A relentless bully who posts popular videos of his humiliating attacks, and a bossy new classmate aiming to replace her as leader of the Detective Club, may seem like tough challenges for Minerva Keen, but what really gets her attention is how her once-friendly language arts teacher, Claire Voyant, has abruptly turned harsh and dismissive—almost (could it be possible?) as if she were a different person. Ever alert for mysteries to solve—even if a bit of illegal surveillance or breaking and entering is required—Minerva forges ahead. Her outrageously reckless little brother, Heck, is a willing ally, shy best friend and schoolmate Silent Santos is a reluctant one, and (surprise!) even Zoe Quick, a rival overachiever with serious hacking skills, eventually comes on board. Catering equally to readers who relish their crime capers on the comical or scary sides, the co-authors again dish up a rousing combo platter with awkward mishaps, frequent barfing and belching, and sloppy food fights as well as a juicy round of robbery, kidnapping, and attempted murder. Once just deserts have been dealt out all round, the caper leaves Minerva and Heck with just one tantalizing question: Are their enigmatic, often-absent parents actually secret agents? Stay tuned. Minerva presents white, and Santos and Zoe read Black. Final art not seen.

Kinsey’s taut novel tells a straightforward story, but it’s the voice that stands out most. The note of regret its narrator takes when recalling a woman named Asha hints that the story we’re about to hear won’t be a happy one. “I was afraid if I thought about her, her voice would wake up on the inside of my mind,” the narrator declares—but soon enough he begins to tell the story of how he and Asha fell in love. At the time the book opens, the protagonist is 29 and has been working in tree removal for the last 11 years. He’s immediately taken when he meets Asha, who would like to become a therapist one day and has a penchant for belly dancing. Before long, the couple is expecting a child, and much of the book covers how these two fiercely independent people reckon with impending parenthood. There’s an immediacy to Kinsey’s prose that makes scenes like one of the narrator and Asha trying to catch a gar stand out. But there are hints of something bleaker below the surface: The narrator’s temper flares up at times, and he misgenders his opponent after an arm-wrestling match. Asha and the narrator’s child dies in the womb, which leads both of them into deep depression. “I was thinking of it like a miscarriage, but it wasn’t the same as a miscarriage,” the narrator muses. Things get bleaker from there, with the couple facing financial precarity before things reach points of tragedy and redemption. The book is uneven, but its mournful voice is hard to shake.

Emily, an anthropomorphized button the color and texture of a strawberry, is happy dancing and twirling her blue ribbon in the privacy of her craft-box bedroom. Her friend Becky, a yellow button, enters them both in a talent show, but Emily doesn’t want to dance in public—she’s very anxious about making a mistake (“I might mess up”). But she agrees, for Becky’s sake. They practice hard, and once they’re on stage together, Emily is able to perform…until she trips on her ribbon and falls down. Luckily, Becky keeps singing. Emily picks herself up and restarts her routine. After the show, her button friends all congratulate her and ask her to teach them dancing. Olson tells Emily’s story through simple prose and exquisitely staged photographs depicting actual google-eyed buttons with wire legs and arms. The scenes are ingenious in their composition, incorporating motion shots (note especially Emily’s ribbon dances, and the juggling tableau on Page 14), setting-appropriate repurposings (such as pencils for bench seats), a mixture of artfully focused close-up and establishing shots, and copious background details to contextualize the button protagonists. Emily is a relatable character and her trepidation will resonate with many a budding young performer. That she actually does mess up is an astute plot development, teaching kids to embrace the doing and sharing of what they love—not to overvalue being perfect at it.

The story begins by likening words to people: specifically, the way each word is unique and lovely just the way it is. Every word does something no other word can, and when different words meet, “Words are like kids / Who see each other / And begin to play.” The author underscores the anxiety words can produce and acknowledges the way we sometimes can’t find the right ones and say the wrong thing: “Words can feel shy / And hide when we need them.” Some words are angry and frightening in some contexts, and in others, the same words can heal by naming the things that are scary. Davis-Gibbon notes that speaking the truth with words is brave and commendable. Berry’s whimsical pencil-and-watercolor illustrations abound with hidden words disguised as characters and objects. Readers will enjoy looking for all the words buried in the full-page pictures; flower, for example, is depicted using blooming plants in a garden. This balance of text and images will undoubtedly delight kids, and the presentation of the text makes for an easy read. The narration retains its accessibility and clarity as it builds gradually from words to simple metaphors to the emotional consequences of words to the ending, which tackles the complex notion of speaking out and speaking one’s truth.

A woman named Caty finds a box of mementos kept on a back closet shelf that helps her piece together the story of her parents. The narrative then shifts to 1970s Berkley, where readers are introduced to Caty’s father, Paul Leroy “Roy” Robertson, and her mother, Lenore “Len” Whitaker, when both are students. Roy, a Vietnam veteran originally from small-town Virginia, is taken by Len at once (“She’s a person who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to claim it”), and Len feels similarly about him. Len is a trust-funded lawyer’s daughter, Roy is a pensioned wounded war veteran trying to run a struggling restaurant, and they begin spending lots of time together. When Len becomes pregnant, Roy’s shocked when she initially wants to have an abortion in the days shortly after Roe v. Wade. Caty reads on, knowing, of course, the end result: the birth of a baby (called “Delicate”). But the more she investigates, the more mysteries crop up, not only about her father, but also about her long-departed mother, who “had sewn a sheath around Daddy’s heart.” At one point, it could be fairly said: “Home, fatherhood, friends. Lenore. This is Roy’s life, and it isn’t bad.” So, what changed to end this seemingly idyllic story? Kemanis narrates the life of Roy and Len at a leisurely pace with colorful prose full of sharply-realized dialogue. The multifaceted and very personal stresses of contemplating both abortion and pregnancy test the emotions of Roy and Len right at the point in the story when readers have come to care about them. Caty herself is a touch less well realized, but the book’s third-act revelations will keep readers turning pages.