Aniana del Mar knows how to keep a secret. At her papi’s insistence, Ani keeps her swim meets and the medals she wins hidden from her mami, who fears the water after a hurricane destroyed her home and killed her brother. So when Ani’s body starts to ache, her joints swelling and her limbs radiating with pain, it’s not a difficult decision for Ani to keep it all a secret in order to continue swimming.

But then one morning, Ani wakes up in so much pain that she cannot move, and her life changes irrevocably. To help her doctors understand what might be happening, Ani must reveal to them—and to her mami—the truth about swimming. After Ani is diagnosed with juvenile idiopathic arthritis (JIA), she feels as though she’s losing her swim team, her ability to focus in school and her mami’s trust. She clings to her hope of getting back in the water, but how can she convince her family to let her swim again when all they seem to do is worry? 

Characters with chronic pain are underrepresented in children’s literature, and in Aniana del Mar Jumps In, Dominican American debut author Jasminne Mendez offers a welcome addition to this small but growing group. The novel has many strengths, including Mendez’s excellent portrayal of Ani’s family and skillful juxtaposition of Ani’s religious mother with her more spiritual godmother, but it shines brightest in Mendez’s approach to writing about Ani’s JIA.

Ani’s initial realization that her aches aren’t typical, her choice to conceal her pain and the spiraling effects of that choice all offer realistic glimpses of what it’s like to deal with chronic illness at a young age. After her diagnosis, Ani struggles with the disconnect between how everyone around her treats her—as someone who is courageous but fragile—and the fact that she views herself as a girl who isn’t brave, but just “managing [her] life now.” Her realization that she’ll never be able to return to being “Old Ani” is reassuring and empowering. In a poem titled “New Ani,” she reflects, “New Ani knows that this is her body and she can / decide what to do with it. // New Ani is learning that she is strong enough, / like Galveston, to survive storm surges and sea sickness.”

Mendez conveys all of this through clever, accessible narrative verse. She makes creative use of added space between words, lines and letters (l i k e  so), as well as capitalization (“DriBbLe CrOsSoVeR / SHOOT!”). Young readers will not only immediately recognize many of these techniques from their own text messages but also be able to easily replicate them within their own poetry. For those especially eager to try their hand, Mendez includes a short guide to the various poetic forms she employed.

Aniana del Mar Jumps In will be enjoyed by aspiring poets and readers who like moving novels in verse such as Jasmine Warga’s Other Words for Home and Andrea Beatriz Arango’s Iveliz Explains It All. It will strike an even deeper chord with any reader who, like Ani, has experienced chronic pain—even if they try not to let it show.

Eb didn’t mean to mess up Flow’s brand-new shoes, and Flow would never hit a girl, but in Kelly J. Baptist’s Eb & Flow, an accident leads to angry words, then a fistfight and then a 10-day suspension from school for seventh graders Ebony (Eb) and De’Kari (Flow). As they stare down two weeks at home, where they’ll be surrounded by parents, grandparents, siblings, cousins, chores, homework and a whole lot of time to think, Eb and Flow must find a way to explain to their families and friends—and to themselves—what really happened.

During the suspension, Flow works through a list of chores from his mom and sneaks over to the rec center to swim. (His passion for the pool is why he likes to be called Flow.) Meanwhile, Eb is stuck at her grandmother’s house, even though her mom only lives a few miles away. She has to babysit her nephew, and she can’t even have her phone, because her grandma took it away. 

With each passing day, the situation between Eb and Flow evolves and escalates. At first, readers have only a murky awareness of the fight and the circumstances leading up to it, but Baptist slowly and brilliantly peels back the layers of Eb’s and Flow’s motivations and histories. A video of the altercation gets shared among their classmates, siblings and friends, and Eb and Flow tussle over the ways they’re each responsible for what happened. Each revelation forces readers to see the two characters anew. 

Baptist writes Eb & Flow in fluid free verse that alternates between Eb’s and Flow’s perspectives. The suspension gives the novel its structure, with each day composing one chapter. Baptist also skillfully highlights parallels between Eb’s and Flow’s lives, then braids them together in a realistic, satisfying conclusion. Expertly crafted with two wonderfully complex characters at its core, Eb & Flow is a masterful, moving middle grade novel.

Twelve-year-old Lawrence and his family have had “a double dose of hard lately.” His dad left his mom and has been in and out of prison ever since, and Lawrence, his mom and little sister have recently moved from Charlotte to “the middle of Nowhere, North Carolina,” to live with Lawrence’s no-nonsense grandmother. When Lawrence is expelled from his new, mostly white middle school for fighting, Granny is quick to quash his plan to stay home and watch TV. 

When Mr. Dennis, who lives nearby, spots Lawrence walking aimlessly around the neighborhood, he invites the boy to join him at the local rec center, where he teaches Lawrence to play competitive chess. “Chess is a game for thinkers,” Mr. Dennis explains, and through the game, Lawrence learns lessons that apply to both chess and life, such as the importance of seeing the big picture and how to plan ahead and avoid falling into enemy traps. He also connects with other kids at the rec center, including brilliant Twyla, who captures his heart, and combative Deuce, who turns out to share something important in common with Lawrence.

In Not an Easy Win, author Chrystal D. Giles turns chess into a drama-filled endeavor that reaches its peak when Lawrence returns to Charlotte to compete in a junior chess tournament. These scenes are filled with all the tension and thrill of a high-stakes athletic final, and even readers with little or no knowledge of chess will be lured in.

Lawrence makes an appealing narrator, and his honesty will quickly win readers over. Giles has a knack for believable turns of phrase that memorably convey Lawrence’s emotions. For instance, when Lawrence recalls the day he was expelled, he observes, “There’s something about being constantly reminded that I’m different that makes me extra edgy, like a revved-up engine ready to spin out.”

Giles explains in an author’s note that, like Lawrence, she grew up in “a multigenerational home . . . with a parent who was absent and often incarcerated,” which led to “moments of embarrassment and shame.” Lawrence’s father doesn’t appear in the novel, but his son maintains a significant, supportive connection with him through an old iPod filled with his favorite songs. 

As Lawrence thinks back to how he felt when he first moved to his new home, he recalls wishing that his family could be “a normal family. I’d already figured out normal wasn’t real. Still, that didn’t stop anyone from wanting it.” With understanding and authenticity, Giles captures Lawrence’s feelings of confusion, displacement, anger, sadness and, eventually, hope. Not an Easy Win is a meaningful, moving read, especially for those who feel misunderstood or out of place. 

Anya is about to become a Moth Keeper, a guardian tasked with protecting the Moon-Moths. According to the lore in Anya’s desert village, the moths were a gift from the Moon-Spirit, who wished to show her gratitude for the villagers’ choice to forswear daylight. Instead, they live their waking hours at night so the Moon-Spirit doesn’t have to be alone. Every year, the luminous Moon-Moths pollinate the Night-Flower tree, which the village relies on to thrive.

At first, Anya is convinced that caring for the moths will keep her “warm inside even on long, cold nights,” but the temptation of daylight chips away at her resolve. When the solitude and darkness become too much, Anya makes a decision with consequences that ripple across the desert and history itself. In The Moth Keeper, Eisner Award-winning graphic novelist K. O’Neill portrays how isolation can break even the strongest will, but a supportive community can mend all rifts.

O’Neill (The Tea Dragon Society, Aquicorn Cove) has established themself as a phenomenal graphic novel creator for middle grade audiences. Their work often explores themes of community and the natural world, and The Moth Keeper is no exception. In one scene, Anya’s friend Estell tells her about the essential role that the Night-Flower tree’s pollen plays in the desert: “That’s the magic of it—it’s part of the rhythm of nature. Everything is connected.” 

In their signature style, O’Neill’s soft, gentle artwork invites readers into a fantasy world dominated by every shade of blue and yellow. O’Neill plays subtly with graphics conventions to great effect. By eliminating the gutter when folktales are being told, for instance, they convey the larger-than-life significance of the stories to the village’s culture. Similarly, double-page spreads of the vast, rolling desert landscape capture “the smallness one feels standing amid such scenery,” as O’Neill explains in an afterword.

O’Neill’s books have a singular quality that makes them difficult to compare to anyone else’s work, aside from their own. Although its world building isn’t quite as rich as in the Tea Dragon series and the character development not as deep as in Aquicorn Cove, The Moth Keeper is still a charming story that will delight O’Neill’s fans and new readers alike, drawing them in like Moon-Moths to a lantern. 

In a note included with advance copies of Gillian McDunn’s fifth novel, the middle grade author shares that When Sea Becomes Sky is her “once-in-a-lifetime-book.” It is an undeniably beautiful story made for pondering and revisiting, and a tale that readers will surely treasure.

It’s been almost a year since rain fell on Pelican Island, a lovely place amid the coastal Carolina salt marshes where 11-year-old Bex and 9-year-old Davey live with their parents. In the summertime, Mom, a biology teacher, kayaks around collecting samples and specimens; Dad pilots a ferryboat and writes poetry; and Bex, Davey, and Davey’s cat, Squish, row out to the Thumb, their favorite spot on the island. The isolated, peaceful area contains a huge old live oak tree in which Squish lounges, Davey reads and Bex valiantly tries to conquer her writer’s block. 

But then, as Bex and Davey are enjoying their “just-us kind of summer,” two strange things appear. First, they find an orange X painted on their tree, a harbinger of a bridge-development project that will bring more tourism to the island while destroying so much of what the siblings hold dear. The second surprise might offer a solution: As the drought drags on, a statue slowly emerges from the marshy water at the Thumb, and Bex and Davey think they might be able to use it to stop the development project.

Bex convinces Davey to keep the statue a secret so they can figure out its origin without the interference of grown-ups, but they’ll have to hurry. The developers will break ground soon, and it’s going to be really hard for Bex and Davey to keep their investigation hidden from their parents and island neighbors for long. 

McDunn creates delicious and often funny tension as Bex and Davey sneak around in search of answers and discover even more questions. Readers will be intrigued and moved as they join the inseparable pair in their musings: If something is fleeting, does that make it less meaningful? What does it mean to endure? What does moving on look like, and is it different from leaving something—or someone—behind?

Illustrations by Yaoyao Ma Van As heighten the sense of place, and readers will practically smell the island’s salty air as they’re reminded of the importance of conservation and stewardship. When Sea Becomes Sky is an emotional, realistic chronicle of a special summer that considers big questions and appreciates quiet moments with mastery, compassion and care.

If you’ve done any amount of air travel, you know that airports are perfect places for people-watching. And if you’ve ever encountered a flight delay, you’ve seen firsthand how overcrowded terminals combined with the frustration of changed or canceled plans can become a recipe for a uniquely stressful environment. That mixture makes a busy Chicago airport the perfect setting for You Are Here: Connecting Flights, a collection of linked short stories written by a dozen of the most acclaimed Asian American writers for children and young adults and featuring Asian American characters discovering their strengths and voices.

You Are Here opens with Christina Soontornvat’s contribution, which follows a boy named Paul as he prepares to pass through airport security with his parents, little sister and grandmother for a flight to Thailand. He learns that his grandmother has a secret in her carry-on bag, which begins a chain reaction that reverberates throughout several other stories.

The collection takes place on the weekend before Independence Day, so many characters are heading off on summer adventures, such as Mike Chen’s Lee, a talented Chinese American guitarist who’s en route to visit his uncle, and Susan Tan’s Ari, who’s navigating the recent divorce between her Jewish mother and her Chinese father. Others are preparing to discover their heritage through visits to their family’s countries of origin, though Meredith Ireland’s Mindy isn’t as eager to visit her Korean birthplace as her white adoptive dads seem to be.

Many characters experience racism and must find ways to counter stereotypes, including some that are internalized. Characters’ paths cross just like they would at a real airport, and careful readers will enjoy discovering how the stories intertwine in clever and revealing ways.

You Are Here was edited by We Need Diverse Books co-founder Ellen Oh, and it’s the first release from Allida, a new imprint at HarperCollins Children’s Books led by author Linda Sue Park and editor Anne Hoppe; both Oh and Park also contribute stories to the volume. In the book’s back matter, biographies of each author indicate who wrote which story and what contributors like Grace Lin, Minh Le and Erin Entrada Kelly have in common with their characters.

You Are Here vividly illustrates the talents of a diverse group of creators as well as the rich and varied range of Asian American experiences and identities.

In previous bestselling, award-winning books such as The Invention of Hugo Cabret, Wonderstruck and The Marvels, author-illustrator Brian Selznick has centered his richly imagined, deeply cinematic stories on children growing up alone and navigating worlds both dangerous and wonderful. Selznick explores similar themes in Big Tree, but this novel’s children aren’t human; they’re the seeds from a massive sycamore tree.

Louise and her brother Merwin (a nod to the poet W.S. Merwin) have spent their entire lives packed onto a seedball alongside their countless siblings, dangling from a branch of their enormous tree. Like all parents, Mama hopes to give her children “roots to settle down, and wings to bravely go where [they] need to go.” Louise is a dreamer, while Merwin is more of a pragmatist, and when a fire ravages their forest, the two must work together to find a safe place to put down roots. But the world and time itself have more in store for the siblings than even Louise’s wildest flight of imagination could conjure.

It’s not uncommon for middle grade novels to focus on the natural world, but Big Tree’s devotion to plants rather than animals sets it apart. People do make an appearance in the book’s final chapter, but even then, their presence takes a backseat to Louise and Merwin’s story, which spans millennia and poses provocative questions about the relative prominence of the human species when compared with the vast history of planet Earth.

Like many of Selznick’s novels, Big Tree is, well, big. At more than 500 pages, it’s epic and substantial, filled with significance, yet its text is spare and often feels like a fable. The narrative unfolds through both words and pictures, and some plot points are only conveyed visually. Exquisite double-page spreads of Selznick’s signature pencil artwork compose much of the book.

Louise and Merwin’s story is an odyssey, a survival tale and an invitation to think both philosophically and scientifically about the world around us. It’s truly awe inspiring, and it’s sure to prompt readers to bring a sense of wonder to their next walk in the woods.

A boy and his dog—it’s the beginning of a story that’s been told a thousand times. But when the dog is a Bulgarian elf-hound who magically appears in the woods, the story might be a little different. Elf Dog and Owl Head by National Book Award winner M.T. Anderson, with black-and-white illustrations by Junyi Wu, upends familiar tropes with imagination, poignancy and just enough realism to allow the reader to see themselves in at least one character. 

Clay is sick of being stuck in his house with his morose older sister, DiRossi, and obnoxious little sister, Juniper. A global virus has shut down the world, and he hasn’t seen his friends for months. His only escape is to the woods near his house, where he ventures alone—until an amazing white dog comes out of nowhere to protect him from . . . something. “It must have been a bear,” Clay thinks, but was it really?

The beautiful white dog with strange red ears and the name “Elphinore” on her collar follows Clay home, and after some halfhearted searching, it appears that no one is looking for her. Together they begin to explore the depths of the forest. Elphinore leads Clay to places he’s never seen, including past a group of sleeping creatures older than time and to a village filled with owl-headed people, where Clay makes a new friend named Amos. As Clay’s world begins to overlap and clash with these new realms, he must decide where he, Elphinore and Amos all really belong. 

Elf Dog and Owl Head is a sly novel, told in a droll, wry cadence that conceals the increasingly fantastic nature of the story. Just as Clay begins to slowly realize the extent of the hidden worlds around him, so does the reader begin to understand the depth of the story being told. Clay, DiRossi, Juniper, their parents and even Amos and his community each relate to different feelings and situations of the real COVID-19 pandemic, thus allowing all readers to see themselves reflected wholly, not just positively, in the book. 

Anderson’s world, hauntingly rendered in Wu’s bold crosshatched pencil illustrations, is complex, broken, hopeful and real, even in its most fantastical moments. Like Clay, readers will want to continue to explore, even when they feel afraid to take the next step. 

Hamra and the Jungle of Memories is a stunning retelling of “Little Red Riding Hood” that brims with big emotions, big adventure and very big teeth.

Hamra knows the rules about the Langkawi jungle behind her island home in Malaysia: Never enter without asking the jungle’s permission, never use her real name and never take anything that isn’t hers. But the morning of Hamra’s 13th birthday finds her disinclined to heed adults and their inexplicable rules. Her mother, a nurse, is staying at a hospital far away, treating COVID-19 patients; her father is busy delivering supplies to those in need all over the island; and her beloved grandmother is increasingly unrecognizable as dementia steals her memories. 

Feeling frustrated and forgotten, Hamra consciously breaks the rules by taking a magical jambu fruit from the jungle, earning the ire of the powerful weretiger to whom it belongs. The tiger makes Hamra a deal: If she will help him regain his human form, he will forgive her crime and heal her grandmother. What follows is a series of dangerous tasks that take Hamra, her best friend, Ilyas, and the tiger through the jungle and beyond. 

Their journey is a kaleidoscope of mysterious marketplaces, cryptic clues and beautiful monsters. Acclaimed author Hanna Alkaf’s powerful use of imagery and metaphor make Hamra’s inner life of simmering anger and fierce love as vibrant as the magical world around her. All three of the novel’s heroes are persistent and believably flawed, and their mistakes and emotional bonds are as vital to the story as their abilities to ward off killer bees or locate ancient bones. Even the tiger, who originally appears as an unknowable threat, takes on human complexity as his growing friendship with Hamra forces him to face his past.

Perfectly entwined with the narrative’s fairy-tale and folkloric roots are concerns that will feel realistic to young readers. Hamra grapples with the fear and uncertainty brought on by the pandemic, including isolation from school and friends, exhausted parents and the hypocrisies of authorities. The book also explores the sometimes difficult transition from childhood into adolescence and the heartache of watching a family member be transformed by incurable illness. The bravery Hamra shows in the face of these challenges admirably mirrors the valor she displays on her quest. 

Featuring engaging characters and fantastic thrills, Hamra and the Jungle of Memories is an unforgettable adventure.

“I could see why so many stories were set in lighthouses,” thinks Julia, the titular narrator of Julia and the Shark, upon reaching her family’s unusual new home for the summer. “It’s a good place for adventures even before you go inside.”

In this illustrated middle grade novel, award-winning British writer Kiran Millwood Hargrave (The Mercies, The Way Past Winter) sweeps readers off to an intriguing setting: the island of Unst, the northernmost of the Shetland Islands, far beyond Scotland. Julia, her parents and her cat, Noodle, have moved here from their home in Cornwall. They’ll live at the lighthouse, where Julia’s father has been hired to program the light to shine automatically, eliminating the need to employ a lighthouse keeper. 

Julia’s Mum is excited for their Shetland summer too, since she’s a marine biologist and hopes to spot the elusive Greenland shark in the frigid waters off the island. The sharks have lifespans of several hundred years, and as Mum tells Julia, “They seem to be moving so slowly they can actually slow time down. And some researchers believe that we can find out what causes this, and use it to slow time down for humans, too.” Mum’s interest is deeply personal, as Julia’s grandmother died of dementia.

As the summer continues, Julia and her father notice that Mum’s behavior is growing increasingly erratic. Hargrave realistically portrays Mum’s periods of mania, followed by deep depressions, and conveys Julia’s confusion and worry that her mother’s shifting moods are somehow her fault. When Mum attempts suicide and is hospitalized, Julia sets off to find a Greenland shark all on her own, but the quest soon puts her in grave danger.

Hargrave uses the remote Shetland setting to great advantage while skillfully exploring themes of parental mental illness, bullying, the natural world and scientific discovery. The recurring motif of the shark lends environmental interest and a touch of mysticism to the story, as the shark becomes a symbol of success, redemption and healing for both Julia and her mother. 

Illustrations by Tom de Freston, Hargrave’s husband, memorably enhance the novel. De Freston uses a limited color palette of black, white, gray and bright yellow to capture the swirling sea and the vastness of the stars above the island and its lighthouse. In addition to visualizing settings and scenes, de Freston also vividly evokes Julia’s tumultuous emotions, whether she’s having a sleepless night worrying about Mum or fighting for her life in the storm-tossed waves.

Julia and the Shark is a riveting, dramatic tale in which prose and pictures are perfectly paired.

In Home Away From Home, Newbery Honor author Cynthia Lord returns to some of her signature storytelling themes: displacement, friendship, families, animals and summer. Fans of Rules, A Touch of Blue and Because of the Rabbit will enjoy learning about the intriguing animal at the novel’s center, a white gyrfalcon typically seen in the Arctic.

Eleven-year-old Mia loves visiting her grandmother in coastal Maine every summer, but things are different this year, because Mia’s mother isn’t joining her. She’ll be back in Ohio, getting their old house ready to sell, as she’s buying a new home with her boyfriend, Scott. Mia worries about leaving the only house she’s ever lived in and the possibility of having to change schools, even though her mom has promised she won’t have to.

Mia also isn’t sure she likes Cayman, the know-it-all neighbor boy who spends so much time with Grandma. Mia already must share Mom with Scott, and Dad has his new wife and baby, so “Grandma was the only person [Mia] didn’t have to share with anyone else.” But as Mia and Cayman’s friendship begins to gel, she realizes that he has problems of his own, including an absent father and a mother navigating alcoholism and depression.

When Mia and Cayman spot the magnificent gyrfalcon near an eagle nest, the novel’s action quickly ramps up. Mia posts a picture on a birding website, and soon numerous eager birdwatchers arrive, leading to disaster. Lord adeptly handles Mia’s parents’ concerns about her screen time and online activity, and the birding plotline excellently illustrates how a seemingly innocuous post can gain a life of its own. Mia feels horribly guilty about the ramifications of her post, and she identifies with the gyrfalcon, realizing that “she was young and a long way from home and maybe things would never be the same for her. And I knew exactly how that felt.” 

Lord’s fluid prose and Mia’s lively, likable narration make Home Away From Home a riveting middle grade novel. Descriptions of the gyrfalcon as it soars near nesting eaglets transport readers to Maine’s rocky coast. Mia’s interactions with birdwatchers and a game warden add to the experience, while Mia’s, Grandma’s and Cayman’s attentions to a stray cat nicely bolster the displacement theme. Readers will be left feeling reassured, like Mia, who concludes: “This trip hadn’t been what I expected—and it kept surprising me. But even though change is scary, it brings new things, too.”

Twelve-year-old Addie is still working through the aftermath of a family crisis when her dad, a futurist, decides the two of them need a change of scenery for the summer. He’ll oversee a university research lab where talented students are experimenting with using virtual reality as a tool to teach everything from nutrition to empathy. While her dad is engaged with his work, Addie is more than happy to retreat into the VR headset she borrows from the lab. Entire days go by as she explores a virtual world without ever leaving their small campus apartment.

Virtual reality is easy and fun, but real life and real relationships can be scary, and Addie is initially hesitant to form a friendship with her new neighbor Mateo. His life, filled with family, hobbies and volunteer projects, seems so uncomplicated compared with Addie’s. But as Addie begins to open up to Mateo, she’s inspired to hatch a plan for a new way to use VR to make other kids’ real-life anxieties a little more manageable.

Bestselling children’s author Wendy Mass (The Candymakers, Jeremy Fink and the Meaning of Life) has more than two dozen books under her belt, so it seems funny to refer to her as a debut author, but with Lo and Behold, she’s making her graphic novel debut. The book is a collaboration with comics artist Gabi Mendez, who’s also a first-time graphic novel illustrator, and the two work well together. Mass has always been skilled at portraying the hidden thoughts and emotions of young people, and Mendez is adept at capturing Addie’s changeable moods, from loneliness and worry to excitement and elation, in her expressive face and body language. 

Mendez also excels at depicting the virtual reality worlds that Addie explores, creatively using background colors and patterns to differentiate the VR world from the real one. Mendez’s rich, vibrant artwork beautifully expresses the natural world, too, and her evocation of the play of light and shadow under a tree is especially effective. 

Readers who, like Addie, are excited about the potential of virtual reality technology won’t want to miss the incredibly cool augmented reality feature included in the book, which further enriches an already full and complex story.