This collection of essays presents institutional, personal, and aesthetic reasons for keeping access to all publications free and open. Fiction makes us question. History pulls aside the curtain to reveal the darker players in our heroism. The novelist Jane Smiley, interviewed in the book, says, “Here’s what I always say as a writer: the first person you write for is yourself.” Emily Drabinski, a library and information studies scholar, writes, “How many of us discovered we were not alone in the pages of a book?” Jeremy C. Young and Jacqueline Allain, both with teaching experience, write, “Public universities are places where all ideas can be debated and get a fair hearing, free from ideological control by the government.” Edited by University of Missouri scholar Cohen, the book includes case studies (schools banning books by Toni Morrison) and syllabi (plans for a class based on banned books). The essays are short and conversational in tone. There is a lot of preaching to the converted, of assuming that “the social enterprise of the left is rightly the expansion of enfranchisement and equity.” Is it ever right to ban a book? Germany has banned Hitler’s Mein Kampf. Should we ban “Thomas Dixon’s noxious and reprehensible Reconstruction Trilogy of novels, whose popularity in the early twentieth century says a lot about the racialized character of American Progressivism?” Individualism and communitarianism remain two opposing forces of American society. Caring about our own and caring about others often conflict. Should we legislate against feeling bad? While there are no specific answers in this book, one contributor, scholar Leonard Cassuto, offers the most hopeful path: “If we are to find any possibility of shared interest in our troubled polity, we all might benefit from looking more closely at what the other people think.”

Sloane, whose books include The Women in the Room: Labour’s Forgotten History (2018), continues to shine a light on the overlooked contributions of female politicians in her latest biography. Margaret Bondfield (1873-1953) led an extraordinary life. At age 16, after working in a London drapery store, she went undercover to report on the appalling conditions for women and domestic servants. She was intimidated and fired, and even though she was only 5 feet tall (eventually having trouble seeing over the podium in the House of Commons), she began working for her trade union. Bondfield was a founding member of what became the Labour Party. The First World War brought opportunities for women, but after the war, women returned to unemployment. Sloane writes of Bondfield’s relationship with Maud Ward. She was “an elusive figure,” Sloane says of Bondfield’s friend, but the author writes touchingly of the two women going on a walking holiday together. “They walked miles every day over every kind of terrain, enjoying stormy weather as much as the hot sunshine. Bondfield, who had never really had the time for proper holidays before, was converted.” Bondfield was eventually elected as a Member of Parliament for Wallsend. She traveled to Moscow and met Lenin: “He suggests by his manner a more or less confidential exchange of opinions. But when the interview is over, it is found that he has told you far less than you have told him.” In 1929, she was made Minister of Labour. The government fell, and she lost her seat. It is to Sloane’s credit that she brings attention to a largely forgotten and important figure. Nonetheless, much of the narrative is devoted to tedious legislative arguments written in lackluster prose. Bondfield was a plucky woman who rose from West Country poverty to the British Cabinet. Sloane doesn’t help us understand enough why so many not only voted for her, but also loved her.

Burkham, professor of human geography at University of Wisconsin-Whitewater and a self-described “Midwesterner by birth and disposition,” makes the case for immigration as a way to stave off the impacts of population decline in the Midwest. Outmigration, lower fertility rates, an aging baby boom cohort, and low rates of immigration have led to “demographic winter”—where death rates exceed birth rates. While the environmental impact of a lower population is undoubtedly good for the planet, Burkham zooms in on the local level to explore the negative consequences for communities: fewer consumers for local businesses, fewer taxpayers to keep up roads and public transportation, fewer workers to fill job openings, less funding for schools, and more. Grounded in a historically contextualized overview of federal policies of restriction and reform, the book makes a case for a place-based immigration strategy that would prevent this fate from befalling the Midwest. In opposition to current U.S. immigration policy (which prioritizes family reunification over economic immigration), Burkham proposes a model based on Canada’s Provincial Nominee Program, which allows provinces to prioritize immigration based on their needs (students, businesspeople, skilled workers, semi-skilled workers) with the objective of balancing where immigrants settle across the nation. A system of this sort, the author says, would boost population and fill the gaps in industries that are in need of workers—namely manufacturing, health care, and construction. Burkham explores the current unprecedented levels of diversity and education levels of immigrants and the process of integration into suburbs. In our current political atmosphere, where debate about immigration often lacks nuance, Burkham’s measured tone and practical approach, rooted in research, is welcome.

Ariana thinks of Nowruz as her “secret holiday” because she’s the only one in her class who observes it. Usually Mama helps prepare, but this year she’s out of town. So Ariana and her father step into her shoes, with some help from Ariana’s grandmother (Nana). Ariana and Dad shop for food and boil and paint eggs; later, Ariana decorates baklava with Nana. As they work, Nana explains the holiday’s origins. Nowruz, which means “new day,” is “like a birthday party for Mother Nature. People welcome spring with clean homes, new clothes, and clear hearts.” Best of all, it’s “a chance to start over and be better people.” When Mama returns, she’s happily surprised to see a table brimming with vibrant eggs, carefully organized cookies, a live goldfish, and other significant objects, including the haft-seen, a spread of seven plant-based items. Later, Ariana asks Nana why the whole world doesn’t celebrate Mother Nature’s birthday. Nana’s suggestion that Ariana invite her friends to celebrate with her leads nicely into backmatter discussing Nowruz further. Readers unfamiliar with the holiday will emerge enlightened, while youngsters who observe it will feel kinship with Ariana. Warm, engaging illustrations rife with bright patterns include recognizable Persian holiday hallmarks such as tiny chickpea cookies, sabzeh (greens), and elegant gold-bottomed tea glasses.

Ms. Wilson’s lived in apartment 1A so long that she’s become an expert in the weekday comings and goings of her upstairs neighbors, the Lams. She knows every step, scuffle, and squeak. Best of all, the absence of sounds means the building is finally empty, and she can play her many instruments in peace. Enter Gus, the Lams’ new pup. When they leave for the day on Monday morning, he happily barks along as Ms. Wilson plays her piano downstairs. But the silence that Ms. Wilson has come to treasure is gone. Just when it seems like the Lams will have to give up Gus, however, they hit upon the perfect solution. Sookocheff gently establishes mounting tension on both sides, all resolved with a realistically satisfying ending where empathy and cooperation win the day. She captures the complexities of apartment life—the ways in which neighbors fall into familiar routines and negotiate a shared existence. Relying on a muted palette of browns, beiges, and grays, her illustrations are enlivened by action lines, swirls, and confettilike dots that visually convey sound and emotion; thoughtful details make the characters feel all the more vivid. Ms. Wilson is brown-skinned; the Lams present East Asian.