Expect a surfeit of winsome wisdom; every chapter starts with an aphorism, and more adages are sprinkled throughout the characters’ pun-laced, cleverly entertaining conversations. After all, 52-year-old Tilda Finch is the co-owner—with her best friend, Leith—of a company creating “inspirational posters and products.” Although Tilda’s husband left her five years ago, her life in an upscale beachside suburb of Sydney seems enviable. A gifted photographer, she’s surrounded by a close cadre of friends and is the devoted, beloved mother of successful, happy twin girls about to turn 21. Then one morning, Tilda wakes up and can’t see her pinky, then her ear. Neither is gone—they’re just not visible. Her doctor explains that Tilda has “invisibility disorder,” an incurable condition according to mainstream medical studies. The doctor recommends a support group. Tilda is disappointed that most of the group members accept that they’ll eventually be completely invisible, although some members do offer funny lines about whether Michael Jackson suffered from the disorder since he “had the signs.” Undaunted, she decides to fight her encroaching disappearance with the help of controversial neuroplasticity therapist Selma, who claims that if Tilda rewires her brain, defanging the memories of past traumas that control her thoughts, she can reverse her condition. Meanwhile, Tilda meets Patrick Carpenter, a handsome, blind musician and wealthy meditation-app entrepreneur. Tilda feels “seen” by Patrick as she never did with her ex-husband. As she evolves from cynicism concerning what she calls “woo-woo” to an embrace of Patrick and Leith’s spiritual, mindful approach to life, the novel feels like her company’s extremely witty—if manipulative—marketing pitch to women who want to identify with the travails of rich, beautiful, talented, and adored Tilda.

Kohnstamm’s second novel opens with a setup that at first seems too thin to carry even a short story: In 2014, Sami Hasegawa-Stalworth has volunteered to run her children’s elementary school PTA in hopes of renaming the school after her grandmother, Masako Hasegawa, a victim of Japanese American internment and a longtime music teacher there. But that small effort turns out to unlock a host of complications. It evokes the history of the school’s original namesake, an East Coast settler who scammed the native tribes in the 1850s. It implicates an effort by another local, Bruce Jorgensen, to convert a nearby property into a pot dispensary—if only he can game the license-lottery system in his favor. It harks back to Sami’s mother, Ruth Hasegawa, who endured Masako’s strict upbringing in the 1970s even while pursuing a romance with Larry Dugdale, a ne’er-do-well who’s pinned his future on a local aerospace company’s plan to manufacture a fleet of supersonic passenger jets. And naturally, it goes all the way back to Masako herself, a passionate music teacher. Bouncing from the middle of the 19th century to the present day, Kohnstamm capably occupies the dynamic of characters in multiple eras while spotlighting commonalities—most prominently the complex (sometimes bigoted) bureaucracies of the city, and the stumblebum manner of men and get-rich-quick ideas. But Kohnstamm seems to be shooting for an epic scope that the novel never quite achieves, as it’s generally stuck in the middle gear of chronicling sputtering relationships. That means some late-breaking dramas involving marriage, mental illness, and an attempted plane hijacking feel less persuasive. As a series of individual domestic dramas, it has liveliness and ironic humor. But its parts are less than its whole.

Historical fiction writer Epstein rescues Dickens’ Fagin from his reputation as a slimy character who exploits orphans, training them in thievery in the clotted, filthy streets of Victorian London. Epstein’s Jacob Fagin is a lonely, emotionally wounded man; a master pickpocket to be sure, but also a victim of virulent antisemitism from all classes of English society, which treats the “skinny red-haired Jew” as vermin. Growing up in poverty in a Jewish enclave with a vigilant, caring mother, he takes Hebrew lessons with a neighborhood rabbi in the mornings, and, by the time he’s 11, wheedles his way into becoming the apprentice to a deft, gaudy pickpocket. It’s a skill, he realizes, “he must learn by doing,” and soon practice perfects his sleight of hand. He’s 16 when his mother dies, succumbing to whatever pestilence has swept through their mean streets—cholera, typhus, consumption, scarlet fever, influenza—and he’s left homeless. Epstein traces his fortunes and misfortunes as he manages to survive, settling into an abandoned building that becomes a refuge for orphans and runaways who want to learn his trade: Jack Dawkins, known as the Artful Dodger; Toby Crackit; Charley Bates; briefly, Oliver Twist; and the incorrigible Bill Sikes, who’s fled an abusive, alcoholic father. Sikes graduates from pickpocket to housebreaker, from a swaggering boy to a violent man so filled with anger that Jacob comes to fear for his life. Epstein captures the bravado and vulnerabilities of Jacob’s motley crew of orphans, and the gritty ambience of the alleys, cellars, and seedy pubs they inhabit. She brings to her portrait of Fagin—and even Sikes—a tenderness and empathy that renders them as palpable: men, haunted by loss, longing to be loved.

A young student with light brown skin reflects on the twists and turns of the school year and expresses gratitude: “Thank you, teacher, / for everything you do.” The gym teacher helps students feel brave, the art teacher shows patience (and maybe a little exasperation) with a particularly chatty group, the librarian hosts a book drive, and the music teacher encourages students to rock out. Throughout the year, vibrant, buzzing scenes depict detailed scenarios, some joyous, like a multicultural holiday celebration, others filled with anxiety or frustration, such as a poignant spread depicting a distressed teacher reading a newspaper story about book banning. Jewel-toned, mixed-media collages lend warmth and depth to each scene. The spare text is enhanced by the characters’ simple but expressive drawn-on cartoon faces. Teachers and students are portrayed with an array of skin tones; one child wears a head wrap, and another uses a wheelchair. The book reads like an ode to educators everywhere, marked by moments that are at once specific to one child’s classroom experience and universal to students everywhere.

Years before Manisha, the protagonist of 2024’s A Drop of Venom, met monster slayer Pratyush, her older sister, Eshani, made a secret trade with the shades, exchanging her life to ensure the survival of her fellow naga. Hiran, the brooding Gatekeeper of the Nightmare Realm, whose spirited sister, Holika, can manipulate dreams, has repeatedly appeared in Eshani’s dreams, though she believes she’s simply imagining him. When the shades finally demand repayment, Eshani must locate the underworld’s Gatekeeper—unaware it’s Hiran—to fulfill a prophecy. Instead, she finds herself in the clutches of the nefarious Shadow King, Hiran’s sadistic half brother, who believes that Hiran died on their father’s funeral pyre. Patel carefully establishes the initial worldbuilding, which unfolds gradually, before pulling the characters together in a thrilling third act that blends action and introspection even as Eshani and Hiran confront their destinies and their growing romantic bond. The dual perspectives reveal each protagonist’s personal struggles—Eshani’s with mastering her power over plant life and Hiran’s with keeping his shadow self, the Gloom that “made him crave violence and darkness,” in check. Grounded in Indian lore, the story features brown-skinned human characters and offers a fresh cultural perspective on themes from Greek mythology.