The Left and the Lucky by Willy Vlautin

Posted on February 16, 2026 by pagesofjulia

In a gritty world bordering on hopelessness, a man and a boy form a friendship that may just save them both.

Willy Vlautin (The Horse; The Night Always Comes; Don’t Skip Out on Me) applies his characteristic compassion and spare tone to an unlikely friendship in The Left and the Lucky, a novel of hard times and scant hope. A boy whose life has been ruled by abuse and neglect and a man whose hard work has been rewarded by betrayal and loss find each other in working-class Portland, Ore., and forge a hard-won bond to their mutual benefit.

Russell is eight years old and small for his age. He lives with his grandmother, who has dementia; his mother, who works nights; and his teenaged brother, who is angry and troubled. As the latter spins further afield and poses an increasingly serious physical threat, Russell dreams of building a boat or an airplane to take him away to an unpopulated island near Hawai’i: he can think of no nearer salvation.

Eddie lives next door. He runs a small house-painting business, working six or more days a week, and his main employee is a scarcely functioning alcoholic whose paychecks Eddie handles for him with scrupulous honesty. It will take the bulk of the novel for Vlautin to reveal the rest of Eddie’s painful past, gradually filling in the reasons for his generosity. Russell turns up on Eddie’s rounds of the neighborhood: out too late, hiding from something. The man offers the boy food, a ride home. Russell begins waiting in Eddie’s backyard each night after work; he cleans paintbrushes after the workday. Eddie gives him odd jobs and shelter from violence. Each is lacking something in a life lived on the margins, but together they begin to build a slight, meaningful solution. They restore an old Pontiac and care for an old dog. Each finds in the other someone who needs them to survive.

In his eighth novel, Vlautin continues to focus upon an American underclass marked by desperation and poverty, people often forgotten or abandoned. With a gruff tenderness, a quiet lyricism, and moments of humor, he highlights not only the built family that Russell and Eddie assemble, but also motley characters from their neighborhood: Eddie’s employees, an aging aunt, a waitress with goals, Russell’s seething brother. The Left and the Lucky is often grim, but Eddie’s dogged decency uplifts even in this grayscale world of limited options; his unwillingness to give up on Russell offers a slim but profound thread of hope unto the story’s end. Vlautin’s character sketches and the careful value he places on perseverance are not soon forgotten.

This review originally ran in the February 13, 2026 issue of Shelf Awareness for the Book Trade. To subscribe, click here.

Rating: 7 brushes.

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Virgil Wander by Leif Enger (audio)

Posted on February 13, 2026 by pagesofjulia

I don’t even know what to do with this book which is in the running for the best of the year! I am overcome. I feel like I’ve found another Brian Doyle: this story is set in a small community, filled with mostly good people, but some maybe not. There is whimsy and not literal magic, but certainly the kind we can find in everyday life, and mysterious forces in nature and human nature… there is a sense of everythingness that I associate with Doyle and with Amy Leach. So many things happen, and they’re all disconnected and they’re all unlikely, but that’s life, too.

Virgil Wander is a middle-aged man in the small town of Greenstone, Minnesota, somewhere north of Duluth on Lake Superior. He owns and lives above an antique movie theatre where he spools up reels of old film for his few neighbor-customers, operating at a loss. We meet him shortly after he’s accidentally launched his old Pontiac over a small cliff and into the freezing lake; a fellow Greenstonian pulls him out, and he’s recovering from a TBI, physically off-balance, linguistically working without adjectives, and struggling to sort through his memories. He thinks of the past version of himself as “the previous tenant,” as in, he feels like he’s living in someone else’s apartment, wearing someone else’s clothes, and surmising what that other guy would have done. In a word, the new Virgil is less fearful of giving offense, still mild-mannered, but more likely to speak his mind (mostly sans adjectives).

This book is about many of Greenstone’s motley citizens, but always centered on Virgil, our narrator. Early on, Virgil meets Rune: an old man, new to town, avid flyer of wildly ornate and lovely kites that he makes himself. Rune wants to hear everyone’s stories about Alec Sansome, a former minor-league baseball pitcher and Greenstone resident who disappeared one day in a small plane over Superior, leaving behind a notably beautiful wife Nadine and a young son, Bjorn. In perhaps my favorite of Virgil Wander‘s many bittersweet tragic threads, Rune has only recently discovered that he had a son, Alec – but Alec has been missing for a cool decade now. The old man desperately wanted a child all his life, and in one fell swoop gained and lost one. Now he hangs around Greenstone, delighting the locals with his kites, investigating the lost Alec, and attempting to build family with Nadine (amenable) and Bjorn (as a teenager, less so). There is also the Pea family with their streaks of bad luck and big fish; the mayor and her hope to turn Greenstone’s luck around with the annual fair; the sisters who run a small cafe; and a returned prodigal son who is either the town’s best hope or worst enemy. There are terrible losses and griefs, but also love and new beginnings, fishing and kite flying, reinventions and reinvigorations. Greenstone is an odd place of hard luck, whose history involves deaths and disappearances as well as that one time it rained frogs (yes), and there is more to come. It’s a completely fascinating place and story.

Here are a few of my favorite lines – I’ve decided against offering them any context. Enger is a thrilling writer of single sentences as well as larger plot.

He peered around as though not wishing to be seen accepting birthday wishes from a cheerful moron up to his chin in the freezing sea.

There is nothing wrong with being kissed on the cheek by a sweet round woman in a cafe after you have nearly died.

She had a marvelous eye roll, refined through long discipline, precise as acupuncture.

I’d lived years without a woman to tell me small things. Her work went well and she wanted to say so, and I was the man who was listening. That fact swung open and light came in.

There is no better sound than whom you adore when they are sleepy and pleased.

And all of this read for us by MacLeod Andrews in a delightful sort of humble Minnesotan accent (and Rune’s Norwegian one, which amplifies the reader’s sense of him as a twinkling elf of good cheer). I do not know how this book could be improved upon, except to have more of it. I am devoted to Enger – and sadly halfway through his works. Do yourself a favor and spend some time with Virgil.

Rating: 10 pots of boiling milk.

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rerun: Martin Marten by Brian Doyle

Posted on February 9, 2026 by pagesofjulia

I read my first Brian Doyle in late 2014 or early 2015. Since then, I’ve taken in nearly everything he’s written. When we lost him in 2017, I felt that as a blow, and I guess I’m taking my time with his last few titles. The audiobook I’m listening to right now reminds me of him (more on that later, obv), and I’m still feeling the loss of this voice. And with all of his work that I’ve loved, Martin Marten still might rank at the very top. Please enjoy my original review below, and if you’re still hungry, check out my audio re-“read” here. May there be more of this sort of thing in the world.

A lyrical ode to all the inhabitants of the world, fun-loving and deathly serious as nature.

marten

Fourteen-year-old Dave is one of the protagonists of Brian Doyle’s Martin Marten. He lives with his delightful, precocious six-year-old sister Maria and his wise, funny parents in a cabin on an Oregon mountain. Dave prefers to call the mountain Wy’east, which is the name given it by the people who lived there for thousands of years, rather than Hood, “which is what some guy from another country called it.”

Also in his adolescence on Wy’east in the same season that Dave enters high school and tries out for the cross-country team is Martin, who likewise is exploring his world, venturing farther from home and contemplating separation from his mother, and who will discover the females of his species around the same time that Dave does. A marten is a small, brownish mustelid with a diverse diet and a large territory, and Martin is as individual an example of his species as Dave is of his.

Doyle (Mink River) follows the coming-of-age of these two young males, and to varying degrees examines the lives and struggles of other inhabitants of Wy’east. These include the woman who runs the general store, Dave’s family and his best friend Moon, a schoolteacher and the dog who adopts him, a massive elk, an elderly bear and a retired horse, and each of their stories is deep and rich with humor and wisdom. The result is a lushly textured, loving, sensitive and whimsical symposium of trees, insects, birds and beasts.

This review originally ran in the April 14, 2015 issue of Shelf Awareness for Readers. To subscribe, click here, and you’ll receive two issues per week of book reviews and other bookish fun!

Rating: 10 tomatoes.

Still.

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Like This, But Funnier by Hallie Cantor

Posted on February 6, 2026 by pagesofjulia

A 30-something woman writing for television comedy in Los Angeles must wrestle with personal and social as well as professional qualms in this discomfiting and hilarious debut.

Hallie Cantor’s first novel, Like This, But Funnier, is a hilarious and brutally honest send-up of comedy writing for television, a serious consideration of the woes of modern womanhood, and a compassionate telling of one woman’s fumbling journey.

Caroline Neumann is 34 years old. After a relatively successful and socially engaged stint in New York writing for a sketch comedy show, she moved to Los Angeles to write for a sitcom, which was then canceled. She’s been working from home for the past four years–if you can call it “working” when she’s mostly doing unpaid “development.” “In their twenties, she and [husband] Harry had happily not known together” whether they wanted to have kids. But in the interim, he became sure that he did, while Caroline remains doubtful. Harry used to be unhappy at work, too, but now he is a therapist. “They’d made a little home in the despair together. Until he’d abandoned her to go off and get a fulfilling career that he loved. How dare he.” Now, dubiously employed and depressed, Caroline navigates lonely, work-from-home desperation, cataloging all the ways in which she can feel bad (down to the varieties of milk she might put in her coffee: “oat milk: cliché spoiled California millennial princess, very bad”), while Harry nudges her to consider motherhood.

Propelled by work-related frustration and curiosity about Harry’s favorite therapy client, whom she knows only as “the Teacher,” Caroline indulges in a tiny bit of snooping. When she happens to mention a tidbit from the Teacher’s life in a meeting with a producer, however, events snowball beyond Caroline’s control, until she finds herself working on an actual television script featuring the confidential details of a woman’s life that she has no business knowing. Caroline, for whom failure and rejection have come to feel like a professional norm, figures that rather than withdraw from the questionable project, she’ll just tank the pitch meeting: “Why bother quitting when you could fail instead?” And just to keep things complicated, she assents to freeze her eggs for possible future motherhood, as “spiritual atonement for stalking and befriending [her] husband’s favorite therapy patient.” What could go wrong?

Cantor brings her experience writing for Arrested Development, Dollface, and Inside Amy Schumer to Caroline’s often excruciating story: despite the considerable pathos, these conflicts are deeply funny. This protagonist–liable to clog a toilet at the most inopportune moment, frozen by self-loathing, desperate to do the right thing in an industry that’s never heard of it–is, against all odds and her own fears, uncomfortably easy to relate to. Like This, But Funnier is winning, awkward, and unforgettable.

This review originally ran in the January 29, 2026 issue of Shelf Awareness for the Book Trade. To subscribe, click here.

Rating: 7 Zoom calls.

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I Cheerfully Refuse by Leif Enger (audio)

Posted on January 19, 2026 by pagesofjulia

Liz was right. This was beautiful and worth it, even though I was a little bit leery of the dystopia. A gorgeous book, and gorgeously read for us by David Aaron Baker. Glorious.

The novel is set in a world very like our own, maybe just a little further down the road to ruin. The narrator, Rainy, lives in town of Icebridge, which I think is on the American side of the border with Canada, on the Great Lakes. Political, economic and environmental collapse have advanced beyond our current situation. Rainy lives in a leaning but charming three-story house with his wife Lark, who is a golden person and one of the town’s most beloved. She runs a bookshop, possesses a great and contagious love of art and literature, and holds wisdom and appealing beliefs. At the story’s beginning, they take in a lodger, Kellan, who eventually admits to being on the run from the ‘astronauts’ he was pledged to as indentured worker. (‘Astronauts’ are not literal, but simply the astronomically privileged and wealthy in an increasingly divided world.) Rainy likes Kellan; but it is true that, as predicted, he brings devastation upon the household. In its wake, Rainy is forced to take to Lake Superior, that great inland ocean, in an ancient sailboat imperfectly restored by hand. He has it in mind that he might find what he is looking for if he can reach the Slate Islands, where he and Lark once sailed, fifteen years ago, on Rainy’s only sailing venture ever until this point. His voyage – really, his quest – will be circuitous, at the mercy of weather patterns and storms, and beset by people who mean him harm. There will also be friendlies along the way. He will pick up a most fascinating passenger, a nine-year-old girl named Sol.

This story is compared to the Orpheus myth, but I don’t see how we can miss Odysseus in it, too, or any quest you choose. It has large, nearly all-encompassing scope, and beautiful ideas about how we make the world around us and what friendship looks like. It considers literature and art and music, and offers hope where it seems unlikely. It is lovely at the sentence level. The lake “was a blackboard to the send of sight, and any story might be written on its surface.” “There’s something in romance if it puts you on a boat with the one you adore in a harbor no storm can penetrate with an affable ghost anchored nearby.” Its events are often horrifying, but I’m left with the weird sense that I’d still be satisfied to follow Rainy anywhere within his world.

This is one of those I’d happily take a high-level lit course in. Solid rec, Liz. Thank you.

Rating: 9 steaming mugs of coffee.

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I Am Agatha by Nancy Foley

Posted on January 16, 2026 by pagesofjulia

A solitary aging painter rages against the slow loss of her partner to dementia in this spare, feeling first novel.

Wrestling with grief, love, and creation, a reclusive painter struggles to navigate the decline of her beloved with the help of a loyal 13-year-old neighbor, a trusty pickup truck, and a couple of shovels. Nancy Foley’s I Am Agatha is a striking first novel, jumping off from scant details of the life of a true historical figure to follow the author’s imagination beyond. Like its protagonist, this story is sure-footed and occasionally, markedly vulnerable.

Based upon the painter Agnes Martin, Foley’s Agatha Smithson leaves 1960s New York City to resurface in New Mexico, where she builds an adobe house on a high mesa, lives mostly apart from society, and creates her life’s finest works. She’s passionate about her home and her “ocean canyon”: “It’s ridiculous that anything goes on anywhere other than Mesa Portales, that one can isolate oneself from the world but still it goes about its business.” She is prickly, domineering, capable of grim humor. “You’d sure make my job easier if you could give a straight answer now and then,” comments a local lawyer. “But I guess it’s not in your character.”

Agatha is peremptory, “quick to recognize the correct path forward in all situations.” She is given to strong allegiances but demands great loyalty and holds long grudges; her friends are few and precious. Thirteen-year-old Josey is, like Agatha, obstinate, free-willed, and given to few words. He is her ally, a valued hard worker, and a vital human connection. Agatha has one great love, found later in life: a widow named Alice, who lives alone with a secret buried in her backyard. As Alice’s dementia worsens, Agatha will be late to learn what secrets have been kept from her, too. Fierce and indomitable, Agatha is also overwhelmed by love and grief.

Driven by commitment to her work, which she takes very seriously, Agatha is moved not at all by the opinions of others. But in Alice, she finds something different and shocking. “Work is not the only thing in life,” Agatha says, to a young disciple’s incredulity, but “I surprise myself by feeling it to be true. I would do anything possible, anything at all, to keep Alice with me.” Agatha’s big, brash personality and determination to grow old with Alice is pitted against more staid forces like Alice’s son, who would rather move his mild-mannered mother into assisted living. An accomplished artist and staunch recluse, Agatha does not easily brook resistance, but the end of Alice’s life will be one of her greatest struggles. I Am Agatha is an arresting, darkly funny, and heartrending consideration of life, love, and endings.

This review originally ran in the January 12, 2026 issue of Shelf Awareness for the Book Trade. To subscribe, click here.

Rating: 7 peanut-butter-and-tomato sandwiches.

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Haven by Ani Katz

Posted on January 5, 2026 by pagesofjulia

In a masterpiece of tension, set within a lavish island community for the corporate select, a disappeared infant calls into question everything one mother thought she knew.

Ani Katz’s Haven is a chilling story about an apparent utopia that is anything but. As Caroline boards a ferry with husband Adam and infant son Gabriel for an exclusive getaway on a lovely island enclave, she is, first of all, relieved. After a trying period of his unemployment, Adam’s job with corporate giant Corridor gives him the means to join an elite group of friends and coworkers in a spaceship (Caroline’s description) of a house on the outskirts of Haven, a longtime home of the rich.

Caroline has never quite understood what it is that Corridor does–something with “infrastructure”–but she’s grateful that Adam is employed and seemingly less depressed. Now she hopes to relax, get to know Adam’s friends a little better, perhaps strengthen her bond with Gabriel, maybe even get some artistic inspiration back. Ever since becoming a mother, her photography has suffered. She attempted a project about motherhood, but “was getting bored with her baby as a subject.” Even on the island, seeking subjects, she worries: “What if she never made an interesting photograph again?” But in Katz’s tautly plotted psychological thriller, it turns out that photography may be the least of Caroline’s concerns.

Caroline’s roommates for the summer, Adam’s Corridor colleagues, indulge in eating and drinking to excess and unfamiliar, unnamed drugs, but they also coo over Gabriel and give Caroline the occasional break for a proper shower. She is trying to lean into the novel, luxury experience. The island’s wider inhabitants, however, strike her as being just a little off. Tinkly laughter, choreographed dance, and uncanny children degrade into shadowy threats: angry islanders, old rituals and sacrifice, and corporate surveillance. Then comes the nightmarish morning when Caroline wakes up and Gabriel is gone. As she searches for her son and the truth of what happens in Haven, she will come to question even the rules, and the people, she thinks she knows best.

If Haven ever begins to feel like it might trend toward the formulaic, be assured that Katz (A Good Man) is about to twist her tricky narrative again, always catching Caroline, and readers, unawares. This masterpiece of tension turns absolutely terrifying by its finish. Technology, hubris, deception, and mistrust combine in an unsettling corporate dystopia that asks what ends would justify which means. Riveting, thought-provoking, and ever surprising, Haven is not for the easily unnerved.

This review originally ran in the December 23, 2025 issue of Shelf Awareness for the Book Trade. To subscribe, click here.

Rating: 6 hats.

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Little One by Olivia Muenter

Posted on December 26, 2025 by pagesofjulia

A young woman’s troubled past resurfaces in this novel of psychological suspense and secrets.

Olivia Muenter’s Little One chills and entertains with the story of a young woman whose fresh start is interrupted.

Since leaving the intentional community run by her father in rural Florida, Catharine West has built herself a life from scratch in New York City. She has a successful copywriting career, visits the public library at least once a week, runs daily, and enjoys a snarky friendship over drinks with the disarming Stella, who says of Catharine’s library habit, “You do realize this isn’t actually a Nora Ephron film.” She doesn’t date much, which Stella attributes to a bad breakup or fear of change. Catharine holds people at arm’s length, privately enforcing upon herself some of the same obsessive standards she learned back at the farm, including extreme fasting and self-deprivation. She has shared her past with no one, which is why it’s so alarming when a journalist e-mails out of the blue with questions about “a little-known, now-defunct cult in central Florida.” Catharine’s carefully crafted, tightly controlled existence is threatened. But in balance with that risk hangs the chance that she might recover the one part of her past that she never meant to lose: her sister.

Little One, Muenter’s second novel (following Such a Bad Influence), follows Catharine in alternating chapters marked “Then” and “Now.” Catharine’s remembered Florida begins as idyllic, sunny, verdant, a childhood spent “chasing the coolest parts of the day, picking tomatoes at dawn, bringing each to my nose and marveling at the smell, all at once familiar and astounding.” But what began as a close-knit community with back-to-the-land ethics gradually became something sinister, sticky, and alligator-ridden in the oppressive heat.

In the present-day timeline, Catharine becomes increasingly involved with the journalist, Reese, whom she finds both attractive and off-putting. As she strings him along, giving him just enough to get back the information she needs from his unnamed source, it may be that she’s met her match. Meanwhile, readers recognize past Catharine (in her father’s steely grip) in the present one (wielding an ironclad control over her own life). Fasting becomes exercise compulsion and an obsession with willpower; the concept of hunger, in its various meanings, is central to the plot. Muenter’s expertly moody, creepy-crawly narrative is precisely paced. Secrets as off-balance as Catharine herself are released at a tantalizing rate that might just keep the reader up all night, as the novel accelerates toward a satisfyingly surprising conclusion.

This review originally ran in the November 21, 2025 issue of Shelf Awareness for the Book Trade. To subscribe, click here.

Rating: 7 car keys.

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When Women Were Dragons by Kelly Barnhill (audio)

Posted on December 15, 2025 by pagesofjulia

I don’t recall where I got this title from, but I loved this book, and am grateful to whatever review or list sent it my way. Also to my lovely partner who gifted it to me for the long drive from Texas to West Virginia.

When Women Were Dragons: Being the Truthful Accounting of the Life of Alex Green–Physicist, Professor, Activist. Still Human. A memoir, of sorts is a living, breathing tale, ever expanding, filled with metaphor that reshapes itself with the reader’s interpretation. It opens with a strange letter from a Nebraska housewife in 1898 to her mother, shortly before the woman spontaneously dragoned. Next we have an excerpt from the opening statement given by Dr. Henry Gantz to the House Committee on Un-American Activities in 1957. Then we get into the first-person narration of Alex Green, who will tell most of this story, with brief insertions mostly from Dr. Gantz’s work – bit of an epistolary format. (The audiobook is narrated by Kimberly Farr, as Alex Green, and Mark Bramhall, as Dr. Gantz, which I thought was a great choice.) “I was four years old when I first met a dragon. I didn’t tell my mother. I didn’t think she’d understand.”

I think this must be right around 1950. Alex grows up in small-town Wisconsin, in a pretty 1950s world: there are many things we just don’t talk about, including cancer, menstruation and most aspects of girlhood and womanhood, what to expect on one’s wedding night, diversity in sexual orientation and gender expression, our feelings, and dragons. When Alex is a little girl, her mother goes away for some time – months – and no one explains or even acknowledges the change; likewise when her mother returns, gaunt, weak, different (she doesn’t even smell right). The reader understands better than little-girl Alex when her mother’s chest is glimpsed, missing breasts, two scars like smiles. This world is recognizably our own except for the dragons. Women in this world can dragon (that’s a verb), or become dragons, at which point they sometimes eat their husbands (this seems to happen frequently with very unlikeable, not to say abusive, husbands) before flying away. Dragoning is a poorly understood phenomenon because, as with much that is female or feminine, society judges it too shameful to examine, and science mostly averts its gaze. Dr. Gantz is a rare exception: he believes in the scientific mandate to learn, whatever truths are revealed. Biology should never be shameful. His research articles and responses to an oppressive world are useful seasonings to this story, and he is himself a delightful character, alongside the heroic librarian Mrs. Gyzinska.

And oh, Alex’s auntie Marla, a wonderful woman who comes and cares for her while her mother is away in cancer treatment, a big powerful woman who flies airplanes during the war and works as a car mechanic and wears men’s clothes and takes very little shit, and who we lose to the Mass Dragoning of 1955. When Marla dragons, she leaves behind an infant daughter, Alex’s cousin Beatrice, who from here on is raised as Alex’s sister. Such is the gaslighting of Alex’s family and world that she learns to really believe – almost – that she has no aunt, that Beatrice has always been her sister. (Echoes of 1984. We have always been at war with Eastasia.) And boy, the time Alex has raising her younger sister, Beatrice, a delightful dragon of a child if there ever was one.

Despite all I’ve just thrown at you, I’ve barely scraped the surface of this remarkable novel. It contains many stories and many layers, much that is very recognizable from our ‘real’ world, and lots of potential metaphors to ponder. I wondered at different times if dragoning were a metaphor for menstruation; for puberty; for “un-american activities” (certainly, HUAC seems to conflate them); for simply being independent, self-determining, and female (except that those who dragon are overwhelmingly but not universally girls and women). This story tackles the way we handle difference, and especially gender, sexuality, and gender expression. It contains such maddening (if entirely realistic) renderings of sexism that it was sometimes hard to listen to. It contains transcendent moments of personal discovery, joyful academic inquiry, love and coming-of-age, and some lovely iterations of family and built family, which I always appreciate. “Sometimes,” confides Alex at an advanced age, “the expansive nature of family takes my breath away.” There is such good fun; I especially liked the line “If that dragon was hoping for sympathy, she was crying in front of the wrong teenager,” which I got to share with my favorite dragon-loving teenager. It considers the looping of time and relationships. It’s got science and wonder, a bit like A Tale for the Time Being, but I liked this better. I’m a bit over the moon about it, and am giving it a perfect score. Also, I loved the audio format, with the one caveat that I wish I could pull more quotations that I loved.

Do give it a go, and let me know what you think.

Rating: 10 military-issued boots.

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Is This a Cry for Help? by Emily Austin

Posted on December 5, 2025 by pagesofjulia

As its protagonist wrestles with grief and challenges to intellectual freedom, this inspiring and very funny story showcases the power of love and libraries.

In the opening scene of Emily Austin’s fourth novel, a librarian named Darcy narrates her response to a patron watching porn in the library (mainly, per policy, to leave him be). From here, Darcy’s story unfolds to grapple with love, grief, mental health, the importance of libraries, and the navigation of personal, professional, and public relationships. Is This a Cry for Help? continues in the vein of Austin’s winsome work (Everyone in This Room Will Someday Be Dead; We Could Be Rats) with a disarmingly candid narrative voice, outrageous humor, and serious thinking on tough topics.

Darcy has a good life. At her public library, she gets to help a messy cross-section of humanity: not only the toddlers, book clubs, and precocious teens she originally imagined, but also people who lack stable housing or who struggle with substance abuse or mental illness, job seekers, immigrants, and people with opinions different from her own. She has a wonderful wife with whom she shares her authentic self, two cats, and a lovely home. But when Darcy learns of the death of her ex-boyfriend Ben, she is thrown off balance. The disruptions to her carefully organized life are often hysterically funny even as they are harrowing and tragic.

Darcy has just returned to work after a two-month leave of absence following a mental breakdown brought on by the news of Ben’s death. “Before this happened, if someone told me they were off work on stress leave, I might have been judgmental too. Now I understand that issues intensify when we smash them down into our boots.” She is not at her strongest for the new challenge of an alt-right self-appointed journalist harassing the library and Darcy for what he deems a series of moral infractions, including the porn-watching patron. Her community holds an array of political views and opinions on topics as personal as Darcy’s identity as a lesbian, and these values will be called into question by an attempted book ban.

Darcy’s first-person narration lets the reader see her puzzle through the motivations of those around her, parsing social cues and questioning her own choices. Since the breakdown, she’s been seeing a therapist (a process she finds “hokey,” but she’s making an honest effort), and she is well served by her earnest analysis of the actions and motivations of herself and everyone around her. “I’m not just thirty-three; I’m twenty-seven. I’m eighteen. I’m nine. I was just born. And I have to carry all of those versions of myself, the feelings they have, and the mistakes they’ve made, everywhere I go.” Thoughtful and self-aware, if often awkward, Darcy strives intentionally to live as best she can. Is This a Cry for Help? portrays a stressful period in her life, but one she ultimately inhabits with wisdom and grace. Hilarious, wrenching, endearingly odd, Darcy’s story is both enlightening and somehow comforting.

This review originally ran in the November 10, 2025 issue of Shelf Awareness for the Book Trade. To subscribe, click here.

Rating: 8 pigeons.

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