We Could Be Rats

by Emily Austin

As I've come to expect from Emily Austin's previous two novels, the beating heart of We Could Be Rats lies in its deeply flawed but lovable characters. However, where we were given the singular perspective of Gilda (Everyone in This Room Will Someday Be Dead) and Enid (Interesting Facts About Space), in this one we get the perspectives of two sisters: Sigrid and Margit. And where Gilda and Enid grappled with profound anxiety, Sigrid struggles with suicidal ideation. Sigrid's older sister Margit is a university student working toward a conventionally attractive future, while Sigrid is a queer high school dropout working at Dollar Pal. At 20, Sigrid is grieving her childhood, having become disillusioned with adulthood, her small, conservative hometown, and her dysfunctional family of origin; the novel opens with her penning her suicide letter. Sigrid's hopeful Margit will eventually edit it for her, making it more palatable for their parents and relatives. She writes, "I'm worried my death might bum you out, so I want to leave you with something to cheer you up." All that follows is strange and tender and dark and imaginative and sad and funny. I'll read anything this woman writes.

Tuck Everlasting: The Graphic Novel

by Natalie Babbitt, adapted and illustrated by K. Woodman-Maynard

Tuck Everlasting is one of my top ten favorite books of all-time, so it's hardly surprising that this beautiful illustrated adaptation will be one of my top ten reads of the year. The original tells the story of eleven-year-old Winnie Foster, who runs away to a nearby wood in pursuit of adventure and finds it in the form of the immortal Tuck family, who drank from the wood's enchanted spring nearly a century before. Woodman-Maynard's gorgeous watercolor vision captures and enhances what I loved about the original: the restless and languid feel of a childhood summer, the thoughtful conversations about mortality, and that ending. A timeless treasure.

A Life of One's Own: Nine Women Writers Begin Again

by Joanna Biggs

“Even if a book is about everything else, it is never not about the life the writer lived.”

Memoir meets biography meets literary criticism in this heartfelt bibliomemoir (and yes, I was delighted to learn there's a specific word for this genre-blending). In the wake of her divorce and in the midst of losing her mother, Oxford-educated author Joanna Biggs turns to literature for comfort, wisdom, and guidance; the result is this impressive collection of essays, where she examines the lives and works of eight great women writers (Biggs herself is one of the nine promised in the title). I've admittedly only read the works of some of the included writers, but I found that this in no way diminished my enjoyment of the book; in fact, I adore Biggs's conversational, confessional tone as she spills tea about these women's personal lives and reveals much about her own as she seeks to build a life she's proud of. The cherry on top is the reading list I finished with; I feel rallied to reach for classics I've overlooked (there are spoilers if you read for plot!) and to revisit the ones I've loved before.

Unbearable: Five Women and the Perils of Pregnancy in America

by Irin Carmon

I read this twice in two weeks. As soon as I finished the audiobook version, I knew I had to get my hands on a physical copy. The second reading demanded that I underline sentences, paragraphs, and sometimes nearly full pages. Carmon combines the intimate personal narratives of five women navigating pregnancy in modern, post-Roe America with research into the history of obstetrics and the legislation and criminalization of pregnant (and, ugh, pre-pregnant) bodies. This book exposes how the political and personal can intersect to devastating effect when it comes to fertility, abortion, and pregnancy. Maggie, Hali, Christine, Alison, and Yoshica's lived experiences serve to illuminate specific ways the legal and medical systems can and do fail individuals across the country, from rural Alabama to New York City. As I read and reflected on the suffering and resiliency found in these pages, and on the need for more compassionate, patient-centered care, I was reminded of another book I read and loved that inspired rage and awe: The Story of Jane: The Legendary Underground Feminist Abortion Service. I highly recommend both.

Detained

by D. Esperanza and Gerardo Ivan Morales

D. Esperanza's story is a perfect example of how the personal is political. Thirteen-year-old Esperanza could not have anticipated that his first journal would become this memoir, just as he could not have foreseen the circumstances—the deaths of his caregivers—that forced him and his young cousins from Honduras and Guatemala to the United States. Unfortunately, the hundreds of perilous miles the four boys traversed over the course of four months was not the worst of it; Esperanza and his cousins were detained and separated at the border; he was then held in detention for the next five months while waiting to be reunited with his parents in Tennessee. Written with tremendous tenacity and foresight, Detained reveals the inhumanity and senselessness of U.S. immigration policies. Much like Anne Frank's The Diary of a Young Girl, this should be required reading.

Sunburn

by Chloe Michelle Howarth

A Little Daylight Left

by Sarah Kay

I Am Not Jessica Chen

by Ann Liang

I Am Not Jessica Chen is a haunting portrait of social pressure and academic burnout. When Jenna Chen's wish to become her golden child cousin literally comes true, she's initially elated. She finds herself aglow in a constant stream of positive attention, praise, and validation. Being Jessica Chen is so intoxicating to Jenna that when she discovers her own body is missing as well as her cousin's consciousness, her primary concern is keeping up the charade. Even when little by little, reality starts to crack through the surreal glamour of Jessica Chen's life, Jenna can't help but prefer it to her suffocatingly average one. It's only when Jenna discovers that the memory of her very existence is corroding—first, in the self-portraits she painted for an upcoming art show and then in the minds of the people who loved her best—she begins to comprehend what she stands to lose instead of gain.

Tilt

by Emma Pattee

Suddenly, the Big One—the catastrophic earthquake predicted to ravage the PNW in the next half century—is no longer a matter of What If but of What Now? Annie is nine months pregnant in IKEA stressing about a crib purchase when it happens. The narrative alternates between the present-day disaster and ruminations on the past with an eye to the immediate and uncertain future. Annie addresses her baby-to-be as she sets out on an odyssey across the ruined city of Portland, OR, to reunite with her husband. Propulsive in plot and rich in story, Tilt deftly articulates so much about motherhood and humanity, survival and strength. As a fellow Millennial and anxious new parent, I related deeply to Annie and felt myself with her every aching step of her journey, devoted and unwilling to put the book down until we reached the final page together.

Dear Edna Sloane

by Amy Shearn

Told in a modern epistolary form that includes emails, texts, and social media posts, Dear Edna Sloane is a delight. With the ambition and earnestness of an MFA graduate who's landed a dream-adjacent job as an editorial assistant in New York City, Seth Edwards has tasked himself with tracking down an all-but-forgotten author, Edna Sloane, in hopes that doing so might launch his own career. Sloane's literary star burned bright in the 1980s with the publication of her instant and enduring classic, An Infinity of Traces, but she mysteriously disappeared from the public eye at the height of its success. The personal and professional correspondences that emerge are often filled with creativity-fueled existential angst and literary snark, and they all work together to tell the story of an evolving industry and culture.