Díaz (Manufacturing Celebrity) and Rivera-Rideau (Remixing Reggaeton), creators of the Bad Bunny Syllabus, an initiative that explores how Bad Bunny has drawn attention to Puerto Rican history and resistance, team up for a smart, meticulous analysis of how the rapper has used his platform to advocate for the island. Since breaking out in 2016 via Soundcloud, Bad Bunny has used his music to protest government corruption and economic crises, as well as draw attention to the devastation of Hurricane Maria and broader issues like the territory’s history of colonial rule. The authors analyze overt critiques in songs like “Lo Que Le Pasó a Hawaii,” which condemns the “ongoing effects of US imperialism” by invoking Hawaii as a cautionary tale, more subtle references (including to Vuelve Candy B, “the most famous Puerto Rican [race] horse,” on his 2023 album Nadie Sabe Lo Que Va a Pasar Mañana), and celebrations of Latin music genres like salsa and reggaeton. Though the authors draw ample context from interviews with the rapper’s collaborators and contemporaries, they take care to situate his contributions within a long tradition of Puerto Rican resistance that uses “everyday” art and music to both celebrate identity and critique society. The result is an insightful consideration of the rapper’s significance and the many ways art can serve as protest. (Jan.)

Reviewed on 01/16/2026 | Details & Permalink

Historian Bailey (Uncredited) uses a feminist lens to explore the cultural evolution of the Wizard of Oz’s Wicked Witch of the West in this uneven critical analysis. In L. Frank Baum’s original story, the witch was a one-eyed, nameless old woman who sought “power and control” (and was possibly inspired by his mother-in-law, suffragist Matilda Joslyn Gage). The 1939 film adaptation gave the character, played by Margaret Hamilton, green skin and a mix of “femininity [and] villainy,” pushing back, Bailey suggests, on a false dichotomy between power and womanhood. The Wiz, a 1978 remake starring Diana Ross, renamed the witch Evillene, and the character’s “bold” portrayal by Mabel King was informed by rising tides of 1970s feminism. More recently, Wicked—both the novel and musical—transformed the character into Elphaba, a complex figure more overtly positioned as a rebel. Bailey is mostly successful in tracing the character’s evolution, but she sometimes stretches her thesis too far, as when she links Elphaba’s search “for justice in a world that sought to silence and marginalize her” to the #MeToo movement and the fight for reproductive rights. Readers will find this an intriguing if scattershot deep dive into the legendary character. (Oct.)

Reviewed on 01/16/2026 | Details & Permalink

University of Pennsylvania religion professor Weitzman (The Origin of the Jews) traces in this sweeping account how the story of the 10 plagues of Egypt has been interpreted and imagined across time and space. More concerned with the story’s reception than its historicity, Weitzman juggles a sweeping range of perspectives on how Jewish, Christian, and Muslim scholars have wrestled with, and found comfort in, the narrative. Some medieval European Jewish communities, for example, used Goshen, an area of Egypt where the Israelites are said to have sought refuge from the plagues, to symbolize their own search for safety in their homelands. Goshen also served, for Black writers like Zora Neale Hurston, as a symbol of spaces that, “rendered invisible by their marginality,” afforded Black people a measure of “limited autonomy” within the Jim Crow South. Elsewhere, Weitzman documents how poets, politicians, activists, and other groups mapped their own interests onto the narrative. He explains, for example, that changing portrayals of the cattle plague reflected evolving attitudes toward animal rights, and that God’s “hardening” of Pharaoh’s heart against the Israelites launched debates about autonomy and free will. Weitzman skillfully unearths hidden connections between theology and culture, showing how biblical texts have served as sites for thinkers and communities to negotiate identity, persecution, and meaning. It’s a comprehensive overview of a foundational biblical narrative and its complex legacies. (Feb.)

Reviewed on 01/16/2026 | Details & Permalink

This impressive collection celebrates the life and thought of late progressive Christian author Rachel Held Evans (A Year of Biblical Womanhood). Arranged thematically, the entries critique the evangelical Christianity in which Evans was raised, including the tendency of some believers to view themselves as persecuted by an increasingly atheistic society—a point of view, Evans argues, that blinds them to the genuine challenges “faced by the underprivileged in this country.” Also taken to task is evangelical Christianity’s perversion of scripture to justify oppressing women and LGBTQ+ people. Yet Evans makes room for her own doubts and questions, noting that her faith evolution has involved much “wrestling, meandering, stretching, struggling.” Elsewhere, she gives due to the lessons of her youth: “While my disagreements with many in that community are important and real,” she writes, “those Christians... taught me to love and memorize Scripture, to change a diaper, to rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep, and to think critically enough to deconstruct and reassess some of their own teachings.” Short entries from friends, thinkers, and teachers contextualize Held’s essays and track their influence on contemporary Christian thought. The result is an excellent introduction to Evans and her powerful model of holding Christianity to account. (Feb.)

Reviewed on 01/16/2026 | Details & Permalink

This illuminating account from University of Kentucky American studies professor Doolen (Territories of Empire) resurfaces a little-remembered figure in U.S. history: John Dunn Hunter, a 19th-century advocate for Native American rights. Hunter’s rise, Doolen asserts, signaled the possibility of cultural integration between Native and white peoples, and his public downfall put paid to that harmonious possibility and portended the coming of Indian removal. Born in 1796 into a white family before being abducted by Kickapoos as a child, Hunter later found stability living with the Kansa and Osage. As a young man, he published a memoir that advocated for the mixing of the “noblest” virtues of Native and white America. It shot him to stardom, putting him at odds with both tribal authorities, who didn’t appreciate his involvement, and War Department officials, who felt he was a threat. The War Department accused Hunter of being a fraud—a likely unfounded accusation, the author maintains—which paved the way for his 1827 assassination in the midst of Texas’s Fredonian rebellion, where Hunter, who had been trying to negotiate between the rebels and the Cherokee, was betrayed by both sides. Throughout, Doolen highlights how prescient Dunn’s views were regarding the potential for a multicultural America. It’s a revelatory up-close look at moment when the U.S. could have taken a different path and the man who could have led it there. (Dec.)

Reviewed on 01/16/2026 | Details & Permalink

Mount Shasta, Calif., high school senior Izumi Tanaka is a normal 18-year-old American girl: she enjoys baking, watching Real Housewives, and dressing like “Lululemon’s sloppy sister.” But Japanese American Izzy, conceived during a one-night stand in her mother Hanako’s final year at Harvard, has never known the identity of her father. So when she and her best friend find a letter in Hanako’s bedroom, the duo jump at the chance to ferret out Izzy’s dad’s true identity—only to find out he’s the Crown Prince of Japan. Desperate to know her father, Izzy agrees to spend the summer in his home country. But press surveillance, pressure to quickly learn the language and etiquette, and an unexpected romance make her time in Tokyo more fraught than she imagined. Add in a medley of cousins and an upcoming wedding, and Izzy is in for an unforgettable summer. Abrupt switches from Izzy’s perspective to lyrical descriptions of Japan may disrupt readers’ enjoyment, but a snarky voice plus interspersed text conversations and tabloid coverage keep the pages turning in Jean’s (Empress of All Seasons) fun, frothy, and often heartfelt duology starter. Ages 12–up. Agent: Erin Harris, Folio Literary Management. (May)

Reviewed on 05/07/2021 | Details & Permalink

Kelkar’s (Bindu’s Bindis) novel features Oceanview Academy middle schooler Sonali, whose stoicism contrasts with her love of Bollywood movies’ melodrama. Stuck in a Los Angeles home with constantly arguing parents and her sensitive nine-year-old brother Ronak, Gujarati American Sonali, 11, tries to make sense of her world through the Hindi movies she’s seen all her life. Ever since an earnest public attempt five years ago to stop her parents’ fighting led to widespread embarrassment in front of family, Sonali has resolved to hide her emotions and do her best to ignore her parents’ arguments. But her efforts prove futile when her parents decide to try the “nesting” method of separation, where they take turns living in the house with Sonali and Ronak. The contemporary narrative takes an entertaining fabulist turn as Sonali’s life begins to transform into a Bollywood movie, with everything she feels and thinks made apparent through her “Bollywooditis.” Sonali’s first-person perspective is sympathetic as she navigates friendship and family drama, and Kelkar successfully infuses a resonant narrative with “filmi magic,” offering a tale with universal appeal through an engaging cultural lens. Ages 8–12. Agent: Kathleen Rushall, Andrea Brown Literary. (May)

Reviewed on 05/07/2021 | Details & Permalink

When she was six, Justice Kasric watched her blue-eyed merchant father play chess with the Faerie King. Now 15, Justice believes the event was merely a dream. She spends her days yearning for adventure, watching from the sidelines while her 16-year-old sister Faith, as slender and golden-haired as Justice but not as curious, becomes the toast of Victorian London society. One night, however, their father shatters their comfortable lifestyles when he forces the family—Justice, Faith, their younger brother Henry, and their constantly medicated, distant mother—into a locked carriage that takes them to a shadowy mansion. Justice’s discovery that the Faerie have invaded the human world and are targeting her family gains further urgency when she learns that her parents are on opposite sides of the conflict. Together, the Kasric siblings—including older brothers Benedict and Joshua—must find a way to save their family. While characters lack depth at times, and insufficient historical details don’t fully evoke the Victorian setting, Klaver’s (the Supernatural Case Files of Sherlock Holmes series) rich, lyrical descriptions augment the fantastical source material in this engaging series starter. Ages 13–up. Agent: Lucienne Diver, the Knight Agency. (May)

Reviewed on 05/07/2021 | Details & Permalink

Nine years before this novel begins, eight-year-old best friends Esme Randal and Kayla Price snuck out of their cabin at Camp Pine Lake in Texas. They swore never to discuss the terrible events that followed, but when the girls, now 17, return to the camp as counselors-in-training from their hometown of Lewisburg, Pa., that proves easier said than done. Someone begins sabotaging camp activities, and ominous—and increasingly public—threats appear, referencing that fateful summer. The only other person who knows Esme and Kayla’s secret is a local girl named Lillian Campbell, whom they left to fend for herself that night in the woods. They’re loath to voice their suspicions of revenge lest they get in trouble or look bad in front of hunky fellow counselors Jake and Olly, but as events escalate, they realize they may not have a choice. Narrating from Esme’s increasingly apprehensive first-person perspective, Preston (The Twin) pays homage to classic summer camp slasher films. The underdeveloped, predominantly white cast relies heavily on stereotype, and the clichéd tormenter’s motive feels unearned, but horror fans will likely appreciate this paranoia-fueled tale’s gruesome, shocking close. Ages 12–up. Agent: Jon Elek, United Agents. (Mar.)

Reviewed on 05/07/2021 | Details & Permalink

Inspired by her own family’s refugee journey from Vietnam to Hong Kong, Văn’s (If You Were Night) spare picture book, powerful in its deliberate simplicity, follows a black-haired, pale-skinned child as they, their guardian, and two younger siblings join other asylum seekers for a perilous maritime voyage. In a third-person voice, Văn anthropomorphizes objects, relaying their wishes: “The dream wished it was longer,” one spread reads, as a balding, mustached guardian holds the protagonist close, and a guardian with a bun rouses the second child to dress them. “The clock wished it was slower,” the subsequent pages read, as the two children tearfully hug their mustached guardian goodbye. The narrative continues as the now family of four make their way onto the boat and beyond. A final-act switch to first-person perspective drives home the journey’s personal nature. Intricate, lissome fine-lined art by Ngai (Dazzle Ships) recalls classical Asian compositions, Japanese woodblock prints, and an evocative sensibility in a gradated, surrealistic color palette. A seamless interweaving of elegant prose and atmospheric art marks this affecting immigrant narrative. Back matter includes heartfelt author’s and illustrator’s notes. Ages 4–8. (May)

Correction: A previous version of this review misquoted the book's text.

Reviewed on 05/07/2021 | Details & Permalink