A harrowing, deeply human account of the Hiroshima bombing told through the voices of survivors. M.G. Sheftall dismantles sanitized narratives and explores the lasting cultural, emotional and moral impact of August 6, 1945.
We’ll Prescribe You a Cat – Syou Ishida
A charming premise wears thin in this whimsical novel about a Kyoto clinic that prescribes cats for emotional healing. Sweet but repetitive, with a standout first story and a touching finale.
The Grapes of Wrath – John Steinbeck
A powerful, slow-burning portrait of Dust Bowl-era migration, “The Grapes of Wrath” explores poverty, resilience and injustice through the Joad family’s harrowing journey from Oklahoma to California. John Steinbeck’s writing is dense but rewarding, culminating in one of literature’s most haunting final scenes. A brutal yet brilliant American classic.
The Snow Child – Eowyn Ivey
I struggled with how the novel “tames” Faina. Though she’s not Indigenous, the parallels to forced assimilation are hard to miss, and Ivey doesn’t quite engage with that. Faina is wild and otherworldly, and the story asks her to shrink herself in exchange for love and belonging. In the end, her freedom costs her everything, and I’m not sure it had to.
The Bees – Laline Paull
High-concept fiction always walks a fine line between bold and baffling, but “The Bees” topples into the latter. If you like your dystopias with a side of entomological fever dream, by all means. Otherwise, buzz past it.
The Island of Sea Women – Lisa See
Lisa See’s The Island of Sea Women explores the unique matriarchal culture of Korea’s haenyeo divers on Jeju Island, set against major 20th-century events like Japanese occupation and the Korean War. While rich in historical detail and cultural insight, the novel struggles to deliver emotional depth or strong character development. Best for readers interested in Korean history and women’s roles in wartime, but don’t expect a gripping fictional narrative.
Everyone Dies Famous in a Small Town – Bonnie-Sue Hitchcock
In the end, “Everyone Dies Famous in a Small Town” is a missed opportunity. It gestures toward interconnected trauma and small-town claustrophobia but only occasionally brings those themes to life with the clarity and resonance they deserve.
Harriet Tubman: Live in Concert – Bob the Drag Queen
In this bold and imaginative novel, Bob the Drag Queen reimagines the legendary abolitionist as a returning historical figure determined to tell her story on stage. With help from a once-famous hip-hop producer, Tubman creates a Broadway-style musical that blends history and humor. Packed with sharp writing, emotional depth and two original songs, this audiobook is a powerful mix of speculative fiction and accessible historical storytelling.
Gaysians – Mike Curato
Set in early 2000s Seattle, “Gaysians” follows a newly out gay man who finds belonging in a tight-knit group of queer Asian friends. With bold, disco-inspired art and themes of identity, racism and resilience, Mike Curato delivers a heartfelt, funny and emotionally rich graphic novel. Perfect for fans of “Flamer” or readers seeking queer stories that center joy as much as struggle.
The Poppy Fields – Nikki Erlick
If you enjoyed “The Measure,” there’s a good chance you’ll find something to appreciate here. But for those hoping for a bolder leap forward, this one never quite recaptures the promise of its setup.
The Measure – Nikki Erlick
Like “The Alchemist,” another polarizing philosophical fable, it may resonate deeply with readers seeking affirmation about life, death and purpose. I just wish it had trusted us to think more and feel harder, rather than spelling everything out.
Run for the Hills – Kevin Wilson
Kevin Wilson books usually follow a pattern: high-concept premise, strong start, then a slow unraveling into sentiment or chaos. “Run for the Hills” still asks you to suspend disbelief (a lot of it), but for once, the absurdity holds.
Atmosphere – Taylor Jenkins Reid
This is a novel about space, yes, but it’s also about constraints. What it means to want something enormous, only to realize you may have to make yourself smaller to reach it. About what it means to live within institutions that weren’t built for you.
Say You’ll Remember Me – Abby Jimenez
“Say You’ll Remember Me” didn’t reinvent the genre, yet it respected it. In doing so, it chipped away at my resistance. I still have reservations about the formula, but I understand the appeal. And yes, I’ll read the next one in this series.
My Friends – Fredrik Backman
“My Friends” often feels like it’s trying very hard to be profound. Like it’s auditioning for an emotional response rather than earning it. There are moments, Backman always has a few, where a single line cuts through the noise and makes you stop. Unfortunately, these ideas are buried in a story that feels chaotic and bloated, trying to juggle too many themes without characters that can hold them together.
Never Flinch – Stephen King
Stephen King still knows how to tell a pulse-pounding story, but if he wants to keep his cultural edge sharp, he needs to start asking harder questions about who gets to be the hero – and who keeps getting cast as the victim and the threat.
Broken Country – Clare Leslie Hall
Hall isn’t writing heroes or villains, she’s writing about people who believe their own rationalizations – even as they unravel the lives of others.
Here the Whole Time – Vitor Martins
If you’re looking for a quick, affirming read with queer representation, a strong voice and a refreshingly gentle tone, “Here” is a great way to spend an afternoon.
Bad Gays: A Homosexual History – Huw Lemmey and Ben Miller
“Bad Gays” starts with a provocative thesis: queer history is too often told through sanitized narratives of heroism and progress. What happens, Huw Lemmey and Ben Miller ask, when we shift the lens to those queer figures who were not brave icons, but bigots, fascists, abusers or simply complicated people making morally gray choices in a hostile world?
Bad Habit – Alana S. Portero
Some novels feel like memoirs, not because they’re confessional, but because they pulse with lived-in truth. “Bad Habit,” Alana S. Portero’s autofictional debut, is one of those books.