After Lizzie Wells loses her husband, the professor of British literature finds the structure she needs to begin living the rest of her life in Victorian mourning customs. She goes on a “widow shopping spree for black clothes.” She puts a lock of her husband’s hair in a locket and wears a pendant marked with his fingerprint. She carries a tiny urn filled with his ashes in her handbag. She buys black-edged stationery and lets her students and colleagues know that she will not be answering email and only communicating via paper for “an undetermined time period.” Watching an independent, 21st-century woman with a thriving career try to follow rules created for women whose entire identities were bound to their husbands could have made for a great novel, but this is about as far as Lizzie gets in adopting Victorian mourning customs. She acknowledges as much when she says that “proper grief stationery, black clothes, [and] keepsake jewelry” are gestures toward the full package. Much like her heroine, Reeves seems to think that gestures toward the premise she created are sufficient to fulfill its promise. Lizzie does occasionally remember to ask herself, “What would a Victorian widow do?” But most of what she does throughout the entire novel is not what a Victorian widow would do. A Victorian widow would not go to work, for example. A Victorian widow would not almost kiss her husband’s best friend in large part because a Victorian widow would not be sitting on a sofa next to her husband’s best friend, unchaperoned, in the first place. And if black leggings qualify as widow’s weeds, then every woman who has ever taken a barre class is in deep mourning. The conceit becomes tiresome quickly, but it does serve as a distraction from what is otherwise a lackluster and slightly preposterous love story. These complaints may seem pedantic, but what could have been a fun crossover novel for fans of contemporary romance and historical romance is unlikely to satisfy either.

Jean Detrez, the narrator of Belgian author Toussaint’s novel (in Polizzotti’s translation from French), has a lot on his mind. When the novel begins, it’s 2016—specifically, the time around the Brexit vote on June 23. Jean’s marriage to a woman named Diane is also coming to an end. A few months later, flipping through his phone, Jean comes across a racy photograph of a woman, prompting him to think about the futurology retreat where it was taken. It’s through his reactions to fellow participants at that event that we learn more about Jean, who works for the European Commission; he’s alienated less by the snobbery than by “the casual familiarity” with which one attendee discussed prominent politicians. At the retreat, he meets an Estonian woman named Enid, with whom he has a brief emotional affair. Jean then muses on the aftermath of his father’s death later that same year, which leads to him considering his ties to his brother and wondering if his father’s death corresponds to the end of an era—giving way to a time “in which excess, slander, and mendacity had taken over the public forum, in which respect for the facts no longer had the inviolate character it had always enjoyed in the past.” There’s also the matter of his strained relationship with Diane and his warmer relationship with his first wife, Elisabetta, whose existence doesn’t come up until two-thirds of the way into the book. Jean is thoughtful in places, with a couple of moving invocations of Stefan Zweig’s life, but it gradually becomes clear that his professional success doesn’t necessarily translate into an ideal personal or marital life. Toussaint has written a subtle but bracing exploration of his protagonist’s perceptions and failings.

This first entry in a new series opens with Violet encountering Miller one summer night—he’s taking a walk, and she looks out her bedroom window and spots him in the moonlight. Wealthy Violet, a self-described nerd, becomes a friend and safe haven for aspiring musician Miller, who’s living in a car with his mother. The teens, who are coded white, form a fast and intense bond. The storyline jumps to high school, where Miller makes some friends of his own and Violet tests the waters with the popular crowd. The presence of these new people in their lives complicates their friendship and, delightfully, pushes their feelings for each other to the surface. Even as they graduate from high school and pursue vastly different dreams, they stick by each other. Readers will swoon over the romantic tension between the pair. Alongside the love story, the novel tackles heavy subjects (some successfully), like homelessness, sex work, child neglect and abuse, domestic violence, chronic illness, being closeted, and financial strain. The novel contains some melodramatic, far-fetched situations and includes sporadic diary entries that add little to the story, but many readers will happily overlook these issues for the strong character arcs and central relationship.

Why do all journalists in early 20th-century New York get to party with the Fitzgeralds? Morris Markey squired Zelda to the scandalous Midnight Frolic in Mariah Fredericks’ The Girl in the Green Dress (2025), and now Freddie Archer, author of the Touch of Rouge column in Gotham magazine, pours herself into a taxi and goes off to frolic with Zelda and her husband at the Biltmore Cascades to escape the midsummer heat. Unfortunately, bootlegger Jake Haskell is murdered that same night, bringing NYPD Detective Mike Sullivan to the Gotham office while Freddie’s nursing her latest hangover. Sullivan asks Freddie to describe the woman Haskell was with at the Biltmore and to keep her eyes open during her nightly pub crawls. That she does, and she’s rewarded by witnessing an almost daily string of murders: at the Greenwich Inn (edgy bohemian vibe), King Tut’s (strictly for the butter-and-egg crowd), Club Monaco (ho-hum decor but fabulous music), and the alley behind designer Sophie Carmaux’s studio (gutter ambiance, smells like fish). Having thrown over fiancé Nick Peters for suggesting that after their marriage, they might move to Connecticut, she’s happy to meet Brandt Abrams, one of the few men she’s encountered who respects her taste for urban adventure. Mulhern gives Freddie a host of colorful characters to play off, but her spirited heroine is clearly the star of the show.

The book opens as middling fashion reporter Irene Bigelow watches her old friend Felicity Wild suffer through her arraignment. The charges allege that while working as a professional escort, Felicity manipulated two clients into naming her as beneficiary of their life-insurance policies before killing them. Reenie hasn’t seen Felicity in years, but she knows in her gut that her old friend, a bird-lover who’d wanted to be a biologist, couldn’t have committed the acts of which she’s accused. When catching sight of Reenie in the courtroom, Felicity mouths one message: “Go away.” Reenie doesn’t buy it. Thus begins her quest to find information she can use in an article intended to clear Felicity’s name. The only problem is that nobody wants her to proceed—not Reenie’s boss at the fashion magazine, not Felicity’s handsome attorney, and, most especially, not any of the people in Felicity’s life who might actually possess useful information. Even so, Reenie won’t be deterred, and she begins investigating Felicity’s personal history as well as the crimes, no matter what it might cost her. Narrated in the first person, the book follows Reenie as she knocks on doors, tracking down Felicity’s family members and old acquaintances. The novel includes a preponderance of dialogue, which, though often witty and insightful, slows the pace in a story meant to deliver heightened drama and suspense. Likewise, the large cast of characters proves difficult to follow as most supporting characters fail to distinguish themselves. Despite the slow pace, the author does an admirable job of creating a complex criminal scenario and portraying characters with nuanced feelings about old friendships, while also highlighting the interplay between sex, money, and power.