Sixteen-year-old Julia Anderson is unhappy about moving across the country from Toronto to Campbell River, a small town on Vancouver Island dubbed “the Salmon Capital of the World.” Following an ugly divorce that was hard on both mother and daughter, Jules’ lawyer mother got a new job as executive director of the environmental organization Eco-Guardians. Her father has married a much younger woman whose dislike for Jules is clear. In Campbell River, Jules meets 17-year-old Cody Romano, and they quickly connect. After some informal encounters, the two finally make plans to go out—and that’s when they figure out that Cody’s father owns the lumber mill that Eco-Guardians is trying to protect against logging. Once the teens become aware of the bitter rivalry between their parents, they hide their relationship, which is hard in such a small town. Can they keep their secret while the court case rages? Readers looking for a feel-good version of Romeo and Juliet—with a little bit of danger and suspense related to the legal battle and an anonymous donor’s support of the Eco-Guardians—will enjoy Cody and Julia’s journey. While the story follows familiar genre beats, it still contains enough surprises to sustain readers’ interest. Characters are largely cued white.

The kingdoms of Masor and Pavoline have long been allies, and both are surrounded by the Infinite Wood, a mystical place that’s populated by fairies. The alliance is jeopardized, however, when Masor’s king and queen are found murdered in the forest. The fairies are initially suspected, but the true killer is Prince Guiomar of Pavoline, who blames a Masorian for his mother’s death. Stoman, a fairy warrior, delivers this news to two servants, Esta and Byrdon, bound to the Masor and Pavoline royal families, respectively. They pass the message along to their employers, but the King of Pavoline and the Princess of Masor have their own theories of the crime. Byrdon is bound to Guiomar’s personal service, so he and Esta decide to raise their child in a cave in the Infinite Wood. Stoman and his partner, Alizren, must also raise their child in secret, because when a fairy child’s color doesn’t match their parents’, the Council of Elders takes the youngster away. Defying norms, the human Leanna and the fairy Kennedy grow up together. There are early signs that Leanna may possess unusual magical abilities and a grand destiny—one in which she may wield the powerful Jewel of Nebulous—and Kennedy is born purple, the color of fairy royalty. Flyte’s well-paced story is full of creative worldbuilding concepts and intriguing characters, and it features some thoughtfully timed twists and turns along the way. The author has crafted much of the dialogue in an old-fashioned style, which some readers are likely to find distracting at times (“This is naught but a dream, and I do naught to keep you hither, wake up if you in truth despise me so,” says Leanna at one point). However, the narrative as a whole—in which Leanna and Kennedy grow and explore their world and work to encourage peace and understanding among their respective peoples and kingdoms—is exciting and skillfully delivered, and it’s sure to keep aficionados of the genre invested.

From 1907 to 1938, the Hagenbeck-Wallace Circus was one of the biggest in the world, and its star attraction was an elephant named Topsy. In North Carolina in 1922, Topsy was spooked by a barking dog and “broke loose from her chains, ran into the night and disappeared into the heart of downtown Wilmington.” After a brief rampage through town, including a moment when she tried to drink from vats at a local dye factory, Topsy found herself sinking into the mud of a nearby lake. Wilmington police officer Leon George arrived on the scene and “with some kind words, a few apples, peanuts, and hay, he coaxed Topsy out of the sticky slime,” allowing her to be captured and returned to the circus. Now, the anniversary of Topsy’s escape is an annual celebration in downtown Wilmington. Knickerbocker’s watercolor-style illustrations are appealing, done mostly in sepia tones with occasional bright pops of color. The story feels somewhat overly long at times—in particular, it lingers on the relatively uninteresting character of Officer George a little too much—but it’s charming overall, and makes clear why circuses no longer include elephant acts.

Fuller’s book, written with colleagues Rebecca Cheung and Shanyilin Jin, is a rich, carefully structured field guide to one of the most politically charged and emotionally freighted domains in education. Organized around five central questions—how childhood is defined, who shapes early education, where learning should occur, what constitutes quality, and whether preschool can reduce inequality—the book moves methodically from philosophical foundations to contemporary policy debates. It begins by examining four enduring visions of the child, from the disciplined future worker to the culturally situated learner, showing how these frameworks continue to drive today’s arguments about play, school readiness, and academic rigor. Subsequent chapters map the mixed-delivery system that now characterizes American early education, tracing the roles of unions, advocates, public schools, and private providers. Drawing on decades of empirical research, the authors examine what actually improves preschool quality, including warm teacher-child relationships, rich language exposure, and cognitively engaging activities, while also acknowledging the stubborn fade-out of early gains and the uneven evidence on long-term effects. Throughout, Fuller and his co-authors situate classrooms within broader cultural and economic contexts, emphasizing the persistent tension between standardization and pluralism. The book succeeds as a dense but accessible synthesis. The prose is calm, measured, and scrupulously evidence-based but not bloodless; the authors’ willingness to question sacred cows (“learning through play” among them) gives the analysis intellectual bite without polemical heat. Scholars will appreciate the breadth of research and conceptual framing, while practitioners and policy-curious parents will find the arguments legible and often bracing. Even when breaking down technical debates about program effects or institutional design, the authors keep the stakes human and recognizable. The result is a rigorous, evenhanded work that invites disagreement and rewards careful reading. It is a rare academic treatise that speaks persuasively beyond the academy.

Xavier Coates lives and handles maintenance at Leigh Pierce Estates, a low-rise apartment building. While the rent is affordable, its tenants are saddled with a neglectful property manager who’s waiting to tear the place down—he certainly doesn’t care that some tenants have been disappearing lately. Xavier, however, has compassion for others, including an ailing girl he spots in the basement. He calls her an ambulance, but not before her blood apparently infects Xavier, who gets progressively sicker in the coming days. Meanwhile, Ari and his parents, Leena and Cyril, have been moving around the basement units. They’re searching for ways to satisfy their hunger pangs, though what they’re really feeding is some kind of parasite. It’s the very thing that’s affecting Xavier (he’s seen signs of what’s inside him) and just what Ari’s family can help him with, but Xavier may not like how they get their food—or what it is. Cox’s endlessly unnerving story takes repeated shots at health care in America: Xavier gets a massive hospital bill despite being on his mother’s insurance, and a medical professional looking into the parasites isn’t especially concerned about Leigh Pierce or the low-income area it’s in. Along with classism, the novel tackles themes of sexism and racism (several tenants, including Xavier, are Black). All the while, the author confidently delivers the genre goods, blending Cronenbergian body horror with a pervasive sense of doom. A touch of ambiguity (what exactly are those parasites?) heightens the suspense. The prose is richly textured—the narrative has striking passages throughout, such as a description of “metal hitting the fallen log with a hollow ring. A sound like a skull splintering open. The bleeding ooze of wood pulp.”