Newbery Honor–winning author Wang answers that question with her biography of Joseph Pierce, a Chinese man who was forced to prove his worth over and over. Born in southern China in 1840 (his real name and exact place of birth have since been lost to history), he was sold into slavery at age 10 to an American ship captain named Amos Peck and loaded onto a vessel, along with 200 other prisoners, bound for the sugar plantations of Cuba. But after “Joe,” as he was named, proved himself useful as a cabin boy, Captain Peck brought him home to Connecticut; there, he lived with the Peck family, who renamed him Joseph Pierce. Facing racism over the years, he enlisted in the Union Army (as the only Chinese soldier in his regiment), rose to the rank of corporal, became an American citizen, married a white woman, and had three children. To remain safe as white Americans mounted attacks on Chinese residents after the passage of the Chinese Exclusion Act in 1882, he pretended to be Japanese. The accumulation of these demeaning injustices—even after all he had accomplished—will push readers to ask a new question: Was America worthy of Joseph? Vang’s handsomely rendered acrylic paintings offer solemnly realistic depictions of Joseph’s life, while Wang’s text combines artfully crafted prose and historical quotes to juxtapose the dignity of the individual against the racism of his era.

The “Martha” in the title novella that kicks off this spirited, witty, and illuminating array of short fiction is the recently deceased mother of Cynthia Garrison, a St. Louis-born-and-bred Black professional who is en route to the funeral home where Martha’s remains are being prepared for burial. Cynthia, caustic, judgmental, and perpetually dissatisfied, is staging in her mind a kind of extended wake for her caustic, judgmental, and perpetually dissatisfied mother. Not even the congenial, supportive presence of Janine Chalifour, a white co-worker who accompanies Cynthia on a trip to the mortuary, can distract Martha’s daughter from taking acrid inventory of her entitled mother’s unending torrent of insults, complaints, “harrumph[s],” and nagging correctives. The kind of mom who will routinely say things to her daughter like, “And this is what you’re wearing today?,” then cross her arms and “look from [Cynthia] to the doorknob and back. Like a bossy and overindulged German shepherd ready for its morning walk.” At the same time, Cynthia, who has had little time to acclimate herself to Martha’s death, knows there are aspects of this mostly exasperating legacy that have given her just as much to be grateful for, and it is through this private understanding that the story offers readers with similarly challenging families a route toward tentative yet uneasy reconciliation. This blend of edgy humor, discerning compassion, and acute observation pervades all these tales of intelligent, resourceful Black women who may not be as resilient as they think they are, but find surprising reserves of strength and self-sufficiency, even at their worst or, at least, most unsettling times.

“Ladies and gentlemen…we are about to experience a sea change in our understanding of how the brain works, the nature of consciousness, and in fact…the very nature of reality itself.” But first—Langdon’s in love! Brown’s devoted readers first met brilliant noetic scientist Katherine Solomon in The Lost Symbol (2009); she’s back as a serious girlfriend, engaging the committed bachelor in a way not seen before. The book opens with the pair in a luxurious suite at the Four Seasons in Prague. It’s the night after Katherine has delivered the lecture quoted above, setting the theme for the novel, which features a plethora of real-life cases and anomalies that seem to support the notion that human consciousness is not localized inside the human skull. Brown’s talent for assembling research is also evident in this novel’s alter ego as a guidebook to Prague, whose history and attractions are described in great and glowing detail. Whether you appreciate or skim past the innumerable info dumps on these and other topics (Jewish folklore fans—the Golem is in the house!), it goes without saying that concision is not a goal in the Dan Brown editing process. Speaking of editing, the nearly 700-page book is dedicated to Brown’s editor, who seems to appear as a character—to put it in the italicized form used for Brownian insight, Jason Kaufman must be Jonas Faukman! A major subplot involves the theft of Katherine’s manuscript from the secure servers of Penguin Random House; the delightful Faukman continues to spout witty wisecracks even when blindfolded and hogtied. There’s no shortage of action, derring-do, explosions, high-tech torture machines, attempted and successful murders, and opportunities for split-second, last-minute escapes; good thing Langdon, this aging symbology wonk, never misses swimming his morning laps. Readers who are not already dyed-in-the-wool Langdonites may find themselves echoing the prof’s own conclusion regarding the credibility of all this paranormal hoo-ha: At some point, skepticism itself becomes irrational.

It seems that well-meaning but murderous Paladins are killing every Sidney Poblocki in all the parallel worlds in order to head off a prophecy of universal doom. He’s rescued by Rodeo Hawkins, raffish daughter of the Chaos King, who wields a lasso made of pink bubble gum and heads a motley but capable squad of “femininjas.” Young Sidney—the very last of the name, still alive and, inexplicably, the only one who’s a boy—is pitched headlong into a struggle to survive. This battle escalates climactically into a desperate, last-ditch effort to save the very multiverse he’s supposedly destined to destroy. As Wookieelike Daughter of Mayhem warrior Bugbear eloquently puts it, “Goowee poo poo.” Making effective use of silent reaction shots in her cleanly drawn panels to heighten the effects of punchlines and dramatic turns, Miles highlights the notably diverse cast, including the two leads (who have brown skin and dark hair), multiverse cognates (who are the same person except that one lives on an Earth where humans have green “photosynthetic skin”), and a nameless, bodiless consciousness who calls herself “Go.” The fast pace, lively and creative illustrations, and humorous moments will draw readers in.

An introductory note makes clear that while Blake is drawn to pet themes and personally salient motifs, readers should expect to find neither thesis nor throughline connecting the vignettes ahead. Instead, the eight sections that follow are entirely unrelated to one another, each filled with images that invite onlookers to both occupy the world as it’s been reimagined and construct its context. In “Trip Hazards,” clumsy bumblers topple mid-fall across four full-page spreads, while “Ten Things You Really Cannot Manage Without” features slice-of-life essentials like a “beach hut” and a “useful box.” “Deliveries From Elsewhere” features suitably off-the-wall scenarios (characters ride grotesque monsters or pilot flying machines), whereas those in “Feet in the Water” prove perfectly ordinary. An art exhibition of sorts, this work is an introspective companion to the myriad others Blake has built his storied career on; the contents of this volume range widely, sometimes silly, often weird. Done in scribbly pen and ink over muted watercolor, his signature illustrations suit the sinister undercurrent that thrums drolly beneath his unique brand of oddball whimsy. As ever, this artist promises creative and madcap catastrophe, but readers can rest assured—the turn of each page offers unexpected (if occasionally macabre) delights, and the disagreeable stuff occurs squarely offstage.