Spice Abrams has both a tail and a tale to tell. This “spicy” cat declares to readers that cats predate humans on the evolutionary timeline and are thus the key to humanity’s growth and success. Conveniently, human records are unreliable, but Spice is ready to share the truth of the matter—and in rhyming couplets, no less. Back when humans were nomadic, cats lived in colonies that took an interest in these strange, bipedal creatures and showed them how to settle down. “‘There’s work involved. No, please don’t cry. / We’ll show you how, but you must try.’ // By watching how a cat survives, / the people soon improved their lives.” Of course, the humans could barely feed themselves, so cats taught them to hunt and fish, inventing the fishing rod because people didn’t have sharp claws. Table manners, personal hygiene, and even the roundness of the Earth follow suit. Spice’s story extends across space and time from the Middle Ages and the Renaissance all the way to a future where cat astronauts bounce around the moon waiting for a new world to explore. No matter where or when, Spice assures readers, cats push humans to be their very best. Abrams’ follow-up to Silly Cat and Friends Make Believe (2023) is a silly stand-alone alternate history that may amuse cat lovers, particularly those in elementary school. This historical romp provides a disclaimer as to its truthfulness (or lack thereof), but its emphasis on the emotional bond between humans and their pets stands the test of time. Her sentences flow smoothly, as does the story, though things do become somewhat repetitive as cats solve every issue that crops up with no difficulty. Vagreti’s illustrations are expressive and portray a variety of people with different skin tones—though, like much of the history, most of them are white.

“Delaware’s Christmas traditions echo the broader American story,” writes the author, who highlights the ways in which First State residents have been “remarkably flexible” in blending “customs that took root in the colonies” with later demographic, social, and cultural changes. The book’s first section, “Cultural Traditions,” explores how various peoples have contributed to the history of Delaware’s Yuletide celebrations. The Scandinavians, Tabler notes, first settled the New Sweden colony in the 17th century and devoted particular attention to the celebration of St. Lucia. Although many groups covered in this section are colonial settlers or 19th-century European immigrants—from the Dutch who celebrated St. Nicholas to the Italians who introduced the Feast of the Seven Fishes—the book also notes the great influence of non-Europeans. For example, he tells of how enslaved African people lived in Delaware starting in the 1600s, and he notes how free Black communities during the antebellum era observed Christmas in independent churches “free from white control.” Later, some Delaware residents observed Kwanzaa, which also emphasized “community building and cultural preservation.” The state’s Latino population grew in the late 20th century, and they added such celebrations as the feast day of Our Lady of Guadalupe. The book’s second and third parts offer a chronological history of various Christmas customs, from the popularity of sleigh bells and poinsettias in the 19th century to the impact of consumer culture and gift-giving in the 20th. The final section surveys post–World War II traditions, including the ’60s fad of making wreaths out of IBM punch cards, used by DuPont and other local employers, and ubiquitous “Christmas in July” sales among stores in coastal towns.

The book’s nostalgic style may not appeal to more academically minded readers, but its upbeat, inclusive approach reflects the holiday season at its joyous best. A major highlight of the book is its use of full-color, festive illustrations and images of photos, paintings, magazine covers, and other holiday ephemera, many of which are in the public domain. Tabler has authored three other works on Delaware history, and he clearly has a firm understanding of the state’s unique place in American culture; he also fruitfully draws on primary source material from more than two dozen of the state’s archives, museums, universities, and historical societies. The work’s only drawback is its oversized back matter, “Chapter Continuations,” which offers additional exposition on the topics in each chapter. This information is often diverting, but the section comprises more than a third of the book’s total length and ultimately makes for a disjointed read. Readers who are looking for a history of Scandinavian Christmas observance, for instance, will not only need to read the book’s opening chapter, but also multiple pages of additional information in the final section that’s longer than the initial chapter itself. Still, despite this editorial misstep, the book is a beautifully crafted and colorful work.

It is the fifth century C.E. Shifra and her husband, Benjamin, both hail from Alexandria, Egypt, but have spent the last 30 years in Milan, always wary of the pressure put on Jews like themselves to convert to the regnant faith of Christianity. They maintain their beliefs, but after Benjamin, a physician, is beaten to death one night out of a prejudicial contempt for his religion, Shifra is faced with a terrible choice: Bishop Marolus demands that she finally become a Christian or face a tax on her estate so steep it will leave her all but penniless. She defiantly stands her ground, but life for her in Milan becomes all but unbearable—Shifra is also physically assaulted for being Jewish—so she moves back to Alexandria to live with her younger brother, Akiva, a secretary to Orestes, the Roman governor of upper Egypt and an influential man. In this powerful moral drama, Shifra sadly discovers that Akiva’s success depends upon his own conversion to Christianity, and he strongly encourages her to follow suit. Meanwhile, Shifra’s servant, Dacia, struggles to maintain her religious identity as well—raised an Arian Christian, she is seen as a heretic by the Nicene Christians who make up the majority. The author meticulously portrays the depth of Shifra’s moral predicament—she could continue to worship as she pleases in private, if only she would renounce her faith publicly (“Sometimes dissembling is the price of survival”). However, such a disavowal seems to her like a betrayal of both her ancestors and Benjamin, who is considered by Bishop Marolus to be “forever lost, doomed to eternity in Hell.” Maddox rigorously reconstructs the historical setting and its political and cultural tensions. This is a gripping blend of astute historical commentary and literary drama.

Ruby Lee Becker is only 10 years old in 1935 when she sits at the double funeral for her grandmother, Alma, and baby sister, Nell, both of whom succumbed on the same day to the deadly dust plague. Ruby’s mother, Willa Mae, is frozen with grief. Just days later, Ruby falls ill with “dust pneumonia” and is hospitalized. When she recovers, her father and older brother, Will, pick her up, but they drive her the train station, not home; Will is taking her to Waco, where the air is clear. He gives her $20 and leaves her with Granny Alma’s widowed cousin, Bess, with whom she is to live until the air in Hartless, Texas, is once again safe for breathing. Angry and frightened, Ruby decides the only thing in her control is her voice, and she decides to stop speaking. She hears nothing from her family, and in 1936, shortly after her 11th birthday, Cousin Bess dies. Ruby’s next stop is the Waco State Home for Dependent and Neglected Children, where she remains for seven years, despite repeated escape attempts. Playing out in tandem with Ruby’s story is that of her mother; unbeknownst to Ruby, Willa Mae has been placed in the state mental facility. The mother and daughter poignantly narrate alternating chapters in Alexander’s coming-of-age Dust Bowl narrative. In vivid, graphic prose, enhanced by dialogue that reflects the dialects and linguistic patterns of the period and social station of the characters (“A red sun augurs a bad day”), the author limns the chilling cruelty of the treatment of mental patients as well as the abuses that take place at the children’s home. There are also delightful interludes, as when Eleanor Roosevelt rescues Ruby during a dust storm, or when the school nurse gives her special (marijuana) cigarettes to help her asthma. Most appealing are the tender friendships that develop at the home and on the road as Ruby gradually learns that families can be created in all sorts of ways.

Indranath Mukherjee, a Bengali revolutionary, has come to California in 1917 awaiting an arms cache from the German government. While in Palo Alto, he meets graduate student Cora Trent at a party and the two are soon inseparable, united as much by their chemistry as their devotion to revolutionary causes, despite the disapproval of friends both South Asian and American. The real-life biographies of M.N. Roy—known as the founder of communist parties in Mexico and India—and Evelyn Trent inform the adventures of Indra and Cora, who interact with remarkable fictional figures including a university president, an Irish mystic, an expatriate Bengali leader, and the editor of a leftist newspaper. Each of these introduces some facet of the era’s political and social concerns, from eugenics to birth control, communism to nationalism. The author, a historian, has clearly done the research; unfortunately, so much research that it overtakes the throughlines of an authentic love story, and of Cora’s chafing at the bonds of wifehood and the way they affect her identity. Scenes proceed too quickly from those with overarching political import (discussions about the Zimmermann telegram) to others focused on emotional heft (concocting a home-cooked dessert for an elder). Interspersed with the action are interior meditations from the couple, many of which contain beauty and wisdom, such as Indra’s realization that after the initial pleasure of passion, what had grown between them was “an invitation into frailty and mutual aid.” Unfortunately, many of those sections suffer from overwrought prose: “To be his wife or to be herself, that was the choice, but all love is drunkenness, and like the drunk unable to walk a straight line, there arose in her some uncontrollable bodily urge to go between both, to stumble between fidelity and solitude.”