The key lines and uplifting sentiments chosen for this “erasure poem” sometimes show their age, but they still make inspiring reading. The text floats on Lewis’ evocative images of opening doorways and marching footsteps, of small figures standing on a mountaintop or rising through clouds, and of hands shaping a heart or holding a tool. “I want to suggest things that should be in your life’s blueprint,” King said. He went on to speak of believing in being Black, beautiful, and good; of staying in school; of rising up like Marian Anderson and Muhammad Ali; of choosing nonviolence over hate (“Our slogan must not be ‘Burn, baby, burn’”); and of transforming injustice into justice. Most of all, he urged, “DON’T SET DOWN / ON THE STEPS / ’CAUSE IT’S / HARD. / KEEP MOVING.” Duncan explains how readers can watch a video of the original talk and provides instructions for making an erasure poem; she closes with a quick summary of the Civil Rights Movement’s hard-won triumphs. It’s uncomfortable to consider how much of that last will be news to today’s middle schoolers.

Invisible illnesses like endometriosis, Lyme disease, and long Covid typically present as a constellation of vague, sometimes intermittent symptoms that include pain, chronic fatigue, and brain fog. As different as these conditions are from each other, they are also similar in how misunderstood they are in the medical community. Drawing on cultural history and interviews with scientists, policymakers, and activists (many of whom suffer from chronic conditions), Mendenhall argues for transforming the health care system by recognizing the experiences of complex patients as “legitimate sources of knowledge.” A large part of the problem comes from the fact that complex patients and doctors “speak different languages” and do not understand each other. Patients may feel unseen by clinicians who lean into authoritative discourse and a “one size fits all” approach to diagnosis, while clinicians may not fully comprehend the patient’s (often very individualized) experiences. In discussing endometriosis, for example, the author shows how female complaints get labeled—and ultimately dismissed—as functional neurological disorder (FND), an updated version of the Hippocratic notion of hysteria or “wandering uterus” syndrome. She argues that symptoms for this and other chronic ailments must be considered in context of what she terms a patient’s “bodymind,” since body and mind, along with the patient’s environment, are “deeply integrated.” Only then can the chronically ill begin to more successfully navigate their conditions and remake their lives in more substantive ways. Elegantly written and rigorously researched, Mendenhall’s book offers a much-need challenge to a monolithic health care system to respond in more humane and holistic ways to the suffering of those facing complicated, long-term health issues.

Will often works alongside his mother at the Graceland Cemetery, where she’s the executive director, digging into records and tracing genealogical leads. His father was killed in a car crash two years ago, and he feels satisfied when he can help a family find a long-lost ancestor. His best friend, Stash, understands Will’s dedication, but Will doesn’t talk about the cemetery at school, where he doesn’t want to be seen as different and targeted by school bully Chris. But a class field trip to the cemetery means his secret is out. To Will’s surprise, his classmates Henry and Michelle are interested in the cemetery’s history. Not Chris. Instead, he pressures Will to get him the key to a mausoleum so he can livestream from the cemetery after hours. But when Chris loses the key, a ghost latches on to Will. Will, Stash, Henry, and Michelle use humor to keep their terror at bay as they combine their varied skills to figure out who the ghost is and what she wants. The descriptions of the ghost are hair-raising, and the research into her life and death reveals an unexpectedly poignant, historically accurate story. Will and his friends, who are cued white, are portrayed with great emotional depth. There’s even hope for Chris, who initially seems to be a one-dimensional bully but by the end seems to correct his behavior.

There are four kinds of Orha in the Queendom of Nenamor: Mudmouths, Sparkmouths, Gustmouths, and Floodmouths, like Corith and her best friend, Zennia. They’re wards of the state, destined at age 18 for a mandatory service placement. A month ago, Zennia was sent to be the Floodmouth at House Shearwater, which like all noble houses keeps a set of one of each Orha type. Now it’s Corith’s birthday, and to her horror, her placement is House Shearwater. No noble house would keep two Floodmouths—and Corith’s terrible suspicions are confirmed: Zennia died in “an unfortunate accident.” At House Shearwater, she has occasional important magical tasks but is mostly engaged in menial labor. Surprisingly, the nobles make enslaved Orha mages perform tasks such as fetching water from the well and mopping floors. But Corith isn’t bored—she’s received a secret note promising information about Zennia’s fate, found a letter in code that Zennia left for her, and been recruited by local rebels. Throw in some cute noble boys, counterfeit magical jewelry, political intrigue, and illicit pamphlets espousing Orha rights, and the result is so many plot points that character development gets short shrift in the sometimes clunky prose. In this primarily white world, Corith is cued white.

Things are turning around after the dashing of Kerrigan’s dreams of becoming a dragon rider for another house. Through her relationship with Fordham, heir to the House of Shadows, she’s found belonging. To finalize her membership, she’ll have to travel home with him and be accepted by his father, King Samael Ollivier—but the House of Shadows is known to be especially cruel to humans and the half-Fae. In addition to swearing fealty to the king and developing a necessary (but inexplicably missing) bond with her dragon, Tieran, Kerrigan must also complete a year of training with Tieran. She also has to outrun the machinations of the Red Masks, a terrorist organization hellbent on erasing humans and half-Fae from society. The plot has many threads to follow and features few action scenes and a preponderance of dialogue that doesn’t always further the story; much of the time, the dragons aren’t central to either the conversations or the situations. As in the previous book, there’s a questionable age gap between teenage Kerrigan and an adult man she’s in a romantic relationship with (Fordham’s age is ambiguous, but Kerrigan assumes that he isn’t “as young as she” is). This element, a lot of alcohol-fueled partying, and some explicit sexual interludes make the intended audience difficult to identify. Kerrigan and Fordham read white.