Since the early 1990s, Jeremiah Moss has lived in—and fiercely loved—New York City. In 2007, the poet and psychoanalyst launched the blog Jeremiah’s Vanishing New York, which became the foundation for 2017’s well-received Vanishing New York: How a Great City Lost Its Soul. In blog and book, Moss bemoaned the damaging outcomes of hypergentrification.
Five years on, Moss is back in the fray with the passionate and probing Feral City: On Finding Liberation in Lockdown New York, in which he rails against the results of New York’s tectonic shifts in population and personality during what he calls the “profound accidental experiment” of the COVID-19 lockdowns.
Moss expertly and often hilariously indulges his inner curmudgeon when describing the recent influx of moneyed and inconsiderate “New People” and rhapsodizing about the city that emerged once they fled the virus’ epicenter. Along the way, he considers what’s left when the dominant class is skimmed off the top of a city. After all, the New People have other places to go, but what happens to those who have no other options—or a complete inability to imagine living anywhere else?
As Moss walks and bicycles around the city every day, he joins protests and rallies and wee-hours dance parties in search of answers (while avoiding police intent on tamping down rebellion and revelry). He also reflects on his newfound feelings of confidence and freedom as a transgender man who reveled in the joyful queer energy that infused the streets of New York in its feral state.
When officials began declaring that New York should “get back to normal,” Moss felt sad that he (and the city as a whole) seemed to be reverting to pre-lockdown habits. Who and what, he wonders, is normal anyway? Who decides, and why? Is this newly rediscovered rebellious spirit gone for good?
In Feral City, Moss has created an indelible portrait of a city in transition; it vibrates with eat-the-rich energy and time-marches-on poignancy. “One day,” he writes, “the tide will shift and New York will change, as it always does. That, as people like to say, is the one thing you can count on in this town.” Perhaps he’ll be back to write about it when it does.
Jeremiah Moss’ Feral City is an indelible portrait of New York City in transition, vibrating with eat-the-rich energy and time-marches-on poignancy.
A fresh and cleverly conceived take on the beloved 1985 film The Breakfast Club, Invisible is a colorful and engaging tale written by first-time graphic novel author Christina Diaz Gonzalez and illustrated by Gabriela Epstein (Claudia and the New Girl).
Diaz writes in both English and Spanish, the languages spoken by her archetypal characters. There’s George Rivera, the brain; Sara Domínguez, the loner; Miguel Soto, the athlete; Dayara Gómez, the tough one; and Nico Piñeda, the rich kid. Their heritage is linked to different places, including Puerto Rico, Cuba, Mexico, the Dominican Republic and Venezuela, but since they all speak Spanish, the kids keep getting lumped together at Conrad Middle School by fellow students and school administrators alike.
As Invisible opens, it’s happened again: Principal Powell won’t earn a community service initiative trophy unless 100% of students participate, so he informs George that he’ll be spending mornings with “students like you” helping grouchy Mrs. Grouser in the school cafeteria. The five kids greet each other with wariness that soon becomes bickering as they resist the idea they could actually have anything in common. Sure, they’re all varying degrees of bilingual, and yes, they’ve all been stereotyped because of it. But otherwise? Pfft! But when an opportunity to really help someone arises—one that will require creative thinking plus significant subterfuge—the kids have to make a decision. Can they work together to achieve a meaningful goal?
Diaz Gonzalez’s previous novel, Concealed, won the 2022 Edgar Award for best juvenile title, and she builds wonderful suspense here as the students strive to find common ground. Meanwhile, Epstein’s art conveys the group’s swirling emotions, from Dayara’s frustration (ugh, homework!) to George’s embarrassment (oh, crushes!) to everyone’s wide-eyed worry that they’ll be caught breaking Mrs. Grouser’s rules.
In an author’s note, Diaz Gonzalez explains that she knows what it’s like to be a student learning English as a second language “who may feel a little lost . . . when surrounded by words that they don’t yet understand.” Her own experiences fueled her desire to create “a single book that could be read and enjoyed no matter which language you [speak].”
With Invisible, she and Epstein have done just that. The book’s visual context clues and helpful dialogue bubbles (with solid outlines to indicate speech and dashed outlines for translations) bolster an already meaningful coming-of-age tale. Invisible celebrates individuality and community while transcending language barriers.
★ Twin Cities
Must a border also be a barrier? In their first graphic novel for middle grade readers, Jose Pimienta compassionately explores this question through the eyes of 12-year-old twins Teresa and Fernando.
The twins live with their parents in Mexicali, Mexico, just over the border that runs between the U.S. and Mexico. For years, they’ve happily been classmates at school and BFFs at home. They spend the summer after sixth grade in a bonanza of togetherness, filling their days with basketball and movies and tree-climbing, all portrayed by Pimienta in a kinetic, wordless double-page spread that hums with the joy of a strong sibling bond.
But the twins’ paths diverge when seventh grade begins. Teresa goes to school in Calexico, California, while Fernando stays in Mexicali. Fernando has noticed that Teresa has begun to rebuff their joint nickname, but it’s not until the first day of class that he realizes she is also eager to put space between them, to try new things alone.
Pimienta uses evocative, parallel-panel sequences to illustrate the twins’ vastly different experiences, in different countries, just several miles apart. Fernando’s friends, Tony and Victor, join his sister at school in Calexico, leaving Fernando lonely and adrift—and excited to see Teresa when she gets home each day. Teresa, however, feels stifled by her brother’s attention. She has so much homework, and she wants to do well so that she can go to college and perhaps even work in America someday. Tension builds between the twins as they contend with new friends and chores-obsessed parents.
Middle school is never easy, but it’s even harder when you think you might lose your best friend for reasons you don’t quite understand. In Twin Cities, Pimienta addresses this possibility from a place of sensitivity, sympathy and personal curiosity: In an author’s note, they reveal that they also grew up in Mexicali and were offered—but declined—the option to study in the U.S. “I still wonder what would have happened had I made a different choice,” they write.
That’s just one revelation among many to be found in Twin Cities’ notably substantive back matter, which also includes Pimienta’s musings on siblinghood and identity, character sketches, a map of both border towns and more. From start to finish, Twin Cities is a superbly crafted work of art and emotion that marks Pimienta as a creator to watch.
Will grumpy teachers, evolving friendships and mountains of homework spell disaster and doom for these heroes, or will lunchroom hijinks, video game extravaganzas and amazing discoveries prevail?
After Jillian’s mom gets married, Jillian finds herself with a Brand-New Bubbe in Sarah Aronson and Ariel Landy’s vivacious picture book.
Jillian’s new Bubbe has glorious curly red hair, a mean jump shot and an upbeat attitude. Yet despite Bubbe’s fabulousness, her new stepgrandchild refuses to be charmed. Jillian already has plenty of loving women in her life: her mom; her grandmothers, Gram and Noni; and her great-grandmother, Mama-Nana. So why, Jillian wonders, would she need one more?
Faced with her daughter’s standoffishness, Jillian’s mom reminds her that “family is more than blood.” Jillian reluctantly agrees to be open to Bubbe’s overtures. Matzo ball soup turns out to hold the key, as an afternoon of cooking with Bubbe melts Jillian’s defenses. After all, who can resist a soft, fluffy matzo ball bobbing in a bowl of steaming, delicious broth?
But as she spends time with Bubbe, Jillian questions whether embracing Bubbe will leave her other grandmothers feeling left out. Several sips of soup later, Jillian realizes the perfect way to bring her whole family together. Spoiler alert: It involves more soup.
Landy accompanies Aronson’s playful prose with a clever subplot-in-pictures: Jillian’s cat initially gives Bubbe’s dog serious side-eye, but as Jillian warms to Bubbe, their pets bond too. It all culminates in a gathering of family, food and love. Three detailed soup recipes and a collection of resources for interfaith families end Brand-New Bubbe with a chef’s kiss. Mazel tov and bon appetit!
Dadaji’s Paintbrush
Rashmi Sirdeshpande and Ruchi Mhasane offer a quietly moving tale of love, loss and community in Dadaji’s Paintbrush.
In a small village in India, a little boy and his grandfather live in a house surrounded by lush trees and colorful flowers. The inside of their home is a wonderland of color, too, thanks to their artistic endeavors. Dadaji has spent countless hours teaching his grandson to paint. Some days, the pair paint together, just the two of them, while other days, they’re joined by children from the village. Grandfather and grandson are constant companions in a sweet, serene life filled with everyday marvels and expressions of love.
And then one day, the boy is left all alone. Gifted, empathetic illustrator Mhasane drains the color from the boy’s life, surrounding him instead with a palette of grays. Just one small spot of red remains: a little box that contains Dadaji’s favorite paintbrush. But the boy cannot bear to look at it, so he puts it up on a high shelf and turns away from art in an attempt to spare his aching heart.
Color makes a tentative reentry when a little girl comes knocking on the door and asks the boy to teach her to paint. Will the boy let the girl into his home and his life—and open himself up to carrying on Dadaji’s legacy?
In an author’s note, Sirdeshpande explains that Dadaji’s Paintbrush was inspired by her relationship with her late grandfather. “That feeling that the people you love will always, always be with you? That’s just how I feel,” she writes.
Together, Sirdeshpande and Mhasane have created a touching exploration of how love can deepen and grow, becoming generous enough to include others and strong enough to allow our memories to comfort and sustain us.
A Grand Day
A kaleidoscope of family fun swirls through A Grand Day, a lively grandparentstravaganza of cuddles, laughter and imagination.
In rhyming text, Jean Reidy salutes the magic of days spent with grandparents. She begins with cheery let’s-go-have-fun hugs, then progresses through a range of shared activities. The possibilities are creative (chalk painting, gardening, baking), athletic (yoga, cartwheels, dancing) and even a little mystical (magic tricks, attic expeditions, a starlit campfire). Reidy spotlights lower-energy pursuits for more laidback types, too, such as relaxing by a pond, reading and napping—crucial recharging for marshmallow-toasting time!
Illustrator Samantha Cotteril’s fascinatingly detailed and immersive 3-D artwork offers a dazzling array of elements that will reward repeat reads. Every page has a dioramic vibe, with impressively engineered cut-paper sculptures that range from massive trees to minuscule sticks of sidewalk chalk. There are patterns and textures galore, and loads of depth and color. You’ll marvel at intricate wallpaper, wooden benches, hungry cardinals descending on a bird feeder and more.
Throughout the book, characters revel in sharing their favorite endeavors, highlighting the importance of learning from one another: “Try a two-step, maybe ten. / All that’s old . . . is new again.” Vibrant elements of nature appear on every page, with sheltering trees, a backyard garden or a pond dotted with lily pads paying homage to the wider cycle of life. Reidy’s text encourage appreciation and contemplation of the world around us: “Salute the sun. / Soak in the breeze.”
A Grand Day is a visual feast of a book that will inspire readers to cherish hugs, kisses and time spent with people they love.
I’ll Go and Come Back
In Rajani LaRocca and Sara Palacios’ warmly engaging I’ll Go and Come Back, a young girl named Jyoti forges an endearing, affectionate relationship with her grandmother, Sita Pati. She learns that, when there is love, the miles cannot truly separate us.
Jyoti is excited to travel with her parents from the U.S to India, but when they arrive, she is disoriented by how different everything is, from the humid air and noisy streets to the relatives and friends that fill the family home. She’s especially lonely when her cousins leave for school each day.
But Sita Pati is at home during the day, too, and despite their language barrier (Jyoti knows only a few Tamil words, and Sita Pati doesn’t know much English), she coaxes Jyoti into having fun. They play games, create intricate rangoli designs with colored sand, dress up and cook together. Every night before bed, they sip warm milk with saffron. Gradually, their shared pursuits become their common language.
When Jyoti’s visit ends, Sita Pati helps her to see their parting not as something permanent, but rather as part of a larger continuation. “I remembered that no one in India just said ‘goodbye,'” Jyoti reflects. Instead, they say poitu varen, which means “I’ll go and come back.”
Happily, the two reunite when Sita Pati visits America the following summer. This time, it’s Sita Pati who feels out of place and Jyoti who shares her favorite activities: sidewalk chalk instead of rangoli, quesadillas instead of chapatis, and drifting off to sweet dreams after mugs of hot cocoa.
Palacios’ illustrations showcase the beautiful textures, patterns and colors of their homes, making for a captivating visual experience. She expertly conveys an astonishing range of emotions through faces comprised of simple lines and shapes. The hopscotch court that Jyoti and Sita Pati draw on the sidewalk outside Jyoti’s house incorporates floral elements similar to those in the rangoli design they made together in India, a lovely parallelism.
I’ll Go and Come Back provides an affirming perspective on our relationships with loved ones. Instead of focusing on our feelings of sadness when they depart, why not embrace the anticipation of their eventual return?
Just in time for Grandparents’ Day—a holiday officially observed on September 11 but actually celebrated whenever we’re treated to time with our wonderful family members—comes a quartet of joyful books perfect for sharing with the young and the young at heart alike.
George Dawes Green made a huge splash onto the literary scene with his mid-1990s bestsellers, The Caveman’s Valentine and The Juror. The release of his critically acclaimed third novel, Ravens, came 14 years later. And now, 13 years after that, Green is back with the intriguing and immersive The Kingdoms of Savannah, a darkly mesmerizing mystery that will enthrall readers with its original premise and characters as Green escorts them through the titular city’s glittering society circles, criminal underworld and extensive homeless community, all rife with terrible secrets past and present.
While Savannah, Georgia, has, as one character muses, “all the conviviality and the outrageous beauty and the characters and the sunlight and the aromas,” it also “rests upon a bed of history so vile no novelist could invent it,” as the author writes in a note at the book’s beginning. What Green did invent, though, is the wealthy and powerful Musgroves, a white family whose roots in the city reach back to the 1800s. When Luke, a young man experiencing homelessness, is found stabbed to death in a decrepit building and his friend Stony, a 43-year-old Black woman who works as a contract archaeologist, goes missing, Morgana Musgrove is hired to investigate. (One of her late husband’s many businesses was a detective agency, you see.) The owner of the building where Luke’s body was found is the mobster-esque Archie Guzman, and he’s offering a lot of money for answers as to what happened. But why does Guzman care about Luke and Stony? And why is he insisting Morgana play detective?
Morgana’s granddaughter Jaq, an amateur documentarian, and estranged son Ransom, who’s been living at an encampment under the highway, join her on the case. The trio pingpongs off one another in ways that are both entertaining and poignant, their different life experiences and painful histories affecting how they see both one another and the case. Family secrets bubble up to the surface even as the trio ignores ruffled society-people feathers and you’d-better-back-off threats. Green follows Morgana, Jaq and Ransom on their quest for truth, moving between marvelous mansions and homeless encampments, police stations and dive bars. All the while, ghost-tour carriages rattle by in the background, serving as chilling reminders of tragedy twisted into glib entertainment.
Green’s historical notes at the end of the book offer fascinating details about the real-life people and events that inspired him to write The Kingdoms of Savannah, which is a masterful and multifaceted work: finely crafted mystery, thought-provoking social commentary and an indelible portrait of a complicated city.
The Kingdoms of Savannah is a finely crafted mystery, a thought-provoking social commentary and an indelible portrait of the titular city.
Documentary filmmaker Tom Mustill has seen all manner of wondrous things. But those awe-inspiring experiences, including collaborations with David Attenborough and Greta Thunberg, still could not prepare him for the astounding close encounter that fundamentally changed his life.
As the British debut author details in How to Speak Whale: A Voyage Into the Future of Animal Communication, the year was 2015; the location, the waters off Monterey Bay, California; and the context, a kayak tour with his friend and co-paddler, Charlotte, wherein they witnessed 120 humpback whales, each “the size of an airport shuttle bus,” enjoying a massive group buffet. Suddenly, one of the whales breached and landed atop the duo with “a release of energy equivalent to about forty hand grenades.”
A YouTube video of the event went viral, and Mustill found himself the subject of news reports and memes, as well as “a lightning conductor for whale fanatics.” He became a bit of a fanatic, too, when his whale specialist friend Dr. Joy Reidenberg said it seemed as if he and Charlotte had survived because the whale decided to veer to one side in midair. Of course, Mustill mused, there was no way to really know if the whale attempted to spare them. It’s not like he could ask—or could he?
In How to Speak Whale, a mix of thoughtfully explained hard science and colorfully described hands-on adventures (a beachside whale dissection is particularly memorable), Mustill chronicles his incredible journey into the fascinating and profound world of animal communication. He interviews and observes people who are specialists in everything from whale song to bat chirps to interspecies sign language, as well as psychologists, computer scientists, historians, cryptographers, artificial intelligence experts and more.
Thanks to Mustill’s gift for storytelling, it’s as interesting to learn about these experts as the creatures they study. Reidenberg is a particular delight, as is Dr. Roger Payne, whose album of whale song recordings went multiplatinum in 1970. Through it all, there runs an undercurrent of appreciation and wonderment as Mustill gulps down knowledge and determinedly questions whether “decoding animal communications [is] no longer a fantasy but a technical problem.”
Wild (and thrilling!) as that may seem, Mustill’s findings offer hope that someday a book called How to Speak Whale might be more dictionary than discussion, more conversation than exploration.
In How to Speak Whale, Tom Mustill chronicles his incredible journey into the fascinating and profound world of animal communication.
A decade ago, Kat Roberts was an L.A. Times rookie, part of a team working on a high-profile news story about a predatory high school principal. In hopes of jump-starting her career, Kat decided to conduct her own secret side investigation and wow her new boss with the results. But things went terribly wrong, and to this day, she blames the person who sparked her interest in the side story: a young woman named Meg.
Fifteen years ago, Ron Ashton rendered a teenaged Meg Williams homeless. Her mother fell in love with the successful real estate developer and was grateful when he agreed to help refinance their beloved home. Alas, he lied about the documentation as well as about his intentions; Meg’s mom died not long after, leaving her daughter alone to deal with unresolved grief and sudden housing insecurity.
But an incandescently angry Meg determinedly clawed her way to solvency one con job at a time, with impeccably thorough research as her secret weapon and terrible men as her favored targets. She’s become very, very good at conning people: As she asserts in the opening pages of Julie Clark’s intricate and engrossing The Lies I Tell, “By the time you’re saying nice to meet you, I’ve already known you for months. Does this worry you? It should.”
In present-day Los Angeles, a Google alert lets Kat know that Meg’s returned to town, right in the middle of Ashton’s run for state senate. A strong researcher herself, Kat has some idea of Meg’s backstory, plus her current false identity as a real estate agent. Kat resolves to use that information to launch a con of her own: She’ll pose as a potential buyer, befriend Meg and twist trust into revenge. Or will she?
It’s an exciting premise, bolstered by intriguingly detailed descriptions of Meg’s various ruses, compelling character growth and lots of slow-building tension via complex manipulation. Clark, author of New York Times bestseller The Last Flight, has yet again crafted a fascinating pair of women who wrestle with trauma, sexism, identity and whether it’s ever okay to do bad things for good reasons.
Julie Clark's intricate and engrossing suspense novel is the story of a con artist, a reporter and whether it's okay to do bad things for good reasons.
Debut author Margaret Aitken offers up the story of the superhero we didn’t know we needed: Undercover Granny! Bursting with color and movement, Old Friends is a sweetly funny story about intergenerational friendship.
Marjorie is a little girl with a penchant for baking, gardening, crafting and listening to Glen Miller records. She used to share these passions with her beloved Granny, the one person who truly understood her. Nobody else in Marjorie’s orbit thinks crafting is cool or wants to spend time perfecting their scones, and she’s too young to join an online hobby group.
Serendipity strikes when Marjorie strolls past the community center one day. A sign promoting a “senior citizen friends group” not only lists activities that seem perfectly tailored to her interests but also proclaims “New members welcome!” Alas, Marjorie is prevented from joining the group. “Kids club is that way,” explains a well-intentioned woman in the community center lobby. Undeterred, Marjorie reflects that “Granny didn’t give up easily . . . and neither would she!” After acquiring a pair of glasses, a fuzzy cardigan and some flour to powder her hair, Undercover Granny is ready for action.
But then—oh, no! Amid all energetic cha-cha-cha-ing with her new friends, Marjorie’s disguise slips off, revealing her true identity. (Don’t miss the community center cat’s shocked expression, a hilarious wonder to behold.) What will happen now?
Aitken’s playful use of language, from clever alliteration to suspense-building ellipses, will keep readers turning the pages with anticipation. So, too, will illustrator Lenny Wen’s vibrant, energetic spreads, which brim with tantalizing details such as a rainbow of outfits that celebrate pattern mixing, expertly textured leafy plants and shaggy rugs, and a twirling, whirling dance party. Cha-cha-cha!
The seniors’ compassionate response to Marjorie’s subterfuge is a poignant reminder that there’s no age limit on friendship. After all, as bow-tie aficionado Arthur reveals, “On the inside, we still feel like kids. Just like you.” Readers of every generation will delight in Old Friends‘ joyful tone and affirming message—and its superb surprise ending, too.
In this sweetly funny book, Marjorie misses the hobbies she shared with her grandmother, so she goes incognito and joins a “senior citizens friend group.”
When something seems too good to be true, it probably is. In her U.S. debut, Miss Aldridge Regrets, British author Louise Hare illustrates that idea with deliciously suspenseful, Agatha Christie-esque results.
The year is 1936, the place is Soho, London, and the star of the show is 26-year-old Lena Aldridge. She has a regular gig at the Canary Club, owned by sleazy criminal Tommy Scarsdale. When she’s not singing, she goes on dates with her married lover and tries not to think about how much she misses her late father, Alfie.
Every day, Lena wonders: Will her big break ever come? The future’s looking bleak, but then a stranger named Charles Bacon appears with an astonishing proposal. His employer, an old friend of Alfie’s, is offering Lena a role in his Broadway play, and he’ll pay for first-class passage to New York City aboard RMS Queen Mary. Lena is thrilled and trepidatious, but then her boyfriend dumps her. And then Tommy’s murdered. After deciding that fate is urging her to exit stage right, Lena sets sail.
Readers will be enchanted by the period charm of Hare’s ocean liner setting and will swoon as Lena gets to know Will, a Black musician. Will notices right away that Lena is also Black, even though she’s been successfully passing as white for years. Lena knows that being Black will be even more of an issue in America than it was in England, a big change she’s not sure she’s ready for.
She’s also not ready for what happens on the Queen Mary: Someone murders one of the Abernathys, a wealthy family that Charles insisted Lena spend time schmoozing. As the ship glides across the Atlantic, its posh sheen gradually dulls in the wake of destructive secrets and even more murders. Everyone’s a suspect, and the red herrings pile up as an alarmed Lena thinks, “I felt as though I were trapped inside my own detective novel.” Readers will enjoy playing sleuth, racing to figure out who did it, how and why, even as they ponder the ultimate question: Will Lena survive the trip to New York unscathed?
Miss Aldridge Regrets' 1930s ocean liner setting will enchant mystery readers even as author Louise Hare seeds disquiet and red herrings amid all the glam.
What better to read on a hot summer day than a chilling thriller set in, well, Iceland? In Outside, Reykjavik native and internationally bestselling author Ragnar Jónasson turns the snowy “fjord-indented coastline [and] reindeer-haunted wilderness” of the Nordic island’s eastern highlands into an antagonist just as dangerous to the book’s central characters as the murderer (or perhaps murderers?) in their midst.
At first, there’s no thought of life-threatening peril when four college friends reunite for a woodsy weekend hike to hunt ptarmigan and catch up on one another’s lives. There’s Daniel, an aspiring actor who lives in London; Gunnlaugur, an argumentative lawyer; Helena, an inscrutable engineer; and Ormann, a wealthy tour company owner and leader of their trip.
An unexpected blizzard catches the quartet off guard, its fierce winds and zero visibility sending them into survival mode. Ormann knows of a hut they can hole up in until the worst of the weather passes—but just getting there is onerous as the snow piles higher, the air gets colder and the mostly amateur hikers’ nerves become frayed.
Once they get to the cabin, things get even scarier as frustration transforms into fear and life-or-death decisions are made more difficult by years-old resentments boiling up to the surface. Their paranoia grows in the cabin’s suffocatingly small space as Helena thinks to herself, “Guns, isolation, fear, and uncertainty—they were such an explosive cocktail.”
Jónasson inspires fast page turns via quick cuts among the four characters as they reflect on the past (so many secrets!) and frantically strategize about the present. Mini cliffhangers keep the story humming along; the author doesn’t shy away from ending chapters with lines like, “He had never been so afraid in his life.”
Spare prose and brisk pacing make for an immersive read that’s less about the individual characters and more about what they become when they’re forced together, no longer able to dissemble or hide. Will they work together to save themselves before it’s too late? Can they? Outside is an intriguing study of isolation, claustrophobia and the particular menace to be found in beautiful yet unforgiving terrain.
Outside is an intriguing study of isolation, claustrophobia and the particular menace to be found in beautiful yet unforgiving terrain.
Smart, tenacious teen sleuths star in three remarkable mystery novels. These detectives have curious minds, a knack for sussing out secrets and a thirst for justice.
★ Hollow Fires
In Samira Ahmed’s powerful Hollow Fires, 17-year-old aspiring journalist Safiya Mirza describes herself as “a giddy teen rom-com cliché, but with more panic and terror churning in the mix.”
True, the high school senior does enjoy fun times with friends and a budding romance with a handsome classmate at Chicago’s private DuSable Preparatory High School, where she’s a scholarship student. But Safiya is also deeply troubled by the disappearance of 14-year-old Jawad Ali, a freshman at a nearby public school. When Jawad brought a cosplay jetpack to class, his English teacher mistook it for a bomb and he was arrested, suspended and dubbed “Bomb Boy” by right-wing media. Jawad was quickly cleared of all charges, but he and his family became the targets of harassment, unfounded accusations of terrorism and death threats.
Jawad’s disappearance attracts scant press coverage or police interest, so Safiya angrily decides to investigate on her own. She’s urged on by a soft but insistent voice that she realizes is Jawad, imploring her to find him so his parents can find closure amid their fear and grief.
When Safiya discovers Jawad’s body, some questions are answered, but even more are raised about who could’ve done such a horrible thing. Classism and racism abound at school and in Safiya’s neighborhood; could the culprit be someone she’s encountered? After all, as Jawad muses, “The most terrifying monsters are the ones you know.”
Ahmed unfurls this story through chapters that alternate between Safiya’s and Jawad’s perspectives, while also layering in news articles, blog posts, phone transcripts, tweets and other social media posts. The result is a compelling portrait of how hate spreads, radicalization takes root and danger grows.
In an author’s note, Ahmed shares that she wrote Hollow Fires to call on readers to “step forward, to face the truth of all we are.” Her devastating and inspiring book is at once a gripping thriller and a passionate call for change that’s urgent and timely—and sadly, also timeless.
Murder for the Modern Girl
As 1927 turns to 1928 in Chicago, Ruby Newhouse toasts the new year in a “party frock that was practically required by law to set heads turning.” The sassy 18-year-old daughter of the Cook County state’s attorney is gorgeous, and she knows it. She also knows what everyone around her is thinking, because she can read minds “like a supernatural radio antenna.”
Ruby keeps that power secret, while using it to reduce the number of terrible men who prey on vulnerable women in her beloved city. Poison is her preferred method (the lethal stuff fits nicely in tiny needles or hollowed-out hairpins), and so far, she’s gotten away with it.
But in Kendall Kulper’s sparklingly clever Murder for the Modern Girl, Ruby’s anonymity and freedom are threatened when a young morgue employee named Guy Rosewood begins investigating a strange series of poisonings in an effort to impress Dr. Gregory C. Keene. The doctor’s research on cellular metamorphosis has been met with derision, but Guy is a shape-shifter who desperately wants to control his abilities, and he believes Dr. Keene could help him learn how.
When Guy meets Ruby, he wants to impress her as well—not realizing she’s the vigilante he seeks. And when Ruby discovers Guy’s secret, she agrees to keep it quiet while charming him into assisting her as she tries to track down the people responsible for an attempt on her father’s life.
Ruby leverages sexism (underestimation!) and sexiness (distraction!) to her advantage as she pursues her quarry; Guy assists when he’s not pursuing his own mysterious goals. Both characters are intelligent, caring and driven by a shared belief that, as Ruby says, “you’ve gotta protect the weak and punish the wicked.” Murder for the Modern Girl is a smart, suspenseful and action-packed period piece that thoughtfully explores whether all crimes are truly criminal..
Gideon Green in Black and White
As the title of Katie Henry’s winning and inventive Gideon Green in Black and White indicates, the 16-year-old Gideon Green spends a lot of time immersed in absolutes. For example, since honesty is the best policy, Gideon doesn’t understand why everyone keeps getting mad any time he merely states the truth, however inconvenient.
Gideon’s penchant for clarity is bolstered by his favorite noir films, which he watches every day after school. Despite his frustrated dad’s pleas that he consider a new hobby, Gideon finds comfort in the movies’ familiar beats. He also emulates his noir detective idols by wearing a trenchcoat and fedora, never mind that he lives in sunny California.
Although Gideon is impressively astute, he didn’t understand why his best friend, Lily Krupitsky-Sharma, ghosted him in middle school. But Lily approaches him as the book opens. She wants a promotion to editor-in-chief of the school newspaper next year and thinks a splashy investigative feature will do the trick. Will Gideon help her secretly investigate a recent uptick in their town’s nonviolent crime rates?
Lily gets Gideon a copy editing gig as a cover, and he revels in being welcomed to the tightknit staff, led by lovely editor-in-chief Tess. For the first time, Gideon feels like he’s part of something, but too soon, there’s another first: discovering a dead body in the course of the investigation.
Gideon’s interactions with his town’s police officers are a hoot, thanks to the cops’ exasperation at his confident matter-of-factness. His blooming romance with Tess is delightful, too, as is his growing awareness that there might be more to life than being precisely correct. It’s enjoyable to watch Gideon discover meaning in the grays. Gideon often contemplates how scenes might unfold differently if his life were a noir film, complete with excerpts from the movie scripts in his imagination, upping the fun factor in this highly entertaining, empathetic mystery.
Can you solve these cases before their teenage detectives? There’s only one way to find out.
Sometimes when tragedy strikes, a family draws closer, weaving itself into a tightly intertwined bulwark against heartache. Other times, however, tragedy can drive family members apart as they try to avoid feeling—let alone expressing—their grief.
The titular 11-year-old protagonist of Zoraida Córdova’s heartfelt and imaginative Valentina Salazar Is Not a Monster Hunter would never have predicted the latter outcome for her family. As far back as Valentina can remember, the Salazars have been dedicated monster rescuers, scooping up magical beings that stumble into this dimension and sending them back to the realm of Finisterra before monster hunters can find and perhaps kill them.
However, in the eight months since their father died on a mission gone horribly awry, the Salazars have been trying to live a more ordinary life. Their mother moved the family to upstate New York, took a job in the city and retired their tricked-out camper van, the Scourge, to the garage. Everyone has adjusted pretty well to the changes, but Valentina can’t stop wishing she could repair her family’s close bonds and get them all back to doing what they were born to do.
A viral video provides the opportunity Valentina needs: A boy discovers an unusual-looking egg and believes it to be a dragon egg. Millions of viewers are watching online as the egg seems ready to hatch at any moment, but Valentina knows it’s a recipe for disaster. After all, her father often liked to say that “people liked the idea of magical beasts, but if they knew the truth? They wouldn’t be able to handle it.” Valentina convinces her siblings to climb back into the Scourge and race to the egg before any TV reporters or monster hunters get there—and before something terrible happens.
Córdova sends her characters on a delightfully detailed wild ride of a road trip. As they visit foreboding and fantastical locales, Valentina and her siblings encounter monsters of all stripes, from sinuous, threatening beasts to creatures so cute and fluffy you’ll wish they were real. Monsters appear in the most unexpected places, as do humans scarier than any mythical creature.
Valentina Salazar Is Not a Monster Hunter swirls fantasy, adventure, comedy, action, coming-of-age and even a few hints of romance into a magical, memorable elixir of a story. Córdova makes a powerful case for friendship, imagination and hope as she reminds readers that “not everything that looks like a monster is monstrous.”
This heartfelt elixir of a story combines fantasy, adventure, comedy, action and coming-of-age for an unforgettable wild ride.
Meg Williams, the magnetic central character of Julie Clark’s new novel, The Lies I Tell, is a highly intelligent woman with a gift for transforming social graces into social engineering. She’s always learning, adept at innovating on the fly. But unlike other “disruptors,” such as the tech bro founders of hot new startups, Meg is a con artist with 10 years of experience (and counting).
Despite that decidedly dodgy resume, Meg makes for a compelling protagonist as she attempts to right both personal and systemic wrongs, one awful man at a time. Her methods are strategic and well tested: She trawls social media to ascertain things like a target’s wealth, trusted friends or favorite coffee shop. Then she insinuates herself into their life in a way that seems casual but is absolutely calculated, playing whatever role is required to breach their boundaries and defenses.
As The Lies I Tell begins, Meg is back in California after many years away, and she has set her sights on Los Angeles politician Ron Ashton, who tricked Meg’s mother out of their family home some 15 years ago, a life-altering injustice Meg has long wanted to rectify.
In a call to her home in Santa Monica, California, Clark says her deep dive into the world of chicanery and subterfuge involved research on everything from business development to the California real estate market to the typical mindset of the successful grifter. “I learned about the psychology of it, the different types of cons and con artists throughout history,” she says.
Clark is familiar with con women prominent in the current zeitgeist, too, from the likes of disgraced Theranos founder Elizabeth Holmes to the imprisoned faux socialite Anna Delvey. But Clark says that The Lies I Tell‘s Meg is a very different type of person. “I didn’t want her to be working with a team of people; she needed to be isolated and on her own,” she says. “But I also wanted her to be likable. And I wanted her to not leave destruction and despair in her wake.”
“I love it when you can root for somebody who’s doing something wrong and still want them to succeed.”
Whether she’s writing about two women who make a spur-of-the-moment decision to swap identities in a busy airport (the plot of her 2020 New York Times bestseller, The Last Flight) or pitting Meg against her dauntless rival, journalist Kat Roberts, Clark nimbly avoids misogynistic stereotypes. “That’s just not what I do as a writer,” she says. “The women that I write, they’re strong, they’re savvy, they’re quick on their feet.”
Kat is convinced that Meg is the reason her life went terribly awry ten years ago, when Kat’s investigation into a predatory high school principal resulted in a deeply traumatic experience. Meg is the person who started Kat down that path, and once Kat realizes the con artist is back in California, she decides it’s time for a reckoning. She figures she’ll take a page from Meg’s playbook and gain her trust before making her pay for what she’s done.
Readers who admired the alternating points of view in The Last Flight will be happy to know that Clark returns to that structure in The Lies I Tell. Details of the pain and injustice that drive both women toward retribution—their origin stories, if you will—unspool across the pages, and both characters struggle to maintain their relentless sense of self-righteousness, even as they deceive others with relative ease.
The process of gradually realizing, scam by scam, layer by layer, what compels Meg to lie, cheat and steal is as captivating as the beguiling con artist herself, and Kat comes to a similar realization as she spends time in close proximity to the woman she thinks is the locus of all her miseries. “I want to climb inside Meg’s mind, inside her life, and piece it all together, dot by dot,” Kat muses. “Take something from her, the way she took everything from me.” But what Kat doesn’t anticipate is that they will end up becoming friends of a sort, establishing an easy (albeit lie-saturated) camaraderie. There is a delicious tension as they circle each other, probing for the truths that lie beneath each other’s facades, determined to get what they want before they’re found out or somebody skips town.
“At the beginning of the book,” Clark says, “Kat thinks she knows what she wants, which is to expose Meg, get her career back on track, be the writer she wanted to be when everything was pulled out from under her. But by the end of the book, she realizes she needs something different.”
It’s a theme the author often returns to in her work. “I talk a lot about an emotional third rail,” she says, “the way the characters grow and change as a result of trying to get what they want and what they need. And what they want and what they need are often not the same thing. I think that is the heart of every book I’ve written so far and probably will continue to be part of every book that I write.”
Clark gets a lot of practice identifying and exploring characters’ evolutions in her other job as a fifth grade teacher. “At the end of every book we read, my students have to answer the question, what is this book really about? What is it that the author wants you thinking about when you’re done?” she says. “I have to answer that same question with every book that I write. . . . With The Last Flight, it was about female empowerment, it was about trauma, it was about reclaiming your voice, it was about getting a second chance. And then with The Lies I Tell, it’s about justice, it’s about taking back what you think belongs to you.”
As Meg says in the book, “The difference between justice and revenge comes down to who’s telling the story,” and it’s important to Clark that readers feel some empathy for and identify with her central con woman. “That doesn’t mean there aren’t moments where you won’t trust what she’s saying or wonder what her motivation is—but at the same time, you’re still rooting for her,” she explains. “That’s what I wanted more than anything. I love it when you can root for somebody who’s doing something wrong and still want them to succeed.”
It’s particularly easy to root for Meg when she encounters sexism everywhere and doesn’t let her justifiable anger keep her from adroitly turning it to her advantage. Smugness and condescension from men, she realizes, can have its benefits. “She realizes that it’s actually really easy for her to [con people] because she’s a woman, because people don’t take women seriously,” Clark says.
While other characters may not take the novel’s leading ladies at their word, it’s important to Clark that readers do. “When I sat down to write [these] female characters . . . it just didn’t feel right to me to portray them as unreliable. I love the unreliable narrator as a reader! It’s super fun to figure out! But I’m not really inclined to perpetuate that stereotype for women, being a woman myself.”
Fortunately, Clark says, “people have been really receptive. I haven’t had a single reader say, ‘I wish you would’ve made them more unreliable.’ In fact, I get the opposite.” She adds, “I think people are hungry for that. I think they like to see characters they can count on. A character doesn’t always have to be 100% honest with the reader’we’re not 100% honest with people in our lives or even with ourselves’but the intention has to be good.”
Clark says that she feels an obligation to herself, her sons and her readers to portray women in an empowering and positive way. “We’re hardworking, sane, determined people who are not going to back down from a challenge. Those are the women that I know,” she says. “So that’s who you’re going to get when you pick up a book from me.”
The author of 2020's blockbuster thriller The Last Flight doesn't need unreliable narrators to keep fans frantically turning the pages of her follow-up novel.
All three of these gorgeous and talented authors have played pivotal roles in movies that are meaningful to fans worldwide. Their Tinseltown lives are glamorous, to be sure, but their heartfelt life stories reveal a darker side to fame, where inspirational journeys and cautionary tales collide.
★ Out of the Corner
Jennifer Grey knows that her life has been charmed from the beginning. As a child, her famous parents took her to holiday parties with the likes of Stephen Sondheim, Patti LuPone and Leonard Bernstein. But although she breathed in rarefied air, Grey felt lonely and lacking. The rising star of her father, Joel Grey, meant the family moved numerous times, and so many instances of starting over, with her parents largely absent, took a heavy toll.
In Out of the Corner: A Memoir, Grey writes, “I’d been so consumed by feeling abandoned that I hadn’t seen the ways I had abandoned myself.” In the decades before she reached that perspective, the actress searched—for affection, connection, approval—even as she achieved great fame.
Grey became America’s sweetheart in 1987, thanks to her indelible work as Baby Houseman in Dirty Dancing, but as she reveals with raw and moving candor, her sunny smile at the premiere belied her physical and emotional suffering. Just before the film’s debut, she and then-boyfriend Matthew Broderick were in a head-on car crash in which two people died. Even before that, her relationship with Broderick had turned toxic, and she’d had other unhealthy relationships earlier in her life. “My first drug of choice was romantic fantasy,” she writes. Other drugs followed, amplifying behavioral patterns from which she’s worked to recover—efforts she recounts with empathy for her former self and encouragement for those with similar struggles.
Grey also addresses what she calls “Schnozageddon”—when a revision rhinoplasty famously and irrevocably altered her face and professional identity—with bravery and clarity. And when she writes about dance, her prose sings with gratitude for the lifelong pursuit that’s taken her marvelous places, from Dirty Dancing to “Dancing With the Stars.” Time and again, Grey reveals herself to be tenacious and dedicated to the show going on—a fitting metaphor for a singular life, which she shares with wit, warmth and wisdom.
★ We Were Dreamers
Simu Liu’s fans are enchanted by his previous work as a stock photo model. They loved him in the Canadian sitcom “Kim’s Convenience.” And they rejoiced when he landed the lead in Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings. He shares these stories and more in his engaging, uplifting memoir, We Were Dreamers: An Immigrant Superhero Origin Story.
Liu has had an incredible journey so far, but as with any origin story, it hasn’t been without painful obstacles. We Were Dreamers begins with his 1989 birth in Harbin, China, where he lived with his loving grandparents for four years. Then his parents, engineers who had moved abroad after he was born, brought Liu to Canada to join them. After so many years of pursuing a better life, they were not interested in Liu’s dreams for his own life, and they emotionally and physically abused him when he couldn’t achieve their definition of perfection.
As a young adult, getting laid off from an accounting job for which he was spectacularly ill suited brought shame but also opportunity, as Liu finally felt free to try out performing gigs, from acting to stunts to playing Spider-Man at kids’ parties. He recounts his step-by-step approach, providing a helpful blueprint for other aspiring artists who lack a supportive family or industry connections. For him, this plan worked marvelously: He obtained life-changing work as an actor in the U.S. and became an advocate for Asian representation in media in the process.
As an adult, Liu forged a truce with his parents, and he writes that “families today could learn from us and steer themselves from the same mistakes.” A compelling case for pursuing an authentic life, We Were Dreamers provides fascinating insight into a newly minted Marvel superhero who wants readers to take to the skies along with him.
Since birth, Selma Blair has struggled to unstick the labels others applied to her. As an infant, she had a sneer on her tiny face that caused neighbors and family to call her a “mean baby.” As she grew older, her mother said she wasn’t enough—pretty enough, thin enough, good enough, talented enough . . . the list goes on. And yet, as Blair writes in her painfully lovely Mean Baby: A Memoir of Growing Up, “I lived for her approval.”
Although that approval was ever elusive, Blair loved her mother. However, she had learned from her mother that if she showed she was in pain, it would only be met with laughter. So even as Blair began to experience strange sensations in her limbs, facial pain and other ailments that lasted for decades, she told herself she was fine. Fans already know where this is going: In 2018, Blair was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. As she writes with a poignant mixture of grief and relief, “There is great power in words. In an answer. In a diagnosis. To make sense of a plot you could hardly keep up with any longer.”
Blair writes about what fans may not know, too, such as her alcohol addiction that began at age 7 and surged and receded over the years. Blair also shares many thrilling Hollywood encounters, vividly conveying the profound feeling of disorientation that was her constant companion even as she starred in movies like Cruel Intentions, Legally Blonde and Hellboy; modeled for high-end fashion magazines; and developed friendships with the likes of Sarah Michelle Gellar, Karl Lagerfeld and Carrie Fisher.
Blair drew from her journals, her favorite books and her love of writing to craft this memoir, which is an elegiac contemplation of her life through the lens of a chronic illness that only recently made her past clear. For those seeking a similar sense of enlightenment, reading Mean Baby is a worthy and affecting undertaking.
Memoirs by Jennifer Grey, Simu Liu and Selma Blair reveal that even out-of-this-world stars have down-to-earth problems.
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