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FictionLiterary FictionHistorical Fiction

Time of the Child

Review by Arlene McKanic

This reviewer has to wonder why an author as brilliant as Niall Williams, whose latest book is the resplendent, suspenseful Time of the Child, isn’t at the top of every reader’s mind. Few contemporary novelists create worlds and characters so amazingly alive and specific. Williams knows every nook and cranny of his Irish town Faha, from its weather, which is so damp that nothing ever dries out completely, to its farms and pubs and how it’s slowly losing ground to the estuary. His characters, even those we see only briefly, are unforgettable. Though the town is full of people, you’ll never mix up one with another. Even Faha’s animal citizens are memorable: Consider Harry, a dog who likes to nap in the middle of the street, making cars drive around him.

Time of the Child is a sequel to Williams’ other masterpiece, This Is Happiness, and is set around Christmas in 1962. Noel Crowe, the protagonist of that book, has moved to America, and our focus is now on the town doctor, Jack Troy, and his daughter Ronnie, who lives with him. In Faha, the doctor is a revered, stoic and necessary presence. He might as well be a granite plinth with a mustache. But within this pillar of rectitude, so many passions roil.

For Jack, like Faha itself, is a dour-seeming being who is full of love. He loves his patients in his brisk and discerning way. He pines for a lost romance, even as he pushes 70. And he loves his daughters, especially Ronnie, whose unmarried state he feels responsible for. When a local boy finds a baby in a churchyard and brings her to the doctor for care, the floodgates in Jack burst. Both he and Ronnie fall in love with the child, and as the unwed Ronnie can’t adopt her, he hatches a scheme so harebrained that it warms your heart even as you think, “Are you serious?” This is where the novel’s suspense comes in, as well as Williams’ genius for making you laugh out loud while he breaks your heart. Anyone who cherishes great writing should want more and more from Williams.

Niall Williams demonstrates his genius for making you laugh out loud while breaking your heart at the same time in Time of the Child, his follow-up to This Is Happiness.
NonfictionSocial ScienceNature

The Serviceberry

Review by mónica teresa ortiz

The Serviceberry: Abundance and Reciprocity in the Natural World is the latest offering from botanist Robin Wall Kimmerer, an enrolled member of the Citizen Potawatomi Nation, one of the great Anishinaabe peoples of the Great Lakes. This slim but powerful volume continues the work of her previous books, including Gathering Moss and the New York Times bestseller Braiding Sweetgrass. Here, she draws from the traditional Anishinaabe economy for her understanding of reciprocity and gift economies, ones where, she writes, “a system of redistribution of wealth [is] based on abundance and the pleasure of sharing.”

Through vivid descriptions of the heartbeats around her—cedar waxwings, bluebirds, neighbors sharing garden-grown zucchini—Kimmerer immerses readers in her kinship and connection to the land. Moving between Western science and her own Potawatomi knowledge, she illustrates an accessible model for building reciprocal relationships with both nonhuman and human life around us through the harvesting and sharing of a fruit known as Amelanchier—or serviceberry, “Saskatoon, Juneberry, Shadbush, Shadblow, Sugarplum, Sarvis.” Kimmerer writes that “ethnobotanists know that the more names a plant has, the greater its cultural importance” and informs us that serviceberries are medicinal fruits that also synchronize “the seasonal rounds of traditional Indigenous people, who move in an annual cycle through their homelands to where the foods are ready.”

Kimmerer breaks down how an extractive economic system like capitalism, which focuses on individualism, competition and exploitation of resources, impacts our spirits; she does so in a language and tone that is generous, even toward the violence of such a system. Indigenous people, she explains, change themselves to suit the land’s changes of harvest, whereas Western methods of farming attempt to make the land suit a population’s desires and consumptions. “We force the food to come to us, at considerable financial and ecological costs,” Kimmerer notes, “rather than following the practice of taking what has been given to us, each in its own time.”

“The land is the source of all goods and services, which are distributed in a kind of gift exchange: one life is given in support of another. The focus is on supporting the good of the people, not only an individual.” The Serviceberry is a kind reminder that we would do well to restore the sovereignty and practices of Indigenous peoples for the present and future of our world.

Botanist Robin Wall Kimmerer, author of Braiding Sweetgrass, returns with a powerful meditation on economics rooted in abundance and sharing.
Children's & YAPicture BookChildren's

The Smell of Wet Dog

Review by Alice Cary

With nearly 50 books under his belt, beloved author and illustrator Barney Saltzberg turns his attention to canines in his latest zany offering, The Smell of Wet Dog: And Other Dog Poems and Drawings. He proclaims his love in the first poem, “I Love Dogs,” followed by the title verse, which describes their odor as “Imagine moose and skunk perfume. / An odiferous stench, a paint-peeling plume.”

Young readers will relish these often rip-roaringly funny short poems, with lines like “A long stretchy / drizzle of slobbery ooze / dribbles and splats / on my favorite shoes.” Kids will readily identify with lines like “It’s hard to sit. / It’s hard to stay. / Who makes these rules up, anyway?”

This is a celebration of all things dog—the good, the bad and the smelly—that adult dog lovers will enjoy as well. Saltzberg’s endearing spot illustrations complete the package, with big-eyed dogs of all shapes and sizes cavorting, rolling around in messes, leaping into the air and staring pleadingly at each other and the reader. How can you not fall in love? There are poignant moments as well, with poems about a lost dog, an aging pet and the undying adoration that dogs have for their owners—and vice versa. (Cat lovers: a sequel is likely in store, as the last page features a cat saying, “You forgot . . . / the cat!”)

The Smell of Wet Dog is chock-full of luscious light verse designed to draw in even the most reluctant of poetry readers.

The Smell of Wet Dog is chock-full of luscious light verse designed to draw in even the most reluctant of poetry readers.
NonfictionArtLifestylesArt

The Work of Art

Review by Laura Hutson Hunter

If you’ve ever been curious about how an idea turns into a piece of art, you’ll love The Work of Art: How Something Comes From Nothing. This visionary book’s first two pages lay out its thesis in surprisingly simple terms. First, there’s a sketch of a prescription pad with a physician’s signature at the bottom. Turn the page and you’ll see what that doodle became: the famous Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao, Spain. But how exactly did Frank Gehry’s messy sketch become the architectural masterpiece? That’s the process writer Adam Moss is concerned with; the “work” in his book’s title is a verb. Moss has been the editor of New York magazine and the New York Times Magazine, and his love for conversational, witty storytelling is clear here. The Work of Art collects conversations with some of the most lauded, interesting artists working—from Kara Walker, who takes readers through the creation of her 2014 public sculpture “A Subtlety,” to Gay Talese, who pores over the copious notes he took to write “Frank Sinatra Has a Cold” in 1966. No minutia is too small to examine. In fact, it seems like the smaller the detail, the more information Moss is able to extract. Alongside each story, Moss includes images of the works in various stages of completion. You see Twyla Tharp’s massive choreographic sketches, and the first stages of a Will Shortz crossword. The images elevate the book to a compendium of precious ephemera. It’s possible that Moss has invented a new literary genre that merges self-help, art history and journalism. However it’s classified, you’ll read it cover to cover.

The Work of Art is a visionary compendium of ephemera that makes visible the bridge between idea and artwork.
Science Fiction & FantasyFantasy

The Last Hour Between Worlds

Review by Jessica Peng

I’ll be honest—it took me a moment to understand this book. We are immediately thrown into an opulent “year-turning” party: buffets of food, swirling gowns, a mysterious grandfather clock slowly ticking down the hours until the new year. Our protagonist, Kembral Thorne, is at the party while on maternity leave from her job as a Hound, a police officer-esque position that specializes in retrieving people or objects from other dimensions known as Echoes. In rapid succession, author Melissa Caruso introduces Kembral and the rest of the guests at the year-turning party (including Kembral’s nemesis and obsession, professional thief Rika Nonesuch), the framework of Echoes and a series of specialized terms for the world and its sociopolitical system. If reading this paragraph was overwhelming, you can expect a similar reaction when you begin The Last Hour Between Worlds. 

But—but! If you’re a fantasy romance fan who’s been craving originality from the genre, this book is truly a breath of fresh air. Once you’ve gotten the gist of Echoes and more or less familiarized yourself with the characters, the storyline is a heady, bizarre rush of murder mystery meets Alice in Wonderland. Kembral discovers quite quickly that the year-turning party is being used as a chessboard of sorts, that a game is being played out between powerful interdimensional beings. Every hour, the party falls into a weirder, deadlier Echo, and it is up to Kembral and Rika to figure out how to stop the game before they’re trapped in an Echo they can’t escape from—if they don’t, everyone will die. 

Caruso has created a compelling heroine in Kembral, who is equal parts tough, resourceful and vulnerable. A full-blown adult and mother, there’s an element of maturity and caution to her perspective that is refreshing in a genre that is often full of young protagonists who dive headlong into peril. The heart of the novel is Kembral’s relationship with Rika: their history and their secrets, how they’ve leaned on each other and how they’ve hurt each other. Caruso’s writing is stunning as well, with lines like “trying to figure her out was like trying to hold the shape of fire in your mind.” Although I was skeptical when I started, by the middle, I was completely on board with Kembral and Rika as they tried to save their sinking ship—or, in this case, their dimension-bending party. The Last Hour Between Worlds isn’t a breezy read, but it will stretch your imagination and leave you thinking.

A heady, bizarre rush of murder mystery meets Alice’s in Wonderland, The Last Hour Between Worlds is an interdimensional fantasy adventure.
NonfictionEssays

The Memory Palace

Review by Deborah Mason

A memory palace is a memorization technique used by figures as diverse as Cicero, international memory champions and the late, great Sherlock Holmes. Practitioners visualize placing images representing information they want to recollect in a familiar setting that they can revisit whenever their memory needs a nudge. The Memory Palace: True Stories of the Past, by award-winning podcaster and screenwriter Nate DiMeo, however, is a more intimate and complex edifice than any mnemonic device. Instead of facts and figures, DiMeo’s memory palace is inhabited by the moving true stories that illustrate how human beings throughout history, whether famous, infamous or unknown, felt the same emotions and had the same imperfections that we have and humans will always have.

Like DiMeo’s podcast of the same name, The Memory Palace’s stories—numbering nearly 50 in this volume—are briskly told, varied, unexpected and often paradoxical, giving us a sideways view of human nature. William Mumler, a 19th-century con artist photographer who stumbled upon a technique to make “ghosts” appear behind his subjects, gave genuine comfort to spiritualist Mary Todd Lincoln as she grieved the death of her child. William James Sidis, a boy genius who, at age 11, gave a Harvard lecture on the implications of the fourth dimension, could have been an academic celebrity, but instead sought seclusion to pursue his passion: collecting streetcar transfers. Carla Wallenda, the last surviving child of the founders of the Flying Wallendas high wire troupe, witnessed over several decades the gruesome deaths of her father, husband, cousins, aunt and uncle—but until her death at the age of 85, never felt so alive as when she was on the tightrope.  

DiMeo ordered the stories in no particular way, and he suggests that The Memory Palace could be a “dipping book.” But there’s a benefit to reading it in order: In his final seven stories, he seamlessly interweaves episodes from his family’s lives in a way that illuminates both the individuals chronicled in his “cabinet of curiosities” and the project of the book and podcast as a whole. Readers will feel a shiver of recognition and understanding—making a second or third visit to DiMeo’s memory palace both irresistible and gratifying.

The Memory Palace collects stories from Nate DiMeo’s award-winning podcast about historical people—famous and unknown alike, all breathtakingly human.
NonfictionWomen's HistoryHistory

The Icon and the Idealist

Review by Anne Bartlett

It’s not as if birth control methods weren’t used in the olden days. Condoms, pessaries and douches didn’t magically appear in the late 19th century. But something did change significantly at that time in the United States: The Comstock Act of 1873 effectively criminalized the distribution of contraceptive devices and information about their use. The result was several generations of vituperative battles over a practice that had previously been routine for many, though seldom discussed in public.

At the vanguard of the fight for safe, effective and accessible birth control in the early 20th century were two dedicated activists, Margaret Sanger and Mary Ware Dennett. Author Stephanie Gorton tells the story of their interconnected lives in The Icon and the Idealist: Margaret Sanger, Mary Ware Dennett, and the Rivalry That Brought Birth Control to America, a compelling dual biography that has striking parallels to the contemporary abortion debate.

Despite a common goal, the two women loathed each other. Sanger, the “icon” now remembered as the mother of Planned Parenthood, spearheaded a mass movement that broke laws and made questionable compromises. Dennett, the “idealist,” played a more genteel inside game, lobbying Congress for a permanent change to the Comstock Act.

Obviously, they should have coordinated their efforts. But Dennett made a foolish mistake about Sanger early on, and Sanger never forgave her. Gorton adeptly shows how their contrasting backgrounds and personalities fed a grudge that helped shape our current world. The fact that you’ve probably heard of Sanger but not of Dennett tells you who prevailed at the time. But, as Gorton notes, the debate about whether court challenges or statutory change is the wiser long-term strategy has been renewed after the Supreme Court’s overturning of Roe v. Wade in 2022.

Gorton doesn’t shy away from the fact that both women allied themselves with the racist and xenophobic eugenics movement, which put “a scientific sheen on white supremacy and ableism.” Dennett and Sanger, she writes, “were intent on disrupting a specific form of oppression and yet were active in perpetuating another.” Wherever readers fall on the impact and morality of the two reformers, after reading Gorton’s fair-minded biography, it’s indisputable that their efforts helped an increasing number of ordinary Americans use birth control more safely and effectively. As Gorton writes, “Dennett and Sanger were instrumental in forcing lawmakers to recognize the kind of world Americans actually lived in, one where fertility control was nearly universally practiced.”

 

The Icon and the Idealist is a compelling, warts-and-all dual biography of the warring leaders of the early 20th-century birth control movement: Margaret Sanger and Mary Ware Dennett.
Children's & YAPicture BookChildren's

The City Sings Green

Review by Alice Cary

The City Sings Green & Other Poems About Welcoming Wildlife is an inspirational treasure trove that introduces young readers to the concept of rewilding, showing how cities and communities around the world are repairing some of the environmental damage caused by human habitation. Focusing on 11 intriguing examples, Erica Silverman has created a unique blend of poetry, science, civics and activism. 

Each story is compelling: a honeybee highway in Oslo, Norway; a Los Angeles school that tore up their asphalt playground to create a natural oasis; and cities in Australia that built rope bridges over highways so that western ringtail possums might safely cross. Silverman introduces each short lesson with a poem celebrating an ecological achievement, accompanied by a prose explanation of the specific details. It’s a winning combination that succinctly informs and delights, while helpful back matter provides additional resources. Both the poetry and prose of The City Sings Green are widely accessible.

Ginnie Hsu’s cheery illustrations are an ecological feast, filled with bright colors that readily convey the benefits of each endeavor. Her art is particularly immersive, leaving readers feeling as though they’ve practically taken a walk through many of the places described, often seen from an animal’s point of view.  

The City Sings Green is inspiring, and likely to encourage budding environmentalists to more closely consider the intersection between humans and nature. 

The City Sings Green is inspiring, and likely to encourage budding environmentalists to more closely consider the intersection between humans and nature.
Mystery & SuspenseThriller

The Close-Up

Review by Lauren Emily Whalen

A hotly anticipated debut novel, complete with a princely advance and a dreamy move to Los Angeles, equals lifelong success, right? Not quite. Books flop, money dries up and the city’s bright lights conceal both its dark underbelly and what those in the limelight will do to stay famous. Pip Drysdale’s marvel of a thriller, The Close-Up, follows Zoe Ann Weiss, a writer as witty as she is messy, as she gets entangled in a high-profile, high-stakes relationship that could lead to a bestselling second book—if no one kills her first.

Zoe always dreamed of being a writer, and that dream came true . . . for a while, until her debut failed and her advance funds ran out. Now, Zoe works in a flower shop to make ends meet while her agent rejects pitches for her still-under-contract follow-up and her dad frequently begs her to move home to London. Just before Zoe’s 30th birthday, she has a chance reunion with Zach, a sexy bartender she spent three breathless days with years ago, who is now an action star with a to-die-for LA bachelor pad. Zoe finds inspiration for her second book in their rekindled romance (there’s just the little problem of the NDA she signed). But when she’s stalked by someone reenacting the events of her debut novel—in which the heroine dies at the end—Zoe finds herself fighting, and writing, for her life.

Drysdale’s four previous novels have been bestsellers in Australia, and the author grew up on three continents (per her bio, she “became an adult in New York and London”). Her protagonist, Zoe, has a believably world-weary air and a distinctively jaded voice, with nascent hope swimming just under the surface. The decisions she makes are often rash, heavily influenced by ambition, love, lust and all the other intense emotions endemic to those who move to Hollywood with stars in their eyes. You may not agree with Zoe Ann Weiss, but you will love watching her navigate Drysdale’s deceptively glamorous LA. With its colorful supporting characters (especially Daisy, an aspiring actor who manages Zoe’s flower shop) and spectacularly twisty plot, The Close-Up is a fantastic addition to the neo-noir subgenre.

World-weary and distinctively jaded, The Close-Up is a fantastic, Los Angeles-set neo-noir.
FictionLiterary FictionHistorical Fiction

The Bishop’s Villa

Review by Thane Tierney

It might seem simple, sitting on the couch with Netflix on and your belly full, to envision the heroics you’d accomplish if war broke out in your homeland: You’d join the armed forces, or whatever constituted the resistance. You’d break the chains of your oppressors, just like Star Wars, or go rogue, living off your wits and aiding the forces of good, just like Mad Max. Of course you would. Of course you would. 

But life isn’t a Hollywood movie, and as the real stories of World War II are lost to living memory, it takes someone with a sharp eye and an emotionally perceptive heart to bring the nuance of enduring an occupation into focus. Italian author Sacha Naspini has done so triumphantly in his second novel to be translated into English, The Bishop’s Villa. Naspini is from Grosseto, a town in southern Tuscany that holds a dubious distinction: It was Europe’s only Catholic diocese to have been rented out by its bishop as a prison camp during the Holocaust. For eight months toward the end of the war in the European theater, the Roccatederighi seminary housed about 100 Jews, many of whom were sent on to Auschwitz. 

The Bishop’s Villa’s fictional protagonist, who stands in for everyman, is a cobbler in Grosseto named René. It’s not his war; he’s just trying to keep his head down and make it through, like most of the townsfolk. But when his friend (and unrequited love) Anna flees to join the resistance, his relationship with her lands him in hot water with the local collaborators, and he finds himself an unwilling “guest” at the bishop’s villa. Though he’s beaten and interrogated, René holds out hope. “What,” he reflects, “can you do to a man who looks at you calmly when you threaten him with death? You can chew his bones clean, but you can’t touch his soul, which means you will never win.”

René’s gut-wrenching story of survival caroms between moments of unexpected kindness and unfathomable cruelty as the final days of the war play out. Naspini is to be commended for helping us to recall a story that played out thousands of times across a continent, a scenario that we dare not forget lest it be repeated. 

Sacha Naspini’s The Bishop’s Villa is a gut-wrenching story of survival set in Grosseto, a Catholic diocese in Tuscany which was rented out by its bishop as a prison camp during the Holocaust.
FictionSpeculative FictionLiterary Fiction

The City and Its Uncertain Walls

Review by Matthew Jackson

Every new Haruki Murakami book is an event, but The City and Its Uncertain Walls has a special importance for longtime readers of the Japanese master. This weighty tome is not just his first novel in six years, but also a return to one of his earliest works: 1985’s Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World. In the book’s afterword, Murakami relates how he reworked the ideas of that early book, reflecting on 40 years of writing life in the process. Without giving too much of this glorious novel away, what emerges from those four decades of thought is a striking, moving meditation on the price of isolation, the nourishment of stories and how the most important things in our lives reach us in slow, unexpected ways. 

The unnamed narrator of The City and Its Uncertain Walls is a man caught between reality and an alternate world dominated by a strange Town surrounded by an impenetrable wall. When we meet this narrator, he’s reminiscing about both a teenage romance with an odd ending and the Town itself, which he once visited to work in a dark library as a Dream Reader. With the love story from his youth and his time in the Town dominating his mind, he sets out to change his life and find fulfillment working in a new, more conventional library. 

Many things about Murakami’s work are striking, but what stands out most when you dive into this book is his unmatched narrative patience. He does not rely on breakneck pacing to drive you from page to page. Instead, he moves the story forward steadily, with a confidence and wit that keeps you longing to read on. In his trademark assured, graceful prose, Murakami has produced a work of tremendous ambition that on a sentence-by-sentence level feels like sitting down with a friend to hear them tell a very strange story. It’s another masterwork from one of our finest living novelists, and a must-read for Murakami devotees.

Haruki Murakami’s latest masterwork, The City and Its Uncertain Walls, is a moving meditation on the price of isolation, the nourishment of stories and how the most important things in our lives reach us in slow, unexpected ways.
Children's & YAPicture BookChildren's

Tamales for Christmas

Review by Alice Cary

Tamales for Christmas transports readers right into Grandma’s kitchen, filled with warmth, comfort and creativity. . “Her kitchen is the heartbeat of our familia, loud and cramped and perfumed with delicious smells,” states the book’s narration. Grandma is based on author Stephen Briseño’s grandmother and her cooking skills, legendary among her numerous children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.  

With the holidays approaching, Grandma sells her tamales to make money for Christmas gifts, and the bright, saturated colors of Sonia Sánchez’s art immediately infuse a festive spirit into this big-hearted tale. Gray-haired Grandma always has a smile on her face, delighted as she enlists her entire family’s help with her project. Each spread oozes joyous commotion: pots steam on the stove, children run from room to room, Grandma’s busy hands layer the corn husks. Her work begins in the fall and lasts until Christmas, sometimes before dawn as well as at night. There’s an ongoing tally of the tamales she makes, starting with 15 dozen and ending at 1,000 dozen—12,000 tamales! Young readers will enjoy keeping track of the count, as well as the repeated refrain, “With masa in one hand, corn husks in the other,” used to describe the matriarch’s efforts. 

While heroic and quick to help out neighbors, Grandma is also human. As the months pass, she keeps making her specialty, even on Halloween night. She whips up a big feast for Thanksgiving—no tamales, however—and finally takes a well-earned break in early December, propping her feet up on the couch, “long enough to play a game, weave stories that get everyone laughing so hard our eyes tear up and our sides hurt.”

Briseño never loses sight of the holiday spirit. As the narrator says, “We finally enjoy the best present Grandma could have given us. Each other.” Both story and art shine in Tamales for Christmas, making readers feel as though they’re part of this big, loving family. 

Both story and art shine in the festive Tamales for Christmas, making readers feel as though they’re part of the book’s big, loving family.
Children's & YAPicture BookChildren's

Thank You, Everything

Review by Alice Cary

Thank You, Everything is a unique picture book meant to be enjoyed over and over: It may easily become a favorite of preschoolers as well as young elementary students. One morning, a child wakes up, eats breakfast and receives a box containing a mysterious treasure map that launches a grand journey. Told with minimal prose, this intriguing tale opens up the world to readers in a multitude of fascinating ways, leading them on a grand adventure that lasts for months and involves travel by bicycle, train, bus, plane, raft and hot-air balloon.

Icinori—the design and illustration duo of Mayumi Otero and Raphael Urwiller—use a bold yet limited color palette that favors shades of turquoise and rust to create wildly stylized, dynamic illustrations. Their graphic designs are eye-catching throughout, whether portraying a glass of water, jungles of wild animals or winding pathways reminiscent of an M.C. Escher painting. The pacing is perfect, prompting readers to appreciate and take close-up looks at small details (a bath towel, a canteen, a caterpillar) while also admiring big, beautiful landscapes (a bustling city, a dark forest lit by a full moon, a mountainside strewn with boulders, a mysterious palace).

The narrative, translated from French by Emilie Robert Wong, is equally distinctive. Just as Goodnight Moon uses a repeated refrain, the explorer in this picture book, as the title suggests, thanks each and every thing encountered, starting simple (“Thank you, alarm clock) and getting progressively more intriguing (“Thank you, volcano”). This delicious blend of art and prose is both soothing and exciting, and will encourage young imaginations to soar. The mystery of the final destination—where a surprise awaits—will keep readers engaged from start to satisfying conclusion.

Thank You, Everything is a delightful book filled with wonder and gratitude, feelings that will linger with readers long after they close its cover.

Thank You, Everything is a delightful book filled with wonder and gratitude, feelings that will linger with readers long after they close its cover.

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