Editorial Reviews for Nominees
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 Score: 94/100 (9.4 out of 10)
We were pleasantly surprised by this book! With a title like Passion's Duty, we were bracing ourselves for some of the over-the-top erotic fiction that's come our way over the years. However, this was something very different: it's layered, grounded, and far more emotionally and historically textured than we expected. Instead of giving us empty steam and melodrama, Lizzie Jenks gives us a romantic historical novel with real substance under the surface. Yes, there is attraction here. Yes, there is yearning. But this book is much more interested in class, duty, survival, gender expectations, colonial tension, and the painful gap between what people want and what their world will allow them to have. Set in 1755 in the Mohawk Valley, Passion's Duty drops us into a frontier world that feels unstable from the very beginning. There is political tension in the air, danger in the woods, and the constant sense that one bad decision could change everything. That backdrop gives the romance real weight. This is not a love story floating in a vacuum. It is a love story pressed up against war, land disputes, cultural tension, and social hierarchy. One of the things we appreciated most is that the romance is not treated like a gimmick. James Carroll and Faith Richmond are not just thrown together because the plot demands it. Their connection grows out of contrast, curiosity, admiration, and frustration. James is ambitious, capable, and shaped by hardship. Most of all, the romance in this book feels EARNED. These two characters aren't just thrown together and conveniently find time to rail each other 20 times a day without needing to work, shower, eat, or sleep (like in some other steamy romance books). In fact, the sex in this book is far and in between. We think the first major sex scene is about half way or 2/3rds of the way through. And what's amazing is how this book builds toward this point. It's not rushed. It's not forced. And it's actually satisfying. It's the perfect mix between edgy and erotic vs tactful and restrained. There's romance. There's attraction. There are urges. Oh, boy, there's a lot of focus on the urges that both core characters (and other characters) have for each other. But that's not necessarily a bad thing. It builds tension—dramatic tension, sexual tension, angst—that is so good for a book of this nature. People love to read about characters overcoming challenges, not just being given everything they want easily. So, when protagonists are insta-rich or insta-in-love, it really diminishes that. Thankfully, this book avoids that common pitfall. It's often said that friction makes fire, and that's part of what makes this book work. It's never easy for either character. There's so much in the way: the circumstances, the war, societal pressures, pressures from Faith's dad, pressure from the characters coming from very different backgrounds, etc. And a lot of the reason this book works is that these characters are actually likable. Faith Richmond is already one of our favorite characters of the year! There's just something about her. She reminds us of a mix of our favorite female protagonists from classic novels: Jane & Elizabeth Bennett from Pride and Prejudice or Becky Sharp from Vanity Fair (yes, we know the era is different and that Faith is far more sincere than Sharp was). These women dealt with a lot of the same issues, mainly societal pressures in a patriarchal, male-dominated world. But it's a changing world, and they're among the most clever and intelligent people in it. Faith is attractive—gorgeous even—but also intelligent, well-read, emotionally perceptive, and far more aware than many of the people trying to control her future. She is not just some decorative historical romance heroine standing around waiting to be chosen. She pays attention. She reads people well. She understands the trap she is in, even when she does not yet fully know how to escape it. That gives her a quiet strength we really admired. And what's great is that James, the main male protagonist, sees and admires that too. It's always nice when the protagonist we're supposed to be rooting for sees things the way that the readers does. It makes them likable and relatable. He doesn't just see someone who is outwardly beautiful, but someone who is "unusually pretty and smart" (one of our favorite lines). In his mind, he thinks of her as a "smart woman." What we especially liked is that Faith is not written as modern in a lazy, anachronistic way. She still feels like a woman of her time, with all the restraint, propriety, and caution that comes with that. But beneath that polished exterior is a sharp mind, a real emotional life, and a growing resistance to the idea that her entire existence should be reduced to duty, obedience, and usefulness to men with more legal power than she has. That makes her compelling. She also has chemistry with James because she is not overwhelmed by him in some silly, helpless way. Yes, she is attracted to him. Yes, she feels the pull. But she still feels like a person in those scenes, not a prop. There is mutual curiosity there, mutual admiration, and a real sense that each recognizes something in the other that the world around them does not fully value. And that is part of what makes Faith such a strong character. She is romantic without being flimsy, feminine without being shallow, and constrained without being dull. She has grace, but she also has backbone. She has longing, but she also has intelligence. In a genre where heroines can sometimes blur together, Faith Richmond stands out. And James is a highlight too. This is going to sound a bit weird, but he's kinda in the Sacagawea-to-Lewis-and-Clark role. James has some of that frontier-guide quality, almost like the indispensable practical figures of early American history who knew how to survive and navigate a dangerous landscape better than the supposedly important people around them. So, while Faith is book smart, James knows the land and the environment. In fact, this brings up some of the little moments from this book that—while small—make this book seem like an adventure or expedition. Well, it kinda is. The characters encounter a skunk in a rather humorous scene. They also encounter a snake. This is some Oregon Trail stuff! That little frontier-survival element gives the book a fun extra dimension. It is not just drawing-room longing and stolen glances. There are moments where the wilderness itself feels like an active part of the story, reminding us that these characters are living in a world that is still raw, unpredictable, and not fully tamed. The skunk scene adds humor and charm. The snake encounter adds danger and tension. Together, these moments help make the setting feel lived in rather than decorative. Going back to James... he's a mix of toughness and vulnerability that meshes well with Faith. He is practical, observant, and clearly hungry for a better life, but there is also a tenderness to him that helps the romance land. We also liked that this book has more on its mind than just getting the two leads together. There are interesting undercurrents here about power and powerlessness. James, though a man, is still constrained by class, poverty, and his background. Faith, though more privileged on paper, is hemmed in by gender and family duty in ways that are deeply frustrating. That tension gives the book a stronger thematic backbone than a lot of romance novels in this lane. Another strength is the atmosphere. The setting has texture. The woods, the manor, the sense of the frontier, the political unease, all of it helps create a world that feels lived in. We would not say this is the most dazzlingly lyrical book we have ever read, but it is immersive in a way that matters. It knows what kind of story it wants to be, and it commits to that identity. We also want to give some credit to the historical dimension. This does not read like a modern romance wearing a tricorne hat for decoration. There is a real effort here to wrestle with the social and legal realities of the era, especially when it comes to marriage, property, class, and women's limited autonomy. That helps the conflicts feel earned. This is going to sound weird, but another highlight (oddly enough) is Faith's dad, Colonel Richmond. Even though he's in the wrong for much of the book (and arguably one of its main antagonists), he's also morbidly entertaining and likable in that he's always grumpy, cranky, impatient, short-tempered, and crabby. What helps is that he is not just a flat obstacle inserted to make Faith miserable. We get enough of him to understand where he is coming from, even if we do not agree with him. There is history there, disappointment there, pride there, and a very particular kind of patriarchal frustration that feels rooted in the world of the book. Faith even thinks of herself as "the son he never had," which tells you a lot in very few words. It suggests that he values her, but in this warped, tragic way where he can only fully appreciate her by imagining her as something else. That adds a surprising bit of texture to him. So while Colonel Richmond is often controlling, arrogant, and deeply frustrating, he also feels human. He is not just a villain. He is a stubborn, deeply flawed father shaped by his time, his ego, and his expectations, and that makes him a much better character than if he were simply cruel for the sake of plot. This is a solid book if you're looking for a historical fiction romance novel! Check it out on Amazon!
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 Score: 96/100 (9.6 out of 10)
We continue to be immensely impressed by author Christian Kueng and illustrator Nana Melkadze! Time and time again this author-illustrator combo has gripped and amazed us with the stories and characters they've brought to life in their children's books. ALL of these books have been above average to stellar, and they just seem to get better and better and better: - Digger the Colony Worker Ant (9.4 out of 10) - Can We Get a Rhinoceros? (9.5+ out of 10) - Caleb's Adventures with Granddad (9.6 out of 10) And now we have Kyle and His Pal Jake: What a Duo These Two Make!, which sits right up there with Kueng's very best work! This book, along with Caleb's Adventures with Granddad, really exemplifies why Kueng's children's books are so great. Yes, above-average, appealing illustrations are a must. However, there's something more than that. Kueng is a masterful storyteller and crafter of compelling, likable, and relatable characters, somewhat like fellow children's author Sally Kashner and fantasy author David V. Mammina (strange comparison, we know). Kueng's books aren't just flashy. They aren't just cute. They aren't just fun. They're more than that. They touch you. They grip you. They move you. All of the human characters in Kyle and His Pal Jake: What a Duo These Two Make! genuinely feel like real people who actually exist. There's something unmistakable, authentically real and human about them. How about this: none of the characters wear the exact same clothes for more than a few pages. They're constantly changing clothes, like real people would in real life. No, not just Kyle (the main character), but also Wendy and the other characters. That's such a great attention to detail! Furthermore... They have personalities. They have drives. They have dreams. They have motives. They have little things that bother them and little things that get a rise out of them. They have concerns. They have setbacks. And, like the books itself: They have substance. They have heart. They have something to say. Kyle and His Pal Jake is actually one of Kueng's more quietly powerful books in that regard. On the surface, it is a fun story about a kid and his ventriloquist dummy, the sort of thing that feels like it came straight out of an old variety show. Under the surface, it is about shame, peer pressure, finding your voice, and then using that voice to help someone else. That is a lot of depth for a picture book about a puppet. We start with Kyle as a kid who is absolutely laser focused on his craft. He is not just playing with a doll. He is practicing in the bathroom mirror, studying old black and white ventriloquist tapes, putting on shows in the garage, and dreaming big. It is adorable, yes, but it is also so relatable if you have ever had a child who is weirdly obsessed with one thing and wants to show it off to everyone. Then the story shifts. Kyle grows a little older, and suddenly the thing that made him special becomes the thing that gets him laughed at. The cruel joke is not just that the other kids tease him, it is the particular jab they use: that he is "playing with a doll." That one line carries a lot. It hints at gender stereotypes, social norms, and the way some kids will weaponize anything that looks different. Kueng does not belabor this point or turn it into a lecture. Instead, we simply see the result. Kyle puts Jake away. Literally. The puppet gets boxed and banished to the attic, and with it, a part of Kyle gets boxed away too. Fast forward to adulthood and we find Kyle again, now a third grade teacher at his old school. This is where Kueng really shines as a storyteller. A lot of children's books stop with the kid learning to be themselves and winning over the class. Here, we see what happens when a child grows up, carries their experiences with them, and has the chance to turn those experiences into empathy. Adult Kyle is a terrific character. He is the kind of teacher most of us wish we had. He dresses up in costumes, he plays games to teach math, and he is always trying to make learning fun and memorable. Yet he is also observant and sensitive. He notices Wendy, the quiet girl who barely talks. He worries about her. He wants to help, but he does not want to traumatize her by putting her on the spot. Then a box arrives from his mother with pieces of his childhood. Old glove. Old plane. Old books. And, under it all, Jake. This is one of our favorite little storytelling touches in the book. The return of Jake is not some big magical event with thunder and sparkles. It is a simple, almost mundane moment of an adult going through an old box and reconnecting with who he used to be. That is so authentic. Many of us have had that feeling of rediscovering an old passion while cleaning out a closet or attic. Kyle realizes that the very thing he once hid away in shame might now be the key to reaching a child who feels left out and voiceless. When he brings Jake into the classroom, Kueng and illustrator Nana Melkadze let the images do a lot of the heavy lifting. The kids light up. The classroom feels suddenly brighter and more alive. The puppet gives Kyle a playful new persona to speak through. Kids who might be too shy or self conscious to talk directly to a teacher are suddenly eager to address Jake. One of the most beautiful little moments is when Jake addresses Wendy's silence. Instead of pressuring her to talk, instead of making her "the project," he says something to the effect that he does not talk much either unless there is something important to say. That line is so simple, but it is deeply validating for quiet kids. It tells them, "You are not broken. You are not failing at childhood. You are just you, and that is alright." That is a thoughtful and emotionally intelligent choice on Kueng's part. A lesser book might have ended with Wendy suddenly turning into a chatterbox and giving a big speech, complete with applause. Here, we get something more honest and gentle: the beginning of connection, not a forced transformation. Meanwhile, Nana Melkadze's illustrations continue to be a huge asset to Kueng's stories. Her art style is bright, rounded, and friendly, with characters who are expressive without ever tipping into exaggerated cartoonishness. She strikes a really nice balance between "picture book cute" and "real kids in a real place." One of our favorite illustrations is of the talent show that Kyle won when he was little. No, it's not Kyle himself that impressed us, it's that the two other background characters are rounded out and given unique, distinguishable characteristics that distinguish them. One is a magician. The other is a ballerina with a chipped tooth, which kinda tells you she might be clumsy and prone to slip ups and falls. Even the elderly man giving Kyle the award is hunched over and squinting, showing that he's a guy who has been through a lot in life. The spread of Kyle's childhood garage show feels like a tiny theater production, complete with scattered sports gear and neighborhood kids plopped down to watch. And all the neighborhood kids are unique and distinguishable. The middle school teasing scene is powerfully told mostly through body language. Kyle's shoulders slope forward, his eyes are down, and the group of kids is clustered together with those telltale laughing faces. You do not need much text to understand how that feels. Even these mocking children are of different genders and races, showing that the toxic pressure of peer pressure and the drive to fit can impact anyone. The classroom scenes later on are vibrant and full of little details, from the diverse group of students to the decorations and props. Melkadze's backgrounds are never just blank filler. They help immerse readers in the setting and give them plenty to look at. And here's where Kyle shines even more. You can tell he's an incredible, passionate, and caring teacher. Wendy is actually an incredible supporting character even though she barely says anything throughout the book. She impacts both Kyle and the plot immensely, which says a lot (ironically). If it wasn't for her, Kyle wouldn't have been sent his old toys, which means that he wouldn't have reunited with Jake the Dummy. An almost mute, silent character accomplished that! Wendy is also cute, relatable, and expressive. You can't root against her. How could you? You want to see her come out of her shell and be successful as much as Kyle does. Oh, and by the way, the jokes that the characters make with Jake the Dummy are actually funny and clever, which is like a cherry on top of a banana split. Another thing that's great is how Kueng is able to use his own experience as an educator and a ventriloquist to make the events and characters in this book as authentic and realistic as can be! Check it out on Amazon!  Score: 95+/100 (9.5+ out of 10)
Young Mole is a heartwarming, thought-provoking, and adorable book by C.J. Tripp! Don Bluth taught us a lot of things, but one of the key things he taught us is how cute anthropomorphic cartoon animals like Fievel and Little Foot can still teach us big, serious, and important life lessons. The Greek storyteller Aesop is also legendary for doing this with his timeless fables. Well, Young Mole is exemplary of this! This book follows a young mole as he navigates life, learning numerous key lessons while exploring existential questions, systemic and familial issues, and—to be blunt—confronting some of his own personal demons on the way to growth. It's a coming-of-age tale (or series of short tales) that are sure to provoke conversation, discussion, and teaching moments about morality, ethics, character, responsibility, kindness, respect, our relationship with others, and what it really means to grow up. What makes Young Mole stand out is that it is not content to be merely cute (we'll get to the adorable illustrations later). Yes, the mole himself is endearing, and yes, there is a softness to the presentation that makes it approachable for younger readers. But beneath that gentle surface is a book with real teeth. It wrestles with fairness, friendship, hunger, fear, family dynamics, social influence, guilt, work ethic, and the search for identity. That is a lot of ground to cover, and C.J. Tripp covers it with surprising ambition. We especially appreciated how the book captures the confusion of childhood. Mole doesn't simply learn neat little lessons in a tidy, artificial way. He stumbles. He misreads situations. He gets hurt. He makes mistakes. He feels ashamed, frightened, angry, and lost. In other words, he feels like a real young person trying to make sense of a very complicated world. That emotional honesty gives the book much of its strength. There's a real relatability to this character. There is also something pleasantly old-fashioned about this book in the best sense. It feels like a blend of fable, moral tale, and coming-of-age story. Each episode carries a lesson, but the lessons are broad and meaningful enough to invite discussion rather than just lecture the reader. Parents, teachers, and caregivers should find plenty here to talk about with children. Of all these lessons, there are really four key ones that we noted: 1. Winning isn't everything Or, more precisely, winning without consideration can cost you more than you realize. This shows up right away in the “pebble take-away” game. Pluck initially mentions a more cooperative version of the game in which teams could work together and divide the winnings evenly, but Mole and Speck push instead toward a more aggressive, winner-take-all style. Mole then becomes the star player, racing around, grabbing everyone’s pebbles, and even stepping on claws and tails in the process. Technically, he plays within the agreed rules. Technically, he wins. But the other young moles resent him so much that they freeze him out the next day. What is especially effective here is that Mole is confused by their reaction. He keeps thinking, Winning was the goal, right? The book’s answer is basically yes, but not at the expense of goodwill. The chapter even closes with a direct moral: if you play to win, make sure those you defeat still have something to show for their efforts, so they can remain your friends off the field. 2. Parents and authority figures are not always against you This lesson lands powerfully in Chapter Two. Mole feels hurt because Mother and Father will not stop gathering food to play with him, and in his childish frustration he lashes out, even insulting Father and threatening to kick dirt in his face. Father responds sternly and tells him to go find something else to do, which Mole interprets as rejection. He storms off believing, “Mother and Father won’t miss me anyway,” only to discover that the outside world is not the welcoming playground he imagined. Other foragers mock him, swipe at him, and leave him humiliated and frightened. When he finally finds his way home, he expects punishment, but instead his parents run to him in relief and hug him. Then comes the book’s key clarification: Mother explains that when she and Father say they cannot play, it is not because they do not care. It is “precisely because” they do care, because gathering food is how the family survives. That is such a strong and mature lesson for children. The discipline is real, but so is the love behind it. 3. Life is interconnected, and that can be uncomfortable This is one of the most surprisingly philosophical parts of the book. In “Spiral of Life,” Mole discovers that worms can talk, which immediately throws his whole understanding of food into crisis. He reasons that if he can converse with worms, how can he possibly keep eating them? Then the worm makes the problem even bigger by suggesting that Mole could hear other creatures too if he listened closely enough. Mole becomes so disturbed by this idea that he stops eating altogether, afraid he might hear something speaking inside his stomach. Later, in his dream, a night crawler tells him that the cycle of life is natural: the mole eats the worm, and one day worms and bugs will consume the mole’s body in return. When Mole wakes and discusses it with his parents, he comes to a painful but important conclusion: every living thing both eats and is eaten. His mother confirms that survival depends on this reality, but Mole still takes from the lesson a sense of restraint and gratitude, promising not to eat all of anything and to be thankful for what he receives. That is a pretty deep meditation for a children’s book, and it is handled in a way that is clear without being crushing. 4. Who you spend time with matters The clearest example of this is Mole’s relationship with Parned and his gang. At first, they seem exciting. They are rowdy, adventurous, and full of energy, and Mole enjoys the thrill of being around them even though Parned insults him from the beginning and never really treats him with respect. The book is smart here because it shows how bad company can be appealing before it becomes destructive. Mole even hides these friendships from his parents, which suggests he knows deep down something is off. Eventually the gang’s idea of “fun” turns into cruelty when they attack younger students on a school playground. Mole finally realizes this is not harmless mischief and tries to stop them, even pinning Blandy down and confronting the group. But when the adults arrive, Parned instantly lies and pins the whole thing on Mole. Mole ends up taking the blame and being assigned labor to repay the damage. Yet that punishment becomes a turning point. Working under the Headmaster, Mole meets kind students who are “very different from the gang,” and he grows fond of them. So the lesson is twofold: the wrong crowd can drag you into humiliation and false blame, but the right environment can help repair what bad company damaged. While this isn't exactly the most bright, lighthearted, rainbows--candy-and-unicorns books of them all, we love that it never gets so dark and so disturbing (like Watership Down) that it becomes uncomfortable or inappropriate for kids. This book strikes a really fine balance. And it's perhaps fitting that the major characters are moles, worms, snails, slugs etc. because these are creatures that usually live underground (or very close to the ground), and in darkness a lot of the time. It's fascinating how the author and the narrative is able to give light, life, and humanity to these types of creatures. There are parts of this book that might be slightly uncomfortable or jarring for some readers, but it really isn't bad or inappropriate at all. In fact, these were some of our favorite parts of the book! For example, there's a moment when Mole absolutely unloads on his father with scathing words because he feels neglected and ignored. He faces the consequences for this and is corrected. And the readers know he is fundamentally wrong for doing this (his father is just trying his best to find them food and provide for the family every day), but it's also hard not to sympathize with Mole. Mole really wanted people to spend time with and play with him, especially his parents. He wasn't getting the care, attention, and affection that he deserved because his parents were so busy all the time. You get the sense that he feels dismissed, forgotten, or even unloved. Another somewhat dark scene is when Mole dreams about encountering and partially-eating a nightcrawler (earthworm). However, this is arguably our favorite scene in the book because we found it to be so unusual and thought-provoking—a true "AHA!" moment. In this scene, the nightcrawler offers to let Mole eat part of him, intending to regenerate later. The worm then tells him that when moles die, the worms will eat them, so it's recipricol. This really speaks volumes to the natural give-and-take of life, to the way creation is bound together in ways that are not always pretty but are still meaningful, necessary, and even oddly beautiful. It is a heavy idea, but the book presents it with a kind of childlike clarity that makes it memorable rather than overwhelming. This is not gore for shock value. It is philosophy through story. And honestly? We ate it up. Pun absolutely intended. That scene also reinforces one of the book's biggest strengths: it trusts young readers more than many modern children's books do. It assumes that kids can wrestle with difficult questions. It assumes they can sit with discomfort, ask big questions, and come out the other side wiser. We respect that. A lot. The social dynamics in this book are also stronger than we expected. Parned and his gang are not cartoon villains twirling mustaches in a tunnel somewhere. They feel like the kind of kids many readers will recognize instantly: the rough crowd that seems exciting at first, the group that makes bad behavior look fun, the kind of friends who make you feel included right up until the moment they throw you under the bus. That whole section gives the book some real bite and raises the emotional stakes in a meaningful way. Lastly, let's talk about one of the book's biggest highlights: THE ILLUSTRATIONS! This book and its adorable characters are brilliantly brought to life by Sara Alaska Hamblin's artwork. The moles, especially, are a treat for the eyes. They're fluffy and furry with these big eyes and pink hands! Adorable! Our favorite illustrations by far are the ones in which Mole is interacting with his mother, who is distinct with a pink or red flower on her head. We especially loved the illustrations in which Mole is cuddling with his mother or being comforted by his mother during his nightmare. The backgrounds and environments are also unique and distinct, featuring dirt, roots, and mushrooms. All in all, this is a really beautiful book for children. Check it out on Amazon!  Score: 94/100 (9.4 out of 10)
Framed in Love is a heartfelt, imaginative, and emotionally-resonant romantic fantasy novel by Dr. Clifton Wilcox! It’s a haunting and captivating tale of love, loss, and the power of art to preserve what life cannot. The book follows David Cross, a lonely young man who, after a life-altering lightning strike, discovers he can enter a canvas and meet Abby, a beautiful, enigmatic girl trapped inside it, setting off an unusual romance shaped by art, mystery, and heartbreak. Right off the bat, there's a magic, beauty, and whimsical nature to this whole concept. It reflects the escapism that a lot of us seek: the ability to use our creativity and imagination to escape to a different world--a more comforting world--into the loving arms of a dream girl (or dream guy). What makes that premise work is that the book does not treat the painting like a gimmick. It treats it like an emotional space. Abby is not just a pretty fantasy figure waiting on the other side of the frame, and the painted world is not just some cute magical backdrop. The novel gradually reveals that this world is fragile, fading, and deeply tied to grief, memory, and unresolved pain, which gives the romance real weight and urgency. We also appreciated that the story leans into the idea that art is not just decoration here, it is memory made visible. The hidden garden, the fading landscape, and the shifting rules of the canvas all reinforce the same core idea: beauty can preserve emotion, but it cannot completely shield us from loss. That gives the fantasy side of the novel a genuinely poignant backbone. It is not escapism for escapism’s sake. It is escapism colliding with sorrow. This is a brilliant, beautiful, and fascinating concept. However, what about the execution? Well, it's mixed, we're sorry to say (because we really wanted to like this book even more than we did). So, what's the problem? Well, this book falls into the exact same trap as the author's previous book, The Case Against Jasper: it becomes incredibly repetitive and redundant, repeating many of the same sentiments, lessons, and phrases over and over again. And, like The Case Against Jasper, much of the book reads like an epilogue in which most of the exciting, interesting, and relevant stuff already happened in the first 100 pages or so. Everything else seems drawn out and superfluous. This is exactly what happened with The Case Against Jasper: great concept, but it became like a broken record that read like an epilogue. That is really the central execution issue here. After the excellent hook and the strongest dramatic material in the first few chapters, the novel settles into a very long stretch of aftermath, reflection, healing, and emotional processing. Even the chapter structure points in that direction: after Chapter 4, we move into titles like “Echoes of the Past,” “A New Beginning,” “The Art of Letting Go,” “Finding Peace,” “The Power of Art,” and then “A Different Kind of Forever” appears both as Chapter 14 and again as the epilogue. That alone helps explain why so much of the book can feel less like rising action and more like one extended comedown. How many times can we circle back? And, like in The Case Against Jasper, almost every chapter sounds like the book is wrapping up rather than moving forward and advancing. The same phrases and general sentiments are repeated, which made the writing going from beautiful and eloquent to cloying and annoying. For example, let's just track how overused the phrase a "testament to" is in this book: From Page 21: "Her story was a lament, a bittersweet melody of longing and acceptance, a testament to the unwavering resilience, even in the face of unimaginable confinement." From Page 41: "They recited poetry they had read aloud, sometimes in hushed tones to themselves, sometimes aloud to each other, their voices echoing in the almost vacant landscape, a testament to their resilience, a celebration of their shared reality." Also From Page 41: "One day, they stumbled upon a hidden meadow, untouched by the decay that surrounded them. It was a vibrant patch of color, a testament to a time before the painting began to fade." From Page 42: "The meadow wasn't just a beautiful anomaly; it became a symbol of their love. It was a testament to their resilience, a representation of their unwavering determination to find a way out of their predicament." From Page 43: "Their love story unfolded amidst the fading colors, a testament to their enduring connection in a world defined by loss and uncertainty. " From Page 45: "The shared silence, once a testament to their deep understanding, was now filled with an unspoken anxiety, a mutual recognition of their approaching end." From Page 46: "Their shared reality was unraveling before their eyes, a testament to their precarious existence." From Page 47: They clung to each other, their bodies pressed close, finding solace in the warmth of their shared humanity, their enduring connection a testament to their resilience." From Page 48: "The painting itself, a testament to a love that transcended time and space, held the lingering essence of their shared reality, a silent echo of a love that defied the boundaries of art and life." From Page 49: "Days blurred into weeks. The neatly stacked textbooks on his desk became a chaotic pile, a testament to his neglect. Assignments remained unfinished, tests unstudied. His once-organized room became a reflection of his inner turmoil; clothes lay scattered, dishes piled in the sink, a testament to his disinterest in the mundane tasks of everyday life." From Page 53: "His neglect was a testament to the depth of his loss and the inability to reconcile with the loss of his extraordinary love. From Page 65: "They clung to each other, their love a beacon of hope in the face of despair, a testament to a connection that transcended the boundaries of time and space, a connection that would endure even after the painting faded." From Page 79: “This was no mere painting; it was a prison, a testament to the devastating power of grief and obsession.” From Page 84: “...lay unfinished on his desk, a testament to his frantic efforts...” From Page 92: “...a poignant reminder of his impossible love, a testament to a choice made out of profound love and immense sacrifice.” From Page 94: “...his love for Abby would endure, a testament to a connection that transcended the limitations of time and space...” From Page 98: “The pain that gnawed at his insides was a testament to that love...” From Page 101: “The painting stood as a testament to their impossible love...” From Page 105: “His writing became a testament to his loss...” From Page 114: “...a tribute to their love, a testament to their bond that transcended the boundaries of time and reality.” From Page 120: “It was a shared space, a testament to the extraordinary bond they’d shared...” From Page 123: “...she had created the painting in a fit of grief, a testament to a lost love.” From Page 126: “...it was a testament to the shared experience of humanity...” From Page 127, four separate times: “...a testament to the enduring power of art...” “...a testament to the resilient spirit...” “...a testament to the endurance of love and art...” “...a testament to a connection that transcended the limitations of reality...” From Page 129: “...a shrine to a memory he cherished, and a testament to a love that had transcended time and mortality.” From Page 132: “David’s journey became a testament to the transformative power of art...” From Page 138: “...a symbol of his journey, a testament to his personal growth and transformation.” From Page 139: “...a cherished memory, a testament to a love that, though impossible, had profoundly shaped his life.” From Page 142: “...not as a tragic tale of impossible love, but as a testament to the transformative power of human connection.” From Page 143: “...not as a symbol of loss, but as a testament to the impermanence of life itself, and the enduring power of love.” From Page 338: “...had become a testament to the power of art to transcend boundaries...” From Page 339, two more times: “...a testament to the enduring power of connection...” “...a testament to the restorative power of collective creativity...” “...a testament to the human spirit’s remarkable capacity for healing and renewal...” From Page 355, two more times: “His art became a testament to their unique love story...” “...a testament to the depth of his feelings...” From Page 356: “Their relationship was a testament to the boundless capacity of the human heart to love...” From Page 357, two more times: “It was a testament to the ephemeral nature of life and love...” “...a testament to the enduring power of love in its quietest, most profound forms...” From Page 410: “It was a love story unlike any other, a testament to a connection that transcended the boundaries of space and time.” From Page 411, two more times: “His story... became a testament to the transformative power of love, grief, and art.” “...a beacon of hope for others, a testament to the power of love to transcend boundaries...” From Page 412, two more times: “His art was a testament to the enduring legacy of their love...” “His life was a testament to the power of remembering, of cherishing, and of transforming grief into beauty.” This phrase is used about 190 TIMES! This book went from being so captivating and awesome to feeling like a drag because we already knew what was coming on almost every page: the author was going to say "a testament to" then list a bunch of fluffy, buzzy-worthy, profound-sounding adjectives and statements. At some point, enough is enough. A phrase like this can be powerful when used sparingly. Used this often, it starts to feel lazy, mechanically recycled, and weirdly self-congratulatory, like the book is constantly trying to summarize its own importance instead of trusting the story to do that work on its own. This is exactly what happened with The Case Against Jasper: we had to be reminded again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again that we shouldn't jump to conclusions about people before knowing the whole truth. Both of these books really didn't need to be 400 or so pages long. They could've been 30 page short-stories, and they could've been some of the best short-stories we've ever read. Instead, the author tends to give us these great concepts, then spends the majority of the book repeating information and trying to teach the reader the same lesson over and over and over again from what happened at the beginning of the book. The reader gets it already. They got it the first two-dozen times. This is so unfortunate because both books were amazing in concept and amazing when they kicked off. Then it becomes like an unending epilogue. Do you really want 3/4ths of your book to read like a needlessly-long epilogue? This book gives us David and Annie, one of the best couplings we've ever read about, a coupling that is tremendously beautiful and magical. Sadly, it just gets watered down by the redundancy and drawn out nature of this book. Anyway, we still enjoyed the concept of this book, the core characters, and the early parts of it. Check it out on Kobo!  Score: 92+/100 (9.2+ out of 10)
Life and How to Live It is a thought-provoking, brutally honest memoir about what happens after the breakdown, after the deconversion, after the church and the school and the girl are gone and you are left alone with your brain and the 90s. This volume (Vol. II: Near Wild Heaven) drops us into Chaz’s life in 1995 and 1996, right on the heels of his collapse at Bensalem Baptist and his forced separation from Laura. Instead of a neat redemption arc, we get the long, messy middle: couch surfing on cat pee furniture, cutting, obsessive ruminations, R.E.M. shows, endless walks through Philadelphia, pyramid schemes, LSD, fast food jobs, and a rotating cast of friends and alt girls who keep him alive in between panic attacks. It is heavy. It's quirky. It is chaotic and oddly compelling. Chaz is not trying to look cool. He is trying to tell the truth about being a traumatized kid stumbling into adulthood with no map. Now, there's an immense irony to the title of this book, which would typically be the kind of title for a self-help, instructional, or motivational book. While aspects of this book are inspirational or motivational, like the author surviving all of these traumatic events, it certainly isn't a self-help or instructional book. In fact, it's more of a real-life cautionary tale. Another aspect of this irony is that, while the phrase "Life and How to Live It" implies that there's a structured way you should live your life, we're shown how religious dogma and institutionalized structure actually scarred the author and set him down a dark path of self-loathing, guilt, rebellion, self-h*rm, fear, and resentment. Instead of telling you how to live, this book shows you what happens when someone else tries to tell you exactly how to live, right down to what you are allowed to think. Chaz’s childhood prayer rituals, his terror of “wrong” thoughts, and the way he is taught to start his prayers over any time his mind wanders are not just quirky anecdotes. They are the foundation of a lifelong battle with intrusive thoughts and scrupulosity. When the theology finally collapses, the wiring remains. God leaves the building, but the fear stays. (By the way, we later realized that this title is also the title of an R.E.M. song, the band that the author is a huge fan of). One of the most striking through lines in the memoir is how those early religious habits get repurposed into secular compulsions. Where kid Chaz once repeated Bible verses and begged God to make his thoughts pure, teen Chaz repeats the names of people and bands he loves in his head, trying to seal them in with a mental “forever” so the universe does not take them away. He knows it is irrational, but the alternative feels even worse. That is a powerful, unsettling insight into how religious trauma can linger even after belief is gone. Balancing that darkness is the book’s other great pillar: music. This is, in many ways, a love letter to 90s alt rock. R.E.M. in particular is practically a character here, a guardian angel in thrift store clothes. Chapters framed around songs and albums give the whole memoir a playlist feel. The long sequence of R.E.M. shows, the radio station party where Chaz dances alone to Tourfilm, the front row nights with Sandi and Nancy, and the infamous T shirt that accidentally smacks Michael Stipe in the head all read like the highlight reel of a young fan’s life. For a kid who has been told that nothing outside Jesus can truly satisfy, those concerts become living proof that art, community, and shared joy actually can. The relationships and friendships are another strength. Uriah, Ray, Donna, Kathleen, Cheryl, Denise, Sandi, Nancy, and others do not blur together, they feel like real people with real quirks and limits. Some are lifelines, some are bad influences, some are both. The revolving door of alt girls and older fans is handled with honesty about his own flaws. Chaz is very open about projecting rescue fantasies onto these women, wanting them to save him from himself. The book never fully excuses that, but it does contextualize it as part of a larger trauma story, not simple selfishness. You can really tell how the loss of Laura and being traumatized by religious fundamentalists really scarred him. He walks past where Laura used to be, half hoping to see her again and patch things up. Chaz also digs into the obsessive religious rituals that still echo in his mind. As a kid he was taught that before praying he had to purge all sinful or doubtful thoughts. If an “impure” thought appeared while he was praying, he had to stop, confess it, and start over. This became a vicious game in which he tried to outrun intrusive thoughts so he could earn the right to ask God for help. Even after he deconverts he recreates the same pattern with non-religious objects of devotion. Instead of pleading the blood of Jesus he mentally chants the names of people and bands he loves: Tori Amos, R.E.M., friends, crushes, and anyone who feels safe. He seals these little mental prayers with the word “forever.” For a moment he gets a hit of relief, like he has done what he must do to keep the universe from turning against him. The relief never lasts. He describes his mind as a cage of recurring loops. Any time he tries to pray, meditate, or simply think, his brain flips into a torturous pattern. If he prays for something, he worries that God exists and will cruelly deny his request to teach him a lesson. If he does not pray, he worries that God exists and will punish him for ignoring him. If he declares he does not believe in God, he worries that God will retaliate for that too. Every option feels bad, so he compulsively cycles through them. Quite frankly, this is the most amusing part of the book, even though it couldn't have been much fun for the author to experience it. Chaz sees that his anxious brain has swapped out overtly religious content for a secular version of the same compulsion. Where once he mentally repeated Bible verses, now he mentally repeats band names. Where once he obsessed over hell, now he obsesses over fate, karma, and cosmic irony. The wiring is the same even if the surface has changed. We wouldn't exactly say that this was our cup of tea. Yes, there are relatable aspects of this book like Chaz's lifelong crisis of faith, his longing for the one who got away, and escaping into music. However, there was content in this book that went beyond discomfort into I want to stop reading this territory. Perhaps you will enjoy it or find it engaging. Check it out on Amazon!  Score: 93/100 (9.3 out of 10)
Trauma-Informed Teaching: From Reaction to Restoration is a short, practical guide in which Dr. Annise Mabry uses her experience running the Tiers Free homeschool cooperative to show how homeschool co-ops and microschools can become true healing spaces for trauma-impacted kids, not just smaller versions of the systems that hurt them. She argues that our job is to move from “What is wrong with you?” to “What happened to you?” and to build learning communities where safety, regulation, and restoration come before rigor and punishment. Dr. Mabry tells the story of her homeschool cooperative and nonprofit losing more than $100,000 in grant funding in weeks, and how that crisis exposed not just a funding gap but a sustainability and burnout problem. She reframes the book as her “pivot” and a real-time guide for people who are needed more than they are resourced. She widens the audience beyond homeschool co-ops to include K-12 teachers, juvenile justice educators, reentry programs, afterschool mentors, and parents or caregivers of neurodivergent or emotionally impacted learners. The shared mission is to restore dignity, trust, and purpose to students who have been pushed out, passed over, or harmed by systems. There's no question that the American education system is in need of serious reform. We read a bit about it in White Chalk Crime by Karen Horwitz. We also live it every day. Every educator, every student, or anyone who is related to one is impacted by this system. A lot of us are concerned--anxious and worried that what is being taught to our children these days doesn't align with our beliefs, values, and priorities. We're also concerned about the quality of the education that our children are receiving. Also, are they gaining more than ABCs and 123s? Are they learning to be productive and—perhaps even more importantly—happy members of society? Or are they being made more and more miserable, more and more self-loathing, more and more sucked into the all-of-nothing vortex of success and failure? Interestingly, we just read Life and How to Live It by Chaz Holesworth, and it demonstrated how a heartless, soulless education—one that disregarded the mental health of students—led poor Chaz down a path of perpetual self-loathing (including self h*rm), shame, guilt, anxiety, and fear. In other words, his education absolutely scarred him for the rest of his life, leading him down a dark path. So, the consequences are real. You can even look at South Korea, Japan, China, and India, where the su*cide rates by students are through the roof due to the weight and expectations. This is a serious problem, and it's impacting American students as well. No Child Left Behind had the unfortunate consequence of getting music, physical education, and other elective programs cancelled in favor of math, reading, writing, and sciences. Grades and scores are prioritized over all else including student participation in clubs, sports, and their communities. We're producing citizens who may be able to read, write, and count, but who can't tie their shoes, drive, or do their taxes. Dr. Mabry seems to advocate for a different kind of education, one that prioritizes the mental health of students, first and foremost. This makes sense because how can you expect a child to master algebra or essay writing when their nervous system is stuck in fight, flight, freeze, or fawn? Safety has to be the first curriculum. Regulation has to come before rigor. Check it out on Amazon!  Score: 96/100 (9.6 out of 10)
L.E.A.D. OUT LOUD: Be Clear. Be Heard. Be Unstoppable by Antawn Knight is already one of our favorite books of 2026! This isn't just some head-in-the-cloud, idealistic mumbo jumbo. This is practical, actionable advice for leadership, communication, and everyday life! Every page of this book offers something insightful and/or exciting. We looked forward to every turn of the page! Leadership books often promise to make you louder, tougher, or more impressive. L.E.A.D. OUT LOUD goes a different direction. Antawn Knight, drawing on years of military service and teaching, argues that real leadership begins with what you do before you speak: how you listen, how you see people, and how you choose your words in the moments that matter. Rather than offering abstract theory, Knight builds his message around a simple L.E.A.D. framework that anyone can practice in everyday conversations. Furthermore, he is able to use great example and case studies like those of Nelson Mandela (when it comes to using storytelling in communication) and Steve Jobs (when it comes to casting a compelling vision and keeping a message simple, clear, and focused on the “why” behind it). Knight is very good at taking these larger than life examples, pairing them with his own Air Force and classroom stories, and then distilling them into something you can actually try in your next one–on–one, huddle, or staff meeting. The book is really a communication playbook for leaders at every level, focused on listening with intent, empowering others through language, adapting when things go sideways, and then deciding and delivering with clarity and courage. What really sold us is how practical this book is. It is not just “be a better listener” or “empower your people” in vague terms. Knight’s L.E.A.D. framework gives you handles you can grab onto. Listen with intent instead of waiting to talk. He walks through habits like the 80/20 rule for listening, the three second pause, and paraphrasing what someone said so they feel heard. Empower through communication instead of just delegating tasks. There are whole pages of empowering phrases versus deflating ones, plus examples of how a simple “What do you think?” or “How would you solve this?” can flip a culture from passive to engaged. Adapt and overcome when plans fall apart. He is honest about failure, pivots, and the need to adjust our style to the people in front of us rather than hiding behind “that’s just how I am.” Decide and deliver so your team is not stuck in analysis paralysis. He emphasizes clarity, timing, and owning the outcome, which keeps this from being yet another book that glorifies empathy while forgetting that leaders still have to make tough calls. Another strength of this book is that it treats communication as a craft, not a personality trait. Knight does a whole section on “Speak Like a Leader” that goes far beyond “be confident.” He talks about the voice of influence, how to structure a message for clarity, how to tell stories that actually land, and how emotional intelligence shows up in the small cues you give off in a room. Each chapter ends with “Leadership Nuggets,” reflection prompts, and “Practice It Out Loud” exercises, so it feels less like a textbook and more like a guided workshop. We also appreciated the emphasis on legacy. Knight is not only interested in helping you get through this quarter’s metrics. He keeps nudging you to ask: What will people remember about the way you talked to them, listened to them, and believed in them, years from now? The final chapters on vision, purpose, energy, and resilience push the reader to see leadership as a long game and a daily practice, not a weekend seminar. But you know what we loved the most about this book? THE QUOTES! We've read our share of quote books over the years including The Last Word by Carolyn Warner (recently) and Meditations for Modern Man by Mike Cook (a few years ago), but there's still something really unique and special about this book. We love how seamlessly these quotes are integrated into the book's core lessons. Here are some of our favorite quotes and passages from it: "In a world drowning in noise, nobody’s got time to dig through your chapter to find the headline... The best lines don’t just fill up time. They leave an echo... You don’t lead by talking more. You lead by making your words stick." “The best leaders aren’t loud, they’re laser focused. They don’t flood rooms with words; they fill them with meaning.” “Cast fire, not fog, because nobody gets moving for something they can barely see; they run for what sets them ablaze.” (In other words, people are more willing to do things when they have a sense of purpose, especially a shared one they've bought into) "'Signal confidence, not perfection: 'Here’s what we know, and we can adjust as needed.'" "It doesn’t take perfect answers; it takes presence. Sometimes what your team needs is someone willing to say, "I don't have it all yet, but here's what we do know, and here's where we'll move next." That, messy as it sounds, is often the anchor people need when things get foggy. Your voice, even unsteady, is still a signal in the storm. Every call you make when it's hard is a brick in the wall of trust. Delay too long, and every silent minute chips away at what you've built. So, when the air's thick and you can almost hear the temperature rising, don't sit at your desk waiting for perfect. Go first. Open your mouth. Let your team see you, not just your memo. Make the call before silence does. Step in before the void gets louder than you. Be the voice before the void. Trust isn't built in the moments you've got all the answers; it's forged when you speak up anyway, even if your voice shakes. That's what true leadership sounds like." "What I missed, and what most leaders miss, is that vision only works if people stop feeling like passengers and start acting like architects. If you want buy-in, you must give them blueprints and let them put their fingerprints on the plan." “I’ll level with you: In my first few rounds with crisis, I thought 'leadership' meant bringing thunder. I scheduled emergency meetings, raised my voice, powered through stress by dialing up the intensity, thinking that if I just fought harder, I could force things back into place, but chaos doesn’t bow to aggression; it feeds off it. Most of the time, all I did was turn a storm into a hurricane. My team didn’t need a bigger weather system; they needed a lighthouse." “If you’re the loudest voice in the room, you’re not calming them; you’re just raising their blood pressure. Your people don’t need someone to out-yell the problem; they need someone who makes the room feel safer the second you walk in... Here’s the leadership lesson, nobody taught me: When you show up with storm energy, you multiply the mess” (This reminded us of Gordan Ramsey...) "Real empowerment isn’t just about tossing tasks at people; it’s about inviting their ideas and hearing their voice, even when it wobbles. It’s trusting that if you step back a little, the song gets bigger, bolder, a little more alive." "Here is something you don't hear until you go to strategic-level leadership school: Power isn’t hoarded, it’s handed off. When you pass the mic and mean it, something wild happens; people step up. They don’t just echo, they create. You go from conducting solos to building a symphony. The team stops waiting for your verdict and starts inventing music you’d never have dreamed up alone. Real empowerment isn’t just about tossing tasks at people; it’s about inviting their ideas and hearing their voice, even when it wobbles. It’s trusting that if you step back a little, the song gets bigger, bolder, a little more alive... If you want a team that moves mountains, stop being the boulder at the top. Let others reach the summit. When you share the mic, you start a movement, not a monologue. So, pass the mic. Build a symphony, not a solo. Let them lead the song you started, and watch how the music keeps going, even after you put your mic down." “In preparing for battle, I have always found that plans are useless, but planning is indispensable.” - Dwight D. Eisenhower (This really speaks volumes of how you should come prepared with a plan but also be prepared to adapt to changing situations and circumstances) “I destroy my enemies when I make them my friends.” - Abraham Lincoln “Listening is like opening a window on a stuffy day. It clears the air and gives everyone a chance to breathe, and one simple conversation can shift the course…” This book is just filled with gems. Check it out on Amazon!  Score: 94+/100 (9.4+ out of 10)
Francis the Fox is back! And does he ever learn? Or, rather, does he ever quit? As we've mentioned before, this series has become perhaps our favorite in our contest's history. Francis Fox is a dynamic character who grabs your attention and dominates every page. He shows flashes of light (mainly ambition and tenacity) which is unfortunately overshadowed by a lot of darkness. It is a darkness that is largely motivated by greed, a thirst for power, and an over-the-top hunger for greatness. We don't remember Francis Fox being more diabolical than in The Fox and the Garbage War! Yes, there was the time he took over the city and became the living picture of corruption in the first book. There was the tower that collapsed because he chose to cut corners in engineering and construction. Then there was the media company he wrangled his poor mother into. Then there was the time he swindled a blind badger into selling his beach front property to turn into a "palace." Oh, and who can forget the time that he tried to rig an election for city mayor? Gosh, maybe Francis was always pretty diabolical—borderline evil. But something about this book made Francis seem genuinely evil, almost past the point of sympathy (which we usually feel for him). You know what it is? It's the fact that he should know better by now. He has already been down this path, he has already tried these types of underhanded schemes, and they have always resulted with his downfall. But perhaps the thing that troubled us the most about Francis in this book versus the Election Fraud book that preceded it is that he seems to lack a conscience toward the end of this book. See, in The Fox and the Election Fraud, Francis was actually a very sympathetic character who seemed to be developing something he lacked for much of this series: a conscience. In that book, there were times when he felt guilt and shame. There were times he wondered if he had gone too far, yet Flurry (his campaign manager) was there like a devil on his shoulder urging him on. There was even a part of us that felt bad for Francis at the end of the book even after all he'd done. Yes, he deserved to be punished, but it seemed like he regretted his actions. However, in this book, he becomes like a cold, ruthless, merciless dictator. We're talking like Saddam Hussein/Kim Jong-Il levels of dictatorship. Ok, maybe not that bad, but you get the point. He becomes a pretty frightening character. With that said, there were some interesting, nuanced character moments, especially in the first half of the book. For example, we're told that "the fox sympathized with his new friend's pain." And who is his "new friend," you might ask? Well, it's Linda Lupo, a female fox and disgraced former research director from the local university. Like Francis, she has fallen from grace. Like Francis, she is extremely ambitious. Like Francis, she cares about being known as great and successful. Like Francis, she long to climb her way up to the top, practically by any means necessary. We appreciated that. The two characters are mirrors for each other. Linda Lupo is essentially Elizabeth Holmes, the disgraced former founder and owner of Theranos, who was convicted of fraud when her blood testing technology never worked as advertised. Similarly, Linda Lupo is supposed to be developing a super efficient waste management technology. She schemes with Francis to create a business around it called HypeX around which an entire neighborhood called Stargaze develops. The neighborhood eventually becomes like its own city, of which Francis becomes its mayor. Think of it like Hershey, PA (which was built around the Hershey chocolate company). Where this book gets a bit darker is when Francis learns that Linda Lupo's HypeX technology isn't actually working as expected, so he has her locked away in her labratory to work day and night in order to find a solution. To make matters worse, he fires old employees and those who resist, then hires sketchy stormtrooper-like mercenaries called coyotes (who we think were his lackeys in the first book as well). They start outright arresting and imprisoning anyone who disagrees with Francis or who might spill the beans to authorities. When you think about it, this is genuinely frightening! Like, Francis starts acting like a tyrant. It's actually a bit of a full-circle moment because he was the substitute mayor in the first book and started acting like this as well. But we don't remember him being this despicable and evil. Part of that might be the fact that Francis should really know better by now, he's been there and done that. He's been given chance after chance after chance to be a good person ever since the first book when the mayor he keeps antagonizing literally took him under his wing. Also, Francis is older now, so he's lost some of that cuteness and naivety that helped to excuse him in the earlier books. Anyway, similar to The Fox's Tower, this book has a bit of an abrupt, ambiguous ending rather than it being all tied up in a neat little bow. That's ok. This book continued to give us Francis, perhaps at his worse. We wonder about Flurry and if she'll ever come back. We thought that Francis and Flurry had something going. Yes, they were both villainous, but even villains can fall in love sometimes. Linda Lupo is an interesting addition to the series, and we found her interesting and sympathetic. We also got to see Mayor Wolf again, which was nice. Unfortunately, he is aging and mostly confined to a wheelchair now, but he's still a big part of this series. This book definitely kept us at the edge of our seats wondering what was going to happen next with this cunning fox! Check it out on Amazon!  Score: 92+/100 (9.2+ out of 10)
The Case Against Jasper by Dr. Clifton Wilcox is like Animal Farm meets Sherlock Holmes, Agatha Christie, John Grisham, and Aesop's fables! This is a a gripping mystery wrapped in a thoughtful lesson about gossip, scapegoating, evidence-based truth-seeking, and restorative justice. In the book, Wildwoods Farm is a tight-knit animal community where market day suddenly turns into a tragedy. Jenny, a young squirrel who is well loved and idealistic, is found dead at the base of a telephone pole. The gossiping hens immediately insist they saw her best friend, the titular Jasper, chase and push her. The crowd seizes on that story. Jasper freezes in shock and grief, which everyone reads as proof of guilt, and the accusation spreads faster than anyone thinks to double check the facts. Not everyone buys it. Ink, a ferret with a detective mind, and Fiona, a black cat called "The Whisperer" for how well she reads people (in addition to her superhuman hearing), start pulling at loose threads. Ink takes notes and traces physical clues. Fiona listens to the way witnesses twitch and hesitate. They quickly learn that the hens are contradicting each other and even contradicting themselves. Patty claims she saw Jasper shove Jenny with "pure malevolence" on his face. Barbara admits she never really saw anything, she only heard a noise and then absorbed the rumor that it must have been Jasper. Another hen, Traci, keeps adding wild embellishments. The more Ink questions them, the more their stories look like rumor that hardened into "fact." Ink and Fiona widen the investigation. They re-interview other squirrels and hear about a "flash of blue" near the pole and a mysterious small dark figure running away. One youngster, Connor, is visibly anxious and only now admits he saw that blue blur. Another witness talks about a strong gust of wind and a fast-moving shape that clearly was not a squirrel. Fiona pays close attention to their body language and notices how some of them react whenever Jasper's name comes up, as if they already decided he was guilty. As they work, the book zooms out to show you Jenny's life and Jasper's relationship with her. Jenny is adventurous, justice minded and full of plans to make the forest more fair. Her bond with Jasper goes back to childhood games, inside jokes and a deep unspoken trust, which makes the accusation that he killed her feel like a betrayal of everything everyone knows about both of them. This book explores themes like truth, justice, community, unity, forgiveness, empathy, responsibility, critical thinking, the dangers of gossip and scapegoating, and the difference between punishing someone and actually restoring what was broken. It also digs deeply into prejudice, bigotry, and personal bias, showing how the animals’ assumptions about each other quietly fuel the rush to judgment. For example, Sly the weasel is treated as violent and thieving by default, so Sammy and the younger squirrels are too frightened to admit they saw him near the telephone pole, which allows rumors about Jasper to grow unchecked. Likewise, the hens read all of Jasper's behavior through a biased lens, calling him prideful, reckless, suspicious, and even using the fact that he did not cry the way they expected, or that he was simply present, as supposed proof of guilt, a narrative that the rest of the farm falls in line with until Ink and Fiona finally slow everyone down and examine the evidence. This book did grip, engage, and entertain us initially. Seriously! We were having a lot of fun with it. It had the unmistakable cute animal allegory charm of something like an Aesop fable. The main problem is that it becomes incredibly repetitive, redundant, and drawn out. The narrative repeats the same lessons about gossip, bias, and restorative justice over and over again, especially in the later chapters, which often read more like a long civics essay than a story. To make matters worse, the mystery of the book is already mostly solved early on, so the tension fades while the text keeps circling back to the same points about community healing in slightly different words. We're already told by page 43 that "Jasper was cleared of the false accusations," which just completely kills most of the tension. Every single chapter reads like it ends with the same conclusion, that gossip is dangerous, bias is blinding, restorative justice is the answer, we need unity and to work together instead of against each other, etc. Those are great messages, but by the tenth or twelfth reminder it starts to feel less like a story trusting the reader to connect the dots and more like a lesson plan that keeps circling back to the same bullet points. Seriously, how many times do we need to be told that the death of Jenny, while tragic, brought the farm community together and taught them these core lessons? One late chapter spells out that the success of the restorative approach is seen in “stronger bonds,” “enhanced empathy,” and that justice is not about punishing wrongdoers but about restoring harmony, healing, and a culture of mutual support. A few pages later, another passage again calls the trial “a testament to the power of collective reflection, empathy, and restorative justice,” and repeats that true justice is not about blame and punishment, but about healing wounds, restoring trust, and strengthening community bonds. Why restate the same thing in a different way over and over and over again? Emphasis is one thing, being needlessly redundant is another. You know what this reminded us of? Driving for Justice by Justin Kojok, the book that had to tell us like a million times: "It's not the destination, it's the journey" and "Every [insert thing here] tells a story." How many times do we need to be told that Jenny fell to her death? Like, we know already. There's a part of us that feels like 3/4ths of this book didn't need to be in the book and that this could've just been a short story, novella, or part of a larger collection. The only reason we can think of for this book droning on like it did is because the author wanted to establish characters, like Ink and Fiona, as mainstays in a larger series. This seems plausible considering that we have two more books from Wilcox coming up. Ignoring the drawn-out feeling of this book, though, it actually does do a lot of things we liked: it's compelling, features cute and fun characters, and confronts a lot of important issues like bias and prejudice. Check it out here!  Score: 95+/100 (9.5+ out of 10)
This children's book is SPECIAL! And what makes it so special is how layered it is. It's not extremely difficult to score a 9.3 to 9.4 as a children's book in our contests. All you really need are some above-average illustrations, decent writing, decent characters, and a decent premise. But what the best children's books in our contests do is go above and beyond: they develop characters, they tell layered/multi-dimensional stories that grip and resonate with readers without being borish or overwhelming (remember: young people tend to have short attention spans). That's how you score in the coveted 9.5 to 9.6 range like The Adventures of Belle Bear by Kathy Akopov Guillory. So, let's peel back the layers of this exceptional children's book! The Adventures of Belle Bear follows the journey of Belle Bear and her family from Mount Bearia (a stand in for either Russia or colder-climate US states like Washington) to a strange new land called Calibearia (a stand in for California). How will Belle Bear adapt to the hotter, sunnier weather? Will she find new friends? Will she still be able to hold onto the parts of Belle that make her... well... Belle? Or will the heat become oppressive? Will she be ostracized and not fit in? Will she be forced to abandon who she was (and is), the things she loved, and to become more like everyone else to survive in this strange new world? It's the story of an immigrant, yes. But it's also the story of childhood and the experience of living in general. Few people stay in the same place doing the same things all their lives. Childhood and life are full of changes and transitions. These can be scary. They include things like parents getting divorced, a parent losing or getting a new job, deployment, moving schools, moving cities, etc. Those experiences can be traumatic and nerve-racking for kids, causing anxiety and uncertainty. Stability and familiarity are often shaken and shattered by these dramatic life events. You don't have to be an immigrant to relate with Belle Bear. You could just be human—someone who has had to leave familiar things, people, and places behind. And that resonated with us. On the surface, it is a simple story: Belle Bear lives a happy, snowy life in Mount Bearia with her super-supportive grandmother, Baba Bear. When they have to move to hot, crowded Calibearia, Belle feels out of place, different from everyone else, and lonely at school. With Baba Bear’s help and the “you are kind, you are curious, you are brave” mantra, she rediscovers her confidence, gets a new orange cape, and starts making friends who love hearing about her old home. One of the things that will stand out to readers is the relationship between Belle and Baba Bear, who is sure to remind kids of a parent or grandparent in their lives. The repeated bedtime affirmation and the way Baba Bear notices something is wrong without pushing too hard feel very emotionally true. The mirror scene, where Belle says who she is and the new cape appears, is a beautiful way to show kids that confidence comes from remembering their strengths, not from outside approval. The art really supports that: the warm glow of their hut, the big mirror, and the cape appearing on Belle’s shoulders make it feel magical and safe at the same time. The cape isn't some meaningless, superficial thing either. The cape represents identity. It represents an article of clothing or an accessory that helps to distinguish one person (or persons) from others. It's part of what makes Belle Belle, and it seems to be part of a tradition and a culture given that Baba Bear also wears a cape. Maybe you and your family have things that set you apart: a hairstyle, an heirloom, an article of clothing, a favorite saying, a blanket, a food, a holiday tradition. Belle's cape captures all of that in one simple, visual way that kids can immediately understand. It is something she literally wears on her shoulders that reminds her who she is and where she comes from, even when everything around her has changed. That ties beautifully into one of the strongest aspects of this book: the use of simple, repeated language to build self-esteem. The "you are kind, you are curious, you are brave" mantra is incredibly effective. It is short, memorable, and specific. It does not just say "you are special." It points to qualities that kids can practice and live out. You can easily imagine a parent or teacher borrowing those exact words and using them as a daily affirmation with their own children or students. We also love that this is not just a story about "being yourself" in a vacuum. Belle is not magically fine the moment she arrives in Calibearia. The book takes time to show that she struggles. She is lonely. She feels different. The sun is too hot. The beach is too crowded. No one looks like her. Those pages validate the uncomfortable feelings that come with a big move or a major life change. Kids are allowed to feel sad, scared, and unsure before they feel brave. Once Belle "remembers" herself in the mirror and puts on the new orange cape, the story shifts into a beautiful demonstration of how sharing your story can turn differences into strengths. Belle does not win people over by pretending to be like everyone else. She wins them over by talking about Mount Bearia, the snow, the igloos, the chess boards, and the cool, cozy world she left behind. Her classmates lean in. They ask questions. They want to know more. The very things that made Belle feel odd and alone become the things that make her interesting and magnetic. The immigrant metaphor is handled in a way that works on multiple levels. For kids who have moved from one city or state to another, it will feel familiar and comforting. For kids who have immigrated from another country or culture, the story may feel deeply personal. And for kids who have never moved at all, it becomes a gentle window into what their classmates might be going through. Without ever lecturing, the book encourages empathy. It quietly suggests that the "new kid" in class may be carrying a whole world of memories, traditions, and feelings on their shoulders, just like Belle's cape. The illustrations deserve a lot of credit for how well this all lands. The snowy blues and cozy lamplight of Mount Bearia contrast beautifully with the bright yellows and sandy tones of Calibearia. You can feel the temperature change with your eyes. There are fun, thoughtful details sprinkled on almost every page: the polar bear chess board, the warm and inviting interior of Baba Bear's home, the little backpacks and lunchboxes, the waves, and the variety of animals in Belle's new school. It is the kind of book that rewards slow page turns and repeated readings. Kids will keep spotting new things, and adults will not get bored rereading it. Seriously, some of these characters in the illustrations are genuinely cute. There's a giraffe in here named Ginny who is one of the cutest characters we've seen in a while—big eyes, stylish hair, and long eyelashes. We also really like the interactive touch at the end with the question, "What color is your cape?" and the mention of coloring pages. That simple prompt invites children to step into the story and see themselves as brave, kind, and curious in their own unique way. It is exactly the kind of extension activity that parents, teachers, and counselors can build on. You can imagine a whole classroom drawing their own "capes" and sharing what makes them who they are. Check it out on Amazon! |
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