Lukidis’ methodical descriptions of bat anatomy, behavior, select species, diets, and habitats adequately fill in the informational background, but the high-quality stock photos will likely prove the stronger draw here—even with the distinctly underwhelming close-up of a vampire bat lapping away at a nicked but antiseptically clean chicken toe. Featuring shots of the animals resting in natural settings and head-on views of them in flight, the pictures allow close examinations of creepy faces beneath huge ears and add plenty of visual impact to the overall message that these creatures merit study as both significant checks on insect populations and as indicator species that provide early signs of environmental changes. The author tucks in instructions for a homemade demonstration of echolocation, provides worrisome observations about habitat loss and the devastating effects of the fungal disease called white-nose syndrome, and concludes with ways of making a more bat-friendly backyard and a list of online and print resources.

Because of climate change, sea ice now melts earlier in the spring and forms later in the autumn, so hungry bears must find a way to survive until the ice appears and they can hunt for seals. This take on the animals’ plight stands out due to Gorman’s amazing photographs. The bears aren’t white, but brown “from lying around in the sand.” At times, they look close enough to pet, although Gorman, who’s previously covered the Arctic, clearly knows better. In his fetching images, the animals sometimes even seem to be posing. Against a background of rocks and driftwood on a desolate beach, two cubs entertain themselves, playing with sticks and seaweed and roughhousing as their exhausted mother naps. Finally, several mothers and cubs swim to a nearby island, where the Iñupiat villagers have left the remnants of their fall whale hunt. Scraps of food remain, and the bones make a giant jungle gym for the cubs to climb. With snow comes a new way to play as the youngsters romp and cavort. Once the sea freezes over, the animals can hunt again. Gorman employs a light touch, emphasizing the juvenile bears’ love of play rather than their hunger; still, the impact of global warming comes through. Youngsters will be moved by these creatures’ predicament; caregivers should consult the backmatter, which offers guidance on discussing the topic.

For readers who might be hazy on the general differences between concepts like weak vs. generative AI or what often-heard terms like deepfakes or natural language processing might mean, Mooney lays out the basics in simple, low-tech language. But when it comes to specific examples or details of technology or technique, this work is less robust, going more for rehashed reports of news services and other companies that were caught using AI improperly interspersed with ominous but vague references to increasingly sophisticated scams and disinformation campaigns by shadowy bad actors. The chapter on plagiarism and cheating discusses AI in academia and efforts to detect or prevent it, by, for example, creating assignments that cannot be completed with AI; students rightly or wrongly accused of misconduct chime in with brief, cautionary quotes. The final chapter, on synthetic identity fraud, describes this rapidly growing crime and preventative measures. The author’s barrage of warnings, underscored by suggestions that new ways to abuse AI are emerging far more quickly than efforts to counter them, insistently and cogently conveys the message that the threat is real, and its level is rising. Stock photos showing racially diverse individuals punctuate the text.

James’ head is so full of questions, on everything from gravity to the constellations, that he can’t sleep, but each night his loving mother soothes him, and the two fall asleep snuggled up together. He’s also bolstered by thoughts of his Kōkom’s (Grandmother’s) ancestral wisdom; proud of his rich heritage, James is eager to pass down her stories to his own grandchildren. One evening, he and Kōkom attend a demonstration honoring the Native children forced to attend abusive state-sponsored boarding schools; James learns that his grandmother went to one of these institutions, as did her sister. Gazing at dozens of pairs of little shoes—memorials for those who, like Kōkom’s sister, didn’t survive—he’s reminded that children like him faced danger and even death. That night, he comes to his mother with a truly difficult question: Who comforted Kōkom and her sister when they were frightened in the night? Robertson (Norway House Cree Nation) sensitively approaches this history, never explicitly describing the horrors of residential schools but instead leaving space for adults to grapple with youngsters’ questions in their own ways. Though he doesn’t provide easy answers, it’s clear that familial love keeps this child buoyed. Suffused with pinks, icy blues, and deep indigos, the glowing, cartoon-style digital illustrations from McKibbin (Ojibwe) depict the ancestral bonds that keep James rooted.

Hallucinatory perception, the ephemeral nature of memory, and the intransience of art all come into play in this triptych of confessions from deepest Mexico. Here, Saldaña París leans less on the tragicomedy of the human condition to craft something a little darker and meaner about damaged people turning their hurt inward. The opener, “The Great Noise,” is narrated by Natalia, a disaffected and unhappy choreographer who often falls back on cruelty. She’s back home in Cuernavaca, barely tolerating her lover, Martín Argoitia, an aging art star-turned-bureaucrat. She’s become obsessed with an artistic vision that encompasses, among other things, the British occultist Aleister Crowley, hysterical Swedish witch trials, the pioneering German dancer Mary Wigman, and medieval incidents involving a “dancing plague,” all of which she intends to transform into a groundbreaking performance. The pinball of her teenage relationships is explored in subsequent sections with darker and darker undertones. In “A Clear-Cut Vision,” we experience many kinds of suffering via Erre, a failed filmmaker and Natalia’s high school boyfriend, who has returned in the wake of his divorce, suffering from debilitating nerve pain. He’s a cheerful lot, logging his symptoms in a notebook and haunting Cuernavaca’s desiccated parks, now under threat from encroaching wildfires. Erre’s passage ends before Natalia’s performance, but the final section, “Bioluminescent Beach,” visits their childhood friend Conejo, who divides his time between caring for his blind father and retreating further from the world. What exactly happens during Natalia’s performance is a mystery, but weeks later, Conejo describes a country just now recovering from a mass dancing outbreak. It doesn’t make all that much sense but it’s dark as a bad dream and—let’s face it—its slippery nature is certainly part of the point.