This charming YA rom-com follows a strong-willed, ambitious teen as she teams up with her childhood frenemy to start a dating-advice column, perfect for fans of Emma Lord and Gloria Chao.
Juliana Zhao is absolutely certain of a few things:
1. She is the world’s foremost expert on love.
2. She is going to win the nationally renowned Asian Americans in Business Competition.
When Juliana is unceremoniously dropped by her partner and she’s forced to pair with her nonconformist and annoying frenemy, Garrett Tsai, everything seems less clear. Their joint dating advice column must be good enough to win and secure bragging rights within her small Taiwanese American community, where her family’s reputation has been in the pits since her older sister was disowned a few years prior. Juliana always thought prestige mattered above all else. But as she argues with Garrett over how to best solve everyone else’s love problems and faces failure for the first time, she starts to see fractures in this privileged, sheltered worldview. With the competition heating up, Juliana must reckon with the sacrifices she’s made to be a perfect daughter—and whether winning is something she even wants anymore.
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Rating: 4 out of 5.
I did not expect this story to go as deep as it did, but I thoroughly enjoyed it. There’s a lot of exploration not only in the enemies to lovers dynamic, but also there’s a deep dive into family dynamics and relationships and how those can shape a person. I really felt for Juliana as she went through her journey in this book, not only navigating her relationships, but also her internal struggles, grief and more. What I thought was going to be a lighter read definitely much more than that. I really enjoyed Juliana as a character and her counter in Garrett is great throughout the story. All in all it was a really great read and had far more depth and heart than I had initially thought it would.
From Mothman to the Mongolian Death Worm, Shellycoat to Simurgh, Nessie to even Ningyo, this charming and creative collection of cryptids will fascinate readers for years to come.
Cryptids, Creatures & A Manual of Monsters and Mythos from Around the World features 90 different creatures from around the world, each with their own researched description and full-color illustrations. The book is divided into three cryptids, folklore, and mythology. It features popular cryptid favorites, such as Mothman and the Flatwoods Monster, and some lesser-known cryptids, such as the Enfield Horror and the Montauk Monster. For folklore, there are kelpies, selkies, cat sidhes, and grimalkins, along with the dobarchu and the vampiric pumpkin! In mythology, you’ll find Medusa, sphinx, Pegasus, and the bukavac!
The book is fun for newcomers to cryptozoology, folklore, and mythology but is also fun for those who are well read about the creatures in the book. While written by Rachel Quinney and mainly illustrated by her, there are twelve guest artists featured within the book, too.
⭐⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 4 out of 5.
As a lover of all things folklore/mythology/legend, I was excited to see a book specifically featuring creatures like cryptids. This was a really fun collection with a lot of background information for each entity featured, plus vibrant art to illustrate how each creature is believed to look (in some cases a few different ways). I did wish that there was more because I know there were some parts of the world/cultures that were not touched on, but understand that only so much could be featured in this book. I would love to see more in a similar vein from this author as the writing style flowed well and was succinct while also full of great information.
The Kamogawa Food Detectives is the first book in the bestselling, mouth-watering Japanese series for fans of Before the Coffee Gets Cold.
What’s the one dish you’d do anything to taste just one more time?
Down a quiet backstreet in Kyoto exists a very special restaurant. Run by Koishi Kamogawa and her father Nagare, the Kamogawa Diner serves up deliciously extravagant meals. But that’s not the main reason customers stop by . . .
The father-daughter duo are ‘food detectives’. Through ingenious investigations, they are able to recreate dishes from a person’s treasured memories – dishes that may well hold the keys to their forgotten past and future happiness. The restaurant of lost recipes provides a link to vanished moments, creating a present full of possibility.
A bestseller in Japan, The Kamogawa Food Detectives is a celebration of good company and the power of a delicious meal.
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Rating: 4 out of 5.
Seeing books marketed at comparable to Before the Coffee Gets Cold immediately draws my interest, so when I saw this one I had to pick it up. In this one we follow a father and daughter who run a restaurant, which they make almost impossible to find except for those that really want to locate them in order to locate dishes from their past. It’s very slice of life with a lot of emotions and reminiscing as each person experiences the dish and memories that they were yearning for. The book is made up of connected vignette like stories, similarly to Before the Coffee Gets Cold, but there’s not magic/supernatural aspect to it. I look forward to the following books in the series getting published in English as I want to see what customers find them as well as the relationship between father and daughter.
Like a warm embrace in comic strip form, the cute, cuddly, and clever illustrations by Andrés Colmenares bring joy to millions of readers across the globe. A Great Big Visual Hug collects many of his most popular comics, along with dozens of never-before-seen images that are both heartwarming and hilarious.
Featuring cheerful characters like sloths, broccoli, snakes, cacti, pigs, and the cutest possible version of just about any animal or object you can imagine, Andrés Colmenares’ comics are wholesome, amusing, clever, and often hilarious. This book collects the greatest hits from his popular series and feature dozens of new comics. A Great Big Visual Hug is great for all ages and an excellent birthday, gift, or self-care purchase.
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Rating: 5 out of 5.
This was an absolutely adorable collection of mostly single page comics. For the most part they are quick and uplifting vignettes, featuring animals, celestial bodies and more. The art style is super cute and colorful, suiting the subject matter perfectly. This is perfect to burn through all in one session, or pick it up from time to time and read a few pages when you need a smile.
Paul Luikart’s The Realm of the Dog is a collection of stories. Masterfully written portraits of life; the mundane, the dangerous, the stark light of revelation, the dead and dying, hatred, love, and laughter. Each story offers a glimpse into the American Condition. Some gazing into the abyss, others adrift, forgotten, down and out in the underbelly of America, lost souls searching for a glimmer of redemption in a world gone mad. ”The Realm of the Dog” is an unflinching exploration of the chaos, beauty, and despair of everyday life, a relentless examination of humanity in all its flawed glory. The prose crackles with electricity, capturing the frenetic energy of a world on the brink. It dares you to dive headfirst into the maelstrom, to laugh in the face of despair, and to find beauty in the wreckage.
I always enjoy anything in the realm of an anthology or collection of short fiction, even though they can sometimes be hit or miss, they are almost always enjoyable. I really enjoyed that this collection had a wide range of lengths and subject matter. A lot of them felt like vignettes and were very free form in a lot of ways. There is an evolution or progression as you read through the stories, some of the subject matter devolving in a way, like a descent. It is definitely a journey, which was something that I really found interesting and was fully immersed in.
With themes of family, love, kindness, empathy, grief, growing up, and resilience, these one hundred never-before-published poems by the beloved poet, speaker, and teacher Naomi Shihab Nye will resonate with a wide audience.
National Book Award Finalist and former Young People’s Poet Laureate Naomi Shihab Nye’s Grace Poems about Families celebrates family and community. This rich collection of one hundred never-before-published poems is also the poet’s most personal work to date. With poems about her own childhood and school years, her parents and grandparents, and the people who have touched and shaped her life in so many ways, this is an emotional and sparkling collection to savor, share, and read again and again.
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 5 out of 5.
I absolutely loved this collection of poems, it’s full of poems discussing family, growing up, grief and more. The poems span the spectrum of emotions and have an ease of rhythm that makes them flow naturally. There are poems for anyone and everyone in this collection, and it’s something you could easily read in one setting while still taking them in, but you can also read them over time and sit with them to really absorb the emotions and impact of the poems.
An engrossing and atmospheric debut that follows young Weatherly Wilder as she uses her unique gift to solve her cousin’s mysterious murder and prove her own innocence, set in the beautiful wilds of Appalachia and imbued with magic realism.
In a small town in rural Georgia, Appalachian roots and traditions still run deep. Folks paint their houses blue to keep the spirits way. Black ferns grow, it’s said, where death will follow. And Weatherly Wilder’s grandmother is a local Granny Witch, relied on for help delivering babies, making herbal remedies, tending to the sick—and sometimes serving up a fatal dose of revenge when she deems it worthy. Hyper-religious, she rules Weatherly with an iron fist; because Weatherly has a rare and covetable gift: she’s a Death Talker. Weatherly, when called upon, can talk the death out of the dying; only once, never twice. But in her short twenty years on this Earth this gift has taken a toll, rooting her to the small town that only wants her around when they need her and resents her backwater ways when they don’t—and how could she ever leave, if it meant someone could die while she was gone?
Weatherly’s best friend and cousin, Adaire, also has a gift: she’s a Scryer; she can see the future reflected back in a dark surface, usually her scrying pan. Right before she’s hit and in a bicycle accident, Adaire saw something unnerving in the pan, that much Weatherly knows, and she is certain this is why the mayor killed her cousin—she doesn’t believe for a moment that it was an accident. But when the mayor’s son lays dying and Weatherly, for the first time, is unable to talk the death of him, the whole town suspects she was out for revenge, that she wouldn’t save him. Weatherly, with the help of Adaire’s spirit, sets out to prove her own innocence and find Adaire’s killer, no matter what it takes.
PROLOGUE I was born in the woods in the hour of crows, when the day is no longer but the night is not yet. Grandmama Agnes brought me into this world with her bare hands. Just as her mother had taught her to do. Just as the mother before her taught. Just as she would teach me. Midwife, herbalist, superstitionist—all the practices of her Appalachian roots passed down for generations. And a few new tricks picked up along the way. Before Papaw died, he warned me Grandmama Agnes was wicked. He was wrong. It wasn’t just Grandmama who was wicked; so was I. I knew it was true the night those twin babies died. “Weatherly,” Grandmama’s sleep-weary voice woke me that night long ago. “Get your clothes on. Don’t forget your drawers.” My Winnie the Pooh nightgown, ragged and thin, was something pillaged from the free-clothes bin at church. Laundry was hard to do often when water came from a well and washing powders cost money. So we saved our underwear for the daytime. My ten-year-old bones ached from the death I talked out of the Bodine sisters earlier that day, the mucus still lodged in my throat. I barked a wet cough to bring it up. “Here.” Grandmama handed me a blue perfume bottle with a stopper that did not match. I spat the death inside the bottle like always. The thick ooze slipped down the curved lip and blobbed at the bottom. A black dollop ready for someone else to swallow. It smelled of rotting flesh and tasted like fear. Sin Eater Oil, Grandmama called it, was like a truth serum for the soul. A few drops baked into a pie, you could find out if your neighbor stole your garden vegetables. Mixed with certain herbs, it enhanced their potency and enlivened the superstitious charms from Grandmama’s magic recipe box. On a few occasions—no more than a handful of times—when consumed in full, its power was lethal. Out in front of our cabin sat a shiny new Corvette with hubcaps that shimmered in the moonlight. Pacing on the porch, a shadow of a man. It wasn’t until he stepped into the light did I catch his face. Stone Rutledge. He was taller and thinner and snakier back then. Bone Layer, a large hardened man who got his name from digging graves for the cemetery, dropped a pine box no longer than me into the back of our truck. He drove us everywhere we needed to be—seeing how Grandmama couldn’t see too good and I was only ten. The three of us followed Stone as his low-slung car dragged and scrapped the dirt road to a farmhouse deep in the woods. An oil-lit lamp flickered inside. Cries of a woman in labor pushed out into the humid night. Georgia’s summer air was always thick. Suffocating, unbearable nights teeming with insects hell-bent on fighting porch lights. A woman at the edge of panic for being left in charge greeted us at the door. Pearls draped her neck. Polish shined her perfect nails as she pulled and worked the strand. Her heels click-clacked as she paced the linoleum floor. Grandmama didn’t bother with pleasantries. She shoved on past with her asphidity bag full of her herbs and midwife supplies and my Sin Eater Oil and went straight for the woman who was screaming. Bone Layer grabbed his shovel and disappeared into the woods. In the house, I gathered the sheets and the clean towels and boiled the water. I’d never seen this kitchen before, but most things can be found in just about the same place as any other home. “Why is that child here?” the rich woman, not too good at whispering, asked Stone. Her frightened eyes watched as I tasked out my duties. “Doing her job. Drink this.” Stone shoved a glass of whiskey at her. She knocked it back with a swift tilt of her head, like tossing medicine down her throat, and handed back the glass for another. Tiptoeing into the bedroom, I quietly poured the steaming water into the washbasin. The drugged moans of the lady spilled to the floor like a sad melody. A breeze snuck in through the inch of open window and licked the gauzy curtain that draped the bed. When I turned to hand Grandmama the towels, I eyed the slick black blood that dripped down the sheets. We weren’t here for a birthing. We were called to assist with a misbirth. Fear iced over me when I looked upon the mother. Then, I saw on the dresser next to where Grandmama stood, two tiny swaddles, unmoving. A potato box sat on the floor. Grandmama slowly turned around at the sound of my sobbing—I hadn’t realized I’d started to cry. Her milky white eyes found mine like always, despite her part-blindness. Swift and sharp she snatched me by my elbow. Her fingers dug into my flesh as she ushered me over to the dresser to see what I had caused. “You’ve soured their souls,” she said in a low growl. I looked away, not wanting to see their underdeveloped bodies. Her bony hand grabbed my face. Her grip crushing my jaw as she forced me to look upon them. Black veins of my Sin Eater Oil streaked across their gnarled lifeless bodies. “This is your doing, child. There’ll be a price to pay for y’all going behind my back.” For me, and Aunt Violet. Aunt Violet took some of my Sin Eater Oil weeks ago. I assumed it was for an ailing grandparent who was ready for Jesus; she never said who. She said not to tell. She said Grandmama wouldn’t even notice it was missing. So I kept quiet. Told the thing in my gut that said it was wrong to shut up. But she gave my Sin Eater Oil to the woman writhing in pain in front of me, so she could kill her babies. Shame welled up inside me. Desperately, I looked up to Grandmama. “Don’t let the Devil take me.” Grandmama beamed, pleased with my fear. “There’s only one way to protect you, child.” The glint in her eyes sent a chill up my spine. No. I shook my head. Not that—her promise of punishment, if ever I misused my gift. Tears slivered down my cheeks. “It wasn’t me!” I choked out, but she only shook her head. “We must cleanse your soul from this sin and free you from the Devil’s grasp. You must atone.” Grandmama rummaged through her bag and drew out two items: the match hissed to life as she set fire to a single crow claw. I closed my eyes and turned away, unable to watch. That didn’t stop me from knowing. The mother’s head lolled over at the sound of my crying. Her red-rimmed eyes gazed my way. “You!” she snarled sloppily at me. Her hair, wild, stuck to the sweat on her face. The black veins of my Sin Eater Oil spiderwebbed across her belly, a permanent tattoo that matched that of her babies. “The Devil’s Seed Child,” the lady slurred from her vicious mouth. The breeze whipped the curtains in anger. Oh, that hate in her eyes. Hate for me. Grandmama shoved me into the hall, where I was to stay put. The rich woman pushed in. The door opened once more, and that wooden potato box slid out. The mother wailed as the rich lady cooed promises that things would be better someday. The door closed tight behind us, cries echoing off the walls. I shared the dark with the slit of the light and wondered if she’d ever get her someday. Quick as lightning, my eyes flitted to the box, then back to the ugly wallpaper dating the hallway. My curiosity poked me. It gnawed until I peeked inside. There on their tiny bodies, the mark of a sinner. A crow’s claw burned on their chest. Same as the Death Talker birthmark over my heart. Grandmama branded them so Jesus would know I was to blame. That woman was right—I was the Devil’s Seed Child. So I ran. I ran out the door and down the road. I ran until my feet grew sore and then ran some more. I ran until the salt dried on my face and the tears stopped coming. I was rotten, always rotten. As long as my body made the Sin Eater Oil, I’d always be rotten. Exhausted, I fell to my knees. From my pocket, I pulled out the raggedy crow feather I now kept with me. I curled up on the side of the road between a tree and a stump, praying my wishes onto that feather. Devil’s Seed Child, I whispered, and repeated in my mind. It was comforting to own it, what I was. The rightful name for someone who could kill the most innocent among us. I blew my wish on the feather and set it free in the wind. A tiny object tumbled in front of my face. Shiny as the hubcaps on Stone’s car. A small gold ring with something scrolled on the flat front. I quirked my head sideways to straighten my view. A fancy script initial R. “Don’t cry,” a young voice spoke. Perched on the rotting stump above, a boy, just a pinch older than I. Shorn dark hair and clothes of all black. I smiled up at him, a thank-you for the gift. “Weatherly!” A loud bark that could scare the night caused me to jump. Bone Layer had a voice that did that to people, though he didn’t use it often. Over my head, a black wisp flew toward the star-filled sky, and the boy was gone. I snatched up the ring and buried it in my pocket as Bone Layer came to retrieve me. He scooped me up as easy as a doll. His shirt smelled of sweat and earth and bad things to come. Grandmama’s punishment was meant to save me; I leaned into that comfort. Through the Lord’s work, she’d keep me safe. Protect me. If I strayed from her, I might lose my soul. Grandmama was right; I must atone. The truck headlights pierced the woods as Bone Layer walked deeper within them. Grandmama waited at the hole in the ground with the Bible in her hand and the potato box at her feet. Stone and the rich woman watched curiously as they ushered the mother into their car. The wind howled through the trees. They exchanged horrid looks and hurried words, then fled back into the house, quick as thieves. Bone Layer gently laid me in the pine box already lowered into the shallow hole he done dug. Deep enough to cover, not enough for forever. “Will they go to Heaven?” I asked from the coffin, as Grandmama handed me one bundle, then the other. I nestled them into my chest. I had never seen something so little. Light as air in my arms. Tiny things. Things that never had a chance in this world. They smelled sickly sweet; a scent that made me want to retch. Grandmama tucked my little Bible between my hands. I loved that Bible. Pale blue with crinkles in the spine from so much discovery. On the front, a picture of Jesus, telling a story to two little kids. “Will they go to Heaven?” I asked again, panicked when she didn’t answer. Fear rose up in my throat, and I choked on my tears. Fear I would be held responsible if their souls were not saved. Grandmama’s face was flat as she spoke the heartless truth. “They are born from sin, just like you. They were not wanted. They are not loved.” Her words stung like always. “What if I love them? Will they go to Heaven if I love them?” Her wrinkled lips tightened across her yellow and cracked teeth, insidious. “You must atone,” she answered instead. Then smiled, not with empathy but with pleasure; she was happy to deliver this punishment, glad of the chance to remind me of her power. “I love them, Grandmama. I love them,” I professed with fierceness. I hoped it would be enough. To save their souls. To save my own. “I love them, Grandmama,” I proclaimed with all my earnest heart. To prove it, I smothered the tops of their heads with kisses. “I love them, Grandmama.” I kept repeating this. Kept kissing them as Bone Layer grabbed the lid to my pine box. He held it in his large hands, waiting for Grandmama to move out of his way. “You believe me, don’t you?” I asked her. Fear and prayer filled every ounce of my body. If I loved them enough, they’d go to Heaven. If I atoned, maybe I would, too. I squeezed my eyes tight and swore my love over and over and over. She frowned down on me. “I believe you, child. For sin always enjoys its own company.” She promptly stood. Her black dress swished across the ground as she moved out of the way. Then Bone Layer shut out the light, fastening the lid to my box. Muffled sounds of dirt scattered across the top as he buried me alive.
Dana Elmendorf was born and raised in small town in Tennessee. She now lives in Southern California with her husband, two boys and two dogs. When she isn’t exercising, she can be found geeking out with Mother Nature. After four years of college and an assortment of jobs, she wrote a contemporary YA novel. This is her adult debut.
A darkly funny and thoroughly queer mystery thriller with a touch of camp, for fans of Kara Thomas and Kit Frick by way of Only Murders in the Building.
When Gianna “Gigi” Ricci lands in detention again, she doesn’t expect the glorified study hall to be her alibi.
But when she and her friends receive a mysterious email directing them to her favorite teacher, Mr. Ford’s room, they find him lying in a pool of blood. But calling the math teacher’s death an accident doesn’t add up, and Gigi needs all the help she can get to find the truth. Luckily, she’s friends with her high school’s “mystery club,” and so with her best friend, Sean, and longtime crush, Mari, Gigi sets out to solve a murder.
But it turns out, murderers are extremely unwilling to be caught, and the deeper Gigi gets in this mystery, the more dangerous things become. Between fending off a murderer, continual flare-ups of her IBS, and her archnemesis turning flirtatious . . . making it out of junior year is going to be one killer problem.
With a wry, hilarious voice and a main character who is the walking definition of a disaster bi, this book is an ode to cozy mysteries, queer found families, and fighting for the people you love, no matter what.
⭐⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 4 out of 5.
I was definitely in the mood for something funny and this definitely fit the mood. It is very much in the YA sphere, so if you’re feeling like you aren’t in the mood or into YA it may be too much on that edge for you, but I thoroughly enjoyed this little murder mystery laced with humor as well as real and relatable characters and issues. I found this to be a fast read, easily paced and the humor just kept is going, making it so fun and enjoyable.
Once upon a time, Millie, Nora, and Bea were best friends who loved slumber parties, exploring their Manhattan neighborhood, and making fortune tellers with their Magic Markers. Now, in the summer before seventh grade, they haven’t spoken in over a year—thanks to a big fight, the pandemic shutting down their school, and each girl moving away for different reasons. The girls routinely check each other’s social media, but none of them can muster the courage to reach out, even if they might want to.
Then their long-ago paper fortune tellers start popping up in the most unexpected places. The fortunes carry some eerily accurate wisdom for each girl: Your future is hidden in your past. Hold on to the memories. Go back to where you started. Could this be the push the girls need to reconnect and reunite? Or is the gap between them too wide to mend?
⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 3 out of 5.
I liked the overall premise of this one, three best friends who have a falling out and then find themselves on diverging paths, then discovering their old fortune tellers which seem to have some magical power. I thought this would be a nice mix of realistic fiction and whimsy and it definitely had some aspects of that but there some elements that didn’t quite get there for me. I really wanted the girls to be more individual, but in some ways they didn’t seem to have unique personalities. That being said I did enjoy the themes, tweens and teens are always going through friendship break ups etc and this displayed them going through the fights, their time apart and them coming back together once they’ve grown a bit. I will say as someone who made many a fortune teller as a kid I enjoyed seeing them represented and the whimsy was a nice touch.
For fans of The Midnight Library and Before the Coffee Gets Cold, this charming Japanese novel shows how the perfect book recommendation can change a reader’s life.
What are you looking for?
This is the famous question routinely asked by Tokyo’s most enigmatic librarian, Sayuri Komachi. Like most librarians, Komachi has read every book lining her shelves—but she also has the unique ability to read the souls of her library guests. For anyone who walks through her door, Komachi can sense exactly what they’re looking for in life and provide just the book recommendation they never knew they needed to help them find it.
Each visitor comes to her library from a different juncture in their careers and dreams, from the restless sales attendant who feels stuck at her job to the struggling working mother who longs to be a magazine editor. The conversation that they have with Sayuri Komachi—and the surprise book she lends each of them—will have life-altering consequences.
With heartwarming charm and wisdom, What You Are Looking For Is in the Library is a paean to the magic of libraries, friendship and community, perfect for anyone who has ever found themselves at an impasse in their life and in need of a little inspiration.
⭐⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 4 out of 5.
After reading Before the Coffee Gets Cold, I’ve definitely been in the mood to read more translated fiction – especially since this one has a similar format to that book. We follow a number of different characters in loosely connecting stories as they all find their way for some reason at the library of a community center. In each of their stories they get help from a librarian who asks them nothing more than what they are looking for. While she often gives them books similar to what they requested, she also recommends something entirely different before sending them on their way. In each case their lives and struggles are different, but they each find a way to work through their inner turmoil or current life struggles with the help of her suggestions. Since it is a translation there are certainly some cultural references that might put off some people but the stories and individuals are charming and very touching reads.
The Wandering Wordsmith 