England, 1349. Sir Hugh de Grey, known as the Pale Knight, has just arrived home from his battles in France. He left behind a continent ravaged not only by war, but by plague, and he’s disheartened to find that the deadly pestilence has reached England ahead of his ship. At his estate, he finds his young son, John, dying of the disease and knows he’s being punished by God for the atrocities he has committed in France. He prays to God to spare his boy—but it’s not God that answers. Rather, Death himself appears, a shrouded skeleton with his massive scythe, to present Sir Hugh with an offer: If Hugh will enter Death’s service and kill the valiant knight Gilbert the Pure, Death will spare young John. With his acerbic squire, Crispin, Sir Hugh sets off to kill the good knight—a much better man than himself—through a landscape rapidly descending into madness. Hugh is not the only one with a moral test before him: The Jewish refugee Aaron of Albi enjoys the protection of the evil Sir Maurice Beauchamp, but only because Sir Maurice believes his Jewish magic will protect his household from the plague. Maurice’s daughter, Joan, wants Aaron to kill her father so they can run away together, but will his attempt to wield the plague for his own purposes backfire? Milligan renders 14th-century England as a disease-ravaged wasteland, brought to phantasmagoric life by the striking full-color artwork of artist Val Rodrigues. Sir Hugh and Crispin must contend with zombie-like plague victims, flagellants driven mad with zealotry, and vigilante mobs happy to burn as a witch any woman who crosses their path. Readers will find some ominous echoes of the Covid-19 pandemic, but mostly, the book serves as a wonderful piece of historical escapism, presenting the Middle Ages in all its barbarous, bubonic glory.

Gilbert, a bald, mint-green goblin, is far too busy for Valentine’s Day. From bird-watching to goat yoga, his schedule is full. Besides, “Valentine’s Day is all about love and flowers and all that other mushy malarkey”—Gilbert doesn’t need it! He isn’t interested in those heart-shaped boxes of candy with their gross coconut surprises, and he’s not a fan of the so-called stars of Valentine’s Day: cupids with their gorgeous hair and love arrows. But the cupid squad doesn’t give up on Gilbert and sends him zigging and zagging to avoid their arrows. Believing he’s been hit (in fact he unwittingly backed up into a cactus), Gilbert finds himself falling in love with love and eagerly accepting his friends’ valentines. Humor certain to please readers young and old is woven throughout Gilbert’s sassy narration and the candy-colored illustrations, which trace the goblin’s metamorphosis from sourpuss to lovebug. The reasons for Gilbert’s true change of heart—and why he was so loath to celebrate to begin with—are left unspoken, but readers may enjoy coming up with their own ideas. Front endpapers featuring candy hearts festooned with “meh” and “nope” capture the anti-Valentine vibe, while supportive cards from Gilbert’s friends can be found on the back endpapers.

After moving from Portland, Oregon, to France for her father’s job, Tosh grows increasingly fond of Paris, even if her language skills need some work. Her sweet American neighbor Nick takes her on fabulous, quirky tours and introduces her to new friends who share her curiosity about the world; former debate team member Tosh loves doing research. They also inspire her with their interests, in particular street artist Noor, who uses her paintings to empower women. This message is more important than ever now that someone is attacking and biting women throughout the city, stirring memories in Tosh of a bad experience with Cole, a boy whose sexual aggression led her to quit debate. As the danger creeps closer, and mentions of vampires crop up everywhere, Tosh will have to confront a literal and metaphorical predator in order to keep the new life she loves. The story begins as a Parisian summer romp before shifting to become a creepy vampire horror story that creates a disturbingly apt parallel between vampirism and misogyny while critiquing very real sexism in our world. Banks balances Tosh’s struggles with gender bias with the affection and support of her new friend group to land a genuine and sympathetic tone throughout. Tosh and Nick are coded white, and Noor is cued Muslim.

Seeking to help readers clarify what leadership means to them, Christian warns that this book isn’t intended for passive reading—the editor is inviting readers to engage in the “personal, professional, soul, spiritual” work outlined in this motivational work (the first volume in a series) that she describes as “a space for truth-telling, for authenticity at its core. A place to honor the messy, magical process of becoming.” Her exhortations include “Engage Authentically,” “Exercise Your Discomfort Muscle” (“Let go of the need to agree with everything”), and “Personalize Your Experience.” In these pages, Christian has assembled testimonials from various businesspeople and motivational figures, all evincing what contributor Jacquelyn Bsharah calls “Thoughtful Leadership,” which she describes as “a values-based approach to leadership that prioritizes self-awareness, authenticity, and aligning decisions with purpose, not just performance.” The pieces vary in tone and content. Executive James Harris, for example, reflects on the tough love he received from his father, which taught him that leadership is “about showing up, doing the work, and carrying others with you.” Journalist-turned-consultant Bsharah looks back on being rejected for a job as a special assignment reporter and how she used the setback as motivation to work harder (“Less than a year later, I was tapped for a major story, and eventually was promoted to running the division”). The decision to include a range of distinctive narrative voices was a wise one; the different perspectives liven up the pace and keep the flow interesting. Readers will find some contributors more engaging than others, depending on whether they want their leadership advice to be practical or spiritual (some contributors talk about real-world workplace challenges, while others quote Rumi). Despite these differences, the concept of “Thoughtful Leadership” tends to unify the whole.

Floyd Hunsacker is exploring caves in 1870s Oregon when he comes across animal remains; seconds later, he’s consumed by a huge creature. Thirty years later, Chenoa Winterhawk is working as a guide in the same territory, leading a group on a tour in a dirigible. She’s traveling with a Maj. Quinn—he does not want his daughter with his late Chinese wife to be deported, so he’s completing a task for the Army Corps of Engineers. Another man, Lt. Misciso, hijacks the tour. Misciso is a malevolent presence from the beginning, acting with hostility toward Chenoa. When she presses him about where he intends to go, he’s cagey. He forces the dirigible to land, and the group encounters Chenoa’s uncle Akando, someone her father warned her to avoid; it’s clear something nefarious is afoot. Akando is after money that belonged to a separatist group, and believes it’s in a mine to which Quinn has a map. Things take a deadly turn when Chenoa escapes and tries to get to the mine before Akando does. Scenes depicting the massive creature from the prologue mauling and eating people in the community are interspersed throughout the story (“A massive shape rumbled through the dense underbrush of the forest. It looked like an enormous trunk had sprung legs, only this tree had white bark covering it”), indicating the danger that awaits Chenoa if she reaches her destination. Federal agents, along with Theodore Roosevelt, are also in pursuit. Can Chenoa survive Akando’s pursuit and the creature living in the mine? Buzan maintains a compelling sense of tension throughout the novel, which is incredibly violent and has very high stakes. The inclusion of some of the historical exposition is understandable—this is likely a chapter of U.S. history with which many readers are unfamiliar—but a little clunky; this story was clearly well researched, but the level of detail can distract from the narrative’s forward momentum. Still, it’s a thrilling, bloody yarn with an unusual setting.