Drugan’s father was a well-respected man around their suburban Boston-area town. The local dentist, he was known for his bedside manner, his local philanthropy, and his involvement in the town’s Catholic parish, which his family had attended for generations. The author knew a much different man from his public persona, however; his father seemed to single out Drugan among his siblings for scorn. When the author was 13, he heard his father admit to his mother that he despised his middle son. That year at Thanksgiving, the elder Drugan menaced the boy while he was doing the dishes: “His hot breath washed in my ear and down my neck, and I was so repulsed that my knees went weak,” the author recounts. As the boy grew older, his father’s rage began to manifest as violent beatings. Eventually, Drugan realized that the source of his father’s hatred was the author’s latent homosexuality—a profound taboo in his family’s conservative Irish Catholic community. With this memoir, Drugan unpacks how his father’s abuse shaped the man the author eventually became and details the long struggle he overcame to forgive the abuser—and to love himself. (In addition to being a moving story of surviving abuse, the book is a wonderful document of Massachusetts in the 1970s; at one point, future senator Scott Brown comes to Drugan’s aid against locker room bullies.) Drugan conveys his story in nimble prose, masterfully constructing his characters’ psychologies. “I don’t know what exposure he had to gay men earlier in his life because he never talked about anything remotely related to sex,” he writes of his father. “Still, he knew I was ‘different’ before I did. My emerging sexuality eroded the modicum of humanity I had left.” Any readers who had complicated relationships with their parents will likely see shades of their own family interactions in these pages.

In the post–Civil War era, writes law professor Green, a “freethought” movement swept across the United States. It was never quite coherent, with many strains of dissent advocating such causes as sexual liberation and militant atheism. Green’s account opens in 1887 with a New Jersey activist being hauled to court for blasphemy, “one skirmish in a larger battle pitting the dominant evangelical Protestant establishment against emerging forms of religious heterodoxy.” Leading the establishment’s war was Anthony Comstock, a special agent for the U.S. Post Office Department who prosecuted thousands of Americans for alleged obscenity after mailing what he considered subversive material. Comstock, writes Green, was “a religious fanatic, a delusional, self-appointed agent of God, and a misogynist to boot,” but much of his campaign and a law named for him remains in place today. Green capably traces the origins of the freethought movement and its principal exponents to the New England transcendentalists and the “tradition of eighteenth-century deism,” though by the late-19th century, they were far less genteel. At points, freethought merged with violent anarchism, at other points with feminist rejection of the “Christian ‘ideal’ of marriage and family,” and at every turn it was met with severe opposition from the religious orthodoxy. This conservative front strongly supported Comstock while resisting efforts to weaken the powers of the major denominations. The freethought movement essentially disappeared in the early 20th century, and for various reasons: The Red Scare of the 1920s cowed many leftists into silence, while movement leaders such as Robert Ingersoll found no heirs after their death. But more, Green writes, “many of the causes that freethinkers embraced and believed were inhibited by organized religion—scientific inquiry, evolution, greater artistic and intellectual freedom, and social reform— were gaining ground on their own.”

In their debut collaboration, Sodais and Sullivan trace their parallel paths throughout the U.S. invasion of Afghanistan at the start of the 21st century. Sodais was a young Persian-speaking Afghan at the time of the rise of the Taliban, which was brutal for him. “The Taliban used their position of absolute power to punish and humiliate people who did not align with their version of Islam,” he writes. “It was another lesson in the use of violence I would learn all too young.” In 2012, he was commissioned to work as an interpreter for an American platoon and met U.S. Army officer Sullivan. The two soon formed a working relationship and then a friendship, and the narrative shifts between their viewpoints. Sodais remarks on the oddities of the U.S. military he observed as he accompanied Sullivan on his various missions, and Sullivan reflects on the unforgiving country he was invading at the behest of his government. “Life is cheap in Afghanistan, and violence part of its long, bloody history,” he writes. “What we took as jest or perfectly acceptable in the western world could be seen as unforgivable transgression in the East.” The contrasting perspectives render the book compelling and readable. The story becomes even more darkly gripping once the narrative reaches the chaotic U.S. withdrawal from Afghanistan in 2021 and the resurgence of the Taliban, which left Sodais scrambling to stay alive and escape the country, which proved incredibly dangerous and difficult. “I wanted to leave, and they wanted me gone, so why was it so difficult to actually do it?” Sodais wonders at one point. “Why was there such a strict jail sentence for refugees caught trying to leave?” Both Sodais and Sullivan are genial presences on the page, providing strikingly human responses to the war.

Maisie, depicted as a contented, slightly chubby young white girl, loves to ride. While her big sister, Zoe, is fast, svelte, and determined, Maisie trundles along on her comfortable, squeaky old bike, ice cream cone held in one hand. She would like to keep up with Zoe, but she’s also happy to ride her own way (“I bet I have more fun on my bike rides!”), and she soon makes some likeminded friends: Tito, who is Black and rides a recumbent three-wheeler with a horn; Jayden, who is white and can pop wheelies; and Layla, who has tan skin and brings all her stuffies with her in a trailer. The four start the Ragtag Best Friends Bicycle Club and quickly welcome a host of quirky new members—even Zoe is impressed by their all-inclusive approach. Blonsky writes from Maisie’s perspective, mixing straightforward prose and dialogue with more stylized speech-bubble conversations. Maisie and her diverse group of friends emerge as well-adjusted kids secure in what brings them pleasure. Zoe provides measured contrast—she embodies cycling ideals but is missing out on something. Throughout, Claffey captures the unadulterated joys of childhood and cycling, offering simple but endearing digital illustrations with arresting background details, including vivid images of trees, the sun and clouds, a cityscape, and a page-spanning sunset.

When it comes to dogs, reciprocity rules: “We train them—and they train us. We care for them—and they care for us.” Puppy positivity is a big reason for our love of dogs: “Puppies live in the moment and make each day count!” The book recognizes the attributes that make canines beloved companions—fidelity, playfulness—as well as the life-changing service of working dogs (including helping those who are visually impaired and wheelchair users). Unconditional love is one of the gifts a dog can offer, along with modeling curiosity and persistence and providing comfort. A wonderful wordless spread depicts puppy communication and interaction. In one vignette, a dog sticks its head out of the window of a moving car (“He celebrates the simple things”)—a potentially dangerous activity. That lapse aside, readers will revel in the pooches portrayed in all their goofy glory and loving loyalty, in detailed, accurately colored, careful illustrations that show a vast variety of breeds. We could do worse than to emulate some of the dog-embodied qualities described here. Human characters are diverse.