The Arsonists' City delivers all the pleasures of a good old-fashioned saga. In Alyan's hands, one family's tale becomes the story of not just a nation--Lebanon and Syria--but also the United States. It's a rich family story that gives a personal look at the legacy of war in the Middle East and an indelible rendering of how we hold on to the people and places we call home.

The Nasr family is spread across the globe--Beirut, Brooklyn, Austin, the California desert. With a Syrian mother, a Lebanese father, and three American children, they have all lived a life of migration. Yet, they've always had their ancestral home in Beirut--a constant touchstone--and the complicated, messy family love that binds them. However, following his father's recent death, Idris, the new patriarch, has decided to sell. This decision brings the family to Beirut, where they unite against Idris in a fight to save the house. They all have secrets--lost loves, bitter jealousies, abandoned passions, deep-set shame--that distance has helped smother. But in a city smoldering with the legacy of war, an ongoing flow of refugees, religious tension, and political protest, these secrets ignite, imperiling the fragile ties that hold the family together.

In a novel teeming with wisdom, warmth, and remarkable human insight, award-winning author Hala Alyan shows us that fiction often provides the best filter for the real world around us.

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.

Casi siempre comienza en los hogares. Ya se registran miles de casos en Vancouver, Hong Kong, Tel Aviv, Barcelona, Oaxaca, y se está propagando rápidamente a todos los rincones del mundo. Los kentukis no son mascotas, ni fantasmas, ni robots. Son ciudadanos reales, y el problema —se dice en las noticias y se comparte en las redes— es que una persona que vive en Berlín no debería poder pasearse libremente por el living de alguien que vive en Sídney; ni alguien que vive en Bangkok desayunar junto a tus hijos en tu departamento de Buenos Aires. En especial, cuando esas personas que dejamos entrar a casa son completamente anónimas.

Los personajes de esta novela encarnan el costado más real —y a la vez imprevisible— de la compleja relación que tenemos con la tecnología, renovando la noción del vouyerismo y exponiendo al lector a los límites del prejuicio, el cuidado de los otros, la intimidad, el deseo y las buenas intenciones. Kentukis es una novela deslumbrante, que potencia su sentido mucho más allá de la atracción que genera desde sus páginas.

Ana quiere plantar una milpa en su traspatio, en plena Ciudad de México. Pero en la tierra hay altos contenidos de plomo y la privada donde vive está plagada de ausencias. Su hermana murió, sus papás están de luto y sus hermanos de campamento; su única amiga se fue a buscar a quien la abandonó cuatro años atrás. Menos mal que queda Alfonso.

Alfonso es un antropólogo especializado en alimentación prehispánica. Es viudo y dueño de la privada Campanario. Él mismo la diseñó a partir de un esquema de la lengua humana y dio a las casas el nombre de cada uno de los cinco sabores que percibimos: Dulce, Salado, Amargo, Ácido y Umami.

En duelo, los habitantes de la privada desearían echar el tiempo atrás. Tejida al revés, esta novela se los permite. Mientras Ana remueve la tierra y clava las semillas, sus vecinos hurgan en el pasado. Pero el traspatio de la memoria está minado con preguntas: ¿Quién fue mi mujer? ¿Por qué se fue mi mamá? Y, ¿cómo es posible que se ahogara una niña que sabía nadar? Umami constituye una propuesta literaria original en su afán por explorar la amplia gama de sensaciones y emociones que el ser humano -en distintas etapas de la vida- experimenta.

The Argonauts by Maggie Nelson is a genre-bending memoir that intertwines the author's personal narrative with a deep engagement in literary and theoretical texts. At the heart of this work is a story of romance between Nelson and her partner, artist Harry Dodge, whose experiences of gender transition and reassignment intersect with Nelson's journey through pregnancy.

This reflective, poignant exploration of motherhood, desire, and identity is grounded in an intimate portrayal of the author's queer family life. Nelson challenges the societal norms surrounding sexuality, gender, marriage, and childrearing, advocating for radical individual freedom and the value of caregiving.

Through her narrative, Nelson conducts a rigorous examination of philosophical and theoretical discourses, tracing the contours of what iconic theorists have to say about the complexities of contemporary social structures. The Argonauts is thus not only a memoir but also an impassioned argument for the embracement of unorthodox forms of love and kinship in the modern age.