
Valeria is confident in her abilities and ready to revel in a glorious victory lap, but she’s also sad her absentee father won’t be at the State Cup to cheer her on. “If he loved me,” she thinks, “why wasn’t he by my side for all the important events in my life?” And it’s not as if she can relax at home. Coach is her abuelo and rules her life with a grouchy iron fist. He also doesn’t defend her from snidely sexist José, which certainly taints her futbol experience.
On game day, Valeria gives it her all, but alas: The team flubs an important play; Abuelo learns his estranged daughter in Argentina has passed away; and Valeria gets her first period and publicly bleeds through her white shorts. José blames her for the loss and ousts her from the team, while Abuelo and the Overlords betray her with their silent assent.
Just like that, Valeria finds herself adrift and desperate to find a way to keep playing soccer. Thankfully, she secures a spot on a girls team, the Amazons, but is nervous about fitting in. Will she win over Coach Blume? Can she adjust to positive reinforcement and true teamwork? Who is she if she’s not the star?
The Beautiful Game is a compelling, heartfelt story about second chances, complex family dynamics, and the joy and pain of growing up. Fans of Méndez’s Furia, recipient of the 2021 Pura Belpré Young Adult Author Award, will be thrilled the author has once again created a memorable young futbol-focused protagonist with loads of talent and grit. After all, “the game is brutal. But it’s also beautiful. It breaks your heart, but then it gives you a chance to put it back together.”
The Beautiful Game is a compelling, heartfelt story about second chances, complex family dynamics, and the joy and pain of growing up.
Theater kids of all ages will adore Take It From the Top, Claire Swinarski’s effervescently heartfelt and cathartic tribute to the joys and dramas that come with life in the limelight.
Each year, Eowyn and best friend Jules tread the boards at Lamplighter Lake Summer Camp for the Arts in the Wisconsin Northwoods. They instantly bonded in their first year, but now as they enter their sixth—at 13 years old—a once rock-solid friendship bolstered by elaborate plans for a shared future (they’ll be famous together!) has become a tenuous truce at best.
Eowyn’s not sure why Jules is icing her out, so she buries her feelings in intense audition prep for the big end-of-summer production, in which she’s determined to get a lead role. Jules is prepping too . . . but what if they both score big parts? Can a friendship that’s painfully broken be healed in time for a harmonious opening night?
As in her middle grade debut, epistolary mystery What Happened to Rachel Riley?—a BookPage Best Middle Grade Book of 2023 and 2024 Edgar Award nominee—Swinarski has created a story rife with realism, empathy and well-drawn characters navigating their figuring-themselves-out years. She also plays with structure to excellent effect, alternating Eowyn’s perspective in the present with Jules’ in the years leading up to this pivotal sixth summer.
It’s a genuine treat to follow along as the talented, hardworking tweens in Take It From the Top strive to understand others’ perspectives and translate their onstage performances into how they address real life. As Eowyn muses, “Up there on the stage . . . You could be someone you weren’t. Or maybe you could be someone you really were.” Bravo!
It’s a genuine treat to follow along as the talented, hardworking tweens in Take It From the Top strive to understand others’ perspectives and translate their onstage performances into how they address real life.
In his mid-20s, Patrick Hutchison felt adrift: Despite his “dream of becoming a gonzo journalist travel writer-type person,” he worked in a Seattle office as a copywriter. He was embarrassed by his dearth of “proof-of-responsibility milestones” and seeming lack of purpose compared to those around him.
What’s a stressed out guy to do? Well, as he describes with quippy humor and refreshing honesty in his debut, CABIN: Off the Grid Adventures With a Clueless Craftsman, Hutchison decided to buy real estate. The year was 2013; the property, a 120-square-foot cabin in tiny Index, Washington, listed on Craigslist; the price, $7,500, paid to a tugboat captain named Tony.
If you’re thinking that sounds pretty gonzo, you’re not wrong—and Hutchison’s story only gets more interesting, funny and inspiring as he recounts how he threw himself into home ownership and, over the course of several years with help from friends and neighbors, slowly but surely turned the cabin into a charming Cascade Mountains retreat.
At first, it was “the sort of place where you wish your shoes had shoes,” a dirty, diminutive box with no Wi-Fi, cell service, electricity or plumbing, let alone a stable floor. But ignorance was bliss (“Like a new parent with a hideous baby, my eyes glazed over the flaws”), and Hutchison figured out things as he went along: He conducted endless research, made countless supply purchases and experienced the joy and pain of a complicated long-term DIY project.
Anyone who’s desperately wanted a chainsaw (even if they don’t know how to use it) will relate to Hutchison “half expecting balloons to fall from the ceiling in celebration of such a rad purchase,” and anyone who’s dealt with a mudslide or other natural disaster will empathize with his anxiety at being cut off from the cabin for months. But less specifically, those who dream of shaking things up will find motivation in CABIN and Hutchison’s dogged determination to create the adventurous life he’d always wanted: “Even when required by circumstance, the road less traveled is often the way to go.”
Quippy humor and refreshing honesty abound in CABIN, Patrick Hutchison’s memoir about his journey to restore a filthy, dilapidated cabin in the Cascade Mountains.
Shelley Burr’s gripping sophomore mystery, Murder Town, is set in rural Rainier, Australia, a fictional small town located halfway between Melbourne and Sydney. It used to be known as a nice place to take a break from that long journey, what with its pretty Fountain Park and popular local businesses like Earl Grey’s Yarn and Teashop. But then the “Rainier Ripper” came to town and murdered three people. Now, 17 years later, Fountain Park is but one sad stop on a proposed Ripper-centric tour some residents view as their last chance to return Rainier to its former prosperity. Alas, on the eve of the big vote, the potential tour guide is murdered, leaving Rainier awash in terror once again. Can teashop owner and amateur sleuth Gemma Guillory solve the mystery—perhaps with input from Lane Holland, the investigator from Burr’s bestselling debut novel, WAKE—before the killer strikes again?
Congratulations on your second novel! Your first, WAKE, won the Crime Writers’ Association Debut Dagger award in 2019 and soon after became an international bestseller. Now, here we are on the eve of Murder Town’s American debut! How has life changed for you between book one and book two? It’s been a whirlwind! The biggest life change between book one and two is that I gave up my day job in environmental policy and now write full time. Our family moved out to a rural area and I now split my time between writing and farm chores.
“I try to remember that a murder is a death, and a death leaves behind grieving people.”
Both of your books explore what life is like for survivors many years after a crime has occurred—their grief and anger, and their fear when mysteries remain unsolved and they don’t know if neighbors are friend or foe. What intrigues you about looking at these fictional cases from a longer-distance perspective, so to speak? I try to remember that a murder is a death, and a death leaves behind grieving people. It affects the person who found the body, the people who investigated the case, the people left wondering if they could have stopped it. I like to enter the story at the point where those impacts have had a chance to ripple outwards.
The challenge with a cold case is how to create a sense of urgency. If it’s been 10, 20 years, what’s the hurry to solve it now? I need to make sure I’m answering that question for the reader. Including a present-day crime changes that equation, but doesn’t solve it.
Did any real-life cases or favorite thrillers spark your desire to write crime fiction? For both WAKE and Murder Town, I had a moment where I was reading something about a real case that sparked an “I have to write this book” moment, but I wouldn’t consider either book based on the case I was reading about. When I read true crime or news stories, I’m not looking for details to add to stories, I’m looking for people in a situation that strikes a chord.
For Murder Town, that moment came while reading a news article about the South Australian town Snowtown. When I’m talking about the book at home, that’s all I have to say. At a writer’s festival, I can drop that name and watch the audience get what I mean immediately. Internationally it’s not as well known. The Snowtown murders are infamous here, both for their cruelty and for the unusual method of concealing the bodies. They were stored in barrels in a bank vault.
The article discussed the dilemma facing residents of Snowtown, a name synonymous with murder. Do they try to create distance? Change the name? Or lean into it? People stop in the town to take selfies in front of the bank. Should they capitalize on that?
I immediately empathized, and wanted to tell the story of people faced with a similar choice.
Your stories depict disturbing crimes and spend time in the minds of the people who commit them, the victims who endure them and those left reeling from grief and trauma. Is there anything in particular you do to get into the right headspace to craft these narratives, to inhabit these characters and to transition back to your real life afterward? Sunlight is my best friend. If I’m researching for a book, or if I’ve had to climb down into a dark place to write a scene, I make myself stop at lunchtime. That gives me a few hours to process it. Delving into those things in the evening and then trying to go straight to bed is a big mistake.
When I was writing my first book, I worked during the day, so I would write after my then-toddler daughter went to bed. There were some nights where I would write a sentence, go check if the window in her bedroom was locked, write a sentence, check the window . . .
You do an excellent, empathetic job of exploring the pros and cons of true crime tourism through the eyes of your characters, from victims’ disgusted families to business owners who acknowledge it’s unseemly (to say the least) but believe there are upsides. What did you hope to convey in Murder Town about “dark tourism,” as it’s been called: its popularity, its effects on survivors and more? It was important to me not to portray one side of the argument as right and the other as wrong. It’s a really difficult choice and the characters on every side have good reasons for feeling the way they do.
I did a lot of research into actual dark tourism. When I was growing up, I spent a lot of time in a town that runs on it. My grandparents lived in Glenrowan, which was the site of a shootout between police and the bushranger Ned Kelly. The town has a massive statue of Kelly, an animatronic show and just opened a new visitor’s center focused on the Kelly Gang. It’s a genuinely positive thing for the town, done with the full support of any living descendants. Another good example is the thriving industry of Jack the Ripper tours in London.
Those cases aren’t usually controversial, because the crimes were so long ago. What we tend to forget is that dark tourism and a fascination with true crime isn’t new. Ned Kelly tourism started immediately, it just survived a long time.
I don’t want to make a case for dark tourism being right or wrong, I just want people to remember that the victims are people, and their friends and family are hurting.
“We’ve always been a morbid species, and true crime has a long history.”
Money is of course on the minds of Rainier’s business owners, who’ve been struggling since a highway bypass compounded the town’s downturn after the murders and worry about descending into bankruptcy. What is it about that particular sort of financial desperation, that feeling of running out of options, that makes for compelling fiction? Money touches everything, and is very, very personal. It’s hard to imagine now, given how central money is to both books, but way back in the early drafts of WAKE, I actually tried to avoid making money a plot point. It had the opposite effect—it was distracting to early readers that the characters never seemed to worry about money or how to afford their lifestyle.
It’s easy to empathize with a character who is stressed about money, who wants to provide for their family and give their children a stable future.
It’s especially fascinating to read about Rainier locals who are parents, friends and neighbors—but also are the police officers who investigated the first murders, and must now keep everyone safe and calm while they contend with the new case. What about that particular collision of the personal and professional appeals to you? I live in a town about the same size as Rainier, and it’s impossible for the police to just be faceless uniforms. They’re behind you in line at the Country Women’s Association breakfast, they’re picking their kids up at the school gate, they’re grocery shopping at the same time as you. There’s a flipside to that as well—if you encounter the police in their professional capacity, the next CWA breakfast is going to be awkward.
In Rainier, every character is connected to every other character in at least two different ways. Every time one of them makes a decision, it echoes through that web of connections. The town’s two police officers are very much a part of that web.
You so fully paint a picture of Rainier’s landscape and how your characters move through those emotionally fraught spaces. Did you create an actual map, go on walks, etc., to help you get the physical and psychological aspects of that experience just right? The town has a significant geographical feature—it’s the exact halfway point between Australia’s two largest cities, Sydney and Melbourne. There is a real town in that location, Tarcutta.
I stopped in Tarcutta while on a road trip (I was transporting our cat to our new home), and was struck by a sign: Turn left for Sydney, turn right for Melbourne. The two cities are nine hours apart. The idea of a town that defines itself based on two other faraway places immediately fascinated me.
I don’t like to take a real town and layer a dark history over it, but my fictional towns are always based on real ones. I’m too bad at geography to invent one from whole cloth. I need to be able to look at a map, see what a realistic layout looks like: Would it have its own school, how many businesses are there, how many streets, how many police officers. But, being a fictional town, I can always tweak those details to fit what the story needs.
You grew up in Newcastle but also spent a lot of time on your grandparents’ farm. How did that experience translate into writing about remote, isolated places? Are there any other aspects of your growing-up years that tend to infuse and inform your stories and characters, whether you realized at first or not? Newcastle and Glenrowan are in different states; every handover was a 16-hour round trip, so I saw a huge number of small Australian towns growing up. Out of all the characters, the nomadic upbringing of Lane Holland feels the closest to my own. Seeing all those towns left me fascinated by how different they all were, but also by the similarities. A lot of highway towns have a “thing” that sets them apart: Holbrook has a World War II submarine installed in a park, Gundagai has the Dog on the Tucker Box. That really informed the town of Rainier.
My core memory of my time on the property (my grandfather has asked me to stop calling it a farm, as while they had livestock and orchards and acres of paddocks, they didn’t actually make a living farming) is of walking those paddocks. We’d be turned out in the morning and told to come back when we were hungry. There were moments I could look up and realize I was the only person for kilometers. I wanted to capture that feeling of isolation in WAKE.
After the events of WAKE, private investigator Lane Holland is now a resident of the Special Purpose Centre prison facility. What was it like to spend time with Lane again? What sort of research did you do to help you capture the atmosphere of the prison? What was the most surprising thing you learned? I was surprised by how easy it was to slip back into Lane’s voice. Despite his circumstances, his story is far from over.
I read and listened to a lot of first-person accounts of life in prison. As with my towns, the Special Purpose Centre is fictional, but based on a real facility used for vulnerable prisoners. I also had to do a lot of dry reading of policy papers and prison rules (much of which is redacted for security reasons) and white papers on topics like how aging and dying prisoners live.
The most surprising thing I found is a case where a convicted murderer was placed in a prison where the aunt of his victim worked as a guard. I’d assumed there had to be policies to prevent a situation that explosive. Heartbreakingly, it was the aunt who ended up vulnerable—her niece’s killer went out of his way to torment her, and she had to leave her position.
What do you think about the ever-increasing interest in true crime? Do you think the help can ever justify the harm? Why do you think there’s such an intense societal fascination? I’m not convinced that it is increasing. We’ve always been a morbid species, and true crime has a long history. I think what is increasing is access to opportunities to create it; these days anyone with the drive and a microphone can start their own podcast or video series, whereas decades ago, creating a radio show or television series was much more challenging. I think that can be a wonderful thing—where would we be without Michelle McNamara’s work on the Golden State Killer? There are a lot of cases getting attention and resources from the true crime industry with the grateful approval of the friends and family of the victims. Other cases, not so much. That lack of gatekeeping also means a lot of content being produced by people who don’t feel bound by any journalistic code of ethics.
I love true crime. Respectful, compassionate, victim-centered true crime. I love works like A Light in the Dark, written by Ted Bundy survivor Kathy Kleiner Rubin, or The Five by historian Hallie Rubenhold.
Are you a plan-things-ahead writer, especially when multiple secrets and surprises are involved, or are you more of a let’s-see-what-comes-up sort? Did anything that ended up in the book surprise even you? I’m very much a planner. I’m so impressed by writers who prefer to write crime fiction without an outline. Mine is my safety net. Any time I find myself stuck, I can go back to the outline, and every time it turns out that I left something out of a previous scene that’s essential to move forward.
But there are always surprises. Sometimes the characters develop in ways that mean they would never act the way they do in my outline. Sometimes I’ll stumble over something in the research that changes the direction of a subplot. Sometimes a character turns out more or less sympathetic than I expected and their ending feels too cruel or too lenient. That’s the fun part.
What’s up next for you—is there anything else you’d like to share with readers, in terms of upcoming books or other news? I’m hard at work on a third Lane Holland novel—we’re in the editing stage now.
Picture of Shelley Burr by Yen Eriksen Media.
In Murder Town, the acclaimed Australian author investigates the allure of so-called “dark tourism.”
The work of award-winning actor and comedian Jenny Slate—whether her stand-up comedy, voice performances (Bob’s Burgers, The Great North), acting (Parks and Recreation, It Ends With Us), or beloved Marcel the Shell With Shoes On multimedia universe—leaves an indelible impression. Unsurprisingly, the prolific creator’s first memoir-in-essays, 2019’s Little Weirds, had the same effect thanks to its inventive language and poignant, poetic takes on her life thus far.
In Lifeform, Slate again beckons readers into her wonderfully idiosyncratic, colorfully kaleidoscopic mind as she recounts her latest adventures in five pivotal phases: Single, True Love, Pregnancy, Baby and Ongoing. Of course, fans know that despite Lifeform’s organizing principle, the author isn’t inclined to stick to prescribed formats or expectations. Instead, she dances through multifaceted, playful musings that tip over into surrealism, and dwells in quiet spaces alongside her insecurities and fears.
Fabulist inner monologues abound, as in “Stork Dream: Scroll,” wherein the mythical baby-deliverer embodies “how bizarre this experience is of making a lifeform while being a lifeform. I woke myself up laughing, and the laughter was like a string of bells being pulled from inside of me.” Slate tackles waking-hour concerns in her series of whimsical yet pointed “Letters to a Doctor.” In one, she expresses her frustration with traditional dinner-party seating: “Why would you split a couple up against their wills? It is already so incredibly hard to come together and become a couple.”
Intimate and vulnerable revelations simmer throughout, too, such as the bittersweet experience of watching her ailing grandmother and baby Ida “sip soup together, two beings with caretakers who make sure that they stay clean and can get the food into their mouths.” Birth and death, beginnings and ends, are on Slate’s mind (and in her dreams) as she assumes the new role of mother and ponders how she has changed as the phases of her life have unfurled. Fans old and new will revel in Lifeform’s self-effacing humor and imaginative writing style. It’s a delightful, memorable immersion in the lifeform that is Jenny Slate: “Mother/New Wife/Jenny/Wart-Gobbler Goblin/Bad Visual Artist/Fine Clown.”
In her new memoir, Lifeform, Jenny Slate beckons readers into her wonderfully idiosyncratic, colorfully kaleidoscopic mind as she recounts her latest adventures with signature whimsy.
Anyone who’s lived in a small town (or enjoys thrillers about them) knows that secrets, lies and betrayals are heightened by close proximity—especially in an isolated area that’s hard to get to, and even harder to escape.
Shelley Burr deftly captures and conveys that particular brand of tension in Murder Town, and turns it up several notches by making her fictional Rainier, Australia (located halfway between Sydney and Melbourne) a place once charming, now cursed.
Seventeen years ago, travelers routinely popped into Earl Grey’s Yarn and Teashop or picnicked in Fountain Park. But then a serial killer murdered three people in Rainier, and the town and its traumatized residents have never recovered.
In the present, over the objections of victims’ families, some residents are campaigning for outsider Lochlan Lewis to set up a “Rainier Ripper” tour that could bring in desperately needed revenue. Ghoulish true crime fans routinely show up to gawk and ask intrusive questions, so “Why not make it formal?” teashop proprietor Gemma Guillory muses. “Why not scrape a little bit of a living back from the horror they’d all endured?”
Alas, an entirely new horror emerges when Lochlan is found murdered in the fountain. Gemma decides to secretly investigate; it won’t be easy, but she’s tapped into the gossip pipeline and a pro at “glid[ing] through the day greasing every interaction with white lies and fakery.” Fans of Burr’s 2022 bestseller, WAKE, will be thrilled when private investigator Lane Holland joins her quest: He’s working remotely this time (from prison, to be precise) but has his own urgent reasons for pursuing the case. Can they pull it off before the Ripper’s legacy destroys Rainier once and for all?
Murder Town is a twisty rural noir rife with cleverly tangled character dynamics, claustrophobic suspense and an intriguing exploration of true crime fandom through the lens of a community struggling to heal even as terror strikes once again. And Gemma makes for a compelling tour guide through life in Rainier: She’s a community mainstay, protective parent and risk-taking undercover novice determined to drag the town’s darkest truths into the light, no matter the danger or consequences.
Shelley Burr’s rural Australia-set mystery Murder Town explores an intriguing angle of true crime fandom: so-called “dark tourism” of serial killer-related sites.
Umami, a little brown-and-white penguin, lives with lots of other penguins in a snow-blanketed village by the sea. It’s a lovely place, with one unfortunate exception: “Breakfast, lunch, and dinner, the penguin village ate cold fish. For dessert? Cold fish. Your birthday? More cold fish.”
The budding gastronome and eponymous star of Jacob Grant’s Umami has had enough. While the other penguins seem content with their limited menu, Umami craves variety and she’s determined to find it, even if she has to take a solo journey across the sea.
When she lands in a new place bustling with a variety of food stands patronized by all sorts of animal customers, tantalizing aromas convince Umami to dive right in. “Oh, my sweet little beak!” she thinks, “Nothing ever smelled so spectacular.” A whirlwind of gastronomic delirium ensues as the plucky penguin samples everything she’s been missing: Salty or sour, bitter or sweet, spicy or her namesake umami, Umami tries it all, her taste buds tingling as her gustatory horizons open wide. She must share these wondrous new foods with the village!
Back home, Umami nervously presents her neighbors with a surprise feast. It’s a sweet gesture—and the backdrop for hilarious tableaux in which her guests’ widened eyes and sidelong glances crescendo into glorious milk-glugging, fire-breathing, table-flopping chaos. Dramatics aside, though, they finish every bite. Perhaps Umami has a future as chef for her newly hungry village?
Grant’s art for Umami won the 2024 Bologna Children’s Book Fair Illustration Exhibition, and it’s easy to see why: It’s expressive, adorable, visually witty and the perfect accompaniment to his inspiring, amusing story about the joys of living life with flavor and gusto. Umami will prompt readers to have fun identifying dishes they recognize or choosing new ones to try, as well as spotting loads of amusing details throughout (the squirrel who’s shocked at the size of Umami’s pasta order is not to be missed). Umami is a festive treat of a book sure to make storytimes and mealtimes even more delicious.
Umami is a festive treat of a book sure to make storytimes and mealtimes even more delicious.
As bestselling fantasy romance author Jodi Meadows’ smart, funny, perfectly paced Bye Forever, I Guess, opens, 13-year-old Ingrid is in the waning moments of her so-called friendship with Rachel, a master manipulator who loves to make Ingrid feel less-than.
Rachel has certainly succeeded—but much less often lately, perhaps because Ingrid is going online, where she enjoys a cyber-life that offers a welcome contrast to Rachel’s lunch table drama. Ingrid runs an anonymous Scrollr account, Bye Forever, I Guess, a fun compendium of wrong-number texts that boasts hundreds of thousands of followers. And she’s made a dear friend, Lorren, via hours of enthusiastically playing the MMORPG Ancient Tomes Online and sharing their devotion to a book series called the Essa Lightborne Chronicles.
Now, eighth grade’s beginning in the small town of Deer Hill, Virginia, and Ingrid’s ready to bring some of her online mojo IRL. She has a supportive, communicative relationship with her grandma (who runs a popular YouTube channel, Yarn Star), but she’s still lonely at school and Lorren lives 500 long miles away. New kids Alyx and Oliver seem promising, but Rachel’s meanness and Ingrid’s awkwardness add up to lunchtime in the library for the latter, where she despairs of finding the in-person connections she craves.
Then, a misdirected text from a boy who goes by Traveler pops up, and thanks to lots of ensuing witty text exchanges, a new online friendship—and a crush!—blossoms. But something nags at Ingrid: Traveler’s original text was directed to a “Rachel.” It couldn’t be Ingrid’s Rachel . . . could it? As she strives to find the answer to that nauseating question, Ingrid excitedly prepares for an Essa Lightborne event and ponders the vagaries of longing to be closer to someone she might not truly know: “I’d fastened my heart to a boy I could only half have, and I wanted more.”
Bye Forever, I Guess makes an excellent case for wanting more for ourselves in all areas of our lives, and for insisting on being seen, even if it’s awkward or scary at first. Meadows’ middle grade debut is a well-written, winning coming-of-age tale with loads of hilarity, empathy and heart.
Jodi Meadows’ middle grade debut, Bye Forever, I Guess, is a well-written, winning coming-of-age tale with loads of hilarity, empathy and heart.
After reluctantly turning the final page of the beautifully illustrated Up, Up, Ever Up! Junko Tabei: A Life in the Mountains, readers will want to run outside and start hiking, pausing only to spread the word about the impressive woman at the heart of Anita Yasuda’s inspiring and poetic biography for young readers.
As a young child, Junko Tabei was enchanted by the natural world, especially the peaks that provided a dramatic backdrop to her home in Japan. As Yasuda writes, “Stories of mountains drifted all around her until silvery domes and icy peaks unfurled as far as she could see.”
Tabei took the first step of her big mountain dreams at age 10 by climbing Mount Chausu (elevation: 4,643 feet) with friends. As she grew, so did her desire to ascend ever higher: She set her sights on becoming the first woman to summit Mount Everest (elevation: 29,032 feet). Naysayers emerged all around, from mountaineering clubs that excluded women, to sponsors who said mothers should stay home with their children. But Tabei found kindred spirits in her climbing aficionado husband and two children, as well as other adventurous women who shared her determination. Together, they felt unstoppable.
Despite dizzying heights, gear that fit badly because it was made for men, and even an avalanche, Tabei and her compatriots persisted. This exciting story of scaling great heights and blazing trails captures their trials and triumphs for those who will come after. Yuko Shimizu’s gorgeous, often fantastical illustrations—finely detailed via Japanese calligraphy brush, vibrantly colored, and rife with movement and texture—combine with Yasuda’s compelling, uplifting words to vividly convey Tabei’s indomitable spirit.
In the book’s back matter, Yasuda notes the numerous high points of Tabei’s life and expands on her environmental advocacy, a pursuit she engaged in until her death in 2016 at age 77. Readers of Up, Up, Ever Up! will surely agree that “Junko’s remarkable life inspires others to pursue their dreams, step by step, up, up, and ever up!”
Yuko Shimizu’s gorgeous, fantastical illustrations combine with Anita Yasuda’s compelling, uplifting words to vividly convey the indomitable spirit of trailblazing mountaineer Junko Tabei in Up, Up, Ever Up!
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