Jacques the dragon summons Christopher Forrester back to the Archipelago from the human world: Dragons are dying, and no one knows why. Meanwhile, on the island of Dousha, Princess Anya’s grandfather, King Halam, has been murdered, and her father accused—though she knows he’s innocent. When Christopher and Anya take refuge on the islet of Glimt, the Berserker Nighthand helps them see how their twin missions to save the dragons and free Anya’s father are connected. They work together to create an antidote for the poison that’s killing the dragons and to keep Anya and her father safe from her murderous uncle. Meanwhile, Nighthand and Irian, the part-nereid ocean scholar, pursue their own important secret mission. Divided into three parts—“Castle,” “Dragons,” and “Revenge”—and containing elements of fairy tales, fantasy, and Shakespeare, this story continues the storyline established in the series opener, yet because it introduces new characters and obstacles, it could also stand alone. Dark-blond Anya (“five feet tall and all of it claws”) is a match for white-presenting Christopher, who, though he still misses Mal, finds that “it made a difference to have someone to move through the world with again. A friend changed the feel of the universe.” Mackenzie’s delicate, otherworldly art adorns the text.

At once accessible and unexpectedly engaging, Barrett’s first book distills often complex constitutional ideas into a clear account of the court’s work and the philosophy that shapes her approach. Barrett traces her path from law clerk to 103rd associate justice in 2020, while also demystifying the court’s daily operations. She emphasizes collegiality—“The success of a multi-member court rides on the ability to disagree respectfully”—although this sentiment seems to go against her rare rebuke of fellow Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson (over Jackson’s criticism of President Trump’s attempt to ban birthright citizenship). At the core is Barrett’s explanation of originalism. “I’m not an originalist because I think that history yields easy answers or prevents bad judging,” she writes. “I’m an originalist because I think that it’s the right way to think about law.” She broadens her account to explore the origins of the Constitution, the reasoning behind landmark cases, and the importance of reading full opinions rather than headlines. Her treatment of the controversial Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organizationdecision, which overturned Roe v. Wade, illustrates this method. She outlines both majority and dissenting arguments, illuminating sharply different views of the court’s role. While instructive, this analysis stops short of grappling with the political consequences of the ruling. What’s absent within her narrative is striking precisely because it contrasts with the candor evident elsewhere in the book. Despite her emphasis on clarity and transparency, Barrett avoids addressing the court’s most disputed recent decisions, the perception that it has often deferred to the Trump administration, and the intensifying debate over judicial ethics and structural reform—including proposals for stricter financial disclosures, recusal standards, and even term limits. She does, however, point to the law’s unambiguous force: In 1951, the 22nd Amendment established that “[n]o person shall be elected to the office of the President more than twice.” That constitutional rule, she underscores, “leaves no room for second-guessing.”

Famed couturier Yves Saint Laurent (1936-2008) is celebrated in a sumptuous volume of photographs drawn from an exhibition at the Arles Photography Festival 2025 and the holdings of the Musée Yves Saint Laurent Paris. Photos include portraits of Saint Laurent; shots of couture, ready-to-wear fashion, and runway shows; Polaroids, personal photographs (even one of the designer as a baby), and contact sheets. Commentary by art historians, curatorial specialists, and museum staff testify to Saint Laurent’s intimate relationship with photography. “My greatest asset,” he once remarked, “has been the eye I have for the time I live in and for the art of my time.” As Christoph Wiesner, director of the Arles Photography Festival, observes, for Saint Laurent, “working with photographers was a means of exploring his own limits, of giving his clothes another life beyond the purely material one.” Saint Laurent had been assistant to Christian Dior at the time of Dior’s sudden death in 1957; immediately, he was thrust into the public eye, with critics and fashion doyennes alike anticipating his creations. From his first show, in 1961, his evolution as a designer was documented by photographers who included some of the most famous names in the field: Irving Penn, Helmut Newton, Richard Avedon, William Klein, Lord Snowdon, Horst P. Horst, Inge Morath, Cecil Beaton, and Annie Liebovitz, all represented here. His models, too, were renowned: Audrey Hepburn, Twiggy Lawson, Jean Shrimpton, Paloma Picasso, Catherine Deneuve, among many others. He was much photographed himself, with portraits revealing a well-curated “cool masculinity” as well as changes in dress, hair style, and affect—most notably in 1971, for the launch of his men’s fragrance, when he posed nude, his long hair tousled, wearing nothing but his signature black glasses.

As the last century ended, a popular Washington consensus held that the market had all the answers and that bringing China into the global trading system would cement a peaceful future. That seemed to work out until it didn’t. It’s a discouraging story skillfully told by Lynch, global economics correspondent for the Washington Post. He reminds us that America’s industrial production has been declining since the 1950s and that automation, not foreign competition, remains the biggest factor. Obsessed with cutting costs, American businesses were already moving to Mexico and other nations, but everyone thrilled to China, which had discarded “Maoist idiocy” to open a titanic market to world entrepreneurs. The world was getting richer, and the world’s richest nation could only benefit by trading in this immense, supposedly free market. Giving President Clinton most of the credit, Lynch describes his 1990s crusade for globalization. Business leaders and congressional Republicans were enthusiastic. Labor unions and Democrats were not, but many were won over by promises of government benefits and retraining for laid-off workers. This never happened. Almost everyone agreed that a free market would bring democracy to China; increasingly prosperous citizens would demand it as they had in other nations (Spain, Taiwan, South Korea, Chile). This also didn’t happen, but globalization did make the U.S. wealthier. From 2000 to around 2015, inflation and prices were low, but the 2.4 million jobs lost created great resentment, along with the feeling that China was playing dirty and muscling in on our status as world leader. The political climate soon turned uniformly anti-China. Lynch dismisses President Trump’s solutions, which emphasize tariffs and jingoism. Lynch’s own proposals for international cooperation and a generous safety net are political poison today.

This tale dawns alongside the universe as an all-powerful God grows lonely and, out of a colorful, nebulous Everything, creates “land and seas, skies and stars.” Flora and fauna follow and, finally, God’s pièce de résistance—humanity. Ever benevolent, God seeks to empower these people with special gifts (among them peace, health, and kindness), each bathed in light and delivered via clay pot, but God’s knack for hand-building leaves something to be desired. The vessels grow “shaky-er and breaky-ier,” smashing upon impact and scattering the gifts, whose lights dim. God gathers a crowd and delivers a crucial missive: Search for these wayward gifts and act accordingly once they’re found, sharing laughter, love, and wisdom with the communities you create. The “big, beautiful job” of earthly betterment belongs to its inhabitants—a weighty ask, but a challenge worth undertaking. Though God is never depicted on the page (and no gendered pronouns are used), Cooper’s sweetly whimsical prose offers a surprisingly endearing and humane portrayal; this is a deity who creates humanity to combat feelings of loneliness and whose excitement at sending the gifts down to earth inadvertently causes problems. Evoking the aesthetic of a newspaper comic, Hoffmann’s twee illustrations depict people diverse in terms of race and culture. In an author’s note, Cooper explains that the narrative is rooted in the practice of tikkun olam, Hebrew for “repair the world.”