Andy Marino rides the balance between good horrific fun and grisly speculation in The Swarm, a tale of a cicada emergence of biblical proportions.
Andy Marino rides the balance between good horrific fun and grisly speculation in The Swarm, a tale of a cicada emergence of biblical proportions.
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Humor may be the hardest thing to write. Everyone’s sense of humor is different, and it takes a very special person to see the hilarity in day-to-day life, so it’s understandably hard to find a novel that truly makes you laugh. For me, Elizabeth Strout, Gail Honeyman and Jen Beagin make me laugh (though, honestly, Mary Roach’s nonfiction is my go-to laugh machine). 

In 2019, we’ve enjoyed a number of good comic tales—but they’re dark, a little wicked, and even when they’re a little fantastical, they’re deeply, utterly real. Here are five of our favorites.


Gravity Is the Thing by Jaclyn Moriarty
The stronger the wellness and self-help industry grows, the more we need fiction to poke fun at it. Moriarty had me guffawing from the opening pages of her debut, the story of a woman who attends a retreat to discover the mystery behind The Guidebook, a strange guide that has been mailed to her for 20 years, one chapter at a time, and certainly not in order. But the humor serves to break down any skepticism in the reader (because the premise definitely gets stranger), allowing them to be vulnerable and receptive to the underlying message of loss, grief and recovery.

Live a Little by Howard Jacobson
There’s always a place on our reading lists for late-in-life love stories and tales of grumpy old men and women. In Jacobson’s latest novel, the humor is highbrow and crotchety, as two nonagenarians strike up a conversation that blooms into a friendship and more. Of the two characters, snarky Beryl Dusinbery’s very bad attitude was my favorite, but I probably wouldn’t have enjoyed her snide remarks without the counterbalance of Shimi Carmelli. It takes a little while to get to the wittiest parts, but patient readers will be rewarded.

There’s a Word for That by Sloane Tanen
It’s a feat to write a novel about a flawed family that makes the reader laugh—but not at the characters. I’m not interested in ridicule or judgment of complicated, ridiculous people, and neither is Tanen. Her latest novel, about two crumbling celebrity families that collide at a rehab clinic, will appeal to optimistic readers who love Hollywood stories and thoughtful takedowns of delusional, self-involved characters.

Fleishman Is in Trouble by Taffy Brodesser-Akner
I’m just as surprised as you are that the story of a divorced dad being inundated with sexual advances via his dating app is necessary reading for 2019, but here we are. Brodesser-Akner is vicious as she nails the woe-is-me cry of a man who has no idea how much of a fool he is. For divorcees, for dating-app users, for anyone trying to understand what love is or what marriage is, this is the book. But if you’re not sure if this one appeals to you, I suggest trying it on audiobook. Reader Allyson Ryan nails the satirical tone, so you’ll never miss a punchline.

Hollow Kingdom by Kira Jane Buxton
Who, I thought as I started reading Buxton’s debut novel earlier this year, who am I going to recommend this book to?! The answer is: weirdos with an outstanding sense of humor. It’s a philosophical zombie novel narrated by a Cheetos-loving, foul-mouthed crow who sets out on a journey to try and save humanity. You already know if this appeals to you just from that line—so check it out, hug your pets and then blow your friends’ minds by telling them all about the novel you just read.

In 2019, we’ve enjoyed a number of good comic tales—but they’re dark, a little wicked, and even when they’re a little fantastical, they’re deeply, utterly real. Here are five of our favorites.
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Folktales may be the bedrock of contemporary horror, but they have seeped into the mainstream. From sparkling vegetarian vampires and werewolves playing basketball to witches and wizards parking their broomsticks in the house on the cul-de-sac, yesterday’s bogeymen are today’s brooding protagonists, even in television shows about vampire slayers. Given this reality, any novelist dealing with the paranormal must confront the new comprehensibility of the monsters under the bed. Are they forces of nature beyond mortal ken? Or are they humankind’s kindred spirits, in the most literal sense possible? T. Kingfisher (Ursula Vernon’s nom de plume) and Vivian Shaw take radically different approaches to answering this question, but both are blessed with an irrepressible sense of humor that makes their books equal parts scary and funny.

In The Twisted Ones, Kingfisher depicts a kind of magical elsewhere filled with strange compulsions and warped conjurations that enchant and ensnare humans led astray. It is a skeptic’s telling of a scary story, in which an editor called Mouse, while cleaning out her late, estranged grandmother’s house in rural North Carolina, is unwittingly drawn into the world of the tall, pale folk who once stalked her step-grandfather. Mouse discovers his journal in the assorted rubbish, and the fact that the terrors he describes within start to happen to her does not prevent her from approaching the text with the eagle eyes and determined skepticism of an editor. Mouse’s narrative is gripping in its uncertainty and her refusal to believe what she sees, but also genuine in her morbid fascination with her unexpectedly paranormal milieu and her unwavering love for her dog. Kingfisher imbues a classic “things-that-go-bump-in-the-night” monster story with hints of modern context without dwelling on the issues that context raises, simply because it is irrelevant to the story she wants to tell. The result is tense, well-crafted Southern horror with a meta twist.

Shaw’s Grave Importance, on the other hand, is the conclusion of an epic trilogy about a doctor to the undead who, with the aid of several vampires, a witch with prehensile (and somewhat fidgety) hair and an old family friend who happens to be a high-ranking bureaucrat in Hell with a gift for mathematics, manages to save her world from an untimely apocalypse. Greta Helsing, scion of the Helsing family of former vampire hunters and current vampire doctors, is called to fill in when the lead physician at a mummy health spa leaves to spend several months on an urgent case in Cairo. Apparently the mummies are having fainting spells and nobody quite knows why. Meanwhile, the fabric of space-time is ripping, and the demons tasked with keeping an eye on it are very concerned. Shaw’s writing is more Pratchett than Lovecraft: There are different species of vampire with different dietary restrictions, mummies make a living as programmers and Dr. Faust runs the finest medical institution in Hell, with cutting-edge imaging technology that can diagnose even the most complex of curses. It is, in short, less horrifying than hilarious, and delightfully so.

What these books share, however, is an interest with how the supernatural is portrayed. Kingfisher has great fun with the tropes of found-manuscript horror stories, while Shaw recasts Dracula’s kin as misunderstood outcasts. Both writers humanize their monsters and rationalize the actions of their human protagonists. Mouse walks into danger out of filial responsibility, then curiosity and finally for the unbreakable bond between a woman and her dog, while Greta is simply following the Hippocratic Oath as applied to the undead. The Twisted Ones and Grave Importance are radically different in tone and scale, but they are equally enjoyable modern folk takes.

Folktales may be the bedrock of contemporary horror, but they have seeped into the mainstream. From sparkling vegetarian vampires and werewolves playing basketball to witches and wizards parking their broomsticks in the house on the cul-de-sac, yesterday’s bogeymen are today’s brooding protagonists, even in television…

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From orcs to elves to dragons, non-human beings in fantasy books often fall into two camps. Some are presented as basically human, if often exoticized. The rest are generally presented as bestial: They may or may not be able to speak, but at their core they’re not too different from beasts of burden. Regardless of the archetype, their thoughts, feelings and cultures (when they have any at all) are described in relation to a human or human-like surrogate. Both Unnatural Magic by C.M. Waggoner and The Deep by Rivers Solomon (with Daveed Diggs, William Hutson and Jonathan Snipes) buck this tradition, creating non-human characters that are defined not by their relationship to humans but in the context of their own societies.

In her debut novel Unnatural Magic, C.M. Waggoner spins a coming-of-age tale of love, friendship and murder that is both universal and completely new. Unnatural Magic’s first strand of story is that of Tsira, a half-troll whose heritage has made it difficult to fit in among her home clan. When confronted with first a half-dead solider and then with an attempt on her own life, Tsira is forced from her solitary existence. The book’s second strand is that of Onna, a girl with a prodigious gift for magic and the guts to blaze her own academic path when she’s denied a higher magical education due to her sex. But as she embarks on her new scholarly adventure, Onna quickly becomes pulled into a hunt for a troll murderer—and unknowingly sets out on a crash course towards Tsira. Equal parts romance, bildungsroman and murder mystery, Unnatural Magic can’t decide on a genre archetype, and that’s a good thing. The resulting amalgamation is delightfully unpredictable.

Rivers Solomon’s The Deep, in contrast, is a story of pain and new beginnings. Holding the collective memories of an entire race of people isn’t easy. It is even less easy if your underwater-dwelling people are descended from the children of pregnant African slave women thrown overboard by their captors and left to drown. Yetu’s duty is to remember the pain of her ancestors so that the rest of her people can live in the moment, free from the trauma of the past. She is freed from the memories only during an annual ceremony in which Yetu shares the history with her people. Overwhelmed at the prospect of taking back the memories of her ancestors, Yetu flees to the surface in the middle of one of these Tellings. On the surface, she will learn not just of the world her people left behind, but also of her people’s future. Philosophical and atmospheric, The Deep is not just a story of trauma. It is a story that looks carefully at the individual’s place in society and explores what it means to collectively heal and to move forward by accepting, but not forgetting, the past.

Unnatural Magic and The Deep are as different in tone, writing style and subject matter as two fantasy books can be. But what the two share is a deep sense of empathy. As readers, we are not meant to identify with either Yetu or Tsira as though they were human. Instead, both Solomon and Waggoner ask us to imagine beings different from ourselves and then to meet them without trying to force them into human-shaped boxes in our minds. The results are as challenging as they are enjoyable, and any reader willing to try something different will be rewarded handsomely for the effort.

 

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Go Behind the Book with C.M. Waggoner.

Unnatural Magic by C.M. Waggoner and The Deep by Rivers Solomon create non-human characters that are defined not by their relationship to humans but in the context of their own societies.

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The season's biggest SFF releases include an introduction to a compelling new fantasy world, a story of family and intrigue, and one very cranky dragon.


★ The Unspoken Name

Expansive and compelling, A.K. Larkwood’s The Unspoken Name has everything you’d want in a new fantasy universe. Csorwe, an orc disciple of a dark god known as the Unspoken One, is living on borrowed time. As a priestess, she will have to die as a sacrifice made to the Unspoken One. When a strange wizard saves her and takes her far away, Csorwe finds new purpose, traveling through the multiverse in search of an ancient artifact and finally discovering who she really is. Larkwood constructs her fantasy world with confidence and detail, and Csorwe’s journey from wide-eyed sacrifice to formidable warrior is satisfying and earned.


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Highfire

Eoin Colfer, author of the beloved Artemis Fowl series, makes a hilarious and suspenseful return with the fantasy crime caper Highfire. Squib, a teenage troublemaker from Louisiana, witnesses a murder committed by a malicious crooked cop, Regence Hooke. Desperately trying to escape through the bayou, Squib is hauled out of the swamp by a completely unexpected savior: a dragon. Last of the Highfire line of dragons, Vern spends his days in his lounge chair watching Netflix. With this act of charity, Squib, Vern and Hooke find themselves on a collision course that’s sure to end in fire. Central Louisiana has rarely been as vividly rendered as it is here, as Colfer gleefully piles on the mud and muck from the very first page. Highfire is funny, menacing and unlike anything else I’ve read recently.

The Unwilling

A sharp, simple concept launches a story of family and intrigue in The Unwilling  by Kelly Braffet. Judah, a girl with no noble blood, is linked with Gavin, the heir to the city of Highfall. No one can explain why, but when one of them feels anything, from pain to happiness, the other feels it, too. When Gavin’s marriage and court accession threatens Judah with exile, she must discover how to break the connection and be free at last. Braffet has a real gift for dialogue, and Judah’s quick cleverness is a constant joy. This is especially welcome in the story’s darker moments, which never shy away from examining the most painful ramifications of Judah and Gavin’s magical connection. Readers will fall in love with the contemplative pace, brisk dialogue and rebellious heroine of The Unwilling.


Chris Pickens is a Nashville-based fantasy and sci-fi superfan who loves channeling his enthusiasm into reviews of the best new books the genre has to offer.

The season's biggest SFF releases include an introduction to a compelling new fantasy world, a story of family and intrigue, and one very cranky dragon.


★ The Unspoken Name

Expansive and compelling, A.K. Larkwood’s The Unspoken Name has everything you’d want in a new fantasy…

Greek to Me by Mary Norris

Mary Norris is sort of my idol. A grammar virtuoso, with a storied career editing some of the greatest writers of the last 40 years, and she studied Greek? In college I minored in Koine Greek, an ancient language so systematic that translating a sentence often feels like solving an algebra problem. In fact, my love for the precision of Greek led me to my current occupation as an editor. Greek to Me: Adventures of the Comma Queen is so suited to my interests that reading it makes me physically giddy—but I assure you that people with fewer than 18 credit hours of Greek to their name will also find plenty to love here. Norris is a sharp-witted, word-perfect narrator, and her wells of knowledge are as deep as they are lyrical. Anybody with a reverence for words will bow down to this book.

—Christy, Associate Editor


The Lies of Locke Lamora by Scott Lynch

I’m a simple woman with simple tastes, and if a book can be genuinely described as a “romp,” I’m probably going to like it. Scott Lynch’s debut novel is a romp set in a fantasy version of Venice populated by con artists, gangsters and a cranky priest/mentor named Father Chains, so I was contractually obligated to love it to pieces. Our titular hero, a snarky trickster who’s very bad with a sword but very good at swindling people out of their money, decides to continue his most ambitious con yet, even though the mysterious Gray King is killing off members of the criminal underworld. Irrepressibly funny even as it goes to some very dark places, Locke Lamora’s heart is pure gold, albeit a bit crooked.

—Savanna, Assistant Editor


Stag’s Leap by Sharon Olds

Throughout life, I have lost many things. Many of those things cannot come back, and many of those things have been people. Every time I return to this collection, I am susceptible to a sense of longing. Every loss becomes current again, even the things I’ve recovered: The one that got away is getting away, the neighborhood I left is leaving, the dead in my family are dying. In my own poetry, I am open to returning to any point in my life, even the most heartbreaking. I love longing and reading about longing. Sharon Olds’ obituary for her marriage brings about feelings I share and enjoy taking notice of. I have found an abundance in loss, and I think, more likely than not, it can unite and bring about something else, or someone else—that someone else possibly being a better me.

—Prince, Editorial Intern


The Scorpio Races by Maggie Stiefvater

I was 7 years old the first time I heard a pennywhistle. It was on a Chieftains cassette my mom played in the car. Something about that music—the plaintive whistle, the lumbering bagpipes, the sprightly fiddle, the pulsing bodhran—called to something deep in my bones. That same call sings in Maggie Stiefvater’s award-winning novel The Scorpio Races, a salt-soaked, wind-whipped ode to the way a fast horse at a flat-out gallop can feel like flight and freedom. The story is set on a small fictional island off the coast of Scotland you’ll be shocked not to find on a map. If you’ve ever experienced the bittersweet desire to visit a place that feels real but isn’t, the next boat for Thisby leaves on the first page of The Scorpio Races.

—Stephanie, Associate Editor


Virgil Wander by Leif Enger

I moved away from Minnesota when I was 11, so I can’t claim any ownership of its lakes and woods beyond my earliest memories. But almost better than those recollections is the Minnesota that lives in my imagination, and Leif Enger has contributed to that vision in no small way. Minnesota is a heavenly and forbidding landscape, this I know to be true, but I’ve never had a chance to understand the people who choose to live in such a cold place. Enger’s stories give me a little bit of that, and his third novel finds the members of a small town doing their best to cultivate some collective healing. The reader is looped in to their process through Virgil, who’s attempting to reclaim his life after a car crash. Like the kites flown over Lake Superior by an elderly character, the heart can’t help but lift.

—Cat, Deputy Editor


The Hold List features special reading lists compiled by BookPage staff—our personal favorites, old and new. 

When a book finds its ideal reader, it feels like the best kind of magic—as if the author has written a love letter straight to you. Though these books are loved by many, we accept them as the perfect gifts that they are.

My Brilliant Friend by Elena Ferrante

What if we considered our lives as marked not by romantic entanglements but by the big friendships that nourish and thwart us? The first in Elena Ferrante’s Neapolitan novels, My Brilliant Friend depicts the early lives of narrator Lenù and her best friend Lila, who come of age, dramatically, by the book’s end. Their impoverished Naples neighborhood is rife with violence: Early in the novel, Lila’s father throws her out a window, breaking her arm, and the girls routinely witness neighbors being beaten in the street by the local mafia. Both girls show promise in elementary school; while Lenù must study hard, Lila seems to excel without trying. Idolatrous as much as they are envious of each other, Lila and Lenù are cutthroat competitive, but they find that their friendship creates space for imagination, creativity and envisioning a future outside of their neighborhood. Until that space abruptly closes, and Lila sees that her future will be one of mere survival. Few narratives capture the euphoric, gutting fluctuations of friendship so specifically. Translated from Italian by Ann Goldstein, Lenù’s singular voice is propulsive and urgent. You will see yourself in both characters, and you will be drawn to the darkness. 

—Erica, Associate Editor


Remarkably Bright Creatures by Shelby Van Pelt

Growing up, I was utterly obsessed with the ocean, and I wanted to be a marine biologist. Unfortunately, I eventually learned that marine biology was more science and less dolphin whispering, but I still get excited when I come across a story that recognizes the magic of the marine world. The premise of Remarkably Bright Creatures immediately caught my eye: a giant Pacific octopus befriends an elderly woman and helps her solve the mystery of her son’s death. Tova, our protagonist, is gentle yet resilient, earning the adoration of Marcellus (the octopus) as she works the night shift cleaning his aquarium. Marcellus has an agenda of his own—yes, we get to hear the octopus’s thoughts—but he balances it with compassion for Tova and for the human race that humans, honestly, could learn from. The characters in this story are kind to each other, yet the goodness doesn’t feel contrived. Rather, Shelby Van Pelt has achieved a tale where there are no villains but the stakes are still high. Tova and Marcellus each have a heart as big as the deep blue sea, and their unique bond reminds us what we stand to gain from offering love, empathy and generosity to the remarkably bright creatures around us.

—Jessica, Editorial Intern


First Test by Tamora Pierce

In First Test, Tamora Pierce takes readers back to the enchanting and beloved realm of Tortall, which was first introduced in her acclaimed young adult fantasy series, the Song of the Lioness. Although it has been 10 years since it was decreed legal for women to become knights, Keladry of Mindelan (Kel) is the first girl brave enough to openly train for knighthood. Facing extreme scrutiny, an unfair probationary year and a training master hellbent on her failure, it seems like Kel might never achieve her dream. Enter Nealean of Queenscove (Neal), who is also considered an oddity as the oldest of the first-year pages. Neal takes Kel under his wing and becomes one of her biggest champions in her uphill battle to prove that she’s just as good as the male pages. As they bond over being set apart due to their unusual circumstances, their friendship allows them to overcome every obstacle thrown their way, from hazing taken way too far to being thrown into the middle of a very real battle. Together, best friends Kel and Neal prove that they are exactly where they are meant to be.

—Meagan, Production


On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong

On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous is an unusual love letter—written by a son to his mother, even though she cannot read. As a child in Vietnam, her school was destroyed by American napalm. Her son, called Little Dog, grew up in Hartford, Connecticut, after she immigrated there with him, and became a writer. With this letter, he is putting into words the physical language of harm and care that forms their intricate bond. He describes the impact of her PTSD from living through the Vietnam War, combined with the isolation and vulnerability of being unable to speak English in Hartford: When he tells his mother he was attacked by bullies at school, her response is to hit him, then admonish him to use his English to protect himself, because she cannot. In a way, his journey into writing is an act of love towards her, the fulfillment of her wish, even as it takes him further and further from her. Vuong tells this story with arresting beauty and intensity, following Little Dog through world-shifting experiences with love, sex and loss into his adulthood as a published writer.

—Phoebe, Associate Editor

Valentine’s Day draws our attention to romance, but these four tales of friendship, connection and the parent-child bond affirm that platonic love is just as beautiful and impactful as romantic love—if not more.

In the event of a zombie apocalypse, it would be wise to have a plan in place. Perhaps most importantly, who would be on your team? We’ve picked our preferred partners—magical powers are allowed, but no dragons, bears or mythical beasts!


Edmond Dantès from The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas

I have long resigned myself to my own lack of apocalypse survival skills. I can’t run without getting winded. I don’t have combat skills. I can’t farm or dress wounds or build shelter or tools. In truth, I would be among the first to go—unless I aligned myself with someone wealthy and powerful. Edmond Dantès is the perfect choice: rich, scrappy and weirdly fixated on avenging himself against those who have wronged him. We could quite comfortably wait out the apocalypse from inside his château. And if that fails, the man owns his own island. Everybody knows zombies can’t swim, so a quick yacht ride to the Island of Monte Cristo would solve our little army-of-the-undead problem.

—Christy, Associate Editor


Sabriel from Sabriel by Garth Nix

Like many of my colleagues, my talents are perhaps better suited to rebuilding the world after the zombie apocalypse than surviving it in the first place. That’s why I need someone like Sabriel on my team, and not only because she possesses a bandoleer of seven magical bells with the power to send the dead back through the nine gates of death to their final rest, although I acknowledge that will come in handy. But Sabriel is also resourceful, adept at other forms of magic, brave and kind. As we make our way to a population-sparse area like—ha, as if I’d tell you my plans—I know she’ll leave me behind only if she absolutely has to, and if I get bitten, she’ll make my death swift and ensure I stay dead.

—Stephanie, Associate Editor


Frank Mackey from Faithful Place by Tana French

My biggest fear wouldn’t be zombies, as they are usually stupid. I’m more afraid of humans in a crisis, as they are, historically, the worst. And that’s why I want Irish undercover cop Frank Mackey on my team. First introduced in Tana French’s The Likeness, Frank becomes the central character in Faithful Place, which puts his ability to pursue multiple, sometimes conflicting objectives—while manipulating almost everyone around him—to the hardest test, as he has to do it to his own dysfunctional family. If he can do that and emerge (somewhat) in one piece, he’d easily survive the human chaos of an apocalypse. Frank is also funny as hell, so we’d have some laughs while trying not to die.

—Savanna, Associate Editor


Vasya from The Bear and the Nightingale by Katherine Arden

To give myself a real shot at living through this, I need a partner with knowledge of mythical and otherworldly situations, as well as the powers to match—and I need her to live in the middle of nowhere. In Katherine Arden’s debut novel, headstrong young Vasya is an heir to old magic and has the abilities to protect her family from dangers that are plucked straight out of folklore. She’s got a great attitude—which I’ll appreciate when I get upset about the situation—and she excels at riding horses and saving people, so we’ll get along great. We’ll treat the apocalypse like it’s a long winter night, hidden away so deeply in the wilderness of northern Russia that we might not even notice when the end of the world is over.

—Cat, Deputy Editor


Captain Woodrow F. Call from Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry

Genre-bending is prominent in today’s cultural landscape. From rock with hip-hop beats to Mexican-Korean fusion, the lines have dissolved. All of these hybrids make me think that a cowboy would feel right at home in the zombie apocalypse, and Captain Woodrow F. Call—brave, strong, levelheaded and loyal to the bone—is the paragon of cowboy-ness. Take, for example, when Call saves Newt, the youngest member of the Hat Creek Outfit, from a soldier harassing him. Call beats the man to a pulp until Gus McCrae has to lasso him off. The only explanation Call offers for this violent outburst: “I hate rude behavior in a man. I won’t tolerate it.” Just imagine what the man would do to a zombie!

—Eric, Editorial Intern

In the event of a zombie apocalypse, it would be wise to have a plan in place. Perhaps most importantly, who would be on your team?
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This spring, YA superstars Sarah J. Maas and Veronica Roth make their adult debuts.

Veronica Roth is best known for her intense, mega-bestselling Divergent trilogy, and Sarah J. Maas’ sweeping Throne of Glass and A Court of Thorns and Roses series have garnered her a massive following. With their new novels, the two YA authors fully cross over for the first time into fiction for adults. Both books sit squarely within the realm of science fiction and fantasy, but each represents a very different approach to the genre.

Maas’ House of Earth and Blood, the first book in her new Crescent City series, introduces half-Fae party girl Bryce Quinlan. After Bryce comes home to find her closest friends literally ripped limb-from-limb by a demon, she is left alone and devastated, her only solace that the perpetrator is behind bars. But two years later, a string of similar murders begins, and Bryce realizes that her friends’ killer was never caught. With the help of Hunt Athalar, a fallen angel and assassin enslaved to the city’s governor, Bryce must navigate the darker side of Crescent City to try to bring the killer to justice. 

Maas’ world is rich and sensuous, a dark urban fantasy with mythic overtones. Perfect for readers looking for both dramatic and romantic tension, it will make you hold your breath and leave your heart pounding.

Where House of Earth and Blood straddles the line between romance and mystery, Roth’s fantasy novel Chosen Ones takes a more traditional approach to the genre. The novel opens 10 years after the defeat of the Dark One, a mysterious and magical entity responsible for the deaths of thousands of people. The Chosen—the five teens responsible for the Dark One’s downfall—have grown up and moved on, creating lives that are as close to normal as they can get. 

But not everyone can move on. Sloane is plagued by PTSD and the feeling that she’ll never be anything more than one of the Chosen. But then the death of one of the Chosen forces the remaining four to reckon with a new terror: the idea that the Dark One might not be as vanquished as they once thought. 


ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: See what Veronica Roth has been reading.


Chosen Ones gives us a glimpse into a world after the heroes have won, and the result is stunning. Simultaneously heart-wrenching and heart-pounding, Roth’s latest will leave you gutted and wishing for just 10 more pages.

For readers who already love Roth or Maas, Chosen Ones and House of Earth and Blood will be automatic additions to their collections. For adult readers who have been hesitant to delve into the world of YA, both books serve as perfect introductions to their authors’ work. Take your chance now, and pick either (or both) as your next thrilling ride.

This spring, YA superstars Sarah J. Maas and Veronica Roth make their adult debuts.
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The two novels featured here represent speculative fiction escapism at its best—a gentle, magical love story and a story as refreshingly strange as it is affecting.

The House in the Cerulean Sea is the story of a rather round man named Linus Baker. Linus is used to rain and dour prospects. As a case worker for the Department in Charge of Magical Youth, he must perpetually deal with the inanity of a 1984-esque bureaucracy that decides the fate of orphanages for magical youth. But Linus’ bubble of depressed rule-following is popped when he is sent to investigate an island orphanage with potentially volatile charges and an eccentric orphanage master.

The book is also the story of a man named Arthur Parnassus. Arthur—the master of the orphanage in question—is a man whose trousers are perpetually too short but whose kindness and love for his charges is endless. As Linus goes deeper into his inquiry, both men begin to understand exactly what was missing in their lives.

The House in the Cerulean Sea is the book that I never knew I needed, but now that I have it, I could never bear to live without it. In its pages, TJ Klune shows us the worst bureaucracies and mundane cruelties of a fictionalized version of our own world. But he also shows us what we could be. Marsyas Island, with its enthusiastic magical children and eccentric caretaker, wouldn’t be out of place in an episode of “Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood”—if Mr. Rogers tried to teach Lucifer moral philosophy, that is.

Simultaneously fluffy and heart-rending, The House in the Cerulean Sea is the perfect pick-me-up for anyone stuck inside or wishing for a peaceful day by the sea.

Where Klune’s work shows us a lighter world, Jeffrey Cranor and Joseph Fink’s latest installment in the world of Night Vale shows us a stranger one. Set in a slightly off-kilter world where dog parks can be gateways to other dimensions and where a Vague, Yet Menacing, Government Agency hovers in helicopters overhead, much of The Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives in Your Home is remarkably normal historical fiction. The Faceless Old Woman tells us her story in a series of flashbacks, recounting first an idyllic childhood on the Mediterranean and then a life of crime and revenge after the tragic murder of her father. The story culminates with her death and travel to the town of Night Vale, where today she secretly lives in everyone’s homes.

Between chapters telling of swashbuckling adventures, the Faceless Old Woman talks to one of her hosts, a man named Craig. And while those talks feel like just another of the woman’s monologues made famous in the “Night Vale” podcast, they are anything but. As the story progresses, we learn that the Old Woman’s past and present are—unfortunately, horrifyingly—linked.

For readers unfamiliar with the Night Vale universe, never fear. While there are callbacks for readers in the know, the book requires no knowledge of the podcast in order to enjoy. (That said, you may find yourself reaching for a pair of headphones as soon as the book is over.) For fans of the podcast and the other Night Vale novels, The Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives in Your Home likely feels long overdue. Equal parts running joke and legitimate character, the Faceless Old Woman’s history has been rarely alluded to, but here she—and her world—comes alive, tempting readers with sweet oranges, the smell of the sea and the bitter taste of betrayal. Although we know the Old Woman’s fate, we also know that something remarkable must have happened along the way.

The two novels featured here represent speculative fiction escapism at its best—a gentle, magical love story and a story as refreshingly strange as it is affecting.

YA superstar Veronica Roth (author of the #1 New York Times bestselling Divergent series) makes the leap to adult science fiction and fantasy with Chosen Ones. Her new novel follows a group of teens after they’ve defeated a terrifying evil and attempted to return to some form of normalcy. But after the death of one of their own, it becomes clear that their enemy may not have been defeated after all. Chosen Ones is a deconstruction of genre tropes, an exploration of trauma and recovery, and a thrilling adventure all its own.

Roth, who lives in Chicago with her husband, tells us what she’s been reading lately.


This Is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone

I just finished this story, a delightful and engaging tale of two agents on either side of a war fought via time travel, falling in love through the letters they leave for each other. It is precisely and skillfully written—on the very first page, the remark that agent Red has “come to knot this strand of history and sear it until it melts” had me hooked—and it’s exactly my favorite thing: science fiction trappings with a strong emotional backbone. Consider this me putting the book in your hands and dismissing you to read it immediately.


Tenth of December by George Saunders

Lincoln in the Bardo was one of my favorite reads last year, so when I found this collection of short stories in my local bookstore recently, I couldn’t resist picking it up. These stories are unpretentious and profound, beautiful and strange, wise and occasionally grotesque, and occasionally wise because of being grotesque, in the way that only George Saunders can accomplish. I was particularly affected by the titular “Tenth of December,” in which a suicidal, terminally ill man encounters a boy in a dire situation, but it’s impossible to pick favorites here.


Exhalation by Ted Chiang

I love short stories, so I’ve been on a bit of a kick lately, and Exhalation was a definite highlight. These stories are conceptually fascinating and emotionally resonant, concerned with human frailty and vulnerability even in the midst of the futuristic and strange. “Anxiety Is the Dizziness of Freedom,” about the costs and benefits of communicating with parallel versions of ourselves, “Exhalation,” about what makes a person, really, and “The Great Silence,” a short but nonetheless startlingly powerful story that I won’t describe because I could not possibly do it justice, were particularly powerful for me.

 

Author photo by Nelson Fitch.

Veronica Roth shares three books she recently enjoyed reading.
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Find vividly drawn characters and worlds to get lost in with this trio of science fiction and fantasy reads.

Repo Virtual

Corey J. White’s fast-paced caper Repo Virtual had me hooked from the first page. Julius Dax, a part-time gamer and more-than-part-time thief, is hired by a messianic CEO to steal back a prize from a rival company. When JD and his friends find out what the company has stolen, they’re left with a choice: return a sentient artificial intelligence program to scheming corporate hands or find a way to save it. White creates a rich, grimy and charming cyberpunk world, and the action is snappy and never superfluous. The AI program has a real voice in the story, and that voice evolves as it learns what it means to be a person. Repo Virtual sets itself apart with its gleeful heart and underdog charm.

The Girl and the Stars

Summer might be on our doorstep, but Mark Lawrence lets the ice back in with his wondrous and chilling The Girl and the Stars, the first in his new Book of the Ice series. In a cold, dark world, children deemed too weak to survive are thrown into a deep, mysterious pit, never to be seen again. When Yaz sees her brother thrown into the pit, she goes in after him and discovers an entire world below the ice, along with answers to questions about herself she never knew to ask. Yaz is a worthy and tenacious heroine, wrestling constantly with her self-identity. Readers looking for an utterly fresh fantasy world would do well to give this one a try.


ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Alina Boyden shares why the zahhaks are a sort of anti-dragon.


Stealing Thunder

In the desert city of Bikampur, not everything is as it seems, and Razia, the stylish and capable protagonist of Alina Boyden’s Stealing Thunder, has secrets of her own. A dancer by day and a thief by night, Razia is living a contented new life after running from her past and transitioning from male to female. When she meets Arjun, the prince of Bikampur, at a lavish party, she finds herself on a collision course with the past she’s been trying to outrun for so long. Razia’s layers of complexity and Boyden’s ability to deliver a sharp internal narrative bring  gravity to each scene. There’s very little backstory or detail that isn’t necessary to the action, which makes everything feel trim and neat throughout. The Mughal India-inspired Bikampur is full of thrilling fantasy creations, such as the dangerous zahhaks (think of a dragon, but with various magical flavors). Come for the vivid world, stay for the intrigue, the dialogue and the top-notch character design.


Chris Pickens is a Nashville-based fantasy and sci-fi superfan who loves channeling his enthusiasm into reviews of the best new books the genre has to offer.

Find vividly drawn characters and worlds to get lost in with this trio of science fiction and fantasy reads.
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Sometimes a story can be told solely through prose, but these two graphics make it clear that some stories need more than just powerful words. Addressing themes of death, grieving, angst and longing, these books find that love can survive loss, and that the world is perfused with wonder.

Tyler Feder confronts loss with a gentle smile in Dancing at the Pity Party: A Dead Mom Graphic Memoir. No stone is left unturned as Feder recounts her mother’s cancer diagnosis and reflects on her own ever-present grieving process. Feder walks us through her journey in hilarious, moving detail, and the illustrations enable us to experience her pain even more deeply.

When Feder and her sisters go to the mall to get “black mourning clothes,” they stumble into Forever 21, where 2000s-era neon dresses are comically lurid against their sullen faces. Feder jokes lovingly about this experience. She also shares insights into the grieving process that recall Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking, as when she refuses to let anyone clean out her mother’s closet or when she admits to feeling like her mom is “just on a long trip somewhere far away.”

While Feder’s experience is uniquely Jewish American, including kriah ribbons and a shiva, her memoir looks beyond culturally specific ideas about death to face loss and grief on a personal level. With a mix of sadness, compassion and joy, Feder tells a touching story for anyone who has lost someone—or really, for anyone who loves someone.

Borja González’s A Gift for a Ghost is the ensorcelling, strange yet familiar tale of the intertwined fates of a 19th-century girl who longs to be a horror-poet and a 21st-century high school punk band. The story and images are reminiscent of something Kurt Cobain wrote about the Raincoats, another amateurish band: “Rather than listening to them, I feel like I’m listening in on them. We’re together in the same old house and I have to be completely still, or they will hear my spying from above, and if I get caught, everything will be ruined.” The novel creates a similar effect: The story unfolds slowly and endearingly, and you find yourself drawn in to its air of mystery and magic. 

As Teresa prepares for her poetry debut, and as bandmates Gloria, Laura and Cristina try their hands at songwriting, the story builds, with anxiety rising in all of their lives. As the four girls struggle to decide which sides of themselves to embrace, González’s artwork can be both spare and hyperfloral. We begin to wonder who the girls will become and what brought them all together in the first place. Once (some of) these questions are resolved and the story reaches its end, you can’t help but feel that you missed something, but that feeling is actually just a desire to read the book all over again.

Addressing themes of death, grieving, angst and longing, two new graphics find that love can survive loss, and that the world is perfused with wonder.

When the sun is high and a summer afternoon stretches out before you with zero expectations, a great book—read for inspiration, thrills or pure enjoyment—is all you need.


★ Happy and You Know It

For readers who want the fun of reality TV but the heart of a good drama

Laura Hankin’s Happy and You Know It is the sort of novel that can suck a reader in and hold them until a whole day has passed, but it’s also a multidimensional story with riches revealed through close attention. After Claire is fired from her band, she’s trying to pay her way through New York City life, and a gig as a playgroup musician will have to do. The mothers in the group are wealthy and wellness-obsessed, but they easily incorporate Claire into their lives, and she welcomes the inclusion. As the playgroup moms work out their insecurities—within themselves and within their friendships—the metaphorical masks they wear begin to slip. With a light hand and a touch of mystery, Hankin’s debut explores feminism, class and the expectations placed on mothers. This is a romp with substance, consumed as easily as a beach read but offering ample opportunities for self-reflection.

—Carla Jean Whitley


Safecracker

For readers who want fiery pacing

Michael Maven is a New York thief who’s very good at his job and thinks that his next gig, stealing a rare coin from a rich guy’s apartment, should be easy. Then the job is interrupted by a mysterious woman, and within a matter of days, Michael finds himself at the center of a deadly web of drug cartels, crooked cops, the FBI and the woman who very nearly killed him—twice. Tight, thrilling and charming, Safecracker is a new take on the classic “crook-in-over-his-head” crime story, unfolding through Michael’s effortlessly cool narration. In prose that calls to mind the breeziest work of crime legends like Elmore Leonard, author Ryan Wick drives his narrative forward like a freight train. It’s expertly paced, witty and surprising, while also retaining a sense of the familiar that only comes from a love of the genre.

—Matthew Jackson

Editor’s note: Safecracker was originally scheduled for publication on June 2, 2020, but it has been canceled by the publisher. We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause.


The Madwoman and the Roomba

For readers looking for the humor in housework

In The Madwoman and the Roomba, Sandra Tsing Loh finds comedy in the indignities and absurdities of contemporary life while chronicling her 55th year. In two earlier nonfiction books, Loh adjusted to motherhood and went through a rocky divorce. This time, Loh is happily divorced and happily post-menopausal but still recording her life with let-it-all-hang-out charm. She recalls her embarrassing, claustrophobic freakout at the March for Science and tries to unleash her inner midlife goddess while parenting two teenagers. She describes her efforts to improve her terrible front yard, hire a painter, understand her malfunctioning high-tech fridge and follow her new cookbook’s recipes. Loh’s tone is chatty and self-deprecating, like having a glass of wine or a long phone call with your favorite witty, goofy friend. Because the narrative is loosely structured, you can read straight through or just dip into an essay when the mood strikes. 

—Sarah McCraw Crow


★ The Obsidian Tower

For readers who believe that any season can be the season of the witch

In the kingdom of Morgrain, there is a castle. In that castle is a great black tower. And inside that tower, behind innumerable and impenetrable enchantments, is a door that should never be opened. Ryx, who has the power to kill anything she touches, is the Warden charged with keeping it safe. When a visiting mage ventures too close to the magic of the tower, Ryx finds herself at the heart of an international crisis. She must use all of her wits and talent to keep Morgrain, and the world, safe from unspeakable ruin. Like any good mystery, Melissa Caruso’s The Obsidian Tower slowly feeds the reader clue after clue, never fully revealing everything at once. But this book has moments of real pain and longing that have nothing to do with magic or towers. Not being able to have physical contact with anyone has changed Ryx, and the choices she makes to subvert or embrace this fact are beautiful and terrible—which makes her eventual confrontation with some very nasty magic all the more satisfying. 

—Chris Pickens


My Kind of People

For readers who find strength in community

Sky is only 10 years old, but she’s experienced as much pain and confusion as someone three times her age. Although she was abandoned at a fire station as a newborn, she found a home with her adoptive parents. Now she’s starting over again, and this time she’s old enough to be aware of the pain. Sky’s adoptive parents have died in a car crash, and their will designates that Leo, Sky’s father’s best friend from childhood, will become her guardian. Leo is torn up at the loss of his friend, and now he must create a loving home for Sky. Her presence sends Leo and his husband, Xavier, into a tailspin. In My Kind of People, novelist Lisa Duffy paints a portrait of a community of people trying to find out who they are—and with whom they can be themselves. As neighbors jump in to help raise Sky, or to weigh in on what Leo could do better, Sky and Leo wrestle with their understanding of their changing circumstances. Duffy’s story is sweet but never cloying, and she’s unafraid to depict uncomfortable circumstances as the tale unfolds.

—Carla Jean Whitley


★ Last Tang Standing

For readers who say they hate drama but actually love it

It is a truth universally acknowledged that mothers will meddle in their daughters’ love lives. For Andrea Tang, a successful 33-year-old lawyer in Singapore, that truism extends to her aunties, cousins and anyone else who can claim relation to her. What everyone wants to know is, when will she get married? After ending a long-term relationship, Andrea feels the pressure to find The One while also putting in as many billable hours as possible to secure a partnership in her law firm. Her friends offer support, but Andrea can’t stop thinking about Suresh, her officemate and competition for partner. He’s annoying, engaged to a beautiful but domineering Londoner and not at all Andrea’s type. Except that he’s exactly her type. Author Lauren Ho is a former legal adviser, and her debut novel is a blast. With a relatable, laugh-out-loud protagonist, Last Tang Standing is a near-perfect blend of Crazy Rich Asians and Bridget Jones’s Diary, yet it still feels wholly original.

—Amy Scribner


Look

For readers who miss their feminist film studies class

In Zan Romanoff’s YA novel Look, Lulu Shapiro has mastered Flash, a Snapchat-like app that shares her perfectly edited life with 10,000 followers. But a racy Flash, meant to be private, accidentally goes public, and now everyone has seen Lulu being intimate with another young woman. Her classmates think she just did it for attention, but Lulu is bisexual and fears what sharing this truth about herself could mean for her popularity. Then Lulu meets the beguiling Cass and her friend Ryan, a trust-fund kid refurbishing an old hotel. With no phones allowed at the hotel, Lulu experiences a social life less focused on carefully curated images. She feels like she can truly be herself—until an abuse of trust brings it all crashing down. Anyone who has engaged in content creation—even just photos on Instagram—will have a lot to chew on regarding the praise and scorn women experience based on how they depict themselves. The cast of characters is almost entirely teens, but older readers will take a lot from Look as well. Self-­commodification hardly started with Snapchat, after all.

—Jessica Wakeman


Rockaway

For readers ready to ride a wave of emotion

In 2010, following her divorce, Diane Cardwell finds herself shuffling listlessly through her life and work as a New York Times reporter. Casting about for an assignment, she heads out to Montauk, Long Island, and spies a group of surfers out in the shimmering surf. Transfixed by this group of men and women, she begins trekking out to Rockaway Beach from her Brooklyn apartment to take lessons and join her newfound troop. Cardwell dives into surfing, alternating between fear of failure and dogged determination. As she gains confidence and develops her own style, she moves to Rockaway Beach, buys a little cottage and a board and thrives in her new neighborhood. When Hurricane Sandy hits in 2012, she rides it out in Rockaway with some of her friends, and they emerge as an even more tightknit community. In Rockaway, Cardwell’s moving story washes over the reader with its emotionally rich portrayal of the ragged ways we can embrace our vulnerabilities in order to overcome them.

—Henry L. Carrigan Jr.

 

Editor’s note: An earlier version of this feature incorrectly stated that Lauren Ho is a former attorney.

When the sun is high and a summer afternoon stretches out before you with zero expectations, a great book—read for inspiration, thrills or pure enjoyment—is all you need.

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