It’s March, but the heavy snow shows no signs of melting. Even worse, winter sometimes makes her mom so sad that Blessing has to stay with other families while she recovers in the hospital. Blessing has been skipping school to avoid her bullies, and one afternoon, while she’s hiding in Victoria Park, she meets an eccentric 627-year-old talking snowman named Albert Framlington. The new friends set out to fix “the broken weather,” so that spring can return to England and Albert and the other snowmen can follow their natural cycle of melting and reappearing in a wintry part of the world. This heartwarming and hopeful story moves at a brisk pace as Blessing and Albert race to complete their mission. Stephenson gently and honestly explores bullying, foster care, and seasonal affective disorder (the latter two aren’t explicitly named as such in the text) through the eyes of a child in accessible language that is ideal for readers who are gaining confidence in reading longer novels. Blessing works to stop the bullying and support her mother. In a nuanced depiction of foster care, her placement family is kind but no substitute for home. Brown’s charming spot illustrations show Blessing as a Black girl and Albert as stout, with angular stick eyebrows, bottle cap eyes, a potato nose, three jaunty leaves for hair, and a tattered scarf.

McLoof gathers 10 roughly 10-page stories that begin with a reference to an actual 2023 New York Times piece on Midland Park, New Jersey, a slow-paced, multigenerational “Forever Town” an hour from New York City. The narrator reads something ominous into that description and rewinds to 1994, when, at age 10, he attends his town’s Centennial carnival—an event too underfunded for real rides (“Carol Ann Mejury—our lunch lady—guessed people’s weights”), leaving only DIY attractions like a dunk tank, where his father sits until on-target balls land him in the water. More troubling is the narrator’s not unfounded sense that his parents’ marriage is faltering; his mother now sleeps in a sleeping bag on his bedroom floor. Smoking is ubiquitous—his older sister, Emily, his friends, his teachers, and nearly everyone else lights up throughout the book (his mom favors Pall Malls). Teen drinking, cocaine bumps, divorce, and a well-liked teacher who drinks before class sketch an environment of quiet dysfunction. Strong role models are all but missing. But the narrator’s love of film, inherited from both parents, runs through the collection, as do moments of unexpected poignancy, such as his mother’s disappointment when they skip watching the Academy Awards together for the first time; the decline of a local sporting-goods store whose owner refuses to embrace the internet in spite of his young staff offering to create a website for the shop; the surreal unfolding of 9/11; and the joys and embarrassments of early adulthood, from a first NYC apartment shared with a good friend to lounging in the grass with a crush (seemingly unwise during cicada season). Memories of small but telling transitions—like outgrowing a favorite suit—underscore the book’s wistful tone.

First, the book presents a tale set in 1952, featuring an alternate-universe version of the Phineas and Ferb cast (a recurring bit that will be familiar to longtime fans). The boys are still their inventive selves; Dr. Doofenshmirtz is “Doof of the Dark,” the local host of a schlocky monster-movie broadcast; and Candace is a cub reporter trying to get her big break. When toxic goo makes various creatures gigantic, the pair head to the studio to get help—only to find that Doof of the Dark isn’t the monster expert he plays on TV. He still teams up with them when a certain monotreme starts wrecking the city—and Candace is fired after missing out on reporting the story. In the second tale, set in the ordinary Phineas and Ferb fictional universe, the boys, left alone for the day, enlist the help of Isabella, Baljeet, and Buford to build a giant maze in their backyard. Doofenshmirtz invents an “elong-inate-inator,” hoping to finally become taller than his brother, Roger. This ray, of course, hits the backyard labyrinth, making it so enormous that even Candace sets aside her goal of getting her siblings in trouble. As the kids ride colossal grasshoppers through the maze, Doofenshmirtz and Perry the Platypus duke it out. Peterson, who penned several alternate-universe episodes of the show, and Pruett, another of the show’s writers, crafted these fine tales. As a result, they feature plenty of clever jokes, as when a man shouts, “Oh, no! My confetti!” while looking out his window at a tickertape parade. There are also appealing fourth-wall-busting hijinks, as when Doofenshmirtz hits the ground with a “KUH-KRUNCH” and exclaims, “That crunch was so hard, it was a ‘crunch’ with a ‘K!’” Artists Angelilli, Follini, and Papi ace the look of the show while conjuring some terrific action sequences; the fight between Perry and Doofenshmirtz, for instance, is both frenetic and funny.

The story charts the disappearance and death of 7-year-old Jacob Hawkins and the subsequent accusation of his 13-year-old brother, Dominic. Readers follow the case chronologically, beginning in the frantic early hours when sheriff Tommy Blumhagen mobilizes a community search. Later, dark revelations regarding the seemingly upright Hawkins household emerge. Attorney Mason Mitchell, reluctantly drawn into the case, serves as the narrative’s conscience as he uncovers layers of institutional failure, including teachers who ignored warning signs, clergy reluctant to intervene, and law enforcement officers who accepted too many convenient explanations. As Mason works to prevent Dominic from being tried as an adult, the story explores the corrosive effects of religiously-rationalized physical abuse and the community’s unwillingness to confront its own complicity in allowing it. Themes of shame, authority, and children bearing the sins of their parents culminate in a wrenching courtroom sequence that questions Dominic’s guilt and the moral responsibilities of every adult who failed him. As a novel of crime and legal proceedings, Allan’s yarn is straightforward, well-paced, and soberingly plausible. The author maintains tight control over the procedural elements and legal wrangling. The main characters’ emotional states are conveyed via crisp dialogue that also gives a sharp edge to the legal maneuvering without tipping into melodrama. Mason and the other characters, like legal assistant Lori Bedford, are drawn economically but effectively, their flaws and misjudgments lending the story moral depth. Details about the setting of off-season Door County, Wisconsin, the “Cape Cod of the Midwest”—its wintry rural landscapes, hardboiled, heavy-drinking culture, and small-town political dynamics—feel relevant and lived-in. The narrative occasionally leans on coincidence, but the book’s emotional force and procedural authenticity make it a compelling and thoughtful work of contemporary crime fiction.

Got no time for ashrams and gurus but still want to understand your true purpose on this planet? Maybe you’ve already consumed enough self-help material to fill your own library and want something more portable? Melson has you covered with this cogent and concise collection of workaday wisdom that puts practicality and utility squarely at the forefront and drops it all in the palm of your hand. The author sets a galloping pace from the outset, seamlessly moving between topics impacting our daily lives including self-identity, social interaction, and money. The result is a compelling mixture of the esoteric and the utilitarian; for every foray into the philosophical and theoretical, the author includes enough hard-and-fast to-do lists, affirmations, and writing exercises to make readers feel they haven’t lost their heads in the clouds. “The best way to positively feed your subconscious mind is through emotions of gratitude,” Melson writes. “Gratitude comes into anyone’s life who speaks positive words and who gives thanks.” The author gets granular as well, suggesting that readers use audiobooks as “fuel for [their] success” and restrict their spending to “no more than seventy percent of [their] annual net income.” Melson’s discussion of what he calls the “Wheel of Values” is a highlight of the book—it serves as a nifty survival guide all on its own. Consisting of 10 sections (Family, Appearance, Friends, Attitude, Finances, Career, Fellowship, Health, Direction, and Recreations), each part of the wheel is assigned a number value ascending up from the hub. The further out from the hub one progresses, the smoother the wheel—and life—will roll. Many readers may have difficulty relating to the billionaires (Sam Walton, Warren Buffet, and the like) that Melson holds up as aspirational figures, but those who stick with his text will surely find much here to appreciate and incorporate into their own inner journeys.