In 1877, Mary “May” Cassatt is already making a name for herself in the French art scene, having had some paintings exhibited at the Salon, the establishment arbiter of the art world at the time. She is excited by the work of Edgar Degas, who has rebelled against the Salon and is a founder of the Impressionist movement. They finally meet, and she is enthralled. They become colleagues, then personal friends, and then, seemingly inevitably, lovers. Another strand in the story deals with Mary’s relationships with her family members. The Cassatts, from Philadelphia, are well-off, and her parents and older sister Lydia move to Paris to support Mary (and because they remember France so fondly). Mary is very close to Lydia, her faithful confidant, who lost her fiancé in the Civil War. Many famous real-life artists get cameo roles or mentions, showing Mary’s milieu, and Camille Pissarro gets more than that; as a happy husband and father, he contrasts with the tortured loner Degas, who can be incredibly hurtful. Camille becomes Mary’s other confidant; in fact, he warns her about Degas and is there for her when it all goes wrong. There is no hard historical evidence for this romance, and, of course, neither Mary nor Edgar ever married (this is not alternative history), but Groen is by no means the first to speculate. And Lydia at least did have a love tragically stolen from her. (At one point an exasperated Lydia says, “I wasn’t born with your talent…But I loved a man. I know what it’s like to wake up every morning longing for someone.”) What drives the book is the contrasting dynamics: love versus art, excitement versus serenity, the establishment versus the avant-garde. Love is strong, but is the pull of art stronger? That is the question. The text includes reproductions of artworks—mostly Cassatt’s—throughout.

In 1940, series protagonist Arista Kelly’s forebear, Barry Kelly, is a dog breeder in California. After a neighbor poisons one of his dogs, Barry enacts revenge by killing the man. In turn, the dead man’s wife puts a curse on the Kelly family, using “dark magick.” In the present, a man named Mateo has been hired to work on Arista Kelly’s home. Something catches Mateo’s eye: a suitcase containing “a cache of papers and trinkets.” The papers include instructions for a vision spell; since Mateo’s young son has sight problems, he takes the case home with him. Upon closer inspection, the vision spell proves to be of little use to Mateo, and his possession of the suitcase starts to cause problems. Meanwhile, Arista’s neighbor, a “strong, well-seasoned witch” named Iris, has gone missing. When Arista and her aunt investigate, they find evidence in Iris’ home of the curse that was put on the Kelly family—Iris, it transpires, is the original hexer’s granddaughter, and she is on her own adventure after having been possessed by Arista’s uncle Fergus. There is a lot going on in the narrative as a colorful assortment of characters go about their business: Mateo’s troubles with the suitcase and Iris’ journey home after finding herself in Spokane are merely the beginning of the “rowdy commotion” to come. In this world of multicolored auras, where characters have to worry about being possessed and are also concerned with, say, buying jewelry for a loved one, the reader never knows how events will develop. Dodd’s descriptions can be a little too on the nose; at one point, “a scowl of hatred brim[s] across” the face of a villain. Still, while some elements are predictable, there is a rich world of magic and conflict to explore before the story reaches its conclusion.

Narcissa “Cissa” Tarver was a surprise baby to her aging parents, born a decade after the Civil War in Mississippi. Her Black nurse, Julia, is her best, if not only, friend; a lonely child, Cissa spends much of her time playing in nature, especially with her favorite barn cat. Cissa’s future changes at age 6, when an untreated spider bite leads to gangrene and the loss of two fingers. She learns to write left-handed and discovers that she enjoys writing; as a teenager, she’s hired to cover social events for the local newspaper. As a reporter, she questions the attitudes of racist Southerners, especially the sentiments of her older brother, Duncan, who runs for office. Her decision to stand up to him results in tension with other family members. She also develops a mutual attraction with Hector Davis, a detective who’s seeking evidence against Duncan and his followers. Her father wills the family home to her, but she must take care of her elderly mother, and she struggles to find a way to build a life of her own. In this story, loosely based on Birdwell’s family history, the author has created a fascinating character in Cissa, who’s always determined to do what’s right, no matter what it may cost her personally. Cissa forthrightly questions why only white men can participate in the electoral process; she also yearns to be a reporter covering important stories, but her circumstances always keep her from making that leap. With the huge family sizes of the era, and the high child-mortality rates, readers may sometimes find it difficult to keep track of who’s who among the Tarvers, let alone their extended relations. Nonetheless, Birdwell has built a strong period piece on the foundation of an intriguing woman’s story.

“Like cherry blossom petals, excitement [is] in the air” as Hoon and his family shop at Koreatown in preparation. Back at home, Hoon’s Eomma explains each ritual as she sews little Binna’s first hanbok. Hoon’s Appa notes that a child’s 1st birthday is significant because in the past, many babies died young, including several of Hoon’s great-grandmother’s siblings. That revelation fills Hoon with worry for Binna’s well-being. According to Korean tradition, the first object a baby picks up at the doljabi ceremony will predict the child’s future, and Hoon hopes that Binna will choose the thread, which symbolizes long life. The day finally arrives, and Hoon tries to nudge his sister toward the thread, though she’s more interested in the rainbow rice cake. His parents tell him to let Binna choose for herself—and at last she does as a crowd of smiling family and friends look on. Korean terms and cultural markers are well explained and skillfully integrated into this gently told narrative. Bright colors fill each page, while Kim’s cartoonish art, textured with simple lines and patterns, sets a cozy tone.

To accompany an exhibition at the Image Centre in Toronto and the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts, this volume of nearly 100 images represents a particular focus of the work of eminent photographer Richard Avedon (1923-2004): aging. Famous for his fashion photos and celebrity portraits, Avedon takes an unsparing view of famous people in old (or older) age. Dorothy Parker, for example, was 65 when he photographed her. With deep bags under her eyes, she looks, curator Vince Aletti notes, “like she hasn’t slept or been entirely sober for years.” Aletti is among several writers providing context and commentary on the images: Others are Roth, director of the Image Centre; New Yorker writer Adam Gopnik, who was a close friend of Avedon; and Gaëlle Morel, exhibitions curator of the Image Centre. Along with an introduction, Roth contributes an informative biographical essay on Avedon’s father, Jacob Israel Avedon, the subject of Avedon’s first exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art, in 1974. The images, which document Jacob Israel’s dying from advanced liver cancer, proved controversial: Some critics saw them as exploitative, a form of patricide, while others praised the intimate photographs as “profound and moving.” Readers are likely to find some images familiar: Ronald Reagan, casting a suspicious glance; the deeply lined faces of Samuel Beckett and Stephen Sondheim. Although a few sitters looked pleased—Arthur Schlesinger, for one, looks rather self-satisfied—fewer look happy. Two exceptions are Marguerite Duras, who exudes impish joy, even as her health is declining, and a nun, Soeur Emmanuelle, who looks positively ecstatic. Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy appears resigned—perhaps to having her portrait taken, or, more likely, to old age. Capturing fragility and pain, Avedon, at the same time, honors his subjects’ dignity.