In response, Mr. Gill, a white man, tells a story from his childhood in New York City. Mr. Gill (referred to here as Daniel) and his friend Archie, who is Black, are excited to attend their friend Steve’s birthday party. Dressed in suits and ties, they arrive at Steve’s fancy apartment building, ride the elevator up to the seventh floor, and ring the doorbell. Steve’s mother invites Daniel in but tells Archie that he must leave; there are no more chairs. When it becomes clear that Archie isn’t welcome because of his race, Daniel refuses to enter: “We’re going back to my house, where there are always enough chairs.” The chair in Mr. Gill’s classroom serves as a reminder that there’s room for everyone here. The author—who shares a name with the protagonist—based his tale on an event from his own childhood. Acknowledging that there are times when it isn’t safe for those from marginalized backgrounds to speak up, this potent story reminds those with privilege that they can—indeed, must—take a stand. For powerful discussions, pair this heartfelt friendship story with narratives of brave Black characters. Gal’s scribbly mixed-media illustrations are a visual feast, using richly saturated colors to emphasize emotion.

When Frederick Heigold begins his tale of an unlikely cross-country sojourn, the year is 1906 and his intended audience is Jack London, who’s sitting at the table next to his at a hotel bar. The story isn’t being spoken out loud, however; Heigold has been mute ever since he was shot in the neck at the Battle of Gettysburg. An expert in the maintenance of clocks, he’s been summoned to San Francisco to attempt to repair a tower clock; readers familiar with that city’s history will note that he’s arrived just before an earthquake is set to devastate the region. Heigold is a complex narrator, mourning his late wife, Lillian, and as prone to political musings as to lyrical passages: “Each clock and pocket watch I took apart and put together again was a triumph over time, however small.” His initial voyage west from Dobbs Ferry, New York, ends when he’s framed for being a radical and imprisoned. After his release, he meets Bonaparte, a charismatic man born into slavery with plenty of trauma in his past. When Bonaparte and Heigold part ways, it’s a bittersweet moment, and his absence is felt throughout the rest of the book. Lock is unsympathetic in his depiction of the past: Heigold witnesses plenty of racist cruelty on his journeys, and one leg of his voyage ends with a deadly shipwreck. With London an ever-present figure in the novel, Heigold is forced to reckon with the radical politics his late wife shared with the author as he confronts the injustice in the world that motivated both Lillian and London.

This collection abounds with bad decisions, traumatic events, and ominous conclusions. In an introduction, British writer Stuart Evers observes that “the lives Meyer depicts are small ones; ones lived in the margins of society.” The story “I’m Still Here!” follows a boxer—“a Black Dutchman from Rotterdam with a mashed-up face”—as he endures existential doubt and racist abuse. It’s a vision of the sport stripped of all glamour: “He was what they called a ‘journeyman’—they brought him in so that he’d lose.” The protagonist of “Carriage 29,” meanwhile, wakes up on board a train with little sense of what he’s doing there. Some of his own actions leave him baffled; at one point he wonders, “Why would a veteran wine rep like me ever drink this plonk?” Humans aren’t the only creatures in trouble in these stories; two of the most memorable—“Of Dogs and Horses” and “The Old Man Buries His Beasts”—focus on the fraught relationship between humans and their pets. The former is particularly unnerving, as it begins with the protagonist being reminded of his dog’s mortality only for Meyer to reveal more about the depth of the bond between man and beast, laying the groundwork for a truly haunting final image. Meyer isn’t working in a wholly realistic mode throughout; there’s also the grim delirium of “The Short Happy Life of Johannes Vettermann,” which opens with a vision of a man with the head of a dog. And a reference early in the book to “one of those disturbing street lamps, one of those lamps that never stop annoying you” hints at an absurdist edge.

It’s 2212, and 17-year old Earther Weslie has won the Interplanetary Alliance Life Support Bot competition for her bot named ILSA, or Individualized Life Support Assistant unit 001. The prize is a first-class ticket on luxury starship The Boundless, scheduled to embark on its maiden voyage to Mars, a five-week trip. In this future, the elite live in a life-sustaining environment on Mars, while the lower classes mine the Earth for resources and work in factories. Weslie’s mother works for Dalloway Technologies, the sponsor of the bot contest. In a rush to the ship, Weslie crashes into Jupiter Dalloway, the young heir to the Dalloway company. Jupiter is only the heir because his older sister recently died, and he wants nothing to do with the company, preferring artistic pursuits to technological ones. On the voyage, the two are thrust together repeatedly, leading to ample romantic tension between them as they’re continuously at odds thanks to their vastly different backgrounds. Because she won the contest, Weslie is given a room on the first-class deck. She is shocked and disgusted by the extravagance of the wealthy Mars inhabitants while on Earth, she and her mother struggle to survive. She is looked down upon by the other first-class passengers, and is even questioned by staff more than once about what she’s doing in first class. As in James Cameron’s Titanic, the romantic lead can’t resist the tension despite their difference in class and the expectations of Jupiter’s family. Starling slips in many Titanic references, although the novel will still be thrilling to any who haven’t seen it. Starling manages to make a critique of classism romantic and thrilling, with high stakes and heavy swoons. Weslie and Jupiter are both assumed white, but the supporting cast is ethnically diverse.

Libby Casey, who runs a design business, is inexplicably drawn to a colonial house for sale. She thinks moving there may be the change she needs, as she’s still in the home where she lived with her beloved husband, Ray, who died only 18 months earlier. She’s not at her new home for long before strange things begin to happen: A chair scrapes across the floor in the dead of night, and a glove, which her border collie mix Buck had found, mysteriously moves. These are just the first of many similar incidents, all of which Libby soon attributes to a ghost, likely the former homeowner from back in the 18th century. She dives into the estate’s history assisted by a diary excerpt and her eccentric neighbor, who may be psychic (the woman dismisses labels). Libby will do whatever she can to get rid of this ghost so that she (and maybe the spirit, too) can live in peace. McGroarty zeroes in on the bright cast, providing enriching details; Libby still mourns her lost husband and has trouble sleeping. As the ghost seemingly takes over her life, she deals with assorted reactions: Her amiable business partner, Harry, is supportive, but her friend Diana, sadly, tends to question Libby’s unsettling experiences (“I just think you might need a rest”). Though the ghostly occurrences are more curious than frightening, a concurrent plotline set in the 1700s turns increasingly dark. Along with the alternating plotlines, Libby’s concise narration keeps everything moving at a steady clip as she inches closer to revealing secrets, including one of her own. The wrap-up is wholly satisfying for every character, both present and past.