This book, part of a series that pairs authors with common objects and ideas, views the ballot through a topical, politically progressive lens. A novelist and poll worker, Enjeti pens evocative opening pages linking her childhood participation in mock elections to her “reverence for the right to vote.” Another engaging chapter zips through the etymological, social, and technological history of ballots. Mostly, though, Enjeti is interested in the current state of the franchise, recounting her experience supporting Democrats while living in Republican-heavy places. Her observations illustrate how voting has changed due to conservative-friendly court rulings and “an avalanche of voting restrictions” enacted after Donald Trump’s false claims about the 2020 election. Her local drop box was among those that Georgia eliminated in 2022, making it harder to cast absentee votes. Statewide, Georgia made it illegal to offer refreshments to voters in line near polling places. Meanwhile, gerrymandering has transformed her “very racially diverse and solidly Democratic” congressional district into “a very white and solidly Republican one.” The remedies Enjeti supports range from practical to quixotic. Voters seeking to reform criminal justice and protect immigrants can help by voting in relatively overlooked sheriff and district attorney elections. But overhauling the Senate so that not all states have two seats? This makes sense from a population standpoint, but in the current political climate, it’s a nonstarter. Enjeti’s account of the “dilemma” she faced in 2024—as a battleground state voter, she opposed both Trump and the Democrats’ approach to the Gaza war—is relatable. But she’s not looking to please centrists with her characterization of Democratic presidential nominee Kamala Harris’ campaign. To her, Harris’ “Republican, warmongering, imperialist brand”—her opposition of an arms embargo on Israel—was a big reason she lost to Trump.

Frank Uwe Laysiepen (1943-2020), better known by the sobriquet Ulay, was a German-born photographer and artist who in 1976 perpetrated one of the most audacious and celebrated art thefts in modern history, albeit as an act of performance art. In this rather uneven account, a triptych of that event, principal author Charney attempts to place the theft, Ulay’s career, and his professional and personal relationship with fellow artist Abramović in the context of classical aesthetics and to assay whether the theft was in fact a crime at all, since the painting in question was returned unharmed, Ulay’s political and cultural statement having been made. Including brief, meandering, and, alas, leaden accounts by Ulay and Abramović themselves, Charney, an art historian and personal friend, also makes a case for the “Berlin lifting” (as the theft was called) as an enduring work of art. Arguably, Charney interprets aesthetic ideas to validate his judgment, but he is not wholly convincing—or unbiased. It’s even debatable whether Ulay’s famous act was genuinely significant—outside a narrow, rarefied slice of the art world. Ulay himself resisted calling it art, preferring to call it an aktion (action) aimed at exposing the disconnect between what is revered as art and what is neglected in society, such as the poor or marginalized, as well as what Ulay saw as the suffocating institutionalization of art. That said, Charney cannot be faulted for adding that the theft “gives us, briefly, a vision of what art can still dare to be: not just beautiful but bold, dangerous, and alive.” Yet the real strength of the book—a monograph, actually—rests not in Charney’s championing of Ulay, but in his wider historical and critical analysis.

Plants make rain, writes ecologist Gaudet, author of The Pharaoh’s Treasure: The Origin of Paper and the Rise of Western Civilization (2018). Forty percent or more of precipitation over land originates through evaporation from plants and trees. When vegetation is cleared, evaporation plummets, seasons come later, temperatures rise, and rainfall diminishes. Ten thousand years ago, the Sahara bloomed because the end of the last ice age—combined with changes in Earth’s axis—warmed the planet and increased rainfall. As the axis cycle continued, temperatures continued to increase, rainfall diminished, and by 3,000 years ago, the Sahara had dried up. Greenhouse gases filling the atmosphere over the past century have interrupted the cycle, which would ultimately have restored the Sahara, but the accompanying disordered weather increased rainfall in northern Africa, persuading some experts, Gaudet included, that reviving the Sahara is worth a try. The author embraces green technology and massive, climate-altering projects, arguing that these will jump-start the return of tolerable weather worldwide. Desalinizing has grown cheap enough to beget extensive, desalinization plants in every Saharan nation for drinking water and irrigation. Egypt’s Qattara Depression has long fascinated engineers who propose a pipeline from the Mediterranean to create a huge inland sea to cool the desert and support a large population. Once huge, Lake Chad is almost dry, but a canal from the Congo River basin carrying water over a thousand miles could revive it. Money and politics are the only barriers. Gaudet mildly approves an ongoing mega-project—the Great Green Wall, aiming to plant billions of trees across North Africa—but has more faith in a spreading practice among locals who have adopted farmer-managed natural regeneration that does not clear trees for crops but preserves and fosters them, enriching the soil. His surprisingly nonapocalyptic conclusion adds that carbon dioxide nourishes plants, and rising levels from global warming already produce significant greening of vegetation over much of the planet.

The co-authors—a pediatrician and a sports journalist—take a widely used metaphor to its limits. They use many elements of or situations common to the two related games as opportunities to lecture readers about the virtues of discipline, consistency, respect, making good choices, learning from mistakes, staying positive, and following rules. These are solid principles—but along with being largely expressed as slogans (“Give 110 Percent”) or platitudes, they’re packed into short, numbered entries that for all the boldface titling soon begin to run together. Moreover, the baseball-bromide connection turns tenuous at times: “Switch-Hitting,” for example, cautions against reckless behavior; “The Check Swing” promotes the importance of keeping promises (“The more you check your swing, the more likely you are to strike out with those depending on you”); and “First and Third” includes a warning about online scams. Even if the overall approach is upbeat, these wearyingly earnest pep talks are unlikely to reach base. Although the co-authors directly address readers as “young adults like you,” the tone of the writing is unlikely to appeal to contemporary teens: “The older kids at school may seem cool, but some of their habits and behaviors may be better to avoid than to imitate.”

Subways are few and far between in North America, but those who’ve ridden them find doing so a visceral experience—the close quarters and unique tableaux of subterranean travel. It’s a thrill, a feast for the senses, a uniquely strange assembly of people of all ages and many walks of life. Gladstone captures the unflagging, ever-moving hum of a subway journey with the refrain of “my subway runs”—it runs under the city; it runs fast; it runs “straight out through the sky!” The train stops at Union Station (presumably in Toronto), where the brown-skinned young protagonist’s mother applies for jobs at the station’s many restaurants. Still, the child knows, the train runs even after the pair have disembarked, even after the little one is fast asleep. In addition to evoking the little one’s affectionate ownership of this mode of transportation, Gladstone aptly conveys the physical sensations of subway travel: the sounds of wind from the tunnels and screeching train wheels, the crush of bodies as passengers shove their way on board. Pratt’s painterly illustrations, expanding upon the experiences detailed in Gladstone’s text, depict a rich parade of humanity: tall, short, impeccably dressed, fast asleep, aboard a busy train line—a vibrant vision of city life.