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.

Since her best friend, Hope, died, Liv Porter has struggled with grief, anxiety, and debilitating panic attacks. The cops ruled Hope’s death a suicide, but Liv suspects that their other best friend, Brendan, was involved. On Halloween evening, she lures him to an isolated house and, with the help of her friends Kizzy and Sherie, sets up a plot to blackmail him into telling the truth. But their plan is derailed when two friends of Brendan’s show up and a storm knocks out the power. And then someone starts killing people, one by one. To get out alive, Liv must face her guilt and confront what really happened the night Hope died. This fast-paced page-turner jumps between past and present, delivering satisfying twists that will keep readers guessing until the end. The story explores heavy themes, including grief, mental illness (depression, bipolar disorder, and anxiety), domestic abuse, and online bullying, though the presentation of mental health feels lacking in depth. However, the characters’ authentic voices make the work accessible and will encourage ongoing discussion. Harris serves up complex, unreliable characters who help create that delightful sense of unease and distrust that makes thrillers so fun. Most characters are Black, and Kizzy, who’s a lesbian, is Black and Chinese American.

Cartoonist Pond (Over Easy, The Customer Is Always Wrong) weaves glimpses of her own life into an entertaining group biography of the notorious, eccentric Mitford sisters—Nancy, Pamela, Diana, Unity, Jessica, and Deborah. Growing up in suburban Southern California in the 1960s, Pond envied girls who had sisters rather than her boorish brothers; she envied, too, the Mitford girls’ rebelliousness, glamour, and sophistication. Born between 1904 and 1920, the sisters spent their childhood isolated on their family’s vast estate, each inhabiting “an island unto themselves.” Politically, they emerged with diametrically different views: Diana and Unity became unabashed fascists. At the age of 22, Diana divorced her husband to carry on an affair with Oswald Moseley, head of the British Union of Fascists, whom she eventually married. Unity, an ardent admirer of Hitler, went to Germany to meet him and soon, to her family’s horror, published a scandalous letter denouncing Jews. Jessica, on the other hand, touted communism and socialism. With Esmond Romilly (a nephew of Winston Churchill), she left home to aid in the Spanish Civil War. Defying her furious parents, they married and moved to the U.S.; she became a widow when Esmond was killed during World War II, and she later married a lawyer who shared in her labor and civil rights activism. Jessica made her name writing exposés, the first being The American Way of Death, skewering the funeral home industry. Nancy was the first to make her mark as an author, writing satirical novels that offended several members of her family. Pond recounts the sisters’ marriages, divorces, affairs, pregnancies, miscarriages, occupations, and preoccupations, all set in the context of the turbulent times in which they lived: “Across the scope of the entire 20th century,” Pond writes, “was the Mitford Circus.”