Free Love: Adventures in Marriage and Polyamory by Michelle Tea

Through the context of the author’s own adventures in marriage and polyamory, and interviews and research, this thoughtful study explores various means of living “many loves.”

By the time she sat down to pen Free Love: Adventures in Marriage and Polyamory, Michelle Tea had indeed lived an adventurous life, “from straight to bi to lesbian to dyke to bi again and now and forevermore the one-stop shop of queer,” among other journeys in identity and lifestyle, sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll. In this work’s opening present day, she is a wife (“a relationship that took root in the landscape of my divorce”), a mother, and–not for the first time–grappling with the concept of monogamy. She is easing into the idea of “nonmonogamy as a real orientation within [her],” and in these pages, explores its various forms, in history, in her personal life and preferences, and through interviews with friends and acquaintances as well as cultural figures. Always open and nonjudgmental about a range of ways of nonmonogamous life, Free Love is a fascinating and candid analysis.

Tea (Against Memoir; Valencia) merges her own past with external sources, in the context of interviews and conversations, so that her voice remains present throughout. For example, she talks with scholar-historian-archivist Jeanne Vaccaro, writer/musician Brontez Purnell, and an artist she calls simply Z because “I’m charged with protecting her anonymity, so crucial for her exciting, global sex life.” Tea describes her own fantasies in the context of the 1989 film Last Exit to Brooklyn, adapted from Hubert Selby Jr.’s 1964 novel. She shares joys and heartbreaks, ecstasies and pains, in anecdotes of relationships and every part of her life. Through storytelling, she introduces less-familiar readers to terms like “metamour” (the partners of one’s partner) and “compersion” (the opposite of jealousy; “a feeling of shared happiness or fine-fellow-feeling at my partner’s extracurricular dalliances”). With friends, historians, researchers, scholars, and cultural icons, she discusses sex, desire, shame, free love communes, government control of women’s bodies, risk aversion, the “relationship escalator,” plural marriages, motherhood, aging, and jealousy, always through a lens of queerness. Tea reports that it is an ongoing struggle to both love and deepen bonds with one or several individuals, and to remain open to a wider world: “It’s so hard to strike the balance of held, beloved security, and raw, autonomous adventure.” The challenges of polyamory are real, she acknowledges, but in refrain, she also argues, it is worth those challenges.

Free Love demystifies, educates, explores the margins, and questions received wisdom. To that end, Tea hopes her reader finds in these pages “inspiration… revelation, permission,” and, perhaps most simply, more love.


This review originally ran in the September 14, 2026 issue of Shelf Awareness for the Book Trade. To subscribe, click here.


Rating: 7 cards.

Advantage Player: A Memoir of Blackjack, Backrooms, and Beginnings by Gina Fiore

In games and in backrooms most readers will never see, one driven woman takes big risks to secure her place at the table in this dynamic, propulsive memoir.


Advantage Player: A Memoir of Blackjack, Backrooms, and Beginnings is an energetic account of false starts, big wins and big losses, challenges and redemptions. Gina Fiore tells her story with momentum and feeling, so readers share the tension of high stakes.

Fiore had a troubled childhood in a troubled Italian American family plagued by poverty and questionable decisions, distanced from extended family. They moved from New York to Reno, Nev., when she was eight. She began gambling at 14 years old, visiting the casinos where her mother dealt blackjack and gambled as well. Amid emotional and economic deprivation, Fiore felt from a young age that traditional careers would not serve her. She trained as a musician but found her world most expanded inside the casino. “Nothing else in my life or especially in school piqued my interest like card counting did…. Now at twenty-two years old, and for no obvious reasons, I believed wholeheartedly that I was somebody who could do whatever she chose. With that mentality of infinite freedom I chose card counting.”

Fiore’s childhood was rocky, and her young adulthood involved a series of personal choices that may be viewed as self-sabotage. But her memoir is at its most riveting when she describes her work and explains the art and the science of advantage play.

Card counting is just the beginning. Fiore educates her readers about blackjack and other casino games, and the differences between card counting, hole carding, edge sorting, and other forms of play that steal the advantage. These methods of removing the house edge are not illegal on their face, but they will get a gambler kicked out, blackballed, and even assaulted; thus, Fiore argues, the theater of advantage play is as important as the count, the card spotted, the edge calculated.

Fiore methodically trained herself from books, from firsthand study, and through mentorships with more experienced players to become one of the best advantage players in the world. She built elite teams of like-minded players and eventually took millions from casinos around the United States and beyond. Fiore’s memoir careens from high highs to low lows on the casino floor and in challenges with friendships, romantic and family relationships, and mental health. Advantage Player is a rocketing adventure and one woman’s story of how to survive and not only make the most of the hands she’s dealt but also how to influence the deal.


This review originally ran in the August 18, 2026 issue of Shelf Awareness for the Book Trade. To subscribe, click here.


Rating: 6 half circles.

The Company of Owls by Polly Atkin

A poet and nature writer shares the grace, beauty, and lessons in her quiet observations of “my neighbours, the owls” in this loving memoir.

Polly Atkin (Some of Us Just Fall) brings a poet’s sensibility to a contemplative study of nature and self with her memoir The Company of Owls. From her home in the village of Grasmere in England’s Lake District, Atkin can hear tawny owls calling to one another; on short walks, she feels privileged to watch them hunting, nesting, raising their young. During and after the Covid-19 lockdown, she marveled at their lives, so little known to us, and mused on isolation, companionship, humans’ relationship to the rest of the natural world, and more. Not an ornithologist by training, Atkin feels drawn to her poorly understood subject, associated with both wisdom and death, night-dwelling but sun-loving: “This book is about owls, but it is also about me.”

Atkin, who lives with several chronic illnesses that limit her mobility and ability to work in traditional ways, found herself under lockdown questioning the nature of solitude and our many reactions to it. She made art of Middle English words for aloneness: uplokkid, reclused, onlihede, and solnes, which become chapter titles. “But the more times I wrote the words out, the more shades of meaning leached from my brushstrokes. The more ambiguous I felt my state of seclusion to be, the more ambiguous I felt about isolation.” She related to what she perceives as the owls’ need for both separation and togetherness. In her own insomnia, she connected to their apparent affinity for both darkness and light. “Without other humans to see you and claim you as theirs, you feel less and less like one of them, more and more likely something else. Something nocturnal. Something unbound.” She watched a trio of owlets navigate siblinghood, and worked to resist what felt like anthropomorphism.

This is a classic memoir in its meditative pacing, thoughtfulness, and self-examination. And of course its author, with several volumes of poetry to her name, takes special care with both language and detail. The Company of Owls balances a careful focus on the hyperlocal owls immediately surrounding Atkin’s home, and a survey approach to the history of owls in the region, the humans who study them, and the owls Atkin encounters online via friends and algorithms. Despite the easy assumption (as she notes) that “technology disconnects us from the world around us,” Atkin benefits from a larger world of owls. That wider lens improves her view of what lies just beyond her own home: the Lake District’s tawny owls, in their small movements, births, and deaths. Atkin’s lovely, reflective memoir reminds all readers to slow down, listen, and find joy.


This review originally ran in the November 24, 2025 issue of Shelf Awareness for the Book Trade. To subscribe, click here.


Rating: 7 tourists.

Yosemite Wildlife: The Wonder of Animal Life in California’s Sierra Nevada by Beth Pratt; photographs by Robb Hirsch

Environmental leader and lifelong Yosemite lover Beth Pratt partners with biologist and wildlife photographer Robb Hirsch to offer Yosemite Wildlife: The Wonder of Animal Life in California’s Sierra Nevada, the first book in 100 years to address this national gem’s diverse animal wildlife. With more than 300 images, Yosemite Wildlife is also rich in Pratt’s accessible prose; this thorough survey of observations and storytelling is designed to update a 1924 publication for the historical record. As a beautifully produced, large-format, glossy presentation, it also exhibits Pratt’s and Hirsch’s expertise and passion for a place that is much more than just its famous geology and dramatic scenery. With plentiful archival records, historical images, and personal stories from park staff and naturalists, it’s an informative document as well as a stunning visual feast.

Conservation success stories and profiles of Yosemite’s human defenders over the years accompany Hirsch’s sumptuous images of the iconic black bear and mule deer, the Sierra green sulphur butterfly, the northwestern pond turtle, raptors and songbirds, dragonflies and butterflies, charismatic predators, shy shrews, quirky herptiles, and more. Exquisite.


This review originally ran in the November 4, 2025 gift 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: 8 push-ups.

“Consider the Shovel” at Highland Outdoors


I am really honored to have had this piece published earlier this year at Highland Outdoors, a mag I’ve long admired (and wrote about here). Here’s yours truly talking trailwork. (Click to enlarge.)


Maximum Shelf: Sea Change: Unlikely Allies and a Success Story of Oceanic Proportions by James Workman and Amanda Leland

Maximum Shelf is the weekly Shelf Awareness feature focusing on an upcoming title we love and believe will be a great handselling opportunity for booksellers everywhere. The features are written by our editors and reviewers and the publisher has helped support the issue.

This review was published by Shelf Awareness on September 11, 2025.


Journalist and entrepreneur James Workman and Amanda Leland, executive director of Environmental Defense Fund, present a rare story of ecological recovery with Sea Change: Unlikely Allies and a Success Story of Oceanic Proportions. In the concept known as “catch shares,” fishers are allotted proportional shares of a limited quantity of fish to be harvested; the demonstrated outcome improves the health of fisheries as well as the lives and livelihoods of commercial fisherfolk. Through the lens of engaging characters and locally based stories, Workman and Leland suggest this strategy may be applicable to other challenges around the world: “This revolutionary social contract with the sea has not only slowed, stopped, and in some cases reversed the devastating effects of overfishing along our coasts, but the centrality of pragmatism and collaboration could help solve some of the thorniest and most urgent natural resource challenges we confront worldwide–including the climate crisis.”

In an easy-to-read, storytelling style, Workman and Leland describe how catch shares have been proposed and enacted, often amid great conflict. The authors also detail how this strategy has led to safer and more profitable fishing while helping recover fish populations. Even former opponents have become involved in supporting and expanding such programs. Sea Change wisely focuses on delightful, colorful characters, opening with Keith “Buddy” Guindon, who grew up fishing the Great Lakes and then made a career in Galveston, Tex. Big, brash, a self-described pirate with a “reputation as a grim reaper of the aquatic world,” he’s an ideal protagonist. “A barrel of a man with amused eyes, a gruff voice and a Santa Claus beard, Buddy is a Galveston legend.” Since arriving there in the late 1970s, “he has consistently outmuscled and outfoxed every other fisherman in the western Gulf.” An early, outspoken detractor of catch shares, Buddy rapidly morphed into one of its champions, proselytizing across the United States and the world.

Fisheries in the United States and around the world have been, in recent years, suffering various stages of overuse. As the problem grows exponentially–fewer fish, longer hours, greater rush in more unsafe conditions, lower prices–so does the solution. When fishermen are assured of their fair share of the total catch, they can be more methodical, efficient, and selective about their work. They can avoid dangerous weather conditions, work shorter shifts with less rush, save on fuel, reduce bycatch and waste, bring in higher-quality product and command higher prices, even tailor their harvest to market. In Alaska’s pollock fishery, for example, “Each shareholder could set a unique and more unhurried pace to catch his quota. Vessels dropped trawl nets into the sea less often and more selectively, with fewer ‘tows’ per day. Waste from having to throw back both regulatory discards (fish that are marketable but illegal to keep) and accidental bycatch (species with no market value) plummeted. Fishermen began to insist on and provide credible data, sharing information on how much they caught where and at what time just as soon as it was available.”

Moreover, as the fish population, health, and habitat recover, fishers and communities become safer and more secure. Fishermen like Buddy, generally fiercely independent individualists, learn to work together not only in allocating shares but in enforcing rules and developing technologies to assist in transparency and improved fishing practices. Fishers learn to work with scientists and environmentalists–not traditional partners–and everyone with a stake in the fishery’s health learns to play a more responsible role.

Often following Buddy’s own journey, Sea Change is structured as a movement from the microcosm to the macro, in sections titled “Personal,” “Local,” “Regional,” “National,” and finally “Global,” where readers see Buddy travel to Tokyo’s Tsukiji fish market, and share his support for catch shares with Japan’s commercial harvesters. The narrative progresses from highly specific successes to globally applicable potentials. Coercive, top-down policies set by government or environmental agencies had long rankled the likes of Buddy, who reflexively pushed back; but catch shares depend on cooperative buy-in from the fishers themselves and incentivize them to protect overfished populations of their own volition.

Catch shares is in some ways an innovation, but also based on traditional relationships across many small coastal societies throughout history: the concept that everyone takes a share according to ability and need, and that everyone contributes to responsible stewardship. It is a version of the concept of the commons, in which a public resource is both used and maintained by the public. The “tragedy of the commons,” in turn, is the fear that if one party does not use up their share–or more than their share–another will. This mindset encourages irresponsible use: if someone else is going to overharvest, it might as well be me, some might think. But with appropriate monitoring–another piece of the system whose development wound up actively involving fishermen–Buddy and the others were able to relax, build trust, and fish smarter.

From local fisheries to global trends, Sea Change samples best and worst practices to highlight the great promise of catch shares to help both fish populations and the people who rely upon them for livelihoods and nutrition. This accessible study emphasizes galvanizing opportunities to make positive change in myriad other areas of policy and sorely needed optimism in the world of environmental thinking and planning.


Rating: 6 hooks.

Come back Monday for my interview with Workman & Leland.

No Ordinary Bird: Drug Smuggling, a Plane Crash, and a Daughter’s Quest for the Truth by Artis Henderson

A daughter’s study of her father’s life and death artfully reveals intrigue, astonishing slices of world history, and a loving but flawed man.

In June of 1985, a small private plane, a Piper Cub, crashed on its owner’s property in northern Georgia. The pilot, Lamar Chester, was killed. His only passenger, his five-year-old daughter, AJ, sustained severe injuries but lived. In death, Lamar escaped prosecution as a marijuana smuggler. His widow, hoping to protect her child, removed the young AJ from the life she’d known, isolating them from family and friends who had been involved in the smuggling business. AJ grew up to be Artis Henderson (Unremarried Widow), who spent decades turned away from her father’s story, interpreting her mother’s silence as shame. Her eventual readiness to examine the truth of her father’s life, their brief but loving relationship, and his end has resulted in No Ordinary Bird: Drug Smuggling, a Plane Crash, and a Daughter’s Quest for the Truth, which combines investigation and personal excavation in a searing, moving memoir.

In their few years together, Lamar made a strong impression on his youngest child, one that has been enriched by her later research. She remembers him as a loving and beloved father, and deeply charismatic, although his attitudes toward women in particular appear problematic through a modern lens. Henderson is thoughtful about such judgments, and careful in considering her father’s upbringing as a factor in his life. And a wild life it was, with an early marriage yielding three surviving children and one lost; divorce and remarriage; and a colorful career as a pilot, smuggler, and ostentatious party boy in 1970s Miami. Increasing profits and outward success allowed Lamar to acquire ever-more-impressive possessions, and he became involved in ever-more-risky ventures, until he faced federal prosecution and the plane crash that killed him.

Henderson’s work is both investigatory and personal: “I’m grappling with this story as much as I’m reporting it.” She loved her father, sympathizes with the demons he faced, and remembers a childhood of “uncomplicated happiness. My father made me feel safe and protected.” She trusts that there was a time when, “to him, the line between the good guys and the bad guys was still very clear,” but also realizes that he made choices that endangered his family and, she concludes, led to his own death. No Ordinary Bird is a loving portrait that benefits from the nuance of understanding that, as Lamar liked to say, “you can’t tell the good guys from the bad guys.” It is both research-based inquiry–involving travel to Miami, Georgia, Colombia, Nicaragua, Iran, and beyond–and also a memoir of family, love, and risk. Henderson excels at the subtlety required by such a story, and her telling is intriguing, painful, and cathartic.


This review originally ran in the July 18, 2025 issue of Shelf Awareness for the Book Trade. To subscribe, click here.


Rating: 8 bear claws.

rerun: Gone to the Woods: Surviving a Lost Childhood by Gary Paulsen

I still think about this book and should find time for a reread. In case you missed it, please check on Gary Paulsen and his wonders (and traumas).

I had not thought of Gary Paulsen in years, until I saw the Shelf Awareness review of this new book. (Hat tip to my colleague Jen Forbus for that review.) Paulsen might have been the first author I really fixated on; I remember setting out to own all his books, and while I didn’t get very far (maybe six or eight of them), I’m pretty sure I wrote “Julie’s Gary Paulsen library” or some such inside the cover of each one, and had them set up on their own little shelf. Early signs of something, there. My favorite was Hatchet, of course, and its sequel; and I vividly remember a scene from the beginning of another book where the narrator watches a… chipmunk? eating another creature, blood down its front… what book was that?

Anyway – when I saw that he’s returned with a memoir of his own childhood, I was sold. And let me tell you. This book had me entranced from the opening lines. I wept.

Gone to the Woods has an innocence and a simplicity built into its writing style and the value system, I think, of its narrator. This makes it accessible to younger readers, but not at all to them alone. I think this is a memoir for everyone. Paulsen tells his story in the third person, calling his protagonist only ‘the boy,’ although the name ‘Gary’ is used once or twice by other characters. This helps to give the boy an elemental quality, like he’s sort of an archetypal boy, although his story is very specific. When the book opens, he is five years old, living in Chicago with his mother in 1944. She has a factory job, and coming from a small farm in northern Minnesota, is “not even remotely prepared to resist the temptations of the big city.” She lives in the bars and does not parent her small son, who she’s trained to perform for the men who try to win her favor. Grandmother hears of this lifestyle and is “critical, then concerned, and finally… past horrified and well into scandalized.” Her solution colors the boy’s method of problem-solving for life: “If it doesn’t work Here, go over There.”

The first adventure of the book, then, is the five-year-old boy’s solo journey by train from Chicago to International Falls, Minnesota. This takes several days and involves a train absolutely jam-packed with severely injured soldiers, smelling of and oozing pain and death, so that the boy is physically ill from it all – because didn’t I say, his father, who he’s never met, is a soldier off in the war. The boy becomes stuck in a train toilet, among other things, and observes out the train window the woods that will become his sanctuary. By the time he arrives at his aunt and uncle’s farm he is wrung out with exhaustion, trauma, and confusion. But the farm will be a perfect place for him, the first place he feels he belongs, is valued, is taught. He’s given his own room and bed. It’s lovely. Then it’s taken away from him.

I’ll stop summarizing here. The boy’s upbringing is one trauma after another, including a few years on the streets of American-occupied Manila, and a continuing absence of parental concern. I appreciate that the narrator is slow to judge his parents, and I think it would have been easy (narratively speaking) to be ugly about the mother’s drinking and many boyfriends, for example, but neither the young boy nor the adult man who writes these lines takes that easy road. (At least until the teenager’s perspective, at which point he thinks of both parents as vipers. But this is about the damage they do to him, rather than some puritanical judgment of mom’s moral choices.) He is an unjudgmental creature in general. Paulsen is wonderfully good at the innocent child’s perspective, elements of which are present in the teenager too.

Trauma after trauma, but with a few bright points, like the aunt and uncle in the Minnesota woods, and a saintly librarian when he is thirteen years old who makes him a gift of notebook and pencil, for whom this book might be considered a gift in return. And the woods and rivers and streams, which are always a bright point. From age five, the boy learns that the woods will allow him to take care of himself, even when he lives in a city again, keeping to the alleys and nights to avoid bullies, and escaping to the stream where he can fish for food or shoot squirrels and rabbits when his parents fail to provide for him. Even in Manila, a city of a certain sort of trauma (truly, the violence and death this child witnesses by his sixth birthday is unfathomable), he finds beauty and human kindness.

At times the events were hard for me to take in, and I wondered if younger readers were really the right audience for this. But on reflection, I think Paulsen offers just enough. I think children might take away what they need from this book – I’m no proponent of censoring life’s pains from kids – and it’s the adult mind and perspective that makes it even harder to read, if that makes sense.

The story is harrowing but also lovely, always riveting, and an important testimonial from a generation that we will eventually lose access to. It is excruciatingly beautiful in how it’s told. The immediacy of traveling with the boy is heart-rending and direct. I can’t imagine how this book could be improved upon.


Rating: 10 willow branches.

The Wild Dark: Finding the Night Sky in the Age of Light by Craig Childs

A longtime nature writer directs his gaze upward with this travelogue and love song for the dark night sky.

Prolific nature writer Craig Childs (The Secret Knowledge of Water; Atlas of a Lost World) takes readers on a journey away from the light with The Wild Dark: Finding the Night Sky in the Age of Light. He’s in search of a clear view of the heavens, stars, constellations, planets, galaxies, and beyond–and all that they stand for–and offers a quest narrative with a circular structure, which starts and ends in that bastion of illumination, Las Vegas, Nev.

Childs teamed up with an old friend and fellow adventurer, Irvin Fox-Fernandez, and together the two men rode loaded off-road bicycles north out of the city, which his friend called “Bortle-hopping.” Bortle, Childs explains, “is a naked-eye scale for determining a night sky’s quality”; in this book, Childs describes moving from Las Vegas’s Bortle 9 to the joys and profundities of Bortle 1, “where only stellar light and backscatter from sunshine in space can be seen.” He chronicles this trip with lyricism, gentle humor, and an obvious passion for darkness preserved, for the human ability to consider something larger than ourselves: “Beaming overhead, they live their lives regardless of how we see them, and for all I’ve heard that stars don’t care, I disagree. I just don’t know what they care about.” As environmental causes go, this one entails an easy fix: just turn the lights off. Referring to mythology, biology, archeoastronomy, and more, Childs makes a strong argument.

Beautifully written, fervent, and lavish in imagery both light and dark, The Wild Dark is a moving call to action.


This review originally ran in the May 30, 2025 issue of Shelf Awareness for Readers. To subscribe, click here, and you’ll receive two issues per week of book reviews and other bookish news.


Rating: 6 ginger cookies.

Mailman: My Wild Ride Delivering the Mail in Appalachia and Finally Finding Home by Stephen Starring Grant

Within the high highs and low lows of rural mail delivery, a laid-off white-collar worker builds new relationships with place, with his neighbors, and with himself.

In 2011, Stephen Starring Grant moved his wife and two daughters back to his hometown of Blacksburg, Va. In early 2020, Grant, the family’s primary wage earner, was laid off from his consulting job. He found himself unemployed at the start of the pandemic in a town that had limited employment options, and with a recent cancer diagnosis to boot. Unable to find anything in his field, he took a job as a rural-route carrier for the United States Postal Service. Mailman: My Wild Ride Delivering the Mail in Appalachia and Finally Finding Home offers his stories and reflections on a year spent in a position he’d never thought much about before.

Grant began with a bit of an ivory-tower complex, as he imagined his intellectual background overprepared him for the simple drudgery of mail delivery (which turned out to be untrue), but he ended with a profound respect for postal and other service workers, and balanced thoughts on class and background. These pages vary in tone, by turns hilarious and thoughtful. Grant describes religious experiences, being threatened at gunpoint, bonding with strangers over their deliveries and finessing their political differences. He discusses types of incompetence (a few months in, he “graduated to the consciously incompetent stage, lost in the burning wasteland of self-awareness that I was really not very good at delivering the mail”) and the intense discomfort involved with learning new things, with great effort and limited success, in adulthood. Musing on the origins and purpose of the USPS, he expresses a nuanced patriotism: “America is the greatest country in the world… America is a steroidal monster… Both versions of America are true.” And, he notes: “Our delivery vehicles were like democracy, the worst of all possible vehicles, except for the alternatives.”

Between indulging in fantasies of delivering the mail with Barack Obama at his side and performing neighborly services like basic car maintenance for favorite people along his route, Grant brought his kids for added help and dropped in on his parents for pancakes. Along the way, he informs the unschooled reader of the process that mail carriers undertake to sort, order, and “case” the mail for delivery, and the hazards: backbreaking labor, the ergonomic disaster of right-hand drive (especially in a left-hand-drive vehicle), extremes of heat and cold, and dog attacks. Via an adventure with unfamiliar blue-collar work, Grant discovered new values, new people, and a new relationship with home. Mailman is a classic memoiristic blend of whimsy, storytelling, and insight.


This review originally ran in the May 22, 2025 issue of Shelf Awareness for the Book Trade. To subscribe, click here.


Rating: 7 Slim Jims.