Julia and Gabe meet in a summer arts program in Barcelona right before they head to college, after his mother, Leora, a poet who’s teaching in the program, introduces them, and they have a summer fling. However, the book opens with Julia at Gabe’s funeral, 12 years in the future. She has a successful jewelry-design business, and he is—well, was—an indie star known as Separate Bedrooms. She also tells us that just one month before Gabe died, they slept together, long after their first fling and unbeknownst to Gabe’s recent ex-girlfriend, Elizabeth, who lives in London and manages a bespoke floral studio as well as a hip restaurant. Readers will learn all of this as Julia sets off for London, prodded by Leora to rescue the older woman’s cherished guitar. At first Julia tries to appear blasé with Elizabeth, but after a series of blunders, they decide to join forces and find the three things Leora wants: the guitar, a baseball cap, and a piece of sheet music. Julia tries not to let on what she wants to find for herself: a medical bracelet she once made for Gabe, who had “situs inversus,” meaning his internal organs were reversed. Author Muharrar seems to want to show that Julia’s feelings are reversed, but it doesn’t work in the brief window the women have, just a couple of days until Julia’s return to the U.S. There isn’t enough time for us to understand Julia’s adult self, even with flashbacks to other times her life intersected with Gabe’s. Nor is there enough space for Elizabeth to come to life beyond her chic exterior. Muharrar’s fluid writing promises interesting future work, but this book might have remained a short story.

When 7-year-old Kuan Kuan wants something, he gets it. His gym-rat father, Hu Yafei, and artist mother, Qin Wen, lavish the boy with material goods even as they leave him largely in the care of his nanny, Yu Ling. As the book opens, Yu Ling and her lover Donghu have taken Kuan Kuan on a promised spring outing when they chance upon a man with a cargo of geese that Kuan Kuan insists are swans. His threatened tantrum might derail the day’s plans, so the duo buys him one goose that he names Swan. The fowl’s appearances throughout the rest of the book seem funny and in keeping with a spoiled child’s obsession. However, toward the finale, someone’s goose will be cooked because of Swan, and that’s not a hint about what’s for dinner—rather, it shows how carefully Zhang has planned the action. Yu Ling knows that the parents have disappeared, temporarily or not, due to charges leveled against Qin Wen’s father and the rest of the family by officials. She also believes that Qin Wen has information that keeps her tied to this position as nanny. Most important, and despite Kuan Kuan’s imperious ways, Yu Ling loves the little boy and doesn’t want him to come to any harm, so she tries to watch him with special care when a woman named Huang Xiaomin, who claims to be Hu Yafei’s mistress, arrives at the house and settles in for a long stay. From this point on savvy readers may be able to work out the very sudden and very odd ending, yet the real reward of the novel lies in how we pay attention: A portrait may be just a picture of a person, but the painter leads our eyes.

The candle burns over the next 24 hours while everyone shares stories about Grandpa, creating new memories as each reminiscence connects to an activity he used to enjoy. As the family members use a telescope to gaze at the night sky, the nameless young protagonist recalls Grandpa explaining how to find the constellation Orion; sitting down at the piano is a reminder of how Mom used to play with Grandpa. The candle remains a constant throughout, burning a little more with each page turn and allowing readers to feel as though they’re part of the story. By book’s end, the candle’s extinguished, but the family keeps Grandpa’s memory bright. Goldberg’s poignant and beautifully crafted tale tackles the weighty issue of losing a loved one in a thoughtful and accessible age-appropriate way. Alko blends vibrant paintings and creative collage illustrations. A motif of white dots, hearts, and stars sprinkled throughout the book suggests the stars that Grandpa loves and invokes feelings of love for him. Some readers may wonder about the omission of the Kaddish, the Jewish prayer that is said over the dead. Still, few picture books explore yahrzeits, making this tale an especially welcome addition on the topic. The family members vary in skin tone.

Historian Lal demonstrates exemplary historical methodology throughout as she traces the life of Nur Jahan, 20th wife of Emperor Jahangir and widely considered to have wielded unprecedented power for a woman at the time. Lal clearly identifies primary sources like the Akbarnama (an official chronicle of Emperor Akbar’s reign) and honestly acknowledges gaps in the historical record. Thoughtfully placed informational asides explain Mughal customs, pronunciations, and titles. Crabapple’s full-color illustrations transform the pages into windows onto Mughal India’s opulent world, depicting elaborate court ceremonies and bustling bazaars. The book comes alive through rich sensory details. Lal’s account of political intrigue rivals any modern thriller as she navigates the complex family rivalries, intricate schemes for power, and strategic marriages that characterized Mughal court life. She skillfully illuminates Nur’s extraordinary accomplishments—leading troops into battle, hunting tigers, commissioning architecture, issuing currency in her own name—while consistently describing her subject using words like wise, intentional, and brilliant. This unrelentingly positive portrayal, while inspiring, represents the book’s only real weakness; given the extensive research underlying this work, a more balanced view that acknowledged Nur’s human complexities would have added depth. The substantial backmatter reveals that this accessible work is a product of Lal’s extensive research for her adult biography, lending additional credibility to an already well-documented narrative that successfully combines scholarly rigor with engaging storytelling.

Stephens always liked to have fun. When the drinks were poured or the shots thrown back, she was always game to go one more round. But at the age of 45, after what should have been a casual afternoon with a friend turned into yet another binge-drinking episode, she finally realized something had to change. Her problematic drinking was taking a toll on her relationships with her husband, her young children, and her health (“I wanted to take care of myself and feel self-respect instead of self-loathing”). Although she was scared, Stephens called her only sober friend, who encouraged her to pursue Alcoholics Anonymous. The memoir chronicles not only the author’s odyssey working on the 12 steps, but also the many difficult conversations she had with friends and family as she shared her sobriety news with them. Many of these interactions were fraught, especially those involving her heavy-drinking friends and relatives. Although her inner monologue in these moments sometimes reads more like therapy language than spontaneous reflections, her honesty remains compelling. Stephens often thinks of her drinking self as “Fun Mary” and her new persona as “Sober Mary,” a framework that helps her navigate her sobriety struggles and engages readers. The engrossing book switches between the author’s present-day grappling with her drinking and flashbacks to past instances of regrettable behavior brought on by alcohol use. The memoir recounts her eventual acceptance that her drinking problem was related to the chronic pain caused by a serious accident in college. She realized that the mishap could no longer be shrugged off as the result of typical college hijinks. Stephens’ insights into her alcoholism as she worked on the 12 steps are illuminating and feature wisdom that may be helpful to others in a similar situation.