It’s 1978, and Jon Fenton, the courier for New York City’s notorious Flying Dragons gang, is on the run. After getting wind of gang leader Sifu Qiu’s plan to kill him, he took the money he was supposed to deliver and faked his own death. However, the gang still wants a measure of revenge, and they target Jon’s adult sister, Kim, who ends up in the hospital after a brutal assault. After she recovers, she takes martial-arts self-defense lessons from her childhood friend, Ethan Wolf, who owns an acupuncture and kung fu studio; the two bond over their mutual grief over Jon’s absence. As years go by, Jon attempts anonymity but still manages to get into trouble halfway around the world in China: “The gang exchanged glances before lunging. Jon’s training took over. He ducked a punch. His movements had the grace of a dancer and the power of a charging bull.” There, he fights for justice, and he forges a surprising career as a martial arts movie star. Along the way, he continues to grapple with his past, which, he eventually learns, he can never truly leave behind. Schulman’s novel briskly spans almost 20 years and includes its characters in historically significant events, as in multiple chapters toward the end, set in Beijing’s Tiananmen Square in 1989. With a fluid narrative voice and a plot that moves along with a clear vision, the author writes with a confidence that smooths over occasional stiff dialogue. Although the action may sometimes strike some readers as a bit over the top, it never drifts into caricature. The main characters are well-developed, and their desires, regrets, and motivations plausibly move the story along at a refreshing clip, even when it touches upon serious topics.

“On a fraught, decade-long journey of dislocation,” Adams researched how queer people, mostly emigrants, survived and managed to thrive in the Persian Gulf States, where homosexuality is illegal and often punishable with hefty fines, a potential 10-year prison sentence, deportation, torture, and even death. In 2010, with a degree in Middle Eastern history from New York University, Adams relocated to the United Arab Emirates and began working as an academic researcher on cultural traditions. As a gay man, what he soon uncovered and focused more closely on was archiving life stories of queer people living in the UAE. Among the first interviews the author conducted was one with a Dubai-based, Pakistani Muslim competitive wrestler named Mohammed and his dedicated, demanding coach, Prashant, an Indian Hindu. Through hushed inquiry, Adams discovered that both men were lovers, having cast aside their national and religious differences to embrace love for each other. Through a mesmerizing succession of intimate disclosures and vivid conversations, the author profiled members of a flourishing clandestine community. Despite the perils of living as their authentic selves “in a place that persecutes them,” Adams met many vibrant people, including a figure skater from Iran; Sri Lankan and Turkish girlfriends; Filipino aestheticians who threw furtive “ladyboy” parties; and parkour athletes who remained in the UAE despite having exhausted attempts at Middle Eastern citizenship. Throughout his travels, Adams became intimately familiar with the rigidly structured and carefully calibrated intercourse taking place among the Gulf’s queer subcommunities. In doing so, he internalized that group’s struggle to find community, identity, love, and a place to call home and became a better man for it.

Zada opens his memoir with a terrifying scene: Yanked off a bus at a military roadblock on the way to Mardin, Turkey, in 2015, the seasoned journalist wondered if the men with semiautomatic weapons would ever let him go. The author then flashes back to his very first trip to “the East” at age 24, when he and his fellow Canadian travel companion found themselves in a Tangier drug den. As Zada continues to meander his way through stories of his life and career—from absurd anecdotes of his Egyptian landlady, “a diminutive Coptic grandmother with a Napoleon complex,” to his work as a TV producer in Dubai—he slowly threads together themes of identity and acceptance in the context of a rapidly changing world. The idea of storytelling itself also plays an important role within the memoir, acting as a type of cultural touchstone the world over—especially in the stories told by the author’s mentor and family friend, a “force-of-nature raconteur” Egyptian named Kamal Bey who memorably compares the increasing “tribalism” of the United States’ political parties to “the fanatics of the Middle East.” Zada’s own Egyptian ancestry, combined with his Westernized Arab upbringing and lifelong wanderlust, gives him a unique perspective—one that he eloquently expresses with a clear and vivid narrative voice that uses the desert as a metaphor for identity and nationality: “The desert constantly shifts and changes as we move through it… It is one desert, yet it is made up of endless permutations, all slightly different from each other but sharing a common, underlying reality.” This is a compelling travel memoir that doubles as a thoughtful reflection on the unnecessary (and self-imposed) national and cultural boundaries that exist only to distract us from our shared humanity.

Jovita’s father always told his daughter to use her palabras—her words—and when Jovita grows up, she doesn’t let him down; she writes and speaks about the injustices she sees in her community. As a teacher, she writes about the importance of bilingual and bicultural education. When she becomes a journalist, she uses her words to reach the ears of even the president, Woodrow Wilson. When Texas Rangers threaten the press because their “words got too fuerte, sharp. Like a hacha!” Jovita stands her ground. Louis captures the bravery and spirit of this pathfinding historical figure, emphasizing the power of words to bring about change. The text uses short, accessible sentences, couching Spanish words in English phrases in ways that makes them easy for English-only speakers to decode. (A helpful glossary is also given at the back of the book.) Triana’s painterly illustrations depict the beauty of the Texas landscape, as well as the threat the Rangers pose to the strong, straight-spined Jovita. Black birds, who mirror Idar’s pen name, Ava Negra, make symbolic appearances, and several minority groups who struggled for equal rights in the early 1900s are depicted as being members of Jovita’s community.

Dash is called “Diaper Kid” because he’s in no hurry to graduate to underwear. Why would he be, when in his diapered state, “he can GO anywhere”? The bold-type, capitalized verb in this clever line is best read with double meaning—Diaper Kid is always moving, and while on the go, he’s free to go (pee or poo) in his diaper. Garbutt’s lighthearted text is supported by Lowe’s playful cartoons, which recall Aliki’s style and depict Dash in a cape emblazoned with the letter D. Both words and art leverage potty humor to the story’s advantage as Dash’s parents gently encourage him to give underwear a try, only to be met with resistance. He interrupts his exuberant play with pit stops wherever he chooses, until an errant dip in a kiddie pool leaves his diaper sodden. The resulting discomfort and the realization that his friend Esme from next door wears underwear finally prompt Dash to acquiesce and try underwear out himself. A final, triumphant illustration shows Dash flying like a superhero, his cape now featuring a U patch covering the D that was visible earlier, as he is declared “Underwear Kid.” Dash and his family have light brown skin; Esme is darker-skinned.