Nature of Color: Your Field Guide for Exploring Color in the Natural World

While this volume explores the nature of color, it could just as well have been titled the Color of Nature.  Author Kimberly Collins German is a landscape painter, teacher, and architectural color designer who finds color to be a basic element in how one senses the environment. She acknowledges that color vision varies with sex, age, time of day, mood, and lighting, and that it can be difficult to capture the true colors that the viewer appears to see. For this effort, she urges the painter to venture into nature and to capture the spectral sensations that are first perceived in the natural surroundings.  Exercises are offered to enhance the painters' skill in capturing the truest nuance of light on the natural scenery, and explorative techniques used by past artists are recorded. Unfortunately, the painting exercises were not included in this review issue. This is a book that will appeal to plein air painters and designers concerned with the effect color adds to one’s surroundings.  Though the text shows much enthusiasm for the value of color in natural settings, there is much repetition on the same theme.


The Battle of the Bookshops: A Heartwarming Enemies-to-Lovers Novel of Romance, Rivalry, and the Fight to Save a Cherished Bookstore in a Quaint Seaside Town―Perfect for Summer Reading

Jules Capelthorne has just moved back to her hometown to help out an elderly relative with her bookstore. Even though it seems a bit worn down, Jules feels confident she can bring it back to life. But her nemesis, Roman Mountbeau, has also returned home to set up his own enterprise. Of course, it's a high-flying modern bookstore on the opposite side of the high street. As far as Jules is concerned, this is war. And it doesn't help that the families have been feuding for generations, with the latest event adding fuel to a lingering flame. After Roman shows a little kindness, Jules starts to wonder if he is as horrible as she first thought. The two form a fledgling relationship until Jules discovers a terrible truth that many end the affair before it has time to take off.

The Battle of the Bookshops is a fun romance filled with interesting characters, a compelling plot, and an overall great escape into another world. I definitely want to read more from this author.


Proto: How One Accident Language Went Global | Laura Spinney

Proto: How One Ancient Language Went Global by Laura Spinney is an ambitious attempt to trace the story of Proto-Indo-European (PIE), a language never written down, and its legacy in over 400 modern tongues. Spinney weaves together archaeological, linguistic, and genetic research in the service of a narrative that seeks both to entertain and to enlighten. The book’s scope is considerable: it takes the reader from the steppes north of the Black Sea through migrations, trade, myth, and cultural exchange, showing how the speakers of PIE left traces in language, culture, and DNA.

Spinney’s strengths lie in her ability to humanise complex science. She brings to life nomadic herders, metallurgists, traders, and linguists, and she helps readers feel the mystery that surrounds a reconstructed past. Her prose is clear, and her sense of curiosity is infectious. She does less well when the subject enters technical linguistic territory: there are some factual uncertainties, occasional simplifications, and places where the tension between what is reasonably known and what is speculative becomes strained.

Another virtue of the book is its timeliness. With new genetic and archaeological findings constantly reshaping our picture of early human migrations and cultural contact, Spinney’s work serves as a state-of-the-art synthesis, at least as of its writing. For readers new to this territory, “Proto” offers a compelling entry point. Those already versed in Indo-European studies or historical linguistics may find some of the treatment familiar or occasionally frustrating in its looseness of detail.

Overall, Proto is an engaging, provocative work. It may not settle all academic debates, nor does it pretend to, but it does succeed in making PIE’s story both accessible and vivid. For general readers curious about how language, migration, and culture have intertwined through millennia, this book is very worthwhile.


Darker Days: A Novel

11 months out of the year, life is usually pretty sweet for the residents of Bird Street. Ralph Lewis is a Superior Court judge married to Luana, a college professor. Their daughter Kiana is a budding Olympic diver, while their son Django is a piano prodigy. Their close circle of friends includes a best-selling author and a wealthy industrialist. However, there is a price for success, and the bill comes due in November, when a pall of darkness spreads over the neighborhood and misfortune often follows. The children are oblivious to the cause of the gloom that enshrouds their house, but they notice a shift in their parents’ moods when the purgatory is nearing its end. Ralph, Luana, and their friends must fulfill their end of a pact with a sinister figure dubbed “The Accountant"; their debt involves a sacrificial offering before November’s end or else.

Darker Days is an intense and riveting book about the price people pay in the pursuit of happiness and the destruction caused by secrets and lies. Author Thomas Olde Heuvelt has written an excellent novel exploring the horrors of human frailty and conformity. This is an unforgettable read for 2025.


The Floating Lake of Dressa Moore: A Humorous Fantasy Adventure

George Allen Miller’s The Floating Lake of Dressa Moore is one of those fantasy adventures that makes you feel like you’ve stumbled into a bedtime story gone gloriously rogue. It opens with an old man telling tales to the village children, a framing device that’s both whimsical and grounding. The kids interrupt with questions like, “That doesn’t make any sense…?” when he says the story starts “one hundred years before it starts." Right away, Miller lets us know this is a book that enjoys poking fun at itself even while it builds a serious mythos.

The myth at the heart of the book is that a final battle between the world’s last wizard and last dragon created a magical tsunami that forever altered the landscape, seas floated a mile in the air, mountains split in half, and towns were bisected. It’s a striking premise, and Miller wrings a lot of atmosphere out of it. The titular floating lake, Lake Connell, becomes not just a location but a symbol of all the mystery, wonder, and danger that magic left behind.

The real story, though, belongs to William Watts Worthwaddle and Jonathan Braxton, two university men who get swept up in a risky expedition to Dressa Moore. William is a linguist obsessed with why the world only has one language, a puzzle that might sound niche, but his passion is oddly endearing. At one point, when pressed by an incredulous soldier, he defends his studies with earnestness: “Even if there aren’t [other languages], I find it odd that only one language has ever developed." It’s one of those quirks that makes him feel human, not just a stock fantasy scholar.

Jonathan, by contrast, is the magilurgist: sharp, stylish, and a little self-absorbed. His introduction describes him as “foremost expert on magical theory, master of the arts of cookery regarding cured meats, one of the finest dressers William had ever met, and perhaps the most selfish lover William had endured." That blend of humor and sting sums him up well. Their relationship, fraying but still tender, gives the book an emotional through-line that makes the danger ahead feel personal.

Miller also delivers on swashbuckling fun. Captain Marta Bartolome storms into the narrative with the swagger of a classic pirate, her motives wrapped up in curses, revenge, and survival. She’s the kind of character who can complain about her vest being ruined by a gunshot while still steering a ship under fire. The clash between her and Commodore Wilkes, who sees her as “the vilest creature to sail the seas," injects the book with a sharp moral ambiguity: who’s really in the right when survival, empire, and magic collide?

What impressed me most was the balance between humor and high stakes. The book isn’t afraid to let its characters bicker about turkey legs or luggage while the fate of nations looms in the background. That mix makes the magical world feel lived-in. It’s not just epic battles and ancient spells. It’s people, messy and flawed, stumbling through the extraordinary.

If you like your fantasy equal parts witty banter, high-concept worldbuilding, and morally complicated pirates, The Floating Lake of Dressa Moore is worth climbing aboard.


The Longest Day

Alicia Cahalane Lewis’s The Longest Day is a profoundly affecting novel that demands attention and empathy. Told through the eyes of Ellen Abigail Allen, a teenager navigating both the normal turbulence of adolescence and the extraordinary burden of sexual violence, the story resonates with a clarity that is painful but necessary. As an older woman, I felt deeply the echoes of my own generation’s struggles, moments when young women were told to endure, to be silent, to accept rather than resist.

From its earliest pages, the book situates us in Ellen’s conflicted interior world. She writes, “I fall somewhere in the gray undiscovered realm of a boy/girl. A composite. A germ cell." This candid self-assessment highlights the uncertainty of identity at an age when expectations about gender feel both rigid and suffocating. Ellen’s refusal to fit neatly into categories, girl or boy, conformist or rebel, reminds the reader that selfhood is never simple, and that for young women especially, identity is too often defined by others rather than claimed for oneself.

The novel also explores the importance of writing as survival. Ellen clings to her composition books, numbering them and filling them with her most private thoughts. “My most precious secrets go in here," she confesses, fiercely protective of the words she commits to paper. For me, this detail spoke volumes about how young women safeguard their voices when the world refuses to listen. The composition books become both shield and sword, a place where Ellen can exist on her own terms even as her physical environment betrays her.

The dynamic between Ellen and her peers is another central thread. Her friendship with Sylvia is marked by both admiration and frustration. Sylvia is confident, sharp, and seemingly unshakable, yet Ellen knows that even Sylvia might turn her writing into gossip. The tension between loyalty and betrayal among girls at that age is rendered with authenticity, underscoring how vulnerable Ellen feels. Later, her interactions with Justin reveal yet another layer: the confusing overlap of attraction, mistrust, and unexpected solidarity. His attempts to comfort her after Mr. Wallace’s assault ring hollow, highlighting how even well-meaning peers cannot truly shoulder the weight of what Ellen endures.

Lewis’s prose captures the claustrophobic reality of adolescence with striking detail. When Ellen describes sitting in Ms. Swift’s classroom, forced to read aloud from Romeo and Juliet while silently reeling from trauma, the reader feels her dissonance: the impossibility of performing normalcy when one’s inner world has been torn apart. The rain and sleet outside mirror her own frozen state, nature itself becoming a backdrop for her turmoil.

What emerges most powerfully is Ellen’s resilience. Despite humiliation, betrayal, and disbelief, she insists on claiming her right to be heard. She resists being reduced to her trauma, even as it threatens to consume her. The novel’s insistence on telling the story in Ellen’s own words, halting, angry, and tender, ensures that she is never silenced, even when those around her try to dismiss or control her.

The Longest Day speaks to generations of women who know the weight of silence, while offering younger readers a story that insists on truth. Alicia Cahalane Lewis has written a haunting and necessary reminder that bearing witness is itself an act of courage.


The Longest Day

Alicia Cahalane Lewis’s The Longest Day is a raw and courageous novel that blends memoir-like intimacy with the voice of a young girl navigating the boundaries of identity, power, and survival. At its core, this is Ellen Abigail Allen’s story—one told with unflinching honesty about girlhood, betrayal, and the search for selfhood in a world that too often diminishes or disbelieves women. From the opening lines—“There’s something I need to tell you. It’s about a rape. My book won’t be easy to read,” the reader knows they are entering a narrative that will not look away from pain, nor from the uncomfortable truths that come with it.

The book’s most striking theme is survival in the face of systemic silencing. Ellen’s voice is layered with hesitation and strength, innocence and fury. She grapples not only with the trauma of abuse at the hands of a teacher but also with the secondary betrayal of authority figures who dismiss her cries for help. Mrs. Burke, the administrative figure who should have protected her, reduces Ellen’s pain to “ego,” telling her not to “put your ego up on a pedestal.". This moment rings painfully true for many readers familiar with the ways institutions protect themselves before children. I found myself deeply sympathetic to Ellen’s repeated attempts to name what happened, even as adults around her insisted she remain silent.

Another powerful thread running through the book is identity, particularly what it means to grow up female in a culture that constantly demands justification. Ellen’s early reflections, “There’s nothing wrong, as there’s nothing right, about being a girl. It’s not something I wanted to be…It’s who I am," capture the universal adolescent uncertainty about belonging, magnified by the expectations placed upon girls. Her comparisons to her mother, who idolizes Gloria Steinem but pushes Ellen to “be her own Gloria,” underline the generational tension between feminism as an ideal and lived reality.

Lewis also interweaves themes of friendship, betrayal, and first love. Ellen’s uneasy bond with Sylvia and her complicated encounters with Justin add dimension to her voice. These relationships, awkward and sometimes painful, feel authentic to the adolescent experience. They serve as counterpoints to the darkness, reminding the reader that even amid trauma, there are still moments of longing, humor, and humanity.

Reading The Longest Day is not easy, and it should not be. It demands empathy, attention, and reflection. As a woman, I felt both protective of Ellen and in awe of her resilience. Her story reminds us of the courage it takes to speak when silence is expected, and of the necessity of listening to young voices even when they are halting, angry, or ashamed. Alicia Cahalane Lewis has given us a book that is as unsettling as it is essential.


The Road to Yesterday: A Memoir

Reading The Road to Yesterday felt like both an act of witness and a deeply personal reckoning. Maryellen Donovan’s memoir is not only a testament to unimaginable loss but also to the endurance of love, community, and the complicated journey of healing. The book opens with the idyllic everyday moments of family life: dropping off her son at school, juggling renovations, savoring a rekindled romance with her husband, Steve. These early scenes pulse with normalcy, even joy, which makes the devastation of September 11, 2001, when Steve was killed while working at Cantor Fitzgerald in the North Tower, all the more shattering.

What struck me most was the way Donovan balances the intimacy of her story with the broader cultural trauma of 9/11. Her grief is both uniquely her own and part of a collective wound. Themes of motherhood run powerfully through the memoir, as she had to hold herself together to shield her six-year-old son, Brett, from the worst of the horror while cradling her infant, Colton, against her chest. The book lays bare how motherhood can be both a burden and a lifeline in grief: the need to parent pushes her to rise each morning, even when despair urges her back into bed.

Another central theme is community. Donovan’s home quickly filled with neighbors, siblings, friends, and fellow widows who became her lifeboats. Some moments, such as the casserole-filled refrigerator, her son taping a “Welcome Home Daddy” sign to their front door, and the candlelight vigil in her yard, speak to how grief weaves people together in rituals of comfort and remembrance. Yet, she is unflinchingly honest about how loss can also fray relationships, particularly when grief makes empathy hard to summon, even with those she loves.

Donovan recounts the last phone call with Steve, his unusual tenderness, and how those words became frozen in amber, a reminder of love but also of its sudden ending. Memory becomes a double-edged sword: a source of solace and of unbearable pain. She describes the raw, almost physical ache of Steve’s absence in everyday objects: his pressed suits still in plastic, his untouched coffee machine, his father’s song sung at their wedding and remembered at his funeral.

What makes The Road to Yesterday so affecting is its refusal to resolve neatly. Donovan doesn’t offer platitudes about resilience. Instead, she invites readers into the complexity: the anger at insensitive comments, the envy at women who still had their husbands, the moments when grief felt like quicksand. Yet, there are glimmers of hope: new friendships with other widows, small acts of kindness, and her eventual belief that she could carry both love and loss forward into the future.

For me, this book reminded me that while tragedy can alter the shape of a family forever, it also deepens our appreciation for love in all its fragile, fleeting forms. Donovan shows us that yesterday is never fully gone; it continues to live in memory, in children, in community, and in the enduring imprint of those we lose.


Keep Talking: Conversations with Our Kids When They Want Us Least but Need Us Most

As a 45-year-old mom raising teenagers, I felt an immediate connection to Jen Shoemaker Davidson’s Keep Talking. Parenting often feels like trial by fire, especially when it comes to communication, and Davidson captures that reality with a blend of honesty, humor, and practical advice. Her book isn’t a lofty theory on child psychology; it’s a lived-in, compassionate guide that feels like a conversation with a trusted friend who’s been there, struggled through it, and come out the other side with wisdom to share.

At the heart of the book is Davidson’s four-pillar approach to parenting conversations: connection, encouragement, wisdom, and understanding. These principles are woven through each chapter, showing up in everything from handling silence and grunts at the dinner table to broaching more delicate topics like sex, mistakes, and perfectionism. What I appreciated most is that she doesn’t shy away from the messy moments. Instead, she leans into them, offering strategies that acknowledge both the child’s perspective and the parent’s frustration.

Her “Life Lesson Lunches” especially stood out to me. These intentional one-on-one outings with her kids created safe, distraction-free spaces for meaningful conversations. As a mom who often finds her teens slipping away behind their closed bedroom doors, I loved the practicality of this idea, something I can try without feeling like I have to reinvent the wheel.

Several themes run strongly throughout the book:

Perseverance in Connection: Davidson reminds us that even when our teens push us away, they need us most in those moments. It’s easy to take rejection personally, but her encouragement to “dig in deeper” instead of giving up is a needed nudge.

Normalizing Mistakes: A whole chapter is devoted to handling mistakes, both ours and our kids’, with compassion. She stresses that mistakes don’t define us, and modeling healthy apologies is a crucial parenting skill. As a wife and mother, I found this theme transferable to marriage, friendships, and beyond.

Balancing Expectations: Davidson tackles perfectionism with refreshing honesty. She challenges parents to reflect on whether we’re pushing too hard, living vicariously through our kids, or emphasizing achievements over values.

Creating Safe Conversations: From awkward middle-school questions blurted out in public to heavier talks about sex, substances, and independence, Davidson shows that no topic is too messy if approached with openness and care.

What makes Keep Talking stand apart from other parenting books is Davidson’s willingness to admit her own mistakes. She doesn’t position herself as an expert but as a mom who has tried, failed, and kept showing up anyway. This humility makes her guidance relatable. When she shares her own parenting missteps, I found myself nodding and thinking, “Me too.”

As a mother, I walked away from this book not just with practical conversation tools, but with a renewed sense of patience and perspective. Davidson reassures us that connection isn’t about getting every talk right; it’s about showing up consistently, even when our kids roll their eyes or walk away.

Keep Talking is both a guide and a comfort. It’s for parents who feel ignored, who worry they’re losing their kids, and who need a reminder that communication is a long game. I’ll be keeping my copy close, ready to flip open whenever I need encouragement to lean back in and keep the conversations alive.


Fireflies in a Jar

Beka Wueste’s Fireflies in a Jar is a warm, funny, and quietly heartbreaking look at one woman’s struggle to see herself as worthy. Sam, the book’s narrator, is in her mid-thirties, painfully self-conscious, and, by her own account, living life as a perpetual “plus-one” in other people’s stories. The novel peels back the layers of how she got that way, linking her awkward present-day stumbles to a childhood full of small hurts that never really faded.

When we meet her, Sam is nursing an unrequited crush on Tali, a dazzling social chameleon who seems to make everyone feel special. That spell is broken, though gently, by Tali’s wife, Em, during a Guy Fawkes Day bonfire. In a conversation equal parts intervention and pep talk, Em uses the now-iconic “firefly in a jar” metaphor to explain that what people fall for is Tali’s glow at parties, not the complicated, insecure person she really is. It’s a moment that forces Sam to look at her own patterns of idealizing others from a distance, instead of building genuine connections.

Wueste shows us exactly where those patterns began. As a middle child in a distracted family, Sam was often forgotten, literally. Her parents, worn out from managing her older brother’s activities and her younger sister Kimmy’s behavior issues, skipped her school events, forgot to pick her up, and brushed off her needs with “you’re a big girl, you can handle it.” Kimmy, emboldened by the lack of consequences, turned her into a constant target, mocking everything from her clothes to her voice. Over time, Kimmy’s insults, “you’re boring,” “you’re beige,” “you’re human oatmeal," became the voice in Sam’s head.

Those early experiences bled into adulthood. At work, Sam thrives behind the scenes but avoids public-facing roles. She’s good at her job, but ducks out of happy hours and hides from the marketing team when they ask for input. In her personal life, she avoids risks. She spends weekends alone at the movies, sticking to predictable indie romances and musicals, finding comfort in stories where change is inevitable and love is guaranteed, even if she doesn’t believe either is possible for herself.

Wueste uses smaller, vivid memories to show why Sam guards herself so tightly. The loss of her grandparents, two of the only people who ever made her feel truly seen, left a hole she’s never filled. At her grandfather’s funeral, Kimmy cruelly remarked, “Now you really don’t have anyone who likes you,” cementing the belief that she was fundamentally unlovable. Even joyful moments are tinged with self-doubt; at a childhood sleepover, she briefly felt like part of the in-crowd, only to later retreat into her shell, certain it wouldn’t last.

The beauty of Fireflies in a Jar is how it balances these heavier moments with humor and hope. Em and Tali, sometimes clumsy, sometimes wise, decide Sam needs a “makeover” of both style and confidence. There’s a hilarious scene where Tali, face covered in chocolate and marshmallow, agrees to “help Sam be the most Sam she can be.” Underneath the laughs is a genuine offer: to help her shed the habits that keep her in the background.

By the end, there’s no sudden, sweeping transformation. Instead, Wueste leaves us with something more believable: a woman beginning to believe she might deserve to be loved for exactly who she is. Fireflies in a Jar isn’t just about romance, it’s about learning to unlearn the wrong lessons your past taught you, and trusting that you’re more than the labels you’ve been given.

Available in the following formats:

eBook:$9.99

Paperback:  $19.99

Hardcover: $35.00


Houseboats and Hitmen

"A gritty, hilarious, and heartfelt memoir, Houseboats and Hitmen blends Long Island bay life with the tension of a noir thriller. From backroad showdowns to shady houseboat deals and a courtroom standoff against town hall, it’s a wild ride of defiance, resilience, and unforgettable characters. Rich with sharp humor and vivid storytelling, this is a tale of one man’s fight to live life on his own terms. For anyone who loves true stories with grit, guts, and a touch of danger, this one’s for you." —Scott Olsen, Seattle Book Review


The Christian Handbook of Survival

As a woman navigating faith in a world that often feels increasingly chaotic, I found The Christian’s Handbook of Survival by Silas Marshall to be both challenging and deeply thought-provoking. This book is not a light devotional or a quick encouragement; it is a direct, urgent manual for believers, particularly those who may find themselves unprepared for what the author calls “the Evil Day.”

From the start, Marshall positions his book as a corrective to what he views as false teachings that have circulated in modern Christianity, particularly the widely accepted doctrine of the rapture. He argues that too many believers have been lulled into complacency by the promise of escape from tribulation, rather than being prepared to endure it. What struck me most was the boldness of his claim: that Satan will arrive first, not in the guise of a murderer, but as a deceiver offering help and false peace. This warning reframes tribulation not as a time of external destruction but of internal testing, where the faithful must discern truth from a convincing lie.

Several themes carry throughout the book. First is the theme of spiritual preparedness. Marshall insists that Christians must “put on the whole armor of God” through diligent study of Scripture, prayer, and reliance on the Holy Spirit. His language reminded me of my grandmother’s insistence that the Bible is not just a book for Sundays but a weapon for everyday battles.

Second is the theme of community responsibility. Marshall calls for churches to establish storehouses, for families to prepare pantries, and for believers to embrace bartering as a survival strategy. While practical advice like food storage might initially seem surprising in a spiritual text, it underscores his belief that faith is lived not only in prayer but in action.

Third, and perhaps most poignant, is the theme of endurance. Quoting both Old and New Testament passages, Marshall emphasizes that the faithful must endure trials, resist deception, and remain watchful. As a Black woman reading these exhortations, I could not help but hear echoes of generational resilience, the insistence that survival requires vigilance, wisdom, and an unshakable trust in God.

This is not an easy read in the sense of comfort. It disrupts, challenges, and at times unsettles. Yet, it is precisely that discomfort that makes it valuable. Marshall’s urgent voice calls readers to a deeper seriousness about their faith, to reject passivity, and to take responsibility for both their souls and their communities.

For believers seeking reassurance that everything will be simple and safe, this book may be jarring. But for those ready to face the hard truths of discipleship, The Christian’s Handbook of Survival offers a sobering, necessary reminder: the call of Christ is not escape, but endurance.


The Christian Handbook of Survival

I approached Silas Marshall’s The Christian Handbook of Survival with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. The subtitle, for those who will be left behind, sets the tone for what is both a sobering and deeply earnest guide for believers navigating the uncertainties of the end times. Unlike devotional works that focus primarily on comfort, Marshall’s book is a clarion call to prepare, spiritually, mentally, and even practically, for what he interprets as the unfolding of biblical prophecy.

Marshall insists that Christians must not be lulled into complacency by popular teachings of a pre-tribulation rapture. He argues, with urgency, that believers will indeed face tribulation when Satan is cast down to earth, warning: “This will not be a cake walk, it’s serious business, saints". The book repeatedly reminds us that deception is Satan’s greatest weapon and that misplaced confidence in man’s doctrines, rather than God’s Word, will leave many vulnerable. As unsettling as this may be, it is framed not to frighten but to awaken: “My people perish from lack of knowledge… you can’t be lazy, it takes work to dig out the truth of God in his Word."

Marshall builds his case by leaning heavily on Scripture, often quoting entire passages from Revelation, Thessalonians, and the Gospels. His interpretation of these texts highlights recurring themes: discernment, endurance, and love. He urges believers to “put on the whole armor of God” (Ephesians 6:10-20), not just as a metaphorical shield but as a daily practice of study and prayer. He also emphasizes practical preparedness, stocking food and water, understanding bartering systems, and learning to rely less on worldly comforts and more on God. These recommendations may feel radical to some, yet Marshall grounds them in biblical examples such as Joseph storing grain in Egypt.

A particularly striking section is his retelling of familiar stories with fresh, if controversial, interpretations. For example, he challenges traditional views of what happened in the Garden of Eden, framing it as a deliberate attempt by Satan to corrupt God’s plan of salvation. While some readers may find these interpretations difficult to accept, they undeniably compel deeper reflection on often-overlooked passages.

Yet, amid the warnings, Marshall also roots the book in hope and love. He reminds us repeatedly of God’s unshakable plan: “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life” (John 3:16). This love, he stresses, must not remain abstract but should manifest in how we treat others, caring for the poor, the fatherless, and the widows. In this way, the book balances its urgent tone with compassionate guidance, encouraging readers to be both prepared and loving witnesses.

As a reviewer, I found The Christian Handbook of Survival both challenging and encouraging. Its uncompromising stance against false doctrine may not resonate with every reader, but its passion is undeniable. For those seeking a straightforward, scripture-heavy guide on navigating the end times with faith and resilience, Marshall’s work offers both stern warnings and heartfelt reassurance.


The Christian Handbook of Survival

Silas Marshall, a longtime Christian, musician, and author of The Christian Handbook of Survival, is no stranger to his calling as a leader. Marshall's natural passion for instructing others, Christians and non-Christians alike, is evident in the pages of his book, which offers instructions and information regarding the upcoming time of trials, tribulations, and learning to become better Christians in our fight against the devil. Marshall feels so strongly about the strengthening and honing of our knowledge, skills, and abilities during these upcoming times that he created a devotional-sized book for reflection and instruction as we await the predestined event.

Marshall preaches readiness through frequent interaction and visits with the Holy Bible, keeping the Word of God fresh in the mind and soul, which is evident in our daily lives as we wait and build up the armor needed to be warriors against Satan and his demons, waging war against God and our faith. The material Marshall references is either Scripture verses or his interpretations; he does well to include specific verses the majority of the time, but other times, he makes statements lacking a source, with minimal support provided. Marshall references the Triune God, which will put Christians at ease; however, other statements or interpretations seem to lean toward progressive thinking and away from believing in the Bible as the whole truth, not just part; an example is the discussion of the Serpent Seed Theory as the correct understanding of Genesis 3 (denounced as heresy by early church figures), followed by his interpretation of Revelation that tells him the devil and his demons have not left heaven (there are plenty of scripture verses to contradict this). When they do, they will be our first tribulation, followed by 1,000 years with Christ among us on earth, followed by another challenge to our faith, and at this time, the true believers will be found and rewarded; I found no provided proof included in the text or Scripture to support these theories.

 Marshall's writing is strong and exciting, but as a result, readers can expect their comprehension of the material to be affected, making it more difficult for younger or less educated readers. At times, Marshall's writing and the presented material seem to contradict themselves from early writing to later. Marshall encourages Christians to be familiar with their faith and understanding of the Bible, which is what I recommend as well, as you venture through his book; fact-check and use appropriate translations to fully understand what is shared or instructed through the living Word of God.


American Grammar

In //American Grammar,// Jarvis R. Givens delivers an insightful and incisive examination of how schooling has been weaponized against Black and Native American communities. Rather than serving as a tool for empowerment, education was systematically designed to alienate Black and Indigenous people from their cultures, reinforce racial hierarchies, and advance colonial objectives.

Givens takes a critical approach to analyzing education in both enslaved Black communities and disenfranchised Indigenous populations. His critique illuminates the stark disparities embedded in these systems: schooling aimed at extracting and controlling Black labor, while Indian boarding schools sought to separate Indigenous peoples from their lands and cultural identities.

From my lens as an education scholar, I appreciated the author’s “active engagement” with history: discussing his lineage and sharing his personal reflections to model a deeper consciousness about systemic inequities. He carefully traces the political and economic motivations behind these educational frameworks, revealing how they were engineered to maximize exploitation and dispossession. Particularly compelling is Givens's analysis of how efforts to forge a unified national identity through schooling have further marginalized communities who were never truly included and remain unable to participate fully in American society.

This book is essential reading for anyone interested in understanding the historical foundations of U.S. education and recognizing how present-day educational inequities are rooted in this troubling legacy.


The Fix: A Novel

The Fix is a crazy whirlwind of a story that caught me by surprise. I loved the twists and turns Author Mia Sheridan placed throughout the story.

When popular high schooler Cami Courtlandt's mother and sister are murdered in a random home invasion, she is left devastated. She spends the next years of her life lying low, running a small business in the small town of Aspen Cove, Virginia. But then, she receives a call. Then a video on her phone. A boy is locked in a room that has bars on the window. She must save the boy before he meets a fate that she doesn't want to think of. Cami calls on the one person she knows who has computer hacking skills, Rex. It's been eleven years since she's seen Rex, and she told the police that the home invader could have been him, but she didn't think so. Although Rex's name is cleared, he loses scholarships and is looked at differently.

I loved this story because it never slowed down. I was always wondering what would happen next. Some of the scenes are shocking, and others just throw the reader for a loop. This is a fantastic book, and I look forward to reading others by Mia Sheridan.


The Flack

Author Brad Parks began his writing career as a newspaper reporter on the East Coast at The Washington Post and The Star Ledger (Newark, NJ). Several of his novels are centered around journalism, as is The Flack.

The narrator of this tale is Curt Hinton, a reporter at a failing newspaper. Curt gladly accepts help from his best friend, Angel Reddish, to win a job at the West Coast Logistics Corporation, where Angel is in upper management. No surprise, Curt gets the job heading the corporate communications department.

Curt and his newly pregnant wife, Page, move from a small condo to a Marin County dream home. The job perks are mind-boggling – free corporate housing, a Rivian vehicle, and $350,000 salary. Yikes!
That’s when life becomes complicated. Curt must learn to navigate the labyrinth of the corporate culture at the privately held corporation without Angel, who was murdered during a carjacking. The plot unfolds with additional unsavory incidents. Curt is desperate to maintain his honest reporter conscience while the underbelly of the corporation is exposed in myriad events.

Brad Parks, winner of the Shamus, Nero, and Lefty mystery writer awards, adds The Flack to his growing list of successes.


Night of the Deer

Autumn has come to the valley when Arabella spots a mysterious buck and doe in the field on the way to school. Arabella’s parents both remark that their grandparents said deer can disguise themselves as humans and move among them. On her ride home from school, Arabella invites the buck and doe to the harvest festival dance her school will host that night. That evening, Arabella arrives to find her school magically transformed for the festival. Just as the music starts, two strangers in odd attire appear and begin to dance beautifully. After a final breathtaking waltz, the pair disappears. Only Arabella sees the man’s antlers as he removes his hat after leaving the festival.

Mary Morel has written a delightful modern-day fairy tale. Here, the text, rich with descriptive language, is more extensive than in most picture books, making it a wonderful choice when time permits savoring a longer story. Furthermore, Mira Miroslavova’s illustrations in dark, muted tones have a distinctive Old World charm that truly complements the magical quality of the story. Just don’t be surprised when little listeners begin watching for their own magical deer.


Dreams Take Flight: The Story of Deaf Pilot Nellie Zabel Willhite (Own Voices, Own Stories)

Born in 1892, Nellie Zabel Willhite contracted an illness that left her unable to hear. Deaf children at this time were not seen as they are today, but Nellie’s mother knew her daughter could do anything. She taught Nellie to communicate through sign language. When Nellie’s mother died, Nellie’s father sent Nellie to a school for the deaf far from home. There, she could not use sign language, but her teachers believed in her, teaching her to read lips and speak by noticing how the air tickles her throat as she spoke. Nellie again proved she could do anything. Later, she worked at an airport and dreamed of flying. Eventually, Nellie began taking lessons and overcame the challenge of being unable to communicate with her instructor. In the end, Nellie became the first woman pilot in South Dakota and the first deaf pilot in the United States.

Brittany Richman has written a thoughtful biography of a woman who overcame significant obstacles to succeed at each stage of her life. Willhite’s life has great lessons for anyone who has ever thought a goal they wanted to achieve was impossible.


A Grim Reaper's Guide to Cheating Death (A SCYTHE Mystery)

Ever since Nora’s parents died, she has been obsessed with understanding death, which led her to work for the company that specializes in it, S.C.Y.T.H.E. Despite the accident occurring years ago, she still hasn’t found any answers. When her brother’s file crosses her desk, she’s driven to not only prevent him from dying but also to uncover answers she has spent her whole life seeking.

The humorous writing never dulls as Nora frantically tries to keep her brother safe after one hilarious mishap after another. Her spunk and charisma bring life and charm to the story, making every moment both entertaining and heartfelt. The story is fast-paced, taking you along for the ride, but it never misses a chance for a soft moment. The theme of family is clear as Nora’s drive is to protect her brother and to fill a void left by her parents. This takes them to a quirky town that might just give her a chance to have the family she missed out on. A fun mystery is also woven into the story, with her brother at the center, and a bigger plan at the helm. A Grim Reaper’s Guide to Cheating Death is a fun-filled journey with humor, charm, and emotional depth.


The Mouse Buffet: A Christmas Treat

This is a really cute book to get you feeling jolly for the holiday season. Four little mice see a nice holiday buffet that they think is just for them. Very carefully, they plan how to get to the table and what foods they should try. However, when they know the gingerbread house is off, they just know the cat will see them, but then the coast is clear. Next, all it takes is one flying grape, and now they must hide from the cat. Turns out it's the season for making friends and sharing.

This is a very cheerfully illustrated holiday book. I really like the adorable little mice! This book also had a nice rhyme in it to go along with a happy ending.


Battalion: War of The Ancients

Battalion: War of the Ancients stakes its claim as a modern classic in streamlined historical wargaming. Conceived by Paolo Mori and Francesco Sirocchi, with evocative art by Roland MacDonald, it transforms ancient conflicts into brisk, tactical duels that balance thematic resonance with minimalist mechanics.

At its core, the game embraces modular simplicity: 144 rank tiles, faction-specific tactics cards, a pair of compact boards, and a few dice. The absence of an ornate grid board is surprising and refreshing. Instead, players marshal units into lanes, echoing MOBA-style confrontations with left, center, and right flanks. These lanes aren’t just cosmetic; controlling the center can yield instant victory, injecting urgency and strategic foresight into every decision.

Gameplay is crisp. Each turn unfolds through a series of macro-level choices, deploying units, managing order/disorder tokens, discarding tactics cards to activate elite moves, or launching assaults. Combat hinges on rolling three D8s, where 8s hit automatically and lesser values are assigned against unit thresholds, augmented by token-driven bonuses. This system is quick to learn yet rich in nuance, rewarding both tactical planning and calculated risk.

Asymmetry is a strength. Four historical factions—the Romans, Han crossbowmen, Greco-Bactrian cavalry, and Hannibal’s Carthaginians with elephants—offer varied traits and distinctive tactics decks. However, there’s a complexity trap: the traits, each with unique names and effects, can blur together and slow down play. Similarly, the indistinct design of order/disorder tokens sometimes makes unit statuses hard to read at a glance, a surprisingly minor but persistent UX flaw.

Pacing is a high point. With no cumbersome bookkeeping or arcane tables, rounds flow briskly. In two-player duels, games often finish within 30–45 minutes; the four-player variant extends this, though some feel it was tacked-on. The shrinking deck of tactics cards also acts as a timer, ensuring crisp progression toward an inevitable climax.

Production quality matches the design's elegance. Tiles and components are solid; MacDonald’s illustrations and clean graphic design successfully evoke antiquity without fuss. The rulebook, while mostly clear, could benefit from enhanced examples and clarifications about edge cases.

Battalion: War of the Ancients is not for grand strategic minds seeking detailed simulation. Instead, it’s tailored to players who relish sharp tactical choice, fast-moving confrontations, and historical flair. Its tight design makes each lane clash feel meaningful, every token flip a tactical gamble, and every dice roll a moment of tension. Little tweaks such as crisper tokens, more intuitive trait icons, and polished rules could elevate it further. But even as-is, it stands as a cleverly designed, portable wargame: accessible, thematic, and engaging.

In conclusion, for fans of streamlined strategy with a taste of ancient warfare, “Battalion” delivers satisfying depth in a compact package. Its minor quirks aside, it’s a compelling addition to both historical gamers and casual competitors alike.


Comics: 1964-2024

by Anne Lemonnier (Editor), Emmanuèle Payen (Editor), Thierry Groensteen (Contributor), Benoît Peeters (Contributor)

Anne Lemonnier and Emmanuèle Payen’s Comics: 1964–2024 is a sweeping, art-rich celebration of graphic storytelling that defines the past six decades of the “ninth art.” Ambitious in scale and polished in presentation, this 288-page hardcover volume, assembled by Thames & Hudson, captures the vibrant, global evolution of comics, a visually striking companion piece to the eponymous exhibition at Paris’s Centre Pompidou.

Organized into twelve thematic chapters, the book frames its historical arc geographically and artistically, tracking underground U.S. counterculture like Robert Crumb’s Zap Comix, European auteur strips such as Moebius and Claire Bretécher, and avant-garde Japanese works like Garo and Osamu Tezuka. Each section begins with a concise yet insightful introduction by leading scholars, grounding the art in its sociopolitical and aesthetic landscapes without overshadowing the primary visual material.

The star of the volume is the imagery. With around 300 color reproductions, including full-page spreads, early originals, and striking sequences, the design allows each artist’s voice to shine. From the geometric elegance of Chris Ware to the emotive expressiveness of Alison Bechdel and Marjane Satrapi, the book offers a kaleidoscope of styles that collectively underscore the medium’s narrative evolution.

Editorially, the standout feature is a new interview with journalist-artist Joe Sacco, providing first-hand insight into his reportage-driven comics practice. A foreword by Paul Gravett sets the tone, positioning this collection not just as a compendium but as a curated argument for comics as a legitimate art form.

Production values are exemplary. The sewn binding, thick matte paper, and elegantly minimalist hardbound design reflect a careful consideration of format and durability, even if the tight binding occasionally hinders the book from laying fully open.

If there’s a shortcoming, it’s that the sheer density of material can feel overwhelming. Thematic breadth sometimes comes at the expense of deeper analysis; readers may find themselves craving more context on certain regional movements or underrepresented creators. Still, this reflects editorial choice more than flaw.

In sum, Comics: 1964–2024 is both a visual feast and serious academic resource. It’s ideal for enthusiasts, scholars, or casual debutantes drawn to the medium’s rich narrative potential. With its global scope, exquisite reproduction, and thoughtful curation, it stands as one of the year’s most compelling titles in graphic-arts publishing.


About Time: Poems

After getting this book for my niece, I read it first, and I am so glad I did. I had a prejudice against an actor publishing his poetry. That is now dispelled by the brilliance and wit contained in these poems. And by the way, it turns out that the author is a true Renaissance man in many different fields.

I was captured by the very first poem and found each one compelling and thought-provoking. His Shakespearean puns were particularly delightful. "LA’s a Bad Place to Die" captures the irony of sunlight on the day of your passing.  In the introduction, the author says, "Poetry is not useful, and that is exactly why we need it." In that introduction, Duchovny mounts a defense of poetry and the passion that produces it. In an increasingly utilitarian and materialistic age, each of his poems speaks for itself.


California Rewritten: A Journey Through the Golden State’s New Literature

This work examines the writing about California, and larger Western United States, through essays of John Freeman, who hosts a popular book club called the California Book Club. We get to read the essays he has written over the decades about new, classic, and reissued works of fiction and non-fiction, with the emphasis on the California experience, whether it is through the lens of immigrants, the role of the Missions, or how nature was harnessed and used to build the infrastructure in the state. Each section focuses on specific types of work, and each chapter is an individual essay, which looks at only one work. Each of the chapters is short, as most of these originally appeared in the magazine Alta Journal.

Your enjoyment of this easy-to-access work of literary criticism will depend on whether you are familiar with California history, geopolitics, and many of the works mentioned; along with how you feel about works from marginalized communities or written about marginalized communities. If you want to learn more about how the story of California has been told and how it has changed over the years, you will find much to enjoy in this book.


Just Play Like You Do in the Basement

"From basement rehearsals in Cleveland to the world stage with Sammy Davis, Jr., Rick Porrello’s journey is as unexpected as it is unforgettable. Caught between family expectations, the legacy of jazz, and the shadow of organized crime, he found his rhythm in the most unlikely places. This is a story of passion, pressure, and the choices that define a life. Bold, heartfelt, and steeped in music, Just Play Like You Do in the Basement hits with both soul and swing." —Kyle Eaton, Manhattan Book Review


The Changeling Queen: Deluxe Limited Edition

The fairy queen has a story.

On the night of Samhain, a night when the veil that divides the human world from the fae world grows thin, the wild hunt rides. And with them rides a human, chosen by the queen for her retinue. For the land requires sacrifice. But when Tam Lin is pulled from his mount and saved by his true love, the fairy queen’s tale begins. She was once a changeling, the birth-marked young Bess Grieve, the daughter of a cunning woman and midwife. Yet this changeling child was always drawn to the wilds, and so she would return, only to find the land ailing and weakening.

The Changeling Queen by Kimberly Bea is a reimagining of Tam Lin, a Scottish fairy tale, exploring the dual nature of human and fairy. I found myself getting caught up more in Bess’s back story and romance with her shepherd king than being excited about her fae future or remaining interested in the Tam Lin framing device. The story caught me up in its visuals, even though it stretched belief with various details.

Overall, I found the story an enjoyable distraction, but couldn’t pick at it too deeply without finding problems.


The Pursuit of Liberty: How Hamilton vs. Jefferson Ignited the Lasting Battle Over Power in America

Deep political divisions are nothing new in American government. This book is the story of two of our founders whose disagreements about practical applications of the Constitution were never resolved and have carried through to this day. Jefferson’s agrarian and democratic ideals conflicted with those of Alexander Hamilton, who was a Federalist and believed in a strong national government. The animus and betrayals between the two make the story relevant to today’s climate of disputation. However, very different from today is the acknowledgement that these firmly held principles should be subject to debate and consensus. While both men had gigantic egos and fiery temperaments, they could compromise for the good of the country.  Neither man wanted insurrections, uprisings, or violence to go rampant and unchecked. Today, it is difficult to find a vestige of their sound, if not divergent arguments. Since the creation of political parties, arguments seem to be set in stone, with all parties being unwilling to debate freely the basis of good government and the will of the people.

The author is a professor at the George Washington University Law School.  He has written eight other books on the United States government, and he is well worth reading.


The Malevolent Eight: The Bad, The Worse And The Wicked

As the battle between the Lords of Celestine and the Lords of Devilish expands into the mortal plane, Cade Ombra, a former Glorian Justiciar, works to protect humanity from the eternal war. By his side is a group of mages with questionable morals and one vampire kangaroo, better known as The Malevolent Eight. Sebastien de Castell continues the Malevolent Series with this second action-packed dark fantasy. I have not read the first book of this series, but de Castell does an excellent job of introducing his cast, and I did not feel lost reading this book.

The Malevolent Eight is a high fantasy with a dark edge and a twisted sense of humor. There is also a whole lot of action. As fun as the battle scenes are, the dialogue and de Castell’s sardonic and droll wit keep the pages turning. That is, once you get past de Castell's wordy over-explanations. But once you get through the word salads, the action ramps back up and the pages fly by. Anyone looking for a humorous high fantasy, you can count on The Malevolent Eight.


Holler Whispers, A Joe Turner Mystery

As someone who has spent many nights lost in Harlan Coben’s Myron Bolitar series, I came into Holler Whispers curious whether Joe Turner would offer that same mix of razor-sharp suspense and emotional depth. I’m happy to say this book doesn’t just hold its own, it carves out a space that feels both familiar and refreshing for mystery lovers like me.

The story drops Joe Turner, a defense attorney from San Francisco, into Barton, Georgia, a small town where football is religion and secrets travel faster than truth. Turner is tasked with defending Carl Ledbetter, an autistic teenager accused of murdering the town’s star quarterback. From the very start, the stakes are gut-punch high. The victim is the town’s golden boy, the accused is the misunderstood outsider, and Joe is the city slicker attorney walking into a courtroom where “fair trial” may be more of an aspiration than a guarantee.

What I appreciated most is how layered the narrative is. We’re not just following Joe’s investigation; we also get perspectives from the townspeople, the jury room, and even Carl himself. That reminded me of the way Coben will sometimes pull back the curtain and let us glimpse the emotional fallout around a crime. Here, it makes the case feel alive and sprawling. A particularly powerful sequence comes during Joe’s first meeting with Carl, where Carl explains why he ran home from the party the night of the murder: because he needed to feed his fish. It’s heartbreaking and frustrating at the same time, a moment that captures both Carl’s innocence and the way his literal logic can be twisted against him.

The courtroom drama is another high point. Judge Boniface, who also happens to be the same cyclist Joe had a heated run-in with earlier, sets an almost impossibly fast trial schedule. It’s both darkly funny and infuriating, and it places Joe in that classic defense-attorney bind: how do you mount a case when the deck is stacked and the clock is ticking?

Where the book shines is in its atmosphere. Barton is painted in rich detail, from the diner with its pie displays and football helmets to the whispers in the hollers where rumors become evidence. The town feels insular and claustrophobic, which heightens the suspense. I found myself constantly questioning who could be trusted.

Overall, Holler Whispers is a gripping legal mystery that will appeal to fans of courtroom drama, small-town intrigue, and character-driven suspense. For me, it hit that sweet spot of mystery and heart. Joe Turner is a protagonist I’ll happily follow into his next case. Verdict: 5 stars. A smart, tense, and emotionally layered mystery with staying power.


Bicentennial Summer: A Coming of Age Journey Across America

Mary Berelson’s Bicentennial Summer is set in 1976 during America’s bicentennial year, and captures the bittersweet coming-of-age experiences of a young girl swept into the turbulence of her family’s struggles while embarking on the “Great American Road Trip.” It is at once a memoir-like story of childhood innocence and a probing exploration of the fractures within a family.

One of the most striking aspects of the book is how it balances the wide-eyed wonder of childhood with the darker undercurrents of adult conflict. On the surface, the story celebrates the spirit of adventure: flag-raising rituals at dawn, the thrill of preparing for a long-awaited road trip, the curiosity of new places, and the resilience of siblings navigating unfamiliar landscapes. These passages resonate with readers who lived through the 1970s or who remember family road trips in the era before smartphones and GPS.

Yet beneath the charm lies a more serious narrative of family instability and betrayal. The father’s charisma and enthusiasm often mask his troubling flaws: financial deceit, infidelity, and inappropriate comments to young girls. The mother’s weary pragmatism and quiet warnings to her daughters offer a counterbalance, underscoring themes of trust, responsibility, and disillusionment. In this way, Berelson paints a vivid picture of how children often sense, interpret, and internalize adult failings, even if they lack the vocabulary to fully understand them.

Another theme is the loss of innocence. The protagonist, Mary, repeatedly tries to preserve joy, whether through her “Journal of Life,” her special bond with her father, or her eagerness to take on responsibility as “Driver’s Helper.” But small details such as her father’s leering comments, the discovery of multiple checkbooks, and whispered arguments about divorce creep into her consciousness. This juxtaposition of innocence and awakening gives the novel its emotional weight.

The narrative also explores American identity and patriotism, symbolized by the family’s daily flag rituals and the framing of the story within the bicentennial year. These motifs tie personal upheaval to broader questions about loyalty, truth, and what it means to believe in ideals even when authority figures fail to live up to them.

The prose is engaging, accessible, and filled with period detail that will transport readers back to 1976. Berelson has a gift for dialogue that rings true to a child’s perspective, with touches of humor that lighten even the heaviest moments. Her evocation of road-trip Americana, including the ooga horn, TripTiks, and quirky roadside attractions, adds authenticity and charm. The novel’s strongest feature is its emotional honesty. Rather than sanitize the past, Berelson confronts the painful realities of a flawed father and a fractured marriage, while still showing how love, loyalty, and resilience sustain the children.

At times, the book lingers too long on minutiae, which can slow the pacing. The sheer number of anecdotes, while enriching, occasionally dilutes the central arc of the story. Some readers may also find the father’s behavior deeply uncomfortable, and the narrative does not always probe these moments with the critical depth modern audiences might expect. Finally, the shifts between lighthearted childhood adventures and darker revelations can feel abrupt, leaving the tone uneven in places.

Bicentennial Summer is a layered, evocative coming-of-age novel that will resonate particularly with readers who recall the 1970s or who appreciate family sagas that refuse to shy away from complexity. It is a book about memory: how we preserve joy, process pain, and carry both forward into adulthood. Though imperfect in structure, it succeeds in weaving together themes of patriotism, family, betrayal, and resilience in a way that feels deeply human.


Scattered, Covered, and Smothered: A Memoir of Resilience

Often, I find myself drawn to memoirs that are not just about survival, but about the complicated paths that shape us as women, wives, and mothers. Sandra Tow’s Scattered, Smothered, and Covered is exactly that kind of book: raw, unflinching, and ultimately hopeful. Her story takes readers through the tangled web of her childhood, marked by a single mother’s love, volatile relationships, and the generational echoes of trauma, while never losing sight of resilience and the possibility of healing.

Tow’s prose is vivid and deeply personal, especially in her recollections of early childhood. The opening chapter, where she recalls imitating her mother’s smoking habit only to be forced to finish a real cigarette until she vomits, is seared into my mind. It’s a scene that captures the complicated push and pull of love and cruelty in her upbringing. As a mother myself, that moment made me pause and think about the ways we, often unintentionally, leave imprints on our children. Parenting, as Tow reflects, is rarely about perfection but about reconciling our human flaws with the responsibility of raising another life.

One of the strongest themes in this memoir is the cyclical nature of family trauma. Tow explores how her mother’s difficult upbringing bled into her own childhood, a reminder of how deeply rooted pain can be when it isn’t confronted. Yet the book is not only about hardship. There are tender recollections of her great-grandparents, whose warmth and steadiness offered the kind of safe harbor every child longs for. Those passages felt like small breaths of relief between the storms, reminding us that love, however scattered, can anchor us.

The memoir also touches on themes of resilience, identity, and independence. Tow writes candidly about the instability of her home life, from abusive relationships to financial struggles, and yet what shines through is her determination to rise above. Even moments of fear, such as her ghostly visions in childhood or the manipulations of her stepfather, are reframed as experiences that shaped her strength and perseverance. There’s something empowering about seeing how she eventually claimed her own voice and sense of self, especially as she built her own family.

As a wife and mother reading this, I felt both empathy and gratitude. Empathy, because so many of us carry echoes of our parents’ mistakes into our own homes, often silently. Gratitude, because Tow’s story reminds us to break cycles where we can and to offer our children what we wish we had been given. Her reflections are not bitter but honest, filled with the kind of wisdom that only comes from walking through fire.

Scattered, Smothered, and Covered is not always easy to read. Some scenes hurt by stirring anger or sadness, but that’s what makes it resonate. It’s a book about being human: messy, flawed, and still capable of love. Tow’s voice is both personal and universal, making her story one that will stay with me long after closing the final page.


Valérie

Zoë Marie Bel’s Valérie; or, Red Velvet Nothing is a story that lingers long after the last page, not because it ties everything up neatly, but because it dares to sit in life’s complications. At the center of the novel is Valérie, a young woman caught between worlds, her family’s traditions and her own restless desire for independence and fulfillment. Through Valérie’s eyes, we see a woman determined to shape her own destiny even when the path is uncertain, and as a wife and mother myself, I found her struggles both familiar and deeply moving.

The novel begins with Valérie navigating the glittering yet alienating Parisian landscape. On one hand, she is pulled toward the expectations of her family, whose love comes entwined with cultural obligation. On the other, she finds herself drawn into a complicated romance that challenges not just her notions of intimacy, but also her sense of self. The relationship is passionate, yes, but also turbulent, forcing Valérie to question how much of herself she is willing to compromise for love. Bel does not sugarcoat this conflict; instead, she portrays it with nuance, acknowledging how desire and duty often pull in opposite directions.

Supporting characters weave in and out of Valérie’s journey, shaping her perspective along the way. Family members embody both comfort and constraint, while friends serve as mirrors reflecting different choices she might make. Her lover, who is charismatic, flawed, and undeniably magnetic, tests her boundaries in ways that feel raw and real. These characters are not just background figures; they represent the very forces tugging at Valérie’s heart, and Bel renders them with just enough ambiguity to keep us questioning right alongside her.

Themes of belonging and identity ripple throughout the novel. Valérie is both of Paris and outside of it, caught between the allure of cosmopolitan freedom and the anchoring pull of heritage. As the story moves through different settings, the environments themselves take on symbolic weight. Paris, in particular, is drawn vividly, romantic but also harsh, a place that promises reinvention while exposing every vulnerability.

I was especially struck by how the novel treats themes of nurturing and sacrifice. Valérie’s choices are rarely simple; the book raises difficult but necessary questions about what we owe to others versus what we owe to ourselves. While she is not yet a mother in the literal sense, the weight she carries feels maternal, protecting those she loves, even as she risks losing herself in the process. It made me reflect on how easily women slip into caretaking roles, often at the expense of their own dreams.

Bel’s prose is lush and poetic, though at times it lingers a little too long on description. Yet those passages also create the book’s haunting atmosphere, one that mirrors Valérie’s own inner turmoil. The pacing may slow, but the emotional impact never diminishes.

In the end, Valérie; or, Red Velvet Nothing is a portrait of a woman in the midst of transformation: imperfect, vulnerable, but resilient. Valérie's story is not one of easy answers but of hard-won self-knowledge, and it reminded me that the labels we wear are only parts of who we are. For readers who crave a novel rich with character, culture, and emotional depth, this book is a thoughtful and rewarding experience.


Plausible in Parts

James Dunlop’s Plausible in Parts is the kind of novel that grabs you by the collar in its opening scene and doesn’t let go until the last page. Told through the sardonic, quick-witted voice of Andy MacKay, a former British soldier turned mercenary, the book is a darkly funny, sharply observant thriller about survival, betrayal, and the absurdities of modern life wrapped in bureaucracy and bullets.

From the start, Andy’s voice sets the tone. “Seven minutes before I was arrested, I switched on the kettle,” he says, a line that instantly signals the blend of dry British humor and impending chaos that defines the narrative. In those first pages, we watch him fumble with tea and questionable milk before being dragged away at gunpoint by Scotland Yard. It’s both hilarious and tense, a contradiction Dunlop maintains throughout the book.

At its core, Plausible in Parts is about a man who can’t quite escape his past. Andy’s stint in the Black Watch, his dishonorable discharge, and his mercenary work in Kosovo all catch up with him when he’s accused not only of breaking the Foreign Enlistment Act but also of attempted murder. The alleged victim? General Marku Berisha, a war criminal and drug lord Andy knows all too well. As Andy puts it: “To clarify: a war criminal-turned-Balkan-terrorist has convinced a court that I’m the dangerous one?”

One of the book’s biggest strengths is how Dunlop weaves biting commentary into action-packed scenes. A firefight in the Balkans might be followed by Andy’s musings on crossword puzzles or the absurdity of British tabloids. Even when he faces extradition, he quips: “Not really the holiday package I’d have chosen.” This balance of gallows humor and real danger makes Andy both relatable and unpredictable.

Dunlop’s prose is fast, witty, and unapologetically irreverent. He doesn’t shy away from graphic prison brawls or the absurdities of military bureaucracy. In one scene, Andy breaks an assailant’s arm with a sickening snap, “like an old lady’s knees landing on an oak prayer kneeler," a line that is both wince-inducing and darkly funny.

If there’s a critique, it’s that the relentless sarcasm might wear thin for some readers. Andy’s voice is so distinctive and biting that it occasionally overshadows quieter emotional beats. Yet for readers who enjoy thrillers laced with humor and political intrigue, this voice is the novel’s greatest asset.

Ultimately, Plausible in Parts is more than just a courtroom thriller or mercenary adventure; it’s a satirical look at systems of power, the blurred line between justice and vengeance, and the absurd ways in which people survive impossible situations. For a reader in his late twenties like me, it feels like a sharp, contemporary story that understands both the darkness of conflict and the ridiculousness of everyday life.


Just Play Like You Do in the Basement: Coming of Age as the Drummer for The Greatest Entertainer in the World

"Rick Porrello’s memoir is a rare blend of music history, personal reflection, and cultural storytelling that hits all the right notes. With vivid recollections of life on the road with Sammy Davis, Jr., Porrello captures both the glitz of show business and the quieter tensions of family legacy and personal identity. His journey from a basement drum set in Cleveland to global stages offers a deeply human story of talent, ambition, and choice. This book doesn’t just chronicle a career—it resonates with the rhythm of a life fully lived."—Scott Olsen, San Francisco Book Review


Indifferent Universe

Indifferent Universe is one wild ride. From page one, I could tell this wasn’t going to be a straightforward story. It’s messy, hilarious, uncomfortable, and brilliant all at the same time.

The book follows Aldo Go, a guy who just can’t seem to win at life. He’s not a hero, not even close. He’s a man stumbling through jobs he hates, relationships that fall apart, and a sense of melancholy that feels stitched into his DNA. But what makes him weirdly relatable is the way he copes: not with grand gestures or self-improvement arcs, but with bizarre, sometimes cringeworthy choices. For example, as a kid, he builds disastrous Rube Goldberg machines that usually end in toy knights getting “ignited” by static electricity, or so he hopes. Later, he hauls his sister’s guinea pig into a dryer by accident, which, in a tragicomic twist, sort of survives (for a while).

These little episodes are absurd, sometimes horrifying, but they perfectly capture Aldo’s chaotic relationship with the world. He’s curious, imaginative, and a little reckless. And honestly? I saw flashes of my own messy twenty-something experiments in there, the kind of “this will totally work!” ideas that end in spectacular failure.

What really pulled me in was the book’s mix of humor and darkness. Blackhurst doesn’t shy away from tragedy, but he always laces it with wit. Like when Aldo’s family moves to Switzerland, and his biggest takeaway isn’t grief or loss, but the weird thrill of having a balcony and the click-ka-chunky sound of European VHS cases. Or the way his toxic dad flips from tenderness to cruelty, creating a home life that’s both ridiculous and heartbreaking. These details feel like the kind of memories we all hold onto: random, mundane, yet oddly defining.

The themes here are heavy and include death, isolation, and the futility of happiness, but they’re presented with such an offbeat voice that I found myself laughing in places I probably shouldn’t have. That’s part of the book’s charm. It makes you question what deserves seriousness and what doesn’t. Is Aldo pathetic, or is he just brutally honest about the absurdity of living? Is the universe really indifferent, or is that just the excuse we use when life doesn’t turn out how we planned?

As a younger reader, I didn’t come away crushed by the bleakness. Instead, I felt energized by the sheer audacity of it. Blackhurst seems to be saying: yeah, life is messy, random, and often disappointing—but that’s where the comedy lies. There’s freedom in admitting that the universe doesn’t care.

Indifferent Universe isn’t for the faint of heart, but if you like your fiction strange, funny, and a little bit twisted, this is absolutely worth the read. You won’t get a clean moral or a happy ending, but you will walk away with a ton of questions.


Indifferent Universe

Joseph Blackhurst’s Indifferent Universe is one of those books that leaves you shaking your head, not because it fails, but because it dares to wallow in life’s absurdities and doesn’t let you look away. The novel follows Aldo Go, a deeply melancholic man whose name itself feels like a curse. His life is marked by a string of disappointments, brief brushes with connection, and the constant undertow of despair. From the very first chapter—where Aldo discovers the corpse of a homeless man, drags it home, and watches it decompose in his basement—the book signals it’s not afraid to mix the grotesque with the poignant.

The story stretches across Aldo’s life, from his childhood memories to his failed marriage, his tedious job at a cemetery, and his half-hearted attempts at art. His wife, a social media influencer, dies young, leaving him adrift. He stumbles through his job, befriends an equally inept coworker, and finds himself locked in a cycle of monotony, regret, and self-doubt. What makes Aldo compelling, though, is that he isn’t entirely pathetic; there’s a glimmer of self-awareness in his musings, and a strange tenderness in the way he interacts with others, even when his choices are bizarre.

At the heart of the book is Aldo’s creative side. He writes novels, stories that are apparently brilliant, even perfect, but they remain unread, unpublished, and entirely ignored. Blackhurst uses this to dig into questions of art and recognition: is greatness still greatness if no one sees it? Can meaning exist without an audience? This struck me personally. As someone in midlife, I couldn’t help but reflect on how much of what we do goes unnoticed, and whether the validation we chase is as important as the act of creating or living authentically.

Indifferent Universe grapples with melancholy, isolation, and the futility of chasing happiness. One passage insists that “happiness isn’t really a thing,” arguing instead that life is a series of temporary comforts and inevitable discomforts. It’s a bleak perspective, but oddly liberating. The book also takes swipes at toxic masculinity, the shallowness of social media, and the randomness of fate. Blackhurst’s style is unapologetically experimental, peppered with metafictional asides, footnotes, and digressions that range from laugh-out-loud funny to uncomfortably raw.

As a reader, I’ll admit some moments felt deliberately frustrating. The heavy use of tangents and dark humor sometimes risked losing me. But then the narrative would land a line or image so sharp and true that I found myself pausing to think. The decomposing corpse, Aldo’s failed attempts at connection, even the tragicomic details of his family life, all of it builds into a portrait of a man who represents both the absurdity and fragility of human existence.

This is not a book for readers who want a neat, uplifting story. It’s messy, unsettling, and sometimes hard to stomach. But that’s exactly why it works. Blackhurst doesn’t sugarcoat the human condition; he holds up a cracked mirror and forces us to look. I came away feeling both unsettled and oddly validated. Life is often disappointing, absurd, and indifferent. And yet, like Aldo, we keep going.

Indifferent Universe is strange, dark, and unlike anything I’ve read in years. It may not comfort you, but it will stick with you. And maybe that’s more important.


Our Last Hello

Monique Rardin Richardson’s Our Last Hello is a sweeping, emotional novel that takes readers on a decades-long journey of love, loss, resilience, and healing. At its heart lies the story of Ramie and Denny, two people whose lives intertwine in their youth and whose connection, fraught with longing, setbacks, and fate, remains the emotional core of the book.

From the opening pages, Richardson establishes a tender atmosphere, drawing us into Ramie’s world as she seeks solace from the chaos around her. Her chance encounter with Denny at the marina sparks the kind of chemistry that feels at once fragile and profound. Their first conversations, filled with shy hesitations and mutual curiosity, reveal the foundation of a relationship that will haunt and sustain both of them for years to come. When Denny assures her, “Nobody’s business but yours,” after catching her journal, his instinctive respect marks him as someone worth rooting for.

The novel explores the many challenges of sustaining love when life has other plans. Ramie and Denny’s bond faces jealousy, miscommunication, and moments of deep personal struggle. Richardson captures the anguish of heartbreak with authenticity, particularly in scenes of separation and loss, where silence or a single whispered line carries more weight than pages of dialogue. One of the most poignant moments comes when Ramie, by Denny’s hospital bedside, quietly confesses, “I love you, Denny Braga. More than you will ever know.” It is the kind of line that lingers in the heart long after it’s read.

A central theme throughout the story is healing, both physical and emotional. Music, writing, and small acts of kindness become lifelines for the characters. Richardson emphasizes how recovery is not only about medical treatment but also about the strength of relationships, forgiveness, and the ability to embrace vulnerability. The scars, visible and invisible, that the characters carry serve as reminders of the resilience required to move forward.

Time plays a powerful role in the novel, stretching from youthful infatuation through adulthood and into later life. Rather than confining the story to one stage of their relationship, Richardson allows readers to witness Ramie and Denny’s journey unfold across decades. The effect is bittersweet, highlighting how time can both wound and heal, often reshaping love into something deeper and more enduring.

The character development is where the novel shines most. Ramie, with her quiet determination and habit of pouring her heart into journals, feels real and relatable. Denny, with his flaws and moments of strength, emerges as a complex figure who earns the reader’s sympathy even when his choices are imperfect. Together, they embody the truth that love is rarely simple or easy, but always worth fighting for.

If there is a drawback, it lies in the pacing. At times, the narrative lingers a bit too long on detail or side plots, slowing the momentum. Yet those detours are often redeemed by the emotional payoff, as Richardson draws readers back to the bond that remains unbroken between her two central characters.

Ultimately, Our Last Hello is a tender and bittersweet exploration of enduring love, resilience in the face of hardship, and the beauty of second chances. It is a story that resonates deeply, reminding us that even through heartbreak, love has the power to leave a permanent mark on our lives.


Karen V. Hansen’s Working-Class Kids and Visionary Educators in a Multiracial High School is both a deeply personal history and a vital work of social commentary. With the help of Nicholas Monroe, Hansen revisits her alma mater, Sunnyvale High School in California, and through oral histories, archival research, and her own memories, she reconstructs the extraordinary story of a seemingly ordinary public school that served working-class, multiracial students between 1956 and 1981. What emerges is not only a chronicle of one school’s culture, but also a meditation on belonging, equity, and the transformative role educators can play in young lives.

From the opening pages, Hansen makes clear that Sunnyvale High’s legacy cannot be measured by test scores or the narrow outcomes we so often use today. Instead, its worth lies in how teachers and peers created an environment where working-class adolescents, many the children of immigrants, farm workers, and blue-collar employees, felt seen, respected, and capable of envisioning brighter futures. She recalls students who credited a caring counselor, a demanding math teacher, or even cheerleading practice with “saving their lives.” These stories illustrate how small acts of attention and belief helped teenagers resist the weight of poverty, racism, and low expectations.

The book also underscores the importance of solidarity across difference. In a district where Sunnyvale High was derided as the “poor step-sister,” students found strength in defiant pride. Hansen recounts the story of Ed Lizardo, a Filipino student body president who, when faced with exclusion by leaders from wealthier, whiter schools, stood tall and declared, “I am Sunnyvale High School.” That moment captures the book’s central theme: belonging is not about erasing difference, but about embracing community and collective dignity.

As a reader, I found myself reflecting on how relevant these lessons remain today. In an era of renewed debates over school funding, racial inequity, and the pressures of standardized testing, Hansen’s narrative reminds us that education is not just about producing college-bound students. It is about giving adolescents pathways to resilience, identity, and contribution. Programs in the arts, athletics, and vocational training mattered just as much as academics. Hansen and Monroe show how Sunnyvale High, with limited resources but visionary leadership, cultivated multiple routes toward success, whether that meant Silicon Valley careers, military service, or simply the confidence to imagine a future different from one’s parents.

Hansen is candid about the school’s flaws including biases in tracking, underfunding, and uneven progress in tackling racism, but this honesty strengthens the book. Rather than offering a nostalgic gloss, she situates Sunnyvale High within the broader history of inequality in American education. What makes her account so moving is the balance between critical analysis and affection. You feel her pride in her classmates’ endurance, her empathy for the obstacles they faced, and her gratitude for the educators who insisted that working-class kids mattered.

Reading this book reminded me of the teachers and mentors who nudged me forward at pivotal moments. Hansen’s narrative is a testament to the enduring power of schools not simply as institutions of instruction, but as communities where young people learn who they are and who they can become. In revisiting Sunnyvale High, Hansen has given us more than history, she has offered a guidepost for building more equitable, compassionate schools today.


Betrayal of Trust: A Medical Thriller

"A gripping medical thriller that delivers both emotional depth and razor-sharp suspense. Betrayal of Trust masterfully explores themes of ambition, revenge, and the consequences of unchecked power in the world of cancer research. The dynamic between Brad and Karen is compelling, but it’s the story’s raw portrayal of justice that makes this installment unforgettable. Geoffrey M. Cooper has crafted a tale that is both timely and unflinchingly bold." —Kathryn Dare, San Diego Book Review


Betrayal of Trust: A Medical Thriller

"Tense, intelligent, and relentlessly engaging, Betrayal of Trust is a standout in the genre. From its explosive opening to the final twist, the novel delivers a sophisticated blend of scientific intrigue and psychological drama. Cooper’s writing is crisp and confident, bringing complex characters and high-stakes research to vivid life. A must-read for anyone who appreciates thrillers with brains and bite." —Kyle Eaton, Seattle Book Review


Lenswoman in Love: a novel of the 1960s & '70s

Lenswoman in Love is both a nostalgic journey and an evocative exploration of a young woman’s coming-of-age during one of the most turbulent and transformative periods in American history. Kim Gottlieb-Walker blends memoir-like authenticity with the structure of a novel, offering readers a portrait of the 1960s and ’70s that feels at once personal and culturally expansive.

The novel carries several strong thematic threads. First is the theme of art and self-discovery. Maddy’s passion for photography becomes both her refuge and her means of navigating a chaotic world. The opening scene, where she learns to see the world through her father’s camera before his untimely death, sets the stage for photography as not just a career, but a way of life.

Another powerful theme is youthful idealism colliding with harsh realities. The vivid descriptions of the Century City police riot in 1967 capture not only the brutality of authority but also Maddy’s transformation from sheltered teenager into a witness of history. The narrative does not shy away from the contradictions of the era: the exhilaration of free love and creative freedom alongside the disillusionment of political corruption, violence, and personal betrayal.

The book also shines in its exploration of romantic longing and independence. Maddy’s relationship with Jake is both sweeping and frustrating, a slow-burning attraction that is often thwarted by circumstances, misunderstandings, and his own emotional distance. While Jake is undeniably magnetic, I appreciated that Gottlieb-Walker allowed Maddy to grow beyond simply being defined by her feelings for him. The push and pull between love, loss, and self-realization is one of the strongest elements of the novel.

What I enjoyed most was the rich evocation of time and place. The author vividly reconstructs the folk clubs of Berkeley, the counterculture of Haight-Ashbury, the political protests, and even the small details of fashion and music. As someone who lived through much of this era, I recognized the cadence of the times: the mixture of optimism, rebellion, and uncertainty. Gottlieb-Walker’s background as a photographer lends a sharp eye for detail, and many scenes feel like snapshots of a lived history.

I also found the supporting characters memorable, from Maddy’s strong, intuitive mother to her lively college roommate Darlene. These figures help ground the story and prevent it from becoming solely a romance.

What I enjoyed less was the sometimes idealized portrayal of Jake, who occasionally felt more like an archetype than a fully fleshed-out character. While his charisma is undeniable, I sometimes wished the author had given him more vulnerability or contradiction. There were also moments when the dialogue leaned toward exposition, explaining the political climate rather than allowing it to emerge organically.

Readers sensitive to the era’s gender dynamics may find certain attitudes unsettling, though Gottlieb-Walker addresses this directly in her author’s note, reminding us of the cultural shifts and challenges of the time.

Lenswoman in Love is ultimately a heartfelt, immersive novel that captures both the magic and the messiness of youth, art, and love in a rapidly changing world. For readers who experienced the 1960s and ’70s, it will stir recognition and memory; for younger readers, it offers a vibrant window into an era that shaped modern culture. While not without its flaws, it succeeds as both a love story and a chronicle of personal awakening. A vivid and emotionally engaging read, particularly for those drawn to stories of women artists finding their voice amid history’s upheavals.


The Most Wonderful Gift in the World

Mireia Olivé Obradors, Anastasia Wessex, Angus Yuen-Killick

Little Mouse wakes up and realizes he only has a few days until Mommy’s special day. He searches the woodland and finds a tree with wonderful pine cones that are covered in tasty pine nuts. Little Mouse rolls a pine cone home. By the time he gets there, almost all the pine nuts have fallen off. It’s ruined. The next day, he searches again and finds a beautiful poppy, but when he gets home, all the petals have blown away. He tells a jay about his problem, and the jay gives him one of his beautiful blue feathers, but the wind steals it. Will Little Mouse have a gift for his mother?

Mireia Olivé Obradors has written a very sweet story that little listeners will surely relate to. The language is lovely, and the story is very engaging. Perhaps the real star here is the illustration work of Anastasia Wessex. Every page has enchanting pictures in soft colors filled with plenty of details to keep young listeners engaged, searching for all the delightful woodland creatures and plants. This book will become a fast favorite. Don’t miss it.


Orphanland

Willa is 11 and has lived at the Southern Ohio Children's Home since her mother died from opioids when Willa was 7. She loves it there and intends to never leave. Mercy, the woman who runs the Home, always needs more money to keep the place running. Willa has other kids her age at the home who are good friends. The latest to come, Kacey, is non-binary. Willa and Kacey become best friends. When they find some hidden diaries left by Mercy’s great-aunt (who had taken Mercy in when she was in her teens), and they discover an abandoned school with a frightening history nearby, they have two mysteries to solve. While all this is happening, the future of the Home is threatened.

Author Lauren Fischer has written a compelling story with interesting characters and a couple of mysteries woven through. There are some problems with the book, though. There are several story lines for young readers to track — the opioid crisis in small towns, lack of public support for orphanages, the horrors of some reform schools, and more. Unrealistically, five prepubescent boys and girls share a bedroom. This a good story with a real lack of focus and research.


Writers and Liars: A Compelling Novel of Betrayal, Revenge, and Suspense on a Secluded Greek Island, Where Mystery Writers Become Murder Suspects―Perfect for Summer Reading

When a group of mystery writers is invited back to the island where they all met fifteen years ago, secrets are unlocked. Maia Gold receives an invitation back to the Greek island of Eris, the island where she was betrayed. The same island her parents visited. When she sees her ex-boyfriend, Ian, and her ex-best friend, Annika, the memories come flooding back. The host of the retreat is nowhere to be found, and when murder ensues, it's up to the mystery writers to figure out whodunnit.

I absolutely loved the premise of the book. With its references to Greek mythology and constellations, the story not only becomes a mystery for the characters to solve, but also one for its readers to piece together.

Author Carol Goodman does a brilliant job of creating interesting characters with depth and describing the most beautiful scenery. I had so much fun reading this book as the secrets unfolded one after another. Exciting, mesmerizing, and heart-stopping, Writers and Liars is perfect for any fan of the mystery genre.


Emmie Builds Something New

Emmie, a small mouse with big ideas, lives in an attic with discarded things she turns into new inventions. Emmie is very happy until she discovers a cat has arrived in the attic. Emmie immediately uses her creativity to create a mechanical cat that springs at this new intruder, but the cat remains. Emmie next designs a mechanical creature that swoops down on the cat. Still, the cat remains. Finally, Emmie creates an elephant-like creature that splashes water on the cat. Just as she succeeds in her goal, Emmie realizes that the soggy, scared kitty isn’t so scary. Emmie apologizes and makes one more design: a mechanical grooming device to aid the wet cat. Soon, Emmie and the cat are designing and living together happily.

For so many reasons, this is a wonderful picture book. First, it emphasized engineering problem-solving, with a female main character to boot. It brings awareness to the idea that preconceived notions may be wrong, while demonstrating the value of apologizing. Finally, children will enjoy poring over the detailed illustrations, which include engineering notes. In sum, Majorie Crosby-Fairall has written a genuinely delightful book.


Toluidine Blue: A Novel

Toluidine Blue: A Novel (Second Edition) by Evelyne Keating and Roxanne Shoenfeld struck me as something different than what I've read before in the world of thrillers and true crime. It's an unflinching yet deeply human exploration of the world of forensic nursing. This second edition refines the authors’ earlier work, blending the grit of real forensic experience with the emotional pull of well-drawn characters, resulting in a story that is equal parts suspenseful, educational, and heart-rending.

The novel follows Adeline Donovan, a nurse whose failed relationship becomes the unlikely spark for a new career in forensics. Her move to Baltimore’s Fells Point with her best friend Rachel sets the stage for a life immersed in the most harrowing cases: sexual assault, human trafficking, strangulation, and domestic violence. What makes this novel compelling isn’t only the darkness of the crimes but the quiet, persistent resilience of its characters. As the introduction explains, “Toluidine blue dye… demonstrates that even the smallest of evidence can be of the greatest value.” That metaphor extends beautifully to Addie herself: flawed, scarred, but determined to transform fragments of pain into something meaningful.

Themes of survival, justice, and self-discovery run strong throughout. Addie’s tumultuous breakup with her fiancé Cain exposes a tension many women will recognize: the battle between career and personal expectations. Her mother chastises her for prioritizing her job, accusing her of “throwing [her] future away,” but Addie’s father gently reminds her, “There is no easy path to success. The so-called ‘easy way’ leaves you looking in the mirror twenty years from now with nothing to show for your life.” These moments elevate the novel beyond crime drama; they become affirmations for women reclaiming their own choices.

Alongside this personal journey is the sobering reality of forensic work. Readers are led through the painstaking process of gathering evidence, from using ultraviolet light to detect bruises to applying toluidine blue dye on wounds invisible to the naked eye. These sections are meticulous, even clinical at times, but never gratuitous. They underscore a truth the authors know firsthand: that justice often hinges on details too small for most of us to notice.

Of course, this is not a book for the faint of heart. The depictions of sexual assault, domestic violence, and even decomposing bodies are raw and graphic. But rather than reveling in shock value, the novel insists on respect for the victims and admiration for those who fight for their dignity in courtrooms and hospitals. As one passage notes, “The collection of evidence brings truth to the old proverb: ‘The devil is in the detail.’”

Who would appreciate Toluidine Blue? Readers of true crime and courtroom dramas will find it riveting, while fans of medical thrillers will relish the procedural accuracy. It also speaks to women navigating reinvention, showing how trauma can be reshaped into purpose. I could easily recommend it to readers of Patricia Cornwell or Kathy Reichs, though with the caveat that this book carries a heavier emotional weight.

Ultimately, Toluidine Blue: A Novel (Second Edition) is more than just suspense; it’s a tribute to courage in the face of darkness. With its blend of forensic precision and emotional depth, it educates while it unsettles, and most importantly, it lingers long after the last page is turned.