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.

Gwendolyn Honeydale’s father is dead, but she seems to be the only one who cares. Her vain sister, Fanny, wears a dress to the funeral so revealing that it distracts the priest, and her stingy mother allows the gravediggers to take as payment the coin in her father’s mouth—the one that tradition says is for paying St. Peter. With her father gone, Gwen is completely at the mercy of the older Honeydale women, who force her to sleep in the attic and shoulder most of the housework. The only kindness she finds comes from Paolo, the handsome young glassmaker who’s just come to town to sell his wares in the marketplace. Gwen’s mother has arranged to have Fanny married off to Tobias Prigghemp, the detestable eldest son of a local landowner and favorite of the king. Even worse, her mother wants Gwen to marry Jerome Prigghemp, the younger brother, meaning she can’t act on the mutual attraction she feels with Paolo. When Gwen encounters an old woman in the woods, she offers her water, only to discover that the woman is a witch—or, if the woman is to be believed, Gwen’s fairy godmother. The woman grants Gwen an unasked-for ability of arguable value: Now, diamonds and roses tumble, unwanted, out of her mouth. While socially embarrassing, the idea of unlimited diamonds inspires the older Tobias to rescind his offer to Fanny and extend it to Gwen instead. Miffed, Fanny hunts down the fairy godmother and receives a similar—if less desirable—ability: When she cries, vipers and toads escape from her mouth. These traits make life quite a bit more complicated for the Honeydale sisters. Suspected of witchcraft, Fanny is forced to go on the run, and she soon becomes the apprentice of the fairy who cursed her. Meanwhile, Gwen is newly betrothed to a gorgeous prince and whisked off to the capital. Gwen is no happier with the new situation than Fanny, and both will have to figure out a way to free themselves from their bizarre circumstances.

Carlton writes with great humor and specificity, forging, like Paolo with his glasswork, a unique sensibility within a world of familiar fairy-tale trappings. Here, Fanny sneaks into Gwen’s wedding to the prince and invisibly watches her sister from above: “Fanny was still agitated with envy but it was obvious that Gwendolyn was unhappy…She hadn’t smiled once during the ceremony and looked as scared as a half-drowned kitten. She’s just a commodity to the royals, thought Fanny. More of a mineral mine than a queen consort.” The first act of the novel is a fleshed-out but more or less faithful treatment of the Charles Perrault story “The Faeries.” Carlton’s contribution is to continue playing out the scenario, allowing characters who initially seem one-dimensional to deepen and change in unexpected ways. Readers unfamiliar with the original story will still enjoy this witty, immersive fantasy.

“Underwater pastures, / ancient as dinosaurs, / vital as trees, / filled with wonders,” Schaub writes as she tantalizingly beckons young audiences to join the racially diverse set of young snorkelers and beachcombers in Le’s flowing marine scenes. Slipping in explanatory notes between lines of sonorous free verse, the author begins by differentiating seagrass—flowering plants that evolved from land plants millions of years ago—from both terrestrial grasses and seaweed. Along with pointing to the expansive “medley of marine life” that lives in these shallow water “meadows,” from anemones and seahorses to dugongs, she describes how the plants, as “lungs of the sea,” supply oxygen while slowing global warming by absorbing carbon dioxide, filter out floating plastic and other pollution, and in many places serve as part of a complex ecosystem with adjacent coral reefs and mangrove forests. Schaub closes with an invitation to readers to join the “seagrass heroes” who are working, directly or indirectly, to clean up and preserve these vital natural resources. Small photos enhance the appended glossary, and annotations to an added gallery of close-up portraits by the illustrator supply further detail on the realistically rendered, appealingly posed sea creatures glimpsed clinging to or hiding among waving green fronds in earlier views throughout.

Lucie—the narrator of NDiaye’s surreal portrait of a woman’s identity in flux—is a witch. Unfortunately, she’s not very accomplished at her craft, which has been passed down through generations of women in her family. When she begins to instruct her 12-year-old twin daughters, Maud and Lise, about the mysterious powers she possesses, they dutifully absorb her lessons. One of them remarks, “No offense, Mama, but really, it’s all just so lame,” but soon both girls far surpass her in the occult arts. While Lucie sheds pale tears only tinged with red, the girls manifest their powers by crying actual tears of blood. Lucie’s moody, unhappy salesman husband, the aptly named Pierrot—French for clown—flees the family home with funds entrusted to Lucie by her father. Her efforts to recover the money and reunite her parents, whose own marriage has dissolved, are conveyed in NDiaye’s trademark dreamlike style. (Some episodes might better be called nightmares.) Lucie grapples with her uneven relationship with Pierrot’s mother, and a visit to her home provides Maud and Lise with an eerie, macabre opportunity to practice their developing supernatural skills on Pierrot’s pregnant sister, their hapless aunt. A relationship with a repulsive, conniving neighbor results in an opportunity for Lucie to teach divination at Isabelle O.’s Women’s University of Spiritual Health, where the spurious curriculum includes an Introduction to Therapeutic Colors. (In NDiaye’s ironic twist on Lucie’s tenure there, Lucie has to defend herself against charges of fraud by asserting her status as a “sort of witch.”) Originally published in France in 1996, NDiaye’s concise tale of female power, maternal identity, and family secrets has been ably translated by Stump, a frequent collaborator.