Devin Ashwood made a name for himself as the lead heartthrob on The Arcane Files, a long-running supernatural detective show, but since it ended, the now 42-year-old has struggled to find his next gig. When he wakes up outside one day, naked and with no memory of the night before, and then a video of him howling and growing fangs and claws goes viral, the public thinks it’s a pathetic PR ploy, but Devin knows it was real. His transformation appears to be mirroring the lore from his series, so when he discovers a thorough fan archive website, he figures the moderator is the closest thing to an expert he’ll find and reaches out to her for help. As an outcast teenager in Florida, bisexual Alex Lawson became obsessed with The Arcane Files and made lifelong friends through the fandom. She met Devin at a convention once, and though some mean remarks she overheard him make about her (“A freak like that? Poor thing’s gonna die alone”) made her think he was an asshole, they also spurred her to embrace being a weirdo. Now 34 and covered in tattoos and piercings, she still sticks out in her small town, where she works as a vet tech. She’s reluctant to help Devin at first, but then they start to understand each other better than anyone else ever has…and their sexual desires continue to grow stronger. The paranormal elements in this story are fun, and Devin’s wolfishness makes the spicy scenes extra delicious. These are flawed characters and the ways they become better because of their relationship is endearing, but it might take some time for readers to warm up to them. Several side plots make the story feel bloated, but they add to the characterization.

Presenting both insightful and challenging prose, Webster, a clinical psychoanalyst and an author (Disorganization & Sex), carefully examines breathing through multiple lenses, beginning with vivid detail of giving birth to her second child before weaving through her experiences as an asthmatic teenager, a deep-sea diver, and a Covid-era palliative care therapist. The book’s thematic sections (“First Breath,” “Anxiety,” “Asphyxiation,” “Last Words”) create an intellectual framework for exploring these interconnected experiences, although sometimes struggling to maintain their connecting threads. While her strong foundation in psychoanalytic theory, particularly Freud, provides depth to her analysis, it occasionally overshadows her original insights. The text moves between personal narrative and scholarly discourse, creating a complex intersection of lived experience and theoretical exploration, though at times other writers’ thoughts compete with her own voice. The author’s most compelling moments emerge when she connects theory to direct experience, particularly in her thoughtful reflections on providing palliative therapy during the pandemic and her nuanced observations about losing and regaining the capacity to speak. Her exploration of Eastern spiritual practices, while self-conscious, raises important questions about cultural appropriation and authenticity. The narrative boldly attempts to bridge personal memoir with academic discourse, achieving moments of profound insight even as it sometimes gets tangled in its theoretical underpinnings. In examining our relationship with breath in an age of climate crisis and pandemic anxiety, the book offers valuable perspectives on how personal and collective experiences of breathing intersect with broader social and environmental concerns. Though its dense theoretical framework occasionally obscures rather than illuminates its core insights, the work succeeds in highlighting the often overlooked significance of this most fundamental human function.

Leeta Simtar, who’s well above 6 feet tall, is like many other teenage girls in that she yearns for greater freedom than her life on the planet Fure will allow—a feeling that’s only underscored by her status as a “Brid,” or interspecies hybrid. This is a world anchored by rote order, as its motto (“One mind. One goal. One family”) suggests, and Leeta’s impetuous brashness proves to be a naturally poor fit. Inevitably, Leeta is sent for a sit-down with Fure’s stern, omnipresent overlord, the Daht, but not for punishment. Leeta and her friend, Zertee, are being sent to Ganymede on a field expedition to survey its biological life, under strict supervision, as the Daht reminds them (“I will be tracking your APEDs [All-Purpose Electronic Devices]at all times”)—although later, they go to Earth without authorization. A mystery gift from the Daht dramatically upends Leeta’s life by helping to unlock crucial secrets about her past, and she feels compelled to break from the mission to explore them further. It places her on a collision course with UFO conspiracist Rick Rodriguez, whose paranoid actions may yield essential clues. Putting the pieces together will also require the cooperation of Richard Rutherford, who’s still reeling from his son’s unsolved disappearance, which occurred 18 years before Leeta’s arrival. Over the course of Fox’s novel, the way in which the adventurous young Leeta sets about her task will naturally thrill any reader who’s ever had to deal with Daht-style moralism from people in their orbit; some of these dictates are sure to be uncomfortably familiar to any young rebel, such as “You must try harder to be one with us.” Boldly presented in a third-person, present-tense narrative style from Leeta’s perspective, Fox’s novel tells a richly told story of going rogue, on a grand scale, for the greater good—even as she’s pushed to her breaking point.

Citing expert opinion that our need to connect with one another is as vital and innate as our need for food and shelter, Birmingham tallies up the various ways humans have found to keep in touch from deep prehistory on. She omits some topics; fashion, pheromones, architecture, politics, and art are just some of the many modes of communication that go unexamined. Still, her thought-provoking survey covers the major ones—speech and writing—and is broad enough to touch on whistling, yodeling, smoke signals (in China and certain parts of North America), homing pigeons, postal systems, and AI voice software. Central to Birmingham’s topic is the development of languages. Noting that 7,000 or so are in current use, she pays particular attention to artificial ones such as Esperanto and Klingon, discusses new ones including Nicaraguan Sign Language and “Textese,” and notes how the genocide of Indigenous Americans by European settlers caused many tongues to fade or disappear. In color photos and graphic images, a racially and culturally diverse mix of children and adults talk, write, read, and peer at screens. Along with glancing mention of recent developments such as deepfakes and “phubbing,” the author closes with a final, quick plea to put down the phones and rediscover the value of face-to-face conversation.

Midori, a young Japanese American girl, strides into her family’s orchard, followed by her Jiichan (Grandfather), to find ripe peaches. She takes a bite of one but…“crunch!” It’s still too hard. Jiichan urges Midori to be patient: “You’ll know it’s ready when it tastes like a story.” Jiichan likens green peaches to the family’s ancestors when they first set foot in the United States: “Things weren’t ready. They felt like strangers.” Time goes by, and Midori picks up a yellow peach; it’s firm but has a soft spot. Midori’s father compares it to the family farm: “We [began] by planting roots in America in one spot.” More time passes, and when Jiichan hands Midori another peach, she takes a juicy bite and detects the seeds of her family’s efforts embodied in the sweet fruit. The seasons pass, and Jiichan dies. In his absence, Midori returns to the orchard, drawing on his guidance as she employs her senses and picks a peach that truly tastes like a story. Narrated in a mix of free verse and prose, the Masumotos’ spare, haikulike text is simple yet laden with lush imagery. Using loose inky-black lines awash with vivid splashes of green, yellow, orange, and blue, Tamaki’s gorgeous illustrations propel this quiet tale forward, evoking Midori’s energy and curiosity.