With regard to his four decades as a Springsteen fan, Pethes knows he’s not special. But the magic of Springsteen is that he makes his fans feel that they are and, often, that he has altered their lives. How does Springsteen do this? Pethes, a literature professor at the University of Cologne, thinks he has the answer: “The impression of communication between Springsteen and his audience arises because both sides attribute to the other a desire for such an exchange and act accordingly.” OK, that isn’t something the reader can dance to. Here’s Springsteen’s answer, from 2012: “I’m in the midst of a lifetime conversation with my audience.” Pethes has identified and dedicated a chapter to each of six “communicative aspects” of Springsteen’s artistry; some include his musical influences, his rapport with his audience, and his storytelling gifts. Although Pethes doesn’t put it this way, his book suggests that, while many artists can claim one or more of those aspects—the Grateful Dead’s audience was likewise devoted; Taylor Swift’s acolytes, too, hear their stories in her lyrics—Springsteen uniquely embodies all these qualities at once. While this book will, of course, hold special interest for Springsteen fans, it may also speak to anyone who is anthropologically curious about the enduring allure of a public figure. Since the author is an academic, the reader can expect references to things like “parasocial relationships,” “constructivist communication theories,” and “paradoxical simultaneity,” but Pethes also includes, tone-shiftingly, snippets from his own “fan biography,” which finds him carrying out research by attending scads of Springsteen concerts. (Nice work if you can get it.)

Jim, a pale-skinned youngster, always wanted to be a cowboy—often wearing a Stetson hat, trying on his dad’s boots, sitting on unhorsed saddles, and pretending to ride. As he grows up on his family’s cattle ranch, he learns how to ride a horse for real, and even how to rope cattle—although this last skill doesn’t come easily. Jim first ropes a tree branch, his dog, and even himself. When one of the calves escapes, he isn’t sure he’ll be able to catch her; still, he and his sister, Jane, ride off to try, and after crossing a river and avoiding a rattlesnake, they find the calf. Davis offers a straightforward third-person narrative, with the typeface cantering across the open skies and grassy fields of Sharma’s illustrations, mostly two-page spreads. The author based the characters and plot on the real-life history of her grandfather, whose appended two-page biography gives the work a timeless feel. Jim’s adventure has fraught moments, but the ranch lifestyle more generally appears laid-back and verdant. Sharma adds variety with subtle background reworkings of flora and fauna and a picture-search challenge. A glossary of cowboy terms rounds out the book.

“Few things unite a town like a high school football win.” So observes Phil, the 49-year-old narrator of this debut novel that provides a keenly observed account of two eventful high school football seasons, one in 1986 and the other in the Covid-19 year of 2022. Phil is also the name of the author, who was clearly inspired by his own memories of performing as a band member during football season. Broken into 82 short chapters, the novel alternates between dual time frames: Phil’s tumultuous freshman year playing saxophone in an Alabama high school band in 1986 and his life in 2022 in small-town Indiana as a loving husband to Misha (the name of the author’s real-life wife). An upcoming reunion of his high school band serves as the catalyst for Phil’s self-reflective reminiscences about the school’s football team’s fight to reach the state finals when he was a student. The narrative includes rousing examples of how a marching band can galvanize players and the audience alike, but before the band and team can come together as a united front in 1986, there is some strife. Seniors on the football team are unhappy when band members are recruited to fill empty player slots; there are also girlfriend and boyfriend troubles, injuries, and a parent’s drunk-driving car accident. The present-day team struggles with its own difficulties, such as a captain with a chip on his shoulder, junior varsity players brought in to fill gaps after a resurgence of Covid-19, a critically ill teammate, a couple’s infertility anguish, and a coach working through self-doubt. Friendships and personal issues among wives and husbands are depicted with empathy; “church” (denomination not specified) is an understated source of social and spiritual support. Throughout, descriptions of football games and marching band performances, informed by lived experience and exhaustively detailed here, will resonate with any fan of a sport that’s fundamental to civic identity and pride in countless American towns.

In her introduction, contributor Julie Sondra Decker notes that the portrayal of romantic love in literature “as a prerequisite to fulfillment and even personhood [is] disturbing.” In this collection, aro characters who don’t experience romantic attraction face not only arophobia, but also misunderstandings; compulsory romance; feelings of being broken, lacking, or othered; and disappointment from friends who want something more from their relationships. However, they also find strength connecting with other aromatic people and supportive friends and from discovering alternative ways to live and love. Most of the stories are well-written, and the standouts include “Do You See Me?” by Isa Fiel, which links the legend of La Llorona to arophobia, and “Daughter of Time” by co-editor Dyer, which contrasts a Neanderthal girl’s warm and loving community with a modern girl’s isolation. Ian M. Carlisle’s “Thomas Marley’s Fake Bride” broadens the anthology’s representation by centering on a protagonist who delights in sex—just not romance. Among the many intricately woven worlds, the high-concept nature of a few might challenge readers, as might the second-person narration of some stories. The genres represented include fantasy, science fiction, dystopia, and realistic fiction. Several tales feature leads who are of non-European heritage, and many include characters who represent a multitude of LGBTQ+ identities.

Most Americans have heard of Frank Lloyd Wright, a name once synonymous with American architecture. Wright’s buildings, including the Guggenheim Museum in New York City and Fallingwater in Pennsylvania, are rightfully considered masterpieces. But few these days know that he had been an irresistible magnet for the tabloids of his day, making him one of the first celebrities of modern times; he was targeted by media moguls looking for salacious stories to separate a rubbernecking public from their hard-earned nickels. Even so, modern readers may be surprised by the comparative innocence of the era’s mass media, which clutched its pearls over the architect abandoning his wife and children at the peak of his career to be with Martha “Mamah” Borthwick, the wife and mother of two children of a neighbor and client. Sherman, the author of several histories and true-crime tales of the rich and infamous, was charmed by the potency of the love story at the heart of the book; and thanks to copious quotes from his highly literate subjects and his own masterly tale-spinning, most readers will succumb right along with him. We learn what Borthwick saw in Wright, and we become enchanted by what we learn of her: She was a talented author and translator in her own right, as well as a pioneering feminist. “We do not want to be censored by the community,” she told a journalist, “respond[ing] to the news reports that the couple’s…neighbors wanted to drive them out of town.” All the more devastating, then, when the horrific story implied in the title takes center stage.