The collection opens with a paean to failure—or rather, to the opportunities that arise from misses. The essay “Czech-ing Out of Prague,” ostensibly about an awkward Teaching English as a Foreign Language course in Prague, tracks the author’s life from a childhood pursuing auditions to an adulthood chasing the spotlight, all in vain. Alpert’s unsuccessful attempts at launching a movie career (or singing career, or any other showbiz venture) ultimately become the launchpads of misadventures and brushes with the famous and fabulous in these pieces. The opening essay points to the author’s adventurous streak; “Revenge Travel” establishes her as a globe-trotter (including a nod to her stint as a Pilates instructor…in Dubai). “Celebrity Adjacent” captures what it’s like to be a friend of someone with a connection to a bona fide big deal (Chaz Bono, child of Cher). In Alpert’s words, she was “Cher adjacent”; the essay ultimately crescendos with a phone call from the iconic star herself. The core of the work, however, explores what it’s like to be independent and strong-willed, and how that affects relationships over time. In the center of the collection sits an essay titled “How Much for an Iron Lung?” about the Covid-19 pandemic, Alpert’s parents, and their memorabilia stashed in a cluttered attic—the piece captures the author’s fixation on her own individuality, and how that individuality fits within a family dynamic in which her parents are increasingly less parental (“I always wanted clear boundaries and structure. And because my parents were largely ineffectual in this department, I’d often have to be the one to set them”). This essay is the collection’s standout; other pieces don’t always reach such emotionally satisfying peaks. All of the essays are graced with Alpert’s characteristic humor and crackling prose, but some pieces may meander a bit for some tastes or don’t quite stick the landing. Still, for readers who can relate to Alpert’s independence (or who are tickled by Christopher Meloni), these essays are treats worth indulging in.

“Travelling on a Greyhound bus,” writes Pocock, “you can disappear.” Her first journey across the United States by Greyhound took place in 2006, when, recovering from a miscarriage, she disappeared into herself and the continent’s vastness. Her second voyage, in 2023, is a study in contrasts. Foremost is a decline, in the wake of the Covid-19 pandemic and the rise of personal technology, in people interacting freely with one another in “the camaraderie of people who know that if they could, they would be elsewhere, living another kind of life, but who are making the most of this one, and perhaps even enjoying this brief moment of communion.” The clientele is still much the same, she notes: released prisoners on their way to lives outside, people who cannot drive because of DUIs, those too poor to own cars or fly, all strangers “connected by the simple need to get somewhere.” But where there were once bus stations with maps and schedules, there are now pick-up stops divined only by an app (one that placed her 14 miles away from her true destination in the death-dealing heat of Phoenix); where there are stations, they are crumbling, fetid, and often locked so that the homeless cannot find shelter inside. “A sentence kept surfacing in my mind, ‘Something in the US has broken,’” Pocock writes. “Everyone around me felt more desperate, more angry, more prone to violence.” Her notes on the sad condition of American society are invaluable and well taken; those on technology and the degradation of nature don’t always fit easily into the narrative and sometimes seem pro forma. Still, this rare account of a woman traveling alone, and in some of the most desperate corners of the American landscape, is well worth reading.

Editors Aldama and Sánchez divide the work into two major sections—“Cocinas” and “Sports y Locura”—each of which contains chapters that group works together by themes, including “Building Bridges, Building Community” and “Belonging…Dolor y Alegría.” The authors and illustrators run with the inspiration provided by food and sports, exploring the nuances of diaspora culture and belonging through the lens of their diverse Latinx heritages. The varied artistic styles include both full-color and black-and-white illustrations. While the central focus on Latinx identity is strongly developed throughout, some of the entries feel too similar to one another to stand out on their own, making this collection better for dipping into and browsing than reading cover to cover. Some stories are brief and humorous while others are longer, more thoughtful pieces reflecting on serious topics. The strongest narratives are the ones rooted in memoir and family history, such as Valerie Martínez Cabrera and Andrés Vera Martínez’ “Lamesa” (a story of enduring Chicano cultural pride in mid-20th-century Texas, which features atmospheric, sepia-toned illustrations) and “El Limber” by Rafael Rosado (a charmingly buoyant slice-of-life tale set in 1970s Puerto Rico).

How often do kids close a book before reading the aftermatter? Kerbel cleverly sidesteps that problem in her two most recent books by including relevant facts on each page. The narrator addresses readers as “you”; the reader’s stand-in is a pale, rosy-cheeked child wearing a big explorer-style hat, kerchief, and khaki shorts. What might “you” want to do on a safari? For sure, bring a camera to photograph the scenery—and the elephant that conveniently appears! The smiling, friendly elephant drinks, bathes, poops, snacks on leaves, and plays with the child at a watering hole. While the pachyderm isn’t overtly anthropomorphized, she and the child appear to have a rapport, and at the end, the child is introduced to the elephant’s family. On every page, smaller type conveys a sentence or two of elephant facts closely connected to the activity in that part of the story. A page of additional information at the end is useful for integrating into the repeat readings that are sure to be requested. Lo’s watercolor-style illustrations realistically but freely depict the blue sky, the tan savanna, and, as the day advances, the reds of sunset. It’s an informative trip worth taking.

At school, RJ and his classmates make cards for the father figures in their lives. Unfortunately, RJ has just 30 minutes to complete two cards—one for Daddy and one for Dada—whereas his classmates each need to make only one. The time crunch causes him considerable stress, showcased through spreads of a large ticking clock looming behind him. RJ confides in his teacher, Mr. G., who advises him to work on one card for both his fathers, but RJ continues to fret. Meanwhile, his classmates, who have finished early, work on a special art project. With five minutes to go before the end of the day, his diverse classmates reveal that they’ve been working on RJ’s other card the whole time so he can uniquely celebrate both Daddy and Dada. Duncan’s straightforward text blends with Ritchie’s spare, child-friendly art for an endearing exploration of a youngster under pressure. RJ’s reliance on math and numbers while overwhelmed showcases a healthy way of dealing with these emotions. While the story may be idealized to a point, those with families like RJ’s will enjoy seeing themselves reflected in a compassionate, tender way. RJ and Daddy are pale-skinned; Dada and Mr. G. are brown-skinned.