In an American suburb in the early 1980s, students at a highly competitive performing arts high school struggle and thrive in a rarified bubble, ambitiously pursuing music, movement, Shakespeare, and, particularly, their acting classes. When within this striving “Brotherhood of the Arts,” two freshmen, David and Sarah, fall headlong into love, their passion does not go unnoticed—or untoyed with—by anyone, especially not by their charismatic acting teacher, Mr. Kingsley.

The outside world of family life and economic status, of academic pressure and of their future adult lives, fails to penetrate this school’s walls—until it does, in a shocking spiral of events that catapults the action forward in time and flips the premise upside-down. What the reader believes to have happened to David and Sarah and their friends is not entirely true—though it's not false, either. It takes until the book’s stunning coda for the final piece of the puzzle to fall into place—revealing truths that will resonate long after the final sentence.

As captivating and tender as it is surprising, Susan Choi's Trust Exercise will incite heated conversations about fiction and truth, and about friendships and loyalties, and will leave readers with wiser understandings of the true capacities of adolescents and of the powers and responsibilities of adults.

Encouraged by Fukiishi to stand up for himself, Seiichi exploded in a moment of rage, telling his mother Seiko, "I don't need you"—the first rebellious act of his young life. Now Fukiishi has offered him sanctuary in her room, hidden from her father and away from the watchful eyes of his own parents.

But as Seiichi fumbles toward sexual awakening, his mother's specter is never far from his mind... Shuzo Oshimi's masterwork of psychological terror continues, as Seiichi struggles to navigate the tangled web of his competing emotions. Meanwhile, Seiko's desperate search for her son brings her to Fukiishi's doorstep...

Las heroínas de Perras de reserva son mujeres fuertes, decididas a resolver por sí mismas sus problemas porque saben que si con algo no pueden contar es con la ayuda de Dios. Como mucho, se encomiendan al Diablo, ya que ante la perspectiva de convertirse en víctimas –usadas, explotadas o muertas– prefieren optar por la sangre ajena. Como Yuliana, la macabramente entrañable heredera al trono de un capo del narcotráfico, que no va a aceptar que sus compañeras de escuela se burlen de su look. O la adolescente que antes de dejarse arrinconar por la pobreza y el hambre se vuelve una malandrina de calle con principios, que solo desvalija a gente bien. O la bruja que recurre al Señor de las Tinieblas para que le ayude con la vecina cuyos perros hacen sus necesidades en su patio.

Sean sicarias o universitarias, influencers o amas de casa, beatas o prostitutas, las memorables protagonistas de estos relatos comparten las dificultades y los peligros derivados de haber nacido mujer.

Con un talento desbordante para reflejar el habla de la calle y no pocas dosis de humor negro, la autora mexicana Dahlia de la Cerda nos recuerda en este genial libro que «la vida es una perra, por eso hay que patearle la jaula».